Sausages

Jack

Only with us for a day, but he would growl at anyone that came near me!

Dinky And Clover

Taken a few years ago. They are both big fans of biscuits!

Cat v Dog

These days, now that Clover is on her own, she has her bed in our bedroom. She sleeps at the foot of our bed and snores.

You would be amazed at just how loud she can be!

She snorts and chainsaws her way through the night, sending decibel counters in the neighbouring county shooting off the scale.

 

How do you sleep, I hear you ask.
 

Well ... It's training. And having spent the past several years listening to my wife snort and grunt her way through the twilight hours, I'm very used to it!
 

Anyway, at 6 am the noise stops. It's time to get up and to let Clover out for her toilet.

This morning, as we made our way down the stairs, we were met by Blossom, the cat.

She evaded capture last night so wasn't, as per usual, put out to terrorise the neighbourhood.

At the foot of the stairs she did that cat thing ... crouching with her front paws trampling, back legs tensing ... and just as a very cautious Clover hit floor level, she pounced!
 

A left ... a right ...  a hiss!
 

Clover, surprised by the attack, pressed herself wide eyed against the wall. Blossom sat down and, looking incredibly smug, started to clean herself.

After the shock had abated, Clover began to circle around Blossom in an attempt to get to the back door. Blossom immediately stood, positioned herself directly in front of Clover, and with a withering look turned her back and sat down.

Dogs, as you probably know, have a fascination with bottoms.

So it will come as no surprise to you that as soon as Blossom's back was turned, Clover felt the need for a sniff.

She slowly stretched towards Blossom's derriere ... closer and closer ... ready to sniff.

A mere inch or two away from Blossom's bottom, Clover sneezed!

Blossom flew into the air, still seemingly in a sitting position. At the apex of her flight her legs extended, she rotated through 180°, whacked Clover smartly on the nose then, upon landing, raced headlong up the stairs.

Clover isn't the quickest of dogs.

Her reaction came several seconds after Blossom had scampered onto the upstairs landing.

She jumped, her eyes wide, and galloped down the hallway. When she reached the backdoor, she spun on the spot, whined and looked at the handle.

As I opened the door and let her out, she threw me a glance that quite clearly said 'You won't tell anyone, will you?'.

Bloody Kids!

Times are hard!

Money is always a problem, then there's work, house maintenance, etc., etc..

The list is endless.

And then there's the 22 year old step daughter that insists an acting like a petulant 6 year old ALL THE TIME!

You have to wonder where you went wrong ... and if you are the only ones that suffers this way.

It's sad that a divide has opened up between the family generations and it is also so very annoying!

From the small things ... leaving empty milk or margarine cartons in the fridge ... to the bigger things ... staying out for days at a time without telling anyone where she is ... it is causing a massive amount of tension in the family home.

There is no obvious solution when the person you are at odds with just doesn't give a shit!

We just have to say 'hello' to be barked at. Each and every conversation is perceived as a vicious attack on our part ... and the best form of defence in her book is attack! Which she does at the drop off a hat.

If you ask what the problem is, it's us ... always banging on about something or other. But, even in the same house, we never see her to say anything anyway.

She won't get out of bed before 3pm, she bakes and cooks in the middle of the night (sometimes forgetting half way through what's she doing) and cannot do ANYTHING quietly, even when she know we both have to up for work at 6am!

Now, the solution might seem obvious to others, but not to us.

I've tried buying a gun, but they wouldn't let me have one!

And short of burying her head first in a deep hole in the garden, I don't know what else we can try ... Except chucking her out!

OK!

That was a mild mannered rant. Rest assured the real nasty rant isn't far off!

{Thinks: perhaps we could move out while she's at work?}

Lest We Forget

Punch Line

... and then I said "No, but at least he died happy!"

Oh ... Hello!

Sneaking up on me again, eh?

A shame you came so late ... that was a cracking joke.

Anyway, I'm pleased you dropped by. Now that I'm all tableted-up, I can blog anywhere without using my phone tiny little editor, so how about you take a walk with me, hmmm?

OK, maybe not.

