About This Blog

This blog was originally started as a thread on the forum pages of an animal rescue site. Now it's here!

The articles you find in here are purely for entertainment (yours and mine) and (with one or two exceptions) are all tongue-in-cheek chronicles of the World (my bit, anyway) as I see it.
No disrespect is intended towards anyone unless I make a mistake and make it too obvious.

I hope you enjoy my offerings. Feedback and comments of any kind are welcome.

Tuesday, 31 August 2010


Why are toilets so damned low?
And where does all that poo-poo go?
Why do people have to fart?
And why do Teenagers think they're so damned smart?
Why do old folks drive so slow?
And why does everything stop in the snow?
What causes all those stinky feet?
And why politicians so indiscreet?
Just a few questions that plague my mind,
needing answers that I just can't find.
I know you all think that I'm silly old twit,
go on, try and humour me a little bit.
Give me the answers if you can,
Try and make me a happy man

Sunday, 29 August 2010

How Would You Feel?

How would you feel to be locked in a cage?
  Would you feel angry? Would you feel rage?
How would you feel to be tied to a post?
  Abandoned by those you thought loved you most.
What would it be like to be kicked by the feet
  Of people who won't give you enough food to eat?
Would you like it if you were dumped in the pound,
  Or left wandering the streets with no chance of being found.
So tell me now, what would you do?
   If any of this had happened to you?
To thousands of pets it happens each week,
   And for many their future is horribly bleak.
There is so much work that we need to do,
   And to help us with this we desperately need you.
Your donation could help change many a dog's fate,
   And help a dog find a home before it's too late.


Friday, 27 August 2010

Angels Came Calling

The Angels came a-calling when I was still asleep,
and they crept into my house and I never heard a peep.
They laid their hands upon your head and blessed you as they wept,
then you slipped away unnoticed but your soul they took and kept.
Now you grace the halls of Heaven and romp amongst the clouds,
your spirit free at last from all your mortal shrouds.
Run free dear friend and confidant, run free for ever more,
until the Angels take me and we can meet again once more.

Thursday, 26 August 2010

Dead Duck

Don't know where this originated, but thank you Shaun (Kenvyn) for sending it to me (us).

A woman brought a very limp duck into a veterinary surgeon.
As she laid her pet on the table, the vet pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the bird’s chest. After a moment or two, the vet shook his head and sadly said, "I'm sorry, your duck, Cuddles, has passed away."

The distressed woman wailed, "Are you sure?" 

"Yes, I am sure. Your duck is dead," replied the vet.

"How can you be so sure?" she protested. "I mean, you haven't done any testing on him or anything. He might just be in a coma or something."

The vet rolled his eyes, turned around and left the room.

He returned a few minutes later with a black Labrador Retriever.

As the duck's owner looked on in amazement, the dog stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the examination table and sniffed the duck from top to bottom.

He then looked up at the vet with sad eyes and shook his head.

The vet patted the dog on the head and took it out of the room.

A few minutes later he returned with a cat.

The cat jumped on the table and also delicately sniffed the bird from head to foot. The cat sat back on its haunches, shook its head, meowed softly and strolled out of the room.

The vet looked at the woman and said, "I'm sorry, but as I said, this is most definitely, 100% certifiably, a dead duck."

The vet turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys and produced a bill, which he handed to the woman.

The duck's owner, still in shock, took the bill. "£150!" she cried, "£150 just to tell me my duck is dead!"

The vet shrugged, "I'm sorry. If you had just taken my word for it, the bill would have been £20, but with the Lab Report and the Cat Scan, it's now £150."

Bad puppy

I chewed your bag and I ate your shoe,
I pooped in the hall and I pee'd over you.
I covered the sofa in mud and hair,
and I opened the fridge and ate ev'rything there.
I was sick on the rug then I dug up your flowers,
and I chased next door's cat for hours and hours.
But at night you let me climb on your lap,
and you stroke my head as I take a much needed nap.
And you don't mind if I drool on your leg,
because today you taught me how to sit up and beg.
You forgive all my sins and I know you love me,
but I don't plan to calm down until I'm at least two or three!

Pictures, and lack thereof

I don't post many pictures on my blog, unlike many other bloggers.

I just can't be bothered with the hassle of getting the picture off my phone/camera via Blue-tooth/cable.  It's a bit of a bore really.

In my younger days I had technophilic tendencies and would buy all the latest gadgets for my PC.

