It's A Duck!

More brilliance from The Two Ronnies

No Fuel Like An Old Fuel

Another unexpected day off due to a cancellation.

If only I could spend it relaxing.

But no!

Today I have to spend my day searching for petrol so that I can fulfil my calls tomorrow.

Yesterday I spent the best part of the day with a client in a woodwork workshop and, unbeknown to me, Francis Maud, a blundering Conservative politician, was mouthing off about fuel shortages and how filling a gerry can when you next put fuel in your car might be a good idea.

Well, people took this 'advice' to heart and flooded the petrol station forecourts.

Late yesterday afternoon after eventually hearing what Maud had said and that petrol stations were running short of fuel, I attempted unsuccessfully to fill my tank. Several times I couldn't even access a pump due to queues, other times I found small hand written "Sorry! No fuel!" signs strung out between traffic cones at the entrances.

The staff at one petrol station did say they were expecting a deliver over night, so I'm off there in a few minutes to try my luck.

At times like this I hate Britain and I'm ashamed to be British.

The Mad Lady

When Sym (my dog) was young I started taking him to Hailey Park (Cardiff) for walks. 

A friend said to me "Watch out for the mad lady! She walks around Hailey Park".

So I was always wary of the "Mad Lady".

We started fostering for Four Paws shortly after that and I used to walk around Hailey Park with another FP fosterer. I asked her if she knew anything about the "Mad Lady" and she replied that she had never heard of any stories about a mad woman wandering around the park.

Then, one day, just after I'd said goodbye the her, I bumped into the friend who had originally warned me about the "Mad Lady". 

He rushed up to me looking somewhat panicked.

"What d'ya think you're doing? Why're you hanging out with the Mad Lady?" he screamed (in a sort of
loud whisper, actually).

Apparently, I'd been walking my dog in the company of the "Mad Lady" for weeks and never realised it!

People know me in the park as "The Cheese Man", at least to my face.

It does make me wonder what they say behind my back though.

It's all a matter of perception, I s'pose!

Just My Luck

Have you been enjoying the crazy weather of late?

Have you been to the beach?

Sunbathed in the park?

In your garden?

Well I hope you've all bloody enjoyed yourself!

I have a bleeding cold!!!

My nose has been blown so often that it's only a fraction of it normal size!

Rubbed and wiped raw!

I can't breath!

Whilst sleeping I produce what has been described as a 'death rattle' when I in- and exhale

So, if you have been enjoying this past week of warmth and sunshine ...

I HATE YOU ALL!!!

The Avalanche At Lunch Time!

I suppose I could tell you of today's unexpected bus journey involving a granny in leopard print leggings, three old gents that carried on a shouted conversation whilst sitting several rows apart and the woman who provided the musical entertainment because she just couldn't decide on which ringtone she wanted to use on her phone, but I won't. Not today.

Today's short brush with reality came in a cafe in Pontypridd.

I had just ordered my ham salad sandwich and a coffee.  As I sat and waited for it to arrive at my table, I contemplated 1. Across; Salty donkey, perhaps? (9).

I penned in 'Assaulted' and proceeded to 2. Across; Penny for them (8).

'Thoughts' I wrote, then turned towards the cafe's door, which had just been flung open and sent  the umbrella stand flying.

Advancing like a Lycra avalanche, three perpetrators of the world elastic shortage blobbed there way into the cafe.
Between them there must have been at least a mile of elasticated waistband's on those Lycra sports pants!
After some rearrangement of tables and chairs they eventually seated themselves.

My sandwich and coffee arrived and I began to eat. From the other table - thankfully some distance away as I feared what would happen if those elastic waistbands lost their fight to subdue so much blubber - I listened as they ordered.

To my surprise, all three of them ordered salad!
  
But it was short lived as they all began to order in earnest.
Double cheeseburger, chips, beans, sausage and sticky-toffee puddings were mentioned along with pizza, kebab and roast chicken. Coke, milkshake and coffee to wash it all down!

I could go on, but it's making me hungry!

They were served relatively quickly and were eating like there was no tomorrow as I polished off the crumbs of my meagre sandwich.

