Burning ring of fire!

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I would love to tell you that my life has been wonderful since the last time I wrote just a little over a week ago. The truth is I have spent it sitting in a rubber ring whilst nursing burnt butt cheeks. Trust me to pick the only killer electric blanket in the whole wide world!

Ok, so perhaps I am being a little too dramatic, but that is after all what I am good at. I thought I misheard my teacher when she said I would pass a degree in Histrionics without even having to study, I couldn’t even remember signing up for it. Regardless, back to my arse.

I never was the kind of girl to read instructions. If my brain was not able to figure it out then the batting of eyelashes was always able to acquire assistance from somewhere. This time however owning to the fact that the offending piece of gadgetry was in my boudoir, I thought it best to let the brain figure it out all on it’s own, and considering the instructions had already been binned, what choice did I have.

You may remember I had set the blanket to activate 30 minutes before I went to bed, which may well have been part of the problem as Onda decided to ring me with about 5 minutes left to spare. Now I love that girl to death, but once you get her Onda phone, it’s pretty damn hard to get her off it again, especially when you’ve had a weekend like she’s just had, but that’s a whole other story. To be fair to her, it was a rather interesting tale and I forgot all about the fact that it was now way past my bedtime.

1 hour and 57 minutes later (not that I was counting), I managed to make it to the bathroom to complete the necessities. Had I realised at the time that it was the last time I would have normal bare (bum) necessities for a least a week, I would have savored the moment. I vaguely remember thinking when I went into my room that my mad cow pyjama’s were nice and toasty, but as I had forgotten all about the electric blanket I didn’t put two and two together. Instead, I checked my alarm was set, collapsed into bed and went out like a light.

Sometime in the middle of the night I dreamt about the firemen from that Wicked Weekend at The Wicky Digit. Before I knew what was happening I could hear the Nelly song ‘It’s getting hot in here…’ playing in the background,  and the fireman was starting to strip. In my sleep I’m thinking, please don’t wake up, but somewhere in my sub conscious, I’m thinking WTF,  it is getting hot in here. I’ve never had a hot flush before, but I’m smart enough to know that it doesn’t normally happen in your backside, so I leapt out of the bed like a scalded cat. Just in time too it would seem, as smoke started to appear from the middle of the bed. I’d like to say I was the one causing all the sparks in the bedroom, but alas no, it was the electric fecking blanket.

Needless to say I dialed ‘999’ and called for the very same firemen I was dreaming about not 5 minutes ago. They arrived not too long after and I led them up the stairs as quickly as I could, thankfully there were still no flames. I could hear giggles behind me, but figured that some of them were remembering the antics from the previous night we had met. Last up the stairs was the big fire Chief, who looked me up and down while walking past and said ‘Holy Cow’. ‘I know’ says I, ‘it’s made a bit of a mess of me bedroom’. He replied that it had indeed, but he was in fact referring to the huge hole that had been burnt in the backside of my pyjama’s exposing my red raw and rather well toasted butt cheeks. Well at least I knew what the giggling had been when we were coming up the stairs. I’m not sure which set of cheeks were reddest at that point.

I sat on a rubber ring stuffed with ice packs for about 5 days after that, and had to drag Billy and Seamus out of the pub to assist with the redecoration of my bedroom. The electric blanket has been relegated to the wheelie bin and from now on I am going to stick to a good old fashioned hot water bottle, I figure it’s the safest option. The firemen were even kind enough to send me a card, that said ‘It’s a BUMmer You’re not well!’

I think I can live without things getting too hot in my bedroom from now on!

Wicked Weekend Part Two

May Gets Gassed!

Previously on The Misadventures of May Dupp – Wicked Weekend Part One.

It was a good time for the firemen to show up, because I was definitely feeling hot hot hot. I’m not sure what the female version of testosterone is, but if it exists it was coursing through my veins, either that or my blood pressure was through the roof.

Onda, on seeing the starstruck look on my face had finally followed my gaze and was draped over the table practically drooling. Even Billy and Seamus had a look of awe about them.

