A Man Of Little Faith

Boss roof man finally appeared yesterday. We toured the loft space and saw where the rain is getting in. He told me he would send the lads round and they would fix it for me.
I should bloody well hope so. The problem is, if anything, worse since they fixed it the first time round.
I'd like to believe that they'll fix the leak permanently this time but, being a man of little faith, I have a suspicion that the more they disturb the tiles, the greater the problem will become.

Thursday evening and no one has been to fix the leaking roof. It is raining again.
Boss roof man now says the lads won't be here until Monday, by which time there will probably be no plaster left on the bedroom wall. The smirking weather man says that it will continue to rain on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I expect it will rain on Monday as well.
I knew I should have asked that nice Jehovah's Witness lady in for a cup of tea.
If there was a local bar worth drinking in I would go and get drunk.
There isn't so I won't.

I Decided To Self Destruct

The bloody roof man failed to appear. In a mood of deep depression I decided to self destruct and wandered along to the Hole in the Ground bar.
Including me, there were seven people there.
I didn't recognise any of them.

These Foolish Things

Track of the day - The Deepest Shelter In Town - Florence Desmond.

I sit here with a damp stain on the wall in front of me and a wall full of filler behind me. Well it happens. It must be an age thing.
Decorating is a complete waste of time. The rain comes through the roof, finds its way down the wall and ruins whatever I've just done so I've given up in the hope that roof man will fix the problem permanently when he comes back tomorrow.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank those of you who took the time to suggest possible courses of action,
a: I could sit on the roof with an umbrella whenever it rains
or
b: I could head for the deepest shelter in town.
The deepest shelter in town wins hands down.

For some strange reason I've been asked whether I remember any of the alternative words that used to be sung to the tune of These Foolish Things in bars round Bogsville.
I'm not sure that we ever sang this verse but it'll do as an example,

The dirty panties in the cracked washbasin,
The broken jerry that I washed my face in,
The bed with creaking springs,
These foolish things - remind me of you.

If anyone out there knows other verses, I'd be only too happy to pass them on to the Florence Desmond fan who requested them.

After two nights of serious sobriety I'm beginning to miss the boisterous camaraderie of the Hole in the Ground bar.
The last time that I was cowering in the fireplace there, a young couple approached my safe haven. If they wanted to play darts, I was definitely standing in the wrong place.
"Are you going to play darts?" I asked politely.
"Wha'?"
I tried again.
"Are you going to be chucking, you know, hurling arrows?"
He looked at me through half glazed eyes.
"Nah. Oi'll manage to keep it down until I get outside."
I moved anyway.

There is nothing like intelligent conversation in a bar and as that is nothing like intelligent conversation I think I'm better off just sitting here, staring at the damp patch on the wall.

A Long Holiday Weekend

Track of the day - Can't Stand The Rain - Graham Central Station.



The plaster took a week to dry out after roofing men fixed the problem. Yesterday I sanded the plaster down and started the repaint job.
Overnight there was heavy rain and this morning the damp patch had reappeared. Seems that roofing men didn't fix the problem after all.
The problem is that when it's raining, they can't get on the roof and when it isn't raining there's no rain to leak into the roof so there's no way of knowing if the rain will still find its way in.
As this is a long holiday weekend, no one will come out before Tuesday at the earliest.
Looks like the repaint job is back on hold.

Meanwhile the pigeons keep thinking it's Spring.

Lightning Never Strikes Twice

Track of the day - Punch drunk - Bela Fleck.

Grandmother Bogs told me that lightning never strikes twice in the same place. Being a simple soul I have optimistically carried on believing her words for the last fifty odd years and a few even years too.
Granny B had obviously never visited the Hole in the Ground bar here in the leafy suburbs of Bogsville.

