It was a wonderful mushroom, a feast for the eyes
She knew she must have it, to cook a surprise
Plastic gloves were then needed to pluck them with care
Having to pluck them without causing a tear
When she was home in the cookery book she looked
It was sliced and spiced before being cooked
Her husband loved mushrooms they were the best
even more than her, he found her a pest
They had many problems but he was so rich
She could do nothing right, he called her a witch
And now she was sure that he would give her some praise
when he saw the mushroom dish, it would definitely amaze
He eventually came home after three hours in the bar
smelling of beer, of women, he had played his guitar
He was very much liked when he sung his love song
Whilst his wife waited at home who never did wrong
The entrance was normal with a push and a swish
he was drunk and quite wobbly but then smelt the dish
The mushrooms were eaten then he fell on the floor
the undertaker had problems getting the coffin through the door
But everything ended well, he was buried with pomp
And she was the happy widow, who enjoyed a good romp
The last thing we heard was she married again
There were still mushrooms in the field to be served with champagne
FOWC Fandango: Personal
Numbers are a funny thing, they our anchor in language. Perhaps it is because you can speak a number in any language. You might be in China and of course you cannot speak chinese, but you see something you want to buy. The sales lady says something in Chinese and you want three pieces. The wonder of sign language: you point and show three fingers, and everyone understands.
I speak many languages, none perfect. When speaking german I think in german, but if I have to count, solve a mathematical problem, I do it in English. I once had a Pakistani boss who spoke perfect english, but if he had to calculate he would do it in Urdo and really sounded strange. I speak Italian, speak Russian, speak French, no exactly perfect, but can count in those languages, know the numbers, but if I have to do my own arithmetic, on the market when buying goods, or just for my own purpose, I do it in English. I am sure there are many of you here from various countries, but we all use english here basically as our common language, but if you have to count I would bet that you all count in your mother tongue.
I am sure that Sigmund Freud or Carl Jung or any other psychiatrist could say why. The brain is a calculator, but only in its own language.
FOWC with Fandango: Number
If these had been compact they would not look like this.
Let us begin at the beginning. This morning it was time for week-end shopping together. We are a pair of golden oldies and have nothing better to do with our time as going shopping together. He drives and I do the logistics – perfect.
After almost an hour in the various food departments we had crossed everything off our iPhone cloud list – yes we are cyber golden oldies. You always recognise us in the store because we each walk around with an iPhone in our hand. What I cross off the list, disappears from Mr. Swiss list – that is modern geriatric progress. We might have grey hairs on the top (actually Mr. Swiss does not – but he would have if he still had them) but below it still ticks, perhaps slower but it is all in a cloud somewhere in cyberland.
We were finished with the shopping and the list was empty. “What about something sweet?” I asked. “Not here” he answered, although I reminded him I meant something to eat. We decided on a Swiss speciality: a plastic cup fill with soft vanilla cream covering a layer of fruit with a nice little decoration on the top. Admittedly it was a soft composition, but protected in plastic. Due to earlier experience, this article was placed at the end of the conveyer belt in the store to keep it safe. The bags were packed, at least four, and this delicacy was placed on the top of one of the bags. We trolleyed it to our car and it was stowed away in the boot.
Being golden oldies, we keep to the speed limits on the roads and Mr. Swiss drove us home. We carefully placed the bags on a trolley we keep in the underground garage and arrived at the door to our apartment. This is not an easy task. Mr. Swiss needs a walking stick, I have a golden oldie walker, and we have to open three doors together to arrive at the lift. Luckily we only live on the ground floor, so just one up.
I had my key ready, opened the door, Mr. Swiss entered the apartment with the four large paper carrier bags, and yes one fell off. It was naturally the one with the sweet soft deserts on the top. You know that if you spread a slice of bread with jam and drop it, it always falls with the jam side first. These so-called soft diplomat sweets have the same symptom. The result you can see above. Need I say more, although they did not lose anything in taste quality and who eats with the eyes. You eat them far too quickly to bother about looking at them.