Nowadays,  I'm content with my old pentium 4 PC and a long-in-the-tooth dell laptop and I have no need for further gadgetry. I have a laser printer and colour dell printer, a pen-pad and pen and a Hi-Fi all hooked up to my faithful old "Bjudah"* and I am, in my dotage, content.

Pictures are still important though and, as and when required, I still do up-, or down- (as the case may be) load a few.  I have kept a faithful record of all the dogs that we fostered for "TOP" and that is about it really.

Anyway, I have decided to rectify that by including a couple of snaps of my own artwork.

Apologies for the poor quality.

Dead rose (ink 1991)
Soldiers (Pastel 1991 from a  postcard)
Ruin (Ink 1992)

Tree (1991 wood block painting)
Cowboy (Pastel 
from a Thelwell cartoon) 

They all date from around 1991-93.

I don't do as much drawing and painting as I used to do.  Maybe one day I will have the time to sit myself down and reacquaint myself with my pencils and brushes.

Hope you like them.

* Bjudah = come Bjudah

Wednesday, 25 August 2010


Thank you to everyone who has emailed me about the poems on this site.  If you have missed any, just click on the label below this post.

The Thin Line

D'ya know that line ... the thin one, the one deleted by Oscar Levant? ... d'ya?

What happens when you cross it?  How you know you've crossed? Would anyone tell you you've crossed it  before they slap the little white straight jacket on you?

Of course, I'm talking about the thin line between genius and insanity, but you probably guessed that already.

Here are a few definitions of Genius

  • someone who has exceptional intellectual ability and originality
  • brilliance: unusual mental ability
  • ace: someone who is dazzlingly skilled in any field
  • exceptional creative ability
  • flair: a natural talent
I can see myself in ALL of these definitions (there are many more, but I only chose the ones that fit me).

You see, my mind is working all the time ...it never stops!  Just try getting to sleep at night when at night when your mind is still battling to decipher the complexities of science in order to create a new and powerful method of powering the universe!.

Then there are all the observations of the day that need to be catalogued and filed away for future reference and the witticism's that need to be selected and pruned in order to prepare me for any up and coming verbal 'fisticuffs' or sparring.  

I mean, I'm only 5' 7"!!!  Where am I going to keep all this stuff?

So my question is ... and this is basically a rhetorical question ... am I nuts?

Take a ball of string and unravel it.  Throw it up into the air and observe where and how it lands.  THAT is the thin line we all strive not to cross.  Full of loops, twists and curves that are guaranteed to send you spinning into the abyss should your mind negotiate it with a little more speed than recommended. 

There are people out there (one or two) who are reading this and saying "What the hell is he on about?", and I don't blame them one bit.  In fact I have wondered the very same thing (as I typed the previous paragraph).

Here's what I want to know ... Does one have to be nuts in order to gain acceptance in the this tangled and intricate world in which we live?

I read blogs of strangers and they tell me in no uncertain terms that you have to be "whacked-out" big style to make it as a blogger.  You have to have something approaching the proverbial "dropped on the head as a child" mentality to gain the approval of the 'blogging' world in general.  

Or do you just have to be very good at looking at life and taking the piss out of it?

So, let me get back to my original (and rhetorical) question ... Am I nuts?  

My feet, if my perception of ME is correct, are still firmly planted on solid earth.  My head, perceptions permitting again, is firing on all cylinders and there is no steam escaping from any cranial orifice.

So I reckon I am not nuts ... I have not crossed the line ... I still live on the same planet as everyone else.  
But one day ... 
Who knows?

Sunday, 22 August 2010

I'm a bad, bad boy!

It was reported on the news (BBC no less) that a recent study in the USA (had to be, didn't it!) has discovered that girls really do prefer bad boys to good ones.

I wish I'd known this 35 years ago!

Well, it's time to set the records straight.


Let me tell you just a few of my 'bad boy' antics.

  1. I once dipped my finger into the peanut butter jar and licked it clean ... TWICE! And I didn't tell anyone!
  2. I once licked my knife in a restaurant!
  3. It was ME that licked the cake mix bowl out even though I knew my step-daughter wanted to do it.
  4. I once told a policeman to F*** OFF!  (It wasn't my fault he was to far away at the time).
  5. I have crossed roads against the red light on many occasions.

I can just imagine all you 'bad-boy' lovers drooling over the prospect of hooking up with such a wicked individual as myself, however I must disappoint you all!

