Just me then!

Just me then!
Yesterday there was a party for Slack Alice's sister Olwyn.
"Are you coming to the Railway Club?" Asks she and her barmy daughter.
"What for?" asks me, not unreasonably. Well, I don't like pubs and clubs, full off tossers who get too much drink in themselves and start rows, especially when it's an all-family matter, there's always somebody. Besides that, it is the cost. For what I pay for a round is the same as I would pay for a bottle of whisky. I'm not tight but I don't allow people to take the piss. Not only that, I don't drink, so all I get out of a round is a glass of coke, so fuck that.
"No," says myself, "I am not going. Tell Olwyn that I was going to come dressed as Tarzan but I didn't want her to get excited the poor ould boiler."
It still cost me eighty quid somehow, what with taxis and stuff. Busses are not good enough for Madam Bovary and Helen of Sunderland.
They left and that was me, Charlie and Khan with the house to ourselves while they fucked off to the docks to do favours for sailors as far as I know, or care.
One of them turned up about half one in the morning and the other came back after I had gone to bed.
Call me Shirley if you like but why would anybody pay eighty quid for the privilege of staying awake while a couple of party girls decide to turn up so I can lock the poxy front door?
Does nobody else mind that?
Just me then.

I did it again.

I did it again!
Just in passing, I would like to mention that it has been raining since last Friday and it is Easter Bank Holiday today, still raining. It does it every year! As soon as the kids go back to school again the sun will be cracking the pavement! But until then, it will rain.
All that is beside the point, not what I am talking about, and there are some unkind people who think I never know what I am talking about but we will ignore them, they are just jealous of my youth.
Okay, where was I? Oh yes, I have done it again.
Talking to our Jimmy and Gerry and Gerry is getting on my tits because he knows everything.
Along comes Norman, or as he is better known the forces of the law, Normski.
Now Normski is a gentle sort of feller, easily pleased. So when there is a pause in Gerry's self-serving bollocks I say to Normski, naive child that he is, I say, "Hey, Normski, did you see the telly this morning about the woman with the brilliantly clever pussycat?"
"What cat?" asks our hero.
"This cat," said I. "This woman, lives in Slough or some other undiscovered metropolis has a cat. This cat goes outside every morning into the garden, digs a hole, craps in it and then fills the hole in again. It's brilliant!"
"That's fuck all," says Normski. "All cats do that."
"Ha!" replies me. "Not with a fucking shovel!"
I did it again.

I need to keep quiet

I need to keep quiet, that's the fact of the matter.
What I mean is that I need to learn to kerb my tongue. I keep on finding myself with golden opportunities for rudeness and I haven't got the common sense God gave a duck in keeping a firm grip on my tongue by biting the fucking thing.
We went down to Wash the other day to see some friends and it pissed down all day. The spray off lorries was horrendous and I am glad my wipers were working. However, none of that matters because what I am writing about has nothing to do with rain.
There we were, me and my baby brother Jimmy, strolling down Sea Road, looking good. Up comes a gang of Japanese students ( I suppose)
You know the story, all glasses and front teeth and smiles that look as sincere as Bruce Forsythe's wig.
"Excuse me please," says the one in the front. There were loads of them, there must have been five or six of them.
"Excuse me," says he. "You tell me where Seaburn is please?"
Not thinking I said, "You found Pearl Harbour on your own, didn't you? Fuck off."
Then me and Jimmy strolled off.
Jimmy said, "You can't say things like that!"
"I just did," said I.
I need to keep quiet.

The clocks went forward

The clocks went forward.
Every year the clocks go forward or back depending on the time of year of course. Speaking for myself and let's be fair, I can only speak for myself because I have nothing interesting to say for myself, never mind anyone else, so I speak for myself.
Speaking for myself I have come to the conclusion that moving clocks backwards or forward twice a year is pointless. It all goes back to the days when farmers needed the daylight. Why do the rest of us have to cater to these people?
Save the countryside, strangle a farmer.
I have no axe to grind with farmers and I am sure they do a great service to themselves because apart from making the world smell of shit they actually grow stuff.
Leave the clocks alone and if they need more daylight let them get up earlier or later, who cares?
Oh well, another hour's sleep lost because the clocks went forward.

What's the Craic?

What's the Craic?
 Craic; I am not even going to try to explain it, the meaning is myriad. There I was, sitting with my morning cuppa and I get an email on my phone from someone called Susan.
 I mean, who is Susan?
I know who Alice is, Chubby Brown is the only one who doesn't. But I have no idea who Susan is. I used to have a stalker called Susan but she can't put two words together so I am discounting her.
It would seem that she wants to get together with me. Personally, I think it is one of those scams that we hear about so I told her not to contact me again.
What is going on when these nasty fuckers can just pluck names out of the air and try to con them?
I mean to say, what is the craic? What is going on? What's the craic?

Ha!

