Peeling Feculiar!

I woke up this morning peeling feculiar.

I ceeded a noffee!

But, bow and lehold, so nuger!

I opened the cupboard and took out a shag of buger and filled the buger showl.

I quickly koiled the bettle, sut puger and coffee in my cup then waited.

When the bettle koiled I poured the cawter into my wup and madded ilk!

I stirred!

I drank!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Bat's thetter!

But I still peel feculiar.

Let Me Tell You About 'WHUMP'

WHUMP in case you didn't know is a British invention, as so many things in this world are.

The first known street lighting were the torches and oil  lamps of the Greek and Roman civilisations and were primarily used for security of property rather than to facilitate the safe passing (as in 'going past', not dying}of travellers.  They were a light-fingered bunch back then and would steal anything not nailed down so the HAVE'S would go to great lengths (lots of lamps) to prevent the HAVE NOT'S from sharing their wealth and belongings.

Pretty dangerous having all those torches and oil lamps hanging around.  History records a number of towns and cities coming to an end due to the unwise deployment of early lighting.

Back in 1733 to 1735 people like Sir James Lowther and Dr. John Clayton began messing about with coal gas and eventually, probably by eyebrow removing accident, discovered it's flammability. However, scientists being scientists, they hadn't a clue (then) what on earth they could use it for.

Anyway, eventually a German, Friedrich Winzer, became the first person to patent coal-gas lighting in 1804

Are you yawning? Are you are starting to lose interest?

Oh dear!

My point, which I have so obviously failed to make, is that none of  these early gas lighting geniuses used WHUMP.

Early gas-lamp-lighters, those who would travel the streets in the evening igniting the gas lanterns and lamp, found themselves at time in danger due to a lack of WHUMP.

William Prendergast Thackley invented WHUMP and patented his idea in 1822.  WHUMP was designed as a safety feature; a method of informing the lamp-lighter that the lamp he was lighting was, in fact, safely lit.

To this day all gas heating, lighting or power systems have a built in WHUMP!

However William Prendergast Thackley died penniless in 1845.

An oversight on his part however (the fact that gas when lit made light and heat) meant that he never made a penny from his invention.

The WHUMP that you hear now when your gas central heating ignites was adopted in the 1950's, not as a safety feature as it was designed, but (so they said at the time) as a mark of respect to one of the United Kingdom's greatest ever engineering/scientific failures.

The WHUMP is one British invention that we would have been happy to let an American take the credit for.

Home, Home On The Range

I used to be petty good with this ...

... the SLR. 

Not a marksman, but I was pretty good.

And I wasn't bad with one of these ...

... the 9mm Browning.

I've even been known to hit targets with this ...

... the Sterling Sun-machine gun.

But I could never get the hang of this ...

... The Light Anti-Tank Weapon.

I remember trying to fire that beast at some old tank wrecks on the ranges (not where the buffalo roam) of northern Germany back in the 80's.

It's a relatively simple ... un-clip the covers front and rear, extend the inner tube from the outer until there is an audible click and the sights pop up ... and the weapon is primed and read for use.

They were, as the name suggests, very light.  You can't reload the little buggers, so after sending the projectile on it's merry way, the 'tube' can be discarded.

I remembered the first time I fired one of these beasties.  I was about 19 years old and very excited. After two years in the Army I was going to be allowed to blow the blazes out of something.

Needless to say, it didn't all go as I expected it to. In fact, the only thing that the blazes blown out of it was that damn weapon!  

Not once, but three times!

Indulge me for just a few moments longer and I'll explain.

Imagine this:

• you're in the firing pit and have a LAW in your hands.
• the weapons instructor has just given you a final run-down on the weapon you are about to fire.
• he instructs you to arm the weapon
• you pull the inner and outer tubes apart. You hear the 'click' and the sight pops up.
• he tells you to aim ... you do.
• he says "Fire when ready"! You do.
• the weapon goes 'click' instead of "whoosh".

That's how it went at my first attempt to destroy an already an old and perforated tank.

My instructor shout "Hang fire" and exited the pit after telling me not to move.

My brain told me to dump that weapon, which had in actual fact just turned into a bomb, and go with him.

I think I was more scared of our 'gung-ho' instructor than I was of having a 'ready to go' armour piercing shell in my hands, so I stood there, to change the colour of my underwear ready at the least provocation.