No one seemed to know what event had brought the firemen to the Wicky Digit in the first place. Onda convinced they were strip-a-grams was at this point sidling across the bar clapping and shouting ‘off off off’. Knuckles was coming at them from a different angle, balling his fists and shouting ‘out out out’, clearly not amused that the object of his affection was diverting her attention elsewhere.

Knuckles: What are you boys here for?

Hot Fireman: We’ve had a report of a gas leak.

Knuckles: Well that’s kinda funny considering we don’t have any gas.

Hot Fireman: The smell is coming from the rear of the building.

Knuckles: That’s the toilet area. How do you know it’s gas?

Hot Fireman: A passerby reported an eggy smell coming through the open window. That could mean you have a leak.

Knuckles: But I just told you, we don’t have any gas.

It was at this point that old Joe at the bar started laughing so hard we all thought he was going to have a fit. Everyone turned their gaze in his direction waiting for him to calm down enough to be able to tell us exactly what it was that was so amusing.

Joe: That’s……no…..ahahaha…….gas leak.

Stepping forward to catch Joe just as he was about to pitch off his bar stool onto the floor Knuckles enquired what he was on about.

Joe: That’s probably Bert…..oh my sides.

Knuckles: Flat cap Bert?

Joe: The very same.

Knuckles: So yer telling me flat cap Bert is in the toilets sniffing gas?

Joe: No you dopey sod………

Joe again burst into a fit of laughing, that turned into wheezing, that turned into a fit of coughing. Too many years on the roll ups had rendered him incapable of continuing with his story.

Unsure what was going on and scared of missing something, the remaining patrons in the bar headed single file towards to toilet block. As we rounded the corner the smell hit us like a tidal wave and there was a collective “eughhh” from the gathering.

Knuckles being the first in line, basically because everyone had pushed him forward, turned to Onda who was next in line and told her to ask Sandy the bar man to turn on the toilet extractor fans. Onda, being inquisitive by nature asked why they had not already been on, and Knuckles informed her it was due to a possible fault with wiring, but to be sure not to let the firemen know that particular nugget of information.

Onda quite willingly I believe, left her place of second in line and headed towards the bar. A heated muffling could be heard and then she retraced her steps back towards Knuckles.

Knuckles: What did he say?

Onda: He’s not a bit happy about it, he asked if you knew what you were doing.

Knuckles: And how did you answer that one?

Onda: I said usually you haven’t a fecking clue but at the minute no one else has any other bright ideas.

Knuckles: Geez, thanks very much.

Onda: He also said on your own head be it. What the heck does he mean by that?

Suddenly out of nowhere came a noise like someone hacking at metal with a chainsaw. A few fizzes, bangs and pops were heard and next thing the we know, the Wicky Digit has been plunged into darkness.

Flat Cap Bert: What the f*ck is going on out there, what have you buggers done?

Knuckles: Keep calm Bert, the fire brigade are here, they think there might be a gas leak in the bathroom.

Flat Cap Bert: There’s a gas leak all right, my Beryl gave me duck eggs for breakfast this morning and I’d done nothing but fart ever since. You can tell your firemen there’s no danger, the only gas leaking in here is from my backside.

Everyone started to laugh, even the firemen, onto one of whom Onda was hanging for dear life citing a sudden fear of the dark.

Flat Cap Bert: I’ll be out in a jiffy, only some feckers turned the lights out so I’m going to have to light a match to see where the door is.

At this point everything seemed to go in slow motion as one of the Firemen started a run up to the toilet door, he was trying to shout something, but owing to the previously mentioned fact of the cinematic slow motion he was unable to finish his sentence. He had just spoken the words “tell him not to light a”………when there was a loud bang from the toilets……”match”.

Everything went silent, even Joe had stopped laughing. You could have heard a pin drop. No one wanted to be the first to enter the toilets to enquire after Berts wellbeing. Just as the merits of playing Rock, Paper, Scissors was being debated, the sound of shuffling footsteps could be heard approaching.

Knuckles: Bert, is that you?

