Issue 293 - TAXI Newspaper

More readers than the rest put together! 14 MAY 2013 | TAXI 35
Licensed to Chat
MUSHER MEG
WINDOW
WOES
Unwanted advice can often result in a slap in the face or a one fingered salute
When I was a Minnie Meg, I
had a Wendy House made
of plastic. It had clear
cellophane curtains with ladybird
transfers. They are the only
curtains I remember
fondly. I’ve now
been married for three decades
(I was a child bride), and in all that
time, thanks to Mr Meg, and his
useless power tool, not a single
curtain in our house has ever stayed
on track. In fact, most tracks don’t
even stay on the wall!
Last week, I went to a
neighbourhood
watch
meeting.
The
man
who
lives in
the house
backing
onto mine
approached to say a
cheery hello, and
asked if I was a breakdancer.
Suspecting he
was a member of the loopy-loo
club, I stayed polite and told him
no, I was a taxi driver. “But I see
you break-dancing every morning”
he insisted.
“I TOLD HIM THAT I WAS
PLANNING TO SET FIRE
TO THE DINING ROOM
CURTAINS, BECAUSE I
HAD FINALLY RUN OUT
”
OF PATIENCE
Turns out he does his stretch and
bend exercises at his bedroom
window first thing, which happens
to be the same time that I open my
bedroom curtains to greet the day.
To understand why he thinks I am
a dawn break-dancer, you need to
know that twice a day I am
battered by a knob in my bedroom.
On your head
Mr Meg has been promising to
screw, or glue, said knob to the end
of the curtain pole ever since we
moved into this house eight years
ago, but he is such a busy man
walking the dog, playing his tin
whistle and watching Shed TV that
he hasn’t yet found the time. This
means that I have to dodge the
knob each time I open and close
the bedroom curtains, and must
look pretty nifty doing it, if the
bloke across the way thinks I am
busting some moves.
Yesterday evening I asked Mr
Meg for matches. Just to be
annoying he always answers my
questions with a question, and this
time it was “Why?” I told him that I
was planning to set fire to the
dining room curtains, because I
had finally run out of patience with
them racing off the track, and
pooling at my feet whenever I go
near them.
He reckons we have stayed
married for so long because he
never reacts to a word I say - his
response to me this time was
“Yes.Yes. Enjoy yourself…..!” When I
moan to my friends about Mr
Meg’s cack-handed way with
curtains, they tell me I should get a
bloke in with a big toolbox.
Final curtain
And more window trouble this
week. My window cleaner turned
up on a day Mr Meg was at home.
He shadowed him around the
house, muttering under his breath
about how the bloke’s squeegee
was too soft, and his water too
cold, to do a good job.
But it was when Mr Meg began a
casual chat, about paying tax and
national insurance, that the
window cleaner finally walked off
the job, with a one fingered salute,
and the advice, “wash your own
*!bleeping!* windows, mate! And fix
those !*bleeping*! curtains, and tracks
while you’re about it.” n