With the festive season fast approaching, it's time to think about Christmas presents. To be honest though ... the 'thinking' in our house is done by my wife ... in July!

Now is that right? I ask you ... July?

What kind of Christmassy Christmas presents are around in July?

Then the hunt begins!

Did I tell you that my wife hates shopping? She does. With a passion!

So the hunt is a one-man show ... this man.

But I've got to tell you, I cheat! I've used "none in stock", "couldn't find it" and "they won't have it until November" so many times, I'm beginning to sound like a broken record.

But ... as she is very persistent ... the presents have all been bought!

Except hers!

Anyone got any ideas of what she might like?

And the joke?

Bugger me! I've gone and forgotten it already!

Thingy

Sometimes your mind just goes ... thingy ... whatd'yam'callit ... blank.

Sometimes you just don't give a ...

I had a phase ... long working hours (bout 70 hours a week), death of a close friend ... where I honestly just couldn't give a ... comes out yet bottom, stinky and messy ... you know!

I'm picking myself up, slowly but surely, and starting to face up to the reality that an unwritten blog is never read.

So ... brave soul that I am ... I'm back!

Be patient with me though because I'm a little rusty.

OK ... So when I'm out and about I see things. And yesterday was no exception.

As I escorted a client to the cafe for the artery hardening meal of his choice, we passed ... and ogled ... a gaggle of spherically challenged ladies, all of whom were armed to the teeth with fat dribbling burgers.

Immediately something I shared on Facebook came to mind ...

   Thin women think they are chubby.
   Chubby women think they're fat.
   Fat women think they've got to wear leggings!

Yes! They were all crammed into black leggings that were smaller than their bulk required, thus displaying to all and sundry the colour ... and on one or two, the design ... of their pants!

With seams screaming for mercy, they waddled their way through Canton (a district of Cardiff) to equal measures of delight and disgust from other pedestrians.

I am assured by friends and colleagues that this is a world wide phenomena. Leggings, like hamburgers and fries, are attracted to fat people!

By the way ... did I mention that I list 24 pounds in weight?

The picture was taken when I was out terrorising the general public

Bedtime Stories

Did your parents read to you at bedtime?
Did you read to your own children at bedtime?

If either of the above are true, then there was very likely a favourite story that was read again and again and again, resulting in worn out story books or a tale burned into memory to be recited anytime at a moments notice.

Well, I have no children to read to and was only the recipient of one bedtime story ... but what a story it was.

It was The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Night after night I would live the life of a Hobbit ... run with Elves ... partake in epic battles with Orcs ... race through the underworld with Dwarves ... until the dark lord Sauron was finally defeated.

My father, who read to me each night, was not the best of readers and, at times, many a humorous delay occurred as he tied his tongue into knots as he tried to pronounce the more difficult words, thus causing an already lengthy saga to become even longer.

But I still remember that tale and to this day, many years after the tale ended, I can recall that last evening as the final lines where read ...

"'Well, I'm back,' he said." read my father. "The end!"

"Thank f*ck for that!" I blurted out. "Now can I go to the pub?"

For An Old Friend

I fear not the darkness,
and death does not me hold.
I wander now in sunshine,
and such beauty I behold.
I am no longer bound by the years,
that made my poor bones creak.
So dry your eyes of tears,
for I have found the peace I seek.
Although our paths have parted,
I still carry your love in my heart.
And I know your thoughts are with me,
on this new life I now start.

Internet Blues

My router fused!

I am internetless. Unless I use this clever little telephone thingy.

But the keys ... they're so damned small!

Of course I'm suffering ... as you would ... from internet withdrawal.
Symptoms such as a feeling of claustrophobia, twitching fingers and memory loss wash over me daily.

But I'm cool ... I'm surviving!

Damn it though ... I can't use these keys any longer.

The picture is of yours truly looking suitably heroic whilst walking Clover.

Hope my new router arrives today.

Wibble!

Damp Reality

So today was meant to be sunny, temperatures in excess of 20 degrees C.

It's not! We have wall-to-wall clouds and it's raining.

