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A Tax rose is but a rose by any other name - Page 5 - Carers UK Forum

A Tax rose is but a rose by any other name

Socialise and chat about other areas of your life
687 posts
SheWolf and Eun,

I wouldn't have minded voting SNP, had I had the option. Instead I persuaded all my family to vote Labour in order to help kick Fester McVile out. She only had a 250 majority... she lost, Yippy!
As Labour have a massive majority in my constituency I voted green as a protest vote.
Shawn Connery, now there's a Scots accent to die for!

Anyway, the saga continues with my attempts to radicalise a somewhat right wing retired stock broker, versus his attempts to show me the error of my so-called “red under the bed” socialist ways. I’m winning outright on this front so far.

Steak Mate's attempts though to pull a Professor Higgins/Pygmalion on me are having a bit more success. We draw on this front, rather than anyone winning outright.

Steak Mate picked me up this morning for us to go work in a food bank, which I basically conned him into volunteering for via a bet he lost.
And what’s the first thing he does when he comes into the house; he insults me… cheeky sod!

SM: You look like a bag lady. Why do you always have to wear those clomping clod hoppers, and that old ski jacket swamps you…

Dad: He has a point.

Me: Oh for god’s sake,I’m going to work in a food bank, not wait tables in some swanky hotel. It’s practical.

Dad: She has a point.

One to the Reds, Nil to the Blues.

Me: And another thing, Mr Smart Arse, if a box of Tesco value peas falls on your feet then those suede brogues of yours…

SM: Oxfords, actually…

Me: Whatever! Those SUEDE shoes will offer you no protection whatsoever. Your toes will be toast, Sunshine! Whereas my little piggies, safe in my STEEL TOECAPPED work boots, will still be going to market. Yours will be going there on crutches. Anyway, what kind of div wears suede shoes in winter?

Dad: She has a point.

Two to the Reds, Nil to the Blues

SM: But we’re going for a pub meal afterwards….

Me: Exactly, we’re going to a pub, not dining at the Ritz, so what difference does it make what I’m wearing?

Three to the Reds, Nil to the Blues

SM: Well, if it doesn’t make a difference couldn’t we compromise? And you bring along a pair of normal, WOMENS shoes to change into afterwards.

Dad: He has a point. You could wear those really nice ones you bought for your mam’s funeral.

He did have a point, so I agreed to the compromise.

Three to the Reds, One to the Blues.

Then he starts in on the ski jacket. It’s one of dad’s old ones, miles too big for me and has seen better days.

Me: But it’s cold and windy out there, and it’s bound to rain later. Any fool can get cold and wet; and this ski jacket is brill for keeping me warm and dry.

Dad: She’s got a point.

SM: But you’re going to be indoors or in a car for most of the time, for god’s sake!

Dad: He has a point.

Me: Dad will you shut it with the point stuff. You’re beginning to sound like Topal from Fiddler on the roof.

SM: Who’s Topal?

Clearly SM is not a fan of musicals, but he did have a point, so another compromise was reached, and I agreed to wear my rather swish rain coat instead.

Three to the Reds, Two to the Blues.

Then he objected to my karki army cap, vociferously backed up by dad. I began to lose the will to live at this point, so agreed to swap it for a black one with studs on it… anything for a quiet life.

Three All.

But I drew the line at swapping my bum bag for a handbag.

Dad: But it matches with your shoes.

Me: I don’t care. Either the bum bag stays, or I walk!

Final Score: Four me, Three he… Reds rule, Reds rule 8-)

Despite the sartorial argie-bargie above, we made it to the food bank in time. I’ve now got another nick-name for Steak Mate; the Sargent Major. He’s only been there for about a month and he’s already taken over the Outreach Division and running it with ruthless efficiency.
So much so, there was nothing for me to do, so I went into the main bit to help out there until he’d finished.
We then delivered the food parcels to people who can’t pick them up in person because of age, disability, etc.

We then set off for the pub meal. I was struggling to get my boots off (not easy with a seat belt on) and arguing about my socks, that I didn’t notice that he must have taken a wrong turn.

SM: You can’t wear those socks; they’ve got penguins on them.

Me: So? They’re Christmas pressie socks, what did you expect; Easter bunnies or Halloween ghouls maybe?

SM: You’re not seriously thinking of wearing penguin socks with those shoes are you?

Me: Why not? I think they look rather fetching.

SM: On a five year old they would…. Oh, by the way, those shoes of yours, are they suede?

