COLUMN: The Ely Grumpster’s weekly ramblings
The Ely Grumpster - Credit: Archant
• Touched that the Grumpster progeny suffered the trains and travelled to Ely last Sunday, to treat the old man to a Fathers’ Day lunch at Pizza Express, preceded by cocktails at the Riverside Bar and Grill.
As we tucked in, the Grumpster committed the basic of error of navel gazing.
• “How come you lot have thriving careers and qualifications coming out of your ears and yet I have battled to stay in a job and possess one lousy A level?”
• After the gales of laughter had subsided, my dear family lined up to hurl spears at their hapless quarry.
• “Well where do we start?” scoffed eldest daughter. “You can’t keep a job because you annoy management, are lazy and think lunchtime drinking is fine. You have also never grown up. Just take that incident in Aldborough last week-end. Fancy getting thrown out of pub at your age. Poor Mum”.
Doris rolled in her eyes in that unique “I hate you” way.
• “What are you talking about? All I did was change one of the options on the lunch board.” Youngest daughter joined the fray.
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“Changing the “b” in crab salad isn’t funny Dad. No wonder the owner got upset”. I tried not to laugh, but failed.
• Grumpster son, continued with the bull baiting. “As for qualifications, you went to one of the best schools in Kent, so it’s your fault you did badly”.
“It was the rubbish teaching” I countered. “No it wasn’t. You were always in trouble. Poor grannie and grandad”.
• “Give me one example then?” I challenged, foolishly. The bull’s strength was fading. The matador drew his sword to apply the coup de grace. “Smearing superglue on the staffroom door, so the caretaker had to break it down”.
“And what about your bald English teacher? How do you think he felt when a wig salesman turned up at his home?” “Starting a small fire in the Chemistry lab”.
“Driving your Maths’ teacher mad by releasing swarms of crane flies in his classroom”.
“Hiding your blind Geography teacher’s Labrador in the gym”. “How many more examples do you want Dad?”
• The bull was dead and on his way to the abattoir. “Well ok” I grumbled, “but you are renting in your thirties, have no savings and work 12 hour days.
Who are the mugs?” Progeny exuded silent fury. Yes! A rare victory for the Old Man.
• elygrumpster@gmail.com
