Grand day out on a mule called Cobra

BACK in 1984 I went to the U.S. for a holiday, hoping to ride a mule down the Grand Canyon. On arrival, the guide was waiting along with the rest of the group. The guide said he was going to tell us a joke, and the last person to laugh got ‘Cobra’. He carried on speaking, then — looking at me — said: ‘You didn’t laugh.’ I didn’t realise he had told the joke, and said so, so I got the mule called Cobra! We mounted up and Cobra insisted he went last. Moving down an incline, we turned a bend and there in front of us were the glorious views — including a several hundred foot drop right on the edge of the trail. Cobra moved over towards the edge. I was terrified. I told myself that he must have done this before, many times, and put every ounce of trust in him. He continued to walk on the last piece of solid soil before the drop, until the trail got wider. On the way back were some very steep sections. I told him how wonderful he was, but it was still nerveracking. I was so glad I didn’t laugh at the joke and that my trust in Cobra was justified. I wonder if anyone else remembers riding Cobra?

Pam Draycott, stratford-upon-Avon, Warks. FOLLOW-UP: MY LATE mother Dorothy kept us in hysterics over the years. She once told the vicar that one of his regular parishioners had not been attending recently because she’d had an accident and was in plaster, having fallen over the b*****ks in the road (she meant bollards, of course).

I was in the house at this time and saw the vicar blushing redder than a tomato. Even though I corrected her, she continued to use the wrong word. She also told me that one of the neighbours had gone into hospital and been given a ‘sirloin’ drip. Oh boy, how I miss my mother.

suzy Kendall, Birmingham.