I thought this was funny. Maybe you will too.
Monday, 31 January 2011
Memory Problems II
I am forgetful!
But then again, maybe I'm not .
Because if I've forgotten something and then forget that I've forgotten it, then obviously, it's like that first 'forget' never happened.
Q. E. D!
You know about the tree falling in the forest? The one that falls when no one is around and you wonder if it still makes a noise? It's like that!
Did I really forget if I've forgotten I forgot?
I worked that one out myself. No psychological training whatsoever.
But there is a part of forgetting things which is really annoying ... and if I remember it, I'll be sure to let you know!
Then there is always someone who comes up to you and says "What have you forgotten?"
I hate that question. It leads to blank looks followed by a series of clues intended to ignite the spark of recollection but, in fact, leads to frustration and sometimes violence.
I've forgotten, for God's sake, so why ask the question when they KNOW I don't remember?
So anyway, there was a reason why I ... erm ....
What was it now?
I was going to ........ was I?
Erm.......
But then again, maybe I'm not .
Because if I've forgotten something and then forget that I've forgotten it, then obviously, it's like that first 'forget' never happened.
Q. E. D!
You know about the tree falling in the forest? The one that falls when no one is around and you wonder if it still makes a noise? It's like that!
Did I really forget if I've forgotten I forgot?
I worked that one out myself. No psychological training whatsoever.
But there is a part of forgetting things which is really annoying ... and if I remember it, I'll be sure to let you know!
Then there is always someone who comes up to you and says "What have you forgotten?"
I hate that question. It leads to blank looks followed by a series of clues intended to ignite the spark of recollection but, in fact, leads to frustration and sometimes violence.
I've forgotten, for God's sake, so why ask the question when they KNOW I don't remember?
So anyway, there was a reason why I ... erm ....
What was it now?
I was going to ........ was I?
Erm.......
Sunday, 30 January 2011
Friday, 28 January 2011
Thursday, 27 January 2011
Ambitious Author Seeks Plot
I once harboured thoughts about writing a book.
Don't laugh, I mean it!
As a younger man (I'm not really as old as you might think I am), I sat down many times in front of my PC with only one goal ... to write a book!
Not just any book!
It was meant to be a great book that would sell millions of copies and one day appear as a Hollywood blockbuster or a mini-series on TV.
I still have aspirations in that direction but, unfortunately, I am now of an age whereby I recognise my limitations and I have now come to terms with the fact that my ambitions far outweigh my talents.
Oh, yes! I can rattle off a few lines now and again, sometimes even managing to inject a modicum of humour into them, for my blog ... but a real book?
I know my boundaries! I've crashed into them often enough.
I suppose we (bloggers) are all, in some way, frustrated, wannabe authors ... maybe that is why we blog! Maybe we are, in a sense, all living out our dreams on a small scale by being 'after work' bloggers!
Who knows?
I believe that I mentioned this once before ... correct me if I'm wrong ... but there is certain thrill to having people read your words; laughing at your humour, crying at your pain, sharing your disgust or sympathising with your woes.
Even if you start writing your blog, as I did, for yourself as a form of expression or release, you still get that tingle when someone has left a comment about your article, when your visitor counter starts to go higher and higher and when the number of hits your blog has received reaching for the heavens.
That is how blog-junkies are born!
Oh! I think I've just admitted to an addiction!
Another one!
Did I ever mention that I lurrrrrrrv chocolate?
Anyway, I wouldn't like to leave you feeling deprived of a good giggle, so ......
Question: What's the difference between a golf ball and a G spot?
Answer: Men will actually spend time looking for a golf ball.
Don't laugh, I mean it!
As a younger man (I'm not really as old as you might think I am), I sat down many times in front of my PC with only one goal ... to write a book!
Not just any book!
It was meant to be a great book that would sell millions of copies and one day appear as a Hollywood blockbuster or a mini-series on TV.
I still have aspirations in that direction but, unfortunately, I am now of an age whereby I recognise my limitations and I have now come to terms with the fact that my ambitions far outweigh my talents.
Oh, yes! I can rattle off a few lines now and again, sometimes even managing to inject a modicum of humour into them, for my blog ... but a real book?
I know my boundaries! I've crashed into them often enough.
I suppose we (bloggers) are all, in some way, frustrated, wannabe authors ... maybe that is why we blog! Maybe we are, in a sense, all living out our dreams on a small scale by being 'after work' bloggers!
Who knows?
I believe that I mentioned this once before ... correct me if I'm wrong ... but there is certain thrill to having people read your words; laughing at your humour, crying at your pain, sharing your disgust or sympathising with your woes.
Even if you start writing your blog, as I did, for yourself as a form of expression or release, you still get that tingle when someone has left a comment about your article, when your visitor counter starts to go higher and higher and when the number of hits your blog has received reaching for the heavens.
That is how blog-junkies are born!
Oh! I think I've just admitted to an addiction!
