Back on the road

To fat bastardship, that is. *They* thought I was diabetic. I *had* a dietician and she gave me a lot of advice, which I took. I was 16st 10lb and I got down to 14st 7lb.

However, over the last two or three weeks, I have started to to make cheese sandwiches at suppertime again. The trouble is, the bread at Belinda's is so fresh, it calls to you, and they now do Cheesy Chips. I know I only use Utterly Butterly but this does not matter - cheese, white bread, chips, bleh!

I have to make a new appointment with my medical advisors. When I look in the mirror, I am saddened.

Get your bike out again, you idiot!

Feel the noise

Come on! You should all be at my house NOW, listening to Matt’s deafening duets with Blink 182 and Finch et al on his electramatic and acoustamatic guitars. Don’t get me wrong, he is damned good, and I love music as much as the next man – oh dear! there goes the next man out of the window – but there is a limit. So come now - I mean it! Now! Things that are rattling: • My windows • My walls • My roof tiles • My hair, even! • My skull, certainly • My sabre, soon Ah well, being a tolerant parent is also a long and winding learning curve.

This blog post fulfils the earnest wish to post a real blog for a change and not one suggested by lazyblog.org. You cannot rate it anywhere.

My earliest experience with funny accidents

I’ll tell you a story before you all go Of an accident I thought was quite funny I had risen too early and felt rather low But it raised my demeanour to sunny. My ultimate aim in the kitcheny thing Was my blood pressure pills and some cereal, What actually happened would make minstrels sing And give poets much written material As I opened the cupboard, I omitted to see That the contents were protruding out So, of course, and before you could count one, two, three, They scattered themselves all about Well, that weren’t so bad except for the spoon That was lying ‘neath teetering rubble An empty tin can on one end which, quite soon, Would instigate much of the trouble. Well, the spoon was on top of a carrot, my friend, Giving rise to a see-saw effect And when a large biscuit tin dropped on one end, What did the can do? Correct! The baked bean container shot straight in the air And dropped down upon the cat’s head; I quickly removed all the sauce from his hair, Laughed a lot and then went back to bed. I felt like adding “boom, boom!” at the end of the last line, but I thought that would be crap.

This blog post fulfils the assignment My earliest experience with funny accidents at lazyblog.org. You can rate it here.

Anagrams of “The Ten Commandments”

I have invented a new literary phenomenon – it is called the Anagramecdote – yes, I have! – I can prove it (see page 5). It involves concocting an entirely implausible and totally disingenuous story about someone (or something) and peppering it with anagrams of the subject’s name in capital letters, sorry, upper case! Well, in this case (upper or lower, it matters not), the story is not actually about THE TEN COMMANDMENTS, but contains anagrams of those three words. A variation on a highly original theme, I’m sure you will agree. OK, please yourselves. It is a happy coincidence that the concept has manifested itself as a lazyblog assignment – who would have credited it? Not me. Well, then. Our tale concerns Emmett Hammond, a quiet unassuming Londoner from Camden – haha, you can see where all this is going, can’t you? No? Nor can I! Camden, you ask? Well, I (that letter not included) SHAN’T CONDEMN EMMETT for that, you have to come from somewhere, I have better things to do with my time THAN CONDEMN EMMETT’S roots. Emmett was not afraid of hard work and had always wanted to run his own company. Unfortunately, his business ideas lacked a certain practicality – HAMMOND CEMENT TENTS Ltd was a prime example, although for a very short time it was a cause celèbre, even attracting the composition of a classical anthem extolling the virtues of “concrete canvas”: a notable Telegraph headline at the time was: “ANTHEM COMMENDS TENT”. Unfortunately, ANTHEM COMMENTS TEND to be short-lived and the company quickly became the Bankruptcy Court in CAMDEN’S TENTH MOMENT of company cessation that particular day. All of this despite the extensive advertising campaign NAMED: “C’MON THEM TENTS!” (I think this is an example of “a hard sell campaign”).

