Behold, the Rev. Bunter will share a few thorts…

“Let us all sing an hymn!”
“Food Glorious Food!”

Bless this mince-pie for ever!

…misc coffing from audience in St. Stephen’s

…it’s OK, Leonard, as my old dad would say, “It’s not the cough that carries you off, but it’s the coffin they carry you off in!” (…rim shot!)


That coughing was Toby trying to drown out the baby’s name.

Very bad form of Alan to repeat it three times.


I thort it to be Leonard, (they all sound the same to these 68 year old ears! :frowning: )


But why would you imagine it to be Leonard when you knew that Toby had some motivation to stop the name he wanted his daughter to have not to be heard by the creature’s great-grandmother and thus the wider congregation?

OK, when one sets it out that way, it does look daft. But you might try to keep up, even so


Ah, “keeping up” - I seem to have very little problem keeping up when listening to the likes of “Rumpole of The Bailey” and “McLevy”, but most of the young males in TA all sound remarkably similar. :frowning:


And someone coughing artificially sounds very much like any other person coughing artificially, I think.

But I do want his cowardly duplicity to come back and bite Toby in the bum.


Whereas had it been Leonard coughing, his dentures would quite likely already have obliged in that regard.


Pip knows now; she’ll make him pay! Gosh, she was in full shrewish mode about the Christening robe, wasn’t she? Could she not have told Robin sorry, too late, I’ve already dressed the babe. But no, she’d rather give in and take it out on Toby.

Ah well, those two making each other miserable is music to my ears.


When I was born my Grandmother on my dad’s side decided I should be an Andrew. My father was not one for standing up to her but on this matter the names Gerard & Martin (& Armitage, natch) had been chosen by mater & pater.

They told the old harridan this but she simply called me Andrew.

At the Christening the priest asked “what name do you give this child” and my parents said their chosen names at which the old, pug faced one barked out “no … no, that’s wrong. He’s Andrew !”. Apparently a full blown, font-side argument followed and water (Holy Water, no less) was thrown before she stormed off.

She continued to call me Andrew for my first 2 years.


When I was born, I should, apparently, have been named after my Irish Granny, who was called Alice

My English Mother couldn’t stand the woman,so I was called Maureen after her own sister, & Bridget after my Fathers

Is there any wonder I call myself Carinthia? :wink:

The next female Irish baby was a girl, so she is Alice

Has anyone else got an Earworm, 'cos I have




‘Who the **** is Carinthia?’
Can’t say I have, Dahlink, but a glass or so more and who knows?


Count yourself lucky; it could have been Gideon.


The luckiest bit was being oblivious to it all.

I was definitely her least favourite of 3 grandchildren.

Easy to say, of course, but she took my elder brother on summer holidays, but not me. As he grew older & went with school on trips she took my younger brother. Looking back I’m grateful, but aged 7 or 8 I wasn’t.

Once Christmas she bought elder brother a bike. I got an Airfix model. I really, really wanted a bike.

When I got my A Level results of 3A’s & a B my girlfriend, who unlike me was very family orientated, decided we should call in on her “why ?”, “she’s your grandma, she’ll be pleased”. “No she won’t”.

We artived, told her, “what now then ?”, “off to Uni as planned. Leeds. To do Economics & Politics”, “Leeds ! I suppose when it’s (younger brother’) turn he’ll go to a good one”.

What do you mean, I should get over it? I am over it. I AM !!


Not Andrew.


At least you got to bury her. And you even waited until she was dead. Which was good of you, considering.


I wonder why she thought Leeds wasn’t a good university. Funny woman. Russell Group not good enough for her?

Had the girlfriend met her before?

  1. Oxford and Cambridge (ideally both)
  2. London, grudgingly.
  3. Everywhere else.

She had. She’d dragged me along with her a few times, when … in my, by then, normal mode I had a cuppa, said very little & left as soon as duty permitted.

I’d met hers & they were what I expected of grandparents. Nice, friendly, a bit old fashioned & fussy, but essentially pleasant people. She knew I wasn’t a fan of mine but seemed determined to help me bridge the gap. This visit was the last, as she was astonished by her living up (down ?) to my view of her.

She knew very little of Universities. I was very definitely the first of the family to go. But I guess she’d heard of Oxford & Cambridge & viewed them as ‘proper’. It was more the sweeping view that the younger brother was the cream of the crop & I was the … er … kefir ? If only she’d seen how he developed.

To be fair to her, the Airfix kit was the HMS Victory, which was a good 'un.


And did your younger brother go to a “good” university, or was she disappointed in her expectations?

Your grandmother sounds to me like living proof that merely reaching pension age does not magically transform poisonous trouts into sweet little old ladies.


Well, sort of yes … and no.

He went to London Uni., which is “good”.

But to Goldsmith’s College, in Lewisham, which is “less so”. Millwall Tech as I used to call it.

He made his grant up by playing pub pianos for singalongs. Sort of Chas & Dave meet The Lambeth Walk karaoke. Gerchaa. He went on to have a very dubious life.


Goldsmith’s used to be the place for silversmithing courses, as far as I remember.