Me: Yeh, why?

SM: Tell me ….what kind of a div wears suede shoes in winter?

Touché and OUCH!

Because I was impressed at his return put down, I agreed not to wear the penguin socks. A bit of bare skin with black suede shoes is more elegant than penguin socks for a woman my age, apparently. I definitely know I’ll be a damn sight colder.

Score: Four Four Draw.

It was then that I noticed we were going the wrong way on the motorway, and told him to pull off at the next intersection.
He did, but instead of returning to it, he drove off down country lanes instead.

Me: Where the hell are we going?

SM: It’s a surprise… what and see.

The surprise turned out to be a stunning gastro pub, which has won awards, in the middle of the Clywdian hills in North Wales. The views were spectacular, and the price of the grub was equally spectacular. :woohoo:

Now I understood why he’d made such a fuss about my work boots, army cap, etc. For on the door was a sign stating, “No work clothes or trainers allowed.”
His insistence had puzzled me as he’d made no fuss at all last week about my boots, etc.

Me: Why didn’t you just tell me, and I wouldn’t have made a fuss.

SM: Because it wouldn’t have been a surprise then, would it?

Me: You have a point.

The food was out of this world (as it should be at those prices). I choose my fave meat, lamb chops, Welsh of course, which were heaven, with a medley of veg and spuds cooked in cream and garlic. Because he’s on a diet to lower his cholesterol, he choose a salmon salad, and then wrecked his diet by having sticky toffee pudding for afters, with double cream!!!!

Whilst we were nattering, I pointed out that I found it ironic that we’d been working at a food bank all morning, and he’d just spent enough money on one meal for two that would keep a family of four going for a week.

SM: There’s nothing wrong with a little luxury. That’s the problem with you commies, you’re all such bloody puritans at heart. Even Jesus Christ agrees with that philosophy.

Me: I’m not a commie or a puritan… and what’s Jesus Christ got to do with anything?

SM: When Mary Magdalene was washing Jesus’s feet with her hair using oil, some apostle berated Jesus for wasting money as the cost of the oil could’ve gone to the poor.
Jesus told him that even if no luxury existed, the poor would always still be with us.”….. I find the use of hair a bit odd though. Do you think Mary Magdalene was kinky?”

Me: Nah! More likely she was using it to condition her hair at the same time. Waste not want not and all that. Women have being using oil to condition hair for 1000’s of years in the Middle East.

He looked a little crestfallen at my rather prosaic explanation; I think he preferred his kinky ritual one.

SM: And another thing, like all bloody commies, you’re a hypocrite too. Because while you were bleating about the poor you were more than happy enough to eat and enjoy that meal, weren’t you?

Me: You’ve got me there, sunshine.

A deathly hush descended with air you could cut with a knife. After a few minutes I decided to break the ice by propositioning him.

Me: I’ve got a proposition for you. It’s a win, win all round for you, me, the food bank and your wallet will not be out of pocket.

SM: I’m all ears. (looking at me suspiciously.)

Me: IF you ever invite me out again, and IF I decide to accept, then I’ll order what meal I would’ve liked to eat. But instead of ordering it, we tot it up, and whatever the cost comes to, you write out a cheque to the food bank instead of me eating the meal. Oh, and I’ll drink tap water too. What do you think?


ME: In that case, mate, you want to try getting out more; it isn’t ludicrous at all. We still get to enjoy one another’s company, I get not to be a hypocrite, the food bank benefits, and you’re not out of pocket because you’d have spent that money on me anyway. What’s not to like?

SM: There’s nothing to like about it, nothing. The whole point of two people going out for a meal is to share a meal TOGETHER. How could I possibly enjoy my meal with you sitting opposite me with nothing but a glass of water? And….

Me: Oh don’t worry about me, I’ll tank up on food beforehand so’s I won’t be hungry. In fact, I’ll make it bread and dripping; we commie puritans love bread and dripping. Seriously though, it’s an ideal solution.

SM: For you maybe, but CERTAINLY NOT for me. Accepting your proposition is out of the question. Now I have one for you.

Me: I’m all ears.

SM: You order your meal, you eat it, and whatever it costs I shall donate the equivalent amount to the food bank. This way you get to enjoy a little luxury which even Karl Marx would not begrudge you, I get to enjoy a meal out properly, and the food bank benefits. To use that dreadful Americanism, what’s not to like?

