Thursday, 31 March 2011

The toaster is toast. The phone is dead. Who the hell am I?

Forgive me, but as I sat down to write tonight I suddenly realised that I am quite knackered out and not able to give of my best. So I have taken the liberty of reposting this from a couple of months ago. I hope you enjoy it. 

There are times when I get bored with low fat spread on my toast and yearn for the full creamy taste of real butter. Yesterday morning was one such time and I thought to myself, "sod the cholesterol". Having made the momentous, and, if I say so myself, extremely brave decision. I am risking a heart attack here you know! I hurried down to the local shop. Where I  purchased a nice slab of Lurpak. I was about to leave the shop when my eyes lit upon a new type of loaf. 'Our thickest slice ever', proclaimed the label, and just to hammer home the message a bit more, 'DOORSTEP'. "I'm having some of that", I quickly decided. Yes I know, sometimes I can be completely reckless.
When I got home I was almost drooling with anticipation. The thought of eating my thick doorsteps, with lashings of naughty butter dripping off hot toast was almost too much to bear.
Oh bloody hell! Sorry, excuse my French. The bread was too thick to fit into the toaster! But do not despair. I was determined to have my hot buttered toast and managed after a bit of a struggle to force the slices in. Shouldn't have done that! Silly thing to do. I couldn't get them out! Stuck fast they were. Like a fat bloke in a turnstile.
Now please, please take good note. If ever you get your toast stuck in the toaster never try to get it out with a metal object. Such as a fork for example. It is extremely unwise. Especially if you forget to switch it off  first!
Please don't be concerned. I am assured by the Paramedics that, after I recover from my slight concussion, I am going to be fine. Toaster is buggered though. Wasn't tough enough to withstand the explosion! Tomorrow, after the man from the electricity company has fitted the new fuse box, I shall buy a new toaster. One with wider openings. Well, I'm not going to waste all that lovely butter.

On my way into town today I was thinking how quiet the roads are. Maybe it's got something to do with the price of petrol. Anyway the road was remarkable clear and I was making good progress on my way to visit my friends Bob and Jackie. Who are, incidentally, lovely people. (I put that in just in case they read this). Blimey that sounds bad! No honest I mean this. They are lovely people.
Where was I? Oh yes. On my way to town. There was a car in front of me and I was gaining on it rapidly. It was moving very slowly, about twenty five mph so I thought I would overtake it. Then suddenly had second thoughts about the overtaking and was stuck behind it for miles. No way was I going to overtake a 'Maserati'. I know what these drivers of powerful cars are like. Anyway I don't like to race in my 'Nissan Serena'. I reckon I could have taken him though.

My Son George's phone has stopped working. It's completely 'kaput'. This malfunction caused a bit of a crisis. When his Mother went to pick him up from college, she couldn't find him. After waiting twenty minutes or so and working herself up into a blue funk with worry, she called me. "I can't find George. Do you think he's alright?" I could hear the note of panic in her voice and tried to reassure her. "Don't be daft you silly cow". No I didn't really say that. I'm not that unfeeling. I just thought it. What I did say was. "What do you mean you can't find him? Where have you looked?"
Well it turns out she hadn't looked anywhere. She was sat in the car. I suggested, kindly, I thought, that if she was worried she should go to reception and see if they could help. On her way to the reception desk she 'found' George, who had no idea he was lost, sitting on a bench chatting to his mates, the way 17 year olds tend to do. Now don't tell her this, but I was a bit worried too. Well he is my boy. My little Georgie, my ickle bickle boy, my boysie woysie, my lickle..... Sorry about that. Got carried away, a bit emotional.
There is a point to this little anecdote. It's this. If you want to keep in touch with someone, do not, I repeat, do not,  put their mobile phone into the washing machine on a hot wash.

I bumped into a bloke down the village today, outside the Co-op. Flipping expensive shop that. He greeted me heartily. "Hallo Dave, old mate. How you doing?" He carried on calling me Dave all through our conversation. Which just to let you know was about old bangers. When I say old banger I'm talking about motors not some old tart! I realise that I should have pointed out his mistake to him sooner, but by the end of our conversation he almost had me convinced that my name actually was Dave. As we parted he said. "I'll pop in and see you sometime. You still living at...?" And he mentioned an address I'd never heard of let alone lived at. At this stage I realised that he didn't actually know me and I didn't actually know him. It's alright for him though. He thinks I'm Dave. I ain't got a bloody clue who he is!

Tuesday, 29 March 2011

A collared dove, lost love and an early morning riser.

