Jesus Comes Up Trumps Again!

It has been a busy old time here on the old homestead. I have made a good start on the new roof that will cover the showman's wagon.Here is a picture of progress so far.

As usual I have begun a project with out really knowing where the money will come to finish it, but I fell back on my old stand-by: The Lord will provide. I am just waiting for Him to supply me with more timber at the moment. I need at least eight strong posts thank you Lord. You might notice that the overhang is quite long. That is because I have decided to have a veranda and a rear workshop while I am about it.
I started work on this project while the weather forecast was good. But the good weather did not last. It became necessary to cover up. There was a storm coming. Time to get the tarpaulin out.

I am pleased to say my structural work survived the storm and the tarpaulin, although battered and torn did its job. Do you see those two railway sleepers holding the ropes? Well, the force of the wind actually moved them and they weigh a ton!

At about 3am while the storm raged I lost my nerve and moved into the small caravan you can just see in the photo. It is in the lee of the big wagon and I felt safer in there. Not that I got much sleep! It was still very rocky in there too.

Like a giant bird ready to take off.

So I was getting on well. A bit more timber work and I would be ready for the new corrugated metal roof. Not that I had any idea how I was going to pay for that. And that's when it happened. The Lord provided. For someone like me who always has doubts about God and all that stuff, He does treat me well.
I suddenly got a portrait commission. It was for a giant painting of David Bowie. I could earn enough to pay for the new roof!
I finished the painting. Just waiting for it to dry. I used quick drying oil paint. I deliver it tomorrow and then I can get on with ordering the roof sheets.
Here is a picture of me with the painting. I am in it so you can see how big it is. Well, I am six foot four. So that is a big painting. Okay then, so I am five foot eight. But it shows you the size of the painting. Oh all right then, I am five foot seven and a half. Happy now?

I am six foot tall with my hat on.

And that's what I have been up to lately. I hope you enjoyed Easter.
                                                                                                            John.

David Bowie. Pierrot. by John Bain. Oil on canvas. 60in x 48in.

P.S. How about that? Managed to get Jesus and Trump in the title. That should help the stats.

Buckets.

Bucket lists are a popular modern fernominan, furnomminin, fernominon. Bucket lists are a popular modern thing.

I don't have a bucket list but I am the owner of a varied collection of buckets. I have got a wooden bucket what I made myself. I have got two rubber buckets, I have got a shallow bucket what looks like it has been cut down at some time or other. I don't know why. I never done it. I have got two plastic buckets, one of which is a garish yellow. A hideous thing. The other is pale blue. I can live with that. I have got several old galvanised buckets and I have got a new galvanised bucket what I thought was old when I bought it from a car boot sale, but it turned out not to be old. How I know is because of the handle shape. I know what old galvanised bucket handles look like. They had class. My car boot specimen lacks class. Oh well, not to worry. A valuable lesson was learned that day.

I have also got a very special bucket (please see attached photo) what is my pride and joy. I bought it off E-Bay. It is galvanised and very old indeed. The person selling it on E-Bay assured me that it is the actual bucket - get ready for this- it is the actual bucket what Dear Henry told Dear Liza had a hole in it. Do you remember that? There was a song about it years ago. I think it was called, There's A Hole In My Bucket Dear Liza.

The actual bucket that Dear Henry told Dear Liza had a hole in it.

I had to pay a lot of money for it but as the seller told me, something of such historical significance can only increase in value.

By the way, can you please not talk too much about my historical bucket. There is a big market in knocked off artifacts. The last thing I want is some stranger hearing about it and coming around here to steal it. Break my heart that would.

I suppose I should make a bucket list now that I have so many. It would help me keep track of them.

A Strange Occurrence In The Daytime Sky.

