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Golden Voices - 28 March 2008

Josie Loftus
28/ 3/2008

DO you sometimes wonder if, when you seem to be coming up with an answer that is so simple and obvious, you feel, because it seems too simple and obvious that something has got to be wrong about it? You feel if the expert/s who have put the problem forward, don’t seem to have an inkling about what you see as the glaringly simple solution; then it can’t be that simple, but … is it?

Just to prepare you for a tremendous blast of logical thought waves we local yokels from ‘New Moston Homewatch’ have pondered about; I’m going to tell you about one time when my husband astounded me with an ingenious remark that set off a chain reaction that still has me … well, lets see what you think.

This tremendous happening occurred one cold winter evening whilst we were watching ‘Bramwell’. There was a scene where a man lay on the floor of a derelict building with his legs pinned down by a massive wooden beam. The beam was too heavy to be lifted and because the man was slowly expiring, Bramwell decides to saw the man’s legs off.

So for about 45 minutes of the programme we watch as the poor suffering man is anaesthetised with whisky whilst Bramwell goes all round the houses about the best way to cut through the skin, muscle, veins and bone whilst she goes on about the difficulties of being a female medic. We listen to the slicing, spurting, crunching sounds of the amputation as well as the man drunkenly screaming in agony and praying for deliverance. Then once the severance had been achieved, Bramwell hands the badly mutilated limbs to a poor destitute lackey to dispose of. I’m sure you will be all pleased to know that the poor man survived and was very grateful to Bramwell for saving his life even though she is a woman and with that both me and my husband went to bed.

As usual it took me ages to assure myself that the alarm clock had been set to go off at the correct time and that all the light switches were off, plugs out, dogs in and boys are tucked up. Then, just as I’m about to drift off into wonderful oblivion; my Keith (in that philosophical tone that men adopt when they think they’ve found the answer to the meaning of life) said very quietly and with very well chosen words how he couldn’t understand why Bramwell cut off the man’s legs instead of cutting through the beam.

I’ll spare you the details of the argument that followed this incredible revelation concerning the incompetence of Doctor Bramwell but suffice to say that where my husband could sleep on a clothes line, I fumed all that night listening to him snoring in nocturnal bliss, believing that he could have done better than Bramwell. The next day at work, everyone was talking about the drama of the night before. When I told them about what Keith would have done if he’d been in Bramwell’s place … they fell about laughing.

Which now brings me back to what it was that made me remember Keith’s amazing line of thought.

At the last Homewatch meeting an officer from the Environmental Services Dog Warden Team came to give a talk and offer advice about the problem of dog fouling in the area, especially around Nuthurst Park where, it appears, the problem is mountainous. The officer went into the rules and regulations that dog owners must comply with, particularly about removing dog faeces not only in public areas but also within gated areas too where some owners just let their dog’s out to relieve themselves which then prevents other residents from being able to let their children play out because of the mess. The officer answered many questions and gave plenty of advice but kept going on about the importance of people writing or ‘phoning in with times and descriptions about the offending ‘poopers’.

The thing is, we ask, why are the wardens relying on requested action rather than pursuing habitual ablution patterns eg early morning and late night toilet walkies. And, it’s no use stalking these ‘poopers’ in a van or wearing a jacket advertising the fact that you are a ‘Dog Warden’. Undercover surveillance at habitual ablution time will work quicker than a laxative … sorry, lets move on eh!

THERE must be at least two Golden Voices readers out there who can help to fill two places in the BUPA Manchester 10k Run which takes place on Sunday May 18.

Contestants' places have to be paid for and in this case they have been but they are vacant and need filling with runners for the charity ‘Helping Adolescents with Cancer’. This organisation is a vital lifeline where young cancer sufferers and their families are concerned and they need just two people with good legs, plenty of determination and a big heart with a little time to run a few miles or so. If you think you can fill one of these two vacant places, please ‘phone 0161 682 6920 they will be happy to hear from you.

MY eldest granddaughter comes to the end of her secondary education this summer and is looking forward to her 'School Prom'. School prom … now when did this begin to happen … over here, I mean. Not that I’m against it. On the contrary; I think it’s a fantastic way of shedding one’s school uniform and playground and replacing it with a fashion statement and the sophistication of the coffee shop.

School Proms were those occasions in those awful American teen films of the 50s and early 60s when we watched Sandra Dee and Bobby Darin smootching to Connie Francis and Pat Boon. I’m as excited as she is about what she and her class friends are going to be wearing, how they’re having their hair done, hoping that the weather will be fine and dry. All the appointments they’ve got to make for their nails, their tans and their facials as well as the glamorous transport they’re hoping their parents will provide as a special treat. What a difference from when we left school. Finished school on the Friday, started work on the Monday for, two pound, five shillings a week.

WIND, snow, rain and no Towering Inferno on the telly. What an Easter.