I was awoken early this morning by the sound of a collared dove cooing to the world that his loved one had been taken in the night by a cat. Well I'm guessing that was what all the cooing was about, because a quick glance out of the window as I made my ritual early morning dash to the bathroom showed me that he was all on his own.  No sign of his wife at all. To be honest I don't know if it was the boy or the girl dove that had been taken. They both look identical to me.  Maybe they were both boys. A couple of gay doves. Or  both girls. Lesbian doves.  I'll stop there I think. I have no wish to be accused of being  judgemental.  If  I'm going to be totally honest in these blogs  (I don't think so) I have to tell you, that I don't even know if it was taken by a cat. Could have been anything,  an Owl for instance or, I'm just trying to think what else could pluck a collared dove from a high tree at night in total darkness. Maybe another Owl. I don't know.  Maybe it didn't get taken at all. Perhaps it just got fed up and pissed off. Probably been planning it for ages and  while its partner was sleeping, sloped off quietly to meet it's lover. It would have had to walk though, for fear that the sound of it's flapping wings would wake the other one up. Well anyway the upshot was, that the betrayed partner was very upset and the bloody thing woke me up with its cooing. So I shot it!  Thereby putting us both out of our misery. Those last two sentences are a total fabrication. This little patch of mine is a wildlife sanctuary and no animals were hurt during the making of this whole paragraph. But if it does it again tomorrow morning...

Whilst I'm on the subject of early morning rising, my cock has been causing me a few problems in the mornings as well. Its been an ongoing problem for some time now. It's quite a big old thing and can be a flipping nuisance. Especially when it crows right outside my bedroom window. I really like my old cock though and wouldn't want to be without it. I just hope the neighbours don't complain thats all. It can't help it. It's just doing what nature intended. It has always had a mind of its own. I call him "Wing Commander". I call him that because he's got wings and he is quite a commanding character. Also because that's his name.

Right. Well that's it then. I'm off to bed. It's been a long day. Oh, and just before I go. Anything you might have read into the last paragraph is no fault of mine. It's your mind! Good night.

Monday, 28 March 2011

Where Do Shepherds Wash Their Hands?

Oh I don't know! You think you've got life nicely sorted. Everything going along smoothly. When... WHAM! Life decides to give you a great big wake up call. Has to do it in the most shocking way too. I'm still a bit shaken to be honest. Still in a state of shock. Please don't be too concerned. There's no need to rush round with warm blankets or anything like that. Honestly. Luckily I had a brown paper bag with me when it happened, and I was able to control my hyperventilation by breathing into it. I always carry a brown paper bag with me just in case Sadie decides to take a toilet break in an inappropriate place. Sadie is the German shepherd by the way. Thankfully she hadn't been when I was breathing into the bag. By the way when I say German shepherd I am referring to my dog. I don't know any human shepherds German or not, and I certainly know nothing of their toilet habits. I suppose they just do it up in the hills behind a convenient tussock. When the sheep aren't looking.
Now where was I? Oh dear, I'm afraid I've got this awful image in my mind of a shepherd squatting behind a tussock. Just give me a second to clear my head.
What happened was, I was outside in the paddock attempting to dismantle a vice, one of my many vices, when I heard the phone ringing. First of all I wasn't going to answer it because I thought it would only be one of my Asian friends ringing up. Well, I call them my friends, but only because we've spoken a lot down the years. They are really nice and go to the trouble of calling me several times a day. I don't know why. I can never understand what they're saying. Anyway the phone was persistent and I decided I would answer it. Big mistake, big big mistake. Absolutely dreadful! I can feel myself going into a faint just recalling the moment. Sorry about this just give me a moment, I'll be fine.......Phew! What happened was I picked up the phone and get this! It was someone offering me a few days work! The unfeeling b-----d! Even worse, I was so shocked, I heard myself saying yes. I've left the vice where it was. It can dismantle it's bloody self!

On a much happier note I have just received an Email from a lovely lady currently living in West Africa. Her name is Gladis. Yes a strange way to spell it, I thought that too. She is a Christian lady the widow of a missionary, unfortunately she is very ill and does not have long to live, and I can hardly believe this is happening to me. I'm filling up here. She wants to leave all her money to me! Apparently she has no living relatives and God has told her to choose someone at random to leave her, get this, millions to. She chose me, she chose me! Of all the people in the world she chose me. So I am going to be a very rich man but I will not let it change me I fully intend to carry on leading the simple life and I will still talk to my friends. Or I would do if I had any. So. Got to dash. I have to get my bank account details to Nigeria and also a quick phone call to tell that bloke where he can stick his few days work. Happy days.


Sunday, 27 March 2011

No socks, no clocks and a rockin' robin.

