A New Car.

A new car, that's what she wants.
"What?" said I.
"I want a new car," says she. "One of them nice little C1's. A pale blue one, I don't want a big one like yours."
"You can't drive," said I. "What do you want a car for?"
"It's only twenty five quid a week," says she. "And you can put it on your insurance."
"You can't fucking drive!" I point out politely.
"Yes I can," says her. "Well, I used to have a provisional but I don't know where it is. I could get another one, a replacement. I want a car."
"You can't get finance without a licence."
"Ah," says she. "You've got a licence."
"Not for long," says I. "If you are going to start defrauding garages."
"I'm not," says she. "I just want a car. You can give me lessons."
She doesn't listen unless it is her doing the talking.
"Get your licence first!"
"I want a car," says she. "Let's go and have a look at one today."
Well, she can sod off. She might want a new car but she's not getting one, not until she gets a licence.

Tossers

Tossers, there is no other word for them.
Let me explain.
The other day I am on my phone checking the tide times for Northumberland so we could go for willicks. Put the right thing in my search engine thingy and got this page up about these mucky women who live nearby who want to show the world dirty pictures of themselves and their cats. Well, pussy was mentioned.
At my age I don't care, I have my woman, so I tried to delete it. I can't! it won't let me!
Why do these people do it? They are just fucking up people's enjoyment of their phones and internet. I could maybe understand if I had tried to find these slappers, but I didn't, so why do they do it?
I am going to have to take my phone down to the Car Phone Warehouse and get it sorted out. Of course they will think I have been looking at mucky websites but what can I do? The kids use my phone to play games and to download shit that costs me a fortune. I don't want the kids seeing such crap and I wish those responsible would pack it in. Tossers.

What a performance II

It's been interesting (verging on traumatic) to say the least.
I moved into my new cottage and all that stuff, repairs, painting etc, it's all going on. I've had more fucking cowboys in here than Warner Bros!
However, that's not what I wanted to say, it's about the internet and those wankers, Talk Talk.
They came to put the internet in at great expense and the hairdresser who did it...(he was no fucking engineer!)...told me it would take a day or so to sort it'self out.
Fine, I can live with that.
Two weeks later, no internet, nothing!
So, young James gets onto them because my manners on the phone to these twats is quite rude.
Five times! twice they promise to send and engineer out and I am still waiting. So! I phones BT Mobile and put it in their hands.
Engineer turned up, a feller I know already.
"Ooo..." says he. "The line he put in doesn't work, it's faulty."
Then he examines the Talk Talk set up.
The box for the phone is eight feet from the floor and doesn't work.
Phoned the bank. "Stop direct debits to T T please."
"No bother," says the bank.
Had a letter off them threatening to charge me over two hundred quid.
Wrote back. "You failed your part of the contract, you will get nothing out of me. Now fuck off."
So, as I said, it's going to be interesting!

Knackered

Knackered, there is no other way to put it.
Yesterday we decided to take young Ellie to see the Tall Ships in Blyth harbour. Off we went and of ciurse once we got to Seaton Sluice it was just a solid traffic jam to Blyth.
Right, cancel Blyth, we went to Newbiggin and had fish and chips and then decided to go to Sugar Sands to pick willick, or winkles to the rest of the world.
So there I was, all summery, shorts, white shirt, lovely. Making my way across sea weed covered rocks when of course I slipped and headed sideways for a big rock. I hurt my shoulder a few weeks back when an idiot dropped a settee on it and it was just getting better. So, down I went, fourteen stones landing on the same shoulder and now I can barely move it. I'll have to cancel Khan's vet visit.
I'll be stuck in the house for days, if not weeks and that is why I use the colourful vernacular, Knackered.

I need a muzzle

I need a muzzle. Well, it's not actually for me although I am sure a couple of folk would suggest different, it's for Numb Nuts. He has to go to the vet's on Tuesday because last week he was limping but that's gone now. Mind, he still puts it on when he is getting told off, a regular occurrence with him, he is such a thieving sod! You can't leave anything unattended on the kitchen benches (or anywhere else for that matter) because he pinches it and eats it.
Howsomever, I am still taking him to the vet's because I need to have him chipped and generally checked out.  The muzzle is for the vet's benefit on the grounds that Khan will bite him the instant the needle goes into his neck, he is like that. He has bitten me twice, once for freeing his paw which he had managed to get jammed in the steps and once for kicking a slice of bread he was eating.
I can't allow him to bite the vet because the vet will have him chucked off his register and for that reason alone, I need a muzzle.

And I am back!

And I am back! Not that I have ever been away. No, been nowhere unless you count a few tourist spots around this septic isle of ours. And, talking about tourist spots, they are taking the piss in some places, they really are.
So, where have I been?
Well, I moved house and now I live in a two bedder overlooking one of Sunderlands tourist spots, Margaret Thompson Park. She was the wife of some big time ship builder in the days when this country had something to brag about, you know, during the industrial glory days before Mad Maggie fell out with the unions. Anyway, the point is, I moved house, nearly broke my shoulder doing it because an idiot dropped a sofa on me and had no tinternet, the two facts not being too closely related.
Well, tinternet is back on, had it done yesterday. Now I can watch anything I want, when I want but more important I can access anything anywhere with none to gainsay me.
Oh! and I have a new dog. Well, my old dog (the long haired German shepherd) had gastro enteritis and her back end had gone and she was in terrific pain so she had a lethal injection. I can think of a couple of people I would rather have put to sleep before my dog but never mind.
The new dog is an American Akita called Khan who is a daft as a ship's cat. Loves people, especially kids and thinks the whole world wants to meet him but he doesn't like aggressive dogs. He turns nasty. He is only a pup himself really, but he is a big pup, big and strong.
So, that's me on tinternet again and that is why I so cheerfully state, I am back!

I have been away.

I have been away. Well, actually I haven't been anywhere apart from a couple of places around this septic isle such as High Force, Whitby and places of cash draining capabilities.
Right then, before I forget let me tell you about Whitby.
We got in the car, me, Jackie, her daughter Angela, (or as I call her, Crangela) and Jackie's granddaughter Alyssa, (or as I call her, Oh No!) So, we all got in the car, my new Zafira, (bit of news there for later) and set off for Whitby. That was my first mistake, I asked Jackie to put 'Whitby' into my sat-nav. How was I to know that she can't sodding well spell! Off we set, me following the directions of the sat-nav like a good little soldier. After a couple of hours I was thinking that it should only take an hour or so and we were still on the motorway. Then I saw signs for the Leeds and Bradford airport and pulled off to check the sat-nav. The idiot hadn't put Whitby, she had put Whisby, a place near Lincoln. I was on my way to fucking Lincolnshire!
Ninety one miles past my bleeding destination! That's where I was!
Bet you can't guess what I called her. No wonder her daughter is thick, she gets it from her mother!
Right, what was I talking about?
Oh yes, being away.
Normally that would be a euphemism meaning I had been on prison, but I haven't, no internet connection so I was off-line. Oh yes, I am learning the jargon.
Moving into a new cottage in a couple or three weeks too, got myself a new car and the DVLA couldn't find my records.
STILL haven't got a publisher but I will try again now I have got tinternet back.
Life is still enjoyably interesting but as far as my little vignettes are concerned, I have been away.

Three Nil

Three Nil, or to put it another way, 3-0.
Yesterday afternoon was the derby against Newcastle or as Joe calls them, the black and white bastards. We couldn't get tickets so Joe dropped his laptop off so we could watch it live on some app he has got that I haven't got on mine. He put it on and buggered off to the match because he had a ticket. Quarter of an hour before kick-off and it went on the blink, turned gangster on us in fact and we couldn't get it back on because Joe's instructions over the phone were gibberish to me.
Then our Jimmy phoned up. "Hey!" says he. "Are you coming round to watch the match? I've got some drink in and Helen is coming down as well."
Good enough for me, it took us about five minutes to walk round there and pour myself a vodka just in time for kick-off. Newcastle were all over Sunderland until Collochini got sent off. He shouldn't have because he didn't actually touch the other player. Never mind, he did get sent off.
The game was ruined after that and personally I don't like cheats no matter who they play for.
Anyway, by the end of the game I had polished off a bottle of vodka and half a bottle of whisky. Jackie said I was falling all over and was in bed for about six bells. I've got scrapes and wounds all over me from falling over so she says. Personally I think she took the opportunity to beat me up, she is sneaky like that. However! I don't give a Fiddler's we won three nil!

I forgot to mention.

I forgot to mention Angela's little dog, Poxy Roxy.
Angela is Jackie's daughter, she is thirty going on ten. She wanted a dog a couple of weeks ago so we took her to Cleadon kennels where she paid sixty five quid for a miniature Jack Russel bitch. It's dafter than Numb Nuts and actually tries to pick fights with him. Tara ignores the pair of them.
Yes, Angela;s Poxy Roxy, I forgot to mention that.

Numb Nuts

Numb Nuts, that's what he SHOULD be called.
I was talking to young Rebecca the other day, well, she's lovely and I have adopted her to all intents and purposes. She's just gone twenty and she isn't sure which side she is batting for, but she will work it out in her own way.
Anyway, I was talking to her.
 A couple of weeks prior she had bought a mastiff from the internet for fifty quid, a lovely dog too. So, and I have no reason why I did this really, I asked her to see if she could find me a young German Shepherd. Well, Tara is getting old now, she is about ten and having just had an operation to have a cyst removed she is not recovering as quickly as a young dog would.
So, I asked Becks to trawl tinternet and I hadn't got over the road before the phone was ringing.
"What!" said I in my best bedside manner, me being a doctor and all. Not a medical doctor you understand, but I'll have a good look at it for you.
"I've found a dog for you!" cries the unsure one. "It's an American Akita pup, at Gateshead."
"How much?" says me, turning round in the middle of the road and upsetting a driver who had to brake and blow his horn. He got a finger, he wasn't worth two.
"Forty quid!" says Becks.
"That's cheap," says I. "There must be something wrong with it."
I arrived back at the shop and turned the phone off, not much point talking to her on the phone if she is standing in front of me.
So, she shows me a picture on her phone and it seemed that the couple flogging the dog just wanted rid of him because they were moving house and the new landlord didn't allow pets.
Off we went to Gateshead and purchased this dog, an American Akita called Khan. No bother at all in the car despite the fact that he is less than a year old and is already bigger than Tara who is 103 pounds! Head out of the car window, all that, loved it.
Got him back, Tara put him in his place and then it started. He steals everything he can get his teeth into, opens packages, destroys letters, chases his own tail, plays with little dogs and anything that squeaks, wants to play all the time, sits beside the car because he thinks it is his, fights with Jackie and anybody who wants to tussle and follows me like a bad smell.
Jumps on the bed to wake you up, the dog is a complete pratt!
I don't know who named him Khan, but they should have called him Numb Nuts.