Me: But…

SM: A final point. Because I categorically refuse your proposition, the food bank loses out.
If you refuse mine, then the food bank also loses out. Do you want that on your conscience?

Me: That’s blackmail!

SM: Yes, it is. But you gave me no choice because of some childish desire to play at being some kind of martyr to ‘the cause.’

Me: Bollocks! If I accept, does that like make me into some kind of escort coz as well as paying for the meal, you’re paying extra on top.

SM: I suppose it does, but it’s for a good cause.

Me: No it doesn’t because I don’t gain personally. And you had the opportunity to accept my proposal but refused point blank. So if a rabid capitalist like you wants to end up chucking twice as much money around than you needed to then that’s your look out, not mine. If you want to behave like a fat cat money martyr all because of a meal, then feel free.

“It’s precisely because I am a rabid capitalist that I’m in a position to chuck my money around. May I take it from that charming little speech of yours that you accept my proposal?

Me: Yes, and with a completely clear conscience too because it’s your own damn fault. IF you hadn’t have been so stubborn….

SM: Pot, kettle, black. May we please talk about something else now?

Me: I think it’s only fair that I take you out for a pub meal next week. Oh, by the way, didn’t JC also chuck the money lenders out of the Temple of Jerusalem coz he was pissed off at their corruption…. Perhaps a new JC will arise who’ll do the same to modern day stock brokers and banksters….

SM: Sajehar, you little commie, if you think I’m going to give myself indigestion by argueing about that abominable JC, you can think again…. Now, you told me you were going to treat me to a pub meal next week. Where are we going?

Me: It’s a surprise.

And it will be too. I know exactly were to take him; it’s perfect.
There’s this pub that has been closed for yonks, and has recently re-opened. In order to draw people in, they’re offering a range of meals for 99p – for a limited time only - things like fish & chips, pie & mash, chicken curry & rice, liver & onions, etc. I’ve checked out a few of them, and they’re surprising tasty.
It’s got pool tables and dart boards – I’ll challenge him to a couple of games – and it will also be full of men in work clothes, complete with steelies.

I’ll pull the same stunt he pulled on me about his clothes… After all, I wouldn’t want that camel hair overcoat of his getting covered in plaster dust now…or would I? :evil:

I’ve just had an ace idea. I’m going to see the manager and ask him/her to let me put up a temporary sign by the pub door stating, “No camel hair overcoats, hats –except hard hats – or Oxford shoes allowed.”
That’ll show him.

It's actually good fun being mates with a rabid capitalist when your a puritanical commie; it's certainly never dull.
Great post Sajehar, loved it. I'm also eagerly awaiting the next episode!
Due to the ravages of a rotten cold Steak Mate had to cancel our last date. Not wanting to let my adoring fan/s down, I let my rabid imagination rip, and decided to pastiche dear old Jane Austin as a substitute . Normal service will resume once certain nasal passages clear up. :kiss:

Steak Mate is a man of many parts; a retired capitalist exploiter of the masses, and passionate conservationist of local wild life….. or so he said.
Against my better nature, I was beginning to warm to him during the food bank runs.
So when he asked me out on another date I thought why not, and accepted; he’s a superb cook apparently, bloody show off!

What follows now is not for the feint hearted. If you are of a nervous disposition turn away now for, to my horror, I discovered, during pre-dinner drinks, that this so-called passionate conservationist liquidises squirrels for a living.

“You kill squirrels? What kind of a job is that for a defender of wildlife?”

“It’s not a job, it’s my vocation. And I don’t kill the squirrels, I just liquidize them
to produce base samples for the squirrel vaccines.”

“Oh well, that’s all right then! Squirrel Vaccines eh! Can’t say I’ve noticed queues of them
down the health centre waiting for their jabs.”

That’s because our vaccines are for the native reds, not those Yankie tree rat invaders.
The vaccines made from the greys are vital for the conservation of our native species as they strengthen their Immune systems and leveling the playing field.

But what on earth made you want to give up life as a successful city trader to become a red squirrel vigilante? You must really like them?

Not really, never even seen one before. But I had reached a point in my life where I wanted more than just city success. I was bored and wanted a challenge
An opportunity came up to buy a mammal vaccine facility. I thought,” Why not, at least it’s different.” So I bought it, and never looked back. Should make a good return too. There’s a lot of sentimentality to tap into out there about reds.”

So it’s not really about protecting the red squirrels. That was just your excuse. It’s always money with you bloody capitalists. You disgust me!

