JOKES IN ENGLAND ALL OVER

The characters tell jokes in this novel. Narrative jokes, not just one-liners. The English seem to be good at that.

1)      Clive and Barry  

“So tell us a joke.”

Clive was stunned. He didn’t know any jokes. “I…I…I…”

“Come on, just tell us a joke. One joke. Everyone knows one joke.”

Clive’s problem was he only knew one joke – the last one he had heard. They went right out of his head. He hated the joke press-gang. His mind went blank.

Barry was starting to get impatient.

“Er, OK. But this isn’t a family joke. I would never tell it on a coach.”

“That’s all right, go on, tell it.”

“It’s dirty.”

“Even better.”

“Er…OK. There's this chap on a TWA flight from London to New York, and he's
sitting very comfortably in business class, when this rather attractive air hostess approaches him with the jug of coffee. So she says to him, ‘Can I interest you in some TWA Coffee
sir?’ And he looks her up and down and says ‘No thanks. But I'd like some of your TWA Tea".

Silence.

Barry seemed to be thinking about it. After five seconds a smile played across his lips and he snorted. Then he shifted his weight in his chair and started to laugh.

“Naaaar-har-har, naar-har-har! Naaaar-har-har, naar-har-har!” He threw back his head and Clive could see his big tongue. “Assa good one that it. That’s good! I like it. Takes a bit of finking but it’s a good one. Na-har, har, har.”

“Yes, and it sort of has a tourism angle to it too,” said Clive, immensely relieved.

  2)      Clive and his brother Gordon

“Where've you been?” Clive asked annoyed.

“Lock in,” said Gordon.

“You could have rung.”

“Bollocks.”

“Don't bollocks me you little...”

“Bollocks.” He looked up defiantly. “You're not one to talk.”

“I've got to get the last Tube.”

“Huh.” He crashed down into his chair. “How’s she been anyway?”

“All right. Thinks it’s lottery day. Did you put her up to that? Waste of money.”

Gordon made no reply, he just stared drunkenly at the telly. When he realised he wanted to turn over he started fumbling for the remote control under him. He suddenly thought of something. He’d heard a great joke down the pub.

“Hey, listen to this. Bloke goes into a bank, right up to the cashier and says to her, really nasty, ‘Nice tits love, I want to open a fucking bank account,’ She goes ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’ all shocked. And he goes ‘Listen, you dozy bitch, I said I want to open a fucking bank account.’ And she goes  ‘I'm sorry, sir, but I can't help you if you're going to talk like that.’ So she leaves the window, walks over to the bank manager and whispers in his ear. The two of them come back and the manager asks, all formal, ‘What seems to be the problem here?’ And the bloke says ‘There's no bastard problem. I just won five million quid on the lottery, and I want to open a fucking bank account.’ And the bank manager goes ‘I see sir. And this cunt's giving you a hard time, is she?’ Heh-heh-heh, heh-heh-heh.” Gordon thought it was hilarious.

“That’s not funny,” said Clive. “It’s…it’s just sexist.”

“Oh, sexist my arse. You’ve just got no sense of humour.” Gordon looked pissed off.

3) There was Barry, holding court at a side table with his Dad, and another young man with the Bergman face, who wore a blue baseball cap with the peak curved sharply. Clive came up behind Barry as he was telling a joke. The others were hanging on every word.

“Two paedophiles were walking down the road one day when they came across a pair of small lacy knickers on the ground. The first one picks them up, smells them and goes, "Ahhhh... A seven-year-old girl." The other grabs them from him and also takes a smell and goes, "No, no ... Definitely an eight-year-old girl!"

The two of them are them smelling them in turns and arguing. "An eight-year-old!", "No, a seven-year-old!", "Definitely an eight-year-old!" .... and on like this, back and forth. So the local priest walks past and asks them what the commotion is all about. The first paedophile tells the priest, and asks him if he could mediate the argument, so the priest takes the knickers, has a good long sniff, and after pondering for a few moments he looks at the two men and says: "Definitely an eight-year-old girl. But not from my parish!"

