The World-Famous Gez Walsh!

Before you start thinking that I'm a conceited, arrogant, halfwit (which I am) for making such a claim, please let me explain the above title.

I have, for a long time, wondered just what the criteria are for being able to make certain claims. I know trading standards and other bodies are there to ensure that things such a pork sausages have at least been in the same room as a pig at some point in their manufacture. But what about other claims?

Many years ago, Morrisons, the supermarket chain, advertised their breakfasts as 'World Famous'. I have put this claim to the test on many occasions, much to the annoyance of my wife. While on holiday in foreign climes I like to mix with locals rather than do the tourist hot spots. While chatting about life in their countries, food, music, literature, and the like, I always drop in the question, “Have you ever had a big breakfast from Morrisons?” I have to say that, over the past ten years of doing this, no person outside Britain knows what I'm talking about. I usually get a blank look, followed by the look that says, 'Oh my God, he has mental health issues!” My wife has usually walked away by that point, shaking her head and calling me names that are best left between her and myself.

This year, while travelling around southern Spain, we got chatting to a lovely French couple. The man's name was Julian, which didn't sound very French to me. He was a chef, and had been for thirty years, so I thought he might be a good person to ask the question of. After telling him that I didn't like eating pig's trotter, something that was forced upon me as a child while visiting grandparents in Ireland, he proceeded to tell me the best way to cook them. I responded with, “Have you ever cooked or eaten a Morrisons world famous big breakfast?” He was intrigued, but it's safe to say that he was probably more confused by my wife calling me a 'Twat'. I have since checked, and Morrisons has dropped the 'World Famous' tag, so I shall stop my investigations.

This week, a young man told me that he loves cooking, and that no one could resist his 'world famous Pinkertons chocolate sundaes'. Pinkerton, by the way, is his surname. The pedant in me had an urge to go on the internet to check out his world famous boast but instead, I asked him to prove that it's world famous. It turns out close family and a couple of friends constitute his world.

I know what you're thinking right now, my wife's assessment of me is one hundred percent accurate.

But these descriptions of things for some reason annoy me, which is unusual because, as an author, I've claimed all sorts of bullshit myself! So can you imagine my surprise when this week I decided to find out just what I have to do to make such a claim as being 'World Famous' .

I had an afternoon free, which was a surprise, as I've been working non-stop for ages now. I have written before about how dangerous me and idleness are. I couldn't think of a way to prove these claims, so I decided to phone trading standards, as they should surely know. I have to say that I was passed to lots of different departments as I don't think my request was being taken seriously, until I was transferred to a man who I seem to have caught off guard. The man whom I spoke to humoured me at first thinking that my medication had worn off but I told him a little lie. (Just a lie, really). Well, I told him two lies, actually. I told him I worked for a publishing company and gave him the name of the company (sorry Steve). Then I told him that we had an author who had had a lot of success (that's not the lie bit by the way) I then told him that this author was about to embark on a tour of Europe (there you go!) and could we claim he was 'world famous' when he (me) came home?

I need to have sold books on at least three continents to be able to claim that I'm 'world famous' according to this man, who, by the end of the conversation, seemed to be losing the will to live. I have proof that my books are sold in Europe, America and both Australia and New Zealand. This means, ladies and gentlemen, and those in-between, that I, Gez Walsh, am legally WORLD FAMOUS!

Now, can I set you your homework? I have read recently in an article that Jedward (correct spelling, though my spell check keeps trying to change it to 'deadwood' which is more accurate!) are on tour. In the article it described these mighty Irish colossuses of art and literature as singer-song-writers? Your mission, should you chose to take it, is to find any evidence of either of these claims.

Signed,

The World Famous Gez Walsh

The Lucky Lucky Lucky

Ever since I was a young child I have been fascinated by acts of random kindness, I always make a mental note to remember any such acts that I witness.

Every day people do wonderful things for total strangers, and these people do not receive anything in return, other than the knowledge that they have helped a fellow human being. I first became fascinated by such acts because of my own Grandfather.

One Saturday as a small child I had to go into the local town centre with my Grandfather to meet Nonna after she had finished work. This particular day must have been in the height of summer as I remember it being one of those rose-tinted childhood warm, sunny afternoons. As both Granddad and I walked through town we could hear a man's voice shouting out . It was the standard rantings of every drunk the world over, a mixture of inane babbling and threats. We walked on until we happened upon the owner of the inane rants, a large dishevelled man who was lying on his back at the side of a busy road. He was so drunk that he resembled a tortoise that had been placed upside down; try as he might, he couldn't get to his feet. People walked past him, and cars drove perilously close to him. Some people looked on in disgust at him, while others laughed and jeered. Old ladies, with arms straining at the weight of the shopping bags they struggled to carry, chastised his unruly behaviour as the walked past him, leaving him spread-eagled at the side of the road. I seem to remember being half terrified by this man and yet half disgusted with him (I've been a snob since birth).