I am already taken!

So form an orderly queue at the back door and wait until the wife has gone out.

(for a small fee I will email you my address)

Don't all rush at once!

There is enough of me to go around!

Friday, 20 August 2010


As I lay my head onto the ground,
My eyes close for the final time.
My mind fills with memories,
and visions of my life in mime.

Losing the weight from my heart,
silenced, the pounding in my ears.
The easing of all my problems,
and evaporation of all my fears.

I feel the warmth of the light above me,
and my spirit begins to soar.
My body has paid the price,
for fighting in this war.

To all those I leave behind,
I give to you my love.
And hope you will remember,
I'll be watching you from above.

This was 'inspired' if you will by an old magazine article (reporting the 2nd Gulf War) in which a journalist recorded the events surrounding the wounding of a young American soldier.  The soldier was shot in the chest and shoulder and thought he was about to die.  It was reported that he said a prayer and asked colleagues to tell his family he loved them.

There was no mention of the soldiers name or unit, but due to the immediate treatment he received and subsequent evacuation, he survived.

The Geordie Greeting Ritual

This example of a Geordie Greeting Ritual is generally used when a man goes to the BOOZAH or the SOSHALKLUB to greet friends.

Man:               "WATFETLETHEDAYLADZ?"

Freinds:           "NOWTBUTCANNY, HOOZYERSEL?"



Man:                 "YELLBETEKIN AGILL WIVUZ?"

Freinds:             "DIVVENTMIND IFWEDEELIKE"  

If a translation is required,  I would be more than happy to provide one.

Thursday, 19 August 2010

The Bra offer

Just recently I have received a number of emails with the title

Bare Lift Bra

It begins

Dear Sir

Should I be worried?

Do they know something I don't?

OK, so I've put on a couple of pounds over the years, but not there!

The email goes on to offer me maximum lift and support to enhance my 
femininity, of all things.

I know everyone of us (men) is supposed to have a "feminine" side 
but my "feminine" side is


where the originators of the email think it is!

They are now marked as "spam", just like all the others, but it's only 
a matter of time before they start sending them out under a slightly 
different email address or domain.


Such is life!

Wednesday, 18 August 2010

Another "First Encounter" with Americans*

This is a different "first encounter" than the other one and it took place in 1980 during Exercise Crusader '80.  But don't worry!  I didn't talk to any of them!!!

Crusader '80 was (then) the largest peace-time manoeuvre since the end of WWII and involved nearly all the NATO allies to a greater or lesser extent.

Now this encounter didn't leave me thinking Americans were stupid or anything ... it just left me hating them.
But it wasn't just me that hated them. I think most of the people in my unit at the time hated them too.

Let me fill you in on the details.

Our company dealt with ammunition or, in this case boxes of ballast, and we were out in the field doing our thing on the outskirts of a little German village.  We had set up "dumps" in various locations around the village and would be visited daily by "fighting" units that needed more rocks to throw at the enemy. We had been there for nearly a week when word spread that the "yanks" were coming and that they would be playing "orange" forces (the enemy) for a few days.  Where we were, in the rear, we didn't expect to see any of them.

Then one day, just north of our position, it rained parachutes and men (82nd or 101st Airborne)!
One of our patrols disappeared only to reappear two hours later trouser- and weapon-less. All that day we were "stood to" (at the ready in trenches) almost every hour on the hour every hour.  Yanks were popping up everywhere!

On one occasion though, they dared too much and drove a jeep right into our positions, knowing full well that we couldn't stop them (it was only make believe after all).  They lobbed thunderflashes (flash-bangs) left and right and were laughing like hyenas as they did it.  Then they buggered off again just as quickly as they had arrived.

However, they left us with a problem which was far greater than finding a way of keeping them out ...  they put their thunderflashes through the attic windows of the nearby farm house and the blaze was really taking hold.   Along with the German fire brigade, we spent the night puting the fire out!  After that our American cousins were banned from attacks in built up areas and we began to plot our revenge!

The opportunity to get the b&st&rds back presented itself just days later when the airborne Americans changed sides and became "blue" forces.  We got wind that they would be coming though our location in a convoy of trucks early the next morning to take up new positions behind us.

So we got busy.

In the short time that we had we found as many dead rats, mice and birds, in varying stages of decay, as we could.  After tying a thunderflash to each of the decaying beasties we lay in wait at the road side.