I finished 24. Down; A meal to die four or ban (7).
 
That one had me going for a while!

'Banquet' I wrote.

There was a scraping of chairs, and indeed, tables as the multidimensional trio extricated itself from the places. 

I hastily folded my newspaper, left money on the plate to pay for my food and drink, then high-tailed it out of the door.

If one of them had become jammed in the doorway, I could have been there an awful long time!

Miwitchoo?

It was bus day today!

And guess what! Nothing happened! Nothing! Zilch!

We got on ... it moved ... it stopped ... it started ... stopped ... etc. ... we got off!

I was so unimpressed.

Where were the funny grannies? The old men? The good looking young women? Where was the rich source of blog-fodder that I'd become accustomed to?

In stead of enjoying a chuckle/eavesdrop/ogle, I was forced to sit there just looking out of the window.

I mean, c'mon! What kind of a journey is that? I was so bored that I ended up playing the 'Youwitme?' game with my client.

"Youwitme?"

"Yeah!"

"Miwitchoo?"

"Yeah!"

"Oh nooooooooo!"

We also tried the 'Miyourfren?' game, which has a similar format to 'Youwitme?'. Each game terminates with an "Oh nooooooooo!", which is, for want of a better explanation, my clients catchphrase.

It passed the time (forty minutes) even if it did raise one or two eyebrows and at least one audible "You're mad, you are!" from a spotty-faced, nerdy-type teenager.

The return journey was sadly more of the same, with one exception!

Just two stops before we were due to leave the bus, my thoughts were turned to crampons, ropes, and pink mountains as a tall, slim blonde boarded the bus. Her ample bosom caused male heads to turn  and her low cut top, displaying a huge expanse of cleavage, brought forth a mumbling and an occasional tut from some of the female passengers. There was also one "Well, I never!" from a granny near the front of the bus.

The driver, momentarily in love, waited (and watched) until she had negotiated her way by wiggle and
jiggle to a seat.  Up until that point the last passenger boarding at every stop had to endure being catapulted to the back of the bus (whether they wanted to be there or not) by the jerking motion of the bus pulling away from the kerb (you've gotta love a bus driver with a sense of humour!).

As she slinked her way passed us to a seat near the rear, we were briefly engulfed in the passing shadow of her bosom.

My client waved to her.  She waved back.

I just wished that he'd been able to ask for her number!

He would have probably got it too!

Suicidal Computer Maintenance

So I've been fixing (and I use the term very loosely) things!

My desktop PC has had it's hard drive errors fixed and (YAY!!!) data saved.

My laptop (the very beast upon which I now type) is no longer an unpredictable stop/start disaster. All I have to do wow is work out how the Hell I ended up with three (3) operating systems, instead of just one, installed on the one (and only) partition (the first is named "        ", the second "All" and the third "Windows XP SP3").

My wife's PC has been laid to eternal rest after I 'fixed' the problems (high memory usage and boot errors) it was having (what can I say? It's a talent!).

Although I'm not quite finished 'fixing' things on this beastie, I will be on and off the internet (as I have been over the last few days) doing bits and pieces as and when I can.

Of course, that is provided that I don't 'fix' this machine as well as I fixed my wife's!

If we don't meet again then you can assume my ambitious laptop repair program has gotten the better of me!

Wish me luck!

After All Those Years Of Dirty Diaper's ...

... Today is YOUR day!

Hello to all the ladies of the 'milk-bar' and 'sprog-burping' variety!

I hope you have all experienced breakfast in bed this morning, received some lovely cards and have a house filled with the perfumed air of freshly cut flowers.

I have been baking in YOUR honour this morning!

I would love to share with you the cakes I are just cooling n the kitchen but, as you are all so far away, I'll eat yours! 

Happy Mother's Day!!!

Mumble-Mumble Years Old Today

I woke up.

It was just after 6 am.

I was tired.

Those damned birds were twittering outside the bedroom window.

I don't own a gun.

At 6 am, midway through the dawn-chorus when you are tired, really tired, that is when you really, really wish for a gun.

As I lay there in the early morning light a my mind raced. Thoughts came and went, none of which are repeatable here but mostly involved lots of little winged beasties being ... well, let's just say 'moved on'.

