Sunday, 26 February 2012
Thursday, 23 February 2012
10 Observations Made On The #130 Bus to Pontypridd*
- Unsupervised children lick windows.
- More than one fat person waddling up the aisle make the bus rock sufficiently to cause seasickness.
- The loudest person on the bus always sits next to me.
- There is always chewing-gum stuck to the seat I sit on.
- There is always one person on the bus that needs the toilet and lets everyone know what'll happen if they don't go soon.
- When two buses park opposite each other, someone always starts a silent conversation with a passenger they know on the other bus (mostly only women do this as 'womanly secrets' are quite often passed back and forth using the 'lip reading' method of conversation to avoid husbands from hearing anything).
- Bus drivers stop at least 3 metres past the point at which passengers are supposed to mount the bus.
- Bus drivers will quite often stop at the wrong side of the bus stop, thus causing the waiting passengers-to-be to troop to the other end, only to have the bus driver correct his error and move to the proper boarding point and, seeing no one waiting, he will promptly drive off before they can troop back.
- The weirdest passengers ALL know each other and hold conversations that are shouted, not spoken.
- If you don't shift your arse down that aisle when you reach your stop, don't expect the driver to react to your frantic cries for him to wait a moment.
* These observations were made over a number of weeks. I would hate to be responsible putting anyone off travelling
on one of our wonderful buses.
on one of our wonderful buses.
Tuesday, 21 February 2012
The Great Woolworth's Caper Re-Visited
I've been a little bit busy of late and finding time to blog has been just a tad too difficult. Therefore, for your entertainment, I beg your forgiveness for the following re-post.
Back in the day, when my followers numbered less than the digits typing this text, I posted
Back in the day, when my followers numbered less than the digits typing this text, I posted
"The Great Woolworth's Caper" a recollection of my wicked and wild childhood. I hope you enjoy it (again).
..............................................................................................................................................
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 parents 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
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 parents 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
Sunday, 19 February 2012
Symdaddy Humour
Take the time to visit Symdaddy Humour, a collection of photographs supplied by some very understanding dog owners that I have added captions to.
I have 120 + pictures (and counting) so I have decided to share them with everyone on a regular basis. I will post one, possibly two, each day (hopefully) for your enjoyment.
Feel free to leave a comment or alternative caption.
Friday, 17 February 2012
Another Bus
There must be a TWS* on every bus route.
There certainly was today. And the bus was gibbous** with passengers!
TWS's, for those unaware of their purpose, are intended to fulfil one function only; they facilitate KBOS*.
As a by-product however, they manage to generate a certain amount of PR*, which results in POP* and, if not countered effectively, eventually BRAWL*!
Too much POP = BRAWL!!!
Today we narrowly missed BRAWL (due to the passenger involved being over 80 years old) and achieved a minor BOAA* instead, which held us up for approximately five minutes.
At the WTS, the granny (let's call her Edna!) shouted to the driver "I'm getting off at the next stop! Could you please get a move on or I'll pee all over the seat".
The bus driver, without looking, shouted back "Regulations! Sorry!"
Edna at this point stood up and began a shuffling, stamping dance whilst holding her hand to her nether regions. "This is ridiculous! I'm getting off now!"
She stamped to the front of the bus and got off.
The rest of us looked on (out of the window) as Edna high-tailed it onto a patch of waste land behind the bus shelter and, still clearly visible to all of us, dropped her bag, hiked up her coat and skirt and, without regard to all and sundry, took a leak!
This prompted a number of chuckles as Edna took her unscheduled relief and more than a few verbal reprimands and derogatory comments aimed at the driver who, wrapped in his impenetrable armour otherwise known as 'regulations', ignored us entirely.
He did however allow Edna, now simultaneously blushing and seething with anger, to re-board the bus.
It was just another day on the buses.
How was your day?
* TWS = Time Wasting Stop
KBOS = Keep Bus On Schedule
PR = Passenger Resentment
POP = Pissed Off Passengers
BRAWL = Brawl
BOAA = Bit Of An Argument
** I'm so pleased I found space for this word without mentioning the moon!
There certainly was today. And the bus was gibbous** with passengers!
TWS's, for those unaware of their purpose, are intended to fulfil one function only; they facilitate KBOS*.
As a by-product however, they manage to generate a certain amount of PR*, which results in POP* and, if not countered effectively, eventually BRAWL*!
Too much POP = BRAWL!!!
