Bucko's World

Some folks are just expert at putting their foot exactly where their mouth should be, and often this is why we love them. I have a friend, who, as ever, shall have their anonymity protected from the worldwide masses, and therefore be referred to simply as Mrs C, for whom this is a gold-medal, A-star grade speciality. Please note that at no point during my discourse below do I refer to my friend as being blonde.
Now, when Mrs C and myself worked together we were, for reasons never fully explained to us, sat quite a way off from the rest of our department, and so didn’t care too much about minding our p’s and q’s. Discussions were often broad and bawdy, and the subjects covered would certainly not be those you’d necessarily bring up in front of your dusty old maiden aunt or the local vicar.
For instance, I once had streaming cold and was going through tissues quicker than a teenage boy who’s just received delivery of the Freeman’s catalogue. Just as I’m letting rip with a trumpet call that would have brought down the walls of Jericho, Mrs C looks up and says to me straight faced "Do you know, I’ve been told I’m a really loud blower?"
Or there was the time when we were talking about sun tan lotion and how the new spray-on ones were better than the old bottles of oil, as it meant you didn’t feel like you'd just rubbed yourself down with a sheet of 200 grade sandpaper nor ended up looking like a sugar-coated doughnut by the end of the day. "The sprays are all well and good," she told me, "but I really like creaming down my legs." To this day, I’ve no idea what she was trying to tell me.
There was also the time when we were, for reasons best not discussed here, talking about our favourite expressions for masturbation. We’d had Skinning the Lizard and Choking the Chicken, when my colleague comes out with "I really like bashing the bishop" – just as our boss came around the corner. Imagine a steamed-up-glasses-askew comedy moment and you’re part way there.
I thought these moments were past when we stopped working together, but redundancy and a short break to the Suffolk coast gave us a chance to catch up for lunch. As we’re tooting the toot Mrs C asks me if I’d seen Who do you think you are? the other night. I hadn’t, but the show apparently featured the lovely Julila Sawalha, better known as Saffy from Ab Fab, tracing her family roots around the globe for our general surprise and entertainment.
As she was watching the programme she said to her husband "I’ve always thought she looked a bit Indian you know."
"That would be because her family are Jordanian" her husband replied.
Mrs C gave him a puzzled look and rather tentatively said "Oh, ok, then that must be it."
Now, her husband picks up on the fact that she’s not very impressed with his answer and he asks her why.
"Oh, it’s nothing. I just don’t see how being Jordanian makes you look Indian, that’s all"
Hubby is slightly confused himself now so further explains "coz it’s in the Middle East isn’t it? You know, like Saudi Arabia and all the rest."
The penny finally drops and Mrs C bursts out laughing. "I see, daft cow! You know what I was thinking don’t you?"
Straws that may be clutched at are eluding him and unsurprisingly "Not really" is his answer.
"Well, I was thinking Jordanians were from Newcastle…………"