Gusty Blusts

and other stories The Weird and Wonderful World of "J"

Archive for the 'Doorstep Disturbia' Category

Approx 205 words | Read time approx 1 - 2 mins

I want to breed you

A strange farmer type turns up on the doorstep and offers a somewhat bizarre personal service . . .

OVER THE YEARS I’ve heard some pretty bizarre and downright peculiar opening lines, but ‘hello, I want to breed you!’ from a strange farmer type that turned up on the doorstep, has to be one of the strangest . . . Although, evidently he was keeping his options open because he did also offer to and I quote, ‘breed with me’ as well.

Having lived on a farm for goodness knows how many years, and grown up in the country, I’d become accustomed to the strange behaviours of some of the farming types so, tended not to ask any questions.

I just presumed he was talking about one of the animals in the nearby fields. Although since there weren’t actually any animals in the fields, nearby or otherwise, I wasn’t entirely sure. Especially since he was a tad on the over-excited side and had a rather alarming glint in his eyes.

It may very well have been the best offer I’d had all day, had it not been really quite disturbing . . .

© 2017 Gustyblusts.com. All Rights Reserved.

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Approx 179 words | Read time approx 1 - 2 mins

Want to lick my honey?

A strange man turns up on the doorstep and offers me a lick of his honey . . .

AFTER SPENDING three weeks housebound following surgery, things were getting more than just a tad desperate . . .

So, when a strange, youngish bloke turned up on the doorstep offering me a lick of his honey well, I was understandably, more than just a little tempted. The fact that I don’t actually like the stuff was neither here nor there.

As to why he was on my doorstep in the first place well, I can only presume it was to try and sell me some honey, but then again you never know. And since I gave up trying to work out this kind of thing a long, long time ago, I wasn’t going to be asking either.

Although if he wanted to sell me some honey I’d have thought he should have least had some jars with him to actually sell . . .

© 2017 Gustyblusts.com. All Rights Reserved.

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Approx 290 words | Read time approx 1 - 2 mins

Old farmers and fire starters

farmer

Black bin bags and a strange old man brandishing a petrol lighter . . . just some of the bizarre things found in the garden . . .

IT’S NOT every day you draw back the curtains to discover a strange old farmer trying to set fire to a pile of rubbish in your back garden is it? Well, thankfully not at least anyway.

Just because your garden might well have resembled a post apocalyptic aftermath is beside the point – you still really don’t expect this kind of thing.

So there he was, this strange, manic old farmer sporting a flat cap, grubby tweeds and wellybobs, emptying out two big black bin bags of household waste into the garden. Before producing a lighter and then setting fire to it. Or at least trying anyway, since half-empty tin cans, mouldy, half eaten slices of bread, egg shells, rotting vegetables and the like aren’t exactly reknown for their flammable properties.

Whereas the stuff that was of a flammable nature like newspapers, empty cereal boxes, yoghurt pots and cartons were busily being scooped up by the wind and distributed around the neighbourhood as part of a major countryside littering campaign.

As for why he was trying to torch the trash I’m not entirely sure, but even the not-so-subtle ‘what the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at you silly old pillock!’ from the other half, who was never one to mince words, unfortunately seemed to fall on deaf ears.

What a mess. Let’s just say he cleared up what little had neither burnt nor blown away, but as to why he’d chosen our garden since it wasn’t exactly near anyway, I’d absolutely no idea.

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Approx 194 words | Read time approx 1 - 2 mins

Tractor tales

Phone receiver

Strange country bloke calls and offers a ride on his tractor . . .

ANSWERING THE PHONE I was met with what sounded like a bearded man with a heavy west country accent demanding to know whether I had any ‘luv-ver-lee tractors?’

‘Er, no’ I said before telling him that he’d obviously got the wrong number. Although the response of ‘no I haven’t – I’m talking to you aren’t I?’ wasn’t the kind of logic I wanted to hear.

‘But I don’t have any tractors – lovely or otherwise’ I said before telling him to try the farmhouse instead.

‘Oh!’ He said sounding a little downhearted before quickly recovering with ‘well, nevermind I have – would you like to see them?’

‘Er, no, no, you’re alright thanks!’ I said whilst wandering once again into the realms of why me?

‘Oh, well would you like to come and have a ride on one of my luv-ver-lee tractors then?’

‘Er, no, no, you’re alright thanks!’ I said again wondering whether this guy was for real.

‘Are you sure?’ he said ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy it – I know I certainly will!’

‘What? Goodbye!’

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Approx 219 words | Read time approx 1 - 2 mins

It’s nice ere in it?

Egg sandwich

A delivery man and his sandwiches . . . when strangers feel the need to picnic on your doorstep . . .

THE DOORBELL went and a quick glance out the window revealed there to be a delivery truck in the yard. I’d been expecting a parcel, so grabbed my keys and went to open the door.

Only I really wasn’t expecting to find a strange man sat on the doorstep munching sandwiches. And my ever-so-startled ‘oh, hello!’ to be met with the offer of some flask coffee, an enquiry as to whether I liked egg sandwiches and the words ‘it’s nice ‘ere in it?’

‘Er’ I said not quite sure what to say to the man who seemed to be enjoying an impromptu picnic on my doorstep. An entirely new experience even for me.

