Thursday, April 27, 2006

The Scream of the Bladder Wrack




How did this holiday end?

With a damn great scream, but I digress. I have to explain the bladder wrack.

The little place where we stayed was delightful. The Pirate loved it, the shores were stuffed with bladder wrack.

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He enthused over its glutinous, slimy, and gelatine qualities, its gleaming nodules, its gloopy surface.

He promised with a total lack of sincerity, not to say veracity, that he would never bring the weed anywhere near me.


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But I wasn’t deceived; before I got into bed, I sure checked everywhere. No weed, and the Pirate smiled. Bad news is that.

Harmony was maintained – we explored Havorfordwest, which was closed, until Easter. I mean everything was closed, and that includes the Tourist Office.


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The sun shone, and we explored the lovely old castle of Manobier, near Tenby. Which was open, and didn’t seem to mind about Easter.


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Who says old stories die? Wandering around the long corridors,

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it’s easy to believe in these old legends. Mind you, did find some ‘lurkers’ up to no good, as usual.

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A jewel of a place

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Ignoring Piratical mutterings of ‘Why don’t you try out the dungeon for size?’ We finished being tourists, and headed back home.


I got back to Oxford, apparently bladder wrack free. But I forgot all those warnings you get at airports ‘Don’t let anyone tamper with your case! Don’t leave your case unattended!’

I left my suitcase unattended, I even let the Pirate put my case in the car. Silly me.

Still in post holiday haze, I opened me case.

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And screamed.

There it was, a large mass of wet bladder wrack, nestling on top of me clothes, fresh as the day the Pirate had plucked it from the sea.

Needing a nice cup of tea, I picked up my mug. A large hairy spider was nestling in the bottom. I screamed some more.

I know just how this guy feels.

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Yep, 100% empathy.



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Friday, April 21, 2006

It's the Rutting Season





Me ...

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Photograph: T.R. Hughes



and the Pirate

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went on our hols, all the way to sunny Wales, yes it is sunny in Wales sometimes – for you Yanks, it’s the bump on the left hand side of England. That’s enough explaining for anyone.

On the last day we went exploring in the caves of Dan-yr-Ogof, no I don’t know how to say it, just splutter a bit and you’ll be fine. Don’t try it on the Welsh, they will laugh all the way to Swansea Bay.

It poured with rain, unrelenting I called it but smarty-pants Pirate called it 'persistent', so we queued in the downpour, nearly deafened by the roar and yells of the plastic Dinosaurs.

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We stood behind a very soggy mum with child, as the Pirate wondered what the fearsome beasts might be up to.

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“I expect it’s the Dinosaur rutting season,” he said loudly, as the soggy Mum gawped at him, and tried to protect her child from piratical language. I waited in case a little voice piped up “What is rutting, Mummy?” No such luck.

Undaunted, we confronted the dangers of Dinosaur land – even a giant Crocodile, didn’t daunt his spirits: never seen anyone about to be chewed up into little pieces, look so happy.

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The caves were nicely spooky, and some of the natives…

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Photograph: T.R. Hughes

were a little ‘strange’ you know.

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Photograph: T.R. Hughes

Remarks that I must be related to some of ‘em, were ignored. If you ask me, the Pirate looked right at home, surprised they didn’t keep him, I am.

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I always said he would end up in Hell……

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On the way out, I was forced to have me pic taken next to Mr Drip, except that a Pink Blob child was rooted to the spot – so I kidnapped her, this child was never gonna move, no Siree.

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Photograph: T.R Hughes

We finished off with a fish lunch – take my advice, go hungry, the fish was older than the Dinosaurs.
Before we took off, gave the museum a cursory look round.

Can’t understand why they let the Pirate out, he would have made a nice addition to this lot.
The Missing Link maybe?

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Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Moving Blues




I’ve moved house

I’m knackered, and a pair of boots has disappeared

Well the hell did they get to? Just walked off, vamoosed, little beggars.

Still, it’s a nice little neigbourhood.

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The house ain’t bad, it has a certain charm

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So here I am in me little attic room…
With me PC , and the telly, can’t be bad

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Can’t find me boots though.

Still, never mind. No place like home, nope.


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