Greece, 688 BC

"Diodoros? What are you doing?"

"Eh? Well, I call it 'Hitting A Round Thing Over A Net On The Beach Whilst Wearing Skimpy Knickers'."

"But where's your javelin? It's your turn to throw. We can't let Gorgythion win again this year!"

"Oh c'mon Isodemos.  Javelin is soooooooo boring!"

"What? But Team Argos is depending on you to win Gold!  We can't let let the Heraclean's beat us again! Good Zeus!!! What on earth is Hipparinos doing up that tower?"

"I believe it's going to be a triple somersault, with a twist and pike."

"What the seven Hells has that got to do with the art of War? Anyway, he's supposed to be throwing the discus in a minute."

"Yeah, right.  But he reckoned, you know, just in case he ever get's pushed off, lets say, a seaside cliff by, oh, 300 Spartans or so, then at least he'll fall to his death with a little bit of style."

"Good grief, Diodorus! We are supposed to be competing in a series of skills used in warfare to the honour of Zeus! He's going to send a hale of lightning bolts down on us if he see's what's going on."

"Oh cheer up Isodemos.  Come and have a go at the synchronised swimming. That'll make you feel better."  

"Synchronised ... By the Gods! I'll see you swing for this, Diodorus!"

"Er, no, I don't think so.  The gymnastics doesn't start until tomorrow and I think, if you check the schedule, you'll find that you are down for the bicycle road race at that time."

"What in Hades is a bicycle?"

"I have no idea. All I know is that you can't hide any soldiers in it and leave it outside a besieged city gates."

"Why not?"

"Because someone would steal it!"

My Sunday Morning

This morning I was up at 6am ... on my day off!

I let the dogs out for their morning ablutions then I fed 'em!

Then I did this ...

And, because I don't wish to be seen as being biased in any way, shape or form, I did this ...

Then, because I just can't leave things alone, I did this ...

(Apologies to Kristine Brummer and Mary Campbell for abusing their Lions Run photo)

I'm now on my third cup of coffee, I have just devoured a Kitkat Chunky and the time is fast approaching 9 am. 

There is an awful lot of daylight left ...

... what to to do?

Seeing Pink Elephants

"Seeing pink elephants" is a euphemism for a drunken hallucination.

I haven't imbibed for many a year so, as you would imagine, Pink Elephants are pretty scarce in my neighbourhood.

I think that I might be correct in saying that the first recorded use of the term "Pink Elephants" use by the American author Jack London whilst describing a drunk in the autobiographical novel 'John Barleycorn' (sorry about the Wikipedia link).

In the late 1800's the term was, I believe, 'being followed by pink giraffes'. It may well be that he decided to use this phrase, adding his own little twist, to-wit; Elephant.

Why am I telling you this?

Well, I have just finished watching that James Stewart classic 'Destry Rides Again' on TCM.

Marlene Dietrich and Brian Donlevy were his co-stars.

You all know the story:

• Sheriff killed after crooked poker game
• New sheriff is town drunk 
• Sheriff calls for the son of the famous lawman, Tom Destry, for help
• Gun hating Destry Jr. comes to town to be a deputy sheriff
• Folks think he's a wuss
• A smart wuss
• Win's over the bad guy's (Donlevy) girl (Dietrich)
• Cleans up town
• Girl get's killed by bad-guy
• Destry kills bad-guy
• They all live happily ever after

Yes, I know what you are thinking: There were no pink elephants in that movie!

And you are right, there weren't!

However, it became very apparent whilst watching scenes where Marlene Dietrich sings, that the man who cast her in the role of 'Frenchy' must have been drunk at the time.

Dietrich was, to make a long story short, his 'pink elephant'!

What on earth was he thinking about casting her in a role that required her to warble?

Whereas, in her day, she was no doubt a talented actress, she was in no way a talented singer.

At this point I really must apologise to all hardened Dietrich fans because I really found it necessary to turn off the sound rather than listen to her sing all those flat notes.

As  a point of interest ... I can't sing either!

I Think I'm Gonna Be .... URRGGGAHHH ... Sick!

I was on a bus again yesterday.

And nothing much happened!

What can I tell ya? It was one of those days!

Oh, there was a smell of feet and cheese, but despite several people saying "What is causing the stink?", no one could locate the source.

It wasn't really a strong smell ... at first ... but it 'travelled', you know what I mean?

Even the driver made a comment about it.

Very few people boarded the bus during our short journey and only three or four got off.  But the stink remained.

And I swear to God that it followed us when we got off in Pontypridd!

I began to think it was me.  Had my morning shower failed to eliminate BO that I was unaware of?

It all became too much, as yet again the smell followed us into another shop. I could feel a nervous breakdown creeping up behind me as I tried to concoct excuse after excuse for the smell.

Then, on the verge of panic and desperation, I rummaged through my pockets (of which I had very few, as it was fairly warm) on the off chance that someone had dumped a stink bomb in my pocket.