It’s been a lovely sun shiny day. A proper SUNday. What a coincidence. Sunny on Sunday. The weather forecast on the BBC said it is going to be dry and sunny all week so I decided to start mending my showman’s wagon roof. How delightful to finally be rid of those horrid tarpaulins. What I am going to do is: I am going to build a roof over the roof. Effectively the wagon will be under a roof. It will be a corrugated steel roof. This is in keeping with my idea that this little homestead of mine will hark back to the 1950’s. No modern horrible plastic will be allowed. This place will be like a museum. Corrugated steel is kind of traditional in that it’s been around a looooong time. We used to call it corrugated iron. I don’t know when the name changed. Anyway, it will cure my leak problems once and for all. Please see explanatory diagram below.

While I was on my roof today I looked up at the sky and, you will not believe this but I swear it is true. I saw the moon. It was about midday the sky was blue, the sun was out and I saw the moon! I shouted out to Tricia who, because I was high up I could see her in her garden, I shouted, really loudly because I was so excited, I shouted, “Tricia, I can see the moon!”

I think I may have startled her a bit because I saw her visibly jump about a foot in the air. “How interesting,” she called back and carried on pruning the roses. I knew she was interested though because of the way she started cutting away at the roses really quickly. It was almost as though she was irritated at me interrupting her peaceful gardening. But I suppose the moon does have that effect on some people.

But yeah, that’s what happened. Strange eh? Most people and I include myself in this, think the moon goes round the other side of the earth during the day. Most times it does. Today it somehow got its timing wrong. Unless. Unless there are two moons? There could be. I mean after all how could we really know? Nobody can be at both sides of the world at the same time to find out. Can they?

Hurry Up Norman

Oh that’s good. Just this old bloke at the counter. I won’t have to wait long to get my prescription. There’s the pharmacist with his tablets. “Now just remember Norman,” she says to him, “only two a day. Morning and evening after meals.”

Norman? I think to myself. She must know him quite well. Righto Norman I think. You got what you came for. Off you go old chap. I’m waiting here right behind you. I have got things to do mate. Places to go. Quick as you can please. Oh no, What’s he doing? You don’t need to read the packet Norman she just told you how many to take.

“Sandra?” says Norman, “I don’t have an evening meal on account of I gets terrible indigestion if I does. Chronic it is, if I eat’s after four o’clock.”

Sandra? I think to myself, he knows her too then?

“Well, you will have to have something Norman,” she tells him, “even if it’s just a slice of bread.”

Norman is aghast, “Bread!” he says, Bread! That’s the worst thing I can have bread. Sit in me stomach all night that will. No, can’t have bread. Not at night, no. Not bread”

Norman looks over his shoulder and smiles at me. Right Norman you know I’m here now. Just pick up your tablets and go.

“What about if I took me tablet with a biscuit?” Norman asks, “I could manage a light biscuit. I have got some rich tea biscuits. What about if I have one of them?” He adds, sounding hopeful.

Yes, I think to myself. Yes, Norman. Have a bleedin’ biscuit with it. Now will you just go. Please. I am waiting.

“Yes,” says Sandra, “a biscuit would be a good idea. Just one shouldn’t give you indigestion Norman.”

There you are, Norman, I think to myself. Sandra thinks it’s a good idea. Now please bugger off and let me get served.

“Ooooh,” says Norman, “it don’t take much to set it off. I can’t even have a cup of tea after four o’clock. Heart-burn. Something chronic”

Norman looks over his shoulder at me again and smiles. He wants to include me in the conversation. I don’t smile back. Instead I glance away and begin to read a poster about breast feeding. Just take your package and go away Norman.

But no. Norman begins to describe to Sandra why he went to the doctor in the first place and why he has to have tablets. Something about fluid on his lungs. How one day he suddenly couldn’t get his breath

You won’t get your breath in a minute Norman because I am going to bleedin’ strangle you. Go Norman go. Poor Sandra she is too polite to interrupt you. She looks over at me, a resigned look on her face as Norman relates his tale of woe.

Eventually. “Well,” says Norman, “I can’t stand here all day chatting. I’d best be off. Bye Sandra.”

“Bye Norman,” says Sandra and she smiles at me. “Can I help?”

