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.

Monday, 30 April 2012

They Lied!

I have been assured, by people who purport to know these things, that bad things come in threes

They Lie!

The scum bags!

Bad thing's come in ones!

One after the other ... forever!

And ever!

I seem to have a target, as it were, on my back where bad luck is concerned.

As those of you who have been with me for some time may remember, I have always had car troubles.  Just when one problem was been dealt with, another one reared it's ugly, oil smeared head. You may also recall that I wrote about damage to house and property caused by high winds. And of course there was also the recent case of my dog Sym's lymphoma.

Well, there is still no silver lining to my black cloud of bad luck; no ray of sunshine seeking to warm the cockles of my heart (whatever that means).

You may already be wondering 'What's happened now?'.  I can hear the creaking of many (how many readers do I have?) swivel chairs as clearer screen views are sought.

Here's the latest!

My tyres need replacing ... far earlier than anticipated and without achieving the mileage they should have done.

Over night (Saturday to Sunday) there were once again gale force winds battering our house and garden (it may well have battered the homes and gardens of others. I didn't notice) and quite severe damage was caused to our fence (a rather large piece of which narrowly missed our kitchen window).

And, of course, there is Sym! His recent course of treatment resulted in only partial remission.

Now ... that's only three, I hear you say. And you would be right ... I can count.

But there's also ...

Sox (older dog) ... Ill
The lawnmower ... fuel leak!
The strimmer ... busted!
The hedge trimmer ... locked solid!
The DVD-recorder ... dead as a dodo!
The wife's PC ...well, OK! I killed that one.

And it goes on and on and on and on and on and ....

Need I say more?

Yes! They lied! They really did!

Saturday, 28 April 2012

Words From A Smug B******!

I like words.

I look 'em up ... the complicated, long ones anyway ... and  I occasionally throw 'em at people just to see how they deal with it.

It's a bit of fun and it passes the time.

But it has been said, or at least hinted at, that the average English speaking person has a vocabulary size ranging between 10000 and 20000 words.

On the basis that this assumption is true, and having met very many people over the years that display vocabularic (I made this word up) skills of a chair leg, I feel forced, and indeed obliged, to elevate myself into the 'well above average' group of English speakers.

{ Author exhales onto finger nails of right hand then polishes said nails on shirt. Grins smugly at reader }

Friday, 27 April 2012

The Morning After

The carpet was a mess!

Popcorn, peanuts, crisps and poker chips littered the floor.

Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys) lay under the coffee table with her head in a traffic cone.

"Oooooooh!", she echoed. "What'th wrong with my mouth?"

Sym stood with a dustpan and broom in his paws and looked down at her prone form.

"I did warn you that British beer is strong stuff", he said. "And you were the one that insisted on the Gin-sling chasers".

"Thomething ith wrong with my mouth!  My tongue theemth to be thuck to the woof of my mouth".

"You were eating cellotape", replied Sym. "You said it was your 'party trick'"

"Thellotape? That'th jutht thupid! Ooooooooh! My back leg'th!!! I can't feel my back leg'th!"

"Well, when ... if ... you can get them out out of that Wellington boot, they'll be fine", said Sym as he swept up.

"Why?", demanded Liza. "Why are my back leg'th thuck in a Wellington boot?"

"You had a bet with Robin, that chihuahua you picked up in the bar, that you could hop around the room without falling out of the boot. You won the bet, but we couldn't get you out of the boot afterwards".

Liza gingerly removed the cone from her head.  "Ooooh! That'th so muchth better"!

"Do you remember anything about last night?", asked Sym.

"Yeth, of courth I do. Before the poker game went to a lap danthing club ..."

"Because you said you could dance better that those girls".

" ... and then we ... ". Liza picked up a blue hat from the floor. "What'th thith?" she asked.

"Ah! Now that, dear kitty, is a policeman's helmet", Sym said as he took the helmet from her. "Do you, by any remote chance, remember how you got it?"

"Not tho mucth ... but I think it involved claw'th"

"Exactly! You clawed the living daylights out of that poor policeman's ankles, ran up his legs, ransacking his pockets on the way ... and yes! I did notice that you bought the Tequila with his credit card ... and you stole his helmet after giving him a big sloppy kiss".

"A kith!  I don't do kitheth!"

"That is quite pothibly ... sorry ... possibly true, judging by the amount of blood coming from all those scratches on his face".

"Oh my God!" said Liza. "Pearl will never forgive me! Unleth, of course, I won the game latht night. Did I?"