Ha!
The living room is lovely and warm, even the dogs are comfy.
Anyway, the door opened and in she came, wrapped for an arctic winter in her Eskimo-type onesie and stood looking at me and the dogs.
"There is no milk!" says her.
"I don't care," was my considerate retort. "I use cream in my coffee. If you want Acker Bilk, go up the garage and get some."
"It's freezing outside!" cries the blot on the landscape.
"Aint it the truth!" I say, grinning. "Nothing I can do about that, it's in the hands of the weather I'm afraid."
"You horrible sod! You'll let me freeze!"
"Why not?" I ask, not unreasonably. "Why would I want to freeze when it's you needs the milk."
"Bastard." says her and flounces out, door left wide open.
I just closed the door, stroked the dog and picked up my hot coffee.
Ha!

It's snowing!

It's snowing!
Now, a lot of people may have looked out of the window recently and if they are as observant as me they may have noticed that it is snowing and apparently most of Europe has come to a standstill. Trains are stranded, cars and lorries are stuck all over the place, roads are impassable, drivers and passengers have been stuck in traffic for hours and the catalogue of disasters seems to be more or less endless. However, what I don't understand is why are we surprised?
It seems to me that every year, some worse than others, it snows and the country collapses.
"Oh!" they cry. "We will make sure it never happens again!
But it does.
Every year it does, some worse than others.
Well, I have got some advice for everyone.
Stay at home where it is nice and warm and safe.
It's snowing!

It's a liberty

It's a liberty, no other way to put it.
Incidentally, if the Roman Empire didn't have an air force, how come Pontius was a pilot?
And...
If all brides are beautiful, where the fuck do ugly wives come from?
Where was I? Oh yes, it's a liberty.
I had to put my car in for it's MOT yesterday and they had it up on ramps for about two hours, I was expecting a problem. However, when it was all over I had to cough up for a light that had gone out on my rear number plate.
They gave me the bill, 77pence for a bulb!
Now, call me Shirley if you have to and as long as you don't want a smack in the mouth, but that's a lot of money to a poor old pensioner like me. Okay, so it's a good car and apart from new tyres last year the bulb going is the only problem I have had in over two years, but that's not the point! The point is I had to pay 77pence for a new bulb and THAT, in anybody's dictionary, is a liberty

It must be legal now

It must be legal now.
I suppose I better be a bit more explicit here.
I was sitting sort of half watching the telly last night and there was an advert on about borrowing money. The bit that got me was when I was idly reading the small print at the bottom of the screen and realised that the interest rate was over 1200 percent!
I don't give a camel's fart what anybody says, that's usury, and as far as I know, usury is illegal.
You see it all over the place, warnings about loan sharks and offers of advice and how to avoid them. If that is the case, why are they allowed to advertise on national telly?
It must be legal now.

I need to listen a bit more.

I need to listen a bit more.
What I mean is that I listen to her, sometimes, but not a lot and not too closely. Well, she never says anything interesting and what she knows about anything is negligible. Mind, according to her she knows everything
She gets up every morning and comes down the stairs wearing her onesie and looking about as attractive as anthrax just not as appealing. The minute she puts a foot in the kitchen she starts;
"How long have you been up? Have you fed the dogs? What have you had to eat? Where are we going today? We need milk, go and get some. I need some money, give me your card before I go out! Has the dog been chewing the draft excluder again?" and so on, on and on, on and on, and I turn her off, it's not worth listening to.
Then she will say, "Are you listening to me?"
I am honest, and like annoying her so I say, "No. I'm not. You talk crap at the best of times."
The stress levels rise promptly. "What!" yells Shirly Temple. "Am I talking to myself?"
"It's the only way you'll get a sensible conversation," I tell her.
This makes matters worse and she is off, slagging me off while I snigger a good deal.
I need to listen a bit more.

Ha! She never stops!

Ha! She never stops!
She just came storming back in. Here's me, sitting here playing with my toys and minding my own business, bothering nobody. Does that cut any ice with Betty Boop? Does it bollocks."When am I getting my new car?"
"When you get your driving licence,"I tell her.
"I've got my provisional!" cries Gert Bucket. "You can get the car in your name and I can have my lessons and practice in it!"
"Right!" says me sarcastically.
"Well, I can!" says she. "And I could drive myself to the shops."
"Drive me to the funny farm," says our hero. "Why not get a bike?"
"Why don't you sod off?" is her response. She is always the same. If she has no connection to reality she resorts to abuse.
Ha! She never stops!

AND!

And!
If she thinks she is getting more money to waste out of me this week she has got another think coming. She has got more chance of seeing Ian Paisley kissing Gerry Adams' arse.

We need some understanding around here

We need some understanding around here, that's what we need.
Let me see if I can elucidate a little bit. Great word that, elucidate. Don't know what it means but I'll see if I can find someone who can explain it. Haha, I just come out with them you know.
Right, let's see.
Mrs Rip Van Winkle upstairs thinks anything less than twenty hours sleep is a deprivation which ought to be taken up by Amnesty International, but never mind. She crawls out of her stinking pit with her little dog some time getting toward teatime and stands looking at the clock with a face on her that would paralyse fucking steam!
"Why didn't you wake me up?" she demands.
"I did!" I lie. "You just went back to sleep. If they ever make sleeping an Olympic sport you are a dead certainty for a double gold. Synchronised sleeping, you and Charlie."
"Bollocks," is her ladylike retort and off she goes to make tea. Two minutes later she is back.
"There is no milk!" she cries.
"What you telling me for?" I demand. "I told you last night and you said you were getting up early to go shopping with Angela. So don't complain if you are too tired to drag your arse out of your pit!"
"Why didn't YOU go?" demands Missus unreasonable.
"I was busy," I lie. "Watching cowboy films. They don't watch themselves you know."
"Why is it always me who has to go shopping?"
She looks very attractive in her onesie, to flies.
"You are bone bloody idle," says her as she flounces out.
See! What we need around here is some understanding!

