My Years As A Trappist Monk

Track of the day - I Can See Clearly - Jewelsband.



If you're going to strip off to demonstrate solidarity against racism on soccer terraces, make sure you know the guy you're standing next to.
The Celtic fan on the right of the picture seems to be keeping a very close watch on his neighbour's tackle.

It's been Happy Birthday week. Friday was Bogs the Younger's birthday and today Bogs the Elder is lit up somewhere on the Thames.
Consecutive days but five years apart. I think their procreation probably took place at the start and end of my years as a Trappist monk, or of the years when I was marooned on a traffic island in Wednesbury.
Bogs the Elder is apparently distraught that only ten people are accompanying him on his drunken voyage of discovery along the Thames and Bogs the Younger is green with envy because he only had three people to carry him home last night.
At least they are prepared to admit how old they are.
This morning I was third degreed on the phone by a helpful Barclaycard lady.
"How old will you be next birthday?" she asked.
That was a bad start because I'm not sure how old I am now.
"OK we'll forget that one. Can you tell me the last three digits of your land line phone number?"
I thought carefully and suggested "201".
Wrong response again because I was later informed by Mrs B, who uses the phone, that 201 were the last three digits of my parents' phone number and they both died years ago.
Barclaycard lady was very understanding and asked some questions that I could answer.
"Are you sitting in front of your computer and is there anyone else there I could speak to please?"
I was going to ask her if she was doing anything after work but we somehow got cut off before I could ask.

I've spent a large part of the day cleaning out the deep fat fryer.
Seems that it got switched on at six o'clock last night and was still looking for something to fry at eight o'clock this morning.
God knows what the next electricity bill is going to be.
This morning the house stank of hot fat. It could have been worse. And before anyone accuses me of negligence and of being unfit to operate a deep fat fryer I would like to point out that my homicidal wife was entirely responsible. I could have been well and truly crisped last night

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Amateur Rider Crematorium Tribute

Track of the day - Beach - Jewelsband MySpace Link.



"What's he on? What's he on?" and "Go on my son!" was the cry from local cycling enthusiasts as amateur rider Velo C. Peed appeared leading the field of Tour Of Britain professionals towards the finish line.

Fire at Crematorium

Bereaved relatives and staff were forced to leave Aberdeen Crematorium when fire damaged one of the burning units in the complex recently.
A fire service spokesman said the cremator equipment was "well alight" when crews arrived.

Fire at a crematorium! Whatever next?

A Happy Juxtaposition

On the topic of bereaved relatives I'd like to thank Manx Islander for sending me this touching tribute, broadcast recently on Manx Radio.
To quote my Manx Islander source
"I've made a note not to let Manx Radio handle my funeral oration."

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Lost & Found

Track of the day - The Rest Of My Life - Jewelsband MySpace Link.



I spotted this heartrending note stuck to a window on a canal barge the other day.
It serves as a timely reminder of just how hard hearted some wives can be.
I recall the sad story of local fire brigade hero Bert Slingsby who lost his wife and dog during a bombing raid on Birmingham in July 1942.
He found her again on the 3rd August 1952 while on a day trip to Blackpool.
No one seems to know what happened to the dog.
Mentally scarred by the horrors of this story I have always tried to avoid visiting Blackpool.

Prince Edward Island's - MySpace page.

Drain Tapping

Track of the day - Beach - Jewelsband
Jewelsband MySpace Link.

Is Big Brother tapping your drains and tracking your conversation pieces as they flush away to a better life somewhere?
He certainly is round here.
I caught this guy listening to the drains at the end of our driveway yesterday.
Hell's teeth, is nowhere safe from the identity pilferers these days?

From now on my personal waste products are going through Mrs B's shredder.

For some unknown reason this 1970's big momma on a beach in Saint Tropez, made me think of double skinned, suspended ceilings in Moscow.
I've never been to Moscow but the web informs me that double skinned, suspended ceilings come into their own when the water from the bath or shower in the room above overflows and becomes trapped between the latex layers.
The result looks like - well - like a paler version of the woman in the picture.

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Chelsea Between Managers

I wake up in the middle of the night, switch on the computer and find that Chelsea are 'between managers'. Sad isn't it!
Personally I couldn't give a flying ****.

Elderly Bitch Hunting

Track of the day - Hot Dog Buddy Buddy - Bill Haley.



Our visitors have left for pastures new so it is very quiet round here except for the deafening rumble of articulated lorries.
The elderly bitch proved that her taste for hunting hadn't diminished by tracking down and then ripping up a honeysuckle root.
To be fair to her the root was preventing her from getting at a rat.
The rat got the message and disappeared - temporarily.
Come to think of it, the arrival of the rats has coincided with the absence of dogs from the garden.
Has anyone got a bucket of lion or tiger dung I could have going cheap?
Yes I know lion and tiger dung doesn't go cheep unless, of course, you stand on its toe.

A very polite young man appeared yesterday and asked if I was satisfied with the electricity and gas that his company was providing for us.
I explained to him that the gas came out of the little holes in the gas oven when I turned the tap and ignited just fine and the electricity lit the lamps so yes I was satisfied, except for the service last Monday morning when the electricity they sent us was too powerful and blew up Mrs B's hairdryer.
He promised to send us less powerful electricity on a Monday morning so that should help.
By the time he started asking if I knew about their telephone service, I'd lost interest.
Exploding hairdryers is one thing but telephones that can electrocute or gas you is something I'm not prepared to invest in.

As I type this I hear the clopping of horses' hooves on the road outside. I look through the window and there's a white hearse drawn by two white horses, followed by a couple of black stretched funeral cars going past the house and the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
Exploding hairdryers on Monday morning and a horse drawn hearse on Friday.
I'd better go and sweep up the rat poison.

If I could catch the rat I could always use it in a salad.

Prince Edward Island - MySpace link.

A Young Rat & An Old Bitch

Track of the day - It's Over Bar The Shouting - Prince Edward Island.



Tomorrow is the day of my much cancelled and rearranged peripheral vision test.
I am expecting yet another last minute phone call to tell me that it has been postponed.

We have visitors in the house and yet another rat in the garden. It's only a very young rat and cute as rats go but I'm assured that the randy boggers are capable of reproduction when they are only six weeks old. If true, that's impressive but worrying.
I was hoping that the visitors' dog would solve the rat problem but age seems to have put paid to her hunting instincts.
That's a problem I understand only too well except that in my case I do at least still attempt the chase.
Make the most of your freedom for the next couple of days rat because as soon as the old bitch leaves, the poison pills are going down again.

Prince Edward Island - MySpace link.

Long Abandoned Roman Roads

Track of the day - I am a pig & you are a cow
Prince Edward Island.



We're back from our week by the sea that turned out to be a week exploring the Yorkshire Dales.
Mrs B's idea of a good time seems to be trekking up near vertical hillsides and squeezing through tiny 'v' shaped stiles to get to long abandoned Roman roads.
It's a pity that the last century's road builders didn't follow the Roman road builders' example because I haven't had to drive round so many bends for years which is a good job because I'm lousy at it.
Scenic they might be, built for speed they are not, unless you are a middle aged biker hurtling round on the assumption that there is nothing solid coming the other way. No wonder the locals drive round in Land Rovers.
Every biker in Britain must head for the Dales at weekends. God knows where they go to, they just seem to be attracted by bendy roads and small gaps between cars.
Perhaps they all end up on the beach at Scarborough, we didn't.

Prince Edward Island - MySpace link.