There's Been a Murder!

by Harry Morris

  The Bishop immediately agreed to give the man an audition. The armless man's brother took up his position and stooped to pick up the mallet in order to strike the first bell, when suddenly he made a groaning noise, clutched at his chest, twirled around, before dropping down dead on the spot.

  Two monks, on hearing the bishop's cries for help at this second tragedy in as many days, rushed up the stairs to assist him.

  ‘What has happened, Your Excellency? Who is this man lying before you?’ the first monk asked breathlessly.

  ‘I don't know his name,’ sighed the distraught Bishop. ‘All I know is …

  (Wait for it … )

  (It's well worth it!)

  ‘ … He's the dead ringer for his brother!’

  Bogus Grannies

  • • •

  A young police probationer was out shopping in a supermarket when he noticed an old woman following him around the store. If he stopped, she would stop and stare at him.

  Finally, she overtook him at the lane for the checkout, and turned to him and said, ‘I do hope I didn't make you feel embarrassed or uneasy, but it's just that you look so much like my late son in your uniform – he was also a police officer.’

  The young police officer replied, ‘Not at all, it's perfectly fine.’

  She then said, ‘I know it sounds awfully silly, but do you think you could call out, “Goodbye, Mum” as I leave the store? It would be such a nice gesture and make me feel so very happy.’

  ‘Why certainly, ma'am, no problem,’ responded the obliging young officer.

  At that, she turned and walked over to the checkout.

  She smiled and chatted with the supermarket cashier as he looked on, and as she was on her way out of the store, the young police officer called out after her, loud and clear across the busy checkouts, ‘Goodbye, Mum.’

  The old woman gave a wave of her hand and smiled back at him.

  Moments later and pleased that he had brought a little piece of sunshine into someone's day, he went over to the checkout to pay for his shopping.

  ‘That comes to a total of £63.85,’ said the store assistant. ‘What!’ asked a shocked and surprised young officer. ‘How come it's so much? I've only bought five items.’

  The store assistant replied, ‘Yes, but your mother said you'd be paying for her messages as well!’

  The Milky Way

  • • •

  Ivan Jackson was a milkman prior to joining the police and one nightshift while we were working together he told me this story.

  Apparently a blonde woman heard that if she soaked in a bath of milk, it would make her beautiful. So before going to bed, she left a note for Ivan the milkman to leave her twenty-five gallons of milk.

  The following morning, when Ivan read the note, he thought to himself, ‘There must be a mistake here.’

  He worked out that she probably meant 2.5 gallons. So he knocked on her front door to clarify the point.

  The blonde woman answered the door and Ivan said, ‘I found your note asking me to leave twenty-five gallons of milk. I take it you meant two and a half gallons?’

  The blonde woman said, ‘No! I want twenty-five gallons. I'm going to fill up my bath and soak in the milk, so that I can look young and beautiful again.’

  Ivan looked at her and asked, ‘Do you want it pasteurised?’

  To which the blonde woman replied, ‘No, just up to my tits. I can splash it on my face if I need to.’

  London Underground

  • • •

  I was recently down in London for a few days and, like most people, I travelled around using the underground.

  While doing so, I was highly entertained by some of their control room announcers, who I found very witty and amusing.

  On leaving Euston Square station, I mentioned this to a ticket collector, who immediately went into his inside pocket and handed me a list with some of the best comments recorded:

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I do apologise for the delay to your service. I know you're all dying to get home, unless, of course, you happen to be married to my ex-wife, in which case you'll want to cross over onto the westbound line and go in the opposite direction.’

  ‘Please allow the doors to close. Try not to confuse this with “Please hold the doors open.” The two are distinctly different instructions.’

  ‘Please note that the beeping noise coming from the doors means that the doors are about to close. It does not mean throw yourself or your bags into the doors.’

  ‘We can't move off because some idiot has their hand stuck in the door.’

  ‘To the gentleman wearing the long grey coat trying to get on the second carriage – what part of “stand well clear of the doors” don't you understand?’

  No Complaint

  • • •

  I answered a call on the nightshift to attend a complaint of assault in the deprived high flat area of Sighthill, Glasgow.

  The victim was a female who informed me that her boyfriend had just been released from prison after serving a three-month custodial sentence for assaulting her and decided to have a ‘getting out’ party at the local pub.

  After several hours of celebrating, with lots of alcohol being consumed, he went home with her to make up for lost time, with sex on his mind.

  Unfortunately for him, it was the last thing on her mind and as a result, a full-scale argument ensued, followed by the female being assaulted by her horny, drunken, ex-jailbird of a boyfriend, who then buggered off sharpish, prior to my arrival.

  The next-door neighbour, who just happened to be her gay brother, was a witness to the incident and insisted on giving a statement of the events. However, after noting his statement, he continued to express his views regarding what the police should be doing about the physical assault on his sister.

  Due to his continual interference and arrogant behaviour, which was bordering on a breach of the police, he was requested to return to his own flat, but refused. Therefore, I had no alternative but to apprehend him for refusing to comply with my request to leave and led him outside, where I hand-cuffed him to a large drainage pipe in the corridor outside.