The range was cleared then my instructor returned and told me to close (push it back together) and then re-arm it. I did so. Three times!

"No good!" was all he said. "Let's go for a little walk down the range, shall we?"

It wasn't a question.

We left the firing pit and move twenty or so yards down range, whereupon he told me lay the weapon on the ground, still pointing towards the target, and to leave the range to the left.  As we stepped away ... WHOOSH!!!

The LAW discharged it's little anti-tank projectile into a small sand bank where upon (because it wasn't an anti-sand projectile) it completely failed to detonate with a 'WHUMP'!

"Damn! F*** it, f*** it, f*** it!" screamed my instructor as he did a little stamping dance. "I was looking forward to packing a bit of PE4* around that bugger and blowing it up!"

All my other firings went without a hitch, although I completely failed to hit the target every time. 

*PE4 was a type of explosive (If I remembered the name correctly)

My Boy Waiting For His Appointment With The Vet

Well?

You would look miserable if you were sick, wouldn't you?

I'm A Luckless Motorist!

I hate my car.

I really, really hate my car!

Every time I get a little bit of money scraped together my car can be heard (by anyone that speaks fluent Car that is) screaming "Gimme dat cash!"

And it's happened again!

It's due a servicing ... fair enough!

All cars need to be kept in trim for the rigours of the highway.

But after booking a servicing slot the following happened;

1. The cigarette lighter (to power may satnav, charge my phone) gave up the ghost.
2. It began to miss-fire
3. An oil slick appeared on the driveway where my car stood 
4. My indicators (the indicator arm, not the lights) has decided not to work
5. The ignition sporadically decides not to play
6. The door seal on the rear passenger door has disintegrated

Now tell me ... is that fair?

There I was, expecting to have a bill for, oooooo, maybe £170 and then all that stuff goes wrong.

I am beginning to think that the world in general is out to get me!

Ok. Moving on.

I received an email of complaint from one of yesterday's late arrivals.

She seemed a little bit upset at missing the first part of the joke.

So, for all of those that couldn't be bothered to turn up on time for this, here's the first part of the joke again.

      There are two nuns in a bath.
    One said "Where's the soap?"

There you go.

Yes, I know it's an old one, but I am getting on a bit you know!

You're Late!!!

... and the second nun said "It does, doesn't it!"

How I laughed at that one!

Oh!  Hello.  Didn't see you come in.

What? Again?

Nope!

If you wanted to hear the whole joke, you should have been here earlier!

The Crow And The Short Fat Woman

It was a bloody big bird.

And I'm sure it was smiling at me. The kind of smile that could only have been the bird equivalent of "Heeeeeeeeere's Johnny"!

Yesterday I pulled onto the car park of the The Harvester pub in Penarth and parked near the entrance at the grass verge.  The crow appeared, as if from nowhere, and perched itself on the bonnet of my car.

It cocked it's head and peered at me.

And it smiled!

I was at least fifteen minutes too early to visit my next client (and let me tell you, this client doesn't do early!) so I had intended to just wait in the car and do a few sudoku puzzles.

But the crow landed and a staring match ensued.

It didn't take it's beady black eyes off  me.

Once or twice it partially unfurled it's wings or puffed-up it's feathers against the cold, but it's eyes never left mine.

This crow was a natural for a starring role in any re-make of Hitchcock's The Birds!

Eventually though, I had to get out. My client was waiting.  I expected the crow to fly off, but no!

It just stood there, spread his (or her) wings and said "Caw"!

I slammed the car door closed and looked at the crow. It hadn't moved.

"Think you're tough? Think you can scare me?" I asked the bird.

A voice behind me said "Are you f***ing talking to me?"

I turned and there, hands on hips, stood a short but incredibly fat woman.  She held a rather large brown handbag that she looked ready to swing.

"I was talking to the damned crow" I said, turning to indicate the bird.

It was gone!

"F***ing weirdo! she snapped as she waddled off.

Damned bird!

I Would Like To Be ...

... Jack O'Neil.

Only smarter!

I know, I know!

He's just a character from the Stargate TV series, but dumbness aside, he's pretty cool.

As a child I think John Wayne was my hero and the person I most wanted to be like.  I used to play at being a cowboy, riding in (without a horse) and saving the damsel, and the day, from marauding Indians (apologies to my native american readers).

I never really appreciated what a real hero was until 9/11.

My hat was off to them then and it is still off now.

I want to be a policeman or a fireman when I grow up.

