Mick Hartley

If my post about Countess Mountbatten and her amusing dinner parties seemed a little too detailed to be purely a product of the imagination – well, yes, it’s true, for a while as a rather nervous young man I did have ambitions to join the glamorous world of the English elite. Sadly it didn’t go too well. Here, as accurately as I can remember after all these years, is the conversation over dinner that fateful evening.

….and so we had to come home on the cart, me drunk as a lord and Daphne still dressed as Maid Marian! You should have seen the faces of the servants!

Hilarious! Such a wonderful tale – and you tell it so well Archie. Are we all finished? Perhaps we should have the dessert brought through. Ah, Mick – it is Mick isn’t it? – you’ve been jolly quiet all evening. Have you any amusing anecdotes you’d like to share with us?

Um, well, no, I don’t think I know any anecdotes actually…

Oh come along now! Don’t be shy. I’m sure a young man like you has some interesting tales to tell. Eh? We’re not prudish here, you know!

Ah, let’s see….well, I do know this rather amusing joke.

Oh good – just the ticket! We like jokes here, eh, Cecil?

Oh absolutely.

OK then. Well…coughs… clears throat…I say, I say, I say! My dog’s got no nose!

I beg your pardon.

My dog’s got no nose!

Your dog’s got no nose? How absolutely frightful! Did it get bitten off in a fight or something?

No no, you don’t….

Don’t tell me it was a Jack Russell. I don’t think I could bear it if it was a Jack Russell, after all we’ve been through with Biddles.

Now now Marjory, don’t go getting yourself all upset. We agreed it was for the best.

I don’t think you quite understand. My dog hasn’t really got no nose. It’s a joke, you see.

A joke?

Yes, the thing is, you’re meant to say…

I don’t like to criticise another chap’s sense of humour, old man, but it sounds like a bit of a rum joke to me.

Now then George, let the poor young man explain. I’m sure it’s a very good joke. So come along Nick, you were telling us about your dog.

It’s Mick, actually.

Your dog’s called Mick?

No no, that’s my name.

Ah, I see. Jolly good. And your dog’s called…?

Um, I don’t have a dog actually.

…silence…

I don’t think I’m quite with this. You’re telling us about your dog having its nose bitten off – but now you say you don’t have a dog.

Um, no. It’s a joke, you see…

Look here, whatever your name is, I think I’ve just about had enough of this. There’s nothing funny about animals having bits bitten off. We’re not in Spain you know, where they think it’s jolly clever to stick spears in a cow.

I think you’ll find it’s a bull, Reggie dear.

Cow, bull. Whatever. It’s not funny. It’s not the way we behave here. Come along Marjory old girl, I think it’s time we got you home.

Oh Reggie, no! You’re not leaving already, surely?

Sorry, Cicely, but you can see the state poor Marjory’s in. It’s not long since Biddles….well, I’ll say no more.

I think we’ll be off too Cicely. It’s been a wonderful evening, but I’m afraid there’s only so much I can take of this modern sense of humour. I suppose I must be frightfully old-fashioned, but I don’t see what’s funny about suffering animals.

Oh must you, Archie? I’m sure poor Nick didn’t mean any harm.

No no, absolutely not. And, um, it’s Mick, actually.

Well, the invitations dried up after that. My social life shrank to nothing. That’s why I started blogging, if truth be told. Well, it may not be like having real friends, but it’s the next best thing.