The Last Laugh; It's a Dog's Life

(Pictures of our 'babies' added)

In the vain hope that the weather will brighten up, I have just hung out the laundry. Sym, our Border Collie, went into "guard" mode as I struggled to get the king-size duvet covers and the rest of the laundry onto the line.

I really did feel safe in our back garden.

My boy Sym

Sym  has a growl and a bark which make him seem larger and more aggressive than he actually is and has scared the be-jeezus out of any amount of postmen and those annoying people that keep putting fliers through our letter box.

He really is a big soppy wuss though and loves attention from any quarter ... except tall men wearing black, for some reason.  They send him into "don't touch me or I'll kill you" mode, although I hasten to add that he has never actually killed, or even bitten, anyone.

I think this aversion to tall people dressed in black dates back to an incident in the woods around Cardiff when he was about one year old.  Someone, who was obviously not dog friendly, gave him a kick and he has never forgotten about it.

Anyway, I didn't log-in this morning to prattle on about my laundry or my dog ... well, not just one dog anyway.

The story I would like to tell you all occurred two days ago when I was walking Sym, Sox (Border Collie X) and Clover (Lab X) in Hailey Park.

As you can probably imagine, this involved much ball throwing and the dispensing of cheddar cheese treats.

We were on our first lap of the park heading, as we always do, towards the old railway bridge that crosses the river Taff.

And there is a hole at the side of the path.  As far as I can recollect, this hole ... not deep, but well hidden by long grass ... has been there for at least 5 years.  It was probably the work of a dog, rabbit or badger, but it was never completed ... that is to say, no rabbit or badger ever lived in it and no dog buried a bone in it.

As I mentioned, it was over grown and hard to see, but we knew it was there ...somewhere.

As we strolled alone the path towards the bridge, Sox took up 'point' and lead the way as she always does. Sym hid himself at the tree line and waited for his ball to be thrown and Clover (bless her) stayed at her 'daddies' heels and kept him company.

I lobbed yet another ball into the skies and Sym took off, intending to intercept it further along it's trajectory, thus causing a startled Sox to spring sideways and off the path into the long grass.

As I looked, Sox's head and front legs disappeared downwards and her hind legs and tail went straight up into the air.

She had found 'the hole'!

For two or three panicked seconds, she flailed about until she could get some purchase and pull herself out.  As she did so, she looked left and then right in a "I hope nobody saw that" sort of way, then looked back directly at me.

I was laughing!

'Her Ladyship' Sox

Sox  did not look very pleased and walked off in disgust.

Later, on our second lap of the park, we were walking as a fairly tight little group across the area known to some as 'the conservation area', but known to me as 'the place where very few people pick up their dog's doo-doo',  when Sox had her revenge.

For some inexplicable reason, someone had taken a grass sod out of the path.  It wasn't as if it was good quality grass suitable for a lawn or anything, but it was gone and it left a hole!

Sym was once again restless and eager to be off chasing his ball, so I sent it hurtling along the path in our direction of march. Sox strayed a few yards ahead of me and Clover was ... well, was where she always is ... at my heels.

Clover (bless her)

As I walked, I bent down to give Clover a pat and some encouragement (she has had a difficult past prior to living with us), when suddenly my left foot hit a spot that should have been solid ground, but turned out to be air.

I had walked into the hole left by the grass-sod thief!

Now, to be fair, my reactions were pretty damned good and although I stumbled, I never hit the ground!

I did a "Sox" and checked that there was no one around to see me looking stupid.

There was no on in sight ... just Sox!

She was staring straight at me with her wide, Jack-Nicholson's-Joker-like grin and her tail wagging.
I could tell she was thinking "That'll teach you to laugh at me, you ba$t&rd!".

She then went on her way along the path in such a jaunty, bouncy manner that it would have been very hard for anyone watching to believe that she is, in fact, and very old lady.

As we completed our walk, Sym went to chase the squirrels, Clover decided to follow her 'bro', but both Sox and I continued across the fields checking the ground before us very, very carefully indeed.

The game of life is hard to play, I'm gonna lose it anyway.

