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?