THE WUNDER BAR WEBSITE
PAGE: STEW'S NEWS 11 1 05
LAST UPDATED: 11 1 05
CONTENTS:
Well that’s all over for another year. Time for humorous references to
three hundred and fifty odd shopping days to Christmas, broken
resolutions, turkey sandwiches and dropping the new puppy off on the
hard shoulder of the M5 just north of Gordano services. I love the old
traditions of an English January.
Last we spoke I was, I believe, regaling you with the state of play chez
Stew. Well, suffice it to say She-who-must got her way with the
decorating and yours truly did his best to remain out of the way,
although judging by the toffee apple red (or was it firing squad
crimson, I forget, I forget ) birth mark which has magically appeared
like some Shakespearean stain upon the back of my once blue sweater
following an ill advised attempt to take the weight off by recourse to
that revered tradition of leaning up against the kitchen wall, the
suspicion that I was unsuccessful has been comprehensively demonstrated
to be the case.
The outlaws came, left gracious piles of gifts, carved heroic inroads
into the mountainous edifice of festive fodder and departed gracefully.
The children expressed the carefree wonder of juvenile delight at the
rotund, fur trimmed, red dressed one’s leavings and she-who-must gave an
almost passable impression of delight at the rather desperate and ill
judged gift for which I must, I fear, pay heavily at some unspecified
future date, and so all ended as well as a feverishly hopeful optimist
might have predicted.
No sooner had the pine needles blocked the filter of the Dyson, and the
refuse collection operatives wheezed down the drive beneath the weight
of discarded packaging, however, than we find ourselves waging a fresh
battle with syntax , grammar, spell checker and the like. But doing it
under the iron gaze of a new and yet equally unforgiving calendar. No
end to the party at the Wunder bar of course, what with young Wilb
possibly nearing the fag end of that particular sobriquet as he
approaches that wonderland which is middle age. Yes as the French say le
grande 40. He celebrated in style last Saturday (8 1 05) with help from
those swinging cats the incomparable Dynamo’s Rhythm Aces and the
invaluable cheery assistance of a (largely) invited crowd of (mainly)
well wishers. A rollicking good time was had by all and just you go ask
Wilb himself for the finer details his memory being sharp as a tack,
mine I fear has been somewhat blunted by the cruel passage of time and
its chafing tools of wear which shall, I despair to report, begin
working their powers of diminishment upon my beloved business partner’s
faculties ere the year is out. Such is life once one slips over the
summit and begins that inevitable descent towards the Werthers packet,
Casswell's Tuesday discount and the Badgerline cut price fare card.
Happy birthday Wilb, and happy new year to you all, see you in the snug.