One of the side effects of partial deafness is that sometimes ‘what you said was not what I heard.’ Over the years, there have been many humorous mishearings, and, in retrospect, I should have documented them, but alas, most are forgotten. There are three I do remember, however, and, as they say in California, I would like to share them with you. Here they are:

Scene 1, at home, just before lunch, granddaughters present.

Me: What are we having for lunch today?
Carol (my wife): Leg-of-lamb pasta.
Me: That’s novel. I’ve never heard of leg-of-lamb pasta.
Carol: Leg-of-lamb pasta! I didn’t say that. I said leak-and-ham pasta.
Me: Oh.

Scene 2, in a crowded kitchen at my daughter’s place. Jim, my daughter’s partner’s father, was present and trying to hold a conversation with me speaking through other conversations about other things. Like me, Jim is hearing impaired. Here’s what happened.

Jim: … mumble mumble politicians are mumble need experience of mumble…
Me, interrupting: Jim, I can’t hear you.
Jim: No, nothing to do with the EU.
Me: Huh?

Scene 3, in a test centre at my local hospital. I’d had some tests that required the insertion of a cannula into a vein in my arm. After the treatment, a nurse came to remove the cannula. She spoke good English but was originally from somewhere in Africa and had a heavy accent.

Nurse, removing the plaster holding the cannula in place: Are you on black Guinness?
Me: Pardon?
Nurse: Black Guinness, are you on any?
Me: Er, no, not that I know of. What is black Guinness, and is there a white Guinness?

By now, the nurse had realised that I had misheard what she had said, and she started to smile.  Then, bending very close to my ear, she asked the question again, very slowly.

Nurse: Are – you – on – blood – thinners?
Me: Oh, blood thinners not black Guinness. No.

And with that, she stood back, placed her hands on her hips, and roared with laughter. I joined her in the merriment. It was a moment of levity and light-hearted jollity among all the seriousness of whatever else was happening in that department.

Bert and Mavis cartoon.
For more Bert and Mavis cartoons, see Bert and Mavis: The First Fifty Cartoons

Additional entry, Wednesday, 5th May 2022

Recently, I had a discussion with a friend about booking a room at a hotel we visited with our wives sometime last year. On the previous visit, my friend and I had booked standard rooms. This time, he suggested we book the more expensive superior rooms. I queried why. The conversation went like this:

Me: Do you think it is worth paying extra for the superior rooms?
My friend: Yes, there was (sic) no mushrooms in the standard room.
Me: Mushrooms? What, do you want mushrooms in a bowl or growing in a pot, or something?
My friend: Mushrooms? Who said anything about mushrooms? I said there was not much room in the standard room.
Me: Oh, I must make a note of that one and add it to my ‘What you said is not what I heard’ blog.

Additional entry, Saturday, 20th October 2023

Recently, I had a red eye problem that turned out to be caused by dry eyes. The optician who examined me said I needed an over-the-counter eye lubricant, so I went to my local pharmacy and, against a noisy background of half the village’s old folk waiting for their flu and Covid vaccinations while exchanging stories about ailments and grandchildren, I spoke to one of the lady assistants serving behind the counter. She listened and then asked me a few questions to clarify my needs. The conversation went like this:

Assistant: How long will you need to use the eye treatment?
Me: Probably just a few days.
Assistant: Are you okay with eye drops?
Me: Yes.
Assistant, against a sudden surge of background hubbub from the old folk: (inaudible) you (inaudible) constipated?
Me, to myself: What? Why is she asking me if I’m constipated?
Me: Er, no. But why is that relevant?
Assistant: What?
Me: You asked if I was constipated, and I’m just trying to understand the link with eye treatment.

She laughed; oh, how she laughed.

Assistant, still chuckling: I asked if you wear contact lenses!
Me, sheepishly: Oh. No, and I’m not constipated either!

With that, she sold me some eye-lubricating drops and I returned home ready for a coffee, a biscotti, and a dose of syrup of figs just in case constipation reared its ugly head or whatever metaphor fits a bunged-up colon.

Additional Entry, Thursday, 9th November 2023

Yesterday, my wife Carol and I went to a local shopping centre and had lunch in a French-style brasserie. I had a haddock-and-coconut-rice curry plus alcohol-free beer. Carol had a pork-and-beans cassoulet plus a berry surprise smoothie with lots of ice cubes. Towards the end of the meal, the following conversation took place.

Carol, looking at my plate as I finished the remaining rice while she drained what was left of her berry surprise smoothie: Have we got bagged rice at home?
Me: Yes. In the plastic container marked Couscous and Rice in the larder.
Carol: What’s it doing in there?
Me: What’s what doing in there?
Carol: The bag of ice!
Me: Oh, sorry. Yes. In the freezer.
Silence.

Additional entry, Thursday, 4 January 2024

I was sitting in the study, tapping away on my laptop’s keyboard when my older son, Mark, popped his head around the door. The conversation went like this:

Mark: Dad, do you want a bog roll?
Me: Yes. Put it with the other one in the toilet.
Mark: What? Why?
Me: We could do with another spare roll.
Mark: Dad, I said do you want a Bovril, not a bog roll!
Me: Oh, no thanks. I’m not thirsty.
Mark, laughing: Oh, that’s another good one. Add it to your list of mishearings.

For those unfamiliar with the terms ‘bog roll’ and ‘Bovril’, a bog roll is a British slang term for a roll of toilet paper, and Bovril is a thick black paste made primarily from beef broth and yeast extract used to make a delicious nutritious hot drink – one teaspoon of Bovril mixed into a mug of very hot water.

(^_^)