I'm not going there again.

I'm not going there again.
Let me; elucidate. (a Good word that one, elucidate. Don't know what it means.
It was Bloody Mary's birthday yesterday, she was sixty-one going on twelve. Anyway, it was her birthday and she wanted to go for a meal with her two daughters, a granddaughter and me to pay for it.
"Where?" I asked, fear and miserly intent wrenching my bowels.
"The Grange!" cries Herself and of course the daughters agreed. Where the fuck is Cinderella? I've found the two ugly sisters.
"Alright," says the Saint. "We will go to The Grange."
So we all get ready, even Alyssa got a wash. That kid is waterproof.
All piled in my poor, long-suffering car and off we set.
Halfway there they decided to go to The Grey Horse in Boldon where I had chicken and ale pie or some such crap and when I got it the pie wasn't cooked. Not only that but Angela found a hair in her food, whatever it was.
I left, felt definitely Dissatisfied. Angela complained and the manager gave her a tenner but that's not the point, the food was crap.
I'm not going there again.

It must just be me!

It must just be me! Like everything else that happens around here, it's obviously my fault.
Now, it's a well known medical fact that my two dogs are insane. In fact, they are not even my dogs according to Lucretia Borgia who, as I write, is upstairs lying in her smelly pit and scratching herself for all I know.
Well, there could be a case to be made about the dogs being hers.
A few years ago she said that she wanted a puppy that would sit on her knee and play with her, which is a bit iffy, she doesn't let me sit on her knee and play with myself, never mind play with her.
So I went out and got her a puppy at great expense, I got her an American Akita!
"What the fuck is that?" she demanded as the dog chewed her draught excluder.
"It's the puppy you wanted," said I. "He is called Khan."
"He's massive!" she whinged.
"Yes," said I. "But he will sit on your knee and play all day. What more do you want?"
"I wanted a little one!" cried Herself.
Not many women say THAT!"
"Fuck it," said I. "Some women are never happy."
A year or two passed and by then she loved Khan and his thieving ways and unsolicited violence toward all other creatures he managed to get his teeth into. Then we got Charlie.
We went to see her sister Olwyn and she had two little dogs; A little black thing called Mitzie and a Pachadale rat killer called Charlie. She looked like a miniature Doberman without the sticky-up ears. The two dogs had been fighting and bit BillyJean's finger when she tried to separate them.
"Charlie has to go!" Olwyn cried.
Jackie said, "Can I take her?"
I said, "Don't blame me when Khan gets hold of her and eats her."
Of course, it never happened, Khan loves her and spends his time letting the violent little bastard dive on his throat, snarling and growling. He just thinks it's funny.
I don't think it's normal to have a dog that hates everything apart from another tiny thing that also hates everything and everybody.
"I'll never part with my dogs," says she.
It must just be me.

I nearly died!

I nearly died! and there are a lot of people who probably think that it's a pity I didn't but that is just sour grapes, bollocks to them.
What occurred was as follows:
I went to South Shield with our Wendy and Jackie with Wendy whingeing all the way because I was going over speed bumps too fast and hurting her back. Left to me I would break her back but it's against the law so she will never know how lucky she is.
We get to Shield and park in B&M's carpark at great expense and wander around the market looking for something for nothing. I got a Royal Horticultural Society china bowl for 20p, bargain!
Then Wendy, Miss Southwick 1954 wanted to go into a charity shop. She probably fancied a bit of shoplifting.
"Sod Off," I tell them. "I'm going for something to eat."
There is a nice little place called "The Smithy" so we went there. Nothing fancy, pie peas and chips.
So, we are munching away and I get a pea stuck in my throat, couldn't breathe, choking.
They just sit there watching my face turn pretty shades of purple and eating their did-dins.
I finally get it to eject, this unwanted pea and sit there gasping for breath.
"Why didn't you help? I nearly died!"

I hate snow.

I hate snow.
Well, not hate, that is a very strong and emotive word so I will change it to satisfy the proprieties of the decent folk on this planet of ours; I fucking hate snow.
Got woken up this morning at about half-past four, and for the non-country livers, that's before the sparrows get out of bed. So, awake at half four and of course Madame fucking Tussaud lying next to me pretended to wake up too. If the truth is told she woke me in the first place!
"Do you want a cuppa? love. I'm going to have one," says she getting up and looking very sexy in her onesie. Yeah, sexy to a fucking blind Eskimo. I'm not allowed to say Eskimo anymore, am I? Fuck it, I can't spell innuit.
So off she goes downstairs and I look out of the window. The park over the road is all white, so is the street outside and my car.
"Fucking snow," says I to me. "Best place for it is on poxy Christmas cards," and got back into bed.
I hate snow.