They chuckled and slurped their pints and called him a sick bastard and then laughed some more, and then he turned round.

4) Why so many Beatles songs tonight?” asked

 Clive.

“Oh it was our Terry who got hold of the karaoke cartridges, kinda limited selection where he goes. What about you anyway? You sing?”

“Never tried it, but….” said Clive. He was feeling very bold. He had just remembered a Paul and Linda joke. Barry’s song had brought it all back from nowhere. It was old, but he’d been meaning to tell Barry a joke ever since the TWA one. He put his arm round his shoulder and pulled him closer.

“Listen. The McCartney kids are at the family ranch, anxiously waiting for news of their mother. Paul comes out from his wife's bedroom and says ‘Kids, there's good news and bad news. The bad news is your mother's strength and will to live has been sucked away by her awful disease, and she died a few moments ago. The good news is….it's steak and chips for dinner!’”

“Naaaar-har-har, naar-har-har!” Barry was pretty pissed too. “Never heard that one before…., Naaaar-har-har, naar-har-har!” He facking loved it.

“It’s a bit old but…uh,” Clive was feeling very drunk. He couldn’t finish his sentence. His body was full to the brim with beer. 

5) Clive and the other guides in Blackpool

Clive had to admit, it did put him in a good mood. He had another drink and fell into conversation with Rose. He was pleased to see she was the most merciful amongst them. When Barry’s Catalans went to the toilet together he poked Clive drunkenly and asked him to tell a joke. “What was that joke again? The one about the Royals?”

“Eh? I don’t know any.”

“Yeah you do. The one you told my Chrissie the other night at the Swan. When you were pissed up.”

“I told a joke? About the Royals? She’s getting me mixed up with someone else.”

“How can that be, she said you couldn’t keep your eyes off her all night…”

“I…I…well, that’s…I was looking at her, you know, she’s pregnant, that’s all…” He tried to steer things but Barry wasn’t bothered. He’d remembered the joke.

“OK people, here’s a real English joke. Courtesy of Clive here, the dark horse. The Queen and Princess Di are driving down the road in their Range Rover when they’re accosted by a modern highwayman. ‘Hand over all your cash,’ he says to the Queen. ‘My dear man,’ sez Queenie, ‘I am the Queen of all England, and therefore do not need to carry any money.’

‘OK, OK,’ he says, and turns to Princess Di. ‘In that case you can hand over all of your jewels’.

And Di says ‘I have no need of jewels, for I am the most beautiful woman in England’.

By this time the highwayman’s getting a bit pissed off, so he says ‘Right then, get out of the car and I'll take that instead’. And he drives off into the sunset, leaving Princess Di and the Queen sitting on the grass verge. And Di turns to the Queen and asks, ‘Where on earth did you hide all that money you were carrying?’

‘I stuffed it up my snatch,’ says the Queen with a laugh. ‘But what about you. Where did you manage to stash all your jewels?’

‘I stuffed them up my snatch as well,’ titters Di.

And Queenie sighs and sez ‘It's a shame Fergie wasn't with us, we might have been able to save the Range Rover.’ Naaaar-har-har, naar-har-har! Naaaar-har-har, naar-har-har, Har-har, naar-har-har!”

“That’s a bit sexist,” said Clive, which made Barry laugh even more.

“That’s funny, cos that’s exactly what Chrissie said when you told it to her. Har-har, naar-har-har! Urrrrrp! Scuse me. Oh here we go ladies. Right, who’s coming on the pub crawl?”

“Count me out,” said Clive. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Same here. I need some air,” said Rose.

They left together, stumbling out into the high latitude light. It was August, and though the evenings were drawing in, they weren’t drawing in very fast. Nothing could dampen the summer holiday spirit. They made their way on to the sand where the last donkeys were still waiting, motionless. The beach smelt of sewage and salt water, the fine old seaside smell. It felt beautiful to walk along the wide-open sand, away from the screaming voices and the electronic swoops and bloops of the machinery of entertainment.

