New Year & The Dropsy

Track of the day

Oh misery! I woke up this morning thinking that it was New Year's Day so I muttered the obligatory "White Rabbits," and promptly drifted off to sleep again.

This is worrying because it's been going on for a couple of weeks now, the drifting off, not the muttering of "White Rabbits." I have always leapt out of bed as soon as I woke up but recently I've been sleeping much later. The thought occurs that it might be the onset of dropsy or even 'the palsy'.

On the other hand it may just be that I am pissed off at being passed over yet again in the Queen's New Year Honours List. I would have thought that my services to Bogsville drinking holes should have been recognised in some small way.

50 years ago

The final of Stoke Prior Women's Darts League at the Ewe and Lamb pub had to be delayed when it was found that a new bristle board was too solid and caused the darts to bounce off like golf balls. A male onlooker stepped forward to try his luck and, to the delight of the players, he also failed. The match finally got underway using an old cork board. The winner of the knock-out competition was Barbara Grazier, of the Ewe and Lamb.

Meanwhile in Bromsgrove, magistrates fined a woman cyclist from Bogsville, 15 shillings (75p) for not dismounting at a halt sign at the junction of Twatling Road and Fiery Hill Road. What a bunch of total twatlings! It's a well known fact that Bogsville women have an almost feline quality, once they are mounted it's almost impossible to get them to dismount.

Hogmanay

I spent a few years in Aberdeen Scotland and was surprised to see this image on a website advertising this year's Hogmanay offerings. My advice would be to wear a much longer kilt. The weather has been known to get quite chilly up there.

I suppose you could always put a hot water bottle in your sporran. 12 miles south down the coast at Stonehaven there is an annual fireball swinging procession. Here is a picture of Mark "Big Ball" Anderson swinging one of his big ones in 2001.

George Tripwell

Track of the Day

You may or may not have been wondering what happened to young Annie Humpass. When we last caught up with her it was 1939 and she was on a train with a tiny infant clutched to her breast and was heading North, away from both Upper and Lower Placket.

Chapter Four - George Tripwell.

The train broke down at the poetically named village of Hagg's Bottom which in those days was somewhere just south of Manchester and has now sadly disappeared without trace. Annie carried her yet nameless daughter onto the platform of the little station and was immediately helped by George Tripwell, the most junior of junior porters but destined for greater things, or so his mother said.

George found Annie a room at the 'The Empty Bottle', a Temperance Hotel famed for the stunning darkness of its wartime blackout curtains, its stunningly potent, thick dark tea and the stunning length of the notice over the reception desk that read,
"The consumption of alcoholic beverages is forbidden anywhere on these premises. God Willing."
The notice proved confusing for travellers who regularly asked to speak to Mr Willing, in the mistaken belief that he was the manager. The Empty Bottle Temperance Hotel was, in fact, owned by a kindly but inappropriately named Miss E. Brew who took Annie under her wing and offered her a job first thing the next morning. Annie accepted and spent the rest of her life known as "that Widow Humpass at the Ebrew place over in Hagg's Bottom."

Mindful of her mother's parting words to her, "Always remember to be thankful for small mercies Annie," she arranged for her daughter to be christened Mercy Annie Humpass. George Tripwell, who was destined for greater things, visited Annie regularly and soon became a father in all but name to little Mercy.

In 1953 the Korean War ended, Joseph Stalin died, Harry S. Truman announced that America had developed a Hydrogen Bomb, a second Elizabeth became Queen of England, Mount Everest was climbed for the first time and George Tripwell made the long trip to Nether Placket to ask Widow Bracegirdle if she would mind him asking for her daughter's hand in marriage.

As he left the carriage at Nether Placket Halt, his right foot slipped on the edge of the platform and he disappeared beneath the wheels of the train. The doors slammed, the guard blew his whistle, the train began to move and George Tripwell never got to ask for Annie's hand in marriage.

As usual this event did not go unnoticed at the local inn where many a man in his cups on a Saturday night was heard to declare, "That Humpass woman was the finest looking widder around here by a very long chalk, but there's a curse on that family and always has been. If you ask me, George Tripwell was lucky he died single. Who knows what horrors might have happened to him if he hadn't gone under that train."

Previous entries

Chapter One To Begin at the Beginning

Chapter Two Humpass

Chapter Three A Curse On The Family

Screaming Fan Belt

Track of the day

Elder son drove away at about 3.15pm. His departure was accompanied by high pitched screams from the fan belt. He has a VW Polo Coupe, reads well but the engine sounds dreadful. The car has an automatic choke that is notoriously unreliable and floods the carburetor every time he attempts to drive off.

When he arrived last Friday I assumed that he'd had the fan belt replaced and the choke fixed. I was obviously mistaken. If I had known, I would have booked the car into a little local garage and had the work done so that he could have climbed in and driven off without a problem today.

We are now keeping our fingers crossed that he manages to reach home before the New Year.

