Here’s a collection of stories that I have been able to use, many a time, as an amusing anecdote in a social surrounding.


I remember always having to tell my workmate, Lizzie, who was way more camp than any gay guy I know… that each time I had arranged to meet someone for a shag… I had to let her know, for security purposes… and I’d phone her and say:
Oh, Lizzie… I’ve got another one tonight. She’d say: “Where, darling… where does he live?”
“Erm… Kensington,” I replied.
She said: “Kensington… that’s marvellous… oh how wonderful, darling…”
And I suddenly remembered and interrupted and said: “Oh no… hang on Liz, … not Kensington… Kennington!”
“OH… Oh, my dear!” was her response.


On one of my many escapades of PC support and troubleshooting, I was standing over the shoulder of a dear friend’s mother, who through a simple act of kindness, should remain anonymous. I instructed her to take hold of the mouse, upon which she immediately reached for it and picked it up, into the air. I said: “No, put it down.” She replied: “Oh, make up your mind!”


During a morning’s registration call at a day release college course that I was attending, the tutor had a bizarre way of reading out the names on the register. He would simply say the first initial of the first name and then the surname. This was all going rather well until he got to our mate Trevor Jones… he called: “T Jones?” To which, Dave Barrett, sitting next to me, shouted: “No coffee please!” – Comic genius moment there!


Pete, Jezz and I decide to stop off for a quick pint in the pub under the Croydon flyover (The Royal Standard). It was a hot Summer’s day, so we sat outside on a bench. A few moments later, one of the chaps drinking inside (who presumably saw us at the bar) came and stood in the doorway and looked at us. The man, with an extremely strong Irish accent, said: “Are you three guys?” We sat confused for a moment, and then Pete answered by asking: “are we three guys?” He said: “No. Are you three guys?” After checking the question two more times, we established that he was asking: “are you three gays?” To which we replied: “Yes, we’re all tree guys!”
Better still, after we had finished and went back to the car, with the windows down and sunroof open, I started the engine and the music blasted out, continuing from where it had left off. Everyone, including the Irish guy, heard us pulling away, all singing along loudly to the song ‘You Think You’re A Man’ by Divine. Oh, dear… what a gay day.


Dad had a habit of doubling up on his meanings. His most notable was the phrase “I nearly did a little drop then,” referring to almost urinating himself from such expulsion after a coughing fit. However, he would often recall stories from his days in the army. The alternative phrase for parachuting was to ‘do a drop’ — and each time he told the story of ‘doing a drop over Africa,’ our minds were awash with confusion and hysteria.


Waiting in a queue, inside the shop at a local petrol station, I noticed that ‘Jet,’ the name of the petrol station, had changed their logo and motif. I noticed it on the t-shirt of the Indian gentleman serving behind the counter. And written underneath the logo, in a slanted italic way, was the word ‘Smile’. I also observed at the same time, that not once did he, in fact, smile, as he served the customers waiting ahead of me. So, when it was my turn at the front of the queue, he served me in the same manner, and before I passed over my credit card or revealed which pump number I had used, I said: “Is that written on your t-shirt so that you don’t have to!” I paid for my petrol and walked past a queue of people all laughing into next week! Jezz had observed everything from waiting in the car and interrogated me with why everyone was laughing in the queue. Another comic genius moment there, I boast!


I went to meet Vicki for lunch, who worked at the National Driving Centre. One of her work colleagues was Roy, who, at the time, didn’t seem too fond of me or my sexuality. During the lunchtime period, while there were about 15 trainee HGV drivers in the office, I walked in to collect Vick and drive us both to the Harvest Home pub for lunch. I heard Ray say loudly: “Oi, oi, watch out… Wayne’s here. Backs against the wall, lads!” He thought this would be funny for him and embarrassing for me. However, completely unfazed and slicing through the chortling of laughter from everyone, I said: “Roy… as a gay man, I take it up the arse and therefore, should it not be ‘fronts’ against the wall, lads?”
I curtsy politely at the standing ovation, applause, and belly laughter of the trainee drivers and escort Vicki out of the Portakabin on my ar


Whilst working on the checkout in a local Tesco supermarket at the tender age of 18, I overheard the lady of the couple who’s shopping I am putting through the checkout: “’Ere… That’s the one… bent as a nine-bob note, that one!” I continue processing her shopping, appearing to have not noticed her vitriol. I announce the total of her groceries and take her money. I calmly close the drawer of the till, look up and politely exclaim: “…and your nine-bob change… thank you!”


Vicki owned a Vauxhall Chevette and let’s just say, it wasn’t in the most gorgeous condition. It looked, from the inside, as though she had used it as a dustbin. She was driving, and we were heading for the Harvest Home, a pub local to where we worked, and we were having lunch together. She parked in the car park and we got out. Vick looked over the roof of the car at me and said: “Did you lock it?” 
I asked: “Why? Are you worried that somebody’s going to throw more stuff in!?”


