My Brother Vic.

Tears came this morning as I drove home from the shops. Filled my eyes so bad that I had to pull over. I was thinking of my brother Victor and was overcome with sadness that he is gone.

Nearly twenty years since he died and still it hits me. Out of the blue too. Something must trigger the sad thoughts but I'm buggered if I know what.

What with our dysfunctional family background and all I didn't even get to know him that well. He was seven years older than me. I can only remember fleeting memories of him from my childhood.

He came to visit me once when I was with foster parents, He was a merchant seaman at the time. He bought me a fantastic racing bike. Hand built it was and as light as a feather. I say he bought it, but that's not strictly true. He got it on hire purchase. Vic's idea of hire purchase was, pay a couple of quid down and then change your address. He was a bit of a rogue, my brother was.

Then there was another load of years went by before I saw him again. This time he was in the army. RAOC. Royal Army Ordinance Corp it stands for. I think they deal with purchasing and paying out wages, things like that. He was a barman in the officers mess. The uniform was splendid. (it was safe to wear army uniform when off duty in those days). RAOC. He used to wear his uniform to the local dance hall. Told the girls that RAOC stood for Royal Army Oversea's Commando. The girls loved him. He was a bit of a lad, my brother was.

Always working he was. Hard worker too. He loved to make money. Never passed up the chance to earn a few bob. Multi talented. Turn his hand to anything he would.

He was only 34 when he had his first heart attack. At 41 he had a by-pass operation. They said it would give him another ten years. And that's what he got .Exactly ten years and then he died. 51. It's no age really is it?

He was a real character my brother Vic. I miss him being there. Sometimes, like this morning, I get really sad and the tears come.

Coincidence.

Thanks everyone for the heads up about my email account. I have now changed my passwords on everything. Heads up? Did you notice how modern and cool I am? Heads up. It means to be made aware of. At least I hope that's what it means. I seem to recall that it was a rude thing to say once, although in those days the words, 'up his/her backside' were added. Although they didn't use the word backside, they used the word arse, but I don't wish to be rude, what with me being a proper gentleman. Anyway I do hope you were not too inconnveynianced enconveenyinced inconvinience put out by the whole situation.

Have you noticed how the warm glow of alcohol is hugely increased when you are among friends? I'm not even a particular lover of beer, but I had a few pints yesterday, and they went down so well among good company and I had a lovely 'only slightly drunk' time at the

Open Mic with Sedge & Jon 

There was a young violinist at open mic and he played along when I sang Danny Boy. It added a real plaintive note to the song. I really enjoy it when something like that happens. It made a good day even better. Thanks Jon.

I just had to leave this keyboard for a half hour. I had some unexpected visitors: Jehovah's Witnesses. I must be in a good mood because I invited them for a cup of coffee. We sat at the table outside in the sun and chatted about God and stuff like that. I quite enjoyed their visit. They didn't try and convert me. I suppose they know a hopeless cause when they see one.

As they left they told me their names. The bloke's name was; I can't remember his name. The woman's name was Shirley. When she told me her name I said to her I won't forget your name, because I was brought up in a children's home called 'Shirley Oaks'. She then told me that she lived near the home when she was a girl and some friends of hers were in that same children's home. But the really odd thing was her surname, Oak. I thought it was some coincidence that I had just mentioned Shirley Oak's children home to a woman who knew the place well, but blimey, her name was Shirley Oak! How weird is that?

She was a good looking woman too. I could tell she fancied me. Practically threw herself at me she did! It was all I could do to stop her ripping my clothes off.

I should have got her phone number. Never mind, they have invited me to their next bible study meeting. Maybe I will ask her then? Oh God forgive me. I sound a bit desperate. I mean to say, going to a bible study just to chat up a woman. What sort of bloke would do that? Who? A bloke like me? No. Never. I'm only joking. Where's that leaflet they gave me?





I just looked the the preview of this post and there are lots of white spaces. Sorry about that. It's what happens when I leave a link to Open Mic with Sedge and Jon.

A Kiss On The Bottom.