Another one!
Did I ever mention that I lurrrrrrrv chocolate?
Anyway, I wouldn't like to leave you feeling deprived of a good giggle, so ......
Question: What's the difference between a golf ball and a G spot?
Answer: Men will actually spend time looking for a golf ball.
The Lonely Way To Go!
Many a page has been turned,
as the tale of our lives is laid bare.
And many a bridge has been burned,
as we spurn those around us who care.
Mistake follows mistake,
as we sail on our way.
And we've left turmoil in our wake,
by simply not caring about the things that we say.
But when old age starts to show it's face,
then we realise we are alone.
Then begins the final race,
to make up with ex-friends and finally atone.
It all becomes clear,
only when it's too late.
And we end our lives in fear,
alone and resigned to our fate.
And when we are about to face death,
we realise just how badly we were mistaken.
Then we draw our final breath,
and we slip away un-noticed, broken and forsaken.
Don't let this tale be the story of your life,
think twice and change your ways.
Avoid the trouble, the pain and the strife,
so you wont be alone at the end of your days.
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
Doors, Pants, Elephants And A Visitor From God
Some years ago I had one of those rare mornings when I couldn't unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth even if I'd wanted to. I'd slept the night through, without disturbance, but felt that another twenty-four hours sleep wouldn't go amiss.
My usual ability to bounce out of bed and be instantly capable of taking part in a political debate or cracking half a dozen jokes before my first cup of coffee had stayed in bed that morning.
I wandered around zombie-like; in a semi-daze. I didn't have the where-with-all to figure out complicated things such as taps, kettle or making coffee, so I dumped myself onto the sofa and waited for the fog to lift.
The doorbell rang
I opened the door in my pants.
Yes, I DO know what you are thinking. That's a strange place for a door!
I would like to point out that I most certainly am not an exhibitionist ... I gave all that up after a rather unfortunate chance meeting with a female graffiti artist and her spray can of green luminous paint.
That stuff was really difficult to remove, but on the plus side, it meant that for two weeks or so, whenever I needed to pee in the night, there was no need for me to turn on any lights in order to hit the 'target'!
No, I can assure you that the door I opened was firmly embedded in the front wall of our house and not actually in my pants, which sported a pretty cool picture of an elephants head on the front.
I just wasn't thinking. Someone was at the door, so I went to see who was there. My apparel, or lack thereof, didn't seem to be important at the time.
Anyway ...
... I opened the door (embedded in the front wall of our house) and standing on the doorstep, looking away from me towards a parked car, was a smartly dressed, elderly lady.
"Yes?" I said.
"Ah! Hello! I'm from The Holy Saviour Church ..." she said as she turned.
"I'd like to talk to you about ..."
She looked down at my elephant head.
"... JESUS CHRIST!!!" she shrieked.
At that point, I was awake. The 'fog' was lifted as the sudden realisation that I was standing at the open front door, visible to the whole wide world and it's dog, in my underwear hit me.
"Sorry!" I said stepping behind the door, which unfortunately is mostly glass. "I'm not a believer! Thank you. Bye!"
I slammed the door, most ungentlemanly, in her face and ran for the safety of the kitchen as the build up of shame generated, furness-like heat, burned my face.
After all this time, I can still feel some of that heat when I remember the incident.
My usual ability to bounce out of bed and be instantly capable of taking part in a political debate or cracking half a dozen jokes before my first cup of coffee had stayed in bed that morning.
I wandered around zombie-like; in a semi-daze. I didn't have the where-with-all to figure out complicated things such as taps, kettle or making coffee, so I dumped myself onto the sofa and waited for the fog to lift.
The doorbell rang
I opened the door in my pants.
Yes, I DO know what you are thinking. That's a strange place for a door!
I would like to point out that I most certainly am not an exhibitionist ... I gave all that up after a rather unfortunate chance meeting with a female graffiti artist and her spray can of green luminous paint.
That stuff was really difficult to remove, but on the plus side, it meant that for two weeks or so, whenever I needed to pee in the night, there was no need for me to turn on any lights in order to hit the 'target'!
No, I can assure you that the door I opened was firmly embedded in the front wall of our house and not actually in my pants, which sported a pretty cool picture of an elephants head on the front.
I just wasn't thinking. Someone was at the door, so I went to see who was there. My apparel, or lack thereof, didn't seem to be important at the time.
Anyway ...
... I opened the door (embedded in the front wall of our house) and standing on the doorstep, looking away from me towards a parked car, was a smartly dressed, elderly lady.
"Yes?" I said.
"Ah! Hello! I'm from The Holy Saviour Church ..." she said as she turned.
"I'd like to talk to you about ..."
She looked down at my elephant head.
"... JESUS CHRIST!!!" she shrieked.
At that point, I was awake. The 'fog' was lifted as the sudden realisation that I was standing at the open front door, visible to the whole wide world and it's dog, in my underwear hit me.