What a Performance!

What a performance! It's been a funny ould month to say the least. We, (me and Joe Percy) finally (we thought) got a publisher. Sent all the stuff away, waited for a contract and got a refusal. Very disappointing to say the least. But no worries, we have girded our loins and strengthened the weak knees and faint heart and are ready to try again. My idea is to give something to charity and get an introduction to a publisher that way. We will see, but any advice would be great and we would be grateful.
That's not all. I bought a dog. He is called Khan and he is a pedigree American Akita' Nine months old and huge. He is also as thick as a bull's lug, wants to play all day and thinks even flies should be chased around and killed. I agree there of course.
Hold on, that's not all!
My other dog, Tara the pedigree German Shepherd (long haired) had a growth on her boob, a mammary cyst, so I took her to the PDSA, me being a pensioner and everything. They operated and she pulled the drain and stitches out! So they did it all again!
So, all in all it's been a queer ould month, what with recalcitrant publishers, hooligan Akitas, dogs undoing the vet's work, a sister who should be in a mental institute and a car that thinks petrol comes out of a tap. No wonder I am always skint. What a performance!

We Enjoyed It

We enjoyed it last night.
The little-un goes to dancing classes and last night they had a show on at the Royalty Theatre with all kinds of singing and dancing. The kids were from about four up to school leavers and it was brilliant. We took our Jack who is coming up to sixteen and even he enjoyed it although he wouldn't admit it. Well. no young lad is going to admit he enjoyed anything as girlie as that, but he did.
All for cancer research as well. and the place was packed out so they did well.
Oh yes, I never thought I would be saying I went to the theatre, but we enjoyed it last night.

She's a Pain in the Arse

She's a pain in the arse, she really is. I am referring to my little sister. Well, actually she is technically my only sister now, but either way you look at it she is still a pain in the rectum. We all went out for a jar on Saturday night and she was happy enough, dancing and generally making a fool of herself, so I left her to it, just carried on having a good craic with sundry friends. Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, she went for another lass. It would seem that she thought the lass was someone else.
Anyway, we all ended up getting tossed out of the bar so that was the night ruined by my little (and only) sister.
I told you, she's a pain in the arse.

My Car Is Dead

My car is dead, defunct, no longer with us. It has gone to join the heavenly choir in excelsium. It is what is commonly called, knackered. It was a great car and I had it for nearly two years, nothing wrong with it. Then, just about a week or so ago the clutch started to slip. It was going to cost about two hundred quid and once a car starts costing that sort of dosh it has to go, so it went. I've got a Clio now, nice little car but it's not the same as my Fiesta. Jackie got the hump of course.
"YOU GOT RID OF DAISY!" she cried. "BASTARD!"
Well, you can't please everybody.
I wish I could get rid of some of the females in my family as easily as I got rid of Daisy.
So, a new car because I had no choice, my car is dead.

There's loads of them!

There's loads of them! Let's have it right, everybody is entitled to have a family, it's only normal; but my lot are taking the piss! Every day more of them come out of the woodwork. The other day, Valentine's Day actually, I took Jackie out for a meal, one of those special VD package things. Ha Ha, VD, that didn't come out the way it was meant. Valentine's Day, okay?
So, out for a VD meal and let me say, they took the piss! The drinks were included in the price but the drinks were quite simply not worth the bother. So I said to the waitress that we didn't want those drinks, we wanted our own selection, Archers and, and Bells and.
"Oh sir," says the one track minded moron. "If I don't charge for the drinks it won't be a VD meal!"
"Wonderful," says I. "In that case, get the drinks, you drink them and bring us what we want, okay?"
She did that, nine quid for two drinks! Daylight robbery.
Anyway, that's not the point, the point is that after we had eaten our steaks and Jackie had pinched the centre-piece and tea candle off the table, thieving little toe rag, we went to the establishment of a friend of ours who can't tell time. In there, quaffing the best of whiskey with my brother Jimmy and his better half, Pauline. In comes our Joe and our Kevin, being abusive and rude as usual so me and James went outside to have a fag and give the seagulls a bad cough.
A taxi pulled up and two females got out.
"For fuck's sake," says Jimmy, politely.
It is our sister Wendy and she is only little, but she has got an even smaller lady with her, it is my uncle Harry's daughter, Bernadette, or, as she is better known, little Bernie.
Mind, fair is fair, she's lovely but the rounds were coming to twenty odd quid by then and that 'includes' special discounts because my pal cannot only not tell time, he likes round figures, easy to calculate.
We rolled out of there after four bells in the early morning, legless.
The point is that there were eight family members there! I told you, there are loads of them.

Where's my car!

I looked out of the bedroom window this morning and said to Jackie, "Where's my car?"
She looked.
"There!" says she. "Under the snow."
A pile of snow in my yard, well, in everyone's yard I expect. Sodding snow, don't like it. The best place for snow is on christmas cards.
I went down and swept the snow off my car and turned the engine on to warm things up. Left that running and went back upstairs.
"Poxy snow," said me, apropos to nothing at all.
She said, "Stop moaning. You are like an old woman sometimes."
I said. "Speaking of old women. There was a thing on the telly this morning about this woman who has a cat, and this cat goes out every morning in the garden, digs a hole, has a crap in it then fills the hole in again."
Jackie says, "All cats do that."
I responded with, "Not with a fucking shovel!"
I could hear her laughing when I was down in the yard, she's easily amused.
Poxy snow, hiding people's cars.

Nothing but a charlatan

He was nothing but a charlatan, no other way to put it. We have this telly. It's a big one but we don't use it as a telly, I just use it to play on my playstation, nothing else, oh, and to watch DVDs. If Jackie wants to watch telly, she's got her own in another room. Anyway, my big one kept buggering up, turning itself off and refusing to turn on again. So we found this expert and he came and took it away for 80 quid. Phoned up a few days later, just before xmas in fact. "Got to order a part, be done just after xmas!" The lying toe rag!
We got it back last friday afternoon 9th Jan and it wasn't repaired. So, me on the phone, less than polite. This morning he gave us the money back and slunk off, tail between legs. So, this afternoon I went to see a decent enough lad, runs a repair shop.
"Ha!" says he. "This curcuit board hasn't been renewed! It's just had a couple of the components changed, costing about £2:50p"
"Can you fix it?" says I.
"No bother. Got one of these boards in stock. Cost you forty quid."
Had my telly back in half an hour, full working order, Jackie WILL be pleased.
So, the toe rag was ripping me off, he may regret that when I tell everyone else about it. He was simply robbing me. At least in the old days when I robbed people I had the decency and common courtesy to point a shotgun at them first!
The toe rag is nothing but a charlatan.

It's a jungle out there

It's a jungle out there, it really is. It's not as though I live in a bad area, I don't. It used to be a bad area thirty years ago, but it's gone a bit up-market since I was a marauding bandit in the bad old days. Having said all that, in the last few months the place is going to hell in a barrow, the police are finding dead people all over the place, one a week practically. The latest one is right next door to me!
We woke up on sunday morning and Jackie said that  the front and back were cordoned off, police cars all over the place. The back was sealed off too with tjat tape that says we mustn't cross, scene of crime stuff. I opened ,my electronic gate at the back to get my car out but a horde of boys in blue told me to shut it again, scene of crime.
Anyway, they had found a stiff in the next flat, blood all over the place. That was sunday, today is wednesday and they are still there!
I'm telling you, it;s a junglr out there!

You couldn't make it up

Ypu couldn't make it up, not at all. There I was this afternoon, lying on the settee looking for work and it occurred to me that I was surrounded by more animals than Dr Doolittle, or in my case, Dr Dofuckall. I had two budgies in a cage whistling like a sailor in a knocking shop; I had a cat called Grey lying on my chest trying to rip my skin off and purring with another cat called Kia lying looking at the budgie cage and licking it's lips. Lying next to the couch was the biggest, fattest, hairiest long haired shepherd on the planet, watching the cats closely. I thought to myself, fuck it, let them kill each other, and went to sleep. Well, you couldn't make it up.t

The new lady

There is a new lady in my life and I have got to say it, she's magic. I have known Jackie for a long time but it is only recently that we have become an item, so to speak. Best thing I ever did really, she looks after me well, no two ways about it. Of course we shouldn't be expected to see eye to eye in everything, but oddly enough, we do! Oh well, all I can say is that I am delighted that there is a new lady in my life.

My Back Is Sore

My back is sore through buggering about on horseback.
Now, I know perfectly well that people of my age shouldn't even be riding spirited horses, let alone buggering about like a rodeo clown, but my trouble is that I don't listen to good advice, especially not my own. So now I've got a sore back.
Anyway, three o'clock this morning and I was woken up by the world's ugliest mutt shoving her face into mine.
"What do you want?" I asked, not unreasonably I thought. "Want to go toilet?"
So I got up despite my sore back, toddled all the way down to my kitchen door, unlocked it, opened it wide and looked around. No Tara.
Back upstairs and there she is, gone back to sleep beside my bed.
"Bastard!" I thought, and went back to sleep myself. Half an hour later I am woken up again, this time she is snoring, kicking her back leg and making funny noises in between snores. It's not even funny!
I mean to say, nobody likes a joke better than I do, but there is a point where a joke ceases to be a joke and turns into taking the piss.
Me with a bad back too!