"Nope! Freddy and Brutus, the Rottweiler's did ... "

"Oh no"!

 "They've got your I.O.U. for over a hundred quid ".


Liza struggled out of the boot.

"Sthill, it wath a thuper night, wathn't it!"

Thursday, 26 April 2012

More Or Less ... Kind Of ... Nearly Back!

I'm more or less back in business!

More or less.

Probably a little more 'less' than 'more' at the moment, but hey ... you can't have everything, can you!

Sunday, 22 April 2012

Make The Most Of This One! I'll Be Off Soon.

It's raining!

Less than a month ago I was in 'gloat mode'.

I delighted in making fun of all those lesser mortals who were less blessed by the weather that I was and took immense pleasure from informing them, in detail (and with pictures), of the kind of weather I was romping in.

Now it's raining!

Or, perhaps I should say, it's still raining.

And it's getting cold again.

It really puts a dampener (excuse the pun) on getting to work on some serious blogging ... not that I would ever disappoint my faithful readers by getting 'serious' (please understand, it's not that kind of relationship! I know you all love me, but ...).

It has to be said that the bad weather does, in fact, bring me down.

Not that far down that I couldn't take pleasure at the sight of someone trying to walk through an unseen glass door, but still pretty far 'down'.  

And with my up-coming work schedule ... well, all I can say is "What a bummer"!

Therefore, as my brain is barely managing to tick over in neutral, I thought I would steal something from elsewhere.  I couldn't find anything that really tickled my fancy, or would even be worthy of attempting to tickle yours so, in a last desperate effort to please, I find myself having to resort to old joke.


Camilla & Charles

Camilla had bought a new pair for the day of her wedding. They tightened as the day went on. That night, after the Royal Knees-up was over, she and Charles nipped off to their room. Camilla threw herself onto the bed and said 'Could one please remove one's shoes darling! One's feet are killing one'.

Charles obliged but the shoe wouldn't budge.

'Harder!' yelled Camilla.

'Harder?' Charles screamed back. 'I'm trying darling! But it's just so damned tight!'

'Come on!' she cried. 'Give it all you've got' 

Finally when it eventually came off and Charles let out a big moan.  Camilla cried, 'Oh God, that feels so good!'

In the bedroom next door, the Queen turned to Prince Philip and said, 'See, I told you she would still be a virgin with a face like that'.

Back in the other bedroom, Charles was attempting to remove the other shoe when he cried out, 'Oh God, darling, this one's even tighter'.

At which point Prince Phillip turned and said to the Queen: 'That's my boy; once a navy man, always a navy man!

Friday, 20 April 2012

Hours And Hours And Hours

Over the next few days I will probably be AWOL!


Almost certainly ... probably.

Except for Sunday.

And most of Tuesday ... ish!

Might be back on Thursday.


Thursday, 19 April 2012

Funny? Beg's For Enlightenment!

I have been accused of being funny!

My accuser ... an intelligent woman who regularly displays her higher than average IQ via her blog (which I will not mention here) ... no doubt meant her comment to cause no offence but, rather unusually, her declaration (for that is what it was) lacked a certain amount of clarity.

Did she mean to tell me that I have a sense of humour which tickles her fancy? That I amuse her?

Or perhaps ... and this is the worrying part ... she just finds me strange?

Now, I just know I'm going to fret about this all night, maybe even for the next day or two, so ...

What should I do?

Should I confront this woman and ask for clarification? After all it was she, was it not, that hung this quandary around my neck like a yoke without so much as a second thought for my prospects of a good nights sleep.


Forget it and lose my few remaining hairs to worry?

You see, sometimes, when such a remark is passed in close proximity, a good ding on the ear of the person that made the remark ... the remarker, if you will ... could prompt immediate enlightenment as to the correct meaning (and a small amount of pleasure could also be gained whilst delivering the blow).

However, on this occasion, the minx is not in my immediate vicinity. In fact she is sadly 3925.4 Miles away, give or take a mile or two.

Hmmmm!  Looks like I'll have to ignore it, then!

Damn! Don't you just hate it when you can't ding someone it in the ear! 

Wednesday, 18 April 2012

Americans: My first encounter (Yesssss! Again! Sorry!)

It's space filler I'm afraid.  Been at work since 8 am and arrived home at 4 pm.  It's now 4.30 pm and I'm about to go back to work until approx 10 pm tonight.

Hope you enjoy it (again) this time around.

Americans: My first encounter

I now have three delightful ladies from  across the pond that follow my blog.

