I Forgot What I Came In For.

I had a plan this morning ... something I wanted to write about; something I though you might like to know.
But I'll be damned if I can remember what it was.

Anyway ....

Here in 'Blighty' ... well,Wales ... we have been blessed with a lengthy period of sunshine and temperatures that are, for want of a better word, freakish for this time of year.

There have been no April showers ... or down-pours as we like to refer to them ... and there have been no high winds and gales, such as the ones that wrecked our garden fence a few years back.

Yes, we have been well and truly blessed weather-wise.

The young folks are out strutting their stuff on the streets and in the parks; T-shirtless men displaying their muscles and scantily clad young ladies displaying more flesh than 'grandma' ever knew she had.

The sunshine certainly brings out enough to ogle-material for both sexes to enjoy.

However I have no interest in getting a tan ... my skin darkens under a 40watt light bulb anyway ... and I'm not one for displaying my 'wares' to all and sundry, so my shirts stay where they are put ... on my back.

I'm not averse to the occasional semi-naked young lady crossing my path though and, I have to admit, my eyes have popped once or twice at the sight of some voluptuous beauty or other.  I am human, after all.

Oh, by the way ... William and Kate are to be married today.

I would just like to say that I, along with about 75% of the nation, am not at all interested in their wedding.  In fact I have already had a belly-full of 'The Royal Wedding'.  That is all we hear about these days.

Perhaps, only perhaps, if the media hadn't rammed it down our throats for weeks I would be a little more interested watching their 'big day' on TV, but to be honest I'd rather work.

I wish them well, of course, but I have more pressing issues to deal with ... questions to answer.

Such as ...

• Why don't horse riders carry bags to pick up their horse's poo?
• Why do fat people (I'm not 'fat-ist') always think there is enough room in a narrow doorway for them and us then attempt to squeeze their way through?
• Why are people with the best university education always the biggest idiots?

Not exactly philosophical conundrum's, I know, but they keep me busy.

Ah!  Now I remember what I was going to tell you about ... my haircut!

Sadly though, I don't have time now.  It's a 'bank holiday' ... that means I have to work!

See you soon.

Ted Nugent

I don't use tapes in my car (does anyone these day's?). The thought of them tangled up in the innards of my cassette player - which I don't have any more anyway - scares me.

That is why when I found a tape with the hand written label "Ted Nugent: Cat Scratch Fever, etc." I slapped it into the cassette deck in the study and recorded it onto CD straight away.

 There's nothing like a bit of a head-banging session whilst on my client-hopping round's
 
I was stunned and severely disappointed when this (minus video, of course) was all that I got...

The next time I find a tape that I want to copy onto CD, I'll check it's contents before wasting my time.

Homer & Marge (Part Five): End Game

The door revolved!

Homer and Marge walked into the foyer of the Knuckleville Community Hospital ... well, Homer 'walked' and Marge 'waddled'.

"C'mon Marge.  Get your ass in gear, will ya!" moaned Homer.

"This bag is heavy, Homer, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm about to give birth" said an exasperated Marge who's patience was wearing as thin as the authors hair.

"Keep it corked, babe. I'll get you some help" said Homer as he scanned the hospitals reception area.

A young lady in a pale blue uniform approached him and said "Hi!  I'm Lyssandra; two S's; and I'm a Knuckleville Blue Bunny volunteer ... ". She pointed at the badge on her lapel. "... and I bake cookies on Tuesdays, run a painting class on Wednesdays and push folks around in chairs on Fridays. How can I be of service?"

"It's a Saturday!" said Homer.

"Yeah, I was bored.  Wad'ya want me t'do?" she replied

"My wife's gonna have a baby any minute now. She's alread pee'd herself ... "

"My water's broke, you idiot!"

" ... yeah, that too!" said Homer. "Get her a wheelchair and point us in the direction of the baby-thingy-place, will ya".

Lyssandra leant to her left and looked around Homer at Marge.  "Whoa!" she said.  "That's one big momma!  Be right back".

She scuttled across the tiled floor towards a the cafe area.  Grabbing the handles of an occupied wheelchair,  tipped out the occupant - "Make way for the new generation Grandma!" -  then hurried back to Homer and Marge.

"Your carriage, M'lady!" she said as Marge eased her bulk into the chair.  "The maternity suites are this way."

She pushed Marge across the foyer towards the lifts. "Gangway!  She's gonna blow any second now!" she yelled.

"Great!" sighed Marge as she was propelled at high-speed through the foyer. "That's all I need.  A moronic husband and a speed junkie volunteer!"

"Hun!  You forgot your bag!" said Homer.

"You ... you ...  I hate you Homer!" she screamed as she disappeared into a lift.

"What? What have I done?" managed a shocked Homer. He picked up the bagand gave chase.

...

Doors opening. Children's ward, Maternity and the place for expectant father's to pace up and down in. said the lift as it arrived on the fourth floor.

"Gnnnnnngggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" said Marge. "OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodit'scomingnowwwww"!

Marge's wheelchair was snatched by a nurse and she was rushed away into the nearest delivery room. "Doctor's already on his way, deary. He ain't dropped a pass yet! You're in good hands now." she said.

"Aaaaarrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhh you bastard Homer!" said Marge.

A few seconds later, the stairwell door burst open and Homer gasped his way to where Lyssandra stood.

"Dammit!  Couldn't you have held the door?" he panted.

"Sure" said Lyssandra. "But your wife said if I did, she'd rip my heart out, so ... hey-ho! What's a volunteer to do?"

...

Homer paced up and down in the place for expectant father's to pace up and down in, cursing the fact that Marge had banned him from the delivery room.

"She said if I let 'that bastard' in after what you've done to her, she'd kill me!, so ... as I'm to young to die ... you have to stay out here and wait!" the nurse had told him.

For over an hour he'd listened to Marge's screams, insinuations as to his parentage and threats towards him echo down the hall.  Nurses gave him dirty looks, shook their heads and issued tut's in his direction which quite clearly expressed their disgust.

Then there was silence.

Out of the delivery room stepped the doctor.  He approached Homer and said "Congratulations!  It's healthy baby girl."

Homer awoke 30 minutes later on a trolley next to his wife's bed. His nose was covered by a large dressing. Marge was holding their new baby.

"Wha... what happened?" he managed.

"Sorry Homer!" said Marge. "I told the doctor to punch you on the nose for causing me all that pain.  I didn't think he'd actually do it".

"Is that her? Is that our baby girl?"

"Ain't she cute?"

"She's so small" he said softly.

Homer and Marge looked around.

"So!" said Marge.  "Is that it? Are we finished now?"

"Reckon so" said Homer. "Story's over.  Fini!"

"You'd better go and collect the kids from the movies, Homer".

"Sure.  As long as we're finished here. Er ... Marge?  They've been there nine months.  D'ya think I'll recognise them?"

"Er ..." said Marge.

The author reached up and gripped the upper edge of his laptop's screen. With a tear in his eye ... dust, probably ... he pulled it down and closed his final chapter.