Monthly Archives: October 2014

Beware Men With Beards

Albert phones.  “The man with the beard has broken my novel”, he says.  “I think you’ll have to come and have a look.” I have to sigh.  Especially when I realise that I actually understand every word in that sentence AND what they mean all put together.

man with beardThe Man With The Beard is a fairly regular character in our daily dramas.  His company provides the cable TV and internet service to Albert’s flat (yes, that Man with Beard – I think you know who I mean – not Santa!).  Albert believes him to be American (he “can’t see the point” of Americans) and, consequently, the Man With the Beard gets the blame for a great many things.

It used to be just when the wi-fi had accidentally been switched off or Albert didn’t approve of something on TV that That Man was responsible, although these days he seems to regularly jinx vacuum cleaners, kettles, all kinds of computer software and, oddly, rearranges the bookshelves from time to time too.

I plug the wi-fi router back in, restart the laptop and, eventually, locate the missing file (I’ll have to tell you about Albert’s ‘novel’ some other time after I’ve had a little lie down in a dark room).

“Of course,” says Albert, “If you’d got me a proper British computer in the first place, That Man With A Beard wouldn’t have been able to break into it.”

“Bye Albert”, I say.  “See you tomorrow.”

Only answer is to laugh!


little mexican sushi

I phone Albert after work to check that he still wants fish and chips for our Friday-night treat, as instructed yesterday.  “No!” he says.  “We didn’t say fish and chips!  I thought you were going to get those little mexican things!”

Little Mexican Things. Now I’m really stumped. To the best of my knowledge, Albert has never eaten anything Mexican and I can’t think that he would like it if he did, given that he objects to colourful and spicy food (and has no truck with anything from the American continent).  I suggest a few Mexican food items that I can think of.  “Do you mean Enchiladas, Tacos?”

“No, no!” he replies, frustrated, “those little things!”

In the end we settle for Chinese as a compromise.

Halfway through the evening, tea long eaten, we start talking about friends around the world and inspiration strikes him. “You know,” he exclaims, “those little thingssushi they eat where those Japanese people live!”

Light dawns.  “Albert,” I say.  “Do you mean sushi, by any chance?”

“Yes,” he cries, delighted that I have got over my stupidity, “Sushi!”

Ah yes, sushi, that well-known Mexican dish.  Another conversation successfully navigated through the mysteries of memory loss, even if it took us a couple of hours this time. You may as well laugh!