‘Join me?!’ he enquired hopefully.
‘No, no – yer alright – I er, thought I was expecting a parcel . . .’ I mumbled.
‘That’s right’ he said ‘I just thought I’d have a spot of dinner and enjoy the view first – I hope you don’t mind . . . ?!’
‘Er, er, no – you carry on and enjoy yourself – ring the bell when you’re ready!’ I said shutting the door and retreating back into the house.

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Approx 145 words | Read time approx 1 - 1 mins

Horse guest

A small horse turns up on the doorstep, rings the bell and then starts to eat the shrubbery . . .

ANSWERING THE doorbell brought me face-to-face with one of those miniature horses that for reasons known only to itself had decided to pay a visit, nay it’s ‘hello’ and start munching on my shrubbery.

As for where it came from, whose it was or even how it managed to ring the bell, I’ve absolutely no idea, and wasn’t quite sure how to go about finding out either.

The reality may very well have been that someone found the creature loose at the side of the road and decided it was obviously something to do with me. Brought it down to the house, rang the bell and then just beggared off. But then again . . .

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Approx 193 words | Read time approx 1 - 2 mins

The gospel according to BT

Phone receiver

BT’s fault fixing bible . . .

IT’S NOT EVERYDAY you get a call from BT enquiring whether you’re called Matthew is it? Especially if you’re not actually called Matthew, or even a member of the male species for that matter. I know some might consider me to have a bit of a deep voice but even so I do have all the legitimate female parts in all the appropriate places. Well, they were definitely there when I got dressed this morning at least anyway.

So, when I received another phone call some five minutes later – this time enquiring as to whether I was called Mark, my first thought was to wonder just who the hell was winding me up, and my second, bordered on gender crisis.

Fifteen minutes later came the call enquiring whether I was called Luke – nice try but, no! Then get this, another twenty minutes later came a fourth, and after I’d given them a doing, what turned out to be final call, this time enquiring whether I was called John.

Now, I’m not normally paranoid but . . .

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Approx 194 words | Read time approx 1 - 2 mins

Barking barmpots

Fox's jam cream biscuits

When life’s little leftovers turn up on your doorstep en masse and demand biscuits . . .

IT’S ONE THING having to deal with just one or two of life’s little leftovers when they turn up on the doorstep, but it’s hardly sporting of them to turn up en masse.

Take the other day for example, when for some bizarre and unknown reason, it seemed like every man, woman and assorted ambiguous in-between, along with their animals and dilapidated vehicles, decided what a good idea it would be to descend on the farmstead for an outing . . .

You kind of know you’re onto a loser, particularly when said barmpots are a) not entirely sure why they are there b) not entirely sure where they are let alone why they’re there, but hope it’s something to do with trees, since apparently, (or so you are told), they ‘quite like trees!’ Or c), not entirely sure, but enquire after a nice cup up tea and a biscuit – preferably one of those round ones with jam in the centre and sugar on top . . .

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Approx 173 words | Read time approx 1 - 2 mins

Have you seen my puppy?

Ghost puppy

A strange man turns up on the doorstep asking for help with finding his dead dog . . .

I WASN’T QUITE sure what to say when I opened the door to find a smart, well dressed young man who looked well, surprisingly normal.

Only when you’re used to your doorstep somewhat bizarrely acting as a homing beacon for life’s little leftovers you kind of forget just how to deal with normals.

I needn’t have worried though as things weren’t quite as they seemed . . .

Turned out the lad had misplaced his puppy and wanted to know a) whether I’d seen it – no I hadn’t and b) would I help him look for it – no I wouldn’t. Which was probably just as well really since it soon transpired that he hadn’t actually lost his puppy in that sense. No, he’d lost it due to the small matter of it having died . . . some three months ago . . .

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Approx 264 words | Read time approx 1 - 2 mins

The trouble with teenagers

Phone receiver

Washing and chips – a stranger calls with some seriously irrational demands . . .

ANSWERING THE phone I was met with a not-so-cheery greeting in the form of ‘took your time didn’t you?’ from what sounded like an overly-excited teenager.

‘Er . . .’ I just about managed to mumble before being interrupted with ‘come on, come on – wake up will you?!’ and wondered if I’d slipped into yet another bad dream boot camp.

‘I think you’ve got the wrong number!’ I finally managed to say while wondering what the check out times of my bad dream were.
‘No, I haven’t – stop messing me around!’
‘Well, who do you want to speak to?’ I tried again only to be met by an audible sigh and ‘Duh! You – who do you think?! Are you stupid or sommat?’ That’s as maybe, but it wasn’t exactly something I wanted to enter into a discussion about on the phone with a complete stranger.

‘WHO is it you think you’re talking to?’ I tried again although couldn’t help feeling overly-optimistic about crediting them with the ability to think.
‘You – me mother of course – stupid!’

‘Er, no, I’m not your mother!’ I said thinking I’d probably remember if I was the mother of a stroppy teenager ‘you’ve got the wrong number . . .’
‘So you’re not me mother then?!’
‘No!’
‘Whatever – you’ll do instead!’
‘What?!’ How kind.
‘Will yer wash and iron me jeans and me best pink top fer me – oh and can I have some money for some chips?’
‘What?!’
‘Goodbye!’

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