Tea Leaf

Tea Leaf! There is no other name to use for him.
I don't know how long I have had him but it has got to be three years and since the day I got him he has been a tea leaf. You can't leave nothing within his reach because as soon as you take your eyes off him, he steals it and eats it.
Let me see, what has he pinched?
Packs of sausages, bacon, biscuits and once a whole pack of steak that I paid a tenner for. There was enough meat there to feed a family of ten, but just enough for him.
The best part is he has got the gall to sit in front of you, licking his lips and looking pleased with himself! The bastard.
I had a chat with him about his antisocial behaviour, I might as well have saved my breath.
Just think how much money I could have saved if I hadn't bought the mutt in the first place, he is nothing but a Tea Leaf!

There might be something wrong with me.

There might be something wrong with me.
I suppose I better explain that and I am sure a lot of people will agree with me with no explanation whatsoever but cobblers to them anyway.
Now, every morning when I wake up I always have a song playing on the jukebox in my head.
Sometimes it can be a song learned at my grandmother's knee or some other low joint, or something modern, but usually, it's a bit strange and often goes on for a couple of hours. I just sing along in my head.
This morning it was "Let's All Gather By The River," and they don't come much stranger than that. But that's not all, I as often as not make up my own words just in my head for my own entertainment.
This morning it was;
"Let's all gather by the river,
That's what the doctor said.
Let's all gather by the river,
Perhaps the little fat twat is dead."
See!
No sense at all!
There might be something wrong with me.

I am going nowhere today

I am going nowhere today, not moving an inch. In fact, I am not even getting dressed today.
I went to bed at a perfectly respectable time last night, about a quarter past ten, that's practically when saints go to bed. I have written to the Vatican, I am just waiting for a reply.
So, bed nice and early and asleep in minutes, the conscience of a baby.
Was I allowed to sleep? Was I bollocks.
At eleven minutes past midnight I was woken up but of course, she denies it.
"Want a cuppa? love," says she.
"I might as well now you have woke me up!" says me graciously.
"I didn't wake you up," she lies.
Took me a while to get back to a sort of half sleep and awake again a three zero five, this time because the little dog had decided to get in bed beside me and she squirms about until comfy!
I just sort of dozed after that and at eleven minutes past five the big dog decided to nut me because he wanted to go outside and of course he only ever wakes me up.
I thought to myself, "Fuck it," and got up to make myself a cuppa.
Went down, made a cuppa and fell asleep on the settee but the big dog smashed open the door at seven because why should he stay in the kitchen and lie on the floor when there is a nice settee to lie on?
So, here I am, feeling like yesterday's stale curry and I am going nowhere today.

Do they think I am stupid?

Do they think I am stupid?
Obviously, they do because I have had an Email from somebody representing BTbroadband telling me, not too politely that they want £147 plus from me. I have answered to tell them to fuck off, literally.
I want this matter in a court so I can get these crooks as much adverse publicity as I can.
Now, most people would get nervous being bullied by these pricks, but not me, I just get annoyed.
I have totalled up from my bank statements exactly how much they have taken from my bank without authorisation and it is more than they say I owe them, cheeky bastards!
Do they think I am stupid?

I am back!

I am back!
It's not that I have actually been anywhere apart from off-line because those thieving bastards at BT broadband have been taking money out of my account for bugger all.
Let me explain.
I agreed to pay them twenty-five quid a month for broadband and being the trusting sort of cove that I am I didn't check my bank statements when they came in monthly until about August of last year. Then I noticed that they had taken thirty-five which even a mathematical moron like me knows is too much. So I stopped any further payments to BT and checked my back bank statements. In every case, every month they had taken more than the agreed sum. Some months it was just a couple of quid, an amount nobody is going to question on a phone bill.
BUT!
I have no phone, not a house phone anyway, just a mobile.
Some months they had taken considerably more and one month they had taken over forty-two quid!
Naturally I began arguing with them on the phone and they put a tenner back into my account and then tried to tell me that I owed them over one hundred shekkels!
I told them to fuck off and I am still telling them to fuck off.
They put my name on a black list as well I think.
So, now I am with PlusNet.
However, when you think about it, if BT have been putting a couple of quid on each phone bill for the millions of customers they have got, that has got to come to a lot of money, and they should be made to pay it back, the robbing bastards. At least when I used to rob people I had the common decency to point a gun at them first.
This could be bigger than PPI, so watch this space.
Anyway, the point is, I am back!

Addresses

Andrew, if you read this I have been trying to send you emails but don't seem to have your proper email address.