Kent mailed

Seems that warnings of dire driving conditions in Kent are tripe.

Palm pilot

If you have wi-fi and a PalmTX you can send and receive emails and web pages while sitting on the WC. Presumably you can also order fresh stocks of toilet paper when you discover that the previous occupant used the last sheet.

Annie Humpass

It seems to me that I should make the effort to return to the Bracegirdle - Humpass saga before the New Year. I can't leave that woman travelling on the train for ever. Trouble is I've forgotten the story.

Karaoke

At around 10.00pm I tired of the Skybox hdd recordings and departed for the Hole in the Ground bar. A royal singsong was in progress. There were one or two professional Karaoke performers there. It appears that this karaoke takes place in another local bar on a Wednesday night. The same people perform the same songs.

I'm also told that the manager of the other bar was one of tonight's performers. What I don't understand is that the last drinks bell was rung at 10.50pm despite the official notice in front of me stating clearly that the bar could remain open until 02.00am. Personally I believe that if you don't use the license you should lose it. Can anyone explain the system to me. How am I supposed to know when I can pop along for a drink at midnight? One day I might find a karaoke singer who should be singing with a band. I thought I'd found one tonight until the guy started to ad-lib and failed to pitch a single improvised note.

Happy New Year Vic!

Brigitte Bardot

Advent Calendar
Track of the day

Last night I spotted the words 'ass' and 'laid' neatly printed in black on a page. Thanks for that RB. As a result I had difficulty dropping off to sleep, what with my mind horning in on the above words and other meaty matters.

The previous night my sleep was disturbed by a dream involving a young Brigitte Bardot. For some reason she was having problems walking so I was carrying her on my shoulders. Luckily she was as light as an ox and I was as strong as a feather and all was progressing towards a fruitful conclusion when some bastard ruined everything by shooting me three times in the chest.

As far as I remember this was painless but it made such a mess of my shirt that I woke up. When I managed to get back to sleep she had disappeared, probably with the guy who ruined my shirt. I'm not sure why I have decided to share that wondrous dream with the whole world, but I have.

When I woke up this morning I discovered that everyone had gone away. So now there's just me and Dog here. That's very sad but luckily I still have my happy little SAD Light Box.

À propos of nothing - Merl is taking his salt scrubbed butt to France tomorrow so if you are reading this Brigitte, you could pop in to visit him. He'd like that.

Printable CD Problem

Advent Calendar
Track of the Day

I was given a pile of printable cd's for Christmas so I sit here and I burn and I print, or I print and I burn. Fascinating! If anyone can suggest which I should do first, I'd be grateful. I currently favor print and burn. If the burn process fails, I can stick the cd on the wall!

I have also become the owner of a SAD light box and am waiting for a miraculous mood change to take place. The only trouble is that I may not suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder. Who knows? More to the point who cares? As long as I feel happy and can see to read that's all that matters. Last night I couldn't get to sleep. I gather I'm not supposed to use the light before I go to bed. Unfortunately it hasn't improved my eyesight sufficiently to read the instructions. I'm sitting here right now with 10,000 lux bouncing off the back of my eyeballs. I'm not sure whether I should feel happy about that but I do.

Merl's butt

The other day Merl announced that he'd had a salt scrub on his butt. He announced the fact as follows, "Hey you wanna feel my butt! It's really smooth. I've had it scrubbed with salt."

Raul and I assured Merl that we have no desire whatsoever to feel his butt to check its smoothisity. I'm not sure whether I should feel happy about that but I do.

Escorts

Advent Calendar

I overheard two Irish guys discussing whether Prince Charles Philip Arthur George would become 'King George de Sevent' or 'King Charles de Turd'.

For what it's worth, my personal vote goes for 'King Charles de Turd'.

Missed opportunities

"Wednesday 30th November,Wednesday 7th, 14th and 21st December have been highlighted as Access Evening where people with mobility can shop in the City Centre with the help of escorts if required."

I sometimes feel like I need the services of an escort but rarely when I'm shopping. "The climax of the shopping trip came when..." I know they'll try anything here in Bogsville to get people into the stores but shouldn't that have read 'people with mobility problems'?