To be continued……..
Now it was all beginning to make sense; the fabled manopause had hit him hard. Most men weather their mid-life crisis with a blond or motorbike; the lucky ones both.
But SM had a vision to pursue far too great to be bothered with such trivialities; the extermination of one species at the expense of another.

Come on, let’s eat, I’m famished.

You expect me to eat with a man who’s planning squirrel genocide.

Only the grey ones; our reds were here first you know. Sure you won’t change your mind; have you seen the weather out there?

My stomach rumbled, the thunder thundered, and the lightening lightened.

Just this once…. There’s no squirrel on the menu is there?

The meat’s too bitter for human consumption, just chicken tonight.

So let me get this right, your idea of conservation is to slaughter one type of squirrel in favour of another. Are you developing some kind of grey squirrel disease….

We don’t slaughter the squirrels, we humanistically euthanize them.

Oh my God… Now you even sound like a NATZI.

NAZI…. It’s pronounced NAZI, not NATZI.

Typical tory!. I’ve just accused you of being a NATZI and all you do can do is stand
there and correct my pronunciation…. What kind of a man are you?”

A very hungry one for..........
And that’s when it happened. An explosion of sensations coursed from my lips throughout my body causing it to shudder with a delight that was almost painful in its exquisite flood of
trembling sensations. My body could hold out no longer and……

I awoke from my feint of delight still clutching the red silk table cloth and gazed up at SM with wonder in my eyes, and concern in his.

That was amazing, I’ve never know anything quite like it…….

Don’t try to get up, you may be concussed; that was some tumble you took. I've heard of the expression a red under the bed, but I never thought I have one under my table.

What are you talking about.....Then I looked up, and he was right I was under the table, well most of me anyway.

I’m afraid it’s all my fault; I must have put way too much Tabasco in the soup. Thank god you got to it first as you were so hungry.

Cheers for that, you squirrel murdering bastard! What are you laughing about?

You really did fall for all that squirrel vaccine bull; hook line and sinker, didn’t you? I actually thought you wouldn’t, but you did. Just goes to show….

Show what?

Just goes to show how deep your prejudices run that you were actually prepared to believe I was actually planning to exterminate squirrels; and why? Just because I’d made a few bob in the city.

That’s total rubbish…. You were very convincing.

Really? I bet if any of your friends tried, you’d laugh and ask them how they were supposed to administer a vaccine to the scampering little buggers?

I was wondering about that….

My point exactly! You wanted to believe me because it fitted in with your prejudice that all capitalists are ruthless power hungry carpet baggers.
But now that I’ve shown you the error of your ways why don’t set aside those commie prejudices of yours, and spend the night with me.

You smug, arrogant bastard! First, you never stopped mocking people who needed to use food banks as pathetic losers until I forced you to see what really goes on in them.

But I did all those deliveries willingly….

You had a car and time on your hands, and enjoyed yourself to boot. You would’ve been bored rigid otherwise and….

and I sorted out their accounts too; they were a bloody mess.

You’re in finance for god’s sake. It took you less than half day and you want patting on the back. Just how many financiers do you think there are on a run-down estate? You may have put thier books in order, but you are bang out of order with your superiority complex.

Why you jumped up……

And secondly, you tried deliberately to humiliate me with that stupid squirrel stunt, and to top it all you damn near killed me with Tabasco.

That was a mistake, for god’s sake!

Maybe so. But after all that, you expected me to jump into bed with you just like that. Now call me a taxi.


The taxi’s here. I suppose a good night kiss is out of the question?

Not at all. I’d be honoured.


OH, deary me; I forgot all about the Tabasco.
Live long and prosper, Hotlips!

To be continued……..
I’ve been in a bit of a dilemma all day; do I tell SM that all day yesterday I had a psychotic episode; that’s what the doc called it. (For details go the Carers Health section, entitled Musical Hallucinations, you have to be logged in.)
On the one hand I don’t want to put him off, on the other he’s pretty big on honesty, honour and all that stuff.

I even tried to put him off coming round by saying I was under the weather and didn’t feel like going out. He said he didn’t much feel like going out either, so why didn’t he come round to mine instead?
That’s when I made my mind up. I told if he wanted to come round to mine, then fine. But I had something to tell him that I couldn’t tell him over the phone.

“Sounds ominous.”

“It is.”

He pitched up at about 3.30pm, and before I lost my nerve I told him everything.

“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?

