20 May 2015

And Then Some Proper History….

I had another one of those moments you occasionally get from Blogs you read. This gem was on that nice John Redwood's Blog way down amongst the comments and thought me to myself and I, "Oh boy! I always loved that one!"

Round about now you're probably thinking, "Loved wot one then?" Right? Well. I'm going to tell y'all. Oh, you've gone.

If you happen to come back, possibly as the result of an erroneous click of the track-mouse, you'll find the full version if you click and search over at the truly wonderful, Make 'em Laugh link. However, to save having to go through the complication of moving that pointy, cursing thingy way over to the left, that's left as you look at the screen, and doing that searching stuff, just click here; Make 'em Laugh. It's the classic, The Magna Charter by Marriott Edgar.

Please remember to adopt an 'in-head' accent appropriate to way oop north should you be from one of those areas that, according to legend, lie somewhere in the mist to the south of Sheffield.

Nay lad, not that far oop north; that be Scotladoom. Get thee self down a bit. A lille bit more. Somewur close t' wur't cotton mills an' all used t' be. Got it? Then you're, like, good to go. Innit.

The pertinent verse, as noted in the comment where I ran into him, for this day and age wot we find ourselves in – or at – is the last verse;

And it's through that there Magna Charter,
As were made by the Barons of old,
That in England today we can do what we like,
So long as we do what we're told.

Quote;  Napoleon Bonaparte.

"History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon."

19 May 2015

And Then A Claim….

This post is a pointer to a little bit of history. This is a very cleaver way of saying I've nothing of import to type so I'm resorting to linking to past posts. Come to think of it, I can't remember ever having had anything of any import to type.

Anyhoo, you see this bit in the mail? No, not the pouty M & S lady, the story below. Guy got caught eh? And that reminded me of one of my all time favourite stories wot I posted, as close as I could remember to the original tale, back in 2012. Fact or fiction? If indeed fact, I've no idea why we don't hear more tales of this cunning ruse{?} being used. Or is such rues{?} use just kept very quiet?

I hope you enjoy it as much as it's made me smile over the years since I first heard it.

Quote;  Jarod Kintz.

“I called an insurance company to get a quote. They gave me one of Oscar Wilde’s best.”

17 May 2015

And Then I Get A Little Nosey….

A cautionary tale follows.

I may have mused on this before, but why is it that, past a certain age, with every passing year thereafter – nay, month, a fellows facial hair grows ever longer and at an ever increasing pace? I'm not talking top of head  hair here, I'm primarily talking ears, eyebrows and nostrils.

Why do my ears need to be hairy just because I'm old? what's with eyebrows that need hair gel to get them in some semblance of order? Are long eyebrows to compensate for loss of head top hair? Are we supposed to use our new, long eyebrows as a comb-over? Then there's nostril hair. What, in the name of evolution, is that all about when your old?

I'm not a vain person, far from it, I just prefer people I'm talking to to be looking at my eyes rather than roaming around my face marvelling at my nose and eyebrow hair styles of the day.

I'm betting you've tried that ol' nose hair plucking routine, right? Usually while driving which gives the impression to others that your picking that orifice. It's also time consuming is it not?

Not too long ago, while browsing round Boots, or possibly another chemists and I was wearing boots, fading memory does that, my little nest of vipers, a long time complainant of my nosey hair, spotted a little bit o' kit wot promised to cut eyebrows either leaving them long or short depending on the cunning guide used. It also had a sticky-on thingy enabling you to push it up your nose – yeah, I know – and thus remove nostril hair. Really, is this a wonder of modern engineering or wot? How to find out? Yup, buy one I did. Correction; buy one for me she did.

You know what? It actually works and, as a plus, without the eyebrow length guide, he do keep my ears visible.

Now to the note of caution.

This little jobby is powered by a single AA battery. It lasts a long time and you can be lulled into a false sense of power security. Trust me; replace the battery frequently as you will, without doubt, arrive at the day, after missing several trim sessions, when you switch him on, shove him up your nose and, with the batteries last gasp, he'll grab a fist full of nose hair and stop dead. And that is an extremely unpleasant plucking nose sensation. Whoa!! Is that a play on words or wot? My apologies to any Timidadians passing quickly by.

This will leave you with a weird looking machine hanging out your nose and tears streaming down your face. If anyone is watching they will also have tears streaming down their face. Sadly, your tears will be pain induced and theirs will be of uncontrollable mirth.

Remember, the above is a man story and we tend to feel pain even when cutting our toenails. You would also think I'd learned my lesson after the early forays into cutting my own hair would you not?

Quote;  Andy Warhol.

"I had a lot of dates but I decided to stay home and dye my eyebrows."

            Courteney Cox.

"Well, actually, plucking my eyebrows is more of a hobby than
a grooming tip."

15 May 2015

And Then A Gravel Top-up….

A few, or, as it transpired, phew, days ago my little nest of vipers was wandering in the garden when she mentioned the pea gravel had some low spots. I said she was quite right and it just needed a rake over.

I could see by her expression that, although she could see this wasn't too shabby an idea, it wasn't her idea and so to agree with me would show a measure of weakness.
"I be think we get some ton new ton and fill in." Said with a look that said far more.

Guess wot? This is wot we done did.

