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Thank The Lord I Had My Glad Rags On....

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gness | 21:00 Wed 11th Mar 2015 | ChatterBank
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You know when someone asks you to help out at an event and you assume you'll be doing something menial backstage?.....Take care.....

In my day as a parent at an Eisteddfod, being a caller meant being in a back room with the kids and calling their names when it was their turn.....nothing you would need to dress up for.......Well not any more!

Being a caller is now being the one on stage in front of an audience introducing the classes and the competitors.....three and a half hours......with a fixed smile, gazing at all those faces and hoping to heaven that I could pronounce the names....I had sussed out forenames in advance but had given up on surnames.....
But it went okay....I think.....enough for me to feel relaxedish about the evening performance.......not to be......
That was when I was promoted to assist the adjudicator....keeping track of names/scores/prizes....

That too went okay until the last presentation.....a silver salver with a filigree edging......
As I handed it over my lacy scarf got caught up in the filigree and the winner, excited and in a hurry to show her parents......turned and dashed off.....

I almost became the first person ever to be strangled to death at an Eisteddfod presentation.....☺
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God evilling. I was p!ssing by this throd so thought I would pop in.
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Oh heck...hers are pert, I mean....wasn't asking Dave to confirm that mine are....or aren't.....☺
Me too, as Miss Manchester Business School..with a beard.
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'Allo....allo......x
"You stupid woman..."
"Would any of you boys like a ride in my little tank?"
"Will no-one help a poor old woman..?"
Listen very carefully, I will say this only once.
That painting looks familiar.
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Non....I 'ave ze dicky ticker....
Now zen Von Shorthousen vere have you hidden zee painting ?.
I would have rotten you a litter but my pen is old, and when I dipped my nob in the onk it fell off.
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Doesn't it end up in a sausage?...No fear of me cooking it then...x
Yvette Carte-Blanche: Rene, what are you doing?
René: Cutting my throat, my love.
Lt. Hubert Gruber: You notice I am walking very gingerly.
René: Do not tell me you have gness's saucisson in your trousers.
Lt. Hubert Gruber: You should not believe everything you hear, Rene.

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