Whilst working as a chauffeur for an American stretch limo firm, I had this job of taking three married couples to the Epsom Country Club and then doing the return journey. I was about ten minutes late picking them up from the club as my previous job had run over and this had flustered me greatly! Once in the car, I thought I’d put the central locking on. When I pulled up outside the first couple’s home in Epsom, I opened my driver’s door and flicked the switch for the central locking so that the back doors would be unlocked when I got to them. I got out of the car and shut my door. Where I hadn’t locked it in the first place, I suddenly had locked all doors. I discovered this when I went to do my chauffeur’s bit at one of the back doors. The windows were tinted black, and I could not see in, but I knew they could see out. I didn’t panic and thought I only need to go and flick the switch again. For some reason, the driver’s door stayed locked! Then I panicked. I went back to the back of the car and signalled for them to unlock the door… they didn’t understand at first and suddenly the back door opened. They were all laughing until I explained to the remaining couples that I needed to climb through the chauffeur’s divide to flick the central locking switch. The laughter quickly resumed when my arse was hanging out of the chauffeur’s divide as I could hardly reach for the switch. I did in the end. Needless to say, I didn’t get a tip from that job.


I worked with Barbara in a reception area, and we had a desk each. I invented this game that we would take it in turns when answering a phone call, to say a particular word that we would choose for each other. It was more effective to decide or reveal the word as the phone rang. Barbara would pick words for me like ‘window’ or ‘cup’ but one time, in the middle of playing the game, the phone rang… it was Barbara’s turn. She asked me: “Quick, Wayne… what’s my word?” Still, to this day, I don’t know where it came from, but I said: “Tetradactyl.” How she incorporated that word into a phone call involving a driving instructor placing an order, is pure genius.
She started by asking him how the weather was and after his reply, she said: “Yes, it’s a little overcast here too. I’m expecting a herd of tetradactyls to come flying over at any moment!” 


I have documented before how Barbara is one of the funniest people I’ve ever worked with, with a possible exception to my sister, Nikki. Barbara and I worked in the front reception of the Driving Instructor’s Association and at times, we got very busy. Answering all incoming calls was one of our duties that we did together. I was already on a call, so Barbara took the next call. In the cloud of mayhem, she answered: “Good morning, DIA, Barbara speaking, can I help it?”
It doesn’t stop there… on another occasion, whilst we were both already on a call each, she needed to answer another call. She answered it with: “Good afternoon, DIA, Barbara speaking, can I hold you?”


Jezz and I hadn’t known each other for very long, but had moved in together. I was soaking in the bath and I called for Jezz. I asked for him to feel just inside my rectum with his finger. He asked why, and I said that I just wanted him to feel something. He moved and probed around for a few seconds and asked: “what am I feeling for?” I said for him to go in a little further, which he did. He asked again: “why am I doing this?”
I said: “No reason… I just like it!”


Nick Ward came round for the afternoon and said that he was feeling tired but was finding it hard to sleep. I suggested a Zopiclone sleeping tablet and offered him one. He wanted to doze off and so took it. Moments later, he was completely asleep, lying on the sofa. Hours later, Jezz had gone for a shower. Time was getting on, and I tried to wake Nick gently, but he was in a deep sleep. Jezz came back from the bathroom and had talcum powdered his bits-and-bobs, including under-carriage. He said: “This will wake him up,” and promptly positioned his arse over Nick’s face… and then farted. While we fell about laughing hysterically, I almost passed out when I turned to see Nick’s face, just coming to… covered with talc.


My sister, Nikki, and I worked together in a café called Marshall’s. At the weekends, friend and neighbour, Linda, would help out. Linda was a short five-foot lesbian and stereotypically… well, let’s just say you’d be less likely to find her in a dress wearing makeup and more likely with very short hair and wearing dungarees. Nikki was serving in the dining area, and a lady who stood up from one of the tables called over to her, asking for a spoon. Nik very quickly responded with: “would you mind asking the Saturday boy in the kitchen for one?” We could then hear the lady, beckoning over to Linda, who had her back turned and was washing up: “excuse me, laddie, may I have a spoon?” No one found it at all funny… except Nik and I, of course.


This still fills me with dread just thinking about when this happened to me. I’m at my ex-boyfriend’s posh parent’s detached bungalow. Sunday afternoon and we’ve had a roast lunch meal, as we often did. I can’t hold off needing the loo, and he isn’t getting any of my hints at needing to leave. So, I go to their bathroom, drop the kids off at the pool. I don’t know why, but I stood up and went to pull some toilet paper from the roll and the entire holder dismantled itself with small parts flying in several directions… including… yes… one piece that holds the roll on the holder… straight down the pan, loo still not flushed, and still with the kids in the pool. I leant over the toilet, procrastinating about fishing out the toilet roll holder part. Now, I don’t know if I should’ve mentioned this earlier, but their bathroom door, which leads directly from the entrance/hallway that connects all other rooms, was all glass, albeit sufficiently frosted, but also, certainly enough to make out the outline of someone say… sitting on the toilet, or standing at it, (which I always thought was a bit odd) and yes, of course the timing of deciding to fish it out was the very moment that his Mother had left the lounge to put the kettle on in the kitchen. I need to go and wash my hands now.

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