SANDY'S CORNER

Wanganui Chronicle, 7 November 1949, Page 4

SANDY'S CORNER

ENABLE TO SIT. A juror summoned to appear at the Wanganui Supreme Court, asked to be excused on the ground that he had a boil and was unable to sit down. His Honour excused the juror. That application and excuse has reminded a friend of ours of some such other happening back in 1880. This man brought along his medical adviser's certificate. This was dated November. 1880, and was worded thus:—• "This is to certify that has this day displayed a swelling on that useful portion of his body which, though least suspectible to injury, is perhaps most susceptible to honour. I think it likely that the swelling referred to has been produced by a kick or a blow. (Signed) , M.D.” He also was excused! It would not be safe, however, to take it as a precedent that a kick can get a man out of serving on the jury as of right! ENTERPRISE! “Guy Fawkes, Guy: Stick him up high! . . . . ” sang voices, anything but melodious, outside the door of a Wanganui suburban home on the most socialised day of the week —Saturday! The owner, wakened out of his socialised Saturday sleep, was inclined to curse the private enterprise of that individual and his gunpowder ploi. Groping round in household “pettv cash” receptacles, trouser pockets, purses and the drawer in the dressing table for loose small change, the resident of that socialised suburb found, to his horror, that th e only piece ot currency he had was a quid note. It's onlv worth a few bob. his brain sort ot told him. Still, a quid's a quid, even in the Socialist Isles. What could hi do? That infernal din of voices, he knew, wouldn't subside until he produced something in the way of “revenue." Brain wave! He went out to the back, got a fair sized paper hag. rummaged under the tank and packed a parcel, which he took out to the chorus on the front lawn. They took the thing rather dubiously, but It did the trick! The sound of “Guy Fawkes Guy” drifted off down the street to some other likelv honr.es. "You bought them off, dear. How did you manage it?' his wife asked as he crawled back into bed. "I bartered them off." he said. “I handed nut a bag of spuds!" Alas, that was the end of his Saturdav morning’s socialised sleep He was called all the idiots imaginable. It. appears that spuds hare a value far more than quids in these Socialist Isles a value nerhans more sentini“’ • 1 than apparent—a value all their own!