Therefore today's post is relates to dampness ... in a round about kind of way.

Let's go to Hollywood ... the Dream Factory!

How often have you seen a movie or a TV show where a man and woman, usually after some fighting or hilarious (ha!) antics, end up in bed ... you know ... doing rootie-toot!

It happens a lot doesn't it?

No? Well maybe I'm watching the wrong kind of shows, who knows?

Anyway, they do it ... the rootie-tootie stuff.

There is then normally a bit of dialogue revolving around earthquakes or tremors and stuff. Maybe even that old classic; a cigarette.
Then, when it's all over, one of two things happens:

1. one or both parties have to suddenly leap out of bed and rush off to be somewhere.
2. they fall asleep (cut to next scene)

OK! Are we clear so far?

Good!

My point is this:  take for example No.1 ... let us say Bob (it's nice to give your characters normal names) receives a phone call just after doing the deed and saying "WOW! You were fantasic!" a lot.

He leaps from the bed, pulls on his clothes and races off to work/meet someone.

OK ... so far so good!

Now here is my point.

Why, when Bob gets to where hes going, does no one ever say "PHWOARR! Bob, you smell like you've just been bonking some woman's brains out!"

As for option 2 ... falling asleep.

Well they do, don't they!  They don't 'clean up'!

They dribble!

And there is never any evidence of that age old argument that married couples have after every rumpy-pumpy.

You know the one ...

... the one about who's going to sleep on the damp spot!

Oh, come on!

You ALL know it's true!


(Offended? Noooooo! How can I make things right between us?)

The Lady's Schnauzer (re-post)

This post has been read many times.
For those who missed it before, and because I'm a little busy right now, here it is again.

 

The Schnauzer

My neighbour found out that her dog could hardly hear, so she took it to the veterinarian.  The vet found that the problem was hair in the dog's ears. He cleaned both ears, and the dog could hear fine. The vet then proceeded to tell the lady that, if she wanted to keep this from recurring, she should go to the pharmacy and get some "Nair" hair remover and rub it in the dog's ears once a month.  The lady went to the pharmacy and bought some "Nair" hair remover.  At the register, the pharmacist told her "If you're going to use this under your arms, don't use deodorant for a few days."  The lady said "I'm not using it under my arms."  The pharmacist said "If you're using it on your legs, don't shave for a couple of days."  The lady replied "I'm not using it on my legs either. If you must know, I'm using it on my schnauzer."   The pharmacist said, "Then you'd better stay off your bicycle for about a week."

Sym

Yesterday was the first anniversary of my boy Sym's crossing of the Bridge!

 

He is sorely missed still.

 

However, he is still with me and I talk to him every day!

 

I know, I know ... he was only a dog ... is that what you're thinking?

 

Well, he may have been a dog, but there was no 'only' about it.

 

He was family!

 

He was ... is ... my best friend!

 

Every walk I take with Clover, he walks with us. I'm sure Clover feels his presence too.

 

Our bond has not been broken and my love for my best friend is still strong!

 

Run ahead Sym!

 

I'll catch you up!

Someone's Looking At Me

Traffic!

I'm sure I've mentioned Cardiff's traffic problems before ... in fact I know I have, but writing 'I'm sure I've mentioned Cardiff's traffic problems before' gives me an opportunity to pad out this weeks offering, thus making it seem as if a great deal of thought has gone into it.

Where was I?

Oh yes!

Traffic!

It's the school holidays at the moment and traffic is light, especially at 7.15 am.

So on this merry, if somewhat damp, morning ... as I zipped to and fro through the Vale of Glamorgan ... I allowed myself to be entertained by The Boomtown Rats.

I bopped, if that is the correct word, along to the music ... sang at the top of my voice ... tapped out beat on the steering wheel whilst tapping my seldom used clutch foot.

Them I came to a set of traffic lights on red.

I stopped, as you do, but continued to bop/sing/tap as i waited for the green light to illuminate my way and allow me to pass.

I thought, at the time, that I was the only car on the road. I hadn't seen another soul for several minutes, so I really got stuck in as Bob and he boys complained that someone was always looking at them.

