Grandad Tells Another. By CpSingleton © 2016
Another favourite story from the floppy lips of Grandad Huntstable
Was the tale of the Shabberong.
One Christmas he sat me on his swaying knees, his gentle Newcastle Brown aftershave filling my nostrils until gagging point, and whispered the following loudly:
“Shabberong arghed and he then whistled! Hahaha!! He tanned it weekends and yer mum dont know nothing! Haha! You get me though, don’t ya kiddo?! I know ya do! Hey! Where’s my pipe?! Yer granda’ loves ya, ya know tha’ right?! Haha DINNER TIME!! The end! Ya granda’s a good story tellerer in’t he lad?”
He then stopped and whispered quietly.
“I’m not drunk really; not in the way your gran seems to think. I want you to listen, my lad, do you understand?”
I nodded silently, utterly confused.
“Don’t expect much out of this life and you won’t be shocked and let idiots think what they want. They will anyway. You understand?”
I nodded once again; even more confused.
“And lastly: don’t be a sheep, son, not even in the Christmas nativity. Be yourself, no matter whatever comes out and…”
He then stopped at the sudden appearance of my mother.
“…never trust any man called Jennifer!” He bellowed, back in usual drunken skin once again.
He was right, my Grandad Huntstable.
Men by the name of Jennifer are untrustworthy.