Nothing!

It couldn't be my client, could it?, I thought. No! Surely not.

We left the shop at speed as whisper's grew began to mutate into a chorus of "WTF is that smell?".

Outside I quickly frisked my client.

Well, it wasn't me,so it had to be him!

Tissues (wish I'd used gloves), chewy sweets, a piece of paper with his name on it, and ....

OH MY GOD!!!

As I pulled out the small cellophane bundle that I found in his pocket, the smell noticeably increased.

It was squishy ... it was pliable and incredibly smelly.

It was bluey-green!

It looked and smelled as if it had once been Stilton cheese!

I gagged!

It was leaking!

I found a bin and dumped the offending package.

I used nearly a full bottle of the anti-bacterial hand cleanser that I carry with me (you need it in my job).

That was yesterday!

I have since scrubbed my hands several time and showered. I have used soaps with fragrances that normally would only be found in French houses of ill repute. I even coated my hands with aftershave!

And I can still smell that ... that ... I think I'm gonna be sick ....

Sister Mary

I bumped into Sister Mary from the local Irish Seaman's Mission the other day. 
She was suffering from a bad bout of the hiccough's.

I cured her hiccough's by pointing at her little pot belly and asking when the baby is due!

She looked shocked and after a short silence she said "Oi'm a nun, bejeezus! How the divel am oi goin'  to get pregnant?"

"Well, you might have dressed up as an alter boy, sister, and ..."

DING!

"OWWWW"!

Fornications

As I promised via Facebook yesterday ... Fornications !

Just as a matter of interest, fornications  [Late Latin fornicr, fornict-, from fornix, fornic-, vault, vaulted cellar, brothel  ]  are the arches that you may find in, for instance, a vault, crypt or perhaps a church or cathedral. 

Nothing whatsoever to do with what you may have come looking for!

Picture source

Sorry if I disappointed you!

Quilted-Jacket-Man

So once again, after a nearly three month wait, I found myself back on a bus!

Now, you know what a bus looks like on the inside ... they are all fairly similar; two or three inwards facing seats, the others facing forward on the left and right along the length of the bus with an aisle in the middle ... so I won't bore you with intricate details ... although I think I just did.

What most buses have in common are those poles from ceiling to floor at the aisle-end of alternate seats.

I never, ever, sit on those seats if it can be at all avoided.

It's all because of odours.

Vile, stinky, smelly, cheesy armpit odours!

Y'see, everyone, except the real oldies on the bus, will get up and start walking to the front whilst the bus is still in motion.

This means that the poles are used as support.

This means at any given time during a bus journey, at least one disgusting armpit will hover above your head, sometimes for minutes at a time, until the bus stops and they get off!

Today ... wouldn't ya just know it ... the bus was full to bursting and I ended up in one of the aisle seats with a pole.

Three times (Yes, three!!!) a passenger of dubious personal hygiene stood above me allowing their nausea inducing 'scent' to drift over me.

In my profession I have to deal with some pretty stink situations ... but those armpits!!!!

Although it was now several hours ago, the memory of those smells are still with me and I fear that I may have been scarred for life!

Anyway, all that aside, today we were also treated to a floor show of sorts.

The 'performance' came from an elderly man in an over large quilted jacket. He sat on an inward facing seat directly behind the driver and was what I could only describe as a 'serial gesticulator'. That is to say, that whatever seemed to be going through his mind was 'enacted' with a series of arm/hand gestures and finger twitching.

At first it was merely amusing, but then the bus was delayed when we encountered a dustbin truck that was blocking the street ahead of us.

Quilted-jacket-man jumped to his feet, his arms waving wildly and his mouth silently, but with an aggressive expression on his face, spouting obscenities at the crew of the dustbin truck.

When we eventually managed to pass them, he began tapping his watch, indicating the delay that they had caused, and offered up that age-old British silent comment; the two fingered salute*.

Minutes later there was another delay and Quilted-jacket-man responded by instantly leaping from his seat (where he had bee silently gesticulating) and moved to the front of the bus, his arms flailing as he displayed his displeasure.

This time, however, the object of his silent rage thwarted him, and he was forced to take his seat, head bowed.

This time the delay had been caused by pall bearers loading a coffin into a hearse!

The passengers sniggered.

"Bastards!" said Quilted-jacket-man.

From than on, he was silent, but continued to gesticulate as if his life depended on it.




*the British version of 'The Finger'

 

Another Childhood Memory Taken

With the passing of Ernest Borgnine yet another childhood memory was chipped away.

R.I.P Ernest!

Memory And Kitchen Failings

And so another short holiday comes to an end.

Well, when I say 'Holiday' I do, of course, only mean a week off work.

Embarrassingly, I actually managed to forget that I had last week off at all.  I mean, I could have planned something ... or maybe not. Not with the sick puppy.

Anyway, it rained!

For nearly the whole damned week!

