Ah, wisdom. Not everyone has it and those that do have it more often than not will refuse to share it. Not so Big Dave. Why, if wisdom was a pie he would be handing out slices every minute of the day. It would have to be an infinite or infinity pie to accommodate such a large selection of knowledge.
Having spent approximately four days in the Lake District with him last week I think it’s fair to say that I am currently the best placed person to pass on the wisdom to the rest of the world. Strap yourself in because your life will change dramatically as a result of reading the rest of this post:
(on trying to teach Reuben how to whistle) “Just imagine you’re kissing a girl with a very small mouth.”
“The pigeons are spooning! Spooning I say!”
“I’m itching… because I’m cold…”
“It’s a book about a man being a seagull… I think…”
“No, I don’t watch Brookside. It doesn’t appeal to me.”
It’s fair to say that Quack-dad, as he is sometimes known, has enriched our lives so much that things will never be the same again.
The fact that he tried to feed us mince for every meal should also go on record.
10 comments on “The Wit and Wisdom of Big Dave”
I’m having some of these made into inspirational posters to be put up around my flat.
You do know that nothing will ever be as inspiring as your little sister’s poem. It’s practically biblical. Or something.
Don’t worry. Nobody thinks any less of Big Dave. Nobody could reasonably expect him, or anyone, to come up with anything so profound as my little sister’s poem.
I once tried and woke up three days later, stinking of 7up.
I’m still not sure what happened.
There is a simple dignity in having even made the attempt. I salute you, though my salute is ever so slightly ironic.
Did you do it whilst doing something else, like you tossed it off in your spare time when you were, oh I don’t know, looking up things about bridges (nifty)?
Yeah. I used my left hand instead of my right hand, because my right hand was being used to flick casually through a book about bridges (nifty), though I was being fairly discreet about it.
There’s nothing discreet about you and your bridges (nifty). You’re a walking advertisement for them. Every time I see one I chew a wasp and think of you.
Why do you chew a wasp? Everyone knows that wasps make marmite. You should chew a bee instead. They taste of honey.
The last I chewed a bee my ajax got caught in a door and they wouldn’t let me back in Urban Outfitters ever again.