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!