"Sorry!" I said stepping behind the door, which unfortunately is mostly glass. "I'm not a believer! Thank you. Bye!"
I slammed the door, most ungentlemanly, in her face and ran for the safety of the kitchen as the build up of shame generated, furness-like heat, burned my face.
After all this time, I can still feel some of that heat when I remember the incident.
Monday, 24 January 2011
Catch Up
Alas, all good things must come to an end!
For the time being that is.
Instead of a humorous look at what our wildlife get's up to, you will be entertained (debatable) once more by my literary ramblings.
Yes.
I know!
You would all rather see more of those fantastic pictures ... I do have a few more ... but I'm afraid you will just have to wait for the next time I find myself snowed under with work.
I have some catching up to do and there are a fair number of blogs, which I have neglected for several days, to peruse and perhaps comment on. But, dear readers, normal service is about to resume and although I cannot promise you an extravaganza of textual bliss, I shall endeavour to entertain you in the way to which you have become accustomed.
Who said "Oh no!"?
I will try to inject humour into what would otherwise be just an endless stream of mundane events linked, as it were, only by the fact that I, in some small way, played a part in them.
So ... loosen up your jaw muscles for there is plenty of yawning yet to do.
But for now, as it is 2.45am, I will bid you all (wherever you are) a very good morning/night/afternoon!
For the time being that is.
Instead of a humorous look at what our wildlife get's up to, you will be entertained (debatable) once more by my literary ramblings.
Yes.
I know!
You would all rather see more of those fantastic pictures ... I do have a few more ... but I'm afraid you will just have to wait for the next time I find myself snowed under with work.
I have some catching up to do and there are a fair number of blogs, which I have neglected for several days, to peruse and perhaps comment on. But, dear readers, normal service is about to resume and although I cannot promise you an extravaganza of textual bliss, I shall endeavour to entertain you in the way to which you have become accustomed.
Who said "Oh no!"?
I will try to inject humour into what would otherwise be just an endless stream of mundane events linked, as it were, only by the fact that I, in some small way, played a part in them.
So ... loosen up your jaw muscles for there is plenty of yawning yet to do.
But for now, as it is 2.45am, I will bid you all (wherever you are) a very good morning/night/afternoon!
Sunday, 23 January 2011
Saturday, 22 January 2011
A Very British Pair, Perhaps?
 |
| No, no! You take it old boy. Wouldn't dream of it old chap. You take it! But I insist. No, no. I insist ... |
Friday, 21 January 2011
Thursday, 20 January 2011
Monday, 17 January 2011
Homer & Marge (Part One)
Some of you may have read Homer & Marge (Part One) on The Mad Lady's blog on which it appeared as a guest post last week.
I have just finished Homer & Marge (Part Four) and submitted it to The Mad Lady.
I would like to take this opportunity to point out that I am not a viewer of The Simpson's
and that my Homer and Marge are most definitely not yellow!
I picked the names Homer and Marge without even thinking that they
were already 'in use' by our yellow, animated friends.
were already 'in use' by our yellow, animated friends.
Anyway, for those of you that have not yet read Homer & Marge (Part One),
here it is ...
(it's a little bit rude, but not much! You have been warned!)
here it is ...
(it's a little bit rude, but not much! You have been warned!)
The door slammed.
“WOMAN!” screamed Homer as he threw his coat over the banister. “Get out here and drop ‘em!”
Marge, his wife, walked out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a tea towel. “You what?” she snarled.
“C’mon babes … drop ‘em. I want some ‘nicies’”
“Not a chance. I’ve got dinner to make and kids the need to be taken to the movies” she spat at him.
“C’mon babes! The game kicks off in twenty minutes and it’ll only take me two minutes. You’ll be back in the kitchen in no time at all.”
“NO!”
“Aw babes! Daddy wanna go ‘wabbiting’. Been finking ‘bout it aaaaaall day”, he said putting on his best impression of a four year old.
Looking at her watch she relented and said “OK, but be quick!”
She dropped ‘em and bent over the sofa. She silently thanked God knitting, which she was sure was invented for times like these.
There was a sensation of movement behind her, followed quickly by a thrust that made her drop a stitch.
“A-ha!” she thought, “the terrier is in the warren”.
Heavy breathing and the occasional slap on her butt were the only indications that Homer was still there.
“Oh yeah, baby! Oh yeah! There we go. Another line finished. Soon have this ‘juniors’ sweater finished” she said over her shoulder.
“Uuuuugh, aaaah, yeah! Uuuuunnnnnnnnngggggghhhhhhh! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” he said and flopped onto the floor.
“Well?” she asked. “Can I get on with dinner now?”
“Sure” came the out of breath reply. “Thanks babes! You earned yourself another tube of strawberry flavoured willy lube”.
“Gee! Thanks!” she said, as she dribbled her way towards the bathroom.
