Dad’s 80th…Vintage Stuff
Posted on April 1, 2012
My dad had his 80th birthday at Heath End Village hall last night and far from being a cup of tea and a few cakes, it turned out to a night of vintage Lethaby drama that would have had my late mother cursing from the heavens that she had missed out on this epic occasion on the 9th anniversary of her passing. I really did think that everything that could happen in this bonkers family of ours had happened, how naive could I be?
The evening started well, sisters Sarah and Lorna had bonded marvelously to put on a spread of food that would have shamed a medieval banquet and Bruce had worked tirelessly with his iPad undertaking the unenviable task of putting a music collection together. For my part, I had spent the best part of three days digging out old photographs to put on a slide show and video that would have the audience veering from rocking the aisles with laughter to wiping tears of nostalgia from their eyes. I’m such a deluded twat sometimes, I just can’t help it.
The slide show was going quite well until I decided that I would be an “out there” comedian by making a quip about my dad and my uncle eating sanitary towels during war rationing, a joke that went down like a pint of vomit as the tumbleweed floated past and a slow ringing bell sounded in the distance. I compounded this error of judgement by showing a picture of my father from the waste up (see below) with a bemused but happy look on his face, claiming that it was a picture of him having oral sex for he first time. Frankie Boyle has nothing on me.
Piss poor: Oral sex joke
Just as I was redeeming myself with some more middle of the road light hearted stuff, I was told to stop as a matter of urgency. Jesus was I really that bad? No, I wasn’t actually, you see the thing was, the old man had stolen my thunder by collapsing unconscious, quite a selfish act considering I was only halfway through my show. Widespread panic set in, kids were crying, ambulances were being called, there was general alarm everywhere, to be honest, it was a horrible moment. I just stood there alone for what seemed like ages, then as per usual cometh the hour cometh the man, my old mate Cunni, no stranger to a crisis himself, came and consoled me as others consoled Harry and all the other visibly distressed kids. Fucking Hell, if you sent this to the BBC as a script for a new drama they would tell you to piss off and get a reality check.
However, there is one thing about the old man and a lot of other blokes of his generation, and that is the fact that you could take him out from three yards with a sawn off shot gun and he would get up a few minutes later and say “Tis but a flesh wound dear boy” before tucking in to another pint. After being checked out by the paramedics he was soon back in the room to rapturous applause and the show went on. Somewhat selfishly I was now rather pleased that he had collapsed as the general small talk was about his well being and not my piss poor jokes. As the old saying goes, every cloud is lined with silver, well it was for me anyway, I even got to finish my presentation, wisely removing any more jokes as I did so. I was actually quite pleased with my video (below) and it even got a round of applause as the night finished without further alarm about three hours later than when the hall was supposed to be locked up. Oops!
And do you know what, it was a an evening with several plus points, I saw so many people for the first time in years, and these were all people I was glad to see as well. My sisters were a huge credit to themselves as was Bruce, but my real hero of the moment was my nephew David, he is such a top lad, I really must spend more time in his fantastic company. As the old man was being treated by paramedics and the room fell in to understandable concerned silence, David calmly took the microphone and said. “Don’t worry everyone, John is now conscious, he will be fine….so don’t run to hills, get yourselves a drink while I put some music on.” It was one of those “band still playing as the Titanic starts sinking” moments and when he walked back over to me I patted him on the shoulder and congratulated him for his efforts. “Yeah thanks Bob, not my easiest gig that.” David does black humour like only a Lethaby can.
If you have Microsoft Power Point you can see the slideshow by clicking the link below.
Does anyone know a good scriptwriter?