Puppy Love!

Don't Panic!

... but it is nearly Christmas!

So have you got everything under control?

Are your cards all written and ready to go?  Have you done all of your Christmas shopping?

What about that big feast you where thinking of?  Have you planned it yet?

Nah!  Neither have I!

To be absolutely frank ... to be 'slap-inna-face' honest, as I always am ... I don't like Christmas!

All the work that goes into a good family Christmas; all the effort and racing around to get everything you need; all that ... that ... that unappreciated sweat!

Then before you know it, it's all over.

All you are left with is a heap of wrapping paper, a kitchen full of dirty pots and pans, a lounge full of over-fed and snoring zombies and a bout indigestion that could drop a horse.

So why do we go through it year after year?

Well, for my part, I do it purely for the satisfaction of having it done and dusted ... and behind me ... so I can concentrate on being normal again!

For me, the word 'Humbug!', is a totally inadequate way of expressing my displeasure with the commercial torture which we know as Christmas!

Bah!  I am so tempted to go back through this text and replace all the capital C'c in Christmas with little c's!

Welcome Slovenia!

I'm afraid that I don't speak, and certainly can't write, your language, but nevertheless, I would like to thank you for stopping by.

I am accustomed to the occasional visit from eastern Europe but never before have I had so many hits in such a short period of time. It makes my heart (and head) swell with pride to know that so many of you (apparently) appreciate my blog. At least I hope you do.

There were over 50 hits on Those Who Fell between the hours of 5.50am and 6.00am, which is quite amazing really (It has been read over 2000 times since I posted it November 2010) as I am not the most prolific of bloggers.

According to an English-Slovenian translator that I found on-line 'Thank you' in Slovenian is, believe it or not, Thank you!

So....

Thank you (that's the Slovenian one, not the English one) to everyone who popped in to read my blog.

Thanksgiving!

So what is it really about?

I've heard the story, of course, about that infamous meal of turkey and corn that the settlers shared with the indigenous population and I only have one question ... How do the Indians celebrate Thanksgiving.

When you think about it, they really have no reason to celebrate, as that meal was, as far as their future a free people ... with lands and rights.

I don't mean to have a dig at Americans here ... I'm just curious. What do they do at Thanksgiving? 

I think I would have spent the whole day sticking pins in dolls, but that's just me.

Anyway, I hope you all had a nice day and are looking forward to a few days taking care of the leftovers.

I still haven't forgiven you guys for what you did to our tea.

Can you tell?

  

Hitler Caused It All!

I'm short on time today so let's press on, shall we?

This guy, let's call him Donald, whom I bumped into in a cafe, stunned me yesterday by telling me all about how Adolf Hitler started the Korean War by invading Japan ... which is in Mongolia, apparently!

No, no, no!  I know what you are thinking, but you are wrong!  Donald was not, and has never been,a client of mine.  He was, more than likely,a client of someone though.

For a second ... but only for a second ... I thought of correcting him but then the inquisitive side of me took over and decided to see exactly where this conversation would end.

"It was all Hitler's fault" he said. "He sank the Titanic you know!"

He went from this revelation straight into a tirade about the local town council and how they could improve  public transport by simply giving everyone a car!

"And it all started when Archduke wosshisname let himself get assassassass ... killed!"

"That was World War 1" I ventured.

"Nah!  That was Hitler as well" he replied. "He did that because of all that time he had to spend writing a book about Karl Marx or something."

Thankfully at this moment his sausage, egg and chips arrived.

I drained the dregs of my coffee and said "I'm off, before Hitler invades this joint looking for a sandwich!"

But I had already been forgotten as Donald tucked into his meal.

Who Did That?

Another American Encounter

There is no doubt in my mind that blogging is addictive!

If your brain isn't buzzing with ideas that may, or may not, make a decent article to share with your public, then you are constantly wondering 'how did that last post do'?

I blog in rather an irregular fashion. People never know what I'm going to post next.  I have no system or pattern to my posts.

I have no running themes on any particular day and I don't do any of that rather boring plugging of products or publication that some others seem to do.  If I ever hit the big time then, maybe, I'll change my opinion on that, but it's certainly not an issue which takes up more than a few milliseconds of thought at the moment.