The lights took an age to change but I didn't worry. I was having a jolly good sing-song!

Then, just as the track was coming to an end I glanced to my right ...

There, in a blue Honda CRV sat four middle-aged women.  They were staring at me.

I immediately stopped all musical activities and, as the heat of a full-blown blush began to build in my face, they applauded!

It was then, and only then, that I decided to drive the rest of the way to work in silence.

And I closed the window!

That was several hours ago ... and as yet there has been no reduction in my sense of embarrassment.

The song I was singing:

Someones Looking At You

On a night like this I deserve to get kissed at least once or twice
You come over to my place screaming blue murder, needing someplace to hide.
Well, I wish you'd keep quiet,
Imaginations run riot,
In these paper-thin walls.
And when the place comes ablaze with a thousand dropped names
I don't know who to call.
But I got a friend over there in the government block
And he knows the situation and he's taking stock,
I think I'll call him up now
Put him on the spot, tonight.

They saw me there in the square when I was shooting my mouth off
About saving some fish.
Now could that be construed as some radical's views or some liberals' wish.
And it's so hot outside,
And the air is so sweet,
And when the pressure drop is heavy I don't wanna hear you speak.
You know most killing is committed at 90 degrees.
When it's too hot to breathe
And it's too hot to think.

There's always someone looking at you.
S-s-s-s-someone.
They're looking at you.

And I wish you'd stop whispering.
Don't flatter yourself, nobody's listening.
Still it makes me nervous, those things you say.

You may as well
Shout it from the roof
Scream it from your lungs
Spit it from you mouth
It could fall on deaf ears to indulge in your fears
There's a spy in the sky
There's a noise on the wire
There's a tap on the line
And for every paranoid's desire...

There's always Someone looking at you.
S-s-s-s-someone looking at you...
They're always looking at you.

(written by Bob Geldof)

Annoyed From Cardiff

Don't you just hate those phone calls ... the ones where someone with an Indian accent asks to speak to someone you don't even know?

And when you answer with "Sorry! Wrong number!", they start asking you if they can speak to someone else you don't know or, if you have a PC or laptop.

"No! He's doesn't live here either!" or "I don't have a PC!" doesn't seem to dampen their ardour and they continue to quiz and query.

Those conversations can only end with an annoyed recipient slamming the phone down then having a thirty minute rant about how irritating cold callers are.

And there are days when they come like My. Ford's car parts rolling down the assembly line ... Model T Ford cold calling!

I have had three already this morning!

And the most irritating thing ... the thing that winds me up like a clockwork soldier ... is that I'm pretty damned sure that I signed up to one of those schemes that filters those calls out!

But hey! It's ok!

I can live with the fact this scheme thingy isn't working.

I can ... because it was free!

But ... aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhhh!

Why do they call and call and call?

Why don't they remove you from their database or flag you up as "very annoyed, probably suicidal"?

I know they have a job to do and earn very little doing it ... but it just makes you want to kill when their calls keep on coming.

Grumblegrumblemoangroanmoanmoanmoan!

On a lighter note ... I have lost 23.37 lbs (get it? A LIGHTER note!)

And I haven't been dieting!

Just eating in moderation!

Say "Well done that man!"

Pat's on the back gratefully accepted!

Don't Fall With Your Mouth Open revisited

Oh, the temptation!

It got the better of me and I paid the price.

And learnt a valuable lesson too.

It happened thus ...

Sym, my border collie (deceased and still sorely missed) of whom I was the daddy, was only a youngster of 8 or 9 months.
Sox, his big sister, had not yet been rescued from the pound, and poor Clover, unbeknown to us, was still suffering at the hands of a puppy farm breeder.

On this particular day I decided that my boy and I would go to the Wennalt, a hilly, wooded area just outside Cardiff.

At this time I hadn't yet learnt of Sym's passion for romping and wallowing in the green slime that covered most of the ground in the hollows on the lower slopes.

The green slime ... the smelly green slime ... would become on of his favourite play things.

Anyway, on this day, after several hours of walking up and down muddy hillsides and fighting our way through brambles, we headed exhausted back towards the car park and home.

