About This Blog

This blog was originally started as a thread on the forum pages of an animal rescue site. Now it's here!

The articles you find in here are purely for entertainment (yours and mine) and (with one or two exceptions) are all tongue-in-cheek chronicles of the World (my bit, anyway) as I see it.
No disrespect is intended towards anyone unless I make a mistake and make it too obvious.

I hope you enjoy my offerings. Feedback and comments of any kind are welcome.

Friday, 31 August 2012


"It'th not fair!"

"What's not fair?"

"They won't let me take part in the Para-Olympicth"

"Weally? I had no idea that you some physical pwoblems"

"Jutht becauth I'm not phythically impaired dothn't mean I don't have a dithability"

Oh, wight! And your disability is ... ?"



"Etheth! I can't thay my etheth"

"Not being able to say your esses isn't weally a catagowy which would make you eligible for any Pawa-Olympic event, is it?"

"Tho you thay, but you aren't the one with that thpeach impediment"

"Weally? Have you ever twied getting thwough live without most of your R's?. Anyway, to allow you to twain and partake in the games would be an insult to all evewy dedicated Pawa-Olympian. They overcame some sewious adversity ... pwoblems you can't even compwehend ... so that they can attend the games"

"Well, when you put it like that ..."

"I do! Er, just out of intwest, what events did you have in mind"

"Sprintth, thwimming, thycling ... "

"Wait a moment. Cycling begins with a C"

"Hmmmm! Theems my dithablity ith getting worth. They've gotta conthider me for team GB now"

"Good gwief!"

*** I have the greatest respect for all Para-Olympians. I applaud their drive, determination and strength of character in overcoming their disabilities. They are true sportsmen and women!

Monday, 27 August 2012

Just a bite? Nah! I Was The Damned Buffet

Over the past God-knows-how-many years, I have rarely, if ever, been the object of a mosquito's passion for blood.

Now, I realise that blood is a necessary ingredient for the mosquito's reproductive recipe and I do realise that they need to feed but, God Damn It!!!

Twenty Two F&*king times?

I mean, really ... was it abso-bloody-lutely necessary to puncture me TWENTY TWO F&*KING TIMES?

My chest, stomach and back look like I've been romping (if you get my drift) with a porcupine! 

But that's not all ... no ... one of the b@st@rds bit me in the belly button (that's The navel (clinically known as the umbilicus) to you educated folks out there).

Did it end there?

No, no, no, no!

This morning I awoke to find that one of the more adventurous of the little buggers had decided that the 'buffet' was insufficient and went to the banquet instead.

Yes, one of 'em bit me on the ....

Well, let me put it this way ... it was probably the BIGGEST meal that mosquito was ever gonna get!

Sunday, 26 August 2012


This is the little lady I now take to the park on her own.
She still looks for Sym.
When she doesn't find him, she falls in behind me
and follows me around the park.

I think maybe she needs doggy company so I shall soon begin to 
whine and wheedle until my wife gives in and lets me have another pup!

Saturday, 18 August 2012

Sym: How the Bond Was Forged

One day in late June of 2005, after several months of wheedling and moaning, my wife finally gave in to my request for a dog.

Not just any dog, either. I wanted a Border Collie!

Needless to say, within moments of her resistance crumbling and giving me the go-ahead, I was trawling the internet looking for someone selling puppies.

Most available Border Collie puppies were in distant regions of Wales or in England; too far to drive easily, so I turned my attention to the local newspaper small ads. Almost immediately an ad leapt out at me: ‘Border Collie puppies to good homes. £100’

Of course, I was straight on the phone. The excitement of a schoolboy awaiting the start of the school summer holidays was rising inside of me and I’m pretty sure that I made a very poor job of concealing it as I made an appointment to see the puppies.

The farmer (for they were farm puppies) on the other end of the phone must have immediately known he had already made a sale.

So, two days later, we went to Merthyr Tydfil to see, and hopefully select, a puppy.

