Nige delighted in puns. They came so readily to his lips that he could hardly manage a sentence without one. Every morning on the journey to Leeds he’d say to the ticket collector “You must be well trained.” Once in the estate agent’s office where he worked, he’d run through his repertoire. “This is a little flat” – holding up a can of Coke. “Are there any letters for me?” “You’re always in estate”. “It’s the lease I can do.” And so many more.
He could not enter a library without asking “Can I have a word?” The butcher’s he insisted on calling the ‘Rendezvous’. “Why?”, the unwary might ask. “Because it says ‘Meat in here.’” It doesn’t, actually. But in Nige’s ideal world it would.
He cheerfully endured a constant chorus of groans. “Listen to yourself! You, a grown man!” (or woman), he’d say.
Puns may be the lowest form of wit, as he was often being told, but any wit, he thought, was better than buttoned-up, lip-wrinkling, nose-tilting disdain. “Lighten up!” he’d plead, “as the switch said to the bulb”.
His wordplay was not always unappreciated. At school his best friend Hugh used to throw back his head, hold his sides and roar, like someone in a comic, at even the weakest of Nige’s quips. But Hugh could never manage to pun back. “You’re Hugh-sless! Hugh Moreless! Hugely disappointing!” Nige riffed. Hugh laughed so much a dark stain appeared on the front of his trousers. “Hugh-wee!” shrieked Nige.
Nige once got into a thrilling punning exchange with a policeman who had pulled his Fiesta over on the A1. “So much for living life in the fast lane” said Nige. “Here’s a hard shoulder to cry on!” replied the officer. “Ta, Mac.” And so on, but it didn’t stop the policeman writing out a fixed penalty notice. “That’s fine” Nige chirped. The officer chuckled. “You can af-ford it.”
But such delightful encounters were rare, as rare as steak tartare.
He asked for a Senior Citizen’s discount at Kwikfit. The assistant looked doubtful. “Why not? Because, thanks to you, I’m now re-tyred”. Not a flicker of amusement. “Sorry sir, the discount only applies to over 60’s.” “That went completely flat, like my tyre,” Nige thought, but didn’t bother to say.
One day a lady rang the agents to enquire about a house in Harrogate. “Does it have a cellar?”
What a gift! He’d been waiting for this! “All our houses have sellers, madam”. He was surprised when she laughed and retorted, “But no accommodation for cows?” “Cows, madam?”
“I mean, it doesn’t have a byre, does it?”
Nige was so excited. How far could this go? “No madam, and it doesn’t have any flaws.”
She was quick on the uptake. “I should hope not indeed. But is it on main drainage? I must be sewer that the sewage works.”
Shortly after, they met for a viewing, and the puns darted and shone like drops of mercury. Nige deliberately tripped on the stairs so he could say “I’ve fallen for you!”
“And I’ve picked you up!” she said, as she did.
He suggested that they went to a champagne bar. “Wine not?” she said.
They studied the wine list. Nige asked “Are you keen on secs?”
“Yes, but I’ve had it with Bruts”
“Ooh, you are sparkling. Let’s get wed,” he said.
“No, no – let’s get sat.”
Nige was crestfallen – and confused, as they were already seated. But suddenly he brightened.
“Oh, I see – it’s like getting wed, but on a Sat. Brilliant! How about next Sat?”
“I’ll give you a ring,” she said.