When the sun came up (4am-ish) the first American trucks began to roll up the road and as each one passed, we lit the thunderflashes and threw them, along with the beasties, into the rear of the vehicles and amongst the smug looking American airborne warriors.

I would not like to have been in ANY of those trucks after the explosions!!! 


I wish I had photographs of their faces!!!

Now, is that revenge or what?

* I am most definitely not anti-American

Tuesday, 17 August 2010

My Monday

I have done my duty and read the pages of those more competent than I and have duly posted comment where applicable.

I would like to recount to you now some of the events of my Monday morning activities.

As usual I was out of the house before 7am and on my way to my first client.
His call "over ran" due to an "accident" (unpreventable) which made me late for my next client.
He also "over ran" due to the fact he could not be arsed to move any quicker (the bugger!) and I finished with him at 9am then scooted off towards my next client for his ... wait for it ... 9am appointment ... there's more ... 16 miles away!!!

I was lucky and traffic was light, so I made good time, finally rolling in to his drive at 9.35am.  As I was driving I had time to build up a head of pent-up frustration (with the office) due to the ridiculous amount of time they (office again) allow for me to travel between clients.

So I walked in only to fine the client (who should have already had his breakfast) still in his bedroom bopping to a Monkees CD on the CD player I had fixed for him at the weekend.  I was greeted by my client, still  in most of his PJ's (top anyway) dancing to "Take The Last Train To Clarkesville" with his wing-wang winging and wanging all over the place!

Frustration began to bubble over at this point but I kept control and coaxed him through his morning rituals and got him ready for breakfast.  We broke the record getting ready.  The usual time to wash, dress, eat breakfast and brush his choppers is approximately 1.5 hours ... we did it in 35 minutes.

As I settled to my clients routine the frustration subsided somewhat ... until 30 minutes before I was due to leave he demanded to go into the village for a coffee.   We did!

The woman serving us in the cafe was 70 if she was a day!  she wore black hipster trousers, a pale pink stringy pair of knickers which seemed to be more or less invisible between the stretch marks and a T-shirt with the logo "Born to Rock".  She was sooooooooooooooooooooooo slow at serving us that people started setting up a tented-village on the patio, undertakers came in to measure us up and displays in the shops opposite changed again and again!

And when we did get served ... the coffee was lukewarm.

Anyway, we have now reached the point of my tale ... I'm just going to make a coffee.  I'll  be right back.

Here we go again (with a two minute, made in a make-hot-in-a-ping-machine coffee).

It was as we were enjoying (?) our lukewarm coffee's that I noticed a woman with a dog at the next table.
We started chatting in German as she didn't speak much English.  Nothing special,  just about her dog and her holiday, stuff like that.  When we said goodbye and left the cafe I suddenly realised that I had "Heimveh" and felt terribly depressed.

After 5 years living in Wales, I was homesick!  Not for the place I was born and grew up in,but for Germany where I lived for nearly 30 years.  I missed the clean streets (cleaner than here), the lack of graffiti, the more laid-back attitude and the people.

For the rest of the day I was so homesick that I felt like just going home and telling the office to get stuffed!
I'm over it now, although I still long to up-roots and go back there someday ... when I have the money.

I know this is a long winded piece and it's not particularly of interest to anyone ('cept me), but I had to let it all dribble out ... just to keep myself balanced, if you know what I mean.

The combination of frustration (work) and homesickness (for Germany) knocked me a little off kilter yesterday  and it's something I'm not used to.

Monday, 16 August 2010

Message from The Flash!

I got no time to do my thing,
got no time to dance or sing.
Gotta work and earn some cash,
Sorry folks but I gotta dash!

Friday, 13 August 2010

Bright idea No. 1

Many an idea seeks refuge
   in the space between my ears,
But they don't all get an airing,
   or get shared amongst my peers.
Some of them are good,
   but lack that vital spark.
Others are quite scary,
   not to be told after dark.
But some have a little merit,
   that'll one day may make me rich.
And the thought of all that money,
   really makes me itch.
But how'd you go about,
   selling an idea?
Without being shunned or kicked,
   or getting a thick ear!
I wish I knew the answer,
   I really, really do!
Then I'd make chicken curry flavoured custard,
   and sell it to you and you and you!


Thursday, 12 August 2010

Americans: My first encounter

I now have three delightful ladies from  across the pond that follow my blog.

Thank you ladies, I am extremely grateful!

