The answer Muddy... is blowin’ in the wind

Papa Mork
Papa Mork

By Jerzy Morkis

I recently got a new job; I didn’t apply for it, it just sort of happened. There’s no pay packet and the hours aren’t what I’d like them to be, but I’m well chuffed.

I’m a grandfather.

I am Papa Mork, which is as good a blues name as I could have come up with after nigh on 50 years of trying to make my guitar playing sound like the Mississippi Delta as opposed to the Forth Estuary.

Since the wee lad’s surname is Waters, I’ve given him the nickname ‘Little Muddy’ so that’s a future career cut out for him and his old Papa.

But there’s a lot of learning ahead before he takes centre stage... and grandparents have a key role in that.

Many, many years ago when I had to bury my nose in history textbooks I learned of that daft, but widely held belief of the ‘Divine Right of Kings’ (and Queens of course).

This nonsense that God Himself had basically given our royal highnesses the right to do as they wished wasn’t really a force for good, allowing in-bred, over-privileged hereditary dictators to inflict much misery on serfdom for many a century due to this misguided beleif in infallibility. Thankfully, the idea of God being as mental as some of those majesties fizzled out.

Unfortunately, the baton was duly picked up by a goodly number of politicans, bankers and bosses and to this day the madness of ‘Divine Right’ still lingers in the darker recesses of our world.

But it’s rightful place is, of course, with grandparents.

As a species we are wise, guiding, patient, understanding and... Divinely Infallible.

As to why there is no Book of Grandparents in the Bible is obviously down to some prudent editing for the story’s sake.

Let’s face it, frankincense and myhrr resin may well have made the stable a lot more fragrant but any self respecting Nana and Papa would have homed in on the gold and got a room for the bairn at the nearest Premier Inn, a Fisher Price mobile for the manger and a cute pair of blue bootees.

So, it was with absolute horror that someone, somewhere (the shock of this has blurred the exact details) suggested that I must be looking forward to spending more time with Little Muddy and “looking up the answers to all his questions on Google...”

This creature’s comments show a total lack of comprehension of the Divine Right. Because of this blessing I have answers to EVERTHING, they may not be correct but they are definitely answers.

Correct name for a pine cone? Szyszka.

Why is the sky blue? It’s the sun’s favourite colour.

Why do dogs bark? To make them sound different from cats.

Why do giraffes have long necks? So they can watch football games without having to pay.

Why does this taste yukky? Cos it’s horrible, don’t eat it, have some Polish sausage instead.

Why do I have so many Bob Dylan CDs? You can never have too many Dylan CDs and I haven’t mastered downloads yet.

Why do cows go ‘Mooo’? Cos it was their favourites out of their 10 top sounds. What are your favourite other nine?

And so it goes on... infallible education. And when he’s older, Googles it and tells me the sky is blue because of Rayleigh scattering,I’ll say: “I knew that, but have you looked up ‘Szyszka’ yet?”