(Title: from "Suicide is Painless" [the theme from M*A*S*H] by Mike Altman and Johnny Mandel)

Life, and this is that last of my mini-series about the mysteries surrounding why we are here and what it's all about, is like racing through tapioca a pudding, only occasionally skidding on crusty bits and accelerating before all to often sticking knee deep goo!

Life, if you try not to think about evolution, is a race that we are all destined to lose one day and we have no idea why we are running!

It doesn't matter to which expert you speak about life, and I don't mean priests, vicars, pastors, etc., they will be unable to deliver a definitive answer as to why we are here and what our purpose is.
The only thing that they will all agree on is that "you live and then you die"!

It has been said by people far smarter than I am that life is the slowest form of dying that there is ... an illness, if you will, that takes a life time to kill you.  It has also been said (by the same smart people) that from the moment of our birth, our bodies are fighting a losing battle to keep us alive.

I am not a genius, neither do I belong to one of those little 'clicks' of 'smart people' that seem to know everything, but I do know that we have to resign ourselves to the fact that we will never know the true reason as to why we exist.  If indeed there there is one.

I would like to be able to believe the answers provided by religion, that we are a creation of a supreme being that loves and cares for us as His 'children'.  But in a world that seems to be full of people trying to kill, oppress or simply just rob others, I find this hard to swallow.  Surely a God of Love would NOT permit such things to take place.

I respect anyone's rights to follow, and believe in, the religion and God of their choice.

I just wish their God would be a little bit more forthcoming as to the nature of our existence.

My only hope is that we are not just germs growing on the culture plate of some very big alien ... because he's going to want to wash that plate some day.

(I hope everyone has read the intro below "Symdaddy Journal", especially the 'tongue-in-cheek' part.  I don't want to get anyone upset about this post)

Empty House

Yesterday, 27.9.10,  was Gabriele's big day!

She went to University.

We have had sooooooooo many problems getting her motivated and ready.

"Have you packed everything"? we would ask.

"Yes, 'course I have" would be her reply, only for us to find out later that her idea of packing was to dump whatever needed to be packed onto her bed.

It was difficult, but we eventually got ALL she needed into the car.

By 08.00 we were ready to roll.  By 08.30 Gabriele was ready to roll!

The journey, from Whitchurch in Cardiff to Hendon in London,  was 153 miles and my sat-nav estimated it would take 2 hours and 43 minutes.

Approximately halfway we stopped for a coffee in one of the service stations.  As we walked into the building we found ourselves directly in front of a Starbucks coffee shop, to which I, in my naivety, headed.

"Stop!" said Julie.  "I'm not paying £2.20 for a bleedin' cup of coffee!  Let's go upstairs to the cafe up there."

So we did.  We ordered 1 tea, two coffee's, a shortbread biscuit and something stuffed with raisins.
As Julie coughed up the money, I gleefully pointed out that the coffee in the 'cheaper' cafe cost £2.55!

That made my day!  Julie slapped me on the arm.  She was not impressed.

Arriving in London was easier than you would expect.  The traffic was easy to negotiate and, for once, my sat-nav did not lie to me.  It actually got us to the very door, behind which, registration was taking place.

We managed the journey in a little over two and a half hours (not including that coffee break) as I found that my accelerator pedal foot was extremely heavy and insisted that we travel at about 90 miles per hour where possible (No officer, I was definitely only doing 70, honest!).

Julie and I had a cup of tea in one of the 'lounge' area's while Gabriel got her registration sorted out ("What? Do I have to do it on my own?").  Afterwards, we carted all her stuff up to her room and helped her to stow everything away.

We checked out her communal kitchen and had another cuppa before deciding that it was time she found her 'own way'.

We said our "goodbye's" and wished her well.  There were hugs all round.  Then we drove off.

On the way home, although I already knew most of the route, I turned my sat-nav on and was amazed to discover that the journey home would be over two hundred (212 to be precise) miles and would take about four hours.

My sat-nav,once again, was lying to me.

I chose then to ignore it and, after only one wrong turn, we were on our way back to the M4 and Wales.