Weight Gain

So I went to the doctor last week.

I was concerned about my alarming gain in weight.

Sh was also concerned, but to my mind not as concerned as she ought to be.

"We'll run a few tests and have an answer to your problem in no time" she said.  "We'll take some blood but, in the mean time, you can give me a pee sample in this bottle. But take it mid-steam, ok?"

"But the nearest stream is miles away" I said. "And it's cold!"

She gave me a slap!

A week later she called me back for the test results.

"Not good news, I'm afraid" she said after I'd sat down.

My mind raced through a list of all the deadly conditions and ailments that could mean my end.

A solemn expression came over her face.

"I'm afraid you have an over active ..."

"Thyroid?"

"... knife and fork!"

She muttered something about time wasting, handed me a diet sheet and sent me on my way!

She just doesn't understand 'man' troubles!

Smart Phone

So I got one at the weekend.

I've been doing OK with my 'old' mobile phone, but the battery is beginning to fail and I was shocked, and very disappointed, to find out that the cost of a new one was in excess of £75.

So I ducked into the local phone shop and got a new one ... a smart one ... only to find that it's too damned smart for it's own good.

It has already made three phone calls without informing me and locked itself BEFORE I'd even thought up a pin code.

OK, I admit that a phone doing it's own thing can be a little bit inconvenient, but hey!  It looks damned cool!!!

And it can do anything!

Right now it's making coffee and muffins!

<SHOUTS> Don't forget to make my coffee strong!!!

Prrrrrrrting-beedle-beedle!!!


<SHOUTS> Yes! Two sugar's, ta!

Recipe Grump

I am awake!

The New Year can begin!

Yesterday was my first 'real' post (The Gas Regulator) of 2012.

I'm starting to get back into the swing of things ... slowly does it.

The first thing I would like to say today is that I do not like cheese.  I don't know why this is so important at this moment in time, but I do feel that it needed saying.  Maybe it's because of all those recipes that have been appearing on the blogs of other folks.  You may have noticed that I don't do recipes.  I don't even use recipes when I'm cooking (and I do cook!).

I'm a man!

I can read or I can cook!  I can't do both.

This morning I feel grumpy and in need of a good fight.  I've been hoping that a few of those Jehovah's Witnesses would come by and try to talk me around to their way of thinking but, as usual, they never turn up when you need them.

I'll have to settle for throwing our dogs's poo over the fence to the neighbours.  It's such a shame that it's too cold for them to be out there taking the sun.

And it's all because there are too many recipes!

I'm going to have to mellow to the sound of Simon & Garfunkel for a while.

Excuse me, won't you.

The Gas Regulator

Today I was lucky enough to be joined at my coffee shop table by an American called John Nutall.

As we queued for our coffee, we both eyed the one remaining table and wondered who would get there first and claim sovereignty.

As it happened we both turned away from the counter with our Latte's at the same time, so an unspoken agreement was reached and we shared that table.

We bandied one or two comments back and forth about crowded coffee shops and people in general before John told me that this was his first visit to the UK since he had been in the Army back in the 70's and 80's.

"Oh yes" he drawled (isn't that how you described an American talking?). "I was stationed in aplace near Aldershot.  Dunno what the hell it was called, but I was there for six months before shipping out to Frankfurt, Germany".

"Aldershot is near where I did my basic training" I told him.  "After that I was posted to Detmold in Germany".

You see the difference there already?  They get "Stationed" and we get "Posted".

We had something in common so, for at least fifty minutes ... maybe an hour, we exchanged 'war' stories and, low and behold, it turns out we both took part in Crusader 80 (a big military manoeuvre in Germany back in 1980.  See Another "First Encounter" with Americans, When The Jock Hits The Shit and No Jocks, No Americans, Just Crusader 80 (Part Three) )

We were apparently located fairly close to each other during that exercise. Probably no more than a mileor two apart.  We may even have met!

We reminisced and swapped tales for a while and then the subject changed to this ...

L1A1 SLR
(The gas regulator is just behind the foresight)

... which was the standard personal weapon in service with the British (and other) Army.  It was quite a heavy  rifle, but when used correctly had a stopping power second to none.

"Jeez!" moaned John.  "I ne'er un'erstood how you guy's could fire that thing an' survah've".

That is how he spoke.  Honest!  He missed out letters in most words with two or more syllables and kept sticking in unnecessary H's.