  I then returned to speak with the complainer and finish off noting her statement.

  Surprise! Surprise! When I returned to the hand-cuffed brother outside, he was standing there bollock-naked, with his trousers down at his ankles. He then alleged that he had been sexually abused by two males while he waited patiently outside, still hand-cuffed to the pipe and unable to resist.

  As he was only outside his sister's door, and my colleague and I were within earshot, I asked why he hadn't called out for us to come and help him?

  He replied, ‘Tae tell ye the truth, big man, I didnae know if you two would have helped me, or just took yer place in the queue. By the way, I hope you don't think I'm a slut, dae ye?’

  After a cooling-down period, the accused/victim gay brother remarked, off the record: ‘If her man had came back wi’ me when I offered, I could have relieved his tension and this would never have happened tae any of us!’

  T.M.I. there!

  As a result, a warning was given as to his future conduct and he was quite happy to forget about his alleged assault, putting it down to experience.

  As a result it was related to the police controller regarding the incident: ‘No police action required; complainer(s) satisfied with the result!’

  Organic Health Drinks

  • • •

  Once again summer is looming and with it comes the good weather, exotic holidays and that dreaded fitness regime to try and lose weight, look healthy and feel good.

  My missus has decided that we are going organic – and I mean everything, from sugar to cream crackers, from apples to lettuce and from milk to bread, has got to be organic!

  Not only that, she has now bought us a juicer and makes these recipes for us to drink, all of which are meant to be good for you … Allegedly!

  Yesterday morning I was awakened by her dulce
t tones crying out to me that breakfast was ready.

  I stumbled through to the kitchen in expectation that my nose buds were not working properly and I was about to witness an odourless plate, consisting of a full Scottish breakfast with square sausage, Ayrshire bacon, two fried eggs, fried tomatoes, mushrooms, black pudding and a tattie scone dripping wi’ grease.

  Shock, horror! There sitting waiting for me was a tall glass of green gooey stuff that wouldn't have looked out of place at the bottom of a stagnant fish pond full of algae!

  ‘What is that?’ I asked her as I slowly rotated the glass, trying to work out the ingredients, while also checking out the black bits and if there was still life there.

  ‘It's your new organic health drink. Very good for you and full of vitamins, minerals and especially B17!’ she replied.

  ‘There's tadpoles in there,’ I said.

  ‘Where?’ she said, checking the glass. ‘No there is not, that's apple and pear seeds. Apparently they're very good for you too. Now go on, drink it down,’ she ordered me.

  I looked around the kitchen. ‘Where's yours?’ I asked.

  ‘Gone! I drank it earlier,’ she replied. ‘Mmm, yummy, yummy, very nice!’ she said, rubbing her tummy. ‘Now hurry up and drink it, you big girl's blouse.’

  That was hurtful. So I grabbed hold of the glass, raised it to my mouth and began gulping it down … Woahhhh! My throat began to close over.

  ‘What the hell is in this? Is it dead yet? What's that horrible taste? Tell me. For the sake of the post-mortem certificate detailing the cause of death … Tell me what I just drank!’

  ‘Oh, behave yourself. You're acting like big a drama queen!’ she responded, while I was retching and boaking into the sink.

  ‘You'd think I was trying to poison you, instead of getting you into some healthy eating!’

  ‘Just tell me what was in it,’ I asked – nae, pleaded!

  She paused for a moment before rapidly listing the following ingredients: ‘Kale, spinach, celery, ginger, onion, cabbage, seaweed, an apple, a pear and a clove of garlic! All very good for you,’ she added.

  ‘Good for me! My throat's on fire. I would have rather drank the entire contents of a colostomy bag! This is bloody murder!’

  ‘Oh, don't exaggerate. I drank one as well,’ she said.

  ‘You never drank a glass of that. Admit it?’ I said.

  ‘Well, maybe not a full glass.’

  ‘How much?’ I asked. ‘Tell me. How much?’

  She put on that innocent-girlie look that women have mastered since childbirth and whispered very quietly her response. ‘A half!’

  ‘Speak up, I can't hear you. Now how much did you drink?’

  ‘A mouthful!’ she muttered.

  ‘A mouthful? How much?’ I pressed her for a real answer.

  ‘Okay! I took a sip and spat it down the sink … Happy now?’

  ‘A sip?’ I said loudly.

  ‘A sip!’ she repeated. ‘And this is the thanks I get for trying to get you to eat healthy. Well thanks very much, Harry.’

  At that she stormed out of the kitchen, in true dramaqueen style.

  However, I have to admit, after the burning throat and stomach cooled off and settled, I visited the toilet several times over the next few days and as a result, reduced my overall weight by about five pounds. Scottish Slimmers would be proud of me.

  The drawback was severe flatulence, and over the next two weeks, my backside made more noises than the Last Night at the Proms – although I hasten to add, not all of the notes were in the right place, and not all could be heard at the same time!

  As a footnote to this, I visited my local pub later the same week for a quiet beer. I should be so lucky!

