The problem of Hitler and big hoses...

So it appears Hitler had bad table manners. Is anyone really surprised about this? I mean when you are a psychopathic megalomaniac (is there any other sort of megalomanic?) intent on murder and destruction on a worldwide scale do you really need to worry about the niceties of fine dining and which spoon you use first? And if you were dining with the maddest bastard on Gordon's green earth since Ghengis Khan would you really be brave enough to roll your eyes and tut tut at his vulgar and boorish activities?

I don't think so.


The Belfast Telegraph reports that a chum (did Adolf have chums? Probably not.) one Lieutenant Colonel PW reported that, "At the table and in his speech he shows many facets of his rather uncouth behaviour. He abstractedly bites his fingernails, he runs his index finger back and forth under his nose, and his table manners are little short of shocking." Charming I'm sure. He also went on to state that he would bite his fingernails at the table and then rather weirdly that he liked cake. Crikey, I like cake!

But then again he needn't worry too much about it in terms of his legacy. I mean most people, when prompted to remark about old Adolfo, aren't likely to say, "Ooooh that Hitler....terribly uncouth at the dinner table......elbows on the table and everything."

I had a little guest like that on Wednesday evening. Okay she was about seven or something but still she did pick her nose, roll, and eat the contents. It was stomach churning to say the least. I wouldn't have minded but I was standing there waiting for her to tell me what she wanted to eat and her father was staring straight at her. I mean really!

She had the cod, the little nose picking darling. Her little brother meanwhile was kicking up a storm and nothing would settle the agitated little blessing. It was getting right on my ample man tits something shocking. Fizzy pop in a bottle with a straw did appease him. Crayons and a colouring booking did cure what ailed him. Nor did the soothing words of his mother nor the threats of his father.

"Wail wail wail!!", went the child.

"Mother of holy fuck!!", went I from the back corridor where I was hiding for a moments relief from the screaming. And it was there that I saw the solution, a firmans helmet! "You'll do me matey!", I said with excitement as I picked up the plastic helmet. What kid wouldn't want a fireman's helmet of their very own I asked myself.

In I marched, with confidence, back into the restaurant. I popped the helmet on the crying child and he looked round at me with a wondrous look in his eyes! HE STOPPED CRYING! Huzzah for me! Huzzah for people with ears! The parents thanked me, the little nose picker thanked me. And off I walked feeling as pleased as punch as I'm not normally adept or skilled with dealing with kids in the restaurant. I maintain a five foot away policy at all times when it comes to children.

"Eh you can have this back", screamed the mother five minutes later. She had to scream as yer wee man was back at the wailing again.

"Eh......what.....eh....?", I was confused? Did they want their kid to scream the place down?

"That is a disgusting thing to give a child, you should be ashamed of yourself! Gimme the bill, now." She was gone, deep end, over the edge man, over the edge. The rage in her face was quite frightening, I threw the helmet behind me and got them the bill. The dad stuffed money in my direction, he didn't quite get my hand and most of it spilled onto the bar top.

And they were gone.

Crikey! What was that all about? I picked up the helmet and looked at it, something I had negated to do when I first found it.

Balls.

Balls.

Balls.

Balls.

There, emblazoned on the front was the root of the trouble, "Fire Sergeant Lovin', Big Hose Inspector" with a fire department logo with aforementioned Big Hose in all it's revealing glory. Oh my, oh my oh my oh my! The tawdry helmet had been left over from a hen party from last weekend. I spent the rest of the evening very red faced and uncharacteristically sheepish.

There is a bottle of bleach in my bathroom with a warning label on the back that reads, "KEEP AWAY FROM CHILDREN". Sage advice indeed......