Emmett left the court ruing his foray into the camping with mortar market, muttering “DAMN CEMENT – THEM TONS of useless grey powder! What possible use are you?! Wait a minute! I could make boots for people who wanted to lean forward at a 45-degree angle!” Then he thought, “Hang on, HADN’T CEMENT, MOMENTS before, epitomised my ineptitude in the concrete industry, indeed, industry generally? Forget it!”

Actually, although his business acumen proved wanting in many respects, he had salted away a little cash – just about enough to buy a bicycle made for two – right, let’s have your TANDEM COMMENTS, THEN; he and his girl-friend (oh, haven’t I mentioned her yet?) were planning to buy a flat and they would enjoy cycling around to view various suitable properties. TENANTS COMMEND THEM, apparently – tandems, that is, not flats.

Well, there it is – get the idea? Don’t pinch it, or, if you do, please send me the results of your anagramecdoting.

This blog post fulfils the assignment Anagrams of "the Ten Commandments" at lazyblog.org. You can rate it here.

A hypothesis linking early childhood experience to climate change

I have only recently realised that I may be personally responsible for global warming.

“Pshaw!” you may say, or “Tush!” even, but the dreadful fact remains. Dear friends, please don’t hold it against me – I was but an acne-riddled teenager and knew no better.

When I was 13 or 14, I used to sleep at my Gran’s on Friday nights, because she used to let me stay up late. She also used to give me rabbit stew and hot tomato juice and stuff like that (and she taught me some rude rhymes as well but perhaps more of that another day). Well, this one time, I told her that my friend – who lived nearby - had asked me to stay the night at his house. In fact, he was not allowed to have friends to stay over and we had previously agreed that we would go out until late and I would secretly sleep in his Dad’s greenhouse out of sight at the bottom of the garden.

Well, it is irrelevant what we did or where we went earlier that night but bedtime finally arrived. Bed! – schmed! Solid concrete with some dirty old sacks for a mattress and some old pages of the Daily Sketch as blankets. I felt like an old tramp, but knew I would never find one at that time of the night – at least, not in my friend’s garden.

Anyway – and this is the moment a chain of events began which has irrevocably changed life (and the climate) as we know it - in the wee small hours, I awoke suddenly to a rustling and snuffling, realising with abject terror that something was eating my sports section. This immediately provoked a violent farting fit, (ably fuelled by the curry and chips supper, no doubt), as my brain (all on its own, with no help or encouragement from me) instructed my bowels to behave in a slightly less constricted fashion. They duly obliged with trouser- and window-rattling intensity and I leapt up, sliding open the door! If only I could have exited my temporary shelter without undertaking that simple operation. For, you see, I had inadvertently released into the atmosphere what I now appreciate were greenhouse gases and the rest, as they say, is history - and geography as well, I suppose.

Sorry about that!

This blog post fulfils the assignment A hypothesis linking early childhood experience to climate change at lazyblog.org. You can rate it here.

The pointlessness continues.....

This week, I will be mostly wearing – a millstone – ooh, and an albatross as, judging by my current emotionally stranded state, I think I must have shot one. Strangely, I don’t really remember doing it (although I remember being an arse) – perhaps it was the Speckled Hen. On reflection, it might have been better to have shot a couple of those instead. Growing up as a responsible adult is such a steep learning curve, isn’t it?

Well, that’s about it, really.

Over Andover

Today, I went to Andover for a meeting (yes, I do leave this cobwebby attic from time to time) and, my dear friends, you will rally around with rose petals in water and all manner of other gentle massagey things when I reveal that it was the second time this week I had had to rise before 9.30am!

Still, it was good to see a lot of jolly old chums from around the region but not so good to listen to one or two people’s inane whingeing about all of the problems they were going to encounter if blah blah blah blah blah instead of using the time spent whingeing about blah blah blah blah blah trying to think of ways that they might be able to prepare for blah blah blah blah blah thus lessening its impact. Oh well, I’m glad I’m out of it and genuinely feel sorry for those who may not be able to cope with blah blah blah blah blah through no fault of their own.

