The Sad Life of a ‘Toffy Nosed Git.’

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Photo: The late Harry “The Horse” Kinder (left) warned me many years ago about what a bastard Alex “The Toff” Riley (right) could be.
YOU BE THE JUDGE...
THE first story begins on a visit to the Adelaide Airport when The Toff was pulled aside and asked if he had any objection to being tested for bomb making residue on his clothing.
The Toff sarcastically replied that he was a 90 year old retired “Planner in Charge” who had lost the use of both of his hands in the Korean War and had not made any bombs that week.
The security guy went ballistic and said that he would have him frog marched out of the airport and be made to appear in front of Tony Abbott the very next day.
The Toff clamped up and offered up only one word answers from then on.
Luckily the State Governor put in a good word for Alex and he walked free.
Well f**k me, then it happened again.
The very next time The Toff returned to the airport he was pulled aside and asked the very same question again.
This time the Toff replied cautiously and said he was now a 75 year old pensioner with “disabilities” and had fought in Vietnam.
The security guy apologised and said he was only doing his job. The Toff was not amused and muttered under his breath “moron” as he walked away.
Well f**k me, then this happened.
Some months went past and then The Toff received a letter from a Bad Debt agency.
The letter demanded how and when was he going to pay the $2,500 fine for the shop window front in the Riverland town of Berri that he tossed a wheelie bin through on New Year’s Eve.
The Toff was shattered as once again he was being accused of something he did not do.
Really? He phoned the agency and said you have the wrong man as he the Toff was a 80 year old pensioner who could not lift an empty wheelie bin, yet alone throw it through a plate glass window.
The Toff said he could prove that he was at Seaton that night at a New Years Eve  Party for geriatrics, some 150kms away. Fortunately the dumb guy agreed and no more was heard.
Well f**k me, and then this happened.
Some bloke left his business card in the Toff’s “letterbox asking the Toff  to call him. This bloke David, said there was a “victims of crimes” case against the Toff regarding his assault on a woman called Elizabeth.
This time the Toff explained to the bloke that he was a 85 year old pensioner with dementia, a heart problem and had recently undergone brain surgery.
Oh! said the bloke – sorry about that but a number of people have said they think you look like a sexual predator. 
Well f**k me said The Toff, how many more bastards are using my name out there.
by Anonymous in the Interests of Public Safety!

The Secret Life of ‘Possum Whisperer.’

The Photograph above shows a wise middle-aged gentleman with his young protege basking in the sun and lolling around on the grass near the Old Guv.
The people in the photo are Harry Kinder, a polite well dressed Englishman and excellent Compositor. Sitting close by is Alex Riley, a young toffy nosed lad and child of rich parents who claimed links to the British Royal Family.
Alex thought he was superior to other comp. apprentices and refused to clean the comp room toilets. This made him very unpopular with older apprentice Brian Hartshorne and the victim of many practical jokes.
Harry Kinder who had done much to befriend the boy eventually became sadly disillusioned with his young protege and his horrible anti-social ways and so gave him the ‘arse’.

We now fast forward 50 years and discover that Harry Kinder has passed away and Alex Riley is now an grumpy old tight arsed bastard who has retired to the Hills of Bridgewater, near Adelaide.
Here Alex has become known as the ‘possum whisperer’ and Old Man Yeti, a shrunken old man carrying a magic wooden walking stick with a love for possums.

This is a photo of Possum No. 9, one of the possum friends that Alex feeds apples and grapes to each night. This is one cute possum.

Has our Alex changed? I think he has at least with the Possums.

The Day Dad Lost 800 Pounds.

lewerica_zpsa50e798bBack in the early 1970s my parents booked a conducted tour of England and the continent.
At a pre-departure meeting my father asked the Tour Director what was the safest way to carry money.
The Tour Director advised my dad to purchase several men’s singlets and cut patches out of one and sow the patches onto the other singlets to form a pocket large enough to take banknotes.
She explained that that was the safest way as you then put a shirt on followed by a sports coat or jumper and your money would be safe from would be thieves. Mum thought it was a great idea and promptly had six singlets made up.
On arriving in London, my dad ventured to the nearest bank and came back to the hotel with his £800 English pounds and placed them into the pocket of one of the singlets.
In the morning my parents were first to board the bus so they could get the best seats as they were heading off to Paris.
After traveling for an hour on the M1 my dad decided to do a ‘money check’ and to his dismay there was no money in the pocket. He suddenly turned green and began to sweat and mumbled to mum that he had lost his £800 English pounds.
After going through all his pockets twice and finding zero mum approached the Tour Director about dad’s dilemma.
It was decided that at the next available rest stop the bus would pull in so that dad could go through his case as he must have put on the wrong singlet.
As they were first on board the bus all the luggage had to be pulled out so that dad could search his case.
So there’s dad rummaging through his suit case checking each singlet.
Sadly after checking each one there was no sign of the missing £800 English pounds.
Being a tight arse just like me, Dad was now sweating profusely so he took off his sports coat and handed it to mum. He then dived into her case in the hope of finding his missing £800 English pounds.
Suddenly mum announces to dad that she has just found the missing £800 English pounds. Dad says don’t be stupid mum, I have been through the pockets of the sports coat 100 times and the money is not there.
Mum replied, ‘But Dad didn’t you realise that you have put your singlet on back to front’.
A true story by The Toff