Saturday, 15 January 2011
Three Chins, A Fat Ass And A Babe In Boots
There I was, in a cafe eating my bacon sandwich and drinking my latte, when in walked three women.
They sat at a table directly in my line of sight, which was annoying as they blocked my wonderful view of the dustbins that were lined up on the street outside awaiting the attention of our local waste management operatives.
I looked at them instead.
There was a blonde one: she was podgy and had at least three chins, although a re-count may have revealed more. Hence forth know as TC (Three Chins)
There was one with rust-brown hair: she made chubby look slim and her bottom, in my opinion, definitely needed a second chair. Hence forth know as SC (Second Chair)
And there was an auburn haired Babe in boots up to her knees: Tall and shapely, but with a huge piece of clunker on the third finger of her left hand. Damn! Hence forth know as Babe (er ... Babe).
TC was obviously the 'dominant' one as it was she who decided where they sat.
"This ones good" said TC.
"Why not sit by the window?" asked SC.
"THIS is where I want to sit" spat TC as she pulled out a chair.
Babe said nothing, but offered an embarrassed look at the other customers as if apologising for TC.
Coats were removed and draped over chairs and they all sat.
TC took charge of the only menu on the table and asked "What's everyone having?"
Babe spoke. "Pot of tea for me and perhaps a cheese and ham melt"
"Have a latte, dear. They're very good!" said TC and Babe - poor meek Babe - capitulated without a struggle.
SC was a little smarter than Babe and tried to fend off any 'correction' by TC by asking "What do you recommend?" she asked.
TC pulled her glasses down and perched them precariously on the very tip of her nose and peered over them at SC.
"It's a 'greasy spoon' cafe, dear! I wouldn't even recommend being here if it wasn't raining so hard" she said.
"Oh!" said a deflated SC. "In that case I'll just have a salad. Can't go wrong with a salad, can you!"
Babe rolled her eyes and she looked out of the window.
"Don't get me started on salad's, dear" said TC. "I could tell you tales .... "
And she proceeded to list a number of establishments where she'd had run-in's with waiters, chef's and management regarding the inferior salads they had to offer.
TC never whispered or spoke in a slightly more guarded manner about any subject that was brought to the table. Babe and SC, in those few seconds that were available to them, spoke in subdued and somewhat embarrassed tones, receiving one or two snapped "Speak up dear"s from TC.
I learned during my spell of eavesdropping, that this was a regular girlie-day-out thing that they were engaged in and that they met every Friday. Babe and SC were obviously uncomfortable in the company of TC, but TC seemed to revel in her leadership and dominance, as it were, over her friends.
I caught many a glance from SC and Babe that seemed to both ask for forgiveness (for TC) and plead for rescue. I was tempted to say something to TC about her volume and tone, but to be honest ... she scared me!
I paid and left.
As I walked past the window of the cafe, TC was busy lecturing the waitress, no doubt on how to wait on tables, SC was sitting on her hands and looking at the floor and Babe was looking longingly out of the window. When she saw me she gave a half hearted wave and shrugged!
I somehow felt guilty at leaving SC and Babe in the clutches of TC ... but what could I do?
I'm just not that brave!
They sat at a table directly in my line of sight, which was annoying as they blocked my wonderful view of the dustbins that were lined up on the street outside awaiting the attention of our local waste management operatives.
I looked at them instead.
There was a blonde one: she was podgy and had at least three chins, although a re-count may have revealed more. Hence forth know as TC (Three Chins)
There was one with rust-brown hair: she made chubby look slim and her bottom, in my opinion, definitely needed a second chair. Hence forth know as SC (Second Chair)
And there was an auburn haired Babe in boots up to her knees: Tall and shapely, but with a huge piece of clunker on the third finger of her left hand. Damn! Hence forth know as Babe (er ... Babe).
TC was obviously the 'dominant' one as it was she who decided where they sat.
"This ones good" said TC.
"Why not sit by the window?" asked SC.
"THIS is where I want to sit" spat TC as she pulled out a chair.
Babe said nothing, but offered an embarrassed look at the other customers as if apologising for TC.
Coats were removed and draped over chairs and they all sat.
TC took charge of the only menu on the table and asked "What's everyone having?"
Babe spoke. "Pot of tea for me and perhaps a cheese and ham melt"
"Have a latte, dear. They're very good!" said TC and Babe - poor meek Babe - capitulated without a struggle.
SC was a little smarter than Babe and tried to fend off any 'correction' by TC by asking "What do you recommend?" she asked.
TC pulled her glasses down and perched them precariously on the very tip of her nose and peered over them at SC.
"It's a 'greasy spoon' cafe, dear! I wouldn't even recommend being here if it wasn't raining so hard" she said.
"Oh!" said a deflated SC. "In that case I'll just have a salad. Can't go wrong with a salad, can you!"
Babe rolled her eyes and she looked out of the window.
"Don't get me started on salad's, dear" said TC. "I could tell you tales .... "
And she proceeded to list a number of establishments where she'd had run-in's with waiters, chef's and management regarding the inferior salads they had to offer.