You know how when a man sends a text to a woman friend he will put a kiss at the bottom of it to show how much he cares? At least I think that's why men do it. That's why I do it. I think that's why I do it. I haven't really thought about it too much before. Maybe I'm just a patronising old git?

Well maybe it is about time there was a way to do the same for male friends.You know, in a friendly caring way.

How about we all have a think about what symbol a man could use at the end of a text message to let another man know he cares?

On second thoughts maybe not. It sounds a bit gay really. Not that there is anything wrong with being gay, he adds hastily.

Hey look, just forget I mentioned it all right. I don't know what's wrong with me today!

Have a lovely weekend you lot. I shall be doing manly things like mending my tractor and shouting swear words at football players. xx

Those kisses are for the ladies only. Not that I have anything against you blokes!

Yesterday

The weather was lovely here in the south yesterday. It has been a while since we last saw such a day. The sun was out in a clear blue sky and there was heat in it. People had smiles on their faces. Woman wore summer clothes and it was possible to admire the female form once again. The hedgerows were greening up at last. Birds were courting and singing in the budding trees. I had a drastic haircut and shaved with a blunt machete. I could dry washing on the line instead of taking it to the launderette. My friend Simon came and mended the lawn mower. He wouldn't take any money. I was able to cut the grass. Both my children were here together and we laughed and chatted together in the sunshine. The dogs Sadie and Skye played happily together. I was in a very happy and silly mood.

That was yesterday though. It is dull again today. But I did enjoy yesterday.

Mr Christian Grey Update.

Mr Christian Grey finds some food and does what he always does; he calls his ladies to share the bounty. But this time there is no response. All his ladies are gone. Taken by the fox. Poor Mr Christian Grey all alone.

Three times Mr Grey has been in the foxes teeth and three times escaped. This is due mainly to the fortitude and determination of lovely Sadie the German Shepherd, who hates those foxes with a vengeance. Lucky for Mr Christian Grey that she does.

Three times taken by the fox, bedraggled, but still alive to tell the tale. Remarkable. Lucky Mr Grey.

Some new ladies are coming to meet him. He will be happy again.

The old cock is going to get some action soon. Mr Christian Grey's that is.

Poor Mr John Bain. No such luck for him yet.

Fifty Shades Of Pale Blue Moonlight.

Oh my word it was so good. Me, with a beautiful woman. In her bedroom. In her bed. Kissing, fondling, and whispering sweet endearments. About to consummate our love we were when it happened. So sudden. So fast. Damn I thought, not again!

Foxes. Cunning. Determined. Murderous.

Broke in through the pop hole they did. There were only two residents. The cockerel Christian Grey and his lady friend Miss Blackrock.

Sadie the German Shepherd and I did our best. Dashing, me naked as the day I was born, from our warm beds when we heard the squawking commotion. Dashing through the dark. Like heroes to the rescue.

Too late. Not a chance in hell, were the thoughts that went through my mind. But he at least was miraculously, still there. Christian Grey, hunkered down in the straw, like a shell shocked soldier, fear in his dull eyes. She was nowhere to be seen, but I knew she was still in the vicinity, hiding. We looked for her, Sadie and I did, but it was dark with shadows and the light from my dying torch was feeble. Our search despite Sadie's sharp nose was fruitless, due in part at least to the scattered feathers and the scent of frightened hen so strong on the ground where she had run in abject terror hither and dither. She could have been anywhere. I was certain though that she was there.

Two sets of gleaming eyes watched mine and Sadie's every move. Waiting, patient and defiant at the other side of the fence Waiting blood crazed to complete their grisly task.

Becoming suddenly aware, in the cold night air, of my nakedness, and the sharpness of hard grass in my feet
- oh that you could have seen me then, the pale moonlight glancing across me, enfolding me, holding, caressing and painting with fifty shades of pale blue, my  honed and beautifully perfect nudity. Glistening provocatively over my flawless skin. You would surely have marveled, lusted even, at the sight, and wanted me -  I retreated indoors, the loyal Sadie at my side, and went back to my bed and tried desperately to rekindle the dream which had been so violently interrupted. But to no avail. She had gone, my delicious dream woman, never to be seen again.