Traffic was heavier going home than it was going to London and it took us roughly three hours to make it back to our drive way.

The dogs had been looked after by their 'grandpa' for the time we were away.  They had been well cared for but there were signs some seriously disjointed noses as we entered the house.  It took a trip to the park and some dedicated ball-throwing to get back in their 'good books'.

But there is now an empty feeling to this house of ours.  Christopher had moved into his own place in Penarth prior to starting University and now Gabriele has left.

Yahoooooooooooooooo!

I love 'empty'!!!

Unusually cruel literature

After rising this morning like a rather small, and less bright sun I realised, as I performed my pandiculation, that although I could (as indeed all men could) be accused of colposinquanonia and ximelolagnia, that I am not a bad person at heart.

Being adept in the art of adoxography and also a self confessed autolatrist, I am prone to producing the occaisional article which, to many, may seem somewhat borborygmus-like and from time to time include charientism's which could cause offence.

To those offended by my offerings, I can assure you they are merely witzelsucht and not intended to upset anyone ... not even the steatopygic and abecedarian amongst you ... and I would like to offer my sincere apologies.

Get those dictionaries open.

(re-posted TOP article)

"The Great Woolworth's Caper"

Let me take you back to a time when police officers regularly patrolled on foot without fear of having to break into a run and were never more than two minutes away from a cup of tea; a time when a 'police chase' was nothing more than a fast whistle-blowing and gasping walk; a time when crime was actually considered un-cool.

The year is 1969, the month was August, and school was out for the summer holidays.

I was ten years old and about to commit a heinous crime and become the subject of a police interrogation for the very first time.

It was a Saturday.  I remember that the local football ground was being used for a farmers show on that day and the town (Ashington, Northumberland) was buzzing (in a 60's kind of way).  I had a bag of (peri)winkles,  a pin and some jelly babies and I was on my way to see "The War Wagon" with messrs Wayne, Douglas and  Keel at the local Regal cinema..

On my way to the cinema I passed the ideal place for Mini-skirt-spotters ... Woolworth's!

Mini skirts were still turning heads in 1969, but unlike today, big knickers (Bridget Jones's) were still all the rage.   So, whilst touring the aisles of Woolworth's, carefully and strategically dropping things as mini skirted women passed by, nothing more than great expanses of flower-patterned material was revealed*.

I decided on that day that Woolworth's was a boring shop and needed to be livened up somewhat.  The "pick and mix" sweetie counter just didn't cut it any more and I had to do something.

That was when I saw a plastic box at the end of one of the aisles.  It was full of super-bouncy rubber balls that were aptly named 'Super-balls'.  They were smaller than their almost tennis ball sized cousins (Power balls) and very easy to conceal.  So I concealed some ... I ate my jelly babies and stuffed the bag full with at least ten to fifteen balls ... my winkles were deposited under the counter and that bag too was filled with balls.   With two full bags and bulging pockets, I made my way up the steps that lead to the shops rear entrance.

I then stood in the doorway and scanned the shop floor in front of me.  No one was looking!

As quickly as I could I took all those super-bouncy balls and one after the other I propelled them back into the shop in every conceivable direction.  People started screaming and balls pinged off floors, walls,  shelves and a good many heads.  I fired salvo after salvo into the throng of panicking customers, dodging after each one behind the scant cover that the door frame offered.  I was in tears of joy as old lady after old lady** ducked, skidded, fell and rolled their way behind counters and into safety.

As the last of my 'ammunition' was expended, I turned towards door behind me to make my escape, only to run head first into one of the largest stomachs I have ever seen.  I ricocheted onto my backside and slid ineloquently to a halt at the top of the stairs and looked up.

The 'stomach' turned out to be wearing a policeman's uniform and it belonged, in fact, to a jolly looking fat police sergeant that I had seen around town and called names on many occasions.

It was obvious that he recognised me as he said "Are you going to come quietly, Mr. Capone?  Or do I have to call in the F.B.I."?

For hours (or so it seemed) I was questioned by the sergeant and store manager as to my motives for committing such an atrocity.

"It was only a joke" was the answer I would have liked to have given, but terror had clamped my jaw shut and I could only manage to mumble incoherently.