Frankenstein An' Myrrh

Advent Calendar

There's this bird called Mary, yeah? She's a virgin.
Wossat then?
She's not married or nuffink, but she's got this boyfriend, Joe, innit? He does joinery an' that. Mary lives with him in a crib dahn Nazaref.
Mary meets this bloke Gabriel. She's like 'Oo ya lookin at?'
Gabriel just goes 'You got one up the duff, you have.'
Mary's totally gobsmacked. She gives it to him large
'Stop dissin' me yeah? I ain't no Kappa-slapper. I never bin wiv no one!'
So Mary goes and sees her cousin Liz, who's six months gone herself. Liz is largin' it. She's filled with spirits, Barcardi Breezers an' that. She's like 'Orright, Mary, I can feel me bay-bee in me tummy and I reckon I'm well blessed. Think of all the extra benefits an' that we are gonna get.'
Mary goes 'Yeah, s'pose you're right'
Mary an' Joe ain't got no money so they have to ponse a donkey, an' go dahn Bethlehem on that. They get to this pub an' Mary wants to stop, yeah? To have her bay-bee an' that. But there ain't no room at the inn, innit? So Mary an' Joe break an' enter into this garridge, only it's filled wiv animals. Cahs an' sheep an' that.
Then these three geezers turn up, looking proper bling, wiv crowns on their heads. They're like 'Respect, bay-bee Jesus', an' say they're wise men from the East End.
Joe goes: 'If you're so wise, wotchoo doin' wiv this Frankenstein an' myrrh? Why dincha just bring gold, Adidas and Burberry?'
It's all about to kick off when Gabriel turns up again an' sez he's got another message from this Lord geezer. He's like 'The police is comin an' they're killin all the bay-bees. You better nash off to Egypt.'
Joe goes 'You must be monged it you think I'm goin' dahn Egypt on a minging donkey'.
Gabriel sez 'Suit yerself, pal. But it's your look out if you stay.'
So they go dahn Egypt till they've stopped killin the first-born an' it's safe an' that. Then Joe and Mary and Jesus go back to Nazaref, an' Jesus turns water into Stella.

Merry Christmas!

A dictionary that may help.

Christmas Ecards

Advent Calendar

I sent out some of those fancy Christmas ecards. Somehow the company have managed to mix up all the email addresses so if you received a card from Bogsville - yes it was meant for you - and I'm sorry if it contained someone else's email address. If you didn't get a card it's probably gone to someone else who is just as puzzled about it all as I am.

Merry Christmas anyway!

Old Boggers really should know better than to mess with new fangled technology.

Does anyone recognise this child? The poor little Bogger decided to adopt me in an airport somewhere. He wanted me to wipe his nose for him.

If you are reading this Arturo, could I have my wallet and camera back please?

Favourite card

This card was the one I always mailed to people. It summed up how I felt about everything.

It's no longer available. Typical!

Reduced Reindeer

Advent Calendar

I felt very sorry for this little reindeer.

He was standing outside the store, surrounded by boxes of reduced crackers, hoping that someone would like him enough to take him home.

I liked him a lot and I was sorely tempted but we don't have anywhere to plug him in.

Blind crossing

This puddle appears everytime it rains. The bobbles in the paving slabs are to warn blind pedestrians that they are approaching the edge of the pavement and to guide them to a carefully chosen road crossing point. Yes folks we are very hot on disabled access here in Bogsville.

Unfortunately there is nothing to warn blind pedestrians, that they are being guided into an ankle deep puddle. The Bogsville Highways Department is staffed by people with a very sick sense of humour.

Shit of the week award

Bogsville's very own Shit of the Week Award goes to Ian Murray of Dataflow Communications Limited of Wells in Somerset. The BBC reports that Sophie Blinham got a job temping at Dataflow. After just 15 minutes she was told by the boss that she couldn't work for the business because it didn't employ smokers."We don't want people coming into work smelling of smoke," said Ian Murray. "We want healthy employees and we believe a non smoker is healthier than a smoker." Oooooh!

I can remember the days when pig ignorant employers asked young women at interview if they were married. The reasoning behind the question was that if a young woman was married, she'd soon get pregnant and have to leave to look after the child. The best answer to that question was, "Yes but my husband is a eunuch."

The best liars always do best at interview.

Dudley

Advent Calendar

As the working year comes to a close I feel I should dedicate this picture to the hard working people in Dudley Council benefits department.

Now that they are once again allowed to gaze at pig pictures I thought they might like this one. I have named him Dudley. A larger version of Dudley is available here.

Felices Navidades! Joyeux Nöel! Hyvaa joula! God jul! Jutdlime pivdluarit ukiortame pivdluaritlo! Sretan Bozic! Zalig Kerstfeest! Kala Christouyenna! Boas Festas! Srozhdestvom Kristovym! Fröhliche Weinachten! Shubh Naya Baras! Nave Sal Di Mubaraka! Nathar Puthu Varuda Valthukkal! Naya Saal Mubarak Ho! Shubho Barodin!

And yet again a message from my sponsor.

Beware The Camembert

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Merry Christmas! Felices Navidades! Joyeux Nöel! Hyvaa joula! God jul! Jutdlime pivdluarit ukiortame pivdluaritlo! Sretan Bozic! Zalig Kerstfeest! Kala Christouyenna! Boas Festas! Srozhdestvom Kristovym! Fröhliche Weinachten!

Waitrose Camembert E Coli warning

There are dodgy batches of camembert cheese out there. The three cheeses recalled are 250g packs of Reaux's Gaslonde Camembert, 250g packs of Camembert de Normandie Th.Reaux and 1kg blocks of Reaux's Gaslonde Camembert. All batches and use-by dates are affected.

