BirdBrain

April 14th
 

Today’s Brainteaser.

 

The Twitchers
 

Five couples with the surnames Finch, Heron, Martin, Sparrow and Wren join the ornithologists club. Each of the 10 had a favourite bird which was a surname of one of the other couples. No two of the women had the same favourite bird and no two of the men had the same favourite; no wife’s favourite was the same as her husband’s. Mr Finch’s favourite is the wren; Mr Wren’s favourite is the heron. Mrs Sparrow is not keen on the martin or the wren. The sparrow is not Mrs Heron’s favourite, and Mrs Martin is not keen on the finch. The favourite of the wife of the namesake of Mrs Wren’s favourite is the namesake of the lady whose favourite is the wren.
 

Question. Who is shagging Mrs Finch?
 

Answers in the Comments section please. £10 for the first correct answer. The editor’s decision is final.

Silly old fool

April 13th 2006
 

If I have to make the short journey into the town centre and I don’t fancy walking I quite often use the local half-hourly bus service. Not only is it excellent value at 20p but it saves getting the car out and allows me to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes – listening in to other people’s conversations. Very often this is unrewarding unless you’re interested in the latest state of someone’s haemorrhoids or the price of minced beef at the Co-op but occasionally you get to hear a gem. I heard one this morning.
 

“I like your hair,” said one old dear to the other old dear seated next to her.
 

“Do you like it?”
 

“Yes, it suits you. With your thin hair. Where did you have it done?”
 

“That place on Union Road. Our Muriel put me on to it, they’re ever so good and you get a chocolate biscuit with you tea, a digestive.”
 

“I must give them a try. What are they called?
 

“What is it now?…….Hot Pot.”
 

“Hot Pot? I’ve never seen a hairdresser’s on Union Road called Hot Pot.”
 

“No, not Hot Pot….. something like Hot Pot……..Tater Pie.
 

“Tater Pie?”
 

“No, Ash. Tater Ash.”
 

“Tater Ash?”
 

“No, something very similar…… Pan Ash. That’s it. Pan Ash. Definitely.”
 

“Pan Ash?” The old dear thought for a moment, then said:” You mean Panache you silly old fool, it’s Panache.”
 

“Well our Muriel calls it Pan Ash.”
 

Worth 20p of anybody’s money, that.
  

 

We were watching TV

April 12th 2006
 

We were watching TV.
 

“Ant and Dec can’t hear you when you call them untalented little wankers, you know,” said The Trouble.
 “It wouldn’t make any difference if they could,” I replied. “They’d still be on again next week, proving once again that they are by far the best argument yet for bringing back hanging.”
 

“I don’t understand you. If you don’t like what’s on the television why don’t you just do something else instead of talking to it?”
 

“I like talking to the television.”
 

And I do. It’s become a hobby.
 

Television: “And now it’s time for EastEnders.”
 

Me: “Oh no it isn’t.” ZAP!
 

Television: Now we’re going over Wimbledon for the Tim Henman match.”
 

Me: “Oh no we’re not!” ZAP!
 

Television: “Now it’s time to join Davina McCall for the latest news from the Big Brother house.”
 

Me: “Oh no it fucking isn’t!” ZAP”
 

Television: “And now Cat Deeley Presents….”
 

ZAP!
 

Television: “Graham Norton…”
 

ZAP!!
 

The Trouble persisted. “It can’t answer back, you know,”
 

“That doesn’t in any way diminish the pleasure I get from talking to it. Just the opposite. The fact that it can’t answer back makes it all the more pleasurable. It’s about the only thing that doesn’t answer back nowadays; kids, shop assistants,  wives….”
 

“Oh so wives aren’t allowed to answer back now…….?
I point the remote at her. “Zap!”
 

I’ll have to pay for it of course.

£1 million in compensation

April 11th 2006
 There has been a lot in the newspapers recently about the teacher who sued her former school for £1 million in compensation after the school failed to replace her chair, which made flatulent noises when she moved. She was quoted as saying: ‘It was a regular joke that my chair made farting noises and I regularly have to apologise to pupils and parents that it isn’t me, it’s my chair.’
 

Many columnists including such luminaries as Richard Littlejohn and Keith Waterhouse have put in their two pennyworth but surprisingly none of them have latched onto the most important feature of the case. Which is: is this woman stark-staring mad?  Hasn’t she considered the benefits of owning such a wonderful chair? For having established with her pupils and their parents that it is she and not the chair that is making the farting noises the woman can fart away to her heart’s content, safe in the knowledge that they’ll think it’s the chair.
  Just think of the fun she could have in class. She could pick out a particularly irksome pupil, let rip with a couple of ripe ones and say: “Who was that? Smells like one of yours, Smith. Write out ‘I must not fart in class 1000 times and let me have it by morning at the latest’.”
 I don’t know about demanding £1 million pound in compensation from the school she should be paying them a £1 million for providing her with a chair like that.Â