“I’m off to see my parents tomorrow for the weekend. Why don’t you join me, you’re definitely in need of a break. Some country fresh air will do you the world of good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. You had a meltdown, they happen. I’ve had a couple myself in the past.
Are you coming or not?”

“I’d love to but someone has to help dad get to bed…..

At that precise moment, dad comes in, and before he’s even noticed SM declares, “S, love, you might as well spend the weekend at your flat as I’m spending the weekend at J’s. He’s in a bad way.” (His brother who has brain cancer.)

SM: (With a really smug look) Well are you coming or not?

Dad: (Noticing SM for the first time) What’s all this?

Me: SM has invited me to North Wales at his parents.

Dad: You should go. The fresh air will do you good.

I seem to be surrounded by people obsessed with fresh air!

SM: SOooo

I could hardly say no as I’d already said yes but; and now the but was gone.

Me: Alright then.

SM: Try not to sound too enthusiastic. Weather permitting; we could go out on my motorbike if you like.

Me: Oh wow! That would be ace…. I can’t, I haven’t got any motorbike gear.

Dad: Yes you have; it’s in the store room.
Me: No I haven’t; I threw that out years ago.

SM: You can ride a motorbike?

Dad: Like hell she can. She’d had lessons and all. And what did she do the first time she was allowed out on her own; she smashes into the side of a motor home and nearly killed herself.

SM: I’m impressed, S. First time out and a crash with a motor home no less. You certainly don’t do things by halves, do you?

Me: It’s not funny, and it wasn’t my fault. I hit some oil on the road and lost control of the bike. Could’ve happened to anyone.

Dad: Anyway, the stuffs upstairs.

Me: I threw it out, how many times do I have to tell you.

SM: Only one way to find out. Where is this store room?

The store room is actually an abandoned bedroom where stuff gets junked under the premise of being binned in a few days. 10 years later it’s still there.
And so too was my old motor bike gear; dad was right. The only thing we couldn’t find were the motor bike gloves.

I decided to try the gear on to see that it still fitted. The padded leather salapettes were still nice and roomy and the boots just needed a bit of dubbing. The jacket is one of those skiing jacket types with Kevlar plates in the elbows and shoulders, and way too big for me, but it does the job.

I pranced into the living room, complete with helmet on, and did a twirl.

Me: What do you think?

SM: You look like a biker bag lady. Are you constituently incapable of ever wearing anything that actually fits?

Me: I was given this stuff, Sunshine, and beggars cannot be choosers. Besides, the boots fit.

SM: About the only thing that does. Can I have a look at that helmet please?

I handed it to him, and he gives it the once over.

SM: Is this the helmet involved in your crash?

Me: Of course it is. Just how many helmets does a girl need?

SM: It’s been compromised; it’ll have to be scrapped. We’ll pick you up a new one tomorrow along with some gloves.

Me: Like hell will it be scrapped; there’s nothing wrong with it.

SM: Hell will freeze over before I allow you on the back of my motor bike with that helmet. In .this case, it’s either my way, or no highway. Your choice.

He then explained to me that a helmet involved in a crash is no longer fit for purpose as it could be full of microscopic cracks and fissures. A second impact could cause it to effectively explode causing more damage than wearing no helmet at all.
I didn’t much fancy wearing a potentially exploding helmet, so I agreed to a new one.
I drew the line at him buying a new jacket as well.

SM: But it’s got tears in it, apart from being far too large.

Me: Well it was involved in an accident, so what do you expect. I don’t think a compromised jacket’s likely to explode, do you? I’ll sew them up tonight, and it’ll be as good as new. I’ll tell you what, if you’re still around you may buy me a biking jacket for my birthday.

SM: Why thank you most graciously for your kind permission, your ladyship.

Me: You can be a right sarcie git when you want.

I’m supposed to be taking my sleeping pill about now, but I don’t think I’ll bother. I’m so knackered I don’t think I’ll have any difficulty sleeping, and I want to be fresh for tomorrow.
Instead I’m sipping Horlick’s and munching on a small banana; a combination my dad has always sworn by.

I honestly thought SM would head for the hills when I told him about my melt down. Well he is with me in tow. Knowing my luck I bet it pisses down, with howling gales, all weekend.
Hooray. Enjoy. Still think you should go out and get a killer dress - you'll want one soon at this rate.!!! Just have a lovely time in Wales. I'd be quite happy if it rained all weekend if I had a SM around. Talk about reward sent from Heaven.
687 posts