I trotted along there at nine thirty last night, determined to show the assembled Friday night few that I was not going to be intimidated by a crowd of fat bellied, soccer shirted, mindless morons.
I stood there in the almost empty front bar, just a few steps from the safety of the main exit doors.
To my right, four men were laughing about something or other. It wasn't normal relaxed laughter. It was the forced, full volume laughter that drunks who want to be noticed specialise in.
I moved away as far as possible and ended up in the fireplace.
I suppose I'd been in the bar for all of five minutes when the forced laughter turned to pushing and shoving. One guy lashed out, sending one of the group sprawling into the heavy round table that I'd made sure was between them and me.
I stood there in the fireplace and watched in total disbelief as further scenes from Dante's Inferno were staged for my benefit.
Unfortunately centre stage was right in front of the exit doors. I was trapped.
The sign on the wall read,
"Pig Race - Tues
Pool Tournament - Thurs
Play Your Cards Right - Fri/Sat/Sun."
As far as I can see it's Battling Morons - every bloody night of the week.

There'll be one less in the audience from now on. I'm out of there.

European Cup Final Tickets

Track of the day - Let There Be Love - Nat Cole & George Shearing.

The bar was full of young men wearing red soccer shirts. The match was over and their team had lost. I assumed that they would be leaving as they usually do when a match is over. I was wrong.
When it came, the thump from behind that nearly took my left arm out of its socket was totally unexpected.
I turned and found myself eye to navel with an oversized beer belly that seemed about to burst out of an extra, extra large red soccer shirt.
"What's your f***ing problem?
You got a f***ing problem?
What are you looking at?
Turn your f***ing face away!
Turn your f***ing face away!"
I decided to turn my whole f***ing back on him but that seemed to make matters worse.
I was just beginning to regret not having my dial a policeman mobile phone with me when four or five guys came to my rescue.
"Leave it Baldev! That's enough Baldev!" and eventually they pulled him away.
They got him half way to the door before he started effing and blinding at full volume again and threatening to kill anyone who touched him.
Long haired barman, chair stacker and self proclaimed expert on metal bands wandered over and a few seconds later the pair of them were trading obscenities and threats of bloody violence.
There were now two groups of guys blocking the exit. One red shirted group restraining oversized beer belly and the other group restraining long haired chair stacker who was now taking very loud deep breaths and staring wildly at the ceiling.
I couldn't get out and as everyone seemed to have forgotten about me, I finished my beer and took advantage of the empty bar to order another.
"Just another typical night in the Hole in the Ground," said the barmaid as she put my money in the till.
When I did eventually leave, the posturing and shouting was still going on. It had just moved out of the bar into the car park.

Someone explained to me that oversized beer belly had two unused tickets for that night's European Cup Final in Athens in his pocket.
He was one of the 150 Liverpool supporters who couldn't get to the match because their plane had developed a mechanical fault and was withdrawn from service.
What a shame!
Pity it doesn't happen more often when total assholes like him are travelling abroad.

In Search Of A Big Woman

Track of the day - Poison Ivy - The Coasters.

I don't feel well. As usual it's all self inflicted.
In 1938 or thereabouts some sadistic douche bag who had the bright idea of surrounding our back garden with a privet hedge, three privet hedges to be exact, and ever since then someone has had to trim them at least twice a year.
Yesterday was start the trim day. After hacking at 30 yards of the brute I was totally knackered. The remaining 40 yards will have to wait until I've recovered.
Having to work perched on top of a step ladder is bad enough but bending over to pick up all the severed bits that land in the flowerbed finishes me off completely.
End result is that my back and shoulders ache fit to bust, which is why I limped along to the Hole in the Ground bar in search of a big woman. It's well known round here that a big woman can provide the only lasting cure for a sore back.
Needless to say, I shouldn't have bothered.

The bar was empty except for a drunk pilot and a retired policeman. I moved the ashtray so that it was under the sign that read "Thank You For Not Smoking" and lit up. A track by All American Reject blasted out of the speaker above my head and the beer was cloudy.
"You want me to pull another pint, see if it's any better?"
"Yes."
The replacement looked better and tasted ok. I hoped that it wouldn't ruin the whole of the next day.