She is still not listening

She is still not listening, she never does! better explain I suppose.
It all revolves around Christmas and presents, the world's biggest rip-off, bigger than toilet paper, and THAT'S some rip-off!
Now, she knows that I don't like crew necks, not on tee shirts or jumpers or anything else, so she buys me a crew neck jumper for Christmas from Debenhams.
Christmas Day I open the parcel and see this crappy jumper. Well, not crappy, it's a nice one, she paid a lot of money for it but it was no good to me.
"You don't like it, do you?" she accused.
"No," said I honestly.
"Right!" was her response. "I'll take it back then if I can find the receipt."
"You do that," was my unsympathetic reply.
Well, I forgot about it and about twenty minutes ago she phoned me up.
"Freddie!" says she. "I am in Debenhams and they haven't got any Vee necks but they have got a lovely jumper with a collar and buttons. Will you wear it?"
"Is it a crew neck?" asked the superstar, (me)
"No."
"I'll have it then, bring some coke in with you." and I put the phone down because somebody was at the door and the dogs were going beeswax.
I mean to say, I TOLD her a dozen times, I don't like Debenhams because they are taking the piss and I don't like crew necks. Does she listen? Does she bollocks, and she is still not listening.

Lawless

Lawless.

He was Lawless by name and lawless by nature,
Trouble, right from the start.
Hard as nails, running wild through the streets
He was breaking his poor mother's heart.
Nature played a trick on Lawless
And the humour of nature is cruel.
He grew up as we all had expected
Into a dangerous fool.

He was a hard man, a man for all seasons,
Always out for a fight.
He couldn't hold drink but still he'd get plastered
In Clarke's every Saturday night.
He'd strip to his vest and challenge the best
Till the Gards they were called to come fast.
Then they'd lock him away for the rest of the day
And let him out on a Sunday for Mass.

One night he went down to the Ringsend Regatta
Where he met up with the bould Dolly Glass.
She wasn't exactly what you'd call beauty
But she was the belle of her class.
There was a whirlwind romance and Dolly took a flier
With Lawless she would settle down.
It was pure coincidence three months before
There was a Yankee destroyer in town.

The couple were blessed with one of God's miracles
Before six months had elapsed.
Dolly gave birth to a nine-pound black baby
And Lawless was fit to collapse.
She swore she'd nivver been touched by another
And Lawless took her at her word.
And the neighbours exclaimed, "He's the spit of his father!"
And the cuckoo's a wonderful bird.

Now Lawless stayed home to look after the family,
While Dolly went out for the night.
The ould gossips all say, "She's free in her ways."
And their evil rumours run rife.
When Lawless heard this he waited for Dolly
On the bridge where the river runs low.
No-one will ever know what happened next
But Dolly drowned in the water below.

Some say he's evil, some say he's crazy,
Everyone says that he's mad.
No-one would defend him, he was no angel
But I'll tell you he wasn't all bad.
They locked him away for the rest of his natural,
Never again will he see,
That at the back of Ringsend there's a lonely child playing
Where the Liffy runs into the sea.

Galway Bay

Sung to the tune of Galway Bay.

If I ever go back home again to Ireland,
I wonder what Jackie's going to say.
She's got me half demented with her nagging,
And she's got a mouth as big as Galway Bay.

Ha Ha Ha,
I just come out with them you know.

This is my Christmas story

This is my Christmas story.
Sixty-one years ago today, my brother Jimmy was about ten days old and I was coming up to nine next week. My mother was bathing the baby in one of those old fashioned baths in front of the fire and when she was done she handed him to me sitting on the armchair.
"Here," says she. "Keep hold of him while I empty the bath."
So I took hold of him and went "Goo goo goo."
The little bastard pissed all over me and he has been pissing on me ever since!"
This is my Christmas story.

knock!

At the early age of thirty-eight my mother said "Go west!"
"Get up!" said she, "And get a job!"
Said I, "I'll do my best."
So I pulled on my wellingtons to march to kilchamock
But I took a wrong turn in Charlestown
And I ended up in Knock.
Once a place of quiet retreat, now it's a holy site.
Where catholics get indulgences once or twice a night.
You can buy a set of rosary beads or get your candles blessed.
If you've got a guilty conscience
You can get it off your chest.

She is still not right.

She is still not right. When Khan bit the little dog the other day...well, not exactly bit, just sort of held her and warned her, he hurt her a fair bit. Having said that, if he had wanted to he could have bitten off her head, but he didn't, he was simply telling her to keep off his food.
The trouble is, him being so big he had her head and neck in his jaws and he has broken the skin a little bit on her neck. It's not bleeding or anything, but it traumatized her a good bit. She shakes a lot, a bit like someone with the DTs.
I had a dream the other night, I couldn't sleep a wink.
The rats were crawling up the wall and I was trying to get off the drink.
That sort of thing.
Oh she is barking at noises and eating okay, all that sort of thing, but she is still not right.

Wait till Mad Mary gets in!

Wait till mad Mary gets in from work, Khan will be in deep shit.
I blame our Robert, he has been told umpteen times not to bring treats for the dogs, they have got enough. Does he listen? does he shite.
He came up this morning to help me put a door on and of course brought a couple of rawhide bone things with him and a lot of other crap for the dogs.
The little one pinches the toys from Khan and he lets her, it's a game they play. The same thing does not apply to food. I was busy in the kitchen with the door and Robert, (Brain of Britain 1952) gives the dogs the rawhide things. Little Charlie hides her's and then pinches Khan's. Next thing you know she is screaming in fear because he has got her head and neck in his jaws and he is growling.
I had to jump in and get her away from him and she ran under the dining table, screaming and shit herself, literally, again!
She doesn't seem to be hurt so clearly he was just warning her, he could kill her with one  casual bite. He has hurt her but not damaged her.
I had to go and get a dog cage for her so that from now on she can go in there away from him poor little bugger.
He knows he is in trouble of course, the little dog is traumatized
Just wait till mad Mary comes in.