I like to try and raise a chuckle or two and, if I'm lucky, get a response that isn't just another nut or bot filling my comments with obscenities or junk.

How am I doing?  (Michelle need not respond to that one)

Anyway, today I was thinking that I'd have another crack at the yanks!


Yeah, you lot!  Here we go...

It was summer and I was still in the army.

We were near a small German town of Butzbach and we were involved in a little spot of military training.
I can recall that on this particular day we were due to go off on a long march, with full kit and weapons, to a location where we would 'assault' an American held position.  I was not looking forward to it, so when the boss asked for a volunteer to assist our American cousins with a little 'families carnival' in the local American barracks, I jumped at it!

"Get yourself smartened up" I was told (we were in combat clothing most of the time, but we'd brought smart stuff just for visiting the yanks).

So there I was ... highly polished boot, clean and pressed parade dress and a smart looking side-cap ... when an American vehicle turned up at our camp site.

It was one of those big beefy pick-up trucks and as I climbed in, I asked the driver "Any idea what they want me to do?"

"Can't help ya there ol' buddy.  Only bin tol' t'get yer scrawny ass there in one piece".  He had a smirk on his face which made me nervous.

His driving style didn't do much to convince me of the truth of his previous statement either!

But we got there and, as we drove though the camp gates, there was the usual silly looking snappy hand signals from the guards that are meant to let you know you can proceed.

"Stoopid asshole!" mumbled my driver, who obviously knew the guy at the gate.

After a few moments we came to what looked like a baseball field covered in tents and stall of varying sizes.
"This is you!" he said as he pulled up.

I got out and without any sort of explanation from my driver, he drove off.

I stood there for a moment and as I was wondering what I should be doing and where I should go, I heard a voice from behind me saying "You the poor bastard they sent, huh?"

I turned and saw coming towards me two yanks dressed in fatigues.

"I'm Cap'n Hall.  This is Sargeant Major Brown".

I saluted and introduced myself.

"They tell ya what ya'll be doin'?" asked the Sargeant Major.

"No sir!" I said. "They only said you needed some help".

They looked at each other and ... yes ... there was that smirk!  Just like the one on the chops of the guy that drove me there.

They told me that would be helping them of on of their stalls ... but that didn't make me feel any more confident or make me think that my immediate future was not going to pleasant!

After a quick guided tour of the stalls, booths and tents, people started to turn up.

"Time to get started, I reckon" said Captain Hall,and he ushered me to the one 'attraction' that had been covered by a huge tarpaulin.  "This is where you'll be doin' your thing!" he said.
I watched as several guys started to remove the tarpaulin.  I caught a glimpse of the sign ... "Dunk the ...".

Then there was a water tank with a seat above it and a small circular target.  Then the tarp fell away.

The sign read ...

Dunk The Limey!  

"You're taking the piss!" I hissed, ignoring the rank of the guy I was talking to. "I'm in parade uniform!  Smart!
And all you want to do is get me piss-wet through!"

Well, despite my reservations and anger at being suckered, I did have a good day!

And, although baseball is an American national sport, did find out that very few of the 'throwers' were natural baseball players!  I was hit (and a baseball is damned hard) more often than the target.

Four hours I was there and I was soaked again and again and again!

But it was all for charity and on our stall we managed to raise over $400 ... and a good few bruises.

I was well looked after by everyone there.  I was well fed and plied with beer throughout the afternoon and when it came time to call it a day, my soaking uniform, which they kindly replaced with a full set of US fatigues and boots, was taken away to be dry-cleaned.

Before I left that evening, they were all back!  Uniform cleaned, pressed and neatly folded and my boots dry and, once again, highly polished.

It was a great day and I must admit, my hosts were more than generous and really did look after me.

Thoughtless Dog Owner!

Dog Day Afternoon!

Dog's.

Yes, dog's again.  What? Have I not mentioned that I have three dog's?

Oh, come on!  I must've done.

Look!  I did, a'right!!!

Anyway, whether I have or haven't is irrelevant, because I have ... got three dog's. 

Oh bum!  Ya see?  All that prevaricating (you, not me) has made me forget my subject for today.

It doesn't matter. I'll tell you a joke instead.