TC never whispered or spoke in a slightly more guarded manner about any subject that was brought to the table. Babe and SC, in those few seconds that were available to them, spoke in subdued and somewhat embarrassed tones, receiving one or two snapped "Speak up dear"s from TC.
I learned during my spell of eavesdropping, that this was a regular girlie-day-out thing that they were engaged in and that they met every Friday. Babe and SC were obviously uncomfortable in the company of TC, but TC seemed to revel in her leadership and dominance, as it were, over her friends.
I caught many a glance from SC and Babe that seemed to both ask for forgiveness (for TC) and plead for rescue. I was tempted to say something to TC about her volume and tone, but to be honest ... she scared me!
I paid and left.
As I walked past the window of the cafe, TC was busy lecturing the waitress, no doubt on how to wait on tables, SC was sitting on her hands and looking at the floor and Babe was looking longingly out of the window. When she saw me she gave a half hearted wave and shrugged!
I somehow felt guilty at leaving SC and Babe in the clutches of TC ... but what could I do?
I'm just not that brave!
Friday, 14 January 2011
An Old Dog's Plea
So tired,
so weak.
Could you please help me find,
the peace I seek?
But bide with me,
til my time is done.
And be glad for me,
for soon I will run.
Into the light,
towards green fields.
Where I can be free ,
when this body yields.
But cry no tears,
feel no sadness.
For I will be released,
from this earthly madness.
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
My First "Guest Post" Spot
I have been lucky enough to have been allowed a 'guest post' spot on the The Mad Lady's blog.
If for some strange reason you haven't yet discovered her blog, have a look at the link above.
She is definitely worth a look-see!
My article, which she so graciously accepted, can be viewed here
I hope you enjoy it.
Part two has already been submitted, so keep your eyes peeled for it.
Both parts will be re-posted here at a later date (when my usual dibble dries up).
Part three is in the pipeline.
Who knows if there will ever be a part four?
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
Something You May Have Missed
Angels Came Calling
(a re-post [sorry])
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.
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.
Poor Hard Done-By Me
Another one of those 70 hour weeks is upon me leaving little or no time for blogging.
I shall return soon I hope.
Sunday, 9 January 2011
Similarity
I am definitely not trying to promote this product!
I am posting this purely because of the similarity between the facial
expressions of this dog and one of my clients.
When asked a question that is a bit tough my client will, in an almost identical manner to the dog, screw his face up and say "Eehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Yes. .... "
before answering it with great ease.
I drive my wife mad every time I see it by saying "Wally* does that!"
*not his real name obviously
Friday, 7 January 2011
Just Another Of The Joys Of Being A Doggy 'Daddy'
Zak, a cat who thinks we are at this beck and call, arrived home this morning and headed without fuss or purr straight upstairs to his favourite spot on Gabriele's (step daughter) bed.
Just a few minutes ago, after something like a seven hour 'nap' and a feed, he left the building in order to patrol 'his' neighbourhood.
As he strutted - he owns this place remember - out through the open doorway, I could feel a burning sensation on the back of my neck.
I turned to see our three dogs sitting line-abreast staring daggers at me. The look in their eyes quite clearly said "How come he can go out on his own and we can't"?
I have since been snubbed by Sym, Sox and Clover in turn and my attempts to realign their out of joint noses has been so far unsuccessful.
In an hour or two though, our relationship will be back on an even keel when I present them with their evening meal followed by their treat.
After their meal, they will as always sit in front of us and wait, tails thumping the floor, for the magic word. That word is ...
PUDDING!!!
All three of them will begin the 'Tigger' routine of bouncing their way into the kitchen.
Just a few minutes ago, after something like a seven hour 'nap' and a feed, he left the building in order to patrol 'his' neighbourhood.
As he strutted - he owns this place remember - out through the open doorway, I could feel a burning sensation on the back of my neck.
I turned to see our three dogs sitting line-abreast staring daggers at me. The look in their eyes quite clearly said "How come he can go out on his own and we can't"?
I have since been snubbed by Sym, Sox and Clover in turn and my attempts to realign their out of joint noses has been so far unsuccessful.
In an hour or two though, our relationship will be back on an even keel when I present them with their evening meal followed by their treat.
After their meal, they will as always sit in front of us and wait, tails thumping the floor, for the magic word. That word is ...
PUDDING!!!
All three of them will begin the 'Tigger' routine of bouncing their way into the kitchen.
They will all sit (two of them always in their beds) and await the treat.
A Denta-chew each.
Then they'll all love me again and begin competing for the prime evening spot ...
... lying on top of 'daddy' on the sofa.
Just another one of the joys of being a doggy 'daddy'!
The Fault Lies With Them ... Not Me, Jesus Or Pinocchio!
D'ya know what?
I spend more time reading the blogs of others than I do actually writing my own.