It's about time!

It's about time if you ask me. Mind, nobody is asking so forget that.
To begin at the beginning, always a good place to start, the lads are here to do my boiler. I am getting a brand new, state of the art job so we will be able to get a shower in future without the water going suddenly cold at the wrong moment. It's not funny when you are washing your interesting bits and you are suddenly plunged into a surprise cryogenic situation.
Anyway, that is being done as I speak. Yes, I know I should have said 'write' but I have been saying the wrong thing for years, why change now?
I have got my inner back door off because I am in the process of fitting a new on. My inner front door has to come off next because that needs replacing too. Then there are two doors upstairs that need a bit of work on them as well.
There is a fair bit of painting to be done before Christmas and on top of all that I have to put up a dozen pictures in the living room.
While all this is going on my car has to go in for servicing on the 8th, it's the 6th today and I have got two barmy dogs running all over squabbling good-naturedly over a little, stuffed elephant cuddly toy.
Still, look on the bright side, at least I'll be able to get a wash in comfort and use my heating instead of having the fire on all the time. It's about time!

They are at home this afternoon.

They are at home this afternoon so I am going to the match again. Grindon Gertie and her little dog have been out all night, they stayed over at Grindon and haven't turned up yet, it's nearly noon too!
 When /if they turn up before I go to the match I will surprise her because I have got her a ticket, that's the up-side. The downside is that it is next to mine, ha ha.
Of course she will have been downtown shopping this morning but she will still want me to take her somewhere for more wastrel activity.
Anyway, there will be a grumpy reaction when I tell her to sod off, her and her little dog, but I don't care.
Yesterday she came in with two Christmas jumpers, for the fucking dogs! She put the jumper on her little dog and it stood there like a lion shitting a bone, terrified. She had to fight Khan just to get his around his neck, and that's as far as she got because it was far too small for him. She will have to take it back. I've never heard so much drivel, jumpers for dogs.
Anyway, I am off to watch the game, they are at home this afternoon.

It's not funny

It's not funny, nowhere near slightly entertaining, never mind funny.
We brought the little dog home last night and it looks like a miniature Doberman, tiny little thing.
As soon as we walked in the door, the dinner lady carrying the little dog (called Charlie) and of course Khan attacked everyone in sight. Well, not attacked, more jumped up in excitement to investigate and play. Jackie was nearly knocked arse over tit, Khan is a big, heavy dog and doesn't know his own strength.
Anyway, the little dog crapped it'self literally, ha ha.
Well, I thought it was comical.
Khan just wants to play, the little dog runs away but she will get used to him.
Bed time and the little un wants to sleep on my pillow so we let her. She was shoving herself into the back of my neck and I was getting nearer and nearer the edge of the bed. Then she got under the duvet and kept me awake most of the night.
Terrible Tessa thinks it's funny of course and said the little dog will settle down in a couple of days but I am telling you now, it's not funny.

And so the dance begins.

And so the dance begins. She got the dog, that's the first thing.
She rolled in at about half four looking pleased with herself with three more bags of Christmas shopping.
"Where you been?" I asked. Not unreasonably I thought considering she finished work at two fifteen.
"Shopping with our Vicci. You not dressed yet?"
"Dressed!" I tell her. "I wouldn't even be awake if you left me alone."
"Come on," says she. "We will have a cuppa then go to our Olwyn's to get the dog."
"What happens if Khan kills it?" I ask, knowing he won't, he only defends himself.
"Well," says she. "If they don't get on we will take her back."
"What about my tea?"
"You are having silverside, now get dressed." I am told.
Well, we went over, stopped at Aldi on the way because she hadn't wasted her daily quota of shekels.
There were a few tears from Olwyn because she wanted to keep the little dog but her other little dog was trying to kill it. That's the thing with bitches, they never get on.
Came back home, the little dog being nosey all the way, looking out of the car window.
I came in first and put the muzzle on Khan, £6.99 from Jackie White's, and as soon as Herself came in with the little dog in her arms Khan jumped up to greet her and the little dog bit Shirley Temple's hand in fear.
Since then the little dog has been running away from the idiot who wants to play with her. At the minute the three of them are up in the bedroom, and so the dance begins.

Oh well, we will see.

Oh well, we will see.
I just told Khan that he is getting a new friend, he wasn't impressed. All he did was sighed and went back to sleep with his head on my foot. I wish he would bugger off. He is never far away from me and likes to be in contact most of the time.
Personally, I can't see him accepting the little dog, but you never know.
Oh well, we will see.

She never stops!

