The Ladies

I suspect that the fearsome ladies of my childhood are no more – generally, they were rather well endowed round the bosoms area,: without exception, they had voices that could cut through steel. They certainly found you, wherever you might choose to seek sanctuary.

The preference for pastel shade knits was misleading – there was nothing, absolutely nothing pastel about them. About as comfortable as a dragon breathing fire, if you ask me.
Children never got asked – you got told. In forthright terms, with words of one syllable.

It was better not to be anywhere near the ladies, and then they couldn’t get you.
If one of the ladies said “I was looking for you, Diana, I wanted you to bla..bla.. bla” - it was several hours too late by then.
Good Result.

God help a child who forgot the ‘please’ and’ thank you’ bit; at that point a glacial blue eye swivelled in your direction, don’t know what they did with the other one. A bit like a fish being speared
God help you if you forgot anything, really.

The adage ‘Children should be seen and not heard’ isn’t followed these days –get to see (and hear) the little buggers even when you don’t want to. The truth was that adults didn’t want to lay eyes on you, and if they heard you…it was time to run for the hills.

They are not forgotten, the ladies of my childhood although they have gone–trouble is, I’m not entirely sure about that. You might think I have anxiety issues here and your’re damn right.
Yep.

Zaphod

I am sorry to say that Zap, as we called him, or Zaphod, died on Sunday 27th September. He often wrote here, and was an expert on the Kraken

His friends and his family will miss him - and so will I. I am so glad I got to knnow him, and enjoy his friendship

Covered in Cow Poo

I havn’t been to Glastonbury for a couple of years, which convinced me that the place was quite normal, and my memory had just hazed over. The brain had just picked out the goofy bits.
Not so, it's in a different time warp, all right.



Of course, I enjoyed it, only morons and George Bush wouldn’t
The shops are full of dragons, fairies and green men, but I am made of sterner stuff and concentrated on the things that matter
Eating, yes, eating

I thought we would try the St George and Pilgrim hostelry again. My theory being that it couldn’t be as daft as I remembered.
It bloody was.





Me and the Pirate made our way there one Sunday evening. Most of the hotel was in darkness, no staff, nothing.
We found the bar, it had lights on, there was a human being behind the bar, sort of. Food yes, they had that. I found a table, and cleared the used plates and glasses. It’s like that in the George.
At least I didn’t have to go and cook the damn food; getting too adventurous I asked for dessert.

Big round eyes.



“The kitchen is closed” Past the witching hour of 8 o’clock, you see.
Right….”.coffee?”
He looked sadly at the coffee machine right beside him, conceding that they did coffee.

I have no qualms about eavesdropping on folk’s conversations – if people will talk loudly about their goofs in the George, I’m happy to listen.

“Yeah, he owed me 25 quid for the gig….so I got a string of lights instead” pause “So that was all right”
Going to be hungry, isn’t he?

Being a sucker for punishment, I insisted on going back there for a last cup of coffee before leaving “It might be ok”. Famous last words.
The George was doing well as usual; served the wrong meal to the wrong bod, and tried to give us more coffee, when we wanted to pay.




Of course, I walked to the Tor, all the way to the top.
It was covered in cow poo.
Yep.




And who is this weirdo..huh?

I wanna be a Roman

The long hot summer the weather pundits promised us over here in the UK, has been and gone, all two weeks of it.
The rains are back, the clouds are grey, things are back to normal, and folks are wearing their macks again and clutching umbrellas.
(That’s weather- wear and parasols to you Yanks)

At least we had the European elections.
Elections can be fun before you all start groaning, yes they can.
I encountered the glories of the ‘Roman Party' headed by a certain ‘Jean-Louis Pascual’

‘The Roman Party. Ave!”
Has a certain ring to it, don’t it but that’s all you get, no posters, no leaflets, so I went hunting on the Web.




His web page is a masterpiece of non – information; here it is

Position: Bus Driver
Interesting Fact: Jean Louis was born in France.

His manifesto suggests that

“…we should consider moving British jail to other Eastern European countries to run at less costs for the British tax payers we could seek permission of Vladimir Putin President of Russia. the reason for this is most British jails are run like hotels and sanctuaries.”

I wonder if Mr Putin would be interested in the idea? I rather like it myself.



Some quotes from his fans on the Web

Q: “What did the Romans do for us anyway?
A: Aqueducts and Months of the Year

Q: Does anyone know anything about Jean Lous Pascual?

A: “He is a bus driver from Reading who puts himself forward for elections and gets about 20 votes. “
A: “He likes strutting his stuff in a little leather tunic or maybe a toga turns him on?”

I look forward to the day when Jean Louis becomes President of France. I’m sure he will be a howling success.



And he writes his manifesto in crayon.
Yep.