So you folks out there are the ones to blame if you find my 'hit and miss' article appearances somewhat annoying. Oh yes! I know you are ALL going to deny it and after a chorus of "Who? Me?" and "WTF!" you will all, no doubt, start thinking I am carzy.
Well I'm not carzy ... just mildly lysdexic!
I get carried away by your wit, ramblings, rages and dribble so that by the time I get to writing my one masterpiece whatever buzzing back and forth between my ears has gone!
So you ARE to blame whether you believe it or not.
Pearl is in many ways the most prolific offender and must shoulder much of the blame. Living with wise-cracking and devious cats gives her more literary ammunition than most.
A Diary of A Mad Woman occasionally blows my socks off (cleaned that one up a little) with accounts of her shenanigans ... and those booby-pics are wicked too!
I spend more time reading the blogs of others than I do actually writing my own.
So you folks out there are the ones to blame if you find my 'hit and miss' article appearances somewhat annoying. Oh yes! I know you are ALL going to deny it and after a chorus of "Who? Me?" and "WTF!" you will all, no doubt, start thinking I am carzy.
Well I'm not carzy ... just mildly lysdexic!
I get carried away by your wit, ramblings, rages and dribble so that by the time I get to writing my one masterpiece whatever buzzing back and forth between my ears has gone!
So you ARE to blame whether you believe it or not.
Pearl is in many ways the most prolific offender and must shoulder much of the blame. Living with wise-cracking and devious cats gives her more literary ammunition than most.
A Diary of A Mad Woman occasionally blows my socks off (cleaned that one up a little) with accounts of her shenanigans ... and those booby-pics are wicked too!
Hello World (a newbie) shows promise and I very often get caught up by the ramblings of A little Sprite, Bitchin' Wives Club, laughing my abs off and ... well, you can see who I follow.
But, dear reader, they are just the tip of the iceberg. As guilty of being a distraction as they most assuredly are, there are many more bloggers whose work I read that I haven't decided to follow yet, who are just as guilty.
That point made, I would like to serve you today's morsel: a joke (my favourite) which I hope will amuse you.
(The 'daddy' takes a bow and exits stage right.)
I apologise to those who feel that their religious beliefs has been ridiculed, attacked or merely dented by this affront.
But, dear reader, they are just the tip of the iceberg. As guilty of being a distraction as they most assuredly are, there are many more bloggers whose work I read that I haven't decided to follow yet, who are just as guilty.
That point made, I would like to serve you today's morsel: a joke (my favourite) which I hope will amuse you.
There was once an old man who one day wandered up to Heaven's gate and rang the bell. Jesus was on gate duty and went out to see what the fuss was about.
"Excuse me", said the old man. "Can you help me? I'm looking for someone".
Jesus scratched his head and replied "Oh! That might not be so easy. There are millions of people up here".
"No!", came the old man's reply. "It should be easy, you see the person I'm looking for has holes in his hand and his feet".
Jesus was visibly taken aback. "Father?" he asked.
The old man squinted at Jesus and asked "Pinocchio?"
I apologise to those who feel that their religious beliefs has been ridiculed, attacked or merely dented by this affront.
Thursday, 6 January 2011
Two Scotsmen
(This one is definitely older than I am)
A man stumbles up to the only other patron in a bar and asks if he could buy him a drink.
"Thanks", comes the reply.
The first man then asks: "Where are you from?"
"I'm from Scotland", replies the second man.
The first man responds: "You don't say, I'm from Scotland too! Let's have another round to Scotland."
"Of Course", replies the second man.
Curious, the first man then asks: "Where in Scotland are you from?"
"Aberdeen", comes the reply.
"I can't believe it", says the first man. "I'm from Aberdeen too! Let's have another drink to Aberdeen."
"Of course", replies the second man.
Curiosity again strikes and the first man asks: "What school did you go to?"
"Saint Andrews", replies the second man. "I left in '62."
"This is unbelievable!", the first man says. "I went to Saint Andrews and left in '62, too!"
About that time in comes one of the regulars and sits down at the bar. "What's been going on?", he asks the barman.
"Nothing much," replies the barmen. "Just the MacGregor twins pissed drunk again."
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
What A Combination!
Insomnia!
RLS!
It's a real pain in the arse being me sometimes!
Normally my medication would have kicked in long ago and I would have drifted off to sleep in the normal way; snuggled up under a thick, winter duvet.
But not this time!
I lay awake from 11.30pm until frustration got the better of me and I had to get up. It was 1.45am.
I've read all the bogs I didn't have time for yesterday and posted one or two comments. I read, then re-read my emails, but couldn't bring myself to answer more than one of them before I started to get frustrated again.
I haven't suffered from insomnia for such a long time, but tonight, it's back with a vengeance aided and abetted by legs that think they are capable of doing a can-can without asking permission first.