  As I stood at the bar sipping on my Belhaven Best, I felt an eruption bubbling away in my stomach, culminating in an explosion of wind bursting to escape past the cheeks of my bottom. As the music was really loud I relaxed my muscles, opening my bomb doors and nonchalantly letting rip, blasting off like a four-bob rocket on the 5th of November, with each drum and symbol beat of the music muffling the explosive sound like a professional percussionist, in perfect harmony and timing with the melody.

  Eventually, I finished squeezing out my last blast of wind, which coincided with the music reaching its crescendo.

  Finale over, I drank down the last of my beer, placed my glass down on the counter and turned around to see everybody in the bar staring at me with utter disgust etched across their faces.

  It was at that precise moment I thought, SHIT! Especially when I suddenly realised I had been listening to my iPod!

  Finally, let me try and clear up any misconceptions you might have had about health foods and healthy diets. And please remember, I'm no expert.

  Life should NOT be a short journey to the grave with the intention of arriving there safely, in an attractive and well-preserved body, but the complete opposite. You should be slipping and sliding in sideways with a large malt whisky in one hand, a bar of Galaxy chocolate in the other, a thick ‘Jimmy Saville’ Havana cigar sticking out from the side of your gub, (men only) and a body that is totally and thoroughly blootered, completely worn out and screaming at the top of your voice, ‘YEE-HAH! WHAT A RIDE!’

  Always Say Thank You

  • • •

  If you have ever purchased something that has exceeded your expectations, then it is always nice to let the company who manufactures the product know. Such was the case with this particular lady …

  I feel compelled to write to you and say what an excellent product you have in the market place!

  I've used it all of my married life, because my mother always referred to it as being the best!

  Now that I am in my mid-fifties, I find it better than ever. In fact, only about a month ago, I accidentally spilled some Merlot wine on my new white blouse.

  My inconsiderate and uncaring husband immediately began to verbally abuse me about how clumsy I was, and generally started becoming a pain in the neck.

  One thing led to another and somehow most of what happened is a blank, however I ended up with his blood all over my new white blouse!

  I reached for my bottle of Vanish with bleach alternative, and to my surprise and complete satisfaction, all the stains came out! In fact, the blood stains came out so well, the detectives told me that the DNA tests on my blouse were totally negative and shortly after that, my attorney called to say I was no longer considered a suspect in the disappearance of my husband.

  What a relief that was!

  Going through the menopause is bad enough without being a murder suspect!

  I thank you, once again, for having a first-class product. Well, as they say in Russia, Mos-cow, as I have to write a letter to B&Q thanking them for their heavy-duty refuse bags.

  Bye for now.

  A Very Merry Widow!

  Don't Say It!

  • • •

  For those of you who like to watch what you eat, here's a word of warning on nutrition and health. It's a relief to know the truth after all those conflicting nutritional studies.

  Apparently the Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than the British.

  The Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than the British.

  The Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than the British.

  The Italians drink a lot of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than the British.

  Even the blooming Germans drink a lot of beer and eat lots of sausages and plenty fat, and suffer fewer heart attacks than the British.

  Having studied the statistics of this lot, I've decided to eat and drink whatever I like. It's speaking English that apparently kills you.

  They're Coming …

  • • •

  A wee elderly Glesca man, living in the old tenements of the Gorbals, went to the local chapel for confession one day.

  ‘Bless me, Father, ‘cause ah huv sinned, big time.’
>
  When the priest slid open the panel in the confessional, the wee man continued.

  ‘It's like this, Father … During World War Two, a beautiful wee Polish lassie fae alang the road chapped on my door. She was screaming hysterically and asked me tae hide her fae the Nazis, ‘cause she'd heard they had invaded Scotland. Ah knew her auld mammy had recently popped her clogs and she wis staying in the hoose hersel’, so instinctively ah took her in and hid her up in ma loft!’

  The priest replied: ‘That was a wonderful, kind, humane thing you did, and you have no need to confess. You did what you thought was right under the circumstances.’

  ‘Aye, but there's more tae tell ye, Father. Ye see, she started to repay me with sexual favours, know whit ah mean? This happened several times a week, and sometimes twice on a Saturday, if the “Sellick” were playing away from home.’

  The priest said, ‘That was a long time ago, and by doing what you did and by taking her in and making her feel safe, if it had been true, her actions of coming to your door could have placed the two of you in great danger. But with two people under those circumstances, one can easily succumb to the weakness of the flesh. However, if you are truly sorry for your actions, you are indeed forgiven!’

  ‘Aw thanks, Father. That's a right load aff my mind. Ah dae huv one more question for ye though.’

  ‘And what is that, my son?’ asked the priest.

  ‘Dae ye think it's aboot time ah telt her the war is over?’

  The Alarm Clock

  • • •

  One night I accompanied my police partner Alec Craig to his house in the early hours of the morning, during a nightshift.

  He invited me in, and as I followed him into the lounge area, I couldn't help but notice that he had a massive big brass gong about five feet in diameter, sitting in the middle of his room.

  ‘What's that?’ I asked.

  ‘That?’ he said, pointing to the large gong. ‘That's my alarm clock!’

  ‘Your alarm clock? How does it work?’ I asked.