Today we narrowly missed BRAWL (due to the passenger involved being over 80 years old) and achieved a minor BOAA* instead, which held us up for approximately five minutes.
At the WTS, the granny (let's call her Edna!) shouted to the driver "I'm getting off at the next stop! Could you please get a move on or I'll pee all over the seat".
The bus driver, without looking, shouted back "Regulations! Sorry!"
Edna at this point stood up and began a shuffling, stamping dance whilst holding her hand to her nether regions. "This is ridiculous! I'm getting off now!"
She stamped to the front of the bus and got off.
The rest of us looked on (out of the window) as Edna high-tailed it onto a patch of waste land behind the bus shelter and, still clearly visible to all of us, dropped her bag, hiked up her coat and skirt and, without regard to all and sundry, took a leak!
This prompted a number of chuckles as Edna took her unscheduled relief and more than a few verbal reprimands and derogatory comments aimed at the driver who, wrapped in his impenetrable armour otherwise known as 'regulations', ignored us entirely.
He did however allow Edna, now simultaneously blushing and seething with anger, to re-board the bus.
It was just another day on the buses.
How was your day?
* TWS = Time Wasting Stop
KBOS = Keep Bus On Schedule
PR = Passenger Resentment
POP = Pissed Off Passengers
BRAWL = Brawl
BOAA = Bit Of An Argument
** I'm so pleased I found space for this word without mentioning the moon!
Thursday, 16 February 2012
Sunday, 12 February 2012
Friday, 10 February 2012
Offence At Old Tom Too
Apparently this Old Tom Too caused offence when it was posted on a forum under the header
"Gay or Not Gay! That Is The Question"
I am at a loss as to why this would cause offence.
Have you been offended by it?
If so, let me know why.
It might be nice to avoid similar offence being caused in the future.
If so, let me know why.
It might be nice to avoid similar offence being caused in the future.
Thursday, 9 February 2012
Old Tom Too
I bumped into Old Tom again today.
"Morning George" he said.
"Morning ..."
"... Tom" he interrupted. He always interrupts!
I sighed.
"Have you and, er, your dog ..." he nodded towards Sym, "... been to the park then"?
"Good grief! That's amazing" I said. "How on earth did you know"?
"Deductive reasoning" said Tom. "Eat your heart our Sherlock Holmes. Let me see ... you've got the dog with you, you've got wellingtons on your feet, a ball in your hand and you're both covered in mud. QED".
"And the fact that that we are, in actual fact, still in the park"?
"Oh that! That was a dead give away, that was".
I mentally shook my head and wished, not for the first time, that I was elsewhere and that some other poor soul was enduring this encounter with Tom. Anyone, just not me.
"Anyway" continued Tom. "I was watching you throw the ball. Your Sym runs a little bit effeminately if you ask me".
I was stunned. "He's a dog! How can a dog run effeminately"?
"His hips. They sway".
"They do not sway! He's all dog. There is nothing girlie about my dog"!
"Is too!
"Shut up Tom" I said as I bent forward to cover Sym's ears. "He may not have any nuts but my boy is as Dog as Dog gets".
"Isn't".
"Is too!"
"Morning ..."
"... Tom" he interrupted. He always interrupts!
I sighed.
"Have you and, er, your dog ..." he nodded towards Sym, "... been to the park then"?
"Good grief! That's amazing" I said. "How on earth did you know"?
"Deductive reasoning" said Tom. "Eat your heart our Sherlock Holmes. Let me see ... you've got the dog with you, you've got wellingtons on your feet, a ball in your hand and you're both covered in mud. QED".
"And the fact that that we are, in actual fact, still in the park"?
"Oh that! That was a dead give away, that was".
I mentally shook my head and wished, not for the first time, that I was elsewhere and that some other poor soul was enduring this encounter with Tom. Anyone, just not me.
"Anyway" continued Tom. "I was watching you throw the ball. Your Sym runs a little bit effeminately if you ask me".
I was stunned. "He's a dog! How can a dog run effeminately"?
"His hips. They sway".
"They do not sway! He's all dog. There is nothing girlie about my dog"!
"Is too!
"Shut up Tom" I said as I bent forward to cover Sym's ears. "He may not have any nuts but my boy is as Dog as Dog gets".
"Isn't".
"Is too!"
"Isn't!"
"Look Tom, he's male through and through. He even humps legs and regularly bonks his bedding".
"He probl'ly does that just to fool you" countered Tom.