To honour these ladies I would like to take you on a short journey back in time to the early 80's.  1981 to be precise.  In addition to this mini-time travel miracle, I intend to carry you all to the European mainland.  Our destination today is the town of Butzbach in Germany.

Butzbach lies a little north of Frankfurt Am Main and Wiesbaden and was (maybe still is) in 1981 an American garrison town.

Before I continue, let me tell you that from 1976 to 1986 I was in the British army stationed in the Paderborn / Detmold area of Nordrhein West Fallen (further north).  I wasn't a particularly good  soldier, but I looked good in green!

Anyway, Butzbach was where my unit (I was a lance corporal at the time) would spend their annual training camp.  1981 was my first time and I wasn't looking forward to marching around the countryside with a bulky SLR-rifle (none of those nice new ones they have now) and ten times my own body weight in equipment (only slightly exaggerated) or leaping over the American assault courses (which I had been told were longer and harder than ours).

Our camp site was one of the lesser used rifle and small arms ranges about one mile or so outside of town and our first day on site was spent settling in; digging deep holes to use as loo's (no danger of leaving the seat up on a box with a hole in it Jamie), stowing away weapons and equipment and generally being kept busy by officers and senior NCO's shouting a lot.

Now I won't bore you with all the details of ev'rything we did as regards to manoeuvres, etc., it suffices to say that things, in true military fashion, did not go smoothly.

On day two I managed to sprained my ankle.
On day three both of our cooks went down with gastroenteritis.
On day four I was promoted to part-cook with all the associated duties.
Ok, so now you know that we had been there for four days already and still no sign of Americans, but don't worry ... they are about to make an entrance.

Having become "the cook", my first duty was to take a land rover and water bowser to the nearby base and  fill it up.

First of all there were the very severe looking security detail at the main gate ... they called me 'sir' and made a series of hand gestures which meant nothing to me.  When I didn't drive through the gates, one of them came back to the window and whispered (as he made a hand gesture again) "That means get yer ass on in their son".

So much for being called 'sir'!

After a series of wrong turns, I was eventually told to head for the "motor pool" water point so I could fill up.  That high pressure pump they had nearly turned our 3/4 ton bowser on it's side!

As the bowser was filling up, I chatted to a guy (PFC) who's name I forget, and he told me how his "detail" (in the motor pool) works.

Soldier A drives the vehicle into the workshop.
Soldier B checks the work order.
Soldier C positions the vehicle over the service pit.

I laughed my backside off when he told me how they change a tyre.

It's the same as above then ...

Soldier D jacks up the vehicle
Soldier E loosens the wheel nuts
Soldier F removes the wheel

It's then taken to a different work detail to inspect / inflate / dispose of.

To this day, I still don't know if they were being serious or extracting urine, but there was an awful lot of people hanging around the workshop doing very little.

After that, some of the guys went to the PX and said I should come along,  so I did.
I had the biggest hamburger I have ever seen in that place.  The coke I had came in a bucket and appeared to have an iceberg floating in it! And it was dirt cheap!!!  It really put our tatty old NAAFI* to shame.

However, I was somewhat concerned by the level of intelligence displayed by one or two of soldiers I met there. One of them had a penchant for head-butting traffic signs when he walked past them, another (who claimed he had family in Liverpool) thought that any American who had relatives in the U.K. could never visit them otherwise he would be conscripted into the British army!  There were others too, that seemed to be, for want of a better word, simple.   These early experiences of Americans left me thinking that they were all like that.

I know differently now, but at that time, it was a bit of a shock after all those Hollywood films  'n all.

There is more to tell, but my wife is home now and she's hungry.

After all these years I'm still cooking for my superiors!!!

*Navy, Army, Air Force Institute

Wednesday, 11 August 2010

Slave to the Fellowship of the Blog

I fear I have become enslaved ... forced to read blogs of note whilst demonstrating in a somewhat lacklustre manner that I too am of readable stock!

Haven't I gained two very talented "followers" with blogs of mega-stature* to their names?

Yea, verily I say unto thee "I hath made it into the minor league of blogging"!

Hathent I just!

* just being polite

The treacle mines of my mind

The space between my ears, as I may have previously mentioned, is a vast, empty resort dedicated to the creation of bright ideas and moderately humorous anecdotes.

Within that space, are the little cells and sparky-thinks that make ideas go 'ping' and 'pop' before giving them a push towards the keyboard, where dainty yet stubby little fingers dance over the keys to put them into words.

Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't.  At this moment I am fairly confident that the 'little cells' and 'sparky-things' are doing their level best to avoid each other.  On a good day, I can sit in front of my laptop and let rip with dribble after dribble which, on the whole, produces something (nearly) worthwhile reading.  Today though, it feels as if I'm mentally manoeuvring my way through treacle.

It's ok really, because I don't have anything of interest to report.

I am feeling a lot better after my 'near death' experience on Monday and would like to thank Pearl and all those who momentarily sympathised for their concern.

The following was posted on "TOP" forum some time ago, but I thought it deserves an second airing and it would help fill my post for today.  Enjoy!

Whilst typing my little journal entries I endeavour, having taken on board recommendations of a colleague, to maintain a simplistic form of sentencing, thus avoiding overly long statements riddled with intricate and complex mind melting dribble which mere mortals would struggle to comprehend.

Hippopotomonstrosesquipedalianism* is also something I will avoid and, where possible, diminutive alternatives to some words will be employed.

Also, when generalizing, I will refrain from further generalisation of a generalized thread as, generally speaking, things generally get complicated.

Furthermore, I promise to proof read all my articles so as not to omit or leave any sentence unfini

And if I have been guilty of the occasional use of one word sentences, then I promise these will also disappear.  



 *  tis a real word children

Tuesday, 10 August 2010

Bad boy

There has been (another) collision ... a crash ... a spark ... BOOM ...

... and off we go with another riveting episode of "my life so far".

It has been a strange, idea-less weekend leaving me with nothing to report other than that I have nothing to report.  So we will skip Saturday and Sunday and go directly to the events of Monday, to which the above accident referral is ... er ...referring ... ahem!

When I say 'accident' I mean this of course figuratively and not, well, you know ... I don't actually mean there was an accid....

Anyway ...

My alarm was as usual set for 6 am.  It went off!

Instead of my normal "save the day" leap out of bed and race down stairs to let the dogs out for their morning constitutional, I could only manage a sort of slow collapse onto the floor and into my flip-flops.  I grabbed a handful of clothes and headed for the bathroom where, due to my delicate stomach, I had spent most of  the night anyway.

From the very first beep of my alarm clock my head had been banging like a drum.  Every noise that I made seemed ten times louder than it actually was so the echo effect of the bathroom didn't help.

I was feeling really tired, sick and achy but continued through the motions of getting myself ready for work thinking 'I'll be OK'!

Well I wasn't!  After nearly twenty minutes of closely inspecting the toilet bowl and several attempts at altering it's colour scheme, I was forced to admit defeat and call the office.  Of course I didn't tell them all the details of my harrowing experience ... just that I was at death's door and wasn't expected to survive but was battling bravely.

I felt as if my legs were going to give way as I struggled back towards the bedroom.

From below came the whimpering of three semi-submerged dogs that urgently needed to go into the garden.  I "about faced", teetered and wobbled my way down the stairs, zig-zagged along the hallway and staggered through the kitchen to the back door.

Three cross-legged dogs did their best to let me know just how desperate their situation was.

I opened the door and they rushed out to relieve themselves.  By this time I was in a cold sweat and I sank to the floor propping myself up against the dishwasher  (I fear that no sympathy will be forthcoming at this point).

I waited until all the 'pups' had returned themselves to their beds (not taking a blind bit of notice of their 'daddy' sweating on the floor) then I struggled back to my feet, locked the door then went back to bed.

For the first time in at least five years I slept until midday and still felt knackered when I got up.

Those were the events of Monday Morning between the hours of 6 and 7 am.

Today is Tuesday.  I have muscle aches that would be more appropriate for a marathon runner.  My head still hurts!  I am still recovering from my incredible brush with, and narrow avoidance of, certain death in the way only a man can ... you know the way ... like "ill?  ill?  I was dead for three hours!!!!"

Saturday, 7 August 2010

General Moan and Corporal Depressed

This is turning out to be a pretty dreary Saturday!  There is a constant drizzle outside and the air somehow seems  thick with a pipe-smoke smell to it.

I know I have to go out and do things (repair the fence, weeding, shopping, etc.) but I hate it when the weather is like this. It never seems to take long, whatever you are wearing, for the persistent dampness and drips to reach the skin and become uncomfortable.

At times like this I could do with a wad of cash to fling at the first person who would undertake these (and other) tasks for me.  Alas, I have no such wad.  I have only the severely scorched ... nay, charred ... remains of my credit card after engaging in another round of "fix my bleedin' car" battle at the local workshop.