I was released with a stern telling off ... eventually ... but only after a thousand and one apologies were demanded (and given) and only after the manager conceded that no real harm had been done and that some of the staff and customers had had a good laugh about the incident.  Luckily, my parent were never informed and my arse was saved the wrath of my fathers belt.



*Ok, at this point I have to admit that I wasn't really doing my best every opportunity to look up mini skirts!  
No.  At that time of my life I was still in the throws of "girl hate" and a dislike of everything girlie.


**I was ten.  Twenty-five was old to me






Addendum:


The above tale is absolutely true however I cannot be 100 % certain that the amount of balls 'returned' to the shop has not increased due to age-related exaggeration.

It is was my first brush with the law.  There have since been two others (more serious), which I may will spill the beans about at a later date.

The Childish Side of an Oldie

I like to think I can string handfuls of words together into sentences and tell a tale as well, if not better, than most in the 'unpaid' ranks of the blogging community.  I would also hope that my writings, although infrequent compared to some, amuse people sufficiently for them to want to return for 'second' helpings.

It has never been my intention to do anything other than amuse.

I have however recently been accused of at times of writing somewhat silly or childish articles unsuitable for grown-up, intelligent people who, so 'those' who complain say, are looking for reading material of a more intellectual and stimulating nature.

I say to 'those' that tell me to 'grow up' and be more serious that I have fought long and hard, for the best part of fifty years in fact, for the right to be as childish as I please, when I please.

The 'those' to whom I refer is, in actual fact, a 'who' ... my wife!

She tends not to share my blatant childishness, unless of course it's something 'slap-in-the-face' funny, like someone walking into a glass door.

But, hey!

Who doesn't love a spot of Schadenfreude now and again?

So, in response to what I found to be a totally unfair and inaccurate accusation, I would like to ask you, my loyal and faithful public (all four of you), for your opinion.

Am I too much of a child at times? What direction do you think I should be going? Am I assuming too much thinking that ev'ryone out there HAS a sense of humour?

Be totally honest.

I can take it.

When you leave your comments (if you do) ... remember ...



... I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!!!

First Aid Jitters

(This occurred today -17.9.10- at approximately 3.30pm)

That damned motorbike rider nearly gave me a heart attack!  Twice!!!

He roared past me on a narrow country lane as I was driving towards Cowbridge (South Wales) and nearly changed the colour of my underwear forever!

I didn't even see him in my mirrors.  He wasn't there! Then, accompanied by a vvvrrrrrooooooooommmmmm, he suddenly wasn't there again, only this time he wasn't there in front of me, if you get my drift! (Heart attack No.1)

Now, I am a good driver and I fear no road ... but I do fear the idiots that think they are immortal and can do anything they please.

As the motorbikes dust began to settle on the road before me, I knew I would probably see that rider again very soon.

I did too!

Classical Gas blared out of my car stereo's speakers and I tapped out the beat on the steering wheel as I rounded the last bend and began my descent into Cowbridge.  Two hundred yards ahead of me on the grass verge, lying on his side with his Kawasaki still stuck between his legs, was the 'biker' that had caused me only moments before to doubt, nay test, the quality and sturdiness of my underwear.

My adrenalin levels rose dramatically as I desperately tried to recall some of the first aid that I had learned.
I recall that beads of sweat popped out of my forehead as I pulled over behind the 'downed' biker with my hazard lights blinking.  I jumped from my car, raced towards him and fumbled for my phone in order to make that all important, and quite possibly life saving, call for an ambulance. (Heart attack No.1)

As my semi-panic was reaching it's high point, the biker pushed his visor up and shouted "It's OK!  Nothing happened. I'm all right."   He removed his helmet and as he righted his bike he explained ...

"I only stopped cos I needed a pee!  When I put my left foot on the ground I'd lost the feeling in it and I fell over taking my bike with me".

So I didn't have to use my first aid skills after all ... even if I had remembered them!

All that adrenalin wasted!!!

I could have killed that idiot!

The Shape of Things to Come

It's official!

I am AMAZING!!!