Thank you ladies, I am extremely grateful!

To honour these ladies I would like to take you on a short journey back in time to the early 80's.  1981 to be precise.  In addition to this mini-time travel miracle, I intend to carry you all to the European mainland.  Our destination today is the town of Butzbach in Germany.

Butzbach lies a little north of Frankfurt Am Main and Wiesbaden and was (maybe still is) in 1981 an American garrison town.

Before I continue, let me tell you that from 1976 to 1986 I was in the British army stationed in the Paderborn / Detmold area of Nordrhein West Fallen (further north).  I wasn't a particularly good  soldier, but I looked good in green!

Anyway, Butzbach was where my unit (I was a lance corporal at the time) would spend their annual training camp.  1981 was my first time and I wasn't looking forward to marching around the countryside with a bulky SLR-rifle (none of those nice new ones they have now) and ten times my own body weight in equipment (only slightly exaggerated) or leaping over the American assault courses (which I had been told were longer and harder than ours).

Our camp site was one of the lesser used rifle and small arms ranges about one mile or so outside of town and our first day on site was spent settling in; digging deep holes to use as loo's (no danger of leaving the seat up on a box with a hole in it Jamie), stowing away weapons and equipment and generally being kept busy by officers and senior NCO's shouting a lot.

Now I won't bore you with all the details of ev'rything we did as regards to manoeuvres, etc., it suffices to say that things, in true military fashion, did not go smoothly.

On day two I managed to sprained my ankle.
On day three both of our cooks went down with gastroenteritis.
On day four I was promoted to part-cook with all the associated duties.
Ok, so now you know that we had been there for four days already and still no sign of Americans, but don't worry ... they are about to make an entrance.

Having become "the cook", my first duty was to take a land rover and water bowser to the nearby base and  fill it up.

First of all there were the very severe looking security detail at the main gate ... they called me 'sir' and made a series of hand gestures which meant nothing to me.  When I didn't drive through the gates, one of them came back to the window and whispered (as he made a hand gesture again) "That means get yer ass on in their son".

So much for being called 'sir'!

After a series of wrong turns, I was eventually told to head for the "motor pool" water point so I could fill up.  That high pressure pump they had nearly turned our 3/4 ton bowser on it's side!

As the bowser was filling up, I chatted to a guy (PFC) who's name I forget, and he told me how his "detail" (in the motor pool) works.

Soldier A drives the vehicle into the workshop.
Soldier B checks the work order.
Soldier C positions the vehicle over the service pit.

I laughed my backside off when he told me how they change a tyre.

It's the same as above then ...

Soldier D jacks up the vehicle
Soldier E loosens the wheel nuts
Soldier F removes the wheel

It's then taken to a different work detail to inspect / inflate / dispose of.

To this day, I still don't know if they were being serious or extracting urine, but there was an awful lot of people hanging around the workshop doing very little.

After that, some of the guys went to the PX and said I should come along,  so I did.
I had the biggest hamburger I have ever seen in that place.  The coke I had came in a bucket and appeared to have an iceberg floating in it! And it was dirt cheap!!!  It really put our tatty old NAAFI* to shame.

However, I was somewhat concerned by the level of intelligence displayed by one or two of soldiers I met there. One of them had a penchant for head-butting traffic signs when he walked past them, another (who claimed he had family in Liverpool) thought that any American who had relatives in the U.K. could never visit them otherwise he would be conscripted into the British army!  There were others too, that seemed to be, for want of a better word, simple.   These early experiences of Americans left me thinking that they were all like that.

I know differently now, but at that time, it was a bit of a shock after all those Hollywood films  'n all.

There is more to tell, but my wife is home now and she's hungry.

After all these years I'm still cooking for my superiors!!!

*Navy, Army, Air Force Institute

Saturday, 14 April 2012

Liza Bean Bitey, Of The Minneapolis Biteys, Comes Calling!

The door bell chimed.
Sym raced into the hallway.
"Open it! Open it!" he said as he bounced up and down.

I opened it and a cat strolled in, flicking it's tail up into a question mark.

"Liza Bean Bitey!", exclaimed Sym, his tail wagging furiously
"Of ... ?"
"Er, the Minneapolis Biteys", he answered meekly. 
"And don't you forget it!".

Liza Bean Bitey sauntered down the hallway.

"Anyone sniffing my bottom looses an eye!"

Sym trailed along behind her as she headed down the hall towards the dining room, aka the 'poker room'. He stopped at the door and threw me a quick glance.