Had a bit of a crisis last night. I knew that the fabulous "Wintertones" were gigging at the Winterton Arms and that is an event I did not want to miss. Have you heard them? If not give it a try, you will not be disappointed. Oh, yes. I was going to say about the crisis that occurred. I was about to get changed when, absolute disaster! I had somehow neglected to do this quarters washing and found to my horror that I had no clean socks or underpants. The pants wasn't too much of a problem, just a quick rinse through and they were sorted. Anyway, while they were drying in the oven - just a low heat gas mark 4 is good. No rush, I still had an hour to get ready - I sorted through the washing pile to find a pair of socks that were not too dirty and were relatively low odour. Sorry, a small white lie there. I don't really have a washing pile, just various places scattered around the floor. It took a while to locate a half decent pair due to the low odour requirement I had foolishly set myself. By this time I was panicking that I might miss the "Wintertones" first set, so I turned the oven up a bit 'cos the pants hadn't dried and there was a lot of steam coming off them. I was about to run the socks under the tap when it suddenly dawned on me that there was no way they would be dry in time. I always wear thick woollen socks because I find them much better at absorbing the sweat that my feet are prone to. What to do? I had a brainwave, the answer hit me like a brick. Thank goodness and a gold star to the person who invented Frebreze.  Marvelous stuff. A quick spray of it on my socks. Problem sorted!
Very pleased to say that I got to the "Wintertones" gig on time. Even had a few compliments on my new "deodorant". At least I think they were compliments. People were saying "whats that smell?" I had to do without the underpants. Unfortunately they went on fire. Totally destroyed. Shame. They were my only pair. Oh well, I suppose I had better get myself down to the Oxfam shop tomorrow. See what they have in stock.

On a different subject. This putting the clocks forward an hour business. Why do they do it a two o'clock in the morning? Talk about inconvenient. I had to get BT to give me a wake up call. Weird conversation with the operator. "Good morning Sir, this is your wake up call. It is 2 o'clock". "Pardon?" "It is 3 o'clock". "I wanted to be woken at 2 o'clock so that I could put the clocks forward". "Yes Sir you can do that now". "But you just said it's 3 o'clock if I put the clocks forward now that will make it 4 o'clock". "I don't understand Sir". "Well that makes two of us". I said indignantly and I am afraid to say that I hung up on him. Anyway I had a good look and it turns out that I don't have any clocks.

I have had a wonderful stroke of luck. A robin has decided to build a nest in the toolshed. Of course I can't disturb it. That would be illegal. It means I won't be able to do any gardening for quite some time. Marvelous! How long do they incubate their eggs for? It's ages isn't it? Marvelous!

Oh, and by the way, The "Wintertones" were great!


Friday, 25 March 2011

Toenails, feathers and the body in the mud.

Last night as I got into bed I snagged the nail on my big toe of the right foot on the sheet. Surprisingly painful as it happens. My own fault of course. I should have been much more aware of my pedicurial status. I've absolutely no idea if the last sentence is correct or if I have maybe just made up a new word. Pedicurial. It sounds and looks OK to me so I'm going to leave it in. What about chiropadurial? No, it doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?
Anyway, to get back to the toenail snagging incident. It got me thinking and wondering as I drifted off to sleep. How did people cut their nails before scissors were invented? Yes I know the world is in turmoil. The Arab nations are fighting all over the middle east. There are earthquakes and tsunamis devastating entire countries. Fuel prices are going through the roof - a penny off, give me a break! - and the UK is in financial meltdown. I know all that but the point is my toe was hurting and my mind was focused on that. So how did they cut their nails? Well I suppose they might have used a knife but that would be dangerous and impractical. Too many toes accidentally removed. But go back even before knives. Maybe they just kind of tore them off? Do you think they might have bitten each other toenails off? I don't know. Can't work it out at all. I'll keep mulling it over. Some things are far too important to just let go.
I was given two new young hens today. Warrens. Thats the breed name. They have just started laying which is good, because the rest of the hens seem to have just stopped. They were advertised at the feed store as free to a good home. Well I've given them a home. One out of two ain't bad! I was actually looking for a couple of ducks. Funny the directions life takes you. The woman who gave me the hens wanted to see their new home so she delivered them herself. So I had to tidy the place up a bit sharpish. I think the rest of the hens were a bit shocked at the sudden flurry of spring cleaning, or maybe that should be shellshocked. See what I did there. A little play on words. Masterful writing!
After I had settled the new girls in, Sadie and I set off on a walk. Sadie is the dog who lives with me. She is a rescue dog and we've been together about five years now. By rescue dog I don't mean that she goes out and saves people from disaster. I mean that I got her from the dogs home. She is a German shepherd or if you don't like Germans - dont forget they bombed our chipshop - she doesn't object to being called an Alsation. Or if she does she hasn't let on.
It was during our walk that we spotted the body lying in the field. I had never seen a body there before and to tell you the truth I was quite shocked. So was Sadie and she gave out a little growl. I can't blame her, it was probably the first time she had ever seen a body lying in the field too. Using my most authoritative voice I quickly ordered Sadie into the sit and stay position and ran over to investigate. Well all right then I jogged over. OK I walked quite quickly then. Sadie got there first. She was never much good at obedience and why I thought she would obey this time I have no idea.
It wasn't a dead body. It was the new neighbour. She had decided to do a spot of sunbathing. In a ploughed field! I didn't have the heart to tell her that the farmer had just sprayed weedkiller on it. She had all her clothes on thank God! It doesn't bear thinking about where Sadie's wet and very cold nose might have ended up!
Well I must go. I have to cut my toenails. With scissors!