My Grandfather gave a wry smile and then tutted. He had a way of calming any situation just by his own calmness. I thought Granddad was about to give me a lecture about the dangers of drink (I doubted it, though, as he loved a whisky) or to tell me not to end up like this man, but to work hard instead! But how wrong I was. He walked over to the man and even though this bloke looked twice the size of Granddad, he bent down and lifted the man from the ground. The man hissed, and cursed Granddad as he helped him to a bench in the town centre. Granddad plonked the man on the bench then asked him if he had a home to go to. The man just ranted and swore at Granddad. I was so indignant with this man! How rude to treat someone who was trying to help you in such a way! Granddad asked this man if he had any money, and the man responded with a string of swear words. This was a mistake, as Granddad hated anyone swearing in front of children or women. (I don't take after him in this way!) He got hold of the drunk by his lapels lifted him off the bench telling him to  “cut out the language!” He then threw the man back down on the bench. This seemed to jolt the man back to his senses, as Granddad asked him again if he had a home, the man nodded. Granddad then asked him if he had any money the man shook his head and pulled out his pockets to prove his point. Granddad reached into his own pocket and produced 'two bob' (10p) and told the man to get a coffee and then catch the bus home (This was the 'sixties). We then walked away, leaving the man to come to his senses.

As we walked away from the man I asked Granddad if he knew him, but he shook his head.

“Then why did you help him?” I asked wondering why anyone would help such an ungrateful oaf.

Granddad replied in his soft Irish accent, “And why wouldn't I? He needed help”. I have written many times before that Granddad had a wonderful way of teaching people lessons.

I'm telling you this because While on holiday the other week I witnessed a wonderful act of random kindness.

My wife and I have just spent a marvellous week travelling around southern Spain. Anyone who has visited this area will, I'm sure, have come in contact with the 'Lucky Lucky' men. I'm not sure if it's 'lucky lucky' or 'looky looky'? as in 'have a look at my wares'. I did get talking to one of these men as he tried to sell us a handbag. In this case, he was 'lucky lucky' because he actually had the bag my wife wanted. But his luck ran out when he had to barter with her, as she has a way of disarming the most hardened sales person, only to fleece them. These men used to sell lighters many years ago, but now it's fake designer wear. I don't know where they get this gear or how much they pay for it, but he sold a leather bag to my wife for 8 euros (He started off at 35 euros). He told me that he was from Senegal - as most of the men there were. They all lived in shipping containers at the end of the beach where we were stood. 8 men and their goods to each container, and all had dogs outside standing guard.

These men walk from resort to resort in the baking heat of summer time Spain their arms full of designer wear. They do this from morning to night. Then when the summer season is over they go back to their families in Africa.

One evening my wife and I were in a crowded bar when a 'lucky lucky' man entered the bar. He looked anything but lucky. His head was held low, sweat dripped from his brow and he looked tired and depressed. He walked around the room from table to table desperately trying to sell anything. It was now nearly midnight. I watched him move about the room, as people just blatantly ignored him or waved him away as if he was nothing but an irritating fly. I noticed the barman look over to him. This barman was, my wife informs me, very good looking. All the women in the bar tried to get his attention and to flirt with him. They obviously hadn't noticed that I was in the bar, otherwise surely they would have all been crowding around me!

The barman, without anyone noticing, beckoned the 'lucky lucky' man over. He then poured him an orange juice with lots of ice in, which the 'lucky lucky' man downed in one. The barman then leaned over to a group of middle-aged women who had been flirting with him all night and pointed to the 'lucky lucky' man and gave a thumbs up sign. The women called him over and started to look at the bags he was selling. Before long, other women joined in and a bidding frenzy started for his fake designer bags. Soon the man only had one bag left, even though he had entered the bar with arms full of them. The man's demeanour had now changed. It was as if he had been given an injection to bring him back to life. He danced and laughed, then he walked over to the barman took hold of his hand then gave him a hug which said to all who witnessed it, 'thank you from the bottom of my heart'. The 'lucky lucky' man danced out of the crowded bar and the barman carried on flirting with the middle aged women, and no one had noticed this one act of random kindness the barman had just performed. He had not only given the man a drink when he probably most needed it, but also got all the punters to buy a bag from him.

I would like to claim that I to do acts of random kindness on a regular basis, but in truth I'm usually too wrapped up in my own tiny little life to notice that the people I pass in the street may sometimes need a hand of friendship. Maybe it's time I stopped watching others do these wonderful deeds, and did a few myself!