"This is her, isn't it?" I whispered.
"Nah! Terrifying's more like it!"

"I can hear every word, you know"

Sym entered the din... sorry, the poker room and closed the door.

Liza Bean sat at the table (which was covered in a green baize tablecloth) taking a very keen interest in one, long extended claw.

"So who's playin' tonight? Bob the Bassett?"
"Nope! He's got friction burns on his willy again".
"A-ha! Running over asphalt, huh?"
"What can I say? He has short legs. Blossom and Zac of the Cardiff ... er, Bossom'n Zac's ... will be here."
"They got money?"
"I'll take it."

Liza scanned the room.

"You said you'd lay on some food".
"I did! I've got chips and Quack-a-Moley"
"D'you mean guacamole?"
"No. Quack-a-Moley. Got runny duck in it"
"Ah, you mean Ruddy Duck"
"No, no, it was definitely runny when we found it".
"Found it?"
"Down by the river. Been dead for a good two weeks. That's how we found it. Smells good, doesn't it? Zac picked up the moles from the garden. They're fresh. A little chewed, but fresh".

Liza Bean glanced at the door.

"D'ya know what? I think I kinda left, like, er, left something ... anything ... in the oven. I just gotta ... gotta ..."

Liza Bean made a break for the door, her claws struggling to gain purchase on the laminate flooring. After a few seconds, the front door slammed behind her.

"Did it work?" I asked Sym as I craned my neck around the door.
"Like a charm!" he answered, waving the credit card that Liza had left behind
He looked at it. "This Pearl," he said. "She must be some kinda fruit-loop to let Liza steal her credit card all the time."

Friday, 13 April 2012


The neighbours are really loud and obnoxious tonight!

Now I know what it's like to be Canadian!

Hailey Or Haley Park?

The distant black clouds looked just that; distant!

So, armed with poo bags and a pouch full of cheese, the dogs and I ventured out to the park.

The wind was blowing in the general direction of Caerphilly ... where the clouds were ... so we took off on out walk.

Half way across the fields the wind dropped. Never mind, I thought. We'll still make before any rain falls.

Thunder began to boom. As I look towards Caerphilly I could see the blackness in the sky begin to spiral down, creating a huge black funnel.

The birds stopped singing!

More thunder.

Now, Sym is bomb-proof when out with his ball. Sox ... dear ol' Sox (on her third outing since starting her meds) ... is as deaf as a post and continues to sniff the news where ever it had been sprayed. Clover, on the other hand, is a sensitive soul and very soon began to become skittish. Normally she would be close at my heels whilst Sym chased and Sox sniffed. Today, with the now not-so-distant thunder booming around us, she had become somewhat hyper and raced backwards and forwards between Sym and myself.

We turned and made tracks back to the car park.

Then it went dark!

No rain fell but, as we raced across the field as fast as Sox's legs could manage, the hale came down!

I could no longer hear the thunder. The 'pinging' of hale the size of mint imperials was drowning it out.

Clover was near to panic! Sox found a turn of speed that would have made a greyhound envious! Sym decided to check out the woods for squirrels!

I couldn't see where I was going as hale was threatening to put my eyes out.

I blindly rounded up the beasts and we raced for the car.

On the car park, a young female jogger that had passed us earlier, was desperately looking for her car keys. Her hair was almost white from the hale and she was soaked to the skin.

She was still looking for them when I bundled the beast onto the back seat.

I wiped my glasses and dried my eyes on a tissue.

Before I could even start the car, the hale had stopped. The sun briefly popped back into the sky.

I noticed that the jogger had found her keys.

Then, just as I was considering that we could possibly go back out for a little while, the hale came down in earnest and pounded my car.

Clover freaked out.

It was time to go home.

Thursday, 12 April 2012

Double Standards

We sat at a small, round table next to the stage.

It wobbled!

Our over-expensive drinks soon slopped and covered at least a third of it's surface.

It was obviously a ploy to get us, the customer, to buy more drinks.

As we sat there, I couldn't help noticing the tatty curtain that adorned the stage-front and stretched out a leg. Lifting the curtain with my foot,I discovered that no expense had been spared on the stage's construction.

Absolutely no expense whatsoever!

The stage was merely made up of pallets ... many stacks, piled five-high, of pallets placed next to each and covered with a planks.

It was then that I began to wonder just what kind of place Tom had brought me to.

When the lights dimmed ... well, everything went purple-ish ... the curtains (the main curtain, not the one hiding the pallets) I saw on stage a round plinth approximately five feet across.
Sticking out of it's centre, and disappearing up into the darkness beyond the cheap and tatty lighting, was a chrome pole.