Cold Times

There is a coldness in the air, here in Britain and I am not referring to the freezing winds of May which will cause Shakespeare’s ‘darling buds’ to become frost bitten if it doesn’t warm up soon.

No, I refer to the ongoing furore over our parliamentary members and their astonishing inability to understand the difference between right and wrong.

Nothing new you may say, and you are right – politicians are not renowned for their morality but I would suggest that their indifference, indeed their blatant lack of interest in the people who voted them into office has reached a new high.



(Denis the Menance , Beano comics, UK)

Some MPs got caught and some owned up; all of them protested that ‘It was within the rules’
Not good enough.

Reclaiming for non-existent mortgages, four thousand pounds worth of electronics, expenses for the wife, the gardener, are not within the rules.





Now it seems, we have to re-educate our politicians in some very basic ethics.
It is not the rule that ‘Thou shalt defraud the taxpayer’ at all times.

Some one ought to point this out to the Prime Minister .

Yep.

Negative Attitudes

There are times, when we need our heroes; this is one of them, not least because we suffer from the officially ‘dullest’ Prime Minister in the last two centuries

We find our heroes as children, and keep them.
I’m sure there are any number of adults who travel to the office, outwardly sober in suit and tie, clutching briefcase.
But in their heads, they are Captain Courageous and they’re gonna save the world in snazzy lycra red underpants and blue tights.

Traditional heroes can be analysed, historically corrected and the myths de-bunked; but it’s too late for you and me, oh yes it is.
The latest casualty of correctness is Robin Hood


(Statue of Robin Hood, Nottingham, UK)

He is now viewed with a….'Negative Attitude’
Bloody Hell, now the academics are telling us that Robin in the Hood , isn’t any good.
A 15C manuscript discovered at Eton College, describes him as ‘infesting parts of England with continuous robberies.’

Dr Luxford, an expert in medieval manuscript studies, said: "Rather than depicting the traditionally well-liked hero, the article suggests that Robin Hood and his merry men may not actually have been 'loved by the good'.
(BBC News Front Page)

Infesting? Heroes don’t infest, they are good and like to help people – or something like that.

I’m torn here; the scholar within admires the academic input, the preciseness of fact. But I still remember the green legged hero who swung through the trees of Sherwood Forest, played by Richard Greene



(Richard Greene in the Adventures of Robin Hood, ATV. 1955 -58)

in the television series produced by ATV and shown every Sunday afternoon. And guess who sat there as Robin Hood, with his Brillcream hair-do and RADA accent put everything to rights and made the Sheriff cry?

Me.
Yup.



For you Saddoes, who want to hear the theme song ‘Robin Hood ’ go to

Adventures of Robin Hood

Take Up Knitting

I’ve come to the conclusion that blokes need something to do with their hands; and if any of you lot are getting the wrong idea…?.
Disappointment is coming your way.
It’s a simple life for the average bloke, and left to their own devices, they go for simple options.





Ferret around under the bonnet of a car, muttering..”Ahhh..” with much intake of breath, followed by trip to B&Q. May return by nightfall.
Watch football on TV.
Watch fishing on TV.
Go to football…. Go…..I’m sure you get the rest.

What blokes need are things to do, you know, stuff like that. Give him something useful to do, and there he is offering to go to IKEA
All by himself.




Just build a fairly elastic time-lapse into the sequence, and I daresay you’ll get results….eventually.
Last point.
Don’t get excited, remember that blokes are one-cell beings who process one thought at a time, multi-tasking is not an option here.


And if you aren’t the patient sort – take up knitting.
Yep.

Snow is for Tossers

It is insane to carry on as though the UK was running a re-enactment of Scott getting lost in the Antarctic. The screams of ‘Chaos and Horror’ are entirely without foundation, and I am pissed off with the media, who have been indulging in hysterics for the past week.

There is no need for journalists to be doing their ‘piece to camera’ from various locations, all suitably covered in snow.




We know what snow looks like, and if you want a reminder, the bloody stuff is all over the place, have a look for yourself.
If it was me, I would keep quiet: weather pundits predicted the snow two weeks ago, so why advertise our stupidity?

The roads could be open, they are not; the schools should be open, they are not.
The kids should be locked up in them, I mean, learning something and giving all the adults some peace.

Adults mutter in chorus, about kids who seem unable to walk anywhere, certainly not to school, hell no.
Remarks about 'wimps 'and 'nannies' abound as snow balls fly through the air and hit us in the face.



Newscasters have forgotten how to use language with intelligence: every night we get treated to prose worthy of the old Penny Dreadful papers.





“With more snow to come” intones the newscaster “many will be anxiously scanning the horizon...”

No we won’t, look out the window. There you are.

“Silently, in the night…it fell!” hisses our intrepid reporter, as he stands in a field of the white stuff
I would be getting worried if it fell any other way.
So should you
Yep.