A guide at Windsor Castle was struggling to make herself heard over the roar of low flying aircraft coming into land at nearby Heathrow. She was interrupted by a tourist who demanded what was wrong with the town planners, and why had they built the castle so close to the airport.
The highlight of a cruise liner’s visit to the Alaskan port of Valdez was a guided tour of the southern end of the great 800 mile pipeline through which, the guide informed them, some 1.3 million barrels of oil came daily from Prudoe Bay in the north. When he asked if there were any questions, someone solemnly enquired, `How do they get all those empty barrels back up to Prudoe Bay?’
`Good home wanted for year-old Basset bitch. Understands every word I say, but ignores it.’ Card in Portsmouth shop window.
A group of tourists escorted around the British Houses of Parliament suddenly found themselves in the presence of the then Lord Chancellor, Lord Hailsham, resplendent in full wig and gown. Spying behind the group the figure of Neil Marten MP, the Lord Chancellor called out in greeting.`Neil’ with dignified vigour. And all the tourists did.
A tourist, on a driving holiday in Britain was reported to have been overcome by the Cotswolds but astonished at the number of villages with the same name. `After Chipping Sodbury,’ he said, `there were three villages in a row called Loose Chippings.’
An English classics scholar, trying to impress his tour party colleagues on holiday in Athens, offered to converse in Greek with the local ferry officers at the docks to enquire about departure times. The locals, after recovering from fits of laughter, then revealed to the rest of the group, in perfect English, the scholar’s question: When do the galleys sail for the Isle of Aegina, O sailors?’
In 1981, fifty San Francisco nudists arrived in Miami for a national convention to find their airline had lost all their luggage, including their clothes.
The 1982 Association of British Travel Agents conference in Phoenix, Arizona, had to change its venue at the last moment when it discovered that its original hotel had been double booked.
The story is told, apocryphal no doubt, of the DJ working on a small and remote radio station in Scotland midway through his programme late at night on 1 October 1977. News came to the station that Bing Crosby had died (the station producer happened to be on the phone to the States and picked the word up almost as it occurred). The DJ thought he could possibly be the first person in the UK to publicly announce the death, so he put on a long track and rushed off to record library to get an old recording to play. Upon returning, nervously excited by now, he put the first record onto the turntable without looking at it and broke into the record then playing with a sombre voice: ‘I am deeply sorry to have to inform’ you listeners that I have just received news from America of a great tragedy. The legendary Bing Crosby is dead. As a humble tribute, I would like to play one of his songs,’ and as he switched over to his Crosby ’selection’, the melody was beamed out, ‘Heaven . . . I’m in Heaven…’
BEWARE OF TRAINS GOING BOTH WAYS AT ONCE. – Notice at Durham level crossing
Does anybody have tips for DJing? And what 
Thanks.
