Long term readers will know that we have a long history of frankly ludicrous and surreal games in our family that are incomprehensible to everyone else but us, and sometimes completely incomprehensible to us as well.
One of our long time car favourites is trying to come up with the most ludicrous lyrics to Dexy’s Midnight Runner’s ‘Oh Geno’. This provides hours of pointless entertainment.
Tallulah’s favourite is her game: ‘Name that Nut’. It is fairly self explanatory, but always leads to chaos and a great deal of shouting, especially when she gets bored of nuts, about thirty seconds into the game, and randomly changes it to species of snakes, or types of chair, or any other thing that passes through her brain. It sounds boring, but as cheating and inventiveness are actively encouraged, it is not always a futile past time.
Then there is the ‘Would you rather?’ game. This is an old classic which you must all have played at one time or another. It runs along the lines of ‘Snog, marry, avoid,’ but usually, if you are us, veers immediately to the macabre. Would you rather lick a dead man’s eyeball or drink a pint of sick? That sort of thing. In our house it always ends up at the weirder end of the spectrum, as you would expect, with Tallulah being the expert on the trickiest questions:
‘Would you rather have a teapot made of rabbit fur, brown rabbit fur, with a handle made of lemon pips, and a total inability to pour tea out of, or a small shrew named Melvin who squeaks incessantly all night while you’re trying to sleep, but is otherwise so loveable he reduces people to tears of joy at the mere sight of him?’
A new game got invented last week. It’s called ‘What is Morrissey’s first name?’ It is, as all our games our, evident from the title what you have to do. This came about because we were discussing our love for Mozza, and Derek’s hatred for Mozza (her fur sticks out and she slicks her ears back and starts yowling) and how strange it is, when Tilly asked me what Morrissey’s first name was.
I was, dear reader, stumped, despite being a long term admirer of the grumpy ole bastard. It led to a fantastic half hour while we picked more and more wonderful names for Morrissey, such as:
Morrissey-Morrissey-With-A-Hyphen: So good they named him twice.
Morrissey Morrissey Lemon Morrissey
Limbic Augustus Morrissey
On doing our research we found out that his real name is Stephen.
Stephen? What sort of a name is that for a miserable demigod sporting gladioli out of his nether regions?
‘Steve! Steve Morrissey! Come inside now. Your tofu pie is getting cold.’
I don’t think so.
We are agreed that we will continue playing: ‘What is Morrissey’s first name,’ until we come up with such a splendiferously unarguably right name we can no longer top it.
We will then turn it into a song, and sing it in praise of the greatest dirgemeister of all time.
Suggestions on the back of a hearing aid gladly received.