Nothing To Do With Her.

Apparently she has decided that it's got nothing to do with her, guarding the place is for lesser mortals (like me) while she lies there, yawning and watching the world cup. I'm not exactly sure who she wants to win it, she hasn't told me.
By the way, I am talking about my alleged guard dog, Tara.
I got my CCTV all working and everything, my premises is now idiot-proof, so I suppose that's why Tara no longer she feels the urge to bark when anyone arrives to be rude to me or ask for directions to the nearest massage parlour.
So, there she lies, practically comatose while I run around doing everything. She even lies down to casually eat her food! I call it just lazy. Of course she is popular. "Oooo!" cry several people a day as she ambles past, taking me for my daily perambulation, "Isn't she lovely!" Yeah! Right! Lazing around all day doing bugger all she has got the time to be lovely, I'm just surprised she hasn't started painting her nails yet.
As for any sort of reaction when the door bell rings, forget it, it's got nothing to do with her.

The Simple Fact is, I Am Dim

Can't get away from it, the facts of the matter are plain, even to a blind man. (Am I allowed to say that in these days of political correctness gone mad? I know I can't say Lesbians any more, I have to say "Ladies in sensible shoes.")
Ha! They are all looking down at their feet now and whispering to their friends, "Would you call these shoes, sensible?"
To get back to the point, I am basically dim, can't be denied.
I was going for a chat with the twins and was warned by a well-meaning idiot, "Watch them, they can turn nasty after a drink."
They are lovely really, Angie and Tishy, lovely ladies.
So, our hero, (that's me for those dimmer than I am) sits down between them and I put my arms around them, one arm each. Well, any more would be an extravagance and show favouritism. So, we are having a chat and as is my wont, I was very forthright with my words. They chased me with a view to reorganising my face for me. There was a lot of laughter, but that was the twins, I was busy screaming.
So, when they let me go and returned to stirring their cauldron... I mean to say, all I said was, "Right, when is Cinderella getting here?"
"What do you mean?" asked either Angie or Tishy.
"Well," said I. "We've got the two ugly sisters, I was just wondering..." and that was as far as I got.
Afterwards my pal told me, "I told you!" he said, but, well, you know me, the simple fact is, I am dim.

It's All Relative Really

It's true! It's all relative really. One man's security system is another man's pain in the arse, especially if you are a burglar just trying to earn an honest crust during the hours of darkness.
Where was I?
Right!. Today I got my security system all sorted out. The rear of my own place can only be reached through electronic, steel shutters, then up a steel fire escape and through my rear security door. That wasn't good enough for me, I decided to put in a CCTV to watch my back yard and door. Today I got my camera, any movements turns it on so let's hope the sparrows understand the flashing lights and machine gun nests.
I also got my monitor and recorder box thing, plus a very fancy cabinet to put it all in. I was going to put another camera outside the front door but let's be pragmatic here, burglars never come through the front door, especially when it is only feet away from a bus stop. All I need now is for our Joe to have a day off work to put it all in for me.
"I'll have to drill through two walls!" he cried.
"Lovely." was my reply.
I think he is off work on Thursday.
So, if the burglars can get past the electronic gates, the cameras, the rabid dog, machine gun nests, mine field and security door, then they will discover that I have got fuck all worth pinching anyway because as I stated earlier, it's all relative really.

Chatting Idly

So, there I was, sitting comfortably in the sun, dog at my feet and snoozing, watching my horses munching away at the good grass that is coming through. A peaceful, sedate scene by anyone's standards. Unfortunately it never stays that way with me; Along came a spider.
Well, it wasn't a spider, not really, it was one of the horsey set, a friend.
So, she sits next to me and after a minute or two says, "Freddie!" because that is what she calls me. "Freddie! You haven't got a girlfriend, have you?"
I said, "No. I'm a bit gun-shy in that direction at the minute."
"Ooo," says she. "Why is that then?"
"Because," said I. "I had a bad experience recently."
"With a woman?" asks she, eruditely.
"No," says I. "With a duck."
"Alright," says she. "No need for sarcasm. When did you have the bad experience?"
"Nineteen Seventy Three."
Of course she thought that was hilarious and while she was laughing I took the opportunity to bugger off with the dog. Well, the conversation was treading on thin ice in my opinion.
Oh yes, never get into idle chats with single females, even pretty ones in the horsey set. Pretty soon you won't be able to claim your saddle as your own.

More Protective by the Day

More protective by the day, that's what she is getting, downright territorial!
I have had the new flat just over a fortnight now and I am pleased to say that it is more or less all finished although I am still not actually living there, not yet. That's not what I am talking about, I am telling a shaggy dog story here, and if there was ever a shaggy dog, it's my dog Tara. She is a long-haired German shepherd, as ragged as a whore's knickers when the fleet is in town. Anyway, I take her with me everywhere I go and that includes the flat.
When I first took her there she wasn't all that keen, a new place and all that sort of thing; But now she is used to the place she wanders around as if she owns it, and in her eyes she probably does. At first when anyone came to the door she would stick her ears up, give a little bark and then look at me as though to ask for approval.
Not now.
Now she follows me everywhere. She lies at my feet when I am sitting on the sofa and if I get up to get the paper or something, she follows right on my heels. She won't let me out of her sight and even tries to come into the bathroom with me. AND! if someone knocks on the door she charges downstairs barking like a loonie, and let's have it right, being a big dog she's got a big bark. Got big teeth as well come to that. Still, I suppose she has to earn her corn somehow so she is becoming the world's silliest guard dog, she even chases flies! That's all well and good, but she's over six stones and clumsy with it, it's not funny sometimes. I have had to put all breakables where she can't knock em off or over and she is getting territorial, more protective by the day.

I certainly Attract Them

Well, I certainly attract them, the lame, halt, lazy, weird and wonderful. I got myself a flat as a sort of interim measure to better things; Well, Joe is going to have a new bathroom, new kitchen, chimney breast removed and other major work done on the house. So the place will be a building site for a little while. I needed a place so I went and got one, as you do. Nice place, above a friend's shop, bathroom and kitchen are new and the bedroom is big, but nothing like as big as the sitting room which is enormous! It used to be two bedrooms but is now just one big room, you need opera glasses to watch the telly! So, I have done it all, painted, fully carpeted, the works. Nice furniture, all that, it only needed the curtains. However, the windows go with the rest of the place, massive, so I had to buy big curtains. Then I had to work out how to put them up, never having had to do such a thing before. So, I was talking about it to my brother and a pal and this strange female, (well known to my brother,) offered to have a look and tell me what I needed to do. Half an hour later a friend tells me that this woman is pissed out of her brains and running me down saying that I am after her.
Why is life full of the weirdos and cranks that it seems full off, and why do I attract them? And make no mistake about it, I certainly attract them!

A Nasty Piece of Work

What a nasty piece of work. Anyone who knows me, or of me or who has read my blog from time to time knows that I have met and associated with a few nasty pieces of work over the years, and there are many who thinks and say I am one myself. However, I used to associate with a female, nothing special, just an association that went wrong through her choice, not mine. She told me to go away only not using those precise words. Then the horrible texts started so I had to block her and all the rest of it. Well, I didn't hear from the horrible cow for a while and then she must have got hold of another phone or something because she started again. I told her to 'fuck off' but she wouldn't. I have had to block her again. I kid you not, she is nothing short of vermin, a nasty piece of work.

Now we know.

Now we know why she died. Apparently it was a build-up of fatty tissue around her heart. She wouldn't have known a thing, just went to sleep and that was it. It doesn't seem right to me somehow, she was what is called 'a happy bunny' full of life. It is true what they say, there is no justice in this world, but for what good it does, at least now we know.

Ellen Jane.

My little sister died this morning and we don't know why. Her name was Ellen Jane

My family.

My family! I just thought I would mention them. I have five brothers and three sisters although there have been losses, not all of them are still with us. Okay, there are eight of us left and in our turn we have our children. Okay, not all of us have children, (all in their mature ages by now of course)  but between us there are twenty one children. Those children, in their turn have got children! Let's say they average 2.5 each! that still comes to over eighty people, and that's not counting cousins! I told you, it's an extended family!
Okay, we have the whole gamut amongst that lot, We have the nasty ones, that includes me I suppose, the silly, the grumpy and the downright insane. The piss-heads and the dick-heads and all stops in between. We are as dysfunctional as the best of them, but they are all MY family.

We've got a plan!

We've got a plan! A couple of members of my family, ( and incidentally, I have a huge, extended family,) have decided that before the autumn sets in we are going to buy our own piece of land with stables out in the sticks somewhere. We are looking for several acres to turn into paddocks, stabling and tack room for up to ten horses and of course a house to go with it. It's no use moving caravans or trailers on there, we don't want it looking like a trailer park or a gypsy caravan site. It is a revelation how many of the clan want to get away from the conurbations and live a quiet life. It won't be cheap, but that's okay, we've got a plan!

One Last Fling!

I was all snug this morning when I woke up at about 4.30 am. No idea what woke me but when I stuck my nose out from under the duvet it was cold. Sleeping with the window wide open as I do, (I need fresh air, can't sleep in a stuffy room) the cold gets into the room easily. However, this wasn't just cold, it was COLD!
Here we are, March, the winter should be over by now. We should be getting winds and , March winds, not sodding cold. Mind, we often get snow up to Easter time so I am not surprised. Anyway, it's a bit windy and cold, and I have got to go up the stables and see to the Gee-Gees.
Maybe the winter isn't finished with us yet. Perhaps it is having one last fling.