They came back. I knew they would. They came back and they found her. Dragged her screeching, screeching into the darkness. Screeching till the sudden still silence signaled her end. Poor Miss Blackrock. Poor poor Miss Blackrock.

Poor Mr Christian Grey. He crows forlornly through the day. Alone now.

I could have searched all night and not found her. But maybe I would have. Did I give up too soon? Is he shouting at me? Does he dream too of his perfect lady?

Having A Break.

I am not happy with my blogging activity lately. I haven't been visiting other blogs, and also I feel my writing has lost something and become a bit stale. There is no real reason for this that I can discern. Perhaps it is simply that I am all written out at the moment. Certainly I have struggled to find much of interest to say lately.

Visiting other blogs is an important aspect of this hobby of ours and I have been neglectful of that aspect of it. I am sorry about this.

Apart from my blogging I am quite happy. I wouldn't want you to think otherwise.

I feel it is time to take a break so that I can refresh my writing batteries. It might only be for a few days. I have no idea. I hope it won't be too long, because I know I shall miss you all.

Just before I go, may I take the liberty of directing you to my friend Paul's blog http://seasonsfullcircle.blogspot.com 

Paul is from New Zealand. He is an athlete and a keen cyclist and recently had a bad accident during a cycling race. I know a few get well wishes will give him a boost in his recovery. He could do with a few more blog followers too, but don't tell him I said that.

Take care and be happy.

Andy Fairweather-Lowe

Don't ask me why but I found myself watching the golf on TV the other day. Oh I just remembered why! There was a red button icon in the corner of the TV screen. It said Amen Corner Live. Oh I thought, I used to like that group. So I pressed the red button on my remote control, quite excited at the prospect of listening to Andy Fairweather-Lowe singing live, even though, I thought to myself (who else would I think it too), crikey, he must be getting on a bit?

There was no Andy Fairweather-Lowe singing, there was no Amen Corner playing. What a disappointment. What there was was golf. Was was. Was was. How funny two was's together. doesn't look right does it? But there it is nonetheless. Anyway I digress. So it turns out that Amen Corner is the name of one of the holes on this particular golf course. At least that's what I think it is. I could be wrong. I am on rare occasions.

So I'm sitting there watching the golf. No not really, what I'm doing is I'm looking at the women watching the golf. Checking them out. There are some good looking women there and I think, (to myself again), if all those women like to follow the golf, maybe I should take up the sport myself. I mean some of those women spectators are hot and obviously like to watch a man swinging his club. Or maybe they just like to see all those balls being given a good hard whack. Possibly a mixture of both. So I'm thinking, hey, if I take up golf I could score, and not just on the golf course, if you get my drift. Listen I'm sorry about this, I seem a bit obsessed with the opposite sex at the moment. At the moment haha. It seems never ending. Getting older doesn't seem to have caused my interest to wane.

So I start to watch some of the golfers playing. I do this so that when I do get onto the golf course I can at least pretend to know what I'm doing.

The trouble is I find, that these golfers are too good at it. They only need to hit the ball a few times and it is in the hole. Boring, boring , boring. I can't see myself taking it up seriously. Not until they devise a way of making it more exciting.

Thoroughly bored now and the cameraman isn't pointing his lens at any attractive women, so I switch channels. There is a rugby match on. That is a lot more exciting. They play it with an oval shaped ball and nobody ever really knows for sure which way an oval shaped ball is going to bounce.

And that is when I had my eureka moment. The way to make golf a hell of a lot more exciting. Play it with oval shaped golf balls! Although I say it myself, the idea is brilliant. Nobody would ever know where the ball will end up. I expect mostly in the rough. All that dense undergrowth and bushes. When a ball got lost some of the women spectators could go into the bushes to help look for it. There you are you see, all that extra excitement, just because of odd shaped balls. This could catch on. If it does I hope people remember whose brilliant idea it was. This time next year I could be a millionaire!

Now if you will excuse me I am off to see if I can Find Andy Fairweather-Lowe and Amen Corner on Youtube before I get too wide eyed and legless. Do you see what I did there?

In The Summertime.

We had an hour of Summer sunshine today. Warm it was too. Jodie and I went for a walk with Sadie the German Shepherd and Skye the Labrador puppy.