She never stops.
I was on the vodka last night and had one too many. I woke up this morning the worse for wear so Grindon Gertie had to get the bus to work, she's a dinner lady. As soon as we had got rid of her, me and Ghengis Khan went back to bed. It's just gone three in the afternoon now and we have been awake for ten minutes. We would still be asleep if Prehistoric Pauline hadn't phoned me up.
"I have got a little dog," says she. Notice that she doesn't ask me or Khan, she simply informs us and if we don't like it we can go and fuck a spider as far as she is concerned. The fact that he tried to kill the last dog he met, another Akita, seems to have slipped her mind.
I said, "What if Khan won't have it?"
"He bloody will or I'll punch his lights out," I am informed. "I am getting it off our Olwyn, she has to get rid of it tonight."
"Well, you better go to Jackie White's market then, to the dog place and get a muzzle for Khan. He is ten and a half round the nose." I tell her, "We can put it on him before we bring the little dog inside."
"I still want another Akita," she informs me. "I'll be in about tea time, I hope you are sober by now."
"Sod off," I tell her and turned the phone off.
It rang again.
"What?" asked me in my best phone manner.
"I want to go to Morrison's tonight as well. I need some things."
"Sod off," I tell her, she never stops!

You couldn't make it up.

You couldn't make it up.
Half past two this morning and Ghengis Khan charges out of the bedroom and goes downstairs like somebody not right.  I can hear him not quite growling but sounding exceeding menacing.
"Shit," said I to me. "Has he got a bungler!"
I jumped out of bed and hurried down the dancers without even bothering to put my dressing gown on. I could do with a bungler, he can have my dressing gown for a start. I put the kitchen light on and he is in the corner with his victim, a tiny, little mouse!
Of course, the idiot can't reach it in the corner but he seems to be doing his best to lick it to death and growling. Poor little bugger is terrified, the mouse, not the dog.
So I walk over and smack the dog's arse.
"Leave him alone, you bully," I tell him.
He looks at me as if to say, "I am only doing my job."
Huh! Pity he can't do his job when Wendy is here, she needs growling at.
"Go on," I tell him. "Fuck off to bed."
The mouse scuttles off, a bit like our Wendy.
Back upstairs and getting back into bed to rub my cold arse on her she says in the dark, "What was all the racket about?"
"You awake, are you?" I snuggled.
"Aaaargh! You are freezing!"
"It's winter," I tell her, "Stop whingeing."
"Bastard," she informs me.
"Ha!" I snigger. "The best bit about being a bastard is I don't have to buy anybody a present on Father's Day."
"Piss off and go to sleep," I am instructed.
No, you couldn't make it up.

She Likes Her Bed

She likes her bed, no two ways about it.
Yesterday was Sunday and I was out of bed by half past seven, I have to be or the dog gets fractious. It's no good expecting her to get up to see to her dog, he can shit on the bed for all she cares. He is my dog when somebody has to get up to let him out. He lets himself back in, I will have to teach him to let himself out.
So, once I am up I stay up, can't get back to sleep anyway.
She rolls downstairs at eleven bells in her onesie and Norwegian boot-slippers, hair all over the place.
"I'm not going anywhere today," says she. "Can't be arsed." Plonks herself next to the fire and turns the telly on.
"What about breakfast?" I ask.
"Make me a cuppa and I'll do it in a bit."
All I got was a bacon sandwich. Then she shoved a chicken in the oven and went back to bed!
She crawled back out about two, made the dinner and went back upstairs to 'tidy up'
About four I went up to see what she was tidying up.
All she was tidying up was her sleep quota, she was in bed.
"Are you actually getting up today?" I asked.
"Sod off," says her. "I'm comfy."
Oh yes, she likes her bed.

they must be kidding me

They must be kidding me. Every day, sometimes several times a day in fact, I see these adverts on the telly for a free credit score for life, so I went onto it. Credit Score .com.
They want my email address, passwords, and all kinds of personal details including bank details. These people must think we are all simple minded. Next thing you know the bank will be stripped bare and the money somewhere in Nigeria.
Fuck That!
Nobody with any sort of sense is going to put that sort of information on the computer.
These people are just bandits and please (if you read this) take me to court or something, the world needs to know about cunts like you.
Bank details! They must be kidding me

It's Too Easy!

It's too easy! There is no other way to put it.
So there we were, me, her and my brother Robert, wandering around B&M. Our Rob went in for whatever took his fancy, I went in for tins of dog meat and Slack Alice went in to look at their Christmas stuff. I have no idea why, she's got tons of the crap already!
Anyway, I have got my dog meat and our Rob had bought crisps and noodles so we were done.
Not her.
She is examining little bathroom bins. What the fuck bathroom bins have got to do with Christmas is beyond my puerile understanding but there we have it. Then I find myself standing next to the shelf bearing toilet brushes and you know me, never look a horse in the teeth.
"Hey!" says me. "Jackie! We need a new toilet brush."
"What?" says she. "Why?"
"The one we have got is no good."
"Why?" she asked. "What's wrong with it?"
"It's faulted," I tell her. "It's broke."
"How is it broke?" she asks.
"It's took all the skin off my arse!"
Yes, she walks into them. It's too easy.