"A pole dancing-club,Tom?", I said."You've brought me to a pole-dancing club?"

"Exotic entertainment is good for the soul", replied Tom as he sipped his drink.

"Oh God!", I sighed. "You know my wife will string me up by the crown jewels if she finds out about this, don't you?"

"Nonsense! It's part of our modern culture. Like ballet", said Tom and I knew he was being serious.

"You don't see ballet dancers dressed in nothing but a pair of tassels and a bit of cloth the size of a knotted piece of string!"

"Look" barked Tom. "Ballet dancers wear costumes that leave nothing ... NOTHING! ... to the imagination. And they charge you a fortune to watch 'em prancing about".

I did wonder at that point just what kind of ballet Tom had been frequenting.

"Anyway", Tom went on. "I got the tickets for nothing, so stop complaining!"

The music started.

"Why do they dance around a pole?" I wondered aloud.

"It's exotic! And it's wossname ... phallic!" said Tom. "That mean's it's supposed to represent a .... ".

"I know what it means".


I stared at the pole as a pair of legs started to appear out of the darkness at the top of the pole.

"It's rusty at the bottom! Not very 'phallic' that, is it? I'm pretty damned sure that mine, despite my age, isn't going to rust!"



A backside had slid into sight.

"Look at that ar...."

"Orange peel!" I said.


"Orange peel! That's what her backside reminds me of.  's all those dimply things. Whoa! Paunch!"


The slithering figure on the pole had descended half way revealing stretch marks and an abundance of, for want of a better description, relaxed stomach muscles.

"Ah!" said Tom.

"Not what you expected, Tom?"

"No ... yes ... no!"


The upper torso was now came into view as the dancer's feet hit the floor.

"Let's get out of here!" Tom said, standing up.

I glanced one more time at the red-headed, middle-aged woman that was now squeaking and pouting as she began to gyrate, bump and grind around the rusty pole,than I followed Tom to the exit.

"What's up Tom?" I called as I chased him. "Where're you going?"

"Out!" he cried.

On the street Tom turned to me and said "That was Brenda! The woman from the corner shop!"

He looked shocked!

"I'll never be able to buy my newspapers in that shop ever again!"

"I thought you liked Brenda"

"Are you kidding? Look what she does for a hobby!"

Monday, 9 April 2012


I haven't been very productive of late with regards to my blog.

If I haven't been working, I've been dividing my time between taking my boy, Sym, to the vet's or just simply spending as much time as possible with him.

He'll be seven years old in April.

Born on a South Wales farm, just outside Merthyr Tydfil, he was one of six pup's. His 'parents' were both working border collies.

As a 'baby' he and three of his siblings were small, grey and white bundle of fluff with a domino pattern of black spots running down their backs. Two of them, Sym was one, had almost completely pink noses.

Most of the puppies ignored us as we tried to stroke them; they were too busy playing. Sym, however, seemed to find us fascinating and tried to engage us in a game of tag before settling at our feet and accepting some fuss.

It was a done deal!

Shortly afterwards, the new member of out family was sitting in a small cardboard box on my lap as we drove home.  In between fuss and hugs, he watched the scenery fly by as we headed back down the A470 towards home.

He was, and has been ever since, a perfect car passenger and loves looking out of the window.

This is how he likes to spend his evenings!
As you may remember, he's not a well dog.  He suffers from Lymphoma, a condition that may eventually take him away from us.

One week from today he will finish his second round of treatment. We thought he as doing well and that his Lymphoma was in remission, but last week (his penultimate treatment) the vet noticed a small swelling in his neck. The ran the tests and, as we feared, the lymphoma was already making a return.

We have no idea how long he will be with us. His treatment costs our insurance company approximately £3600 for a course of treatment. If he has to start a third round of treatment BEFORE September (when his policy automatically renews), we will not be able to afford it!

It will then, sadly, be an everything-crossed waiting game.

I have a bond with Sym that I have never had with and other pet and, I think it is fair to say, that no one else shares. I like to believe that it is a two-way bond and that Sym loves me.

I love Sym too!

He is my boy!

Friday, 6 April 2012

Am I The Last To Find Out?

I have lost all respect for Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson!

Admittedly, I didn't have that much to start with, but it's gone now.

For several years I thought of the man as being a decent guy and a halfway decent actor, despite being a wrestler.  Now ... this very morning, in fact ... I discover that Dwayne is a no-good, low-down skunk!