Unfortunately the sun was too late, because I had already made this video yesterday. Yes I know, you don't have to say it, I am an idiot. It cheered me up though. I hope it brings a smile to your face too.

My Mind Is A Blank.

My mind is a blank tonight. What's that you say: Not unusual? I suppose you are right. But I do feel like writing something. I just don't know what. Let's see what happens.

Nothing yet.

I need a pee.

It is twenty five minutes past midnight. So I suppose that makes it early Saturday morning. I expect there are lots of young people staggering home from the pub and maybe some of them are wishing they hadn't drunk so much. Lots of them, the really, really drunk ones will be eating takeaway, takeaway...... Oh blimey I have forgotten what they are called. Those things inside a bit of weird bread. Oh you know.... Where they slice the meat off a great chunk of, probably 99% horse meat... Oh what do they call those things...Horrible they are... Only eaten by extremely drunk people. I honestly, seriously cannot remember what they are called. This is a bit of a nuisance when I need to write about them. Oh well never mind it's not important. This ain't going anywhere. I need to try another tack.

I am off to make a cup of tea.

Changed my mind about the tea. Having a drop of Southern Comfort instead. Not a drink I particularly like. Don't like it at all really, but I have about two thirds of a bottle left to get through and I really feel I should persevere. I have measured the amount left in the bottle. Not with a tape measure. I did it by eye. By my reckoning, if I drink a small shot every night for the next sixty days, I should have finished the whole bottle.

Sixty days though, that is a long time. Maybe I should drink a couple of shots every night? Get through it quicker. Hey! Maybe I should just drink the whole lot in one go? No that would be stupid. I would probably end up completely pissed. I could even end up buying one of those takeaway things I can't remember the name of. Although when I'm in the shop there might be a menu with the word I'm looking for on it. It might just be a photo of it though, and I would just have to point at it drunkenly, and say, "Give me one of them." I would say please of course. Even when I'm drunk I am still polite. "Give me one of them please."

After eating it, I would then do what everyone does after eating one, and throw up on the pavement. It's a very British thing to do, and helps to avoid going down with food poisoning the next day. I still cannot remember what the things are called. Please give me a minute. I am going to have a really good think about what they are called, because this is really bugging me now.

KEBAB! Oh thank God. I thought I would never remember. Kebab! Ugh bleedin' 'orrible. Oh well, I got there in the end.

I did say at the beginning, my mind is a blank tonight.

Actually I'm very surprised that you read this far down the page. Thanks for sticking with it though. I appreciate it. I really do.

Here's a thought. When Yogi Bear invented the television, do you think he might have expected better programmes to be on it? I only ask because I have got over a hundred channels and they are all rubbish.

Sorry. Not Yogi Bear. I meant Logie Baird. Blame the Southern Comfort for that. While blame is being apportioned, perhaps you could blame the fact that television is rubbish tonight, for this nonsensical piece of writing.

I am going to have one more glass. Knock another day off. Only fifty eight to go.

A One Jumper Day For A Short While.

It felt a bit warmer today. The weather I mean. Not any particular part of my anatomy. I wrote that last sentence because when I stated that it felt a bit warmer today, some of you might have misconstrued what I meant when I used the word 'it'. So just to reiterate, what I am talking about is the weather. Not my willy. Hope I have cleared that up for you. Those of you that did misunderstand. The rest of you can just carry on as normal. Although my willy did actually feel quite warm. I'm calling it a willy so as not to offend anyone by using the word penis, which to my mind would be entirely inappropriate. Though not nearly as inappropriate as some of the other words I thought about using. Oh dear, sorry, I expect you are now thinking about those words. Yes those were a couple I thought of. However I insist on maintaining standards.

It wasn't actually that much warmer, although I did at one stage around midday remove one of my jumpers. As it turned out this was a mistake and I quickly put it back on again. When I say quickly put it back on, that isn't strictly true, because one of the sleeves had got twisted inside out and trying to free it whilst having one arm and my head stuck took a few seconds, and quite a lot of swear words, longer than normal.