“I have come to collect my repeat prescription please. Name of Bain. John Bain.”

Sandra goes to the back of the Pharmacy. She searches the shelf where the prescriptions are waiting to be collected. She comes back empty handed. “It’s not here yet Mr Bain. Probably be here tomorrow afternoon. Sorry about that.”

Yes, yes I know. Serves me right. I should be more patient. Norman is probably lonely. Doesn’t get to talk to people much. Sandra is a saint. Yes, yes I know. I’m ashamed of myself OK. The strange thing is, I wasn’t even in a hurry. I’m never in a hurry until someone holds me up!

Failure. I Could Spitfire.

Oh, how pathetic am I? Twenty three hours! That is how long I managed to stay off  Facebook after my recent deactivation. I had to do it. I had to go back on. Not my fault. I blame Mia the German Shepherd. She has her own Facebook page. Lots of followers too. Loads more than I have on my blog. I don't know how she does it? Her writing skills are amazing for a dog. Amazing even for a human bean come to that.

Mia the German Shepherd with reading glasses. Too much time in front of a computer perhaps?

Anyway, she begged me to let her keep doing her page. Not that I approve of dogs begging. So what could I do? I am not heartless. Of course I had to let her do it. Not that she needs my approbation. A clever dog like her. Oh yes, she may be clever but I bet she doesn't know how to spell approbation. Or what it means for that matter. Come to think of it, when I see some of the horrid things she has to say about me, maybe she should require my approbation.

The thing is, I thought, while I am back on it for Mia the German Shepherd's benefit I might just as well have a quick look at my own page. And well, you know what it's like. One look and I was hooked again. My mistake was in trying to withdraw cold turkey. I should have come off it in gentle easy stages. Perhaps I should have done some tweeting or instagrams to prepare myself. It doesn't take much to get a recovering addict off the wagon.

I will, of course be trying to break myself of the habit again. Not just yet though. I couldn't bear to see Mia the German Shepherd brokenhearted again.Not that I have anthropormorphised her in any way. I bet she can't spell that either. Not even sure if I can, come to that.

How do you spell approbation? Am I right in thinking it means approval? Mia the German Shepherd won't say. I think that confirms my suspicions regarding her literary skills. She's probably got a ghost writer. Someone really clever.

Did I mention the John Bain Artist page on Facebook. Yes, it's just one more thing I have to contend with in my battle. Here is a painting I did recently.

Spitfire Camouflaged.  John Bain

See you back here soon I hope. Mia the German Shepherd sends her love. She gets everywhere that dog!

The Little Gay Hen Wagon.

Did I show you the hen wagon I made? I can't remember. My short-term memory is playing tricks with me. I don't think it's alzheimers -if that's how it's spelled. At least I hope it's not. Alzheimers I mean, not how it's spelled. Do you write spelled or spelt? I think they are both okay but I prefer spelled.  Do you put okay or OK? I am never sure which is right.

My mum had alzheimers but it came on very late in her life. My dear friend Jenny too. It stole the last fifteen years of her life. I think medical science has made some good progress with regards to it. There is hope.

I try to keep my brain-cells active, what with my art and writing and playing guitar. Last week I started learning French on-line. I just wish there was someone to practice it with. I shall have to look into it. Join a club maybe? Why French. I don't know. To be honest I wish I had started with Italian. I love Italian. Too late now. But je ne regret rien. I am not going to unlearn what little French I have learned. Do you say learned or learnt? I think both are okay, OK.

What was I talking about? Oh yes, the hen wagon. I made it earlier this year... No I didn't... I made it last year. In late summer. Or was it early summer?

The Little Gay Hen Wagon.

It looks like it was made last century don't you think? Completely intentional I assure you. I made it with stuff I had lying around the place. It is built on an old... What do you call it? Those things that get towed by cars...? Trailer that's it. That big old wagon wheel is just for show. It's only leaning against it. I only painted it last week though. Just with some old paint I had in the shed. It cheers the place up a bit. I am thinking of painting more stuff around here with gay colours. The showman's wagon looks in a bit of a state at the moment. The roof needs repairing again. It's covered with a tarpaulin at the moment. When the roof is sorted I shall paint the wagon again. I am thinking of yellow and green but I could change my mind again.