Creative writing

Me and Tara (the dog) went down to the stables this afternoon to see to the horses. We've only got three horses down at the bottom stables, the other two are up at the top stables because one is very old and the other very young. Tilly is the young one, the one which thinks kicking me is a great game. Anyway, we put Samson, Chloe and Sadie in the paddock to roll about in the mud and then it started to rain so me and the dog retreated into the car and I fell asleep with the dog dribbling all over me. Very pleasant hour I had too, woke up feeling like shit so I put the horses away and called it a day. All I am doing now is sitting at the computer pretending to be a policeman ...I am doing creative writing.

Cabbages and Kings

"The time has come!" The walrus said,
"To speak of many things.
Of balls of string and sealing wax,
Of cabbages and kings."

The new girlfiend

There is a mystery on the scene!
I have met this new lady, she 'seems' really nice. Considerate, slim, very attractive, and she smells nice. I ask no questions, nobody expects a virgin at my age, ha ha ha. We will see, all I can say for now is, there is a mystery on the scene, a new girlfriend.

It's the cheese

It's the cheese! It's not the whisky, that just puts you to Bo Peep, no it's the cheese. What you need is cheese, a really strong, bordering on the disgusting cheese. You are guaranteed dreams and possible, if you are lucky, a nightmare. Oh I love a good nightmare because somehow, no matter how bad the dream is, I always know it's a dream,. I can wake myself up at will, more or less. But, if you want a good dream, get a strong cheese, It's the cheese that does it.

Stephen Grellet 1773-1855

I expect to pass through this world but once; any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.


I had a girlfriend once, I called her 'The Crown Jewels' because you could look, but you couldn't touch.
Frank Wilkinson 1946-

Two Cats Was All It Took

Down at the stables Michael had chickens. One by one they were disappearing and we suspected a fox was getting them. Their numbers slowly decreased until at the end of last week there were only three left. A fox had even been seen, I saw one myself.
Anyway, today there are no chickens and Michael caught the culprits in the act, two ginger cats, sitting waiting patiently inside the now empty chicken house, an old stable.
So, all this time we had suspected a fox when really all it took to get rid of two dozen chickens was a couple of cats.

Mud.

Mud! It was everywhere.
Down the stables this morning and I took Chloe into the exercise paddock. It has quite a depth of mud so that the horses have to work hard when they trot round. Anyway, as I say, went in with her and my feet sank into the mud up to the tops of my wellies, I couldn.t move! Of course Chloe shoved me and down I went, splatt! Up to the waist in it, thick, gooey and probably attractive to alligators for all I know. I was lucky really because the horse stood all over me but only shoved me into the soft mud, no harm done, not even a bruise.
Michael said, "That was unlucky! If we had got that on video we could have got two hundred and fifty quid from 'You've Been Framed."
I said, "Alright, I'll do it again, I can't get any dirtier, I'm already thick with mud."

It could be worse.

Sometimes I wonder about the people I read about or read from on this page.
Well, whoever they are, I hope that they are well and that they are happy.
Am I happy?
It aint so bad.
It could be worse.

Sincerity

It occurs to me that from time to time I may offend people. Well, I just want to say that if I ever say anything which does cause offence, may I say with the greatest humility and sincerity that I couldn't give a shit.

Ha Ha.

Ha Ha! I have blocked her, change3d my passwords, everything. I am rid of the vicious cow. Ha Ha!

Had a great day

Had a great day today. Nothing earth shattering or anything like that, but I stood with a horse resting it's head over my shoulder and a dog actually lying on my feet. Okay, it's not much, but it means a lot to me. The fact that I have a new woman in my life and a silly nineteen year old who wants to be my new girlfriend is by the way. It's the John Wayne impressions that do it you know. Anyway, what I am trying to say is that today was special, I had a great day today.

I told you!

I told you that she is weird! Now she is making sort of veiled threats and demanding something or other, who knows? Anyway, I have changed my passwords so she can't meddle with things. I wish she would go away, but I told you, she is weird.

Wierdos

Her name is Yvonne and she is weird. I have been trying to delete her from my circles but I don't know how to. Unfortunately that means when I post anything she gets it too and thinks it is meant for her. She gets nasty. So, if anyone can tell me how to get rid of her, I would appreciate it, she is weird.

Me being rude.

Going to bed now, so, fuck off

Bad thing.

The only bad thing that your mum will ever do is, one day she will die and leave you

lovely person

I just read about Jessica, what a lovely person.

I don't know what I am doing.

Sometimes...well, most of the time really, I don't know what I am doing.
Unfortunately, and this will be readily attested to by all who know me, the above is a true statement.
However, every now and then, once in a blue moon so to speak, I get something right.
Ha! At this point someone will be thinking, "What did he get right?"
Can't tell you that, it is classified information.
It's not really, it's just that I am afraid that if I say too much too soon I will make a mess of it, or someone else will, so until I am on more solid ground, I'm saying nuttin'.
Let it suffice for me to hint, I met a nice person, she is lovely, both internally and out-ternally. (That's not a real word, but it should be.)
I don't want to make a bollix of it, so I am taking everything with caution. Basically because I normally don't know what I am doing.

I was conned

I haven't been awake very long but long enough to know that I have been conned.
I went to bed last night full of strong cheese and equally strong whisky, fully expecting a night of weird dreams. What did I get? Nada, zilch, zero, nuttin', nowt, sweet bugger all.
Slept like a baby, (that'll be the whisky) and not a dream in sight, nasty or otherwise.
So, the gobshite who told me about the dreams and nightmares was telling me porkies, I feel as though I have been had over, ripped off, fooled and mugged off. Basically, I was conned.

Cheese and whisky

Ive just had strong cheese and whisky.
Somebody once told,me that cheese causes nightmares and whisky causes dreams. I should be in for an interesting night.
I have just had very strong cheese and whisky

There is always one.

It's true! There is always one, in this case a bolt that quite simply refuses to cooperate and won't come undone.
Ellen Jane has a cart, a little, light-weight trotting cart, and she wants rid of it. It's been stuck on top of the stable roof for God knows how long but we finally brought it down for her the other day, me and young Charlie. Anyway, Charlie pumped up the tyres after breaking the first pump and we got the thing harnessed up to Samson. Off he went, Charlie, round the block, no bother. So Ellen Jane gets up with him for the second circuit. I stayed with Charlie's Ma waiting for them to get back. They came back with Samson untacked and being led by EJ, Charlie was pulling the cart, a broken shaft.
No harm done, all I need to do is take both shafts, shorten them by about three inches, put them back on and she can flog the useless thing and get another cart.
Easier said than done.
Each shaft is held by two bolts, all I had to do was remove the bolts, shorten the shafts, reseat them, drill new holes and put the bolts back in. Three came out easily, not the fourth. Three times today I have been driving back and forth getting tools, monkey wrenches, grips, socket sets, spanners, allen keys and in the end I got a hacksaw and sawed the bastard off altogether. I'll replace the shafts when my stress levels recover.
There is always one.

It easier to handle a friendly lion than it is to deal with an angry dog

Quote of the day

Life is the same for everyone when you are alone at night in an empty room

Decision made!

I've done it! I have made my mind up. I know what to do about the cuckoo clock AND little Tilly.
I am going to beat her to death with the fucking cuckoo clock.

She's only little

She's only little, about five months old and her name is Tilly, Tilly Trotter. We were down the yard seeing to the horses, feeding, mucking out, that sort of thing and Ellen Jane, (Her who splits her head open and gets five stitches just for a laugh,) said, "Why don't we take Samson and Tilly for a walk?"
"Okay," says I, but Samson wasn't cooperating so we just took Tilly.
So there we were, walking round the track when Tilly decided to stop and refused to move another inch. Well, the world is brand new to her and everything new she encounters has to be stared at for half an hour.
"Come-on! Tilly," cries out hero. (that's me by the way.) And I pulled her lead rope. Ha! She might be little but like all females she has a mind of her own. If she decides she's not moving, she's not moving. So I give the lead rope to Ellen Jane and I get at the arse of the horse to chivvy her along a bit. She lashed out and her leg hit my thigh. Good job it wasn't a hoof and it only hit my thigh, I would have been writing this from an A&E department.
Of course EJ thought it was hilarious.
"Little bastard," I said, could have been referring to either one of them, take your pick.
Anyway, not even a bruise, which was lucky, but there again, she's only little.

Waiting for my chance

So here's me, sitting here just doing my best to ignore the fucking cuckoo clock. Listen! when I bought that nobody told me what a pain in the arse it would be. "Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuck-fucking-oo!"
Now I know why nobody likes the Swiss.
As if that wasn't bad enough it plays a little tune as well.
Well, I've got a plan. The first chance I get I am going to assassinate the little bastard, I will be doing my public duty, I will be doing everyone a favour!
So, until then, I'm just sitting here, waiting for my chance.

Sunday Night, (almost midnight)

It's Sunday night and getting on for the witching hour. I've had a couple of glasses of Scotland's finest golden nectar and I will soon be on my way to my solitary pit. Don't feel sorry, I prefer sleeping alone, I've had a lot of practice. The other day Ellen Jane and the rest of us were sitting at the dining table, satisfying the ravenous beast, (feeding the dog under the table in my case) and out of the blue she said, "You know what I have always wanted...a cuckoo clock."
Fate has a strange way of playing with us because a couple of hours later I went into the Blue shop on Fulwell Road and Kath who runs the place said to me, "Freddy! Wait till you see what I've got for you," went into the back room and came out with a cuckoo clock and all the bits. Mind, it WAS in bits too!
"Look," said she. "It's broken but it will still make a nice ornament. Give me two quid for it."
So I did.
It didn't take Joe very long to get it working and all back together and now we have a cuckoo clock that goes, "Cuckoo!" on the hour and once for every hour, whatever that hour is. THEN it plays a little tune.
Anyway, tonight, Joe videoed it at 11 o'clock...eleven "cuckoos" and a little tune. He said he is putting it on Facebook.
Personally, I am posting this and then finishing my last glass and going to bed, after all, it is almost midnight, Sunday Night.