"He's straight and that's final! I know you, Tom. You're just determined to have the last word. Well it ain't gonna work this time. He's straight; not at all girlie. Got it"?
There was a short, uncomfortable silence.
"He's gay"!
"Tom"!!!
"Sorry ..." said Tom. "... but he is"!
"Right ....."
We were separated some ten minutes later by a couple of passing police officers.
"Look Tom, he's male through and through. He even humps legs and regularly bonks his bedding".
"He probl'ly does that just to fool you" countered Tom.
"He's straight and that's final! I know you, Tom. You're just determined to have the last word. Well it ain't gonna work this time. He's straight; not at all girlie. Got it"?
There was a short, uncomfortable silence.
"He's gay"!
"Tom"!!!
"Sorry ..." said Tom. "... but he is"!
"Right ....."
We were separated some ten minutes later by a couple of passing police officers.
My Most Read Poem (4000 + Reads)
Those Who Fell
I often stop and wonder why,
and ask 'What it's all about?'
I find myself looking into the sky,
and hear myself scream and shout.
I wake from my sleep,
with my heart beating fast.
And tears I weep,
as I long for safer days past.
More sand and dust,
another day of hell.
Doing what I must,
remembering those who fell.
Winning hearts and winning minds,
trying every day.
Doing this job takes all kinds,
but I wish it would just go away.
I dread each day when we go out to seek,
the enemy with his gun.
But all I have left is one long week,
then my time here will be done.
I hope I can hold my head up high,
and say 'I did my job well'.
And I, with a sigh,
will remember those who fell.
Wednesday, 8 February 2012
You May Quote Me
"Once I'd learned that I wasn't actually aware of the fact that I didn't know there were things I knew I didn't know anything about, I needed to have a lie down."
Symdaddy
8.2.2012
Sym
 |
| Sym cwtching his daddy |
Unfortunately Sym's Lymphoma has returned midway through his latest course of treatment.
Devastated!
Monday, 6 February 2012
Mr. Cool Just Chillin' At The Vet
First, find a seat ...
Make sure you ain't gonna be disturbed ...
Get some shut-eye!
Friday, 3 February 2012
Stop Thief!
It was most definitely stolen!
Baseball!
You took it and we want it back!
We don't understand it; we don't even like it, but it IS ours and you lot (over the pond) took it!
Now, before you start diving into Wikipedia do check this out, let me tell you that baseball is derived from cricket (we don't really understand this game either, but it's ours), which in turn is derived from unknown medieval (so it is said) stick & ball games. Ball games (or round stones, rag balls, etc.) go back a long many years and way back in the day when tin suits were all the rage, the French were said to use "stick & ball" games as part of the training for their knights (which is said to be how modern sports came to be).
Romans mosaics have depicted children with sticks apparently swinging at round objects.
Anyway, the invention of baseball has absolutely nothing to do with Abner Doubleday (who may have created a rule or two).
It seems obvious to me that the Romans, right, came to Britain and stole the stick and ball idea. When they left Britain they must have stopped off for a bit of sightseeing in France or something (hence the French stick & ball games). I mean, get real! The French couldn't invent anything, could they?
Obvious, isn't it?
As a point of interest, the earliest mention of baseball (in a literary sense) was made in Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey (1817).
So, now you know where it came from you can give the bloody thing back, OK?
Baseball!
You took it and we want it back!
We don't understand it; we don't even like it, but it IS ours and you lot (over the pond) took it!
Now, before you start diving into Wikipedia do check this out, let me tell you that baseball is derived from cricket (we don't really understand this game either, but it's ours), which in turn is derived from unknown medieval (so it is said) stick & ball games. Ball games (or round stones, rag balls, etc.) go back a long many years and way back in the day when tin suits were all the rage, the French were said to use "stick & ball" games as part of the training for their knights (which is said to be how modern sports came to be).
Romans mosaics have depicted children with sticks apparently swinging at round objects.
Anyway, the invention of baseball has absolutely nothing to do with Abner Doubleday (who may have created a rule or two).
It seems obvious to me that the Romans, right, came to Britain and stole the stick and ball idea. When they left Britain they must have stopped off for a bit of sightseeing in France or something (hence the French stick & ball games). I mean, get real! The French couldn't invent anything, could they?
Obvious, isn't it?
As a point of interest, the earliest mention of baseball (in a literary sense) was made in Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey (1817).
So, now you know where it came from you can give the bloody thing back, OK?
Thursday, 2 February 2012
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