Not only did I manage to find a clients dentures this morning (in a shoe in a closet...don't ask!) but I also gained a new 'follower'.

Welcome to my world Madsbloggingmom (Yep! I know who you are!).

Normally I would take newbies by the hand and lead them through the lanes and backwaters of my mind, ensuring their safety and helping myself to the contents of their wallets, but today is the penultimate day of work before I embark on a two week 'stay at home' holiday and I'm on a 'chill'-break.  But you know your way around so feel free to have a good look-see.

If there is nothing worth stealing, call the police!  I must have been burgled.

Anyway, I shall proceed with today's 'intelli-dom'* and continue my ... what shall I call it? Investigation? Well, it'll do for now ... into the miracle that is life.

This time I would just like to skim through some of the highlights of parenthood that some of you have you already gone through and others still have to face.

Your child will start his/her life in the hands of an opportunist child beater who will delight in walloping them on the arse/ass just to make them cry.  It's not generally reported what this child beater says at the moment he delivers the blow,  but it is rumoured that he Mwahahahaha's then screams "That'll teach ya ta give yer ma backache!"

The following years are almost entirely filled with adults speaking gibberish, cuddly toys, poo, pee and high velocity vomit.  Then comes a day when potty training finally achieves it's goal, closely followed by the day that word "daddy" is uttered, thus totally infuriating Mommy who was, as inmost families, the poo, pee and vomit cleaner-up-er and who has secretly been teaching 'junior' to say "Mummy" for months.

The road to independence winds it's way through the various schools, colleges and universities where they learn the skills needed to prepare them for the moment when they can finally say to mom and dad "It's my life!  Let me make my own mistakes".

At this point in their lives they may well screw up and then run back home to mom and dad for some moral or financial support from.  If they do, pray that a local law enforcement operative does not accompany them!

This is usually the time when they decide it's time to stand on their own two feet and leave home for good, find  a job and settle down.  You could end up spending anywhere between £193,000 to £775,000 raising and educating him/her (from birth to the age of 21) and providing them with all the gadgets and fashion fads they may have desired. You could also have gained numerous grey hairs in the process.


It doesn't end there ... soon it begins again, only next time you will be grandparents

There you go ... a quick look at the shape of things to come.

* Intelligence and wisdom

The Creation and the Meaning of Life

After my recent brush with philosophy (see Life: Why The Journey Continues) I have begun to wonder what life is all about and why we are here? 


The only solution that I can come up with (and I have spent many seconds pondering this as I sip  my coffee and dunk my shortbreads) is that it must have come about in the following fashion.  


(Names and places in the following text have been changed to protect the innocent)


The right molecules, particles and all the other necessary paraphernalia got all mixed up in just the right way to  concoct a 'soup' which, left uneaten (as there was no one to eat it), went a just a tinsy-winsy lil' bit mouldy thus providing the right conditions to spawn a single cell organism.  


His name was Louie and he quickly became bored, all alone in that 'soup' as he was.  So, in order to have some company Louie forced himself to split down the middle and give himself a companion.
Of course Louie was still bored, even with company;  


There was no T.V. back in those days.


After a couple of million years, although Louie was long gone, his descendants had spawned many other "little Louie's" which had begun to evolve into lumps of cells which wandered the primordial soup praying on lonely female lumps, ravaging them and ultimately making more smaller lumps.


Then, one fine day, one or two lumps found themselves left high and dry after the 'soup' levels fell. They wiggled and waggled until they got back into their natural habitat (the 'soup') but thought "Hang on! That was pretty cool. Let's do it again".
So out they popped again and again and again until there came a time when some of the lumps decided not to go home ever again.  In such a way life began on the solid ground that we would one day name Earth ... but they were still bored and they still did not have a T.V.


The rest is, as they say, history.  The 'lumps' on planet Earth hip-hopped along their evolutionary way though many changes and dead-ends, leaving many forms of life in their wake, until it eventually reached the pinnacle of life as we have come to know it.  


The 'lumps' became US.


In a nutshell, that is how it all happened (excluding the 'big bang' theory of course, because as we all know, if there is no one to hear the 'bang', how do we know it really did go 'bang'?)   


