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Happy Birthday dear Soddem...

There I was in the Middle East again, a lot of years after serving with the Light Horse in the Great War.

This time it was Amman and I'd just finished a most excellent dinner with the King of Jordan, a terrifically nice guy, and his gorgeous Queen Rania.

I was heading out to the Rolls when all of a sudden a hand flew around my mouth and I was blindfolded and thrown into a just-screeched-to-a-halt car.

Bugga. I thought. It's the damned Mossad coming to give me a good kicking over my disrespect for girlie names Ariel Sharon, their Prime Monster.

"Okay, okay guys, do you want to beat me up now or back at Israeli security headquarters? Whatever you do it won't change my opinion that he's got two of the girliest names I've ever heard on a bloke."

"Shut up, Grumpy-al-Coot, we are not Israelis you pig-dog. We are agents of his glorious majesty Saddam Hussein the most magnificent."

Oh, double bugga. Hope old Soddem didn't read my last column on him or I'm in huge piles of camel dung.

"On the Net is he?" I asked a tad nervously.

"Oh, yes, he is a keen surfer - although he does get annoyed with spam emails and certain world-famous social commentators."

Quickly changing tack I told them I also hated unsolicited email.

"I stink, therefore I'm spam," I joked. Getting no response I tried a friendly approach. "What does old Soddem, sorry, your most magnificent leader do with spammers?"

"He gasses them." Okay, bit harsh, but maybe deserved.

"What does Soddem want with me?"

"Well, he's heard you are the oldest man in Australia and wants some advice on his 65th birthday party."

Easy, says I, all he needs to do is have massive street parties with hundreds of thousands of people lining the way to cheer him on his great way.

"He doesn't want to be assassinated!"

"Ah, yes, bit of a problem there I suppose ... well how about a private birthday party with a couple of dozen kids. Kids for the TV footage showing him as a loved leader of children."

"Can we frisk them at the door for bombs?"

"Sure..."

"Great idea Grumpy-al-Coot. May your life be long and prosperous."

With that they biffed me out the car door and I ended up in a heap outside... you guessed it ... the local branch of the Mossad.

Oh well, maybe they take Amex.

If there is something that has really got up your nose, let Grumpy Old Coot know at grumpy@webwombat.com