OddThinking

When I was a kid, I would watch my father, Joe, play poker with his mates. Sometimes, he would bluff with a terrible hand. Sometimes, his bluff would be called.

It was a tough bet to accept. At that age, a dollar was a lot of money for me. I was going to have to make some sacrifices, scrimping for the first five years until the debt was paid, but then I was going to be on Easy Street, collecting twenty cents a year, every year, for virtually no effort.

The awkward shape in the foreground is what you see first. It clearly isn’t a sheep, despite the title. It is black and white, and appears to be floating very slightly off the ground.

She whispered down the phone, “Quick! Julian, I am ringing from your father’s house. What is the name of the tip of a shoelace?”

In hindsight, the clock was hideous. Royal blue and white perspex, with a brass pendulum, it was probably the height of fashion when it was purchased in the mid-seventies.

Somebody noticed blood on his car, the police became involved and Joe was detained.

It was in the early 1980s. My brother and I were working on our homework. My father, Joe, decided to have a little fun.

Joe decided to put an academic spin on the old prank of sending out the apprentice for striped paint or a long weight.

My father, Joe, smoked cigarettes when he was younger, but he decided he wanted to give up.

My father, Joe, introduced John W. to the love of skiing. Soon John was just as keen at skiing.