How to shut someone up

This is actually a highly sensible comment, heard some years ago.

John was pontificating loudly, as usual, when Wilf, an aged colleague, intervened.
   "You know, John; you should be on television", he said, "Then I could switch you off".
      The timing was absolutely perfect.

I would recommend this wording for anyone confronted with some tedious know-all.

A Cambridge Eccentric

When I was at Cambridge, there was a legendary don who was famed for his absent-mindedness. In fact, he used to tell stories about it. When he was working through a problem in his head, he lost all awareness of what was going on around him. He was even capable of walking up to his own front door, ringing the bell, and when there was no reply, muttering, "Bother! He's out!" and walking away.
    His best story told how he suddenly "came to" and realised he was lying in bed on a sunny afternoon. Why should this be? He wasn't ill! Reconstructing his movements, he remembered that he had promised to play tennis with a friend and had gone to his room to change, but he was concentrating on solving a problem and so the sheer act of taking off his clothes had led to him going to bed!
   On a not dissimilar level, there is a legendary Cambridge story about the young Bertrand Russell walking along King's Parade and suddenly exclaiming to himself, "Good lord! The ontological argument is true!" He then stood stock-still for several minutes before saying, "No it isn't!" and continued on his way.

Cumbrian farmers' proverbs

"Dogs look up to you. Cats look down on you. Pigs is equal"

"Never trust a bull or a Methody!"

Opportunities taken, opportunities missed

On a very few occasions one has the possibility of making a really apposite silly comment. Such an opportunity should not be wasted.

I once met a young policeman who told me how he was on duty outside an expensive hotel in the West End of London when this appalling woman flounced out. "Constable!" she summoned him, "Call me a cab!" He wrestled with his professional conscience for a while, but knew that it was no use. "Madam," he replied,  "You are a cab!" Then he fled from the scene before she could take his number. (I suspect this might be a Groucho Marx joke: if not, it certainly ought to be)

By contrast, I missed my chance when I was going round Chatsworth House with a friend. Down in the basement there was an exhibition of servants' costume through the ages, mounted on tailor's dummies. The dummy with the postilian's uniform had broken and fallen over. I said to my friend, should I go up to the attendant at the door and tell him that his postilian had been struck by lightning? (following the legendary entry in a tourists' phrase-book from a previous century, "My postilian has been struck by lightning"). I approached the man, but before I could open my mouth he shot me a glance so savage, and so indicative of not understanding recondite jokes, that I lost my nerve and left the room in silence, to the accompaniment of cries of "Boo! Chicken!" from my friend. This was entirely justified on his part, since I doubt if I will ever again have an opportunity to use this memorable phrase.

Americans in London

I was told this story by an American couple I met in Prague. It's an anecdote I would very much like to believe; and I can only hope they weren't talking about themselves.
An American lady in London asked, "At road crossings, when the little green man comes up, why is there a bleep-bleep-bleep noise?"
"That's to help blind people", she was told.
"Ah!" she replied, "But in America, we don't let blind people drive!"

Problems of colloquial English

My school in north Staffordshire used to play host to foreign students, usually French, who would spend a year there helping to teach their own native language. One year we had a lad called Francois, who reckoned he was pretty good at spoken English. To reach us he caught a train to Stoke station and then found a bus, and the first words spoken to him in Staffordshire were by the bus conductor, who welcomed him on board with the friendly greeting, "Ey-up, squire!" At this point, it dawned on Francois that his command of collquial English was not as great as he had supposed. He had to ask us what exactly "Ey-up squire" meant, and after a little thought we had to tell him that it didn't actually mean anything at all.

That summer, Francois was watching a game of school cricket with some bemusement when John, who prided himself on being a straight-talking, no-nonsense (and foul-mouthed) working-class Yorkshireman, decided to take him in hand. "Here, Francois!" he said, "Come with me: I'll explain about cricket!" We watched them walk around the boundary edge, with John making expansive gestures. Afterwards we asked, "Well, Francois? Do you know all about cricket now?" Francois looked a little downhearted. "I could not understand a single word, except for zee bloodys and zee f***ings!" he said sadly.

Silly comments

A friend told me how he was making a railway journey across Ireland. The train was very slow, and stopped at a great many tiny villages in the depths of the countryside, until at one point it halted at a station where there were no houses at all, though in the distance there appeared to be some kind of settlement. My friend asked a fellow-passenger, "I wonder why they built this station such a long way away from the town?"
"Oh", came the reply, "I think that was because they wanted it to be near the railway!"

I suppose we would have to call this "Irish logic". I remember reading of some similar reasoning years ago in a newspaper. An Irish footballer (I forget his name) was revisiting his home town, where the station was famous for having two clocks which always showed different times. He discovered that it was still the case, and asked the station-master why this should be. The reply came, "And what would be the point of having two clocks if they both showed the same time?"

A much more sinister note is struck in the following joke from Ulster, during the recent "troubles" there:-
Stranger: "Can you tell me the quickest way to get to the hospital, please?"
Ulsterman: "Sure: go into the Bogside and shout "Sod the Pope!""