We had lunch at a pub called the Hungry Horse that served all-day breakfasts on huge oval plates about two feet across. There were five of us sitting at a small round table and Mike had to move because, as his meal had been served up after everyone else’s, there was no room for his plate on our table! I think the table he moved to was designed for children but the chairs were for adults and it may be that I have witnessed the first reported case of a Chicken Caesar Salad causing a spinal disorder.

Lost in translation - microphones and seaweed

Right, that’s it! I’m up to here with sadness, nostalgia and magdalen (isn’t that how you should spell maudlin?) reflections. I’m going to write something to try and reverse the emotional stance that this blog seems to be adopting.

We own a pub in the New Forest and I run the fortnightly general knowledge quizzes. For some time, I have been getting increasingly fed up with tripping over the microphone lead, so I bought a wireless microphone system. It was cheap but it works. I reproduce below an extract from the operating instructions; I can assure you, there are no typos of mine! Here goes……

”Thanks for purchasing this series of system. This system is reunoined by a Receiver and a handle microphone . Inoder to understanding the operating specification, please read the operating method carefully before use.

1, Operating Method
1) Adjust the amplifier system or Karaoke system availible to the minimun position . Connect with the signal output lines and insert A and B antennas , but pay attention to insert the correct position of the jacks , A to A and B to B according the following chart.And then connect with AC power , the red indicator goes on this time , In this case the receiver works normally.

2) Hole the microphone tightly with your left hand and unscrew the body counterclock wise according to the following chart shown , install a battery in to fit the right terminals , then turn it firmly . Set the switch to the ON position , the indicator doesn' t go on, If the battery is low voltage , it dose , But the indicator on the receiver should shines in this period . If the green indicator shines , the proper indicator A on the receiver shines too . If the red one shines too , so does indicator B on the receiver , It shows that the system has been adjusted , it will be used . Adjust the volume you like when you speak to the speaskers to avoid a sharp voice conducted by them.

Note:
Don' t put a CD system or laser system together with the main unit to avoid them disturbing each other.

If you want the radio sender in a good position,don 't tuch the net head of the microphone when you are singing"

Don 't worry, I won 't!

Now, at the risk of boring you, the following very clear instructions appear on a packet of fried seaweed manufactured in the Philippines which I bought recently (the seaweed, that is, not the Philippines):

Using Seaweed cook Soup (Example Scrambled Eggs Soup, Brawn Sausage & Fish Ball Soup) Do fish have balls? I didn't even realise they had fingers until Bird's Eye started selling them.

Fried or Cook Noodles, Water Flour and Macaroni with Seaweed be much delicious.

I bet it be!

Old Friends

Sheila’s mother, Mary, and stepfather, John, came to stay with us on the 29th December. They are going on a Caribbean cruise with my sister-in-law and brother-in-law – on the 14th January. Fortunately, Mary is very fond of ironing – when she comes to stay, I am astounded to doscover how many shirts and T-shirts I own!!

Much more importantly, John, now 85, is a shadow of his former self and I am sad to see the irrevocable decline of his mental and physical state, having known him for more than 27 years. When I first met him, he was an active, intelligent, generous and principled man with many practical skills, and fiercely independent. Now, he is a weak shell in which his former self resides, striving to be remembered; through deafness he struggles to hear what is going on around him, it’s hard for him to remember what has gone before - in any part of his life or a few minutes ago. He is mocked (not to his face, but fondly) – and loved – by all of us, and Mary has had to learn to adopt a level of patience hitherto unnecessary. She seems to cope but I think it is wearing her down.

We went out for a meal the other night with them and some friends, to celebrate my birthday. The conversation turned to what John and Mary had done during the Second World War and it transpired that Mary was writing John’s life story from information he has given her over the years.

I think this is a fascinating idea and everyone should do it for their children. Whether or not the things you do in your life are interesting (or right or wrong) is irrelevant – your children should know about them. I think I am going to try and write mine!