The farm was located in the valley below the Merthyr Tydfil Mountain Railway. On the drive up there I managed to keep my boyish enthusiasm under control but, as we drove down the county lane and approached the farm, I felt me excitement resurface and had the feeling of butterflies in my stomach. I felt as I once did as a child on the eve of my birthday! I just know I was going home with a dog!

I have to admit that Julie, my wife, was taking this all rather well. She was all “let’s wait and see” and “Let’s be sensible about this” but I could tell she was a little excited too. She was hiding it well, but she was excited. I know it!

As we pulled into the farmyard we could see a Spaniel and a Border collie lying by a barn door, but no puppies.

The farmer came out to greet us and after some brief introductions, he led us to the barn and opened the half door.

Out came mum and her six puppies. There were two typical black and white pups and four grey and white. All of the grey and white pups had parallel white spots running down their backs making them look like plump, fluffy dominoes. One of them had a pink nose!

The farmer left us for a while to play with the puppies and to make a selection.

We knew what was supposed to happen now ... the right puppy would choose us, and not we the puppy.

So we let them mill around our feet and stroked and patted. They engaged in puppy rough and tumble and for the most part ignored us. Mum, having found us unworthy of interest, took herself off to a tractor in one of the out buildings and lay underneath it next to a bulldog that we had previously not noticed.

One by one the puppies left us to follow mum until we were left alone in the farmyard.

Or so we thought.

Behind us the puppy with the pink nose sat calmly and looked us up and down.

Julie bent down and offered a hand for him to sniff.

He sniffed.

He came closer and sat at our feet looking up, his tail was wagging.

He was not the biggest of the puppies, but he certainly wasn’t the smallest. His flanks were grey, his chest white and down his back a thin black stripe and the white domino spots.

His nose was almost entirely pink.

His beautiful brown eyes our gaze and we knew there and then that we had just been selected to be his new family!

A short time later ‘puppy’ (for he had not yet become Sym) sat in a cardboard box on my lap as Julie drove us towards the A470 and home.

Most of the journey was spent with ‘puppy’ resting his front paws on the lip of the box and looking out of the window wagging his tail. Every so often he turned his attention to me, climbing out of his box and giving me a lick on the chin.

This was all so new to him; new people, a car journey and someone to lick!

His head became heavy, his eyes closed and he slept in my arms until we arrived home.

As Julie parked the car he awoke. He looked me square in the face then leapt.

His front paws landed on my shoulders and his tongue assaulted my face.

At that moment I knew that I loved that puppy.

At that moment he became ‘my dog’.

At that moment the unbreakable bond between us was forged.

Thursday, 16 August 2012


Yesterday we made the decision to ease Sym over the bridge.

He had begun to experience severe breathing difficulties and was only 
able to sleep for short periods.

Julie and I held him as he fell asleep.

He is with his sister, Sox, now and is free from pain and discomfort.

Wednesday, 15 August 2012

Just Not In The Mood Right Now

I am too restless to write anything.

I have so little time anyway.

I have 'best friend' to care for.


Be patient for, like Schwarzenegger, I will be back!

Tuesday, 14 August 2012

Seeking Advice From My Best Friend

You see Sym, people just don't understand me...

... they think I'm crazy!

I trust you. What do you think? 

Thursday, 9 August 2012

Sym And His Ball

He may be ill, but he still loves his ball. So much so that it's a problem getting it back sometimes.

Minutes after this was filmed, Sym took off to the river, splashed in and promptly 
dropped his ball.
We watched helplessly as it floated down river.
(my batteries were flat by then)

If you look closely, you might just see the swelling of his throat (his right side)
caused by his cancer.

Saturday, 4 August 2012


There are times ... hard times ... when I feel stressed.

You would never know when one of these 'times' was upon me ... unless you were very, very unlucky ... as I have become very adept at keeping it all bottled up.

But it seems that sometimes life and all it's horrors (that creep up on me like a very quietly charging bull elephant) are out to get me!

These are the times that my elasticated sanity is stretched almost to snapping point only to be thankfully twanged back into some semblance of normality, leaving me with a huge feeling of relief, in very much the same way as a first time bungee jumper will feel relieved when they realise that the bungee cord IS going to hold them after all.