Mild Chicken Curry

Not wishing to be left out of the race to ruin a family Christmas Sainsbury’s have recalled their
Mild Chicken Curry 400g cans - Best before date: Sep 2008 - Batch number: LJS 22L (5273)
because they may contain another product by mistake. They may contain Chicken in White Sauce, which apparently contains a dairy ingredient, so would not be safe for people who are allergic or intolerant to milk.

Looks like I'm stuck with roast sausage without the camembert stuffing this year. Time to listen to a reassuring message from my sponsor.

Sally Rand & Dog Radio

Advent Calendar

Seems to me that Christmas is mainly for young kids so I've found this for the older festive funners out there. It's Sally Rand the fan dancing, diminutive burlesque star with the enormous fans, of whom George Burns once said this.

Malheureusement she was already 43 years old when I first noticed her. She would have been 105 now. Now there's a sobering thought. No, that wasn't George Burns, that was Milt who said that.

Dog radio

You can now tune in to Dog Radio. It's a radio station designed for dogs or cats but people who are into pets can listen. Gerbils and tarantulas might like it too. Dog wasn't too impressed - but then he is totally deaf. They have this somewhat disturbing graphic.



Kind of puts you off petting.

Suspenders & A Collapsed Santa

Advent Calendar

There's something reassuring about a guy who knows how to keep his socks up. This guy must have left his pants at an office party but no one in the Tulip & Tiara seemed to notice. Walking into a bar displaying suspenders, black socks and blue and silver Nike trainers may be frowned upon in swankier cities but here in Bogsville it is de rigeur.

Bogsville people 'have the balls' to wear just about anything. They also have a tendency towards builders' bum.

You may have guessed from this garbage that I visited the Tulip bar last night. Merl thought I needed cheering up so I trotted along and we talked about important stuff, looked at the christmas decorations and vowed never to leave our pants at an office party.

On the long walk down to the bar I noticed that Santa had decided to sit for a while on top of the local Tandoori & Balti restaurant. He was perched up there quite happily when I passed by at about 9.00 pm.

Unfortunately, by the time I passed him on the way back he seemed to have suffered a fatal collapse. I suppose it could have been something he'd eaten. Either that or someone had just shot him. I hope he'll be ok later on in the week when he's supposed to be visiting you. If he doesn't turn up blame it on the Bogsville Tandoori & Balti.

I think that 'she with ants in her pants' is flying back from the frozen north today so I had better go and check that the runway is clear of Dog doo.

A personal message from my alter ego.

Wrinklies & Titpillows

Advent Calendar

If you've left it late again this year, here are a few ideas for diy decorations. I've spent so much time playing with my new Skybox that when I popped into my local decorations store everything had gone. Sold out. Zilch. Years ago you just bought crepe paper for making streamers and a pack of balloons to blow up.

Last minute gift idea

I'm getting Dog one of these Mini Mouse vibrators. It should get his stiff old back legs loosened up in no time and if it works on him I might give it a try myself.

These days Bogsville folk like their parties to go with a bang. They've been going bang every night since the beginning of November. We really know how to party round here - especially late at night when it's mostly quiet and lots of wrinklies and young kids are asleep, so you can imagine my excitement when I spotted this 70cm Party Cannon.

It really finishes off the evening to let a couple of these beauties go. 'Remember to allow at least 18 meters clearance for the full effect and they have quite a kick so brace them on the floor, not your lap'. Height clearance approx 18 metres - that's 59ft. Great! Should lift the roof right off.

Final final last minute gift idea

Please Santa bring me one of these Titpillows so I can live out my Jordan fantasy.

Pa Didn't Sing Like Bing Crosby

Advent Calendar

Decoration ideas

It's never too late to decorate thanks to TCraft.

My self imposed vow of silence is going well. I'm much better at mastering silence than I am at giving up smoking. It runs in the family. Every now and then I clear my throat and say "Yes I think so," just to prove to myself that the silence isn't because I've gone totally deaf or been struck dumb.

The words "Yes I think so," and "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party," are deeply embedded in my memory.

My father used to say them over and over, first thing every morning while he was shaving, as a test piece for his vocal cords. He had a hoarse voice, probably because he smoked but also because he had a wart or two on his larynx. Is it ok to write that before 9.00pm? This condition had helped Bing Crosby and Ruby Murray, (Ruby Murray?) but it didn't do anything for Pa's singing voice.

The first lines of "Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner" would croak out from the bathroom and I'd know that we were in for another Christmas with Pa's head under a towel, over a bowl of Friar's Balsam and boiling water. It was a sign that another holiday period would be spent at home.

Ma said the voice loss was psychosomatic and only came on when he wanted to avoid family gatherings. He denied it of course but my mother was a very shrewd woman.

"Yes I think so. Ahahhh mmnnn. Yeesss. Ahahhh." Do I detect just a slight hoarseness there? Did you hear hoarseness? Where's the Friar's Balsam?