Take a step back with me for a moment. Yes, we like grass and we did indeed have a lawn. Is there anything as nice as the smell of new cut grass on a lazy summer afternoon? There's always a single prop plane high overhead as well isn't there? And is there honey still for tea? Not since I got the deep fat fryer..…..

Problem with that is you have to cut the grass to experience the smell so, a few years ago, we decided to dig up the turf, lay that weed supressing stuff and plant pea gravel on top. Ten tons of it. Now we sit and enjoy the shifting sunlight on the rustic gravel and soak up the smell of new cut grass as our neighbours toil in the afternoon glow. Yes, and the colours of the flowers and my weeds and the occasional colour of our neighbours language as their lawn mowers encounter stones an' such.

Anyhoo, upon delivery of the gravel, it transpired the delivery truck driver was somewhat of a Timidadian and the closest he would get to the front of the house was so far away his jib wouldn't even get the load onto the car hard-standing. {He'd already ruled out the back, where the original ten tons was dropped off exactly where we needed it, as he wouldn't be able to extend his stabilizing feet the newly required minimum length for a one ton lift.}

back at the front, my suggestion to pull further onto the grass verge, a very wide grass verge, was met with an hour long seminar on the Health and Safety regulations which, in a nutshell, state this is not possible in this day and age. Thus the one ton of pea gravel was left on the verge.

"I believe it's about ten runs with a wheelbarrow. If you have a wheelbarrow." said the cheerful, job done driver.
"I have a wheelbarrow but I call it a barrow as it's of the wheelless type." I whined.
This reminded me of something that goes along the lines of, 'If we had bacon we could have bacon and eggs. If we had eggs.'

What to do? From the position the big bag of gravel was deposited to where the gravel is actually required is a little over thirty meters so let's call it thirty two yards and all I have is a bucket. Three buckets actually. Buckets are a lot like colanders when it comes to having spares.

Much to my surprise, the task was completed in about two and a half hours. I was impressed. Well done her!! Pardon? A break you say? Of course I gave her a break. What sort of person do you take me for? Every tenth bucket I stood up and walked along side her holding a water bottle to her parched lips. I also spelled her for a full fifteen minutes when she collapsed. And let me tell you, those fifteen minutes were tough going as she couldn't drag herself out of the way so I had the disadvantage of having to step over her prone body where she'd fallen right across the path.

What? Oh, come on you lot!! I'm joking, okay? It's a joke for heavens sake! Of course she managed to crawl out of the way!

Quote;  Dave Barry.

“Your basic guy is into a straight-ahead, bottom-line kind of thought process that does not work nearly as well with the infinitely subtle complexities of human relationships as it does with calculating how much gravel is needed to cover a given driveway.”

13 May 2015

And Then It Gets Yet Sadder….

While watching the BBC news today, I couldn't fail but notice it was being presented by that pretty young lady, Joanna Gosling; I was delighted to be able to awarded myself nine out o' ten for observation on that one. A charming lady but I just can't stop my eyes being drawn to her mouth. Am I alone in getting the spooky feeling I'm watching and listening to a really big, slightly lispy, hamster? Or is it hamstress? Okay, alone I probably am.

My apologies girl and for some balance, have you noticed that nice fellow Robert Peston lately? To me, it looks suspiciously like he's slowly morphing into Worzel Gummidge.

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At this point I stopped typing and asked myself, "How much sadder can I get? Hello? Am I there? Or here?"**

Sad? Even sadder when you consider neither of the above folk has a bad word to say about me. As far as I know that is. However, that would probably change if either of them ever found themselves in the unfortunate position of actually having to meet me.

In other BBC news, have you seen their breathless headline?
Fraud probe in Nigel Farage-contested Thanet South seat

I wonder what subliminal  message that'll impart to the casual 'headline reading only' masses as they pass by then.

**At time of posting, answer there's been none.

Quote;  Jerry Seinfeld.

"It's amazing that the amount of news that happens in the world every day always just exactly fits the newspaper."

10 May 2015

And Then, Peace….

It being quite a nice day, her indoors announced she was away to do a little light gardening and that I should also be excited as my services would be required.

I've typed about weeds before, here and here so I wasn't, despite her predictions, all that excited.

With my aim to be to get it over with quite quickly, I stepped into the flower{?} bed she indicated to make a start.

"Be careful not to step on my best plant just behind you." she called out in alarm.
I stepped carefully, and wrongly, backwards the better to see what it was I mustn't tread on.
Looking down I enquired, "This one?"
"No, not that."
"Okay. This one?"
"No, not that."
"Okay. Which one then? I can't see anymore here." Was my puzzled
"The one you be standing on."
I lifted my foot to see a snapped and trampled ex growing thingy.
"Ah, that one! Doesn't look too damaged, right? Lucky really as it's broken off near the bottom so I'm pretty sure it'll just bounce
right back." But her daggery look suggested otherwise.
"Does this mean you're going to sulk and not talk to me for the rest of the day?"
With that question eliciting no answer whatsoever, I quickly finished
the weedy jobby, unsupervised, showered and enjoyed an unexpectedly  peaceful late afternoon way down my corner of the sofa.

This must, coupled with yesterdays events, be irrefutable proof that clouds do indeed have silver linings.

Evening update; the freeze has come to an end and normal services{?} have resumed.

Quote;  Mark Simpson.

“The artistic disposition is little more than an extreme form of sulking.”