The weather has deteriorated now and it has got cold again. Not only that but the wind has got up and the rain is pissing down. I just went outside and can confirm that the rain is very cold. To my way of thinking the rain in April should be warm. Do you remember the song, 'drip drip drip little April showers, da da di da da di da?' Something like that. I forget the rest of the song. Not that it matters, it's a rubbish song. But there was a bit in it about the rain being warm in April. Or maybe not. I might have the wrong song entirely.

There is another song. 'April showers are for the very young' la di da di la di da di day. Or something along those lines. It is obviously a song for youngsters. Though why that should be is beyond me. Maybe the bloke who wrote it didn't like old people? Or perhaps its because old people shouldn't go out in the rain? They might get pneumonia, or fall over in the wet conditions. You never really know with the elderly. Come to think of it I can't remember seeing an old person out in the rain lately. It was a common sight once. I can recall old ladies walking about with see through plastic raincoats and those little folding plastic hats to protect their perms. But you don't see them about these days.  It could be something to do with plastic being out of favour nowadays. It is you know, out of favour. I get some really black looks when I'm carrying my shopping home in a plastic carrier bag. What about old men I hear you say? Well they take shelter in the nearest pub. No elderly man would ever be out in the rain. At least not since old men's raincoats went out of fashion, to be replaced by brightly coloured cagoules. Which no old man would be seen dead in.

This was going to be a post about global warming, but I seem to have got sidetracked. I do believe that global warming has been officially debunked, and is now known as climate change. That's only because they can't bear to admit the truth. Just change the rules and carry on as before.

Did you know that this has been the coldest winter in thirty years? Global warming my arse! Talking about my arse, well actually all arses whether human or animal, they are responsible for a lot of the greenhouse gases that have made a hole in the ozone layer apparently. So next time you break wind you can blame yourself for a lot of the damage. If it exists that is. Which it doesn't. Otherwise keep on farting and blaming it on the dog. That is if you believe the nonsense about the hole in the ozone layer. They, whoever they are, seem to have gone a bit quiet about the ozone layer, since climate change came into fashion.

I am really proud of what I have just written. It sounds very learned. I might submit it to the Royal Geographical Society. These words deserve a wider audience.

Leaflets

Extremely handsome son George's mother Tricia is standing as a candidate in the County Council elections. She has really got into local politics this last year or so, and has a great capacity to bore the hell out of anyone who makes the mistake of listening to her.

I am of course joking. No way is Tricia boring. She has a lot of charisma and should do well in this her first attempt at being elected. She is very likable and I notice how quickly people take to her. Crikey she might even win, wouldn't that be something?

Sorry about the hat, and the jacket, and the jeans, and the polo neck jumper, and those shoes! Just really sorry about the whole look.

I went out with her today helping to deliver some of the thousands of leaflets to prospective voters. Quite a mammoth task but she also has lots of other friends helping.

Tricia and her high visibility leaflet bag.

It is not my favourite job to do but it has its exciting moments. Such as dogs attempting to bite my hand off through the letter box, and some of the letterboxes have springs strong enough to trap a bear. Not to mention some of the miserable buggers who object strongly to anyone brazen enough to enter their front garden, let alone have the temerity to put a leaflet through their door! I have to confess to a small frisson of excitement when an irate householder shouts at me, although as I am wearing the party rosette I have to hold my tongue.  I would love to give them some caustic remarks back, but that wouldn't help Tricia much. It is fun though to tramp across their immaculate front lawn. Yeah I know, I'm bad!

In other words just bugger off!

There were lots of doors with signs on saying things like  no junk mail or no leaflets. I'm afraid I ignored them all. Hey we are trying to save the country here. That leaflet I just delivered ain't no junk! Unless it belongs to any of the other candidates that is.

The prospective candidate.

The most exciting part of the day though was being driven by Tricia in her little blue car, with its racing stripes. When I say exciting I actually mean scary. It is always a joy when any journey in that car ends safely. I am not saying that she is a bad driver. Oh all right yes I am. But please don't tell her I said that. Please!

Here is a little anecdote that will illustrate what I mean. Tricia's daughter Catherine on hearing that her friends got their car insurance up to two hundred pounds cheaper when joined with their mums insurance policies, asked Tricia to please add her to the policy. Two hundred pounds cheaper? No way! It would have made Catherine's insurance Five hundred pounds dearer! So you see what I mean? Anyway Catherine was not impressed.