Early

Something woke me up early this morning, so I am not at my best at all. No idea what it was, I just woke and when I looked at my bedside clock it was just after 5 am. Cripes! the sparrows aren't out of bleedin' bed yet!
Anyway, I wandered downstairs, doing my best not to fall down in the dark and breaking my neck, (and some folk might think THAT'S not a bad idea) ( but we won't mention that, eh?) Went into the kitchen after noticing that Ellen Jane was asleep on the settee. She must have fallen asleep watching the telly and Joe, her husband must have decided to leave her there because she had a quilt over her. Anyway, in the kitchen the dog started shoving me around as usual so I made myself a cuppa, gave Tara another pat and came back upstairs.
I know what I am going to do next. I'll post this scintillating piece of prose, finish my tea and go back to sleep, after all, it's still early.

I don't care much for sly people.

Earlier on tonight I drove all the way to Hartlepool to see someone and when I got there, standing outside the front door after knocking and ringing, I got no answer. Cold it was, standing there like a tin of condensed milk. I knew they were in, they always are. I gave them a ring on their mobile AND the house phone, no response.
Okay, it is entirely their choice who they speak to but at least they should say so, not hide and pretend to be deaf. I don't care much for sly people.

I'm just getting old

I'm just getting old, that's the problem.
The signs are all there. You know the sort of thing; You stand up after sitting for any length of time and you go, "Aaahh," because the knees take a few moments to catch up...You take your time going up stairs...Not much bothers you anymore but at the same time a lot of things start to piss you off.
Ha! I'm glad you mentioned THAT!
Lots of things are starting to piss me off.
For a start, those clowns who can't pull their fucking trousers up! They walk around with their trousers hanging down to their knees, it's trendy. Have they any idea where the practice stems from? It comes from the American prison system. The 'Punks', the 'Bitches', wear their trousers hanging off their arses as a sign that they are available.
THAT pisses me off, trousers hanging down. Another thing that pisses me off are people who can't comb their hair! They have made it trendy to look like they just woke up. They look like fucking tramps!
And of course idiots who ride bikes on pavements. Get on the roads or the cycle lanes, that's what they are there for!
It's raining, rain always pisses me off, either that or perhaps I am just getting old.

I've Been a Bit Busy

Our Michelle asked me the other day, "Have you stopped doing your blog?"
Well, I haven't actually stopped, I've just been a bit busy.
Having said that, when I think about it, I haven't been doing much but it takes a lot of effort, not doing much. I wake up each morning in my extremely comfortable bed, and let me just say this; After over a quarter century of sleeping on Lizzie Windsor's nasty beds, my current bed is bliss. Any mature ladies who want to try it, send me an email. No young women please, I do not need some young lady knocking on my door to tell me that she has a belly full of arms and legs, I'm too old for that bollocks.
Where was I?
Right. I wake up each morning in my comfy kip and I am usually sprawled all over it, it's one of those king size things, loads of pillows, snuggly duvets, it's brilliant. Who would want to get out of such a bed?
I finally persuade myself to get up and once I have had my first cuppa I wander down to the Green and get the papers, come back and sit in the dining room to read them and do the crosswords. Well, I am retired, what have I got to hurry for?
The dog needs taking for a walk, that's usually the next job, but at the same time my little sister Ellen Jane wants a lift down to the yard to see to her horses. She sees to my horse as well so normally I don't mind. I shove Tara into the back of the car, her barking and general anti-social behaviour drawing the attention of the passing populace. I drop EJ off at the yard sometimes, sometimes I stay with her there and do horsey things, but normally I go off on my own with Tara down to the beach or somewhere equally open-spaced. By the time she has had her run about, usually soaking wet and filthy, she gets back into the car and makes the rear seat wet and filthy but I don't mind that, I never sit in the back.
By then of course I am hungry so I drive to somewhere tasty like the café overlooking Roker beach or the Roker Pie Shop or somewhere. Good, wholesome, cheap feed, you can't get vexed.
Then it's usually back to the yard or some other place where I have odd interests of one sort or another, none of them even worth mentioning but they interest me.
Back home by tea time with a bit of luck, seeing various members of the clan and onto my writing while I wait for my tea, and let me say right here, our EJ keeps a good food house, we dine well.
By then, it's dark out so I can't do much else apart from play cards or read on my tablet thing.
We have a few jars then supper of course and before I know where I am I want to go back to my lovely comfy bed, I mentioned it earlier.
So, in response to the question, "Have you stopped doing your blog?" The answer is, "I have been a bit busy."

Happy New Year

Happy New Year!
That is what we are all supposed to charge round doing, wishing each other a HNY, so I am doing it, Happy NY
Well, the season of festivity and generosity is over for another year, just the debauchery left to get through. That time when we get rid of the old and welcome the new, good-will to all men etcetera.
We look back at the year and ask ourselves, "Has it been a good one?"
My response to that is, "It hasn't been a bad one."
A lot of changes from this time last year, then I was stuck in the Home for Gay Sailors with slight prospects of advancement although I had great expectations.
Now?
Well, I am free of the shackles of confinement, living in the arms of my clan, got a dog, got a horse, got a car, got money in my pocket, petrol in my tank and I'm king of the road again!
Still got a long way to go of course. This coming year the plan is to get myself established as a writer and get a decent income from that. It aint going to be easy, but we have got plans.
So, let me wish all and sundry, A Happy New Year

A Christmas Message

Well, it's that time of year again. The time when everybody tries to get on with everyone else and when we all do our best to forgive real or imagined transgressions against us, not always successful may I add. We run to the various supermarkets, loading up trolleys with crap that nobody really wants to eat but it's traditional. We fork out an arm and a leg on booze, all that stuff that we wouldn't have given to us the rest of the year. Sherry, port, eggnog and all the rest of it. Of course we stock up on our favourite tipple, in my case it's scotch whisky, but we get the rum, the brandy, the vodka and all of the stuff for mixes too. No change from £150 quid, not in my case anyway.
But it's worth it!
Everybody who comes to the door during the week between Christmas and New Year gets asked the same question, "What'll you have?"
Well, this year has a special significance for me, it is my first Christmas in twenty eight years with my family and I intend to make a proper job of it. I will sit in my carver chair on Christmas morning with my glass and I will move only to go to bed. I will allow the younger members of the clan to keep on filling my glass and if I am still sober by lunchtime, I'll be disappointed.
Then it's Boxing Day of course, so more boozing, and two days later, my birthday. Hardly seems worth stopping! I may be partying for a while.
Having said all that, I want to say one more thing, Happy Christmas to all of my friends, wherever you are, and remember, it is friends who enrich our lives, I am indeed a rich man.

A good feed.

Our Ellen Jane likes to make sure everyone is fed properly, that's for certain. Take today for instance.
Sleeping in the house this morning there was me, Ellen Jane, her husband Joe and our Kevin who was too pissed last night to go home.
Me, snoozing away until I had to get up for a piddle, had no idea when I went back to sleep that young Joseph was dropping off Alyssa for the day. I only found out when she woke me up ranting and raving as only a child can do, squealing and enjoying her life.
Anyway, that's all beside the point, by about noon when Ellen Jane started the lunch there weas me, Ellen Jane, Big Joe and Alyssa, Kevin had sodded off.
So, EJ is making the lunch, Sunday lunch, she does a great Sunday lunch.
Then Wendy turned up followed by our Michael, his partner Kailey along with little Ben and the new baby. By the time it got to serving up the food there were ten of us!
It didn't even make a ripple in Ellen Jane's day, she fed the lot of us, big meals too!
The dining table is a six seater which can extend to an eight seater, but we all got fed. Oh yes, Ellen Jane keeps a good grub house.

That was easy

It was easy really.
There I was, trying to recover my own blog site which I had managed to lose through my unfailing ability to bugger things up, but I couldn't get it back. I even went so far as to revert to the oracle! Andrew. Him who always seems to have the answer to all of my computer errors. Of course he sent me a step by step method to recover my blog, the trouble was he forgot he was dealing with me, the congenital idiot that I am. I tried to follow his easy steps, but I failed gloriously as usual.
So, there I was, looking at my gmail page when for some reason I went up to 'searcg' at the top and pressed it.
Up came my blog!
Well, that was easy.

Good manners

I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer but it doesn't require an Einstein to work out that somebody is taking the piss.
Yesterday I saw an advert on the telly for selection boxes for the kids for Christmas, buy one, get two free, two to a customer only. This is at Tesco or Asda, can't remember which one. So, in I went to get a couple of these good deals. Were there any to be found? Were there bollocks.
Ah! But they know what they are doing because I came out after buying a pile of other crap for the kids in the clan.
That's the trick you see, make some ridiculous promise that they will never have to keep, just to draw us mugs in and fleece us for our hard earned dosh.
Bandits, that's all they are. At least when I used to rob people I always had the common decency and good manners to point a shotgun at them first.

It never rains in California

Ha! I wish the same could be said for this place.
All night we've had wheelie bins rolling around the back street, windows rattling and these old miner's cottages make a lot of noise in a strong wind, in fact, any sort of wind. Creaking and groaning, it's like a geriatric tart when the fleet is in town.
Anyway, it was a stormy night indeed and when I went out this morning to run a couple of errands and put 'GO' juice in my vehicule the wind was gusting enough to move the car. That's not to mention the driving rain!
Well, it might never rain in southern California, but it does here.