But what is the purpose of our existence? 


Well isn't that obvious by now?


To BLOG,  guys,  to BLOG!!!

Pre-POP!

(Written one day before the birth of Connor Elijah Walters; born 03/09/2010 at 03.09) 

Cheer up Em,

you'll soon go 'pop' 

and out a brand new 

babe will hop.

Good luck to you 

and your nearly ex-bump.

That'll teach ya,

not to hump!

Life: Why The Journey Continues

Many times I have heard life described as a 'journey'.

Where this 'journey' is taking us is unclear but many would argue that it is a journey towards spiritual enlightenment or towards God himself.

This may be true.

However, I don't think that we (the human race) will ever reach the planned destination.

Life, I have discovered, resembles one of those Joint-the-dots pictures.
When you start, there is nothing but a page covered in dots and the further you draw your line from dot to dot, the more of a picture appears.

But is it really so simple?

I think not!

Life changes.

Every time you look away to sharpen your pencil, a shaggy dog covered in ink will shake himself over your 'page' and hey-presto!  More dots!

Life is such a complicated thing ... really it is.

Not a shaggy dog story at all.

Brain dead

Sorry to have to break it to you folks, but it's official ... I have blanked!

Yes,  the blog-worlds favourite 'daddy' has officially 'hit the wall' and his imagination and creativity was unfortunately seriously damaged in the collision.

It was one hell of a smash and there weren't many bricks of that wall still in place after the dust had settled.

I suppose, if truth be told, the collision was my fault.  I wasn't looking where I was thinking and
KA-POWWWW-SPLAT-A-ROONY!

I was, and still am, very tired.  To much driving, to much work and to little sleep. That's all it takes for your mind to go off at a tangent and leave all those unimportant 'other bits', such as arms and legs, to continue in an uncontrolled and erratic fashion ... as they did!

I wish I could be more like Pearl and have a mind that is completely uncluttered (hahahahaha): A mind, which during blogging, would be capable of separating one or two cells from my thought processes, thus allowing  a modicum of limbs control. 

I will now retire to my mental 'sick bed'.

Feel free to wish me a speedy recovery.

"First Encounter" with Americans No. 3

It was in Giessen, Germany (where else) that this "third" encounter took place.

It was on a football pitch inside one of the American barracks, and when I say "football", I mean the American hug-a-lot-of-other-people-as-hard-as-you-can variety of the game and not the much more refined and manly game of soccer.

We (army again) were invited to partake in an afternoon BBQ and sporting afternoon with an American unit (the name of which I forget) which we accepted, already drooling at the thought of all that American food, in typical, laid-back British style ... "Course we'll come. We'll bring the booze!"

IT all kicked of at about 12 noon with a rousing cheer from our American hosts as we leapt from our vehicles, carrying our footy kit.

The BBQ itself was a long drawn out affair punctuated by sports, beer and banter.

The gauntlet was thrown down almost immediately after the first burger and chicken leg had been devoured;

"To Arms Men!" shouted our officer commanding.

American 'touch' football was on the cards.

They kitted us out with all sorts of padding.  They even gave us helmets to wear and after a very short, and to my mind inaccurate version of the rules, the game began.

Being somewhat naive and believing we were about to play a game of 'touch' football,  we failed to question the logic of them giving us all that protection.

Within the hour we had been beaten by a very large margin ... I think it was seven broken bones to nil!
God knows what the points tally was!

We had intended teaching them to play 'soccer' afterwards but, thanks to a quick dash back to base, we challenged them to a game of rugby instead.  After a quick explanation of the rules, we got ready to play a game of 'touch' rugby.  Our American hosts leapt into their protective gear and were very reluctant to take it off after we told them that rugby is a man's game and protective clothing isn't allowed.

The game lasted only fifteen minutes!

We crushed them!  We went in hard from the off and tackled with full body weight.  After the first try (score),   two or three of the yanks that had been particularly brutal during the American football game withdrew due to injury and several others tried very hard to be anywhere the ball wasn't.  I doubt very much if those guys will ever play rugby again.