We tried to get EHS George to help with the leaflet campaign, but he wouldn't. I think he finds the whole idea of being seen delivering them a bit embarrassing. But that isn't all. He certainly doesn't want to be seen in his mum's car, especially when it has got racing stripes on it!

He has gone away to stay with some friends for a few days. I don't think it has anything to do with the leaflet campaign though. Surely not? That would be a bit drastic.!

Tricia is also going to stand in the next general election. That'll mean even more leaflets. Suppose she wins a seat. A member of Parliament in the family. Crikey! Quick George, hide!

Through A Glass Lightly.

As I passed the mirror this morning I decided to stop and have a look at myself. You may be aware that I don't normally look at myself. This is because too much of a good thing is, so they say, not healthy. But anyway, everything in moderation, so I took a good long look.

What particularly struck me today was how extremely pleasing on the eye my face looks. This despite the fact that I am in my sixty fifth year. The youthful image that looked back at me so admiringly, got me thinking.

So I have made a decision. I am going to knock ten years off my real age. From now on, whenever anyone asks, I am going to declare myself to be fifty five. Nobody ever believes I am sixty five anyway.  The usual response when I tell people how old I am is a disbelieving, "Never John. Get out of here. You have got to be kidding me?"

Blessed. That's what I am. Blessed with good looks and youthful genes. Of course this does have it's drawbacks. The main one being that I am constantly pursued by woman, and rarely get a moments peace from them. Tonight is a rare exception, and I am sitting writing this in bed, on my own, purely because I decided to take a break and restore my batteries. Naturally if I wanted female company it would not be a problem for me to get some. Company I mean.

By knocking these ten years from my age I do believe that I shall, when I do finally reach old age, be able to add them back. This will then give me ten more years to live. I shall then have an even greater chance of living to my target age of one hundred and twenty years. Fantastic!

So look out ladies, this good looking fella' has still got another lifetime to go.

Have you taken a good look in the mirror lately? Go on have a look. You might like what you see. Don't wear your glasses though. Sometimes things look much better if they are a little blurred, or soft focus as I prefer to think of it.

The Truth Of The Matter.

This might turn out to be one of those rambling posts because to tell the truth nothings been happening lately to talk of. Why did I just say to tell the truth? Of course I will tell the truth. Honest as the day is long, that's me. Except when I'm not.

Talking about honesty, I got done once for robbing gas meters. Got charged for it too, and went to court, and found guilty, and do you know what, in truth I was innocent. Never did it.

What happened was, I was living in a caravan on a site in Scotland and as was usual with me in those far off days I had spent all my money on whisky and beer.

Anyway this caravan had one of them shilling in the slot gas meters and I, being of an inquisitive nature had worked out a way of using the same coin over and over again. Naturally I had every intention of making up the shortfall just as soon as I had some money, but well, you know these things get overlooked. I mean when it comes to a choice between making up the meter money shortfall and buying a pint of beer what's a bloke to do? Yes exactly!

Unfortunately there was a spate of meter break ins at the caravan site, and when they came to see if I had been a victim too they discovered my meter didn't have any shillings in it. Of course I became the number one suspect. I tried to tell the coppers that I had nothing to do with the theft from the other caravans but they didn't want to know, and anyway I was well known to them due to my propensity to get into fights.

They arrested me and took me down to the police station, where they did everything they could to make me confess to the crime. Now in those days I was quite stubborn and there was no way I was going to confess to something I hadn't done. I did manage to hold out for quite a long time and when that happens and the police are determined to charge you they develop these strong urges to beat the crap out of you.

Now I don't know if you have ever been badly beaten whilst wearing handcuffs - hey lets keep your private life out of this story - but it does bloody well hurt. What happens is, they put you in a cell and every few hours two policemen come in and punch and kick you about. Stomach and kidneys are there favourite target areas. If you fight back they will further charge you with assaulting a police officer. Actually they might do this anyway. They keep doing this until you are ready to sign a statement, which incidentally, they have written themselves, in which you confess all.

