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
Once in a lifetime opportunity to purchase your own little piece of Prince Edward Island.
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
Once in a lifetime opportunity to purchase your own little piece of Prince Edward Island.
Posted by Milt at 11:41:00 pm
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