So, why this separate extension of my ramblings then? Why not just stick it all in the one place?
Let me answer these very valid questions individually.
Secondly, nope, dunno that one either.
Right, now that’s out of the way, let’s get on with it. I know that by highlighting my less-than-secret admiration for Mr Winner (oh, come one, he’s hilarious!), people will automatically rev up their ‘assumption-o-meters’ and start making, erm … assumptions about me.
Ooh, well he regularly reads Michael Winner’s column does he? Well, he must read the Times then, or the Sunday Times at least. Hmm, ok then, he must be a Tory supporter (boo, hiss OR splendid chap, depending on your politics). Well, don’t assume anything – I like Michael Winner, alright? He makes me laugh, he’s no nonsense, he’s sarcastic, cutting, honest. He pretends to live beyond his means, that he’s up to his eyeballs in debt, meaning, therefore, that he is swanning around the world on credit, running up his Platinum American Express or his Coutts Personal Banking card.
I mean, as if that could happen eh? People projecting wealth when really they’re broke, driving flash cars they can’t afford to run, doing things they can’t really afford to do!
As if an economy would allow that!
Anyway, it’s a nonsense – Mr Winner’s loaded, plain and simple. In fact, the next time I’m invited to his house for tea, I shall question him directly and let you all know, just to put it to bed once and for all.
Regardless of all that, whilst chuckling through his weekly review last week, I got to thinking; you know something, I thought; if Michael Winner can review food and eating establishments, anybody can. This isn’t being disrespectful – he has said as much himself – and I would put my taste-buds on par with his; poor to middling at best.
There are a million web pages maintained by people who do know what food should taste like; these pages aren’t like those pages. I like eating (so does Mr Winner), I like writing (so does Mr Winner), you can read my pages for free (but you have to subscribe to the Times in order to feast your eyes upon Mr Winner’s OR buy the ST, of course).
If I were one of those who currently swans around as I’ve mentioned above, I could post lots of restaurants here but I’m not. The food will be few and far between. Our musings will be kinda similar, but without the regular appearance of Sir Michael Caine or Roger Moore.
But the other reason I want to post here, is that each week, Mr Winner ends his column with a joke. It can be any old joke but, being Jewish, he inserts the name ‘Hymie’ as the star of the joke. It’s clearly tickled others too, as readers are invited to send in their own Hymie jokes.
In fact, I laughed so hard at the corker of a joke this week, it was the reason for me deciding to replicate them here.
Hymie is involved in a terrible car accident and when he finally comes round, the doctor says to him, “Mr Cohen, you’re ok, you’re alive, but unfortunately you lost your penis in the crash and we couldn’t find it anywhere. Your insurance company has agreed to pay out £9000. We can make you a new penis for £1000 per inch. Why don’t you consult with your wife, see what size she’d like, and we’ll talk about it later?”
Hymie agrees and discusses it with his wife, Becky.
Later that day, the doctor stops by and asks, “so, what did you decide?”
Hymie replies, “We’re having granite worktops”.