Eventually, I had so many beatings that I signed their bit of paper and was charged with the thefts. I was remanded into custody for a couple of weeks and spent it in Craiginches prison in Aberdeen. What a shit hole that was. Eventually I was given a years probation. And guess what? I was grateful! Well I might well have been sentenced to a prison term.

Ironic isn't it? I was grateful that I got a years probation. For a crime I didn't commit!

So anyway just to set the record straight, and for the information of the coppers who beat the crap out of me and who served at Blackburn police station, on the outskirts of the city of Aberdeen in Scotland in the late sixties. I never bloody well did it! But you knew that already didn't you?

The moral of this story is: Never use the same shilling too many times. Is that a moral?

Hey how did I get onto this subject? Opening my heart to you like this? I tell you what, if I'm not careful I shall run out of things to talk about. But that won't happen for a good long while yet.

                                                                                                                                           John

Wheels.

I'm sorry I haven't been around lately but I have been busy. Busy doing nothing and it has exhausted me. This flu virus cough thing has been a bleedin' nuisance. It comes and goes seemingly at will. Just when you think it has released you from it's virulent grasp, back it comes to knock you down again.. Poor old extremely handsome son George has been hit particularly hard by it. So much so that we did insist he went to the doctor. It's a virus, the doctor says and it could last up to six weeks! He must be in his fifth week now. He did get well enough to return to college for a few days though. George doesn't cope well with illness, like most very fit people I suppose, and I have never known him so grumpy. It was nice to see him back to his usual happy self, even if it was just for a few days. What is going on?

It isn't just feeling unwell that has brought me low. This long dragging on winter has made me tardy too. If it isn't dull and overcast outside, it is raining. If it isn't raining it is freezing. The cold weather has frozen my brain I do believe, and it is working at an even lower rate of knots than usual.

 This morning though, after a somewhat sleepless night, due to coughing. I had a lucid moment. I spoke sharply to myself, "Get out of bed you useless waste of space and get on with your life. Are you going to lie here all morning feeling sorry for yourself?"

"No I bleedin' well ain't." I answered. Yes living on my own I do tend to talk to myself sometimes. And yes when I do talk to myself I do tend to lapse into a cockney dialect. Except when I become Scottish that is. The trouble is having moved about such a lot when younger I can't make up my mind where I come from.

Anyway I did jump out of bed and I did honestly have every intention of getting on with my life. Indeed I did get on with things for a few minutes. But then the cold kicked in and my brain froze again, so I came back inside and lit the fire.

It was while I was sitting by the fire waiting for my brain to thaw out that I suddenly began to think about the wheel. What a wonderful invention I thought and began to list in my rapidly unfreezing brain, all the benefits it has brought to mankind. And then it occurred to me that what I was listing as being beneficial, were in fact, if looked at from another angle, not beneficial at all.

Take roads for instance. What a vast amount of beautiful countryside has been destroyed in order to build them. They are only necessary because some thoughtless prehistoric clown invented the wheel. And roads are only necessary to accommodate all the vehicles that need wheels. Cars, lorries, buses, millions of them, all travelling mile after mile of roads. Roads built from materials dug from vast quarries dug into yet more beautiful countryside. All because of the wheel.

Life without wheels would be great. So quiet and peaceful. There wouldn't be vast cities for a start, Maybe we would all still be living in mud huts. Nothing wrong with that. We wouldn't have to worry about journey times because we wouldn't want to go anywhere. Or if we did perhaps we could travel by river or sea, in boats. How nice and quiet that would be. Or on horseback that would be fine.

Trains? Don't get me started on trains. When was a train ever an effective means of getting anywhere on time? And all those wheels! The railway lines cut and divided the countryside too. Ruined it. Why? Because of wheels.

Wheels. Where would we be without them? Well not here that's for certain. Not sitting here at this computer spouting nonsense like this. Haha I hear you say, that would be a good thing. Yes and that's what I'm getting at. Wheels, who needs them?

Oh but tractors, I forgot about them. Hey wheels aren't all bad!

This has been a frozen brain production by John Bain. Hopefully he will be feeling better again soon.