"Why?" I hear all you wrestling fans scream. "What could he possibly have against Dwayne?"

Well, I'll tell ya!

I switched on the TV this morning ... more for company than for entertainment ... and what did I see?

Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson beating seven shades of poo outta poor ol' Seven of Nine in an episode of Star Trek: Voyager  (Tsunkatse)!!!

Never had him figured as a woman beater!

Wednesday, 4 April 2012

The Dealer And The Mystery Of The Disappearing Accent!

A few days ago  when I was walking through Canton (a district of Cardiff), I saw a guy wearing the baggiest trousers I had ever seen; the kind that suggested the presence of legs but failed to deliver any real evidence of their existence. Baggier even than the baggiest of 70's Oxford Bags.

He also wore a camouflage jacket of the kind that British paratroopers used to wear many moons ago.  As he came closer he performed a little jig in an attempt to sidestep an old granny with one of those annoying little shopping bags on wheels.

He failed spectacularly and sprawled headlong onto the pavement in front of me.

I helped him up.

What can I say? It's what I do. I'm a helper!

"You ok?" I asked.

"Yeah man!" came a booming, Jamaican reply.

Once on his feet, he thanked me and made off at speed taking with him a brand new limp.

Later ... maybe 30 minutes or so ... I entered a small cafe to have a coffee whilst pondering 9. Down of my crossword - Cannot be fixed. (11).

Just as I entered the cafe my new and still limping friend arrived.

"Hello again, my friend" he said. "Let me buy you a coffee, for helping me earlier".

I couldn't help noticing his Jamaican accent had somewhat slipped.

"Oh! Thanks" I managed.

His accent reappeared as he ordered "Sausage, chips and beans for me an a coffee f'me fren'".

A large roll of banknotes appeared in his hand and he unfurled a twenty pound note. After paying and receiving his change, the roll of notes disappeared back into the baggy pocket of his baggy trousers.

We sat at a table and minutes later coffee arrived.

Just then my new friend, who had identified himself as Lionel, looked across the cafe and saw two guys (who were probably Somalians - there are a fair few around here) getting up from their table and heading to the door.

"Black bastards!" he hissed.

As Lionel himself is of Afro-Caribbean origin, his statement surprised me.

He grinned, showing me in the process teeth that, had we been in sunlight, would have dazzled passing motorists. "Not talking 'bout their skin, man. Them's bad to the heart!".

Lionel's accent was back and thicker than ever.

I watched the Somali's leave the cafe.

"Yeah, man! Them's selling da 'ard stuff. Dope! I sell's weed. Ya wan' some?"

I declined.

His accent departed once more as he said "Just as well. I'd have to arrest you!"

I finished my coffee.

"Only jokin' man" he said with a grin as I thanked him for the coffee and took my leave.

As I walked back to my car the answer to 9.Down came to me; Irreparable.

That's when I realised that the newspaper that I hadn't yet read, still lay on the table.

Monday, 2 April 2012

Sadly, It's A Re-Post!

Once again I find myself inundated with work and too tired after hard day's work to spend any time behind the keyboard.  I will be back a.s.a.p., but in the meanwhile, here is a re-post which somehow explains just how I feel after a hard day's bottom-wiping.

Failure to Fire

I consider myself to be a blogger with a degree of style,  if not always good taste.

I also like to think of myself as being capable of some pretty slick and smooth writing that, whilst sometimes bending the rules of grammar to breaking point, delivers some worthwhile entertainment. 

It does not come easy to me however.  I have to trawl though area's of my mind that I very sensibly vacated many years ago in order to obtain some of the material that ends up as a blog article.  I dodge, as neatly as possible, the somewhat darker memories and attempt to document only the lighter side of what it is like to be me!

Others can sit themselves in front of their laptops/PCs and effortlessly fire-up their neurons in such a way as to deliver sophisticated and, in most cases, humorous anecdotes directly onto their blogs without so much as a second thought.

I,  on the other hand, have to tweak and re-tweak before I consider an article ready for posting.  Some, after a considerable 'construction' phase, never see the light of day. 

Today is another one of those days where, although there are a number of things I would like to tell the world about, my neurons failed to 'burn' and the 'construction' idea's that I had for my article, have vanished in their entirety.

The one thought that remains, but which I hadn't planned to write about is ...
  • Minnesota comes from a Sioux Indian word meaning "sky-tinted water", or "water that reflects the sky."
It has nothing whatsoever to do with a very small, fizzy drink!

I knew that!