Pinin' for the Fjords

Back in my pre-Air Force days, long before I met The Missus Herself, I was courting a young lady who resided in New Hampshire, roughly 14 miles away. It took about 20 to 25 minutes to drive to her parents' house from my parents' house. (We were young and living with our respective parental units at the time.)

Now it just so happened that Monty Python's Flying Circus was on Vermont public television at a certain time and it was also on New Hampshire public television 30 minutes after it concluded in Vermont.

With judicious planning and careful allocation of available resources, I could, given the right circumstances, watch the Python's twice a night. Five days a week. Once in Vermont, then a second time in New Hampshire. If I hit the road with no delays and the traffic was no more than normal. (Which was pretty light in those days after 6 PM.)

My lady friend at the time seemed to enjoy my company and tolerated my fondness for Monty Python. Her parents thought me a good lad and also tolerated my TV viewing habits. Especially as regards British comedy programs.

Well, one fine night I finished watching the Vermont installment and hopped in the Super Beetle and set course for The Granite State to Live Free or Die, er, I mean, watch the night's second installment of Monty Python.

My Mighty Steed

Well, I arrived at m'lady's place of residence and was somewhat taken aback at the fact that her automotive conveyance was not in the driveway!

What is this? (I asked myself.)

Noting the time (the Pythons would be coming on in three minutes!) I hastened to the door and rang the bell.

M'lady's Mom answered the door and informed me that m'lady was late getting home, perhaps I could come back the next day. Or maybe even (cough, cough) call first?

Then I heard m'lady's Dad yell from the living room, "Let him in for Chrissake! The show is starting!"

Sighing (somewhat theatrically I thought) m'lady's Mom let me in and pointed to the living room (much like the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come gestured at Scrooge in that graveyard scene, shudder...)

Well m'lady's Dad had the TV tuned to the correct channel and had my beer opened next to his. (Seemed he enjoyed the show as well.) Happily we began to watch the madcap antics on the screen. Fifteen minutes into the show, I heard m'lady's car pull into the driveway (she too drove a Beetle, 'tis a most distinctive engine sound).

Coming into the house, she immediately indicated that she would "like a word" with Yours Truly.

"You're not here to see me, are you?" she asked.

"Of course I am!" I protested with some vehemence.

Shaking her head she stalked off to her room to change. When she was done, she came out to see that her Dad and I were chortling over some Pythonic sketch we had enjoyed. She joined us, the evening went off without much of a hitch.

But as I left to go home that night she indicated that I was spending far too much time watching TV with her Dad and not enough time with her. Perhaps these Python marathons needed to "take a rest" as she put it.

Well, as you might gather, that was the end of the two-a-night Monty Python days. M'lady and I dated off and on until I went into the Air Force. We were not meant to be.

I miss those days.

I mean, come on, two episodes of Monty Python, five nights a week! What's not to like?

What's that you say? The lady? Oh, her! Yes, she was nice and all but she couldn't hold a candle to the lady I married. Very few can.

And with that little tale, some Python. (Some of you may have skipped down here to watch the videos without reading all that leading prose. For shame! Ye must take the good along with the bad. Them's the rules. Oh, along with the parrot sketch, the second video with the Iron Lady herself was also sent along by one of my readers. Thanks be to him, good stuff. You, the readers, speak, I listen. Or something like that...)

Almost forgot, apparently the Norwegian blue was once a real thing, sort of. At least according to the Daily Mail.

And direct from Number 10, Downing Street.