Ha, ha, ha, ho, ho, ho, it’s a weird and wonderful world

By Ron Ferguson

Published:

IT HAS to be the best story of 2009 so far. Six-foot-tall Torvald Alexander was dressed as the Scandinavian god Thor as he came home in the early hours of the morning after a Hogmanay party. When he entered the house, dressed in a red cape and a silver-winged helmet, he saw a burglar opening drawers in his desk.

Mr Alexander, who runs a building firm in Edinburgh, charged at the intruder, who obviously thought his final hour had come. The burglar threw himself out of a first-floor window and ran out into the Edinburgh street.

“As soon as he saw me, his eyes went wide with terror,” said Mr Alexander.

“He looked like he had had a few drinks and decided to do a late-night break-in, but he hadn't counted on the God of Thunder living here.”

Mr Alexander said that because he had a Norwegian name he decided to go to the party as Thor.

“It took ages making the cape, helmet and breastplate,” he said, “and I must admit it was a bit chilly walking home, but when I saw that guy I just went mad and charged at him, my cape flying behind me.”

Mr Alexander said that the burglar had not managed to steal anything, but had left his shoes at the scene. He said: “He had obviously taken off his shoes to creep about in silence, but when he saw me he just jumped out of the window in his socks. It will make him think again before breaking into other people's homes.”

By the way, New Year’s Day this year was a Thursday, which literally means “Thor’s Day”.

Next year, the first of January will be Friday, which means “Fry-up” Day.

Actually, I just made that up. It’s named after Freya, the Norse goddess.

I rather like the idea of a businessman going around dressed up as a god. As human beings, we’re all pretty loopy, really. All it takes to get us to do something crazy is a fancy-dress party.

I went to Up-Helly-Aa in Lerwick once. At a Chinese restaurant the following evening, two men sat at a table dressed in gorilla suits. It turned out they were lawyers. Maybe they should have dressed up as sharks.

Beefeaters in London dress up in the most amazing gear, with ruffs round their necks. Male clergy dress up in frocks and walk sedately down church aisles to music. Who are the daft ones here?

There are even young men in Inverness dressed in Caley Thistle strips and pretending they are footballers.

Yes, the human predicament is a bit ridiculous. Here are some of the daft things in recent times: A Swedish family have won the right to name their son Lego. Apparently, Swedish law bans names that are deemed potentially embarrassing to the person given them. Their next son will probably be called Ikea, and will have a flatpack delivery.

I wanted to name my son after the Cowdenbeath promotion-winning team, but for some reason I wasn’t allowed to.

A football-mad mother stunned hospital midwives by demanding to give birth wearing the strip of her favourite team. Jennifer Peaty astounded staff at Falkirk Royal Infirmary with her unusual request to get changed shortly after going into labour. Husband Kevan was on hand to help his wife into his favourite Falkirk Football Club shirt shortly before the birth of the couple's first son. Mind you, their team is nicknamed “the bairns”.

Madness is not restricted to these shores. An Indian businessman has launched the ultimate no-frills airline. Bahadur Gupta’s airline has only one plane – a used Airbus 300 with a missing wing – and it never actually leaves the ground. No kidding. More than 90% of Indians have never flown, and people are lining up to pay the equivalent of £2 to board the plane, strap themselves into the seats and listen to “Captain” Gupta make announcements such as “We will soon be passing through a zone of turbulence” and “We are about to begin our descent into Delhi.” I love it.

Maybe this idea could solve our climate-change problems. You could enjoy “flying”, there would be no carbon emissions, no new runways, and no hold-ups at airports. You wouldn’t even lose your luggage. It would be a very relaxing wee holiday and, in terms of the credit crunch, it’s very cheap.

I would be prepared to be the captain for these virtual flights. “This is your captain speaking. We are about to begin our descent into Thrumster.”

We’re on to a winner here, don’t you think?

Over in Germany, a man spent 12 hours upside-down in a chimney. The unnamed 27-year-old, who had been at a German beer festival, was trying to climb into a friend’s apartment when he lost his footing and plunged 100ft into the chimney. His cries for help weren’t heard until the following day. Something tells me he shouldn’t audition for the part of Santa Claus.

Speaking of which, my younger son told me that our two grandchildren, Olly, aged six, and Dan, aged four, had got into a bit of a fight over the correct words of Jingle Bells. Olly had learned at primary school that Santa had said “Ho, ho, ho”, while Dan had learned “Ha, ha, ha”. Each had tried to out-sing the other, but that hadn’t resolved the matter. A wee bit of fisticuffs had ensued in the season of peace and goodwill.

I quite enjoyed this tale. Imagine my surprise when I read that a department store Father Christmas in Australia had been sacked for insisting on saying “Ho, ho, ho”. John Nokes, aged 70, said he was told by his employment agency in Cairns that “Ho, ho, ho” was derogatory to women, and that he should say “Ha, ha, ha” instead. Michty me.

Anyway, I hope these tales of human foibles have brought a smile to your face in these dark and troubled times. May 2009 be good for you.

Ho, ho, ho. Or should it be ha, ha, ha?