Eventually I got up. It was 7.45 am.

I fed the dogs, made myself a cup of coffee and went to watch the early morning TV news (on the BBC, because that lot on the 'other side' are rubbish).

I watched a woman playing a £3,000,000 violin and couldn't help but think "It's a piece of wood! Not even enough wood for a small fire! How could it have a price like that"?

I just wanted to trash it! Trample and jump up and down on it!

Then it dawned on me that I was feeling a little bit more grumpy than is usual for me. I was finding fault with anything and everything; the TV was too loud and too quiet (at the same time), the dogs were licking themselves too much (and too loud), my coffee was cold, and ... and ... and ...

Then I saw the envelope on the coffee table.

It had my name on it so, as you would expect of a grump, I ripped it to shreds, thus revealing the Birthday Card hidden within.

All became clear.

Grumpiness explained!

Birthday!

Mumble-mumble years old + 1.
  
I hate Birthdays!

My Absence Explained

I am experiencing the most horrendous PC problems, dontchaknow!

My laptop is slow and often snubs it's nose at me and stops.

My PC is no longer reliable as it has a dodgy hard-drive. 

My wife's PC needed fixing, so I fixed it! Now it won't work at all!

I will be back, but for the moment just think of me as "On Holiday"!

Love Isn't A Kiss. Love Is Holding On!

It was fifteen minutes late.

The bus!  It was fifteen minutes late.

By the time we reached the halfway point - where the new driver boards - we were twenty five minutes late.

Just another day on the bus, you might think, but no! Today we were treated with a novice driver's on his first solo outing.  Oh, the ride was smooth, carried out with precision and, dare I say it, a certain style (he sang the My Way as he drove), but he was so slow!

The new driver; the one that got on at the halfway point, (a grizzled, silver-haired man-mountain) did not look impressed as he took control of the bus.

We flew through the narrow streets of Porth, the bus swaying, swerving and skidding like a Formula1 racing car (that'll be an Indy 500 car for OTPD's*), finally reaching our destination (Pontypridd) a mere seven minutes behind schedule.

You should have seen the faces of those folks at bus-stops he didn't bother to stop at.

During the journey ... the first and more relaxing part ... I did manage an observation or two.

Firstly, there was the pimply-faced youth listening to his i-pod.

He wore shorts and, as the driver kept forgetting to close the door, he must have been freezing as the blast of cold air blew straight up to the back of the bus (where we sat) turning it into a mini, mobile Siberia.  There was a quiet tinkling, an occasional clang and the sound of tiny, squeaky voices which led  me to believe that a miniature stepladder had found it's way into his scrotum and two very cold testicles were attempting to evacuate the scrotum for the warmth of the place from whence they came.

Next there was the huge, dark-haired harridan with hooves that stamped her way up the aisle and sat just in front of us. I say 'hooves' because that's how it seemed. Her calf-length boots were both unzipped and folded down and forward thus covering her feet making them look like hooves. She was a big woman and the word 'buffalo' sprung to mind.  She talked to herself. She recited her shopping list aloud, sometimes mentally adding an item with a "Oh, yes! I could do with some of those and maybe a ...".

Anyway, at her stop, as she got up from her seat, she managed to drop one of her plastic bags, of which she had several, into the aisle.
As she bent to retrieve it, I swear to God I heard the millions of atoms that made up the material of her leggings clearly scream "Oh No! Not again!" as they struggled to contain her oversized and gelatinous buttocks. The black material of her leggings was stretched to the extreme, revealing the pink colour of her expansive underwear.

It was not a sight that I would care to witness again!  I'm pretty sure I'm going to need therapy for post traumatic stress!

Thirdly, on the second half of our journey, which I almost described as 'hair-raising' (but didn't, seeing as I'm still bald, that would have been untrue. And I always tell the truth!), was memorable due to a young couple who were standing (the bus was full at this time) in the space reserved for wheelchairs.  They were all over each other and were seemingly deeply in love.

Then it all went pear shaped!