Change of subject now.

Let me tell you about my pie and cake.  Yes!  I can make  pies and cakes. I can also cook some pretty cool meals, if ever you are passing and in need of sustenance.

The pie was an apple and blueberry extravaganza.  Flaky crust and packed with sweet apples and plump, juicy blueberries.

It's a shame that I forgot the blueberries when I went shopping! So it turned into a simple apple and cinnamon pie.

Or would have, if I'd had any cinnamon.

It had apples in it. I swear!

Despite not being what was planned, it was very, very tasty.

And yesterday ... Sunday ... I made a mandarin cheese cake  ... without mandarins, which ... yes, you've guessed it ... I forgot to buy.

So it was quickly adapted to become a lemon cheese cake.

It also tasted really good.

Although it was only a cheese cake because I'd forgotten to put the lemon juice in!

Now, I know what you are thinking. He's getting on in years and his memory is going.

It get's worse.

Well, it would probably be worse, if only I could remember all those things that I remembered forgetting before I forgot them.

My name?  Of course I remember my name!

It's ... er ... begins with a G ... tip of my tongue ... er ...

Happier Times

Sox is sadly no longer with us and Sym's Lymphoma 

has once again reared it's ugly head, but here is 

a reminder of happier times.

The 5th Of July

I hope all of my Colonial Cousins noticed how quiet I was yesterday?

It was, after all Your Day ... The 4th of July (even though some say that The Declaration of Independence was actually signed on the 2nd of July or even as late as the 2nd of August).

In this current economic climate and time of heightened political tension, I thought it would be better if I didn't add to your troubles.

But today is the 5th of July, so here goes ...

236 years!

That is as long as you've had bloody America!

And you've bleedin' well broke it!

Well, at least that's what some analysts are saying.

America, they say, is closer to the brink of disaster than ever before.

So, ask yourselves honestly, 'Could we (Brits) have done any worse than all those American politicians over the years'?

I think not!

I mean, what if those Bostonians hadn't thrown that tea over board?  What if the tea tax had been paid with smiles on faces?

What if Mr Washington had said "Sorry, I can't lead your army. I'm washing my hair that day!"

And what if we didn't come second in the War of Independence and you still owed fealty to HRH Queen Elizabeth?

So, as you probably all woke up this morning in a fragile state, complete with party hangovers, let me just say, I hope you're pleased with yourselves!

Now, if any of you wish to return to the fold, as it were, I'm sure I could put a good word in for you!

This Duck Is Dead

Got a busy day ahead of me so here is the duck tale from August 2010. Enjoy!

A woman brought a very limp duck into a veterinary surgeon.
As she laid her pet on the table, the vet pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the bird’s chest. After a moment or two, the vet shook his head and sadly said, "I'm sorry, your duck, Cuddles, has passed away."

The distressed woman wailed, "Are you sure?" 

"Yes, I am sure. Your duck is dead," replied the vet.

"How can you be so sure?" she protested. "I mean, you haven't done any testing on him or anything. He might just be in a coma or something."

The vet rolled his eyes, turned around and left the room.

He returned a few minutes later with a black Labrador Retriever.

As the duck's owner looked on in amazement, the dog stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the examination table and sniffed the duck from top to bottom.

He then looked up at the vet with sad eyes and shook his head.

The vet patted the dog on the head and took it out of the room.

A few minutes later he returned with a cat.

The cat jumped on the table and also delicately sniffed the bird from head to foot. The cat sat back on its haunches, shook its head, meowed softly and strolled out of the room.

The vet looked at the woman and said, "I'm sorry, but as I said, this is most definitely, 100% certifiably, a dead duck."

The vet turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys and produced a bill, which he handed to the woman.

The duck's owner, still in shock, took the bill. "£150!" she cried, "£150 just to tell me my duck is dead!"

The vet shrugged, "I'm sorry. If you had just taken my word for it, the bill would have been £20, but with the Lab Report and the Cat Scan, it's now £150."

Misunderstanding

You're a man of the world, Bert
Worrrrrl, yes! I've had my experiences. Dabbled in loads of things, I have.
So you're a knowledgeable man then, are you?
Oh, yes! Knowledge is my middle name.
Y...you...you changed your middle name, did you?
What?
Did you change your middle name? Because I always thought it was Dennis.
I was speaking wossname ... thingy! I haven't actually changed my name.
Oh! I see.  Wossname. Right.
That's right! Anyway, what's on your mind?
I was wondering ... do you know what 'destitution' is?
Who you been talking to?
What?
's not true! 's a lie!
Oh my God! Have you been on the streets?
No...no... well, yes. But I was a student back then and I had money troubles, all right?
Oh! You poor man!
Well, at first, yes. But I was popular and made a lot of money very quickly ....
You managed to make money by being homeless and in dire need?
... but my backside ... What?
Being homeless and/or in dire need is the definition of 'Destitution'.
Oh! I thought you said ...