Get Well & Buxom Beauties

Advent Calendar

This message is for anyone who is feeling two degrees under, as they used to say in the once world famous advert that no one can now remember, except me.

Pirates

A pox on christmas! This be th' time o' voyage when seafarin' heartys an' buccaneers come out o' th' bunghole an' look fer a safe place t' drop anchor. Them dwellings, grog shops an' inns be full o' good cheer an' buxom beauties an' if thar be one thing that seafarin' heartys like better than parrots 'tis a buxom beauty or two an' a bit o' pillage. That thar word that usually accompanies pillage be omitted on accoun' o' 'tis t' be avoided like th' plague an' be only used by scurvy rats who deserve t' be keel hauled an' strung up from th' yardarm.

Speakin' o' which - as the sun be over the yardarm, I be off to get me some victuals afore I starve.

Virtual Christmas Tree

Advent Calendar
Brian Wilson Christmas Album Podcast

It's quiet here in Bogsville. This morning, 'she with ants in her pants' has flown orf to the frozen north so Dog and I are messing about with stuff. I've found a very twinkly 'virtual' Christmas tree that will save me having to decorate one of my own. When I find a couple of virtual presents I'll be virtually sorted.

I had a home visit from a friendly lady yesterday. She has decided that I should go on a rail trip in the New Year. She seemed to think I'm in need of a treat. I agree I'm in need of a treat but I'm not sure I share her enthusiasm for an educational trip to a big, city shopping mall.

Paranoia

Advent Calendar
The Muffs Christmas Podcast

Even the quiz machine in the Tulip & Tiara knows when we are visiting - or is that just paranoia? I hasten to add that the arrow always points directly at Merl. The little guy on the left looks like he needs the bathroom. He's been jumping around for hours now.

Oh well - etc.

Baubleless In Bogsville

Advent Calendar
The Muffs Christmas Podcast

For years It puzzled George why his youngest son Albert looked nothing at all like his other four boys.
One night in desperation, he said to his wife,
"Lulu, I have to know the truth, no matter how unpleasant it might be. Who is Albert's father?"
"You are," she said. "It's the other four you should be asking about."

Baubleless in Bogsville

I just made the mistake of going shopping. As usual I came home with nothing. I put the Christmas pictures on the page to remind me that CCChristmas is approaching fast.

The street is getting lit up which is just as well because we are treeless, baubleless and lightless. I dislike fffestivities. Mind you I would like some Independence Cigars. They are rolled with love.

Oh well - dum dum, a-diddly dum.

Dudley Council Stress Pigs Letter

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The Muffs Christmas Podcast

The Dudley Pig saga has resurfaced thanks to a letter from Councillor Pat Martin, Cabinet Member for Personnel. It reads

"I see that despite the statement I put out at the Dudley Council meeting some weeks ago, to the effect that pigs had never been banned from the council, you chose not to publish that fact. Thus we are still getting letters about the pigs affair that never was.
If anyone would like to walk round any office in the Council House they will see stress pigs on most people's desks. It's a good thing they are for stress. We have had enough since the ludicrous story got put around and embellished by all the media because it was funny.
The only pig that was removed was from the office of the employee involved. End of story. Except that does not make a story does it?"

Council meeting

Councillor Pat Martin was reported as telling a full council meeting:

"I fully support the actions by management to respond to the concerns from colleagues following established and approved procedures. However I'm satisfied these procedures need to be reconsidered to make them compatible with the current law on what's deemed to be offensive in the workplace. Therefore I've ordered an urgent review of the procedures."

After the meeting she said only the benefits department was affected by the request but admitted the policy was 'very strict' and that officials would look if they were 'too aggressive'. She said that under the current rules, staff could even be asked to remove a football scarf if colleagues claimed they were offended.

I'm glad we've got that cleared up Pat and I hope the benefits office workers won't have to spend too much time squeezing the stress pigs in the run up to their Christmas break, or should that read their Winter break?

Oh well - dum dum, a-diddly dum.

Winter Lights Cannabis & Chip Fat

Advent Calendar

A pensioner in Poulton-le-Fylde was upset when told that 'Christmas Lights' were now to be referred to as 'Winter Lights' and a whole host of citizens in Preston were proper pissed off with a civic leader who announced that the annual carol concert would not take place this December but be replaced by a multi-cultural, candlelit 'event' in January.

Personally I'm all in favour of a singsong at any time but especially when

'overly timid local government, obsessed with what is now seen as the ultimate virtue - namely, a political correctness that sets out to be all things to all people - forgets that in trying to embrace everything, and by dumbing down to the lowest common denominator, one invariably ends up standing for absolutely nothing and in the interests of absolutely no one.'

I pinched that from a letter to the Independent but it's very good.

Seems that that nice man, Tony Blair is planning a controversial U-turn on his cannabis laws and the reintroduction of tough penalties for potters after an official government review found a 'definitive link between the use of the drug and mental illness'.

