I have never tried jellied eels. Frogs legs. Tripe. Novels written by models. Sportsmen's autobiographies. Potholing. Morris dancing. Bungee jumping. There's nothing wrong with any of these things and it could well be that if I tried them, I'd love them. Thus I accept that I may be missing out.
Playing bingo had never appealed to me either and it's quite likely I'd have gone to my grave without hearing one and one: legs eleven delivered by a cheery voice over a crackling public address system if I hadn't, a few years ago, worked with a woman who had previously worked in a bingo hall. She was great company, so when she arranged an evening out for a group of us at her former place of employment, I was delighted to go along.
I'd expected an evening of great frivolity and chatter, so of course was completely unprepared for the seriousness with which the games proceeded. Talking during the calling of the numbers was highly frowned upon and the overall atmosphere was one of enormous concentration. Indeed, adept players had as many as half a dozen numbered sheets in front of them for each game. The numbers fell from the caller's lips faster than rain from a dripping down-pipe; I had trouble scanning my one singular card for a number before the next fell into my ears like the urgent two toned sirens of a fire engine. I simply have no idea how they managed to keep up; I guess that's skill and practice for you.
The evening was fun but not an experience I'd rush to repeat. However, one thing learned from bingo lingo came in handy today when I was writing my mother's birthday card. She's sixty six. What on earth, I thought, can I write about being 66? It's not a milestone birthday like any of the zero ones, or even a significant one like last year's 65 which marks 'official' retirement age. It's not really old enough to be considered an achievement in itself - like being 84 or 91, say - and nor is it young enough to cause remark: double digits, teenager at last, key to the door and so on. And then it struck me. In bingo lingo, which associates something with each number called, 66 would be clickety-click, sixty six. So that's' what I put on the card:
Happy clickety-click birthday - still two little ducks until two fat ladies.
Clickety-click (66)
Plus
Two little ducks (22)
Equals
Two fat ladies (88)
It made me chuckle anyway. Maths jokes always do.
I'm not sure my mother was that impressed to be honest. Maybe next year I'll just stick with writing happy birthday.
In the very least, Katy, you should copyright these cards you put so much thought into creating. With a bit of luck in marketing, you might set yourself up for life, never having to write more than a few sentences at a time.
ReplyDeleteI hope your mother enjoyed her birthday.
The cards sound more fun than the bingo. I remember going to bridge afternoons with my grandmother when I was about three. I used to take a very large pile of books to read. The afternoon was conducted in complete silence until afternoon tea was served. They must have been nice people though because they never seemed to mind me being there and they always gave me some cake and a glass of milk.
ReplyDeleteAh Fram, you encapsulate in a few sentences my heart's desire :-) You must be a mind reader.
ReplyDeleteNot on the cards front, specifically (I'm not sure there's a place in the market for bingo-themed maths jokes), but in principle, yes. It's the how I need to crack... :-)
I think mum enjyed her birthday very much, thank you. Dinner up at my sister's house, presents, cards, cider, cake, much chat of this and that, and I dropped her back home around midnight.
Cat, you're spot on there - making the card was much more enjoyable than the bingo :-)
ReplyDeleteYour bridge afternoons sound wonderful, and I expect they loved having you there, a little girl in their midst. And cake and milk too - pretty close to bliss at any age :-)
Katy, Happy Birthday to your Mom! Bingo lingo...LOL...I didn't realize there was such a thing.
ReplyDeleteHave a Happy Day!