As we walked down the final slope, Sym dragging a small tree with him, I noticed just off to my right a rope hanging from a tree.

Someone had made a rope swing!

Now, I have a reputation as a serious professional person to protect and, as such, could not be seen, as it were, having childish fun ... but there was no one around!

No one would see me! No one would ever know!

So, having checked and re-checked that no one was around, I made a bee-line for the rope, determined spend a few minutes dangling childishly over the abyss (a crater filled with slime).

Experimental tugs on the rope seemed to prove that it was safe so, after another quick glance around the woods, I ran clutching the rope firmly and leaped out over the abyss.

Sym barked and ran through the slime in the crater.

I soared! I most probably screamed GERONIMO although, I'm not sure why. There is no record of Geronimo ever swinging on a rope dangling from a tree.

I landed on the other side, exhilarated; my blood pumping; I was full of the joy's of life.

I was having fun!

I turned, laughing now, and leaped again.

And learnt a very important lesson; one which I think needs to be shared with the world for the sake of safety.

CRACK said the branch to which the rope was attached.

SPLAT said yours truly as his body hit the slime.

WOOF  said Sym as he leapt to safety.

That lesson, dear friends, as you have already read in the title of this little piece, is this ...

     Don't Fall With You Mouth Open!

Because Wales tastes bloody awful!

We went home taking that vile and disgusting smell of the slime with us.

I suffered You know!

So I've been ill!

Well ...

Not so much ill as infected!

I came down with a skin infection.

It was a mite that I picked up from the dog!

It was eczema!

It was psoriasis!

The doctors ... yes, I saw three different ones ... couldn't be sure as they all said the same thing:

                                             "WHOA! I ain't never seen anyone so scaly!"

Test? No, they didn't offer any tests! We are talking the NHS here. A "test" would be a last resort ... you know ... like when it looked like I might be about to croak!

But they gave me liquids that burned the skin, creams that greased me up an ointment that stunk of urine (I didn't dare ask what it was made of) but at last, it began to recede. The itch was gone and the scaly flakes disappeared. I am no longer a leper!

But I also had an ear infection that closed the ear canal and made me totally deaf in my right ear and partially deaf in the left.  More cream and some drops!

All of this gunk was to administered at nights to let it work as I slept.

You should have seen the state f my pillow and duvet!!!

My wife is seriously considering billing the NHS for laundry!

Anyhow, the good news is that my ears, after some pain and a bit of 'popping', are now back to nearly normal too.

I have been through the wars, ladies and gentlemen, so any and all sympathy will be gratefully accepted.

Thank you!

The Good Old Days

In my day, otherwise referred to as the "Good Old Days", things were different.

And I was pretty sure, at one time, that they were also better.

Not true!

Apparently ... and I only have the ramblings of some really, really old folks to go on ... things were just as difficult before and during 'my day' as they are now.

Jobs and money still had to be found, mortgages still had to be paid and children still had to be raised.

So why do I remember things as being so damned good?

I have a pretty good wossname ... remembering thingy ... memory ... which begs the question is my memory playing tricks on me?

I pondered this.

And I pondered!

Eventually I came to the conclusion that my wossname thingy ... memory ... is not defective or playing tricks on me.

"The Good Old Days" really did happen!

There were good times.

And they all occurred before I was 17 years old, during my school years.

You see, when you have no responsibilities and don't have to earn a living, things are grand with a capital G!

When earning a crust becomes your priority, your mind set changes. Your focal point changes from fun and enjoyment (which was interrupted only be the tedium of school) to one of survival.

That's when you become an adult.

That is when the sweat of honest toil washes away the child within.

Although many a good time is still to be had, the newly acquired adult mind clings desperately to joyful and irresponsible recollections of youth. It's these memories that people such as myself thrive on in later life, sometimes rubbing them in the faces of the youth of today, in the mistaken believe that they would enjoy themselves far better if only they would take heed and learn from an older persons experiences.

Maybe that ... and I'm only guessing here ... is why the reason why all the local youngsters point at me in the street then run screaming in the opposite direction.

