Did The Archbishop of Canterbury just say “F***”?

Having spent an enjoyable Christmas period in the bosoms of our respective families, the spouse and I are safely ensconced back at home. We are now able to eat only when we need to, the ambient temperature in the  house is a pensioner-unfriendly 19 degrees and we have been enjoying regaining the use of our legs. The danger of developing deep vein thrombosis on a short plane trip is nothing compared to being molecularly fused to the sofa over the Christmas period as far as I’m concerned. You don’t see Christmas Visit DVT Stockings in the shops, but you should.

The change in environment has uncovered a dastardly audiological plot by the spouse. Every house we went into over Christmas had the telly turned down really low and even my mother, who was sporting a brand new flatscreen number, seemed to have finally found the volume button on her zapper, after years of blasting us all with explosive Surround Sound ®. I made a smug mental note that whilst we might have a clapped out Panasonic telly the depth of a small car in the living room at home, at least it has a decent set of speakers.

Whilst enjoying our farewell fry-up with my mother, the new flatscreen was on mute with Sky News chuntering on its endless loop in the background. Mama, most uncharacteristically, had her back to the screen and was regaling us with her latest ‘Glasgow accent meets Mumbai call centre’ incident when Sky Exclusive: Hitler’s Bodyguard Interview Special flashed up. I was glad she couldn’t see it because she loves Hitler programmes and we’d be forced to revisit World War 2 after Mumbai , but I was most surprised when she broke off from the fall of civilisation and the dissection of her fried eggs, to remonstrate about Mrs Goebbels killing her children. Even more worryingly, she appeared to be responding to Hitler’s bodyguard without turning around, and it became rather apparent that it was not the telly that was on mute, but my cochleas.

My characteristic quest for one of my dingbat perceptual explanations led the spouse to reveal the simple secret of why I can hear the tv fine at home: he secretly turns the volume up when I’m not looking. Although I could never condone such deception, I totally understand his predicament because there’s only so much “He pulled a what out of his underpants?”, “What the hell is ‘lime-caught’ mackerel?”, “Did the Archbishop of Canterbury just say ‘F***’?” a man can take.

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5 Responses to “Did The Archbishop of Canterbury just say “F***”?”


  1. 1 mog December 31, 2009 at 1:11 am

    I love your blog, so funny and observant. On the hearing side of things maybe you are ready for subtitles, you’ll find them via teletext, page 888 if I remember rightly. I was going to say 666 but that would be wrong…

  2. 3 deirdre nelson January 8, 2010 at 11:20 am

    may get knitting a few christmas visit dvt stockings .. fantastic idea which i may pinch with your permission for an exhibition i am planning on socks!
    check out my sat nav socks
    sat nav sock

    xd

  3. 5 Rose February 12, 2012 at 6:49 pm

    I have the devastating double blow of cookie-bite and prosopagnosia – inability to recognise features of faces even with repeated exposure. I like cartoons a great deal because the characters do not often change their clothes. I can follow things OK when people tend to stay in one situation throughout, and am a fan of any casting director who goes to the trouble to ensure the various lead characters have significantly different hair. Alongside the repeat pausing to address the familiar “What did he say?” and “He’s going to put a what on a WHAT?!” we also have the embarassing moments where I pause it and ask “Have we ever seen that guy before?” and the exasperated “Yes, he’s the same guy with a hat on”. Oops.

    I get my own back on my husband when he pauses things to ask if I think that guy’s voice sounds just like so and so. My darling husband, *everyone* sounds like so and so. Is there a difference between Donald Trump and Donald Duck?

    We’d never start a 45 minute TV recording within 2 hours of wanting to go to bed, there’d never be the time!


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