Just when things ... and by "things" I mean my financial status and anything relating to "money" staying in my pocket ... are looking up, my car goes and does the dirty on me.  This time there was a major oil leek under the gearbox and fuel in the catalytic converter (again).

If there are (by chance) any rich folks reading this, you would probably shrug this problem away and head off to your local dealership to buy a new car.  For me however, that is not an option and I have to battle on to try and save my "precious" from the waiting grasp of the scrapyard man.

I am really soooooo depressed that I cannot continue this bleeding heart article ... I wasn't depressed before I started, but I have "typed" myself into it ... so if you will forgive me, I will stop now and just pop my head into the oven for a lifetime or two.

Bum!  We have an electric oven!  Suicide by roasting is too slow.

Thursday, 5 August 2010


Up until today, I have not included the "Followers" option in the sidebar of this blog.

Of the people that do read my words of wisdom, only a few do so by visiting my page.  Others receive my posts via email or from third parties.  On the off chance that someone out there may actually be interested in anything I have to say, I have now included the "Follow" option on the right sidebar.

To those of you that have discovered this page by chance, let me tell you  hat lies in store for you.
  • Ramblings (on just about any subject, but with a less than serious approach)
  • Poems and Rhymes (some funny, some sad)
  • Out and out rants (anyone and anything could be a target, although on the whole I try to remain polite - sometimes)
  • Photos of my pups
  • occasionally some other stuff too
Here are a few links to examples of my stuff so you won't have to plough through my blog archive
Poems:       A Good Night Out
                  More Than Just Dog
                  Seven Days

Ramblings:  Kamikaze Attack

Humour:      Family Letters

I have always considered my blog as my own private "sink hole" into which I could dump my ramblings, empty my brain and do some moaning, but if my dribble tickles your fancy, feel free to "follow" or visit any time.

Tuesday, 3 August 2010

Genius at work!

At any one time during the day a thousand and one brilliant ideas could be whizzing through my mind.

I've have had some fantastic ideas over the years that would earn a fortune if I could only plan them properly.
There was my idea for a "décor" item (can't tell you exactly what it is) that would allow power cables to be routed on the outside of the walls in your living room, bedroom, etc., which would mean you wouldn't need an electrician to do anything other than sort out where your power supply enters the property and install two power-points.  With my "décor" item, you would have practically unlimited "sockets" in any room.  There would be no further need for all that feeding of cables through plastic pipes in the wall and no more plastering after repair work.  If I was an electrician and knew all there was to know about the safety aspects relating to my idea, it would already be on the market.

Another idea was my nuclear-, gas-, oil- and water-free power generator that would run indefinitely requiring only an occasional oiling.  The one drawback with this idea would be the size it would have to be in order to run a dynamo.

Of course, with a thousand and one things jostling for position in my head and me not being the most gifted mental juggler, it is difficult to sort, categorise and file these ideas away for later use. Sometimes I'm left with a real lemon of an idea such as the "manual" jacuzzi (which didn't require the user to eat beans beforehand).
After mentally designing the product - the levers,  pedals and pumps, etc.. - I suddenly realised that manually powering a jacuzzi  would be defeating the object of going into the jacuzzi in the first place and would probably be only marginally more relaxing than a 10 mile run.

Those are just a few of the ideas - there have been many which have long since been forgotten - that have occupied the space between my ears at one time or another.

One question always pops into my mind when I have a new brainwave ... What if......................?

Sunday, 1 August 2010


It's amazing what you can see in the park
when you are walking the dogs just before dark.
There were folks in the long grass grunting a bit
I could have sworn that someone was having a fit.
So over I went to see what was wrong,
and there lay a half naked girl beside a man in a thong.
They grabbed their clothes and sprinted away,
and watching that girl wobble really made my day.

Kiddie update

Well, considering that they wanted to be in Farnham at midday, things didn't go too well.

At a quarter past three in the afternoon they eventually left to catch the train.  They left again at about half past three after a frantic search for a passport.  They were asked before leaving the first time if they had everything but mumbled replies informed us that they weren't stupid! Doh!!!

We, as per usual, didn't receive a text message to let us know that they arrived safely because, as per usual, they never sent one.

I know it's the kids who are actually going on holiday for a fortnight, but it's us that'll be relaxing even though we will still be going to work!