A senior Whitehall aide said:

"There is no barrier to reclassification of cannabis on the grounds of political embarrassment. This was David Blunkett's decision, not something agreed by the Cabinet."

I expect there'll eventually be an official government review that finds a 'definitive link between 24 hour drinking and alcoholism'. I suspect that was down to David Blunkett too.

Meanwhile the Conservative Party's own, even younger nice man, David Cameron, has announced that chip shops and restaurants should collect their old cooking fat so it can be used to fuel cars. Mrs B. once filled up with diesel instead of petrol so I hope she's not reading this.

At present 225,000 tons of waste fat produced by restaurants in Britain each year "goes down the drain, where it has a terrible effect on sewers". I expect an immediate response to this from the Blair party. I would also mention that Raul came up with the idea at least three years ago but I don't think Raul was motivated by thoughts of sewer protection.

From a speech by George Bush to the Council on Foreign Relations, meeting at the Omni Shoreham Hotel in Washington, DC Published: 09 December 2005.

"Reconstruction has not always gone as well as we had hoped, primarily because of the security challenges on the ground. Rebuilding a nation devastated by a dictator is a large undertaking."

Dictators are bad news George, I should blame it on that guy Blunkett.

And they wonder why voters have become apathetic!
Oh well - dum dum, a-diddly dum

I Feel Another Fetish Coming On

Advent Calendar

Yesterday's post included a picture of a young man in blue shorts, pointing at a poster. The young man is not Milt. Thought I'd just clear that one up.

I made the mistake of visiting one of those newfangled shopping developments the other day. I've never seen so many people trying to throw money away on tasteless, sparkly garbage. I was particularly nauseated by this fluffy christmas tree and associated baubles. Luckily there were plastic buckets on sale at the same store. View the tree in all its glory - here.

This gay little blowup snowman seemed to be very excited by the long haired guy just to the left of the picture. I was more impressed by the multiple green, pointy bazookas on the right and did think that a mattress like that would be good.
"Well hello there. Would you like to come over and see my green pointy bazookas?"
Larger view of the green pointy monsters.

I think I feel another fetish coming on.
Oh well - dum dum, a-diddly dum

Tal Farlow

Any guitarists out there listen to Tal Farlow? A couple of years before he died, he played in a little bar not far from here. Part of the set might make a change from dum dum, a-diddly dum. Here's the introduction to Autumn Leaves from that night. It's never been heard before.

Keeping Balls In The Air

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Have you ever felt like you were just riding round in circles?
Wulfweard the White was cruel enough to suggest I might have a bicycle fetish.

Oh well - dum dum, a-diddly dum

Mind you it beats 'trying to keep your head above water' or 'attempting to keep all your balls in the air'. If you've been trying to keep your head above water you have probably already sunk without trace so it's pointless offering any help but if you are currently attempting to keep all your balls in the air - try this.

"Make your balls rise by sucking air into your chest as if you were sucking on a straw. The light blue ball comes up first, followed by the medium blue ball and finally the dark blue ball. Try to hold up as many balls as possible, then relax, and let the balls drop."

I was unable to road test this procedure as it seems I was cruelly short changed at birth. Please let me know how you get on with it.

Firming up

When I hit 40 I started getting really nervous about my appearance. I tried dieting, yoga, hypnosis, you name it. Then a friend told me about "Earthbars" and they have changed my life for ever. I'm firming up all over and look 20 years younger than I did six months ago.


P.S. I have enclosed a recent picture.

On The Balcony

Advent Calendar



"Hello. Yes of course it's me.
What do you mean did I know my bike is up on the balcony outside Lulu Lovewotsit's flat again? No I have absolutely no idea how it got up there. Yes dear, I'll pick it up on the way home. Better not wait up."

Oh well - dum dum, a-diddly dum.

A Curse On The Family

Advent Calendar

At half past ten on the morning of the third of September 1939 the villagers of Upper Placket gathered round the radio in the village hall where shortly after eleven o'clock they listened in silence as the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, announced that the country was at war.

One week later Annie gave birth to a daughter and just two weeks after that, Ivor was painting the ceiling of the new nursery a delicate shade of egg shell pink when he suffered a massive heart attack, dropped his favourite briar pipe, fell off the stepladder and died. Annie later remarked that his favourite briar was quite undamaged by the fall.

The funeral was a sombre affair and very quiet except for the contented gurgling of the tiny infant clutched to Annie's breast. It is true that the tolling of the bell sparked a major panic in nearby Lower Plackett where Miss Abernethy from the Cosy Rug Store decided that an invasion was taking place, locked herself in the outdoor privy with a packet of crackers and her father's shotgun and threatened to shoot any man who came near.

Annie Humpass bore her loss with typical Bedworthy - Bracegirdle stoicism but the old Widow who stood with her daughter at the graveside felt she sensed unease amongst the mourners.