Flat Cap Bert: Aye.

At that moment Bert rounded the corner, looking a little worse for wear. His normally dapper appearance had changed to disheveled and his hair was smoking and standing on end, clearly visible through the tattered remains of his flat cap. in fact he looked like he was going to break down and cry at any minute.

Knuckles: You ok Bert?

Flat Cap Bert: You know, the Mrs only gave me them eggs in an attempt to clear up  me constipation, well it worked, cos I’ve just scared the shite clean outta myself.

All we could do was laugh.

The only drink taken in the pub that night was cups of tea, but the craic was mighty. Even Bert was laughing in the end, and we even had a whip round to get him a new cap.

Wicked Weekend Part One!

I love my weekends, two days of fun and laughter that stretch ahead of the working week to tantalise and tease us. I had high hopes of a glamorous and girly extravaganza that involved hair, nails and make up but sadly the weekend that was, turned into something completely different.

I should have known to say no when Onda asked me to go to the ‘The Wicky Digit’, the pub at the end of her street on Friday night. Myself, Onda and alcohol are never a  good mix, you’d really think I would have learned my lesson by now, but oh no, there is no show without punch!

The Wicky Digit is a funny wee pub, a fusion between ye olde worlde and the brand spanking new. The furnishings are up to date and the decor like something out of ‘My Pub’s Lush Monthly’, the old is supplied by the liberal scattering of sawdust on the floor that the elderly men spit onto, even though that particular pastime was banned in 2005.

A diverse clientèle frequent this particular establishment, a veritable mix of the good, the bad and the ugly. On the rare occasions that Onda and I attend, we are of course the good. Friday nights can be a little hit and miss for eye candy, but sure if you don’t go, you never know.

Dolled to the nines and tottering up the street on heels that would have raised than the dead, we reached the door of the bar around 9pm. ‘Knuckles’, as the doorman is affectionately known greeted us with his usual lopsided smile and a cheeky wink for Onda.

Knuckles: Have you yer big pants on the night Onda for I’ll be looking into them before the night’s out.

Onda: Feck off Knuckles, the only place you’ll be in is hospital if you keep that up.

His laugh could be heard all the way down the street, and Onda for all her bumph and bluster had a wee blush, I think she has a crush on him, but doesn’t like to admit it.

The place was packed, unusual for so early on a Friday, but we never thought anything of it. Spotting Billy and Seamus in the corner we headed over, eager to avail of the two spare seats at their table. After the cursory greetings Onda headed to the bar to get us both a drink;

Me: Seamus, what’s wrong with Billy’s face?

Seamus: What do you mean what’s wrong with it?

Me: Well it’s more limp than a week old lettuce leaf from the vegetable man.

Seamus: Ach he’s mooning over some girl on the Internet.

Me: A real life one or a computer generated one?

Seamus: Oh no real life, he met her on his bog.

Me: WTF!? His bog???

Seamus: Yeah you know, one of those things you write on and people read it.

Me: Oh you mean a blog? What the hell does Seamus keep a blog about?

Seamus: Ferrets, he puts up pictures and everything.

Me: Heaven help us. So if he’s met someone what’s he so sad about.

Seamus: She’s from Belgium.

Me: Is that where they make chocolate?

Seamus: I don’t fecking know.

Me: Right sorry, what else?

Seamus: She has red eyes.

Me: Umm ok, and what else?

Seamus: That’s all he knows, but it’s love for sure, I’ve never seen him this way before.

Me: Billy, are you ok sunshine?

Billy: Aye.

Me: You sure now Billy?

Billy: Aye.

Me: That’s dead on then. Seamus, there’s feck all wrong with him.

At that moment Onda returned with the drinks and I was just filling her in with the gen surrounding Billy and the red eyed love of his life, when a crowd of firemen walked into the bar. I stopped mid sentence, and if it hadn’t been for Seamus putting his hand under my chin and closing my mouth I swear I would have forgotten to breathe. I kid you not, these dudes looked like they just walked straight out of a calendar and into my life.

To be continued………