The barmaid came out from behind the bar and stood next to a long haired guy who usually served the beer.
She giggled a lot and squeaked when she spoke. The giggling was easier on the ear. She lit a cigarette and pulled on a Bob Dylan cap. Long haired guy was rolling his own and talking too much. She giggled and said nothing.
"Hee, hee, hee.
Huh, uh, huh.
Khee, khee, khee."
It started to get annoying.
A guy came in off the street and started to force feed coins into a slot machine hoping it would throw up a jackpot. It didn't. It just swallowed all his money and kept it down.
The barman left his roll-up on the bar and wandered off to stack chairs.
"Bang, bang, bang." The empty bar got the message. The pilot poured another glass of wine from the bottle in front of him, the retired policeman ambled off to find another bar and the barmaid stopped giggling long enough to reach over the bar and pull herself another drink.
The chair stacker came back to finish his roll-up. The barmaid started giggling again and then disappeared behind the bar to ratchet up the volume on the speakers another notch.
"Another one? Foster's?" she squeaked at me from under the peak of her Bob Dylan cap.
"Yes please."
She wandered off to the Carling pull, her mind obviously fixed on far more important stuff.
"I know my metal bands," said the guy who had been stacking chairs.
"Tee hee, khee, khaa," giggled Bob Dylan cap as she tried to work out what to do with the rejected pint of Carling. She turned the peak of her cap so that it pointed out over her left ear.
"Garçon! I'll have a," shouted chairstacker.
"Hee hee. I don't speak French," giggled Bob Dylan cap and walked off.
"Oi! Un pint de canal. Non. A double vodka."
She ramped up the volume of the Death Metal track that was already threatening to blow the cones out of the speaker.
The word purgatory sprang to mind.
The pilot slurped some more of his white wine then staggered off to the toilet. The Who track Blue Eyes started up on the jukebox but it wasn't by the Who and was followed by a yodeling rap track. Chair stacker asked Bob Dylan cap if she wanted a cigarette. She giggled.
A poster on the wall read. "Why not try our fun quiz?
Every Sunday."
I think not. I'd rather cut privet hedges.

An Age Thing

Track of the day - Let There Be Love - Nat Cole & George Shearing.

What better way is there to celebrate a birthday than to pop along to see a dentist?

I have to admit that I'd quite happily pop along to see this one every day, birthday or not. I think it must be an age thing.

All I know is that, whatever it is, the older I get the worse it gets.

The Blackbird, The Cricket & The Chainsaws

Track of the day - Chainsaws - The Bogsville Mafia.

The plaster hadn't dried out enough to sand and repaint the wall so I decided to swan off into the garden to listen to the blackbirds and the cricket commentary.
I lasted about five minutes thanks to the guy at the back who appears to have hired a chainsaw.
Let's get it right Milt, just about everyone in his bloody extended family seems to have hired one.
I expect there'll be a bonfire and air bombs tonight to celebrate today's mighty efforts.
As Prince Harry is no longer going to be leading his men into action to sort out Iraq's problems, might I humbly beg that he lead them into Bogsville to sort out the boggers with the chainsaws.
If anyone spots a pair of abandoned hiking pants, please mail them back to me.

The Nile Delta

Track of the day - What Have They Done To The Rain? - Searchers.



The heavens opened, torrential rain fell on Bogsville and he found himself looking beyond the monitor screen at what appeared to be a map of the Nile Delta.
The wall changed colour rapidly, drops of water seeped out of the plaster and trickled down towards the carpet.

And so it came to pass that he sat there at 12.18pm on a gloomy Monday waiting for the roof men who were supposed to arrive at 08.30am.
Outside the clouds darkened promising more rain.
One o'clock came and went. The map on the wall indicated that the Nile had reached Antarctica.
The doorbell rang, roof man appeared and proceeded to remove tiles.
"This roof's in very good condition. Probably the best I've seen," he said.
He inserted a piece of lead, replaced the tiles and left.

The dehumidifier hums, drying out the plaster and the Nile Delta is shrinking fast.
Heigh-Ho!