As I said, the game lasted only fifteen minutes ... we ran out of opponents!

We all went back to the food and tried not to think of those still stuck in the infirmary.

The story of how we all jumped naked through the flames of the bonfire is something for another day.

They said ...

Never write a blog or tweet when you are angry, that's what they say.  They say you will end up writing something that will be very difficult to retract at a later date.

So, as I've had another very bad day at work, I shall take the advice that they have offered and withhold my planned article for another day.

I wonder what they would say if they knew I was taking their advice?

I'll be honest ... I don't even know who they are!  But they must be clever folks because they're always saying something or other.

Memory problems

My head doesn't seem to be working very well.

I don't have much to report and what I did want to say seems to have slipped away into the foggy innards of my mind.

I can vaguely remember that I was going to tell you all about the "nose picker" that I had in my car the other day.
What struck me about the incident was the incredible depth to which he was able to excavate without popping out an eyeball.
Talking about "snot mining" may not be an acceptable topic though if you are reading this during your breakfast.

I can also remember I wanted to mention the hairdressers and make-up artists that hold up traffic in the mornings.  But it would have been more of a rant than an informative and descriptive piece of writing, so perhaps that should be consigned to the same memory folder as the "snot mining" incident.

There was so much to tell; so much information I was ready to impart, in order to give you an insight into my daily doings. But, in good old "old man" fashion, I've forgotten everything I wanted to say.

Oh, one thing has stuck with me ... I remember now.

It involves a middle aged female jogger, a rather large (but not large enough) blackberry bush and my need to be relieved of a certain pressure that had built up during a long walk with our three dogs.

We were on the last leg of our walk and Clover (bless her) was beginning to struggle in the heat.  Sox was doing her own thing and periodically checking to see if I was still behind her, and Sym (my boy!) was full of the joys of life and, unfortunately, still full of energy.  He continued to demand that his ball be thrown.

It was!

Many times!

As I said, our walk was nearly over.  There was little more that half a mile still to walk.  As we came out of the woods onto the gravel path, a jogger (the afore mentioned female one) passed us with a curt "Gangway!" and disappeared along the path in the direction we would be taking.

Five minutes later we came to a point on the path where an old rail line crossed the river.  The bridge is still there, closed off, but the track has long since gone.  It was here that I discovered that bladders have a finite capacity and that pressure had built up to an intolerable level.  I also discovered that relief from such pressure does not necessarily come in the shape of a tree.
In an emergency, any form of fauna and flora will suffice (the blackberry bush), believe me.

It took me a few seconds of hopping and jiggling about (I hate button-up jeans!) before I could assume the position and, accompanying myself with a long drawn out "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!", do what comes naturally.

At this point ... at the height of my "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" ... the head of the female jogger that passed us some minutes earlier popped up on the other side of the bush.

"Great minds think alike!" she said, red faced, as she slithered back into her lycra running shorts.

"Seems like it" was all I could counter with as the watering process continued.

As she jogged off she was probably thinking Oh my God, oh my God! I hope I never see him ever again ... at least not so much of him.

I was thinking Bugger! If I'd known she was there I would have gone to her side of the bush!

I had remained calm, as only an ex-soldier who has no qualms about peeing at the side of any highway or byway could, and continued on my walk with all three pups in tow.

On the short walk back to the car we must have passed about fifteen to twenty people on the path, so I guess we were both lucky to have only had a 'one person' audience each to witness our expulsions.

Hey! Would you look at that!

My head seems to be working again!

I wonder if it's anything to do with the brandy?

Reuben, Buddy, Dave and Motley

Reuben, Buddy, Dave and Motley,
we bid you a fond farewell.
We wish you all good things,
in the new land where you now dwell.
You've crossed the Bridge,
and been released from all your earthly ties.
Now you play together,
under beautiful clear blue skies.
And although you will be sorely missed,
we know that you are blessed.
For as someone else once said,
Heaven only takes the best!


In memory of four lovely dogs -

• Reuben (Rottweiler),
• Buddy (Whippet),
• Dave (Rottweiler), and
• Motley (Collie X)