Today is one of those days!

But I'm still waiting for the TWANG !

My dog has cancer!  My car is once again off the road!  Money is scarce!

And I don't have many friends (not everyone likes my sense of humour)!

And I just hate everybody and everything!


Ok! So I've just taken a short break from writing. I've had a coffee and trawled the internet for more pictures that I can add captions to,  and ... TWANG!!! ... I'm feeling a little bit better!

My problems are not gone, but I do feel a little bit more capable of dealing with them.

Common sense tells me I should now delete this post and keep my little secret but logic tells me that I wouldn't feel a little bit more able to cope if I hadn't actually started to write it all down.

So it's here to stay.

Of course, it could be all just down to watching all those women giving themselves wedgies whilst running in the final leg of the Triathlon on TV that cheered me up.

Thursday, 2 August 2012

When Bollocks Drop!

On the bus this morning, my tired client tried desperately to snatch 40 winks.

However, he had to settle for a mere 5 or 6 winks between potholes and some pretty erratic manoeuvring.

His nodding in and out of dream land gave me time to get my thoughts in order and fire up those little grey cells with regards as to what I would regale you with today.

Travel with me, if you would be so kind, back to the year 1969.

I was ten years old and undergoing the torture that is education. The quick witted amongst you will have worked out my age by now, but for those of you that have no skill with numbers ... I am mumble-mumble years old!

Yes, I was in Junior School!

As I recall ...and I'm a pretty good re-caller ... it was December and fast approaching Christmas and the school was winding down for the festive holidays.

In the weeks prior to this ... the day I am about to re-live with you ... we (the school choir) had been working hard on all the carols we planned to entertain the parents and family of pupils.  Forget the Nativity Play! We, the choir, were the stars!

We started practising in November and at that time I was only a member of the chorus ... an also-singer, if you will. Then, just a week before our Christmas concert, Tony "Snot-face" Davidson, our boy-soprano, found himself with an 'get out of Jail free' card when he came down with a mystery throat infection.

A replacement for all those squeaky-note songs that we'd been practising was needed and Miss Stimpson (music teacher) was in a lather and threatening to pull the ginger hair from her head.

She made all the boys, including me, despite my best efforts to hide, try out for the role of boy-soprano.

One after the other, we were (frog) marched into the music room where she commanded us to sing.

As it happened, I turned out to be an even better boy-soprano than 'snot-face'!

And I was given the job!

All went well.

Until ....

The school hall was full of proud parents!

The Nativity play had ended with Mary, having thrown the Baby Jesus at the head of Josef, crying her eyes and being lead away by one of the teachers.

Then it was the choirs turn.

We marched out onto the stage to a ripple of applause and proceeded to flawlessly belt out carol after carol.  The watching parents rewarded us after each one with rapturous applause and occasional cheers!

Then twelve of us stepped forward to sing the last carol of the show ... The Twelve Days Of Christmas!

As the 'squeaky' singer, I had been given the number five spot ... Five Gold Rings.

"On the first day of Christmas, My true love gave to me ..." we all sang.

"A partridge in a pair tree!" sang number one.

"On the second day of Christmas, My true love gave to me ..." we all sang.

"Two turtle doves!" sang number two.

"And a partridge in a pair tree!" sang number one.

And so it went.  Each of us singing a 'day'.

I managed to sing "Five Go-old rings" three squeaky times before disaster struck.

On my fourth attempt the squeak became a crackly, gurgly grunt!!!

The audience sniggered.

At each further attempt, my voice crackled like an old crystal radio set.  My throat hurt; my face took on the hue of beetroot; my fellow singer's chuckled their way through their parts.

The audience ... the bastards! ... applauded every croak!

I wanted to die.

I wanted to knock seven bells out of 'Snot-face' for bailing out.

I never wanted to sing ever again.

And to cap it all ... I had no idea why my voice had let me down.

At least not until it was explained to me the effect a pair of new bollocks could have on a lad of my age!