Bagshaw Tribute Band

Track of the day - Sunshine - Stanley Bagshaw.



It finally happened. A Bagshaw tribute band.
The Bagshaws, a little known pre and post pubescent band from early 1990, have now grown up, reformed temporarily and booked a session in a Birmingham recording studio.
Stan, LeeBag and Shaw have some new ditties they want to try out.
Expect more news later as I'm supposed to be providing LeeBag with a bed.
I rummaged around and managed to find an old Bagshaw cassette tape to show the pop music world just what it missed when the Bagshaws split. Sorry about the quality but the tape had got a bit stretched.

Addicted To Latex

Track of the day - Slow Boat To China - Dean Martin.



I was on the way to see my diminutive Chinese dentist when I spotted a mobile cctv police van.
The caption on the side read "Caught On Camera".
I'm not sure what it caught on camera today. Perhaps it caught a shot of me catching it on camera.
I have to go to Chinatown before I get to see any police at all. Fact is that we don't seem to have any police round Bogsville Heights except when someone gets thrown out through the window of the Hole in the Ground bar.
I was in Chinatown to see my favourite little dentist. I can't remember ever being so eager to visit a dentist before. I'm even getting strangely addicted to the smell of her latex gloved fingers. Good job that Mrs B is off on her travels until Sunday. It'll give me a chance to get my fantasies out of the way.

May seems a bit early to me to be putting the Christmas decorations up but there are some very strange people round Bogsville and it's possible that they are last year's decorations and whoever put them up has forgotten that they're there. It'll soon be next Christmas anyway.
And now it's all been ""Caught On Camera"

Last night I heard the sad news that the UK crossword champion's funeral took place on Monday.
He was buried six down and three across.

Anyone know where I can get a Pinyin primer?

Triple Bypass & A Big Mac

Track of the day - Cross My Heart - Artie Shaw.



The McDonald's restaurant Guy's Hospital in London is just the place for a reassuring Big Mac and fries before you book in for your triple bypass heart surgery or liver biopsy.

Lost In A Time Warp

No tunes. No pictures.
We spent the day in deepest darkest Shropshire looking at trees and ducks and other things peaceful.
At some point a steam train drew in and then drew out again.
I was lost in a timewarp.

Much later I wandered off to a local bar where I watched a punch up.
The lease holder was in the bar at the time. The licensee wasn't.

I'd have thrown the lot of them under the steam train.

Mrs B. informs me that she went to Worcestershire, not Shropshire. Oh well...

Drinking With God

Track of the day - Drink, Drink, Drink - Mario Lanza.



You can see where breakfast and lunch went.
Dinner was going in the doggie bag for later.

I made one of my now infrequent trips to the Hole in the Ground bar last night and found myself drinking with God.
He was much younger than I expected, was about my height, didn't have a long flowing beard, was Asian in appearance and drank rum and Coke.
It was definitely God because God was printed in large black letters on the back of his Liverpool football shirt.
I can also report that God celebrated last night's victory over Chelsea by jumping up and down on a chair which I deemed to be somewhat ungodly.
After the final whistle God paid his bill with a credit card and left.

I wished that he'd paid for my drinks with his credit card because the price of a pint in the Hole in the Ground has gone up again.
When I handed over my £2.20p for my usual tipple I was told that it now costs £2.35p a pint, an increase of 15p since last week.
The price of a pint has gone up by 45p since the new lease holder took over.
As if that wasn't bad enough I was later served by the licensee himself who tried to charge me £2.50p for the same drink, another increase of 15p in the space of 20 minutes.

No wonder God paid by credit card.

Springboard Diving With Pike

Track of the day - Rocking Robin - Jackson 5.



Springboard diving is not a good idea when there's only half an inch of water in the pond.
This dive, a two and a half somersault with pike was only awarded 2.3 marks by the Bogsville poolside judge.
The Bogsville judge is a tit.



He was up, out of the water and ready to try again before the applause from the rest of us had died away.


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