Kids today, eh?

Old Tom

 

 

 

 

Interrobanging: Again, Cos I'm SOOOOO busy!

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! 

 

Qeenie: Trooping the Colours

How I Became Who I Am

As a teenager, when considering my future, I found it difficult to decide which direction my adult professional life should take.

I couldn't decide between being a surgeon, carrying out life saving operations on a daily basis, or a fireman.

Of course, as a fireman, I would be required to rush into burning buildings and face danger and stress of unimaginable proportions, thereby risking life an limb for the safety of others. As a surgeon, as my mother pointed out, the worst that could happen is that I would occasionally go home at nights with small pieces of strangers lodged under my fingernails.

Neither of which seemed very appealing.

I decided to be unemployed instead.

But it didn't last long.

First I managed to fend off the threat of becoming a welder for a company making engine housings (for small boats). It involved dirt and grime and was therefore, obviously, not for someone as delicate as me.

Then came an invitation for an interview for the post of clerical assistant in a newspaper (the Newcastle Journal) office. This too, with the grace and skill of a young Pele, was sidestepped and gleefully avoided.

There were others too!

Morticians assistant in the local hospital ... sounded dead boring!

Farmhand ... hard work!

Supermarket trolley collector ... and endless, poorly rewarded chore!

Oh, they all needed my special skills in one way or another.

But I was a happy-go-lucky teenager and, as my final week as a professional school kid came to an end with the joys of idleness awaiting me, I was oblivious to the impending dangers of life without pocket money!

Yes, as my school career ended, so did the financial support of the Bank of Mum and Dad!

It was a shock, I can tell you!

That is when my cousin Lynn and her husband arrived home from Germany (he was in the Army).

When they came to see us, I thought it was for a cup of tea and a catch-up chat. Little did I know that a plan had been hatched and I was to be kidnapped under the pretext of 'going for a drive' and deposited at the doors of the local Army careers office.

Struggle? Of course I struggled! I fought like a tiger! Blood was spilled (almost).

But, if you had known Lynn, you would also have known that resistance was futile ... and could be painful!

They dragged me in ...

... and I never looked back!

I became a soldier and ... good or bad ... became the man I am today. All through that (violent) encounter with my cousin and her husband.

And, although there have been a few occasions when I have regretted that incident, there have been many, many more when I was grateful for their intervention.

Sometimes you need a helping hand.

Or a kick in the arse!

Connections: Windows, Farts and Cheese.

This morning, as my stubby little fingers hovered over the keyboard awaiting a spot of creative brain activity, the word 'defenestration' (in a Belgian Poirot-like accent) popped into my mind.

As I was panning to write about the bacterial farts that create the holes in cheese, I was somewhat surprised.

It's a grand word, I admit, but I was totally at a loss as to what it meant.

I refused point blank to resort to Wikipedia, or some similar site, for a definition and resorted to some good old fashioned brain wracking in order to work out it's meaning.

'I'm a smart chap' I thought. 'I should be able to work this out!'

And I did!

Of course it means the act of throwing someone or something from a window.

Problem solved!

But it begs the question 'why did I think of it in the first place?'

It's not as if the bacteria in cheese - the bacteria that farts, thus creating all those holes - would ever want to throw anything out of a window ... even if there were windows in cheese.

And why would that word pop into my mind in a Belgian accent?

I have no answers, I'm afraid, other than perhaps I'm losing my sanity. After all who in their right minds would contemplate writing an article about cheese full of farty holes? Perhaps that is what pushed me over the edge.

Anyway, it's nice to be back after my short break!

Double Doo-Dah's

10 of the best double-entendres ever aired on British TV and radio

1. Ted Walsh - Horse Racing Commentator -
'This is really a lovely horse. I once rode her mother.'

2. Pat Glenn, weightlifting commentator -
'And this is Gregoriava from Bulgaria . I saw her snatch this morning and it was amazing!'

3. Harry Carpenter at the Oxford-Cambridge boat race 1977

'Ah, isn't that nice.. The wife of the Cambridge President is kissing the Cox of the Oxford crew..'