For Bob Miller the Toff’s prank was no Joke.

 
“Here’s a little story mate about The Toff’s cruelty to his fellow man  and  it goes like this….”
One winter’s day Alex is on his way to work at Netley, and the rain was fairly bucketing down.

Alex had just driven past the Rex Hotel when he spies the late poor old Bob Miller up ahead.
Bob is struggling in the wet to keep his pushbike on the road when our “Hero” sees a huge puddle of muddy water just ahead of Bob.
So quite deliberately he speeds up and sends a huge Tsunami of Water crashing down on Bob.
So Bob is covered in stinking muddy water courtesy of Riley. When Bob gets to work he tries to find the Cruel Alex, but can’t.
Not many people saw Alex that day as it is rumoured that he spent most of it hiding in the women’s toilet.
“Bloody Hell. That’s the worst act of cruelty I’ve ever heard of cobber”.
“Ain’t it just!”
Anonymous Bastards

Sam Lawn outfoxes The Toff.

Alex The Toff Riley when a Sales Officer would often return to State Print around 4.00pm. After settling in he would ring Brian Grubby Hartshorne to enquire about his jobs in progress throughout the plant.
On this day Grubby’s phone was not answered. Bugger me says Riley and departs for Grubby’s office after phoning another three times with no answer.
On arrival there’s our Grubby sitting back at his desk. Riley confronts Grubby and asks why he doesn’t answer his phone.
The old Grubbs answers back smugly that if the phone doesn’t ring, He can’t answer it. Riley is stumped for words and storms off.
The following day when Riley returns, he again attempts to phone Grubby. Again no answer. After a hard day’s work Riley storms off to Grubby’s office only to find him sitting back with not a care in the world. Riley again confronts Grubby about not answering his bloody phone.
Grubby again says his phone didn’t ring. Now Riley’s getting annoyed and asks Grubby to get someone, anyone, to ring his phone. And guess what – the bloody phone rings.
Riley is now beside himself and can see that Grubbs is becoming annoyed. So, he returns to his office red faced, clearly in a state of annoyance and he tells the guys in sales his problems with Grubby and his phone. They all look surprised, but say nothing.
The next day Riley again returns to work, but this time an hour earlier, and decides to settle for a coffee. He rings through to Grubby, but the phone as usual rings off so Riley says nothing and finishes his coffee. He then decides that he will phone Grubby, JUST ONE MORE TIME.
Finally, Grubby’s phone is answered, but not by Grubby. It was answered by a workmate Peter Humby and that’s when Riley realised that he had been sucked in.
Some rotten bastard had changed Grubby’s phone number to Peter Humby’s home phone on Riley’s phone.

Oh! yes it was a big joke and all they were grinning at how The Toff had been made to look an idiot. What bastards.
And the biggest grinner turned out to be Rodney Sam Bloody Lawn, the Cheeky Monkey.  Beauty Sam.
And oh yes, then he had to face Grubby.

A Wet Wedding saved by Poo Bags.

The happy couple planned the Perfect Wedding, at beautiful Sellicks Beach located South of Adelaide.

The weather  forecaster said, ‘No bloody worries, it’s going to be a belter.’

So with hope in their heart and their wonderful relatives and friends in tow hey made their way down to the beach.

Everyone was  just so excited for the beautiful couple and then they looked up and saw this on the horizon.

Oh! My goodness, A storm was gathering. It would be bringing buckets and buckets of rain

There was no alternative venue planned. Bugger that weather forecaster. So what to do?

Were these good people going to let a bit of water spoil the wedding?

No way, and then with classic cleverness those stupid enough to stay out in the rain made themselves some quite stylish and practical water hats using the council’s dog poo collection bags sold to them by Alex Riley at $10 each.

Three Cheers for Alex and Capitalism.

The Toff