The reason for this unease became clear later in the day down at the village inn where many an old man could be heard to mutter into his cider,
"Her might be a fine bit of Bedworthy - Humpass but you mark my words, there be a curse on that there family. One good looking widder is only to be expected, two good looking widders could be an unfortunate accident, but three - all in the same family?"

The outbreak of war, Ivor's untimely death and the resulting malicious gossip unsettled young Annie. She bought a train ticket, packed her bags, embraced her dewy eyed mother and headed north with the baby clutched tightly to her breast.

Previous entries

Chapter One To Begin at the Beginning

Chapter Two Humpass

If you don't fancy those

Enjoy this instead. What do you mean it's miserable! It's wonderful.

Don't Wait Up

Advent Calendar

"Hello. Yes it's only me. I'll be home as soon as I've managed to find my bicycle. Better not wait up. I may be some time.
What do you mean the people across the street have got an obscenity on their roof?"
Oh well - dum dum, a-diddly dum

Tune in elsewhere

Webkittyn warbled live on Wednesday on Mango Radio. I'd cut the intro and launch straight in with the live warbling but that's just me. Anyone struggling with the stream breaking up - download it.

Wrong Side Of The Tracks

Advent Calendar

Somehow I always seem to end up on the wrong platform.
Oh well - dum dum, a-diddly dum

Humpass

Advent Calendar

Young Annie inherited her mother's smile and her concerns about matrimony. The birth rate in both Nether and Upper Placket had plummeted in the years following the Great War and it wasn't until a local bus service was introduced in 1937 to link the Plackets with the outside world that twenty three year old Annie's resolve never to marry was put seriously to the test.

A bus trip to Huggington on the Water almost ended her life when she stepped into the path of a young cyclist who was speeding along with a brand new briar pipe clamped between his teeth. He was on his way to a lunchtime rendezvous with Glenda Bottomley who worked in lingerie at Grimett's in the High Street when Alice stepped off the kerb and into his heart.

The cyclist, forgetting that his back brake didn't work, sailed over the handlebars and landed right at Annie's feet on top of the two halves of his new briar and a pile of twisted tubing. His prompt action not only saved Annie from injury but also broke her resolve never to marry.

"It was just like something out of the Arthurian legend. I think it was his broken briar that attracted me to him," she later admitted. "There's always something so terribly vulnerable about a man with a broken briar and he was so sweet about his bent front forks."

Widow Bracegirdle noticed that Annie's eyes became misty whenever she mentioned the broken briar and the bent front forks but put it down to the political uncertainty caused by the recent events in Germany.

Little Annie borrowed a bicycle so that she and Ivor could ride out together and in the late summer of 1938 another wedding took place at the small church in Nether Placket.

There was some confusion about whether Annie's name should appear in the banns as Annie Bedworthy or Annie Bracegirdle but in the end the problem was resolved by the young curate who arranged for Bedworthy to appear on the notice pinned to the church door and for Bracegirdle to be read out by the parson during morning service. The wedding went without incident and Annie Bedworthy or Bracegirdle duly became Annie Humpass.

Nor did this event go unnoticed down at the local inn where many a man in his cups on a Saturday night was heard to declare, "Her was a good looking lass when her was Bracegirdle and her's always been Bedworthy just like her mother but her's definitely the best bit of Humpass around here by a very long chalk.".

To Begin At The Beginning

Advent Calendar

Annie had a smile that plucked at the heartstrings. On Sunday mornings, even in the depths of winter, when an east wind threatened to freeze the very blood of life, the little church at Nether Placket was always packed with attentive worshippers.

It was not the mellifluous oratory of Parson Spindleshanks that ensured a full turnout, though some of the older worshippers could remember a time when the Parson had been able to touch a nerve with one of his sermons. It was the desire to catch a glimpse of Widow Bracegirdle's only child Annie and her captivating smile that ensured the overflowing pews. The object of their fascination meanwhile gave thanks for small mercies and vowed that she would never again allow a man to trick her into unholy matrimony.

The more perceptive reader will have surmised from this, that Annie Bracegirdle was not an unattached woman. Her engagement to a young man of the cloth, had been announced shortly after she left the hallowed bosom of St Margaret's College for Ladies. This had led to her being most unfairly known by local harridens as 'Fast' Bracegirdle or even 'Forward' Bracegirdle.

The engagement had continued for twenty one years. Walks in the park, picnics in the vicarage garden and even a day trip or two to the sea had kept the relationship fresh as the couple continued to formulate their wedding plans.

Finally, and I write not in jest here reader, after twenty years the wedding date was set, the Bishop himself agreed to attend the union and the village hall was made ready. The whole of Nether Placket was present as the couple made their vows before Parson Spindleshanks and there was scarce anyone in possession of a dry eye on that glorious June afternoon in 1914 when Annie changed her name from Bracegirdle to Bedworthy.