Psychotic Sally

Psychotic Sally, that's what we used to call her.
Allow me to explain.
About three years ago at this time of year, it was really pissing down one day, not much changed there then.
So; I had just moved into the flat on Southwick road and it was located above a shop, Marie McMahon's to be precise. I know Marie and her family all of our lives.
Outside of my front door was a bus stop and on the day in question I was going into the flat and there was a woman standing, huddled really at the bus stop, in the rain, looking the worse for wear. She looked like she was on her last legs in fact.
I remember asking, "Are you alright?"
"I'm freezing," says she pathetically.
"Here," I say opening the front door. "Come and have a hot drink."
Anyway, took her in, gave her a hot drink and let her warm up. Skinny little thing, mid fifties and she was never going to win any beauty contests.
That was it really, she got the bus and was gone from my life, or so I thought.
Next morning at seven bells the dog wakes me up barking, someone is at the front door. I go down to have a look, not best pleased. It is the human disaster from the day before and she has got a daily paper with her.
"I got you the paper," says she.
Anyway, I tell her politely that I don't want her knocking on my door at seven in the morning and she tells me she has no friends. Not my fault so I send her on her way and tell her not to come back.
She stalked me. Hanging around in Marie's shop, following me around the Green and stuff like that. I told my probation officer I had a stalker and that was that.
Well, I don't live there anymore but psychotic Sally (as I called her) doesn't know that. She is still loitering at the bus stop, the sad sod.
Oh yeah, I have still got the magnetism for the wierd and the wonderful, ask psychotic Sally.

PS

And I am doing my own dinner apparently.

A Nice, Freindly Chat

A nice, friendly chat; that's what it was.
This is the picture. I am sitting playing World Championship Poker on the play station and it is about half four in the afternoon.
In she comes.
The dog looks at her, decides that she can come in then goes back to sleep.
She looks like a drowned rat
"Raining, is it?" I ask, not unreasonably I thought.
"You bastard," she accuses, dripping all over the place. "You could have come and got me! But no! You have got your dressing gown on!. Bastard!"
"All you had to do was give me a ring," says I.
"Would you have come?"
"No," I reply, honestly. "It's raining."
"Bastard," says she and storms off.
Oh yeah, I like a nice, friendly chat.

He can't be trusted

He can't be trusted, it's as simple as that!
Our new dog, well, he's not so new and he has got nothing to do with me beyond feeding and walking him. According to Mata Hari he is her dog unless he is in the bad books because then he is "YOUR POXY DOG!"
He is an American Akita and seems to be of the opinion that anything on four legs is there for him to attack. But to be fair, he is ecumenical about it, he will bite two legs too, especially me.
"Freddie!" says Miss Grindon 1956. "Since we lost Tara I think Khan is pining."
"What?" says I. "For the Fjords?"
Right over her head that one, never heard of the parrot sketch.
"I think we should get him a girlfriend."
"Eh?"
"Go on the internet and find one," she orders. "I don't care where. Be a nice day out for us."
We found one in Birmingham.
Phoned the people up, had a nice chat, a five year old bitch, beautiful dog and we all agreed on £250.
Took four hours to get there with him snoring most of the way.
What did he do when we finally reached his new girlfriend?
He attacked her. Two big Akitas fighting like mad, took ages to separate them.
Drove all the way back and he was suddenly my dog again, in the bad books.
"Eight hours driving!" she cries. "I could strangle your poxy dog. She was beautiful!
"Well," says I, narrowly missing a cat as we turned into our street. "What can I tell you? He can't be trusted."

It's brilliant!

It's brilliant!
She just came rolling downstairs wearing her onesie and acting all reasonable. That's suspicious for a start, she only does reasonable when she wants something.
"Do you want a full cooked breakfast?" says Boudicea in her Micky Mouse onesie.
I look at her.
"I'll do bacon, sausages,waffles,eggs, beans and tomatoes."
I grin at her.
"What you grinning for?"
"I'm still not taking you to Shields," I point out reasonably.
She does her best not to punch me in the face. "Do you want a full breakfast or not?"
"Certainly," says me. "Set me up nice for the match that will."
"You could easy take me."
"No I couldn't," I tell her. "I'm going to the match."
"Right," says she. "Make your own fucking breakfast."
It's brilliant!

She walks into them

She walks into them, she really does.
Sunderland are playing Hull today and I have got a couple of tickets. Well, let's face it, they lose every game more or less and they still get over forty thousand masocists turning up to watch them. It's marginally better than poking yourself in the eye with an exocet.
So, she says, "Will you take me to Shields market today?"
"No," says me. "Going to the match."
"If I had a little car I could take myself."
"Don't start that again," says our super star (me). "You can't drive! I got you the driving test stuff for the computer and you haven't even looked at it!"
"Well you take me then!"
"I have told you, I am going to the match!" I tell her.
"Huh," says she. "You think more of Sunderland than you think of me."
I grin at her and say, "I think more of Newcastle than I think of you."
She walks into them.

Ps

Ps.
And if her poxy dog doesn't stop trying to eat my foot she will need a new dog, never mind a car.

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.