He was leaning against the window.
She stood facing him, her back to the aisle, and he had his arms around her waist.
They were in the process of sucking each others faces from their heads.
The bus pulled away from a bus-stop and into main stream traffic.
The driver accelerated, only to be thwarted by someone pulling out in front of him and taking his priority.
The driver slams on the brakes.
We all shoot forward.
Our two love-puppies also shoot forward.
The young man lets go of his girl friend's waist and grabs a hand rail.
There is a sound.
"Thwupppp"!
Their lips are pulled apart.    
She shoots sideways sown the aisle screaming.
He watches, as we all do.
She, now two rows further forward, grabs a hand rail.
She turns and falls backwards over the lap of a somewhat surprised, but now very happy, old man.
He tries to help her up.
She screamed again and uttered a series of expletives punctuated by "perv" and "dirty old man".
We all laugh.
She stamps back to her boyfriend, demands to know why he let go of her, then she punches him in the shoulder before he can reply.

Everyone on the bus was sniggering.  It was hardly surprising when they got off at the next stop.






* OTPD = Over The Pond Dwellers

Old Tom On The Bench

Tom was sitting on a bench in the park.

"Morning ...."

"...Tom".

"Yerrrs.  Morning".

He held a plastic bag on his lap.  It had a slightly fishy smell to it.

"What's up Tom?" I said, trying to make conversation.

"It's my wedding anniversary today" he replied.

"Congratulations!" I said as I shoved my hand towards him. "How many years"?

"Too bloody many" he said as he limply shook my hand. "Forty-five! Forty-five bloody years! I would have gotten less if I'd committed murder".

I could see he wasn't a happy man.

"She said I had to make her a meal, like the one we had on our wedding night.  She made me buy these".

He showed me the contents of the bag.

"Oysters? You like oysters?"

"Doesn't matter if I like 'em or not. They're a wassname ... a thingymabob ... you know?" he stammered.

"Sorry? They're a what?"

"An aphrodisiac!" he said.

"I thought an afrodisiac was a hairstyle" I said with a grin.

"Stop trying to cheer me up. It won't work".

"Why are you so miserable?" I asked, now slightly concerned.

"Because these things are expensive.  On my wedding day, at the wedding banquet, she made me eat fifteen ... FIFTEEN!!! ... of the slimy little buggers".

"Yuk!"

"That night, in our room, she was so disappointed".

"Oh! Why?"

"Because only one of the bloody things only worked!!!"

Interrobanging

Have you ever interrobanged? 

You may well have done when describing, for example, a lollapalooza or ninnyhammer.

I, to my shame, did so whilst answering an email which contain the word callithumpian.

I fired off a quick emailed query regarding said word to the originator of the email and 

I used a multiple interrobang.

I kicked myself ,almost as soon as the email departed my laptop, as realisation

dawned that someone somewhere would know there was a word out there that 

I didn't know!

I do now! 

Hard Done-by Doggie!

(from Icanhascheeseburger.com)

I'm A Certified Failure

Today, along with tens of thousands of other British citizens, I failed my British citizenship test!

What I wanna know now is ...

Am I gonna be deported?

If so, where to?

Unusually Cruel Literature Re-visited

Another space-filler due to lack of time, I'm afraid. This one originally burned a hole in my thoughts over two years ago, but never appeared here until September 2010.  You may remember it.  If you haven't yet come across it, then I hope you enjoy it. 

Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible, I assure you.  

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

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

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

Get those dictionaries open.

For those of you without dictionaries

Pandiculation: The act of stretching and yawning.

Colposinquanonia: Estimating a woman’s beauty based on her chest.

Ximelolagnia: the urge to stare at women who are sitting with crossed legs.

Adoxography: fine writing on trivial or base subject.

Autolatrist: someone who worships him/herself'

Borborygmus: Bowel sounds, the gurgling, rumbling, or growling noise from the abdomen.

Charientism: A figure of speech wherein a taunting expression is softened by a jest; an insult veiled in                grace.

Witzelsucht: A tendency to pun, make poor jokes, and tell pointless stories, while being oneself inordinately entertained thereby.

Steatopygic: Having an extreme accumulation of fat on the buttocks.

Abecedarian: a person who is learning the alphabet or the rudiments of a subject.