She is only six.
Today she decided that she needed a playmate, guess who she selected!
We keep the dogs out on the decking during the day provided it's not raining. So there I am, sitting quietly waiting for Godot and suddenly I have got a dog trying to get on my lap to lick my face.
In she comes begod, socks hanging off her feet because she doesn't wear her shoes unless she has to.
"Who let the dogs in?" I ask, not unreasonably I thought. "Did you let them in?Pest!"
"Actually," said she, all prim and proper, not easy with your socks hanging off. "Actually it was Tara."
"No it wasn't," I countered. "She can't open doors. It must have been you. Get them out again."
"Can I have some paper?" says she, completely ignoring my instructions.
"What for?"
"I want to draw Santa," says she.
Oh yes, a perfectly sound activity in anyone's book, but the facts speak for themselves. She never actually draws anything apart from squiggly lines, I have to do the drawing.
"Santa?" says I. "You are going to draw Santa, are you?"
"Yes," she lied.
So, I got her paper and she pinched four pens out of my pen cup.
"Draw Santa for me," says she. "I don't know how to do it."
Mind, she is only six!

Why

"Why haven't you been doing your blog?" asked she. Mind, it's not so much an ask as a demand.
"Er," said I wisely, "I was busy."
"Busy? Busy doing what?" asked she.
"Driving you around for a start!" I cried.
Speaking of driving around, I got a fixed penalty notice for Bonfire night, Kier Hardy Way, just outside the Stadium of Shite, 35 mph in what they say is a 40mph zone.
Not just me, hundreds of people got em including a few officials.
Now, at this point I need to point out that everyone thinks it is a 40 zone, it is not a built up area, no houses, nuffink. So the other day I went and checked the speed limit there and would you credit it, there is not one single solitary speed limit sign anywhere on that road, nowt, zero, zilch.
Supposed to guess the speed limit are we?
I wasn't even in Sunderland that day but never mind, I am challenging it.
Why stick a police camera van there on that particular day?
I took my letter to the Fixed Penalty Unit to the post office to post, denying everything. The postmaster took one look at the address and said, "Don't tell me, Kier Hardy Way, Bonfire Night. I've had loads in, all the same place, same day.
I have to ask myself, "Why?"

Parentage

Ellen Jane called me a bastard this morning, so I came back with;
"The best thing about being a bastard is that I don't have to buy anyone a present on Father's Day

Kids'n'dogs

Any man who hates kids and dogs can't be all bad. When I came home last night I had the dog more or less trying my clothes on, she was shoving herself right into me, and she is a big, strong dog, it's not funny. Okay, so she missed me, I accept that, but there is no call for what practically amounts to assault. I told her, I can still hear her sniggering.
Still, at least somebody missed me, but as I say, any man who hates kids and dogs, etcetera.

Enough is enough

I don't think I am unreasonable, not in the grand scheme of things. In fact, by comparison with the poxy government I am positively benevolent! My dog Tara on the other hand is utterly unreasonable.
I took her out this morning, the sun was out, it was nice!
We went over to East Boldon to see the horses, just to make sure that they are okay after the dodgy weather we had yesterday. Got over there and saw the nags, they are fine, gave them half a bag of carrots between them, everybody happy. Then we went for a walk around the tracks of what used to be Boldon Colliery. Of course I told Tara, "Keep out of the water! I don't want my car ruined again."
Did she listen? Did she bollocks.
She must have went through every puddle she could find, she is long-haired, she was filthy.
Well, got her back in the car after a great deal of barking and antisocial behaviour and I was less than delighted at the mess she was making of my back seats.
Back home and it started to rain.
What did my very own grizzly bear do?
She went outside onto the decking and decided to lie down in the rain. She only came in again after being bullied into it. She's got the dining room like a tip!
I'm not kidding, if she's not careful I will get rid of her and get a gerbil. I mean to say, it's not as if I am an unreasonable man, but enough is enough.

Sleeping with myself.

This morning it was Yvonne who woke me up. Well, you know how their minds work, I'm awake, everybody has to be awake. So, went back to snoozing again and the door crashed open, Ellen Jane.
"You awake?"
"I am now," I replied, not unreasonably, I thought.
"Are we going to see the horses this morning then?" she asked. Well, not asked exactly, more a demand really.
"Yes. Now bugger off," said I, as politely as I could under the circumstances.
"Get yourself up then," was her parting shot.
I like my bedroom, it's full of horsey things, computer, stuff like that.
It's my little place.
Actually it's quite a big place but it's still full of stuff.
I retire here at night and sleep the sleep of the hard-done-by, quite comfortable in my own bed. Leave me alone and I'll sleep the day away quite happily, but this morning it was Yvonne who woke me up.

So there I was, sitting in the weak sunshine in Roker Park, gracing a bench with my illustrious presence. Tara, the miniature Grizzly Bear was sitting next to me, giving me the eye and sort of saying under her teeth, "Go, I dare you. Try to grab my stick!"
She had a stick between her paws, mind, when I say stick, branch would have been a better description.
So I am sitting there, nice and comfy, polluting the air with my fag, and Tara decides to start growling.
"What's wrong with you? Moron," I asked, diplomatically.
Then along came some sort of mongrel dog followed by it's (I presume) owner. A nice enough female, grey in her hair but not too old and shapeless under a nice thick winter coat and of course jeans and those eskimo boot things everyone is wearing these days.
"Shut up," I told Tara and the woman got her dog on a leash and sauntered up.
"What a lovely dog!" says she.
At this point a gentleman would have repaid the compliment by being nice about her dog, unfortunately I am no gentleman.
"Oh," says I. "She's alright when she is quiet.
"Big, innit?" says she and I wondered if my fly was open.
"Not really," says I. "She's just got a lot of fur. Seven stone weakling under all that hair, daft as a brush, nothing to worry about. Of course Tara called me a liar by roaring at the other dog.
"Geddown!" I told her but the damage had been done, my new-found friend was already leaving the vicinity.
I watched her go.
"Oh well," said I to the mutt. "That's her convinced you should have a muzzle on then."
Oh yes, nothing quite like a quiet sunday morning, sitting on a park bench.

We are family

Funny things, families, and let's face it, they come no funnier than mine. Put it this way, if I was to say that my family is dysfunction I could be accused of making the understatement of the year. It's like saying a hurricane is a bit of a wind.
The main trouble with my little lot is that they all have to know everyone else's business. The plain truth is, they can't keep their noses to themselves.
I've got a girlfriend. Now most folk would say, "Fair play, hope it all goes well for you both, we'd like to meet her when you feel the time is right."
Not my mob.
"Right, what's her name?"
"Mind your own business."
"Where is she from?"
"Mind your own business."
"What are you hiding her for?"
"Mind your own business."
At first I did it for privacy and diplomacy, but it has now become entertaining, so I am telling them nothing, it's great fun. Of course this attitude is simply making them worse.
"He is up to no good!"
"I bet she's young enough to be his daughter."
"I bet she's one of them foreigners!"
And so on.
I have spoken to her about them and she is quite right, she will meet them naturally in the normal course of events, no need to rush anything. But you know what families are like, they will go on asking silly questions and I'll go on enjoying refusing to tell anyone anything, it's funny! Mind, families are funny things anyway.

There are two things which should never be given any sort of freedom or influence in a car, a sat-nav and a woman. Both will lead you to the same place, lost. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't be without either, but they can cause problems.
Type in, "Sheffield" say and before you know where you are you are driving down a busy motorway and the sat-nav is saying, "You have reached your destination."
Imagine getting out of the car there and then, setting up the picnic gear and settling down for a watercress sandwich with juggernauts zooming by just feet away. How long before a denizen of the law turns up and says, "Hello, hello, hello. What's going on 'ere then? You can't stop here!."
Try saying, "The sat-nav said I could."
In no time at all you'll find yourself explaining things to a magistrate's court.
So take the advice of a feller who has been mislead by both, sat-nav and a female, gag both, you'll get where you are going much quicker.

My Little Sister

My little sister thinks that my only purpose on this god forsaken rock we call our home planet is to do things for her. The latest, unreasonable request is, "Can you fix my boots for me?"
She then opened a disreputable carrier bag and produced a pair of knee-high brown boots that looked as though they hadn't been cleaned since Chairman Mao had them on when he led his people on the Long March.
"They just need cleaning!" I pointed out.
"Will you sort them out for me then?" said she, not listening as usual.
I gave up. "Put them down then, I'll see what I can do."
I did them for her last nighty with Cherry Blossom, took all of five minutes, an idiot in a hurry could have done it as a side-task.
She came back this morning.
"Oooo," says she, stamping her nasty little pasties and pulling the zippers up, "They look brand new."
"That," said I. "Is because they are brand new, try cleaning them in future, it's not difficult."
"You do it better than me," said she and sashayed off.
I watched her go, hoping the dog would bite her but as usual even the dog let me down. I don't know why I keep that dog, it never bites the people I recommend, rat-bag. I don't know which is the biggest waste of oxygen, the dog or my little sister.

A happy dog

At least the dog was pleased to see me. Well, I went out for the day yesterday, Monday, just to see a couple of people, the way you do. The trouble with that is visits seem to go on a lot longer than expected. What with cups of tea, sandwiches, somebody unexpected arriving and so dragging out the visit, before we know where we are it's late and time to go home. However, by late at night it's too late if you know what I mean and besides, why go home when there is a warmer fire where we are?
So, I put my feet up and stayed the night, and a very pleasant night it was too. People we haven't seen for a long time have an enormous attraction, a lot of water under the bridge, it all needs talking about, especially when a little drink is involved too. Not a lot, just a taster really.
Then, before we know we are it is the early hours of the morning and it's not worth disturbing the comfortable equilibrium we find ourselves in, so we just stay the night.
Of course the people at home are a bit worried, texts come asking where you are but we are so comfortable we don't even bother to answer them. This in turn just annoys those who care about us and who are wondering where we are.
Well, when we finally get home, in this case about lunch time today we get, "Where have you been? Why didn't you answer your bloody phone?"
We are very off-hand about it all and our reception turns frosty. :)
Still, at least the dog was pleased to see me.