The dogs are unaccustomed to having me around at this time and are looking worried. Sym in particular seems very concerned for his'daddy'. He is sitting at my feet right now, head resting on my knee, and hasn't taken his eyes off me for over an hour.
Clover is sleeping ... when is she not? ... but doesn't seem able to settle and keeps waking up to give me a quick look before pirouetting back down onto her mat.
Sox is dozing on one of the other dog mats, occasionally she'll raise her head to see if I'm still there.
It's somehow nice to know that they care.
In a few hours I have to go to work. I really should be tired.
Ah, well! There is always a possibility I will be able to take a nap in my lunch break tomorrow ... er, later today.
RLS!
It's a real pain in the arse being me sometimes!
Normally my medication would have kicked in long ago and I would have drifted off to sleep in the normal way; snuggled up under a thick, winter duvet.
But not this time!
I lay awake from 11.30pm until frustration got the better of me and I had to get up. It was 1.45am.
I've read all the bogs I didn't have time for yesterday and posted one or two comments. I read, then re-read my emails, but couldn't bring myself to answer more than one of them before I started to get frustrated again.
I haven't suffered from insomnia for such a long time, but tonight, it's back with a vengeance aided and abetted by legs that think they are capable of doing a can-can without asking permission first.
The dogs are unaccustomed to having me around at this time and are looking worried. Sym in particular seems very concerned for his'daddy'. He is sitting at my feet right now, head resting on my knee, and hasn't taken his eyes off me for over an hour.
Clover is sleeping ... when is she not? ... but doesn't seem able to settle and keeps waking up to give me a quick look before pirouetting back down onto her mat.
Sox is dozing on one of the other dog mats, occasionally she'll raise her head to see if I'm still there.
It's somehow nice to know that they care.
In a few hours I have to go to work. I really should be tired.
Ah, well! There is always a possibility I will be able to take a nap in my lunch break tomorrow ... er, later today.
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
No Jocks, No Americans, Just Crusader 80 (Part Three)
This is the third and final post relating to the exploits 52 Ord Coy, 5 Ordnance Battalion during Exercise Crusader 80.
Although never planned as trilogy, the events documented here
here,
Our fearless leader, Major McCormack, joined us for the first time in this location (he had to attend some function or other) on this day as it was our turn under the spotlight and media glare. The press turned up in the wake of our even more fearless leader, Brigadier Forgotizname, who was coming to say a hearty 'well done' to the troops for a successful exercise.
The tent nearest to the barn was the HQ tent and was where Major McCormack met Brigadier Forgotizname.
The plan was to visit the Control tent, where supplies were controlled by myself and three others, then to do a circuit of our defensive positions, starting at the fox-hole behind our tent and going in a clockwise direction around the farm.
Now, Major McCormack did not know what we knew and, after greeting our illustrious guests at our HQ tent, he boldly stepped up onto the small concrete wall surrounding the area of green, indicating that the 'show' was about to start and that everyone should follow him towards the Control tent.
Before any word of warning could be uttered, he stepped onto the green area ... and promptly disappeared up to his waist in liquid pig shit!
The 'green' area was actually a large basin created to collect the pig's 'doings' and allow it to ferment a little before it could be sprayed on the surrounding fields. The 'green' surface was a layer of algae that had grown across that surface of the liquid.
If you weren't told what it was, then it really did look like a safe place to walk on.
With the layer of algae being all that held back the stench, the air was quickly filled with the wonderful aroma that only a pigs bottom could generate.
The stifled laughter of all in attendance broke into guffaws as Major McCormack continued his walk through the shit-pit saying "Well? What's everyone waiting for? C'mon in! The shit's lovely!"
The visit did eventually continue but, alas, without the attendance of Major McCormack who went off to immerse himself in a bath of disinfectant .
Although never planned as trilogy, the events documented here
Part One - Another "First Encounter" With Americans ,
here,
Part Two - When The Jock Hits The Shi@
and in the following lines, are true events that occurred (with only minor embellishments) during the afore mentioned exercise which took place in Germany in 1980.
The location: Belle (Nordrhein-Westfalen), Germany.
Crusader 80 was drawing to a close and it was time for the Brass to do a little PR work by visiting all those poor, dirty and stressed-out souls on the ground.
Our fearless leader, Major McCormack, joined us for the first time in this location (he had to attend some function or other) on this day as it was our turn under the spotlight and media glare. The press turned up in the wake of our even more fearless leader, Brigadier Forgotizname, who was coming to say a hearty 'well done' to the troops for a successful exercise.
Major McCormack, as I mentioned, had only just joined us and, after a quick briefing from his 2 I/C, made ready to greet our visitor. Sadly his briefing did not include any info as to the layout of the farm in which we were located other than the positions of various tents (cook tent, control tent, HQ tent) and sentry posts.
It was completely lacking any and all information regarding the large area of green surrounded by a low concrete wall in the centre of the farm's courtyard.
The courtyard looked something like this
The tent nearest to the barn was the HQ tent and was where Major McCormack met Brigadier Forgotizname.
