A waxing time trying to pick up pub wisdom
You can email me at vicbarlow@ icloud.com
GOOD morning my mighty Maxonians. How are your ears? Friends keep telling me to get my ears syringed (whatever that means).
It’s because I keep asking them to repeat themselves.
It’s usually when we are in a noisy environment (pub) or when we are all talking at the same time (pub).
It’s a shame really because there is so much wisdom to be had in pubs.
Only this week I met a guy who knew how we could defeat the Taliban in just a couple of weeks ( by filling the airwaves with western pop music) but no one was listening.
Even more amazing was another vocal chap who had evidence that Covid could be eradicated for ever by allowing greenhouse gases to build up in the atmosphere creating a ‘shield.’
(To be fair he did predict the winner of Love Island and Big Brother so he does have a proven track record).
Listen up, people, this is powerful stuff.
Don’t be wasting your time watching soaps and documentaries.
There are unrecognised people with vast knowledge at your local (strangely most of them appear to be men) which they are prepared to share with you.
Just say the secret words, ‘ What are you having?’, and the wonders of the world will be revealed.
Oh yeah, where was I? Ears, that’s what we were discussing.
Almost every traffic island in Cheshire now has an advert offering to remove the wax from your ears.
My mother used to do it with hot olive oil and a huge wad of cotton wool which was like threading a needle with a hammer.
So, with a little trepidation I went to have the wax removed from my ears by a very serious man wearing a mask and a surgeon’s apron.
On the absolute promise that he would not slice off my ears like a pit bull, I signed the consent form.
It’s a very odd procedure involving hot oil and some kind of heated drill.
I was quite expecting him to find a cotton wool pad from the 1950s in there courtesy of my mum, bits of an old corky ball from the same period and chewing gum inserted by the school bully.
What actually came out of my ears were two wax plugs beautifully crafted to prevent any sound reaching my ear drums.
“That will be £65,” said Man in The Mask.
“Yes, yes, I hear you, stop shouting.” (That was me.)
The improvement was incredible. I could hear my dog Cobra snoring downstairs when I was in bed and some kind of scratchy creatures scuttling in the loft above me.
Mmm...I might go back tomorrow and get mask man to put my wax plugs back in.