6) “Morning all,” said Rose cheerfully. “God you 

two look rough.”

“They are darling. I was just about to tell them this joke…”

“Don’t!” said Clive and Alex together.

“Pub landlord is shutting up for the night when there’s a knock at the door. He opens it and there’s a tramp who asks him for a tooth-pick. He gives him the toothpick and the tramp goes off. A few minutes later there’s another knock. When he answers, there’s another tramp who also asks for a toothpick. He gets his toothpick and off he goes. There is a third knock at the door, and a third tramp. So the landlord says, ‘Don't tell me, you want a toothpick too?’

‘No, a straw,’ says the tramp.

So the landlord gives him a straw, but he’s puzzled, so he asks the tramp why he wants a straw and not a toothpick.

And the tramp says, ‘Simple Gov. Some bloke just threw up outside but all the good stuff's gone already’.

“Oh, please! Come on!” said Clive.

Alex stood up and walked rapidly but unsteadily to the front door. Seconds later came the hurling and the plish-plash of stomach contents on crazy paving.

“Oh shite,” said Rose. “That’s the end of us.”

Mr MacDougall heard his wife shouting and came out of the kitchen in his apron to investigate. There were accusations and recriminations in two different accents, and a flurry of rumours in broken English around the breakfast room.

Mr MacDougall marched in. “That’s it. Out, the lottayee. English pigs. Animals.”

There was no point in arguing. Albion Tours staff helped their customers from the building as graciously as fire marshals. A few of them looked a little startled and fluffy-haired, but they made it to the coach.

7)

“Naaaar-har-har, naar-har-har! Naaaar-har-har, naar-har-har!” Barry was on the roof garden telling jokes. “Here’s another one. Michael Jackson and his wife are in the recovery room with their new baby son. The doctor walks in and Michael asks,  ‘Doctor, how long before we can have sex?’ And the doctor goes ‘I'd wait until he's at least 14.’ The midwife told me that one, straight up! Naaaar-har-har, naar-har-har!” People who didn’t know Barry tittered, unsure of themselves, but he hardly noticed. Someone refilled his drink. The sun made his blue eyes bright and his face slightly creased as he squinted. He was on good form. 

“Here’s another. This one’s for you Dad. Old geezer gets put into a nursing home by his son. He doesn't know if he's going to like it at first, but he decides to give it a go for his son's sake. First morning in the nursing home he wakes up with a hard-on. Out of nowhere, a beautiful nurse walks in, kneels down, and gives him a blowjob without saying a word. Geezer gets on the phone to his son and says, ‘Son! I love this place! Thank you so much for putting me in this nursing home!’

And the son says, ‘Wow, Dad, you sound really happy. What happened?’

The old man says, ‘You won't believe it. I woke up this morning with a hard-on, and the most beautiful nurse I've ever seen in my life came into my room and gobbled me senseless. Didn't say a word.’

‘Well, that sounds great, Dad. Congratulations.’

‘Thanks, Son,’ he says and hangs up the phone.

Then later that day, the old man is walking down the hall in his zimmer frame. He slips and falls and can't get up. A big..” Barry glanced about him and whispered the next word, “…black male nurse comes up to him, rips his pyjama legs down, shags him up the arse, and leaves him lying there in a heap. The old man crawls to a phone and calls his son. ‘You have to get me out of here, Son. this place is mad!’

So the son says ‘What happened Dad? You sound terrible!’

‘Well, I was walking with my zimmer and fell over and couldn't get up. Then this big black male nurse came up, ripped my pyjamas down, and shagged me up the arse!’

‘Well, you know, Dad,” said the son. “You got a blowjob this morning. You have to take the rough with the smooth.’

‘No, you don't understand, Son!’ wails the old man. ‘I only get a hard-on once a month. I fall down three or four times a day!’ Naaaar-har-har, naar-har-har! Naaaar-har-har, naar-har-har!”

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