I Aint Got a Danny

I've got to be honest, especially with this internet stuff, half the time I don't know what I am doing and the rest of the time I haven't got a clue! It's not as though I am particularly dense or something, although Ellen Jane might argue that one, but I simply don't know!
Look, it's okay for those who sort of grew with the internet, blogging, facebook and all the rest of it, but you did it over a lot of years, right from the inception in fact. As each new thing came out you naturally added it to your computer and skills, you grew with it.
Me! Well, I came to it all at once. Until a few short months ago I had never seen the internet. All of the things people take for granted were all brand new to me. So much to learn.
I'll make mistakes, I will press buttons I shouldn't press and say or do things that quite simply, I shouldn't.

Well, if that should be the case, try to remember that I am new to this internet stuff and most of the time I haven't got a clue what I am doing, or as the man said, "I aint got a Danny La Rue!"

The Black Hole of Manchester

Everybody needs a little time away, I heard her say, from each other. That's probably true too.
This morning my little Blonde went off to Manchester with her friend from work, another nurse. Apparently they go down there from time to time for some sort of convention or other to do with being members of the caring profession, and a great job they do too, for insufficient pay in my opinion. Still, nobody is asking my opinion so forget I mentioned it.
Where was I?
Oh yes, they went to Manchester.
The plan was to stay at a hotel overnight and travel back tomorrow.
Round about tea time she phoned and told me that the hotel was a shit-hole, damp, only one shower between four rooms, black mould in the shower so she was coming back tonight. I shall have to listen to the story of the black hole of Manchester tomorrow I expect. I feel quite sorry for her really, all that way on a coach, not a small sum of dosh expended on a hotel room that turned out to be unfit for rabid dogs and a four hour journey back again. I hope she gets her money back okay.
Still, it will give her something to tell everyone at work all about, and as for me, well, everybody needs a little time away.

Idle moments.

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day, you fritter and waste the hours in an off-hand way. It's a strange thing but when we are waiting for something and looking forward to it, we seem to spend a lot of time doing very little. That's the position I find myself in at the minute, waiting for something.
Actually, I am waiting for several things, some more important than others but probably only to me. Nobody else knows I am waiting really, well, not what I am waiting for.
I suppose it's a bit like Becket's play, "Waiting for Godot," and as we all know, Godot never actually arrives. However, that isn't the case in this instance because I know that Godot will arrive, at least my Godot will.
There is someone I haven't seen for a long time and the only memories I carry of that person are good ones. I wasn't particularly good to them, I admit it, but I am older now, wiser and appreciate the finer things in life more. Well, not so much finer but better. I was going to say simple but that wouldn't earn me any brownie points so I ain't saying that!
Oh yes, I am looking forward to it, just passing away my time as best I can. Tomorrow I better clean my car if the weather is fine, between dogs and horsey people with muddy boots, my car is a disgrace both inside and out. So that will have to be cleaned.
When that is done, I shall continue to idle away my time, ticking away the moments that make up a dull day.

Fraggles'R'Us

No matter how new, the safest thing in your car, is you.
This morning, just after I had sent a couple of texts to my little blonde, I also sent several rude ones to my little brother, but that's another story. Well, who can blame me, he is an idiot! Having said that, he didn't get run over by an electric milk float when he was a kid, not like an even younger brother did, and it was in reverse! Nitwit. Anyway, I sent him, our Jimmy, a couple of rude texts.
Where was I? Oh yes, this morning.
So, I got the car out and I was at the end of the street ready to turn left. Some idiot comes along with his indicator on to turn left away from me, that makes it safe for me to go and I was just going to do that when the clown turned right, straight across me!
I would have thought that when he was examined for his licence the least they could have done was to check that he knew left from right.  No wonder that people have accidents with Fraggles like him driving cars. Still, he missed me so no harm done, but it's true, the safest device in your car, is you, as Broderick Crawford would have said.

Here's me, sitting minding my own business, bothering nobody but that's not good enough for Tara. She is barking and generally being antisocial. Personally I think she needs some sort of canine counselling, preferably by a vet with vallium on the menu. I mean to say, there is no need for it!
I told her, "Shut up, stupid dog." So she lay down and started to bite my foot.
That was it, I'd had enough of her so I took her out the back and locked her out. Now she is growling at my brother-in-law's car. She better not start biting the tyres because I'm not paying for new ones.
I've got a couple of films to watch, three in fact. I've got the new Wolverine film and two Clint Eastwood cowboy films, seen them both before but a good film is a good film, right?
My brother-in-law is going to a Billy Fury tribute concert tonight at the Sunderland Empire but Ellen Jane can't go with him, she is working.
As for me, I'm going to continue sitting here minding my own business, I wish Tara would do the same.

Days Like These

I've had one of those days today. I am sure everyone has them from time to time. Come to think on it there are probably some people who have them every day. I woke up late, completely rested, relaxed and comfortable, so comfortable in fact that I didn't want to move a muscle, so I didn't!
What happened next was I fell asleep again and didn't wake up until a few minutes to four this afternoon and I still felt comfy, relaxed and rested. So I had a conversation with myself, well, it's the only way to get an interesting chat around here.
Well, I told myself, I am retired, I can have a lazy day if I want one. Nobody is chasing me up for anything, nowhere to go with any urgency, nobody to please or satisfy apart from myself, in fact the only thing I need to do I suppose is take the dog out before bedtime!
She is barking at the back gate at the minute, somebody is messing about with fireworks nearby, she doesn't like them. Last night she was a bit loud as well, bonfire night.
Bonfire Night, November the 5th, Guido Fookes or Guy Fawkes, depends which school you went to.
It's a bit strange to have a national celebration of burning someone to death, it's a bit goulish really.
So, I suppose I better stir my comfortable self, put my clothing on, have a wash and take the dog out before it gets too late. I better have something to eat as well but I can't be bothered. Let's face it, I won't die of the starvation and besides, I've had one of those days today.

It's Funny the way things turn out.

It's funny the way things turn out. I don't mean funny Ha Ha Ha, just a bit strange. The oddest part is that most things turn out for the better too. The other day I was sitting sorting out my address book, Sunday it was, Sunday evening. Anyway, I came across an address of an old girlfriend of mine, I won't use her name, she may not want me to. Anyway, all I had was the address so on the off-chance I decided to write her a little note including my phone number and see what happened.
I wrote a quick note and posted it on Monday morning, yesterday.
Well, slap my vitals with a rag-man's trumpet if she didn't give me a ring this morning.
I remember her well. She's isn't very tall and slim built, pretty and wears glasses. Now, I expect she has changed a little bit in the twenty seven years since I last saw her but she will still be wearing her glasses, I would gamble on her still being slim and still not very tall, and I bet she is still attractive, she will just be older, that's all. Let's face it, we are all a bit older now.
I expect to see her again soon and I am quite looking forward to it.
Isn't it funny the way things turn out?

Frustration.

All I was trying to do was to compose a decent introductory letter/email to several literary agents hoping that I could find one who will take me on.I admit it, it's doing my head in! So I wrote a decent enough piece and then got my sister's laptop so that I could search out agencies and then type in their address above the letter/email and send it off to them. I mean to say, sending the same letter made sense, I wouldn't have to keep on writing it in full, would I?
However, no matter what I tried it just kept coming up that the addresses were not properly formatted. Yes, of course, I know I am doing something wrong, that's axiomatic where I am concerned, I don't get much right when it comes to these infernal computer machines, but I try.
Well, I finally gave up out of pure frustration and did what I always do when technology defeats me, I asked Andrew. Well, it's doing my head in.

That's Blackmail!

Well, here's me, sitting here, bothering nobody, tapping away when the door opened and in came Ellen Jane.
"I've got a plan," says she.
"So have I," Said I. "Bugger off."
"No, listen," said she. "I am going shopping but I am only getting the stuff for today's dinner, I'll do a big shop tomorrow."
I said, "What you telling me for?"
She replied, "Because I want you to take me and Alyssa (grand daughter) down to the field later to see the horses."
I said, "Walk, it will do you good."
Her unreasonable response was, "You'll make your own bloody dinner, any more shite out of you!"
I've got to be honest, she does make a great Sunday lunch.
Oh well, there's nothing else for it, I'll have to give her and the Pest a lift, cheap at the price I suppose. It's either give her a lift or starve. I'm sure that I read somewhere once that that is called blackmail.

This Place Is Coming Up A Ghost Town

It was 8.30 this morning when I went down The Green, (Southwick Green, the piss-head's paradise) to post a letter. Oh yes, make no mistake about it, I am still old-fashioned enough to write letters. So off I toddled and when I got there I was struck by the fact that there was no traffic, no shops open and the only movement to be seen was one feller walking away from me and a dog sniffing something. Oh!, and several pigeons scratching about. There is more action on a police station blanket.
Having said all that, it is Sunday and as stated earlier, the shops were not open. Well, the corner shop was, I won't call it 'The Paki's' because that might cause offence.
So, as I wandered unmolested across the normally busy road, the wind letting me know it was there, blowing strongly, it occurred to me that it may liven up after ten when Iceland and B&M's opens along with the rest of the shops.
I perambulated along The Green to the post box at the far end, deposited my missive and wandered back. A woman came round the corner from Shakespeare street and smiled at me. It was a good job she didn't get a good look, she'd have pissed herself laughing.
The only cars parked in our street, usually lined both sides, were a couple of the neighbour's cars and mine. It's like the old song by The Specials, Ghost Town. Well, this place is coming up a ghost town.

Ellen Jane says that she will go to the chinkies at half nine and get some supper for us. That'll be nice, I've had nothing all day apart from a sandwich when I got up just after two this afternoon. Mind, some unkind people will say, "You don't deserve anything, lying in your pit until that time of day!" However, what I didn't tell you was that the supper is going to cost me yet another tenner. I don't even have to give her my account number anymore, she knows it! She will go down my bank on the Green, get the money and bring supper in, THEN she will say that she got the supper for us. The dog will get half of mine, she always does! I eat a chip, she gets one. No the wonder I look anorexic, the dog gets half of my feed and then has the front to be depressed!
I'm depressed!
I've got a good right to be!
Here's me, sitting here, tapping away like a demented woodpecker and it's costing me money!
Still, look on the bright side, Ellen Jane says she will get some supper for me.