4. US PGA Commentator -


'One of the reasons Arnie (Arnold Palmer) is playing so well is that, before each tee shot, his wife takes out his balls and kisses them .... Oh my god !! What have I just said??'

5. Carenza Lewis about finding food in the Middle Ages on 'Time Team Live' said:

'You'd eat beaver if you could get it.'

6. A female news anchor who, the day after it was supposed to have snowed and didn't, turned to the weatherman and asked,

'So Bob, where's that eight inches you promised me last night?' Not only did HE have to leave the set, but half the crew did too, because they were laughing so hard!

7. Steve Ryder covering the US Masters:

'Ballesteros felt much better today after a 69 yesterday.'

8. Clair Frisby talking about a jumbo hot dog on Look North (local news) said:

'There's nothing like a big hot sausage inside you on a cold night like this. '

9. Michael Buerk on watching Philippa Forrester cuddle up to a male astronomer for warmth during BBC1's UK eclipse coverage remarked:

'They seem cold out there, they're rubbing each other and he's only come in his shorts.'

10. Ken Brown commentating on golfer Nick Faldo and his caddie Fanny Sunneson lining-up shots at the Scottish Open:

'Some weeks Nick likes to use Fanny, other weeks he prefers to do it by
himself.'



And to close,

Brian Johnston commenting on the 1976 cricket test match between the West Indies and England at the Oval. It occurred as Michael Holding of the West Indies was bowling to Peter Willey of England.

"The bowler's Holding, the batsman's Willey"

Johnston claimed not to have noticed saying anything odd during the match, and it has been claimed that he never said it at all, but this was contradicted by an account offered by Henry Blofeld (cricket commentator), who claims to have been present at the time

Pets Alone

Bamburgh Castle April 2013

Bamburgh Castle

Disney have filmed here.

 

Polanski's Macbeth was filmed here.

 

Bits of the Harry Potter movies (so I've been told) were also filmed here. 

 

Here are a few of my snaps of this historic place.

 

I haven't labelled any of them due to Blogger being a pain in the ... derriere! 

 

The islands you can (only just see) in some pictures are the Farne Islands

Enjoy!
 

 

My Home Town

 

Newbiggin is here!
 

 

 

The Bay
Viewed from the south end of the bay


 

St Bartholomew's

Many a time I ran (shit scared) through that graveyard
at night.

The promenade

In the old days the wall wasn't there, but constant flooding
at the north end of town called for a new sea defences.

The locals

Panda (left) and his bro

The small version of the monstrosity

This, and the "thing" below are the work of Sean Henry

The monstrosity!

Local fishing boats (Cobles)
Traditional boats for this area

The "other" monstrosity obscuring the view of St. Bart's

Windows 8

Ok!

 

I give up!

 

Blogger's editor is constantly at war with Windows 8.

 

 

I can't (at the moment) include any pictures as the editor will not allow me to position or label them.

 

I am miffed!

 

Seriously miffed!

Meet the Oddballs!

This is the 'Family'!

Oddballs to the last man (or woman)

 

But you will never meet a finer bunch of oddballs ... EVER!

 

My wife (front left) and Aunt Dot (front right giving a whiskey and coke a good seeing to),

my sister (third from the right) and all the cousins and, of course, myself (behind the camera) gather for the first time in a good number of years for a meal.

 

 

The waiter, having presented the bill and received payment, generously offered

to take a 'group' snap before we all retired to the pub next door. 

 

(Left to right) Julie, Jo, Me, Gillian, Dot, David, Denise, Jeff, Helen,

Paula, Claire, Gavin, Donald, Brylie, Lorna, Ann

Almwick Gardens

Alnwick Gardens are here.


The tree house restaurant/cafe

Simple yet filling fare.

 

 

The water feature thingy
(it has a name but I've forgotten it)

The water thingy from the top

The Oriental garden ...

... and again

The oldest tree in the garden. 

Alnwick Castle (beyond the trees)
The water is from the water thingy in the
earlier piccies.

The Angel of the duck pond.