An old was taking her dead cat to the pet cemetery. 

As she boarded the bus, she whispered to the driver "I have a dead pussy".

The driver pointed to the woman in the seat behind him and said, "Sit with my wife. You two have a lot in common".

When I Was A Tart!

It has been some years since I last wore a dress ... 1978 to be exact ... and I still fume whenever I think of it!

GOD DAMN IT!

I should have won the fancy dress competition!

This is the story of that occasion.

It was the only one that I have EVER entered and, I tell ya, I really put the boat out to try and win it!

There was this guy in the base fire brigade that knew a man that had a friend who's sister's best friend worked in the local theatre. He instigated a chain telephone call that resulted in me receiving an invitation to the theatre for a fitting (wait for it).

In the mean time, before my appointment, I was offered some additional assistance with the compilation of my wardrobe from some army wives (not mine, I hasten to add).  They fitted me out with shoes, stockings and suspenders, make-up, jewellery and a slinky black evening dress.

Of course, I couldn't quite fill that cleavage demanding dress, hence the need for a fitting in the local theatre.

They enlarged my chest using a very realistic, state of the art, 44 DD set of fake boobies!

Then came the big day!

My small army of army wives fussed and swooned over me.  They painted my face! They decorated me with jewellery! They helped me into my boobs! They squeezed me into the evening dress then planted a long, black wig onto my head. I carried the size seven stilettos until I needed them (and to prevent me from breaking my neck). 

I have to tell you, I looked fantastic!  I thought I would walk away with first prize. No problem!

Later that evening came the judging.

The camp Padre, my commanding officer and his good lady were the judges.

After all that preparation, I was not surprised to reach to the last three!

It was between me (the Tart), Charlie Chaplin and Elvis Presley.  I ask you, where was the competition there?  They had no chance!

Elvis was voted into third place and I was devastated ... I mean, like totally shocked ... when the announced that Charlie bloody Chaplin had won first place!

Of course, I smiled and congratulated the dozy cow that had won, but after so much effort I was really pissed-off that I hadn't won.

I was comforted by my entourage of army wives, but they all said that losing had been my own fault.

"You were robbed!" they chorused. "But if you'd shaved your moustache off, you would have won!"

The Euro And The Fall Of Rome

Have you heard?

The Euro is in crisis!

Yes, it's true.  Greece has a huge economic crisis and Italy, one of Europe's biggest economies, is following suit.

Whereas the Greek government has pushed (or tried to, if their politicians are to be believed) measures that will save their economy from total collapse and are receiving a huge bailout from the their Euro cousins, the Italians are just starting to feel the bite and are in dire need of a rescue themselves.

Why?

Simply put, they have borrowed to the limits of their ability to repay the loan.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong ... and I often am, but if you are in danger of losing the money that you have lent someone, the last thing you should be doing is raising the interest on that loan to record levels, thereby making it harder for the borrower to make repayments.  What are they at now?  6.9% interest?  Amazing!

I personally would be safeguarding my investment by making it easier to for the borrower to pay me back.

But there you go!  That's just me and voicing my opinion is a would be very like farting in a hurricane.  No  one would notice!

But no! The money lenders have other plans for Italy. Perhaps even for the entire future of the Euro!

At the end of the day  though, I live in the UK and I don't really care about Italy's economy, but in our current economic climate,  perhaps I should.  It may well turn around and bite me in the backside, or worse still ...  in my wallet!

Just for the record, I am, and always was, against a single currency for Europe.

---

I know this subject isn't what you might have come to expect from me. Believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are that I wrote.

Where are all those fairies when you need them, eh?

Good Fairies And Bad Fairies*

There is ... and this is only an assumption ...somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, an adult me desperately trying to get out.

So far unsuccessfully!

The Bad Fairy that haunts my waking hours and prevents me from winning the lottery has sealed that part of my mind up to the realities of life.

But there is a good side because The Good Fairy is working hard to save me ... the adult me ... and release all those sensible thoughts that I should be having.

Back in the day, The Good Fairy used to give me money when my teeth fell out. She would tuck it under my pillow in the middle of the night. But The Bad Fairy would always make spend it the next day on more sweets to rot my teeth.

Not that they are rotten.  I can assure you that I do visit the dentist every so often as the need arises.