It's Saturday the 2nd of November and for some reason I simply haven't been able to get started today. Didn't wake up until after two this afternoon and even then I didn't want to get out of bed, so I didn't. Watched a bit of telly while I was waiting for the football, I like to see how Sunderland, Newcastle United, Hartlepool and the Boro get on. I want Sunderland to win, I want Newcastle to win, I want the Pool to win and I want the Boro to get shagged very severely, it's traditional, not to mention tribal.
Tara is alright today, she's back to her normal self so she must have been tired. In fact, she is asleep now, oh it's a dog's life alright. All she has to do is bark now and then and that's it. My sister Ellen Jane has just mugged me for a tenner to buy herself a night sitting watching the telly, having a drink. Good luck to her, wait till I tell her I want it back.
Years ago in about 1984 her little son Joseph wanted an ice cream. We were all sitting in my mother's home at the time. I gave Ellen Jane a quid to buy him an ice cream and I am still waiting for my change. I asked her about it the other day, she is still sniggering. One of these days I'll stop her taking the piss, if I can be bothered.
Sunderland lost and had two men sent off, Newcastle beat Chelsea 2-0, Hartlepool won and the Boro got stuffed again, not bad really, just another normal Saturday, this one is Saturday the 2nd of November.

Still Depressed Part II

I even went so far as to let her destroy the newspaper, that always cheers her up. Mind, nobody reads the Sunderland Echo unless they are in dire need of Psychiatric Counselling and the sanctuary of a secure institution. Didn't help at all. Having said all that, she may just be tired. Maybe I will find a way to treat her, I'll kidnap the local tea-leaf and let her chew his arse for ten minutes, that should cheer her up a good deal.
I would get her a boyfriend, but she's had the snip. I wonder if that's the problem? It would certainly depress me.
I asked her. "What's wrong with you? Mutt!"
She didn't answer, just shoved her head harder into me while I tried to rip her ears off. She's a strange one indeed.
"I'll take her to the beach tomorrow, the Mackem Riviera, she likes going in the water. The only trouble with that is she wants to get back in the car, soaking wet. I've tried giving her the bus fare and telling her to get the bus but she just gives me a dirty look and gets in the car.
Oh well, the fact remains, my dog is STILL depressed, or maybe she's just tired.

Still Depressed

This is Tara, the baldy one is me.

Here she is, still depressed. I gave her a nice cuddle, told her that she was being silly and even took her out so she could bark and terrorise the local population. I let her sit in the front seat and even went so far as to put the stereo on for her, but she is still depressed. Either that or she might just be tired, you never know.

Tara, my German Shepherd, is depressed. I think she thinks nobody loves her anymore because the other day I went out without her, in fact I have been leaving her in quite a lot lately. I usually take her everywhere with me, she likes to jump in the back of the car, in fact she will get in the boot if you don't keep an eye on her. Anyway, she is depressed. She has taken to shoving herself into me and she is a big strong dog, she pushes me about.
So, later on today, when I go over to Boldon to see my horse, I will take Tara with me. She doesn't get out of the car, the horse, also called Tara, doesn't like her. Incidentally, don't blame me for horse and dog having the same name, blame my sister Ellen Jane, her of zero imagination and lousy navigational skills, she named them.
I shall take Tara with me and she will sleep in the back of the car while I am messing about with the horse and then I shall take her for a nice long walk, as long as it doesn't piss down. If it rains, and so far it doesn't seem likely, she can stay in the car and terrorise passers by. Can you get anti-depressants for dogs? My dog Tara is depressed.

Susan May Died

This morning as I was standing on Southwick Green waiting to cross the road, I had a text from Andrew to tell me that Susan May had died. Susan, for those who do not know was sent to prison for a crime she clearly didn't commit, and after her release she continued to protest her innocence and tried to get her original conviction overturned, but failed. The system does not like to admit when they have got something wrong, and they got it wrong in Susan's case. She was from Oldham and over the years, because of our cases and our similar circumstances we became great friends. The only reason Susan was ever convicted was because it was easy to convict her, the truth had nothing to do with it. In fact, the truth has little to do with any criminal case, all that matters is who tells the best and most convincing story in front of the jury. The police know this, the career criminals like myself know this, the legal profession knows this, the judiciary know this, even the fucking court house cat knows this. Will it ever change? No, is the simple answer, not while we have the current adversarial system. We need to lean more toward the inquisitorial system, much like that of the French where courts actively seek the truth and not just accept any old bollocks being put forward provided it is slightly believable. It was easy to convict Sue, she was an easy target. Come to that, it was easy to convict me because of the fact that I was a career criminal. I shall continue to protest my innocence as Sue did, bless her. But the sad fact is, Susan May died.

Is there anybody out there?
This is a question I often ask myself for no other reason other than the fact that I am curious.
As I sit here in my room at my computer desk with Creedence Clearwater Revival playing away and the telly firmly off, I have these thoughts. I can't see anyone, can't hear anyone and don't particularly want to. Much like when I was in jail really apart from I am in much nicer surroundings, can go anywhere I want with no return time, car sitting outside, glass near at hand, but...and as everyone knows, there is always a but with me; But, but how do I know? Someone once said, "It is the same for everyone when you are alone at night in an empty room," and it's true. Even if I was in jail right now it would make no real difference I don't think.
All around me in the houses and cottages there are a thousand stories, every one worth hearing probably, exactly the same as in jail. There will be happy folk, miserable folk, worried, careless, drunk, dreamers, depressed, you name it. Who knows what is going through the heads around me, all in private too.
So I ask myself yet again, is there anybody out there?

Just like John Steinbeck

So, there I was, doing my impressions of John Steinbeck, minding my own business, typing away industriously like a proper little scribe. Everything was cosy, just the bedside light on apart from my screen. I had music playing softly in the background and my dog was asleep on my feet under the desk.
Let me tell you about my dog, Tara. She is a German Shepherd and is only about two sizes down from a grizzly bear with teeth to match. She's no bother apart from being very strong with a penchant to shove her head into me and push me around when she wants me to scratch her ears. She thinks the car is her own personal transport and likes to sit in the driver seat with her head out of the window, terrorising any passing trade.
So, there I was, sitting typing as stated earlier, a glass of whiskey sitting at my elbow for inspiration when required. I am busy re-writing Pretty Boy Three. (PB One won Gold at the Koestlers, PB Two won Platinum) and it is coming along very well. As usual I have taken a true situation and twisted it to suit myself and make a decent story out of it. Anyway, I reached a sort of natural pause and sat back to look at what I had done, the sitting back included easing my feet. WHAM! I must have scared Tara temporarily because she bit my foot. It's true, let sleeping dogs lie, they bite your feet otherwise. She didn't break the skin so she wasn't trying too hard, nearly ripped my thumb off a couple of weeks back but that's another story.
"Hey!" said I, less than delighted, but her ears were down so she knew she had done wrong. I gave her a good scratching and she settled down again. I'll have to be a bit more careful when I am doing my John Steinbeck impressions, that's all.

Yet another movie

In the last three days I have been asked variations on the same question by five different people. It's getting like an old movie being eternally repeated on the telly.

 

The question I have been asked is this, "Freddie," (or "Frankie," - it depends on which part of my past the questioner comes from) "why have you stopped doing your blog thing? I liked reading it, it sometimes made me laugh."

 

Fair enough, good question.

 

The answer is quite simple - I don't have the ability to put it onto the internet on my own. I can't even work that Facebook thing! It's too complicated for a fountain pen person like me - I'm an old codger now you know! And I can't expect Andrew or anyone else to do it for me. Anyway, I am trying to do everything by myself these days and I am not doing too badly at it. I just can't get to proper grips with this computer thing, not really - but I am trying. Oh I can do my desktop publisher stuff and emails, (or in my case, Gmails) but that's more or less where my abilities come up against a road block.

 

Besides, I don't seem to have anything interesting to say these days - heard it all before. In fact things are getting just like that old movie mentioned earlier, seen it that many times we not only know the story line backwards, we are even beginning to learn the words too.

 

However, let me impart a bit of utterly uninteresting news - Kindle Direct Publishing are going to take me off their list on December 31st because I am required to fill in a tax form for the American IRS and I don't know how to do it.

 

Bugger it! I will just make myself another cup of tea, sit back and watch yet another movie on the telly.

Yesterday?

Well, would you believe it? Once again Young Lochinvar has come out of the west to give valuable assistance. I better explain that.
As regular readers of my periodical drivel will be well aware, I haven't written much on this site of recent times. There is a reason for that, mainly because I didn't know how to do it. Well, I'm not as computer literate as some people may think I am. What I used to do in the past was write whatever I had to say and send it off to Andrew and HE put it into the ether, if that's the way to put it. However, recently I have been trying my best to do things myself and not rely or depend on other people. Some things had to fall by the wayside and this blogger thing was one of them.
Then, as usual with me, Fate took a hand.
In the last three days five different people have asked me why I am no longer writing my weekly trash column, they said they liked reading it because sometimes it was almost amusing. I felt the urge to inform Andrew of this in my usual long-winded way and he sent me an Email with 8 easy steps, an idiots guide to blogging, so to speak. I've been trying all day and finally I think I have got it right!
Hooray! Three cheers for personal incompetent perserverance!
In fact, if you are reading this then clearly I have managed to beat my personal dragon, I have cracked it, as they say.
So, here we go. If this works then expect to read a lot more drivel from yours truly.
I wonder if I can persuade Andrew to post the thing I sent him this morning, or was it yesterday?