POSTSCRIPTS

Evening Post, Volume CXXII, Issue 120, 17 November 1936, Page 10

POSTSCRIPTS

Chronicle and Comment

By Perct Flacb.

Maybe it is only in the natura, order of things that a crank should be constantly starting something. # ■» # When. O'Reilly's spinners loom up they appear to warp the Englishmen's style, don't you think? a » « Every young fellow should bear in mind that the day will come when he will know as little as his father does now. ir * j. At a cocktail party in Guam xhsm days the host parks the epeaness shaker on the refrigerator and the 'quake does the rest. * # * Mrs. Freer has received so much publicity that it is about time she received a handsome offer from the Sunday papers for her memoirs. News heading: DON'T DANCE WITH MEN WHO ARE DRINKING. No; better wait till they've emptied their glass. «■ « « ! " A REAL NO-TRUMPER. Some nights ago, a friend of a friend of ours, a second-rate bridge addict (he admits this low rating) was dealt this fat hand: A, X, Q of clubs, A of dia- , monds, A, X, Q of hearts, and A. X, Q, J, 10, 6 of spades. He was doubled, and, of course, he redoubled. By the . way, the odds against a player holding , 13 cards of one suit are (we didn't work [ it out for ourselves) 635,013,559,599 to 1. The odds against any one of the four players holding a complete suit are \ 158,753,389,399 to 1. The odds against 1 all four players holding complete suits are 2,235,197,406,895,366,363,301,559,999 to [\l. If you don't believe us, figure it out for yourselves and see how you like it. KNOCKERS' CLUB. These from Pic:— Knock, Knock. "Who's there?" "Mahatma." "Who's Mahatma?" "Mahatma, if you please!" Knock, Knock.' "Who's there?" "Omega." "Who's Omega?" "Omega basic wage." Subtle one sent in by "Come In!":— Knock, Knock. "Who's there?" "Schneider." "Who's Schneider?" "Schneider here nor there." PIGEON'S RECORD FLIGHT. We were reminded of this note by record radio'd reports of pigeons loosed, for distance nights from Dannevirke and Dunedin. Local fanciers may care to hear about a champion, Croydon Belle, who last month flew from London to Budapest, a sixteen days' journey. When Croydon Belle arrived by way of an open' window on the dinner table of her owner at Budapest, she was found to have lost a hundred grammes of weight—she had six pellets of lead lodged in her body. Croydon Belle's future will be devoted to breeding purposes. Like some of the Olympic champions, she has renounced sport for ever, manifesting this decision by an emphatic refusal to enter her travel--ljng basket again. ' • «- «• « HE MISSED THE JOKE. One lay last month Big Ben suf« iered a' 45-minutes1 lapse owing to a painter inadvertently shifting his ladder > against the works. That is not Big Ben's first accident. Some ten years ago it startled the House of Commons by striking four at 3.45 and adding a stroke to the hours following. An earlier repair led to an unfortunate journalistic misunderstanding. The London correspondent of a Manchester paper began his account with the sentence: "A well-known character, who has lived in Westminster all his life and is familiarly known to many Londoners as 'Ben,' underwent a serious operation this morning," continuing in the same facetious vein. But the Manchester sub-editor did not see the joke, and the article appeared next morning under the heading: "Operation in the Open Air: Big London Crowd Watches Man's Hands Taken Off." «■ « « THE HE-MAN CONTROVERSY. ./ The village blacksmith see j Under the chestnut tree,. Whose spreading forge, now gone— Et cetera, and so on— A virile type was he! Like iron clamps his paws, And if his country's laws Said "Fight!" you well may bet A pattern he would set Of how to knock 'em bandy, He with his sledge so handy. But still remember, please, The difference 'tween these Days, and the days gone by. No socialistic pie The village blacksmith ate. Nor did he stay up late; Nor was by parents spoiled, Nor by smooth teaching oiled. Sans wireless, smokes, and fun, Immortal fame he won, A he-man of he-men. Again I say, but then He never pressed a button To order tea and mutton; Nor did the telephone Transmit his every tone; Else even he might say, "Let's call the thing a day, And drink to drown our woes; Nothing accomplished, nothing done, • H'aint earned a night's repose." ,) A. * ■» ' * SPOOF? This is a story cut from the Brisbane "Sunday Mail" and forwarde* by an old ex-newspaper friend. "We smell more fiction than fact in it. How* ever— New Zealand's . much-sought-after bachelor, the wealthy 87-yeaW»ld Isaiah McSaveney, a former Gisborne station owner, is satisfied that Australian women have less initiative or are more retiring than their New Zealand sisters. In New Zealand Mr. McSaveney has received dozens of proposals of marriage. Five letters makin* such offers even followed him to Sydney, but of all the spinsters and widows in Australia only two sought his hand. So far Mr. McSaveney has rejected all the proposals, and he says he will be glad when leap year is over. As he is unable to read or write Mr. McSaveney's amusement ./at love letters in his mail is always shared by whoever reads them to him. He confesses that he has altered his views regarding matrimony since he stepped into the limelight, but that, although only three years short of his century, ha is prepared to move when the right woman comes along. But he thinks it too risky to reply to those who make advances to him by mail. He hopes to visit Australia again early in the new year. "I've never heard of this bird" (comments the .sender at this "romantic" note), but if r,ie's tru* he's a ««n« rooster." .