But am I ready to grow up?

D'ya know ... at times I still get those funny feelings in my stomach ... the butterfly ones ... and I have spontaneous giggly fits! And I'm mumble-mumble years old!

Is that the behaviour of a grown up?

Do I want to be a grown up? Do I have to be a grown up?

Maybe The Bad Fairy has done me a favour! Maybe The Bad Fairy has inadvertently made me a happier person!

OK, so the lottery remains a far off dream, but who cares?

I reckon I'm still happy with my lot in life.

I know no one out there believes in Fairies.  But that is your loss.  You have all ... bar a few ... grown up!

For those of you who still enjoy their elongated childhood and wish to continue to do so, simply say

'Stuff you, Bad Fairy'!

*  A recent horoscope told me to be polite to the good fairy that watches over me and to be wary of the bad fairy that is trying to make my life a misery.  It was a load of tosh really, written by a grown up! Well, what d'ya expect from grown up's?

11th Hour Of The 11th Day Of The 11th Month

For The Fallen

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,

England mourns for her dead across the sea.

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of spirit,

Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.

There is music in the midst of desolation

And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

They mingle not with laughing comrades again;

They sit no more at familiar tables of home;

They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;

They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,

Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,

To the innermost heart of their own land they are known

As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,

To the end, to the end, they remain.

(Laurence Robert Binyon, 1869-1943)

The Monkey Walk II

Try this!

The Monkey Walk

Get your kids to video it and post it on your blogs or send it to me.

I would do it but my video camera has died and my mobile phone camera is useless ...

... and I'd rather you made idiots of yourselves first!


PUH-Leeeeeeeeeeeeese!

The Monkey Walk

It has just occurred to me that I haven't done the monkey walk for a long, long time.

What is it?

Well, it's something I used to do to amuse the kids (and myself) when they were younger.

Bend the knees.

Lean slightly backwards.

Take over-long steps.

Swing your arms.

Try  it!

But don't forget to post you videos of your efforts on your blogs!

I guarantee you'll put a smile on your kids faces, have fun and feel stupid all at the same time!

Remember The Heroes

That'll Teach Ya To Sniff My Ass!!!

Heart-stopping Question

There is a question asked by children that can strike fear into the heart of some parents or grandparents.

I would, if pushed, hazard a guess that the dad's out there will fear this question more than the mum's.

D'ya wanna know what it is?

Yes, you've guessed it! It's "Where do babies come from?"

Anyway, that's the question, but that isn't what I wanted to discuss today.
Listen up and I'll tell you why I brought it up.

So, there we were ... waiting for a green light ... at a pedestrian crossing.
A young woman with baby in a pushchair had just pushed the button an was waiting to cross.
My client, a  young man with learning difficulties, had up to this point, had been silent.  He's not a talker and, when spoken to, produces little more than one word answers.   As we waited for the woman and child to cross and the lights to turn back in our favour, I noticed him begin to grin. He was about to give me one of those "Where do babies come from" moments.

"I know how she got her baby" he said as the woman crossed the road.

Oh-oh! I thought.  What's he going to come out with now?

I was somewhat shocked and taken aback by his statement and before I could respond I ran through all the possible permutations of how this dialogue would progress. Had he been watching dirty movies? Reading dirty books?

I tried to ignore the question and concentrated on the lights.  Change, please change I thought.

As the lights changed and I drove on, I still had not replied as I feared that the only place this conversation would go was down hill and into the gutter. But after a few minutes, just when I thought he'd forgotten all about it and I had relaxed, he said again "I know how she got her baby".

This time, before I could engage my brain and attempt to change the subject,  I asked "How?"

I feared the worst and tried to think of excuses that I could tell my boss in case she ever found out that I had a discussion with a client about sex.

With trepidation and butterflies fluttering around my stomach I feared the worst as he tried formulated his answer.

It took a while but, when it came, I breathed out hard and the butterflies in my stomach flew off to pasture new.

I hastily and readily agreed to what he said and steered the conversation to safer ground by asking him "Are we there yet?"

Now I can hear you all asking "What did he say? What did he say?"

Well, for those that haven't worked it out for themselves, this is what he said ...

"Jesus gave it to her!"