After the ceremony, rice was thrown and Annie's wedding posy found its way into the hands of Marge Caloreigh who, everyone agreed, was by far the most worthy recipient and whose ample figure had already caught the roguish eye of the best man.

That evening there was feasting and some of the best dancing ever seen in Lower Placket. At ten thirty, Parson Spindleshanks gave the couple his final blessing and they left for their new home in the little cottage at nearby Upper Placket.

Just after midnight, Widow Bracegirdle, who by now was fast asleep after all the excitement of the day, was rudely woken by a terrible commotion at her front door. Pulling on her dressing gown she hurried downstairs where she found Annie in floods of tears. Shaking uncontrollably the young woman explained to her mother how her husband of nine hours had first tugged at her new nightgown and then attempted an assault on her virtue. She had rejected, most emphatically, his lustful advances, had packed her bag and hurriedly made her way back to the safety of her mother's home.

A month later, following many hours of discussion with the district midwife and with the local Doctor, who was unfortunate enough to have been born into a family named Tool, she agreed to a trial reconciliation. The reconciliation resulted in the birth of two children, a girl and a boy. The girl was named Annie after her mother and the boy was inexplicably given the name Dickie. Annie's sadly misjudged husband vanished totally without trace on the first day of the Battle of the Somme.

Back in Upper Placket Annie Bedworthy's faith was unshaken by the sad event. In fact some villagers observed that it was as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. In later years, aware that many men in the area spoke of her as 'the bedworthy woman,' she reverted to using her maiden name.

This event did not go unnoticed in the local inn where many a man in his cups on a Saturday night was heard to declare, "Her might be Widder Bracegirdle now, but her's still the most bedworthy woman round here by a long chalk."

Sunday Night At The Movies

Advent Calendar

Milt went beerless yesterday because he was whisked away to watch a movie. He doesn't make a habit of spending Sunday night at the movies and before you ask, it wasn't Harry Potter. He once had to endure a Harry Potter blockbuster during a flight to Hong Kong and that was more than enough. That's Harry Potter not Hong Kong.

"Excuse me. Would you let me ruin my own post here?"
"I'm sorry Milt. I was only trying to help out."

Big chain movie complexes don't appeal to me. There's something about the smell of hotdogs and popcorn that makes me want to throw up. I once tried to make sense of a movie while the rest of the audience shouted from one side of the auditorium to the other. It was complete bedlam in there, no one was watching the screen except when unspeakably violent scenes were being shown.

Last night's trip to an 'art house theatre' to see The Constant Gardener was an improvement on previous experiences. There were only about 50 people in the audience and they were all there to watch the movie.

Did I enjoy the experience? Yes I enjoyed the performances and the photography but to be honest, I preferred reading Le Carré.

Mary and John

The amorous couple are taking a short break. Star crossed lovers need a little privacy from time to time.

In which our hero and heroine almost meet

Advent Calendar

Chapter Two

Or it might be Chapter One (part two). In which our hero and heroine almost meet.

Mary had been on a lunchdate. Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like "Second Small Man."

In truth the lunchdate had started well. She remembered his deep, throaty laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up. She had always craved the company of intelligent men and this one had spoken with all the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it. But by three o'clock it was over. He was gone, unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can and she was going home, alone, where she would give thanks for some everyday things that she had forgotten to be grateful for like toilet paper.

A storm was brewing overhead. The thunder was ominous sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play. Frightened by the hailstones that leaped around her from the pavement, like escargots when you fry them in hot butter but without the sizzle, Mary decided to take the shortcut through the park.

John saw her at about the same time that she saw him. For the briefest moment the thoughts tumbled in his head, jumbled like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free. At times like this he regretted that he never took logic in college, just an introduction in high school. He consoled himself with the thought that even in a sewer, the cream rises to the top.

Finally, long separated by cruel fate, the star crossed lovers raced across the grassy field towards each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. travelling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

An old friend

I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce you to an old friend of mine. He's been with me now, somewhere inside my head, 24 hours a day for something like 25 years. Sometimes I think he's trying to drive me mad. Sorry but that's the only tune he knows. Some of you may already know it.

Writing Novels Is Easy

Advent Calendar

Take my word for it, writing novels is easy. Look how many there are out there on the shelves. All you have to do is avoid the use of vulgarisms that might piss off the reader.

Chapter One

John and Mary had never actually met. They were just like two hummingbirds who had also never actually met. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth and where most of the houses were built of red brick, the color of a brick red Crayola crayon.

Mary had caught John's eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again. She had also caught his eye because her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center and her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze. All he would need was one chance meeting but he was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access T: flw. quid55328.com\ aaakk/ch@ung but gets T: \flw.quidaaakk/ ch@ung by mistake.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't all one way traffic. She had noticed him too. Well he was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree. She'd often wanted to break the ice but her vocabulary was as bad as, like, er, whatever.

One day back in May, or it might have been July or August even, John had been in the park watching as a little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.

To be continued...

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