FOWC with Fandango: Compact
They were not our guests but they came all the same
Polite invitations did not seem to tame
A letter was sent official and sound
They were told to report and claim all the ground
They brought their instruments, power driven drills
They loved the noise they made, it did not give us a thrill
And then the day arrived when they began to hammer and break
We were in our four walls, but it was a big mistake
Our lunchtime sleep was a thing of the past, this troop was here to wake
We were glad when the evening came along, to stop our eternal shake
One day the chiseling was a finished job because they had to smooth
The eternal scraping of the walls was really not to soothe
But even this came to an end, after grating and filing were done
What could they do to annoy us more, the day was still not won
The painters came but they were still, although messy with the drops
Eventually some window cleaners appeared, but we told them they were flops
We had cleaned our windows every day to keep the dirt at large
How dare they think two men and a bucket could rid us of this charge
Pay heed to what I tell you, if someone says renovation
It is a crime on humans to disturb your peaceful station
FOWC with Fandango – Guest
Of course, I know I must be smart
Twenty years in Switzeland and still pulling the cart
I melt my chocolate and dip bread in
the Swiss do that it is no sin
Some people think it looks like glue
We prefer to call it Swiss fondue
They grate potatoes and make them toasty
Not called fried potatoes but the very Swiss Roasti
I still cannot yodel, but neither can my man
He prefers modern jazz of which he is a fan
But one thing the Swiss have, it is not just a cart
A car that is a Swiss idea and it is called a Smart.
FOWC with Fandango: Smart
This is my iPhone X. It is more than a phone, it is my life. I very rarely make a telephone call, just family and very rarely does anyone call me – also mostly family. But I have my shopping list on it, connected to Mr. Swiss by cloud so that we both know what we have to buy in the supermarket. There is no point when two golden oldies wander around searching the shelves for what is needed and eventually standing at the cash desk with twice of everything. If I buy it I cancel it from the list and so it disappears from Mr. Swiss list and vice versa. We are eternally making new entries on the list at home which we both have. Yes, we are two cyber golden oldies. Conversation between us has almost become superfluous. Why waste words when you both have an iPhone, although his is not as flashy as mine.
I have my doctor appointments on the phone, I have a list of books I want to download on my Kindle, I have names of new people I meet in case I forget them and I even have the instructions for operating our dishwasher: such are the problems of a golden oldie with memory lapse.
My iPhone X was not cheap and so I invested a little extra for an extra protection on the back and a an extra transparent cover at the front. These telephones tend to be accident prone. About two months ago I notice that there was a minute piece of edge missing on the top protection which developed into a line and another line joined it from another missing edge piece forming three pieces which could become quite fragile. Of course these things can happen, especially if you have a stone tile floor at home and so I went to the shop and had the top part replaced: cost Swiss Francs 40.00 which was not cheap. Last week, oh horror, I detected a new crack in my new top layer. I was going to wait, but decided it would be better to have it replaced. 40 Swiss francs later the job was done. Of course if I did not have the added protection it would have been the telephone.
I asked the guy at the shop if there would be a nice comfortable soft case lined with foam rubber to protect my phone when falling on our stone floor. He said there was, but because of the size of my telephone due to the front and particularly the back protection, he did not have one large enough. I am now searching in the Apple shop online for something suitable.
I have now read that Apple are introducing a new iPhone model, even bigger than the one I have. They should make them out of armoured bullet proof glass for Angloswiss protection.
FOWC with Fandango: Fragile
“Where’s the anchor”
“Anchor? The instruction leaflet didn’t say anything about an anchor.”
“Then dive down and have a look.”
“But it’s only a rubber boat, and needs no anchor.”
“They how do you stop it floating further.”
“Use the oars.”
“Those plastic things we got with the boat.”
“I thought they were just part of the packing material.”
When they were overtaken by a tanker and a cruise ship, and the horizon was just sky and water, they realised it would have been perhaps better if they had at least kept the oars, or even had an anchor.
FOWC with Fandango: Anchor