The plan was to visit the Control tent, where supplies were controlled by myself and three others, then to do a circuit of our defensive positions, starting at the fox-hole behind our tent and going in a clockwise direction around the farm.
Now, Major McCormack did not know what we knew and, after greeting our illustrious guests at our HQ tent, he boldly stepped up onto the small concrete wall surrounding the area of green, indicating that the 'show' was about to start and that everyone should follow him towards the Control tent.
Before any word of warning could be uttered, he stepped onto the green area ... and promptly disappeared up to his waist in liquid pig shit!
The 'green' area was actually a large basin created to collect the pig's 'doings' and allow it to ferment a little before it could be sprayed on the surrounding fields. The 'green' surface was a layer of algae that had grown across that surface of the liquid.
If you weren't told what it was, then it really did look like a safe place to walk on.
With the layer of algae being all that held back the stench, the air was quickly filled with the wonderful aroma that only a pigs bottom could generate.
The stifled laughter of all in attendance broke into guffaws as Major McCormack continued his walk through the shit-pit saying "Well? What's everyone waiting for? C'mon in! The shit's lovely!"
The visit did eventually continue but, alas, without the attendance of Major McCormack who went off to immerse himself in a bath of disinfectant .
Sunday, 2 January 2011
It Was Just Another Day
As I've already mentioned, I was working on New Years Eve so I didn't celebrate. As my client saw it as 'just another day' and went to bed, as usual, at 10 pm, I locked up the house, turned off the TV and settled down for the evening with my book.
At 11 pm the skies over Cardiff were it up by those over eager souls who couldn't wait until midnight to let off their paltry selection of cheap and nasty fireworks. I had a quick look out of the window but I wasn't impressed by what I saw. I knew immediately that Sydney Harbour's pyrotechnic display would once again over shadow anything Cardiff had to offer. It always does and always will.
In the years between my youth (when alcohol was denied me) and my more sober adult years (where I denied myself alcohol) I have attended many a wild and wicked party.
I imbibed with a passion that rarely allowed me to remember, let alone see, the celebrations at hand. Many a time I heard the clock strike midnight with my head halfway down a toilet bowl or in the custody of the local constabulary.
Those were the days, eh?
But I grew up ... eventually ... and became a none-drinker. A glass of bubbly, only at the appointed hour and only after a round of 'chinking' glasses, would be all that crossed my lips.
Many years before I began my examinations of toilet bowls - when I was still living in Newbiggin By The Sea (Northumberland) - I would roam from street to street, house to house, party to party picking up a rag-tag collections of friends and relatives en route and we would nearly always all end up at my aunt's house to see in the New Year.
In those days no one locked their front doors. You could pick a house at random, knock, walk straight in shouting 'Happy New Year!' and you were part of the celebration. No objections! No problems!
Someone would probably shoot you if you tried that nowadays.
Anyway, my point is that I no longer celebrate the change of the year as I once did. I, like my client, accept the 31st of December, and indeed the 1st of January, as 'other days' in my daily slog.
Truth be told, the new year is just a reminder of how old I am becoming and in March, I will receive another one accompanied by cards and choruses of 'happy birthday'.
These days, I would no doubt make a lousy party guest.
At 11 pm the skies over Cardiff were it up by those over eager souls who couldn't wait until midnight to let off their paltry selection of cheap and nasty fireworks. I had a quick look out of the window but I wasn't impressed by what I saw. I knew immediately that Sydney Harbour's pyrotechnic display would once again over shadow anything Cardiff had to offer. It always does and always will.
In the years between my youth (when alcohol was denied me) and my more sober adult years (where I denied myself alcohol) I have attended many a wild and wicked party.
I imbibed with a passion that rarely allowed me to remember, let alone see, the celebrations at hand. Many a time I heard the clock strike midnight with my head halfway down a toilet bowl or in the custody of the local constabulary.
Those were the days, eh?
But I grew up ... eventually ... and became a none-drinker. A glass of bubbly, only at the appointed hour and only after a round of 'chinking' glasses, would be all that crossed my lips.
Many years before I began my examinations of toilet bowls - when I was still living in Newbiggin By The Sea (Northumberland) - I would roam from street to street, house to house, party to party picking up a rag-tag collections of friends and relatives en route and we would nearly always all end up at my aunt's house to see in the New Year.
In those days no one locked their front doors. You could pick a house at random, knock, walk straight in shouting 'Happy New Year!' and you were part of the celebration. No objections! No problems!
Someone would probably shoot you if you tried that nowadays.
Anyway, my point is that I no longer celebrate the change of the year as I once did. I, like my client, accept the 31st of December, and indeed the 1st of January, as 'other days' in my daily slog.
Truth be told, the new year is just a reminder of how old I am becoming and in March, I will receive another one accompanied by cards and choruses of 'happy birthday'.
These days, I would no doubt make a lousy party guest.
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