I am wondering now if it is right to call it The Little Gay Hen Wagon? Perhaps it should be called the Gay Little Hen Wagon? Although the hens are not gay colours. They are a rusty brown. It is a quandary. I shall stick with my first thought.

I hope you are well. Everyone here is fine. My Extremely Handsome Son George is coming home tomorrow. I don't know how long he will be staying. I forgot to ask him.

"Oi Fatso! I Mean Oi Obese."

The NHS, that’s the National Health Service in case you didn’t know – well, maybe you’re a foreigner - actually, come to think of it, most people in England are these days - has just come up with a brilliant idea. Well, it thinks so. Some committee I expect. A bunch of people probably. Sitting around a table, getting paid loads of money to come up with ideas about how to improve the NHS and at the same time save money. I think it is called brain-storming in modern parlance.

One good idea I just thought of. Get rid of the committee. 

But anyway.

What they, in their infinite wisdom have decided this time is, they are going to create ‘Healthy Living Towns’. Only ten towns at the moment although I expect when the idea becomes a runaway success they will go the whole hog and create ‘Healthy Living England’.

What it’s about really is obesity. The NHS think there is too much obesity about and it is making people in England unhealthy. And of course unhealthy people cost the NHS money and we can’t have that can we? 

Obesity by the way – in case you are a foreigner - is another word for what we used to call people in this country before the European Union got involved. Fat. Nowadays if you call someone fat you will be prosecuted. You must call them obese. It still means fat. Be honest now, if you see an obese person waddling past on their reinforced mobility scooter, you still think, “there goes a fatty,” or words to that effect. If you were inclined to shout angrily at an obese person on a reinforced mobility scooter who gets in your way, would you shout, “Get out of my way obese person”? No of course you wouldn’t. You and I both know what you would shout and the word obese wouldn’t come into it. So that’s the European Union for you.

But back to the ‘Healthy Living Towns’. I don’t know for certain but I expect fat, er sorry, obese people, will be prohibited from living in them. There will probably be a girth and weight requirement in order to qualify to live there. Perhaps only skinny people will be allowed? Is it okay to call someone skinny by the way? Has the EU given out any guidelines about what to call skinny people? Is it okay to shout angrily at a skinny person?

Of course you won’t be allowed to drink alcohol. You certainly won’t be allowed to smoke. And definitely no drugs, not even legal ones. Because these towns are supposed to save the NHS money and remember only healthy people will live there.

The whole idea of ‘Healthy Living Towns’ sounds really dull and boring. I shall be okay though because I don’t live in a town. Mind you if these ‘Healthy Living Towns' become successful the NHS might extend the idea to villages too. Then what will happen? I can see the day coming when unhealthy people – they mean fat – will be shipped off to some remote island out of sight and thought and forced to live off coconuts and sea food. They, The NHS could make them go in rowing boats. Once they have lost weight they would be allowed back to live in a ‘Healthy Living Town’ but they would have to swim back.

Yes, well done NHS. A wonderful idea on your part. But personally I don’t think it will work. Good luck though.

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My Forts Xactlee

As it is sutsh a miseriball day weverwhys I desidead to spend some time doing housewerk. I have got some lawndery to do and ther is a pil of dishes to be washed. Ther are a lowd off uther fings I cud be doing. I cud get on wiv riting my book for instanse. Or I cud do a paint tin and ther are fings to be men dead in the wurkshop. But then I fort sod it I am goin to spend ayjis on this computor riting nonsence on my blog insted.

Nuthing is a wayst off time if you are injoyin the waysting off it. That's my fillowsoffee. You don't have to wayste yor time reading it of corse. Unless you have got the same fillowsoffee.