Chris Pascoe’s Fun Tales
Chris wonders how much his old neighbours will miss him?
Now I’ve finally moved home, after managing to spend lots of money doubling up on council tax and utility bills for five months, I can reflect on the neighbours I’ve shown great mercy by leaving. No more will Bodmin eat their flowers and steal their dogs’ collars. No more will I confuse everyone with Teddy bears landing on my head mid-conversation, or by shouting my head off to nobody at 7am in the morning. They must be mightily relieved. I’ll miss them all, even if they are predominantly named Steve.
With my new neighbours, I’m now in a twilight zone of 1970s entertainment references
I’ve mentioned this forename coincidence before, but now I sit and ponder from across the sea, I suddenly realise that their surnames also bear remarkable similarities. Never have a collection of Steves offered such interconnected innuendoridden names that read like the character list in a 70s CarryOn film. They were: Bone, Buckwell and Willy. Michael Palin would’ve been unable to control himself. Anyone who remembers him daring the Roman Centurion not to laugh at his friend’s name in the LifeOfBrian will know what I mean.
Another similarity is that they’re all wonderfully nice people. Although now, again with hindsight, I realise one of them was Tommy Cooper.
OK, not the late great Tommy Cooper himself, but he’d definitely have been a passable tribute act. Not only did he sport a shock of wild black hair, I rarely ever spoke to him without him mumbling at least one personalised version of a Tommy Copper classic line.
For instance, when I told him I’d injured my shoulder and raising my right arm high caused me a lot of pain, he replied, totally deadpan, “Well, don’t do it then.” After he’d been on an all-inclusive holiday he exclaimed, “I went on a gin diet – lost three days in a week!”
I can’t believe I lived next to a superstar all that time and didn’t notice that everyone was taunting me with comedy surnames. This total lack of observation explains why I’m now in a writing job that requires constant observation. Also why my main job is scooping out cat litter trays.
So what of my new neighbours? Firstly, none are named Steve, which is a huge relief. They all seem about the nicest people you could ever hope to meet, also a huge relief. But (you knew there was a but, didn’t you?) again I seem to have drifted into a twilight zone of 1970s entertainment references. My neighbour’s grandfather was a soldier in WWII and his name was… Sergeant Wilson. You couldn’t make it up. I mention Sergeant Wilson for a very good reason, because unlike his Dad’s Army counterpart, this Sergeant Wilson crossed the sea to occupied Europe, and became involved in just about the most incredible Dunkirk coincidence story I’ve ever had the privilege to hear. I’ll tell you all about it soon!