"That SOB had a kick like a mule.  Damn near took my shoul'er off'f me when I fired it" he continued,rubbing his long since healed sore shoulder.

"Brits are bastards!" I told him. "There's a gas regulator on those rifles. If it's wide open then the rifle won't re-cock itself.  If it's closed all the way, it'll kick harder than any mule you've ever come across".

A few well known expletives were muttered by John after I told him that it was standard practice back then to  close the gas regulator before anyone form our 'allies' fired the weapon.  

Shock and Awe tactics!

For over twenty years John has lived in awe of Brit squaddies and their abilities to cope with such brutal kick-back.

Now he knows the truth and, I have to admit, I took great pleasure in telling him.

Yokels

Another gem from The Two Ronnies

Enjoy!

Old Tom

I bumped into Old Tom the other day.

"Morning George" he said.

"Morning ..."

"... Tom" he interrupted.

"... er, yes. I know. Morning Tom"

He shook my hand vigorously.

"Here, Tom, d'you remember that bully Ted Harris?  From the King's ..."

"... Head pub? Yes I do." he said.  "Not here, is he?" he asked, looking around.

"No, no" I said."I was on my way to the doctors ..."

"Flu?"

"No, I was walking."

"A-ha!"

"Anyway"  I continued. "I saw him a few weeks ago down Pitfall Lane."

"Oh no!  What'd he do?"

"He shook me warmly by the ..."

"... hand?"

"No.  Throat!"

"Good grief! What did you say?"

"Gngh-gngh-gngh-gngh mostly."

"What did you do?"

"Well, I put my military training to good use, didn't I."

"You begged for mercy, didn't you?"

"Don't we all?" I said. "D'you want to sign my plaster casts Tom?"

Time: Too Long On The Toilet

The freshly sliced seconds, minutes and indeed hours of 2012 speed past me, turning my future into my past without so much as a 'by your leave'.  Time is passing me by at such a rate that I can almost hear the hiss as it squeezes itself through the air.

My 'future', so far ahead of me yet already considering retiring into my 'past', never seems to stick around long enough to make an impact as my 'present'.

I mean, come on!  What is the purpose of a future if you can't use it as a present?

My future is infinite ... provided that I don't kick the bucket

My past is 52 years old and ageing rapidly.

My present?

Oh! There goes another one! And another ...

You see?

Presents go by so quickly that you can't use them!

Oooo!  Did ya see that one?

I hate time!

There you go!  That's my morning grump out of the way.

Let's talk some shit!

Erm, anyone done anything, ya know, wicked?

Have you been bad?

I did!

I ate far too much chocolate over Christmas and New Year.

Man!

That stuff really makes you wanna go.

It can keep you on the 'throne' for hours at a time if you over do it.

What?

Well it does!

Black & White Magic

Newcastle United 3  Manchester United 0

Spelling Bee

How many times have you met a 'real leader'?

By 'leader', I mean one of those inspirational people that believes a good pep-talk should always include that old chestnut "We have to pull together! There is no 'I' in 'Team'".

That comment has often been scooped up by my log-holes and allowed to rattle around my head for a short while before being dismissed as a load of nonsense.

Little did I realise as I set off for work early yesterday morning, that that comment would once again be aimed in my direction.

I had already completed two calls and had just arrived to carry out the third when bumped into my boss.
The short conversation we had as we crossed paths included several referrals to the 'good work' and 'team spirit' that we (carers) had shown over the Christmas period.

Then it came.

"We all have to work together; make a concentrated effort to get everything right for the client. There is no 'I' in 'Team' so we all have to muck in".

I was tired and it was too early for a spelling competition but I was so tempted to remind my boss that there is no 'F' in 'Chance'!

There is no guarantee that it would have been understood though.

That Was The Year That Was

... and this is the year that is!

I can't say that I can see any difference.  Can you?

Apart from the odd dishevelled New Year reveller going home a la zombie, there was no one on the streets this morning at 06.45 am.

'cept me, of course.

Otherwise it would be a bit like that smart-arse question; Does a tree falling in the forest make a sound if there is no one there to hear it?   


Does anyone walk the streets if there isn't a 'Symdaddy' to witness it?

Philosophy isn't my strong point.  I'm more into Silly-osophy myself.

Anyway, I made it safely into the New Year with all my limbs and appendages intact and they were all in pristine condition!

Hope you all did too!

Welcome to 2012!