Bally Scotland....

I 've run away - off to bally Scotland, sorry, I mean 'bonny' Scotland.
And if I come back to the merest whisper of a 'hawhaw' or a derisive cackle, there will be trouble.
Yep.

Fat Arsed Goddess

You know what they say. So glad to be in Glastonbury. No? That’s where I was, and first stop the Tourist Info people. Me and the Pirate had managed to pick the ‘Musical Extravaganza’ weekend to enjoy ‘Avalon’, and guess what? Jools Holland was appearing. Insincere apologies to those of you who like the gent and his music.

“Oh dear” sez the tourist lady. “Everywhere is so so, busy!” Her eyes did the round saucer thing, and she got on the phone.



“Do you” she asked “Require twin or double?” Hell's teeth, lady, all I want is to avoid sleeping in the car.
“Anything” I muttered “And sharing the bathroom is OK.”
Unwashed is not beautiful, and doesn’t get you any closer to the Goddess, believe me.

The town was full of Goddesses. Walking round the place, looking distinctly smug, and easily spotted – carrying tambourines and flowing in …um..flowing robes. Orange or red is the ‘In’ colour, and a head-dress of plastic flowers.

The Pirate thought the Goddesses were predominately fat-arsed: well they did rather fill the up the pavement.
(for you Yanks, that's the sidewalk, yep)
Even the guide at the Chalice gardens was a bit sceptical “I dunno” he muttered “Thought there was only one Goddess.” Me too.

Of course, he wasn’t just the guide. Our chappie was an Arch Druid, and ‘Very very busy’.
“Thank god I’m retired” he said happily. And proceeded to tell us about the naked ladies, that like to swim in the pool.
No wonder he’s enjoying his retirement.



I quite understood why the Arch Druid said he had to get out of the place occasionally, to keep hold of his sanity.
His eyes swivelled round behind the glasses “Of course if you touch the Thorn tree And the stone…”he paused “You go into another dimension.”
Right. I think we do.

I guess a Goddess deserves a knight in shining armour, this is Glastonbury.
He clanked down the High Street, just about managing to pick up his winkle picker shoes, followed by the obligatory maiden.



Good job none of the Goddesses got entangled with the Knight in Armour.
That would have shredded their drapes.

Very picturesque, is the George and Pilgrim Hotel. Only trouble was, finding anyone alive. Crept through the passage, nobody there; Find the restaurant, empty. Fifteenth century, it may be, but surely someone is still around?
We find the bar, lights, people, oh goodie.

I guess the staff were alive, hard to tell really - at last one of 'em bothered to look round, and looking vaguely disturbed, said the beef was off, which left the fish.
Guess what we had? So right.
We had the fish.



The cutlery and our dinner were dumped on the table with a complete lack of savoir-faire. Plonk, thump. Maybe they were feeling medieval, or something like that.
Back at the B&B that our Tourist lady found us, I inspected the lavish selection of teas, admired the tin of shortbread…
Lovely, now where was the bog standard PG tips? No such luck.

The Pirate cackled madly and went to sleep, probably dreaming of fat-arsed Goddesses.
It’s all right for some.

My Ten Toes

It’s a damn good thing that the summer season of sandal wearing is nearly at an end. A sentiment that blokes will never understand, and that includes those weirdoes who wear socks with sandals.





The number of times some wanker in his size twelve’s has stood on my bare toes, this summer, is past counting. As I hobble off the bus, I mutter imprecations that would make their cotton socks curl up and die.





And top of my list is the friggin’ dickhead, that told me to stay cool; for God’s sake, why do these blokes spend all the seasons of the year, in their clumpers?
Anyone would think they were going off to Boot Camp.
If I ruled the world, they would all be on a survival course, and none of ‘em, would sodding survive.





So fair warning to the next idiot who stands on my feet, and crushes all ten toes to pulp. I am going to thump him in the balls, so hard, he won’t be standing upright for the next fortnight.

And his girlfriend can go on retreat, as she won’t be seeing any action out of him, in the foreseeable future.

Can’t say you haven’t been warned, can you, so be bloody careful if you get on my bus, really friggin’ careful.
Yep.

The Well Behaved Toaster

What is it about Toasters? I mean, why the hell, don’t they bloody work? Most of the Toasters in my life have been absolute bastards. These mean machines do toast, but in their own fashion, you know.



The first toasting machine I ever bought, just burnt things; never saw the toast, just a plume of smoke from the bally thing, and some cindered remains resting at the bottom. It was like running my own private crematorium.

Time went by…another Toaster in my life; this one had a nasty trick of chucking the toast out, and brother, you sure had to jump fast to catch it. Most mornings, my breakfast landed on the kitchen floor.

The current machine in my life, is a contrary little Miss – some mornings its pops the uncooked bread out, ‘No toast today, thank you..’

I set it at 4, I set it at 6. ‘Nae bother lassie…..go hungry.’



I know someone who has a well behaved Toaster – it does the job, the bread is golden brown. Little does its owner know how much I covet his Toaster. Little does he know.

We have a Mission, Houston

Don’t take a bloke shopping, don’t. Lock ‘im up, throw away the key, whatever. But go solo, blokes don’t do serious shopping.

Blokes go on a Mission. To go where no female would dream of going.



Walk to shelf. Pick up item. Advance to the cashier’s desk. Go home.

Have a look round the shopping center...what do you see? Sad, sad blokes, parked on little wooden chairs, waiting for the Missus to reclaim them.

I’m always tempted to creep up and whisper “Run away…go on, leave her to it. Run!”

Don’t imagine for one glorious moment, that you can leave a bloke to carry out a few useful tasks around the house.
Sure, they will agree, and give you the 'nod' routine. 'Yes dear, no dear, three bags full, dear.'
Get a life.
Something Very Important, will have come up, while you were giving yourself a makeover.




“So sorry dear.” Just had to go and save the world, get anything nice dear? Yep. So sorry we are. Not.

Plumbing Is Good For You

Blokes like to build things, yeah they do. But it has nothing, absolutely nothing with getting things fixed around the house.
Bugger all, in fact.




What Blokes mean by doing something useful, is written in a different language, and it surely ain’t mine.

This is a picture of a bloke having an idea. It should be obvious to the meanest intelligence, that It will not help you. What It really wants to do, is go to a hardware store.





To have fun.

Looking at endless boxes of screws, and nuts, and bolts, and lengths of cable.
Then he has to consider the Project. Please note, it is a ‘Project,’ and nothing to do with you, or the broken pipe in the bathroom.

And then…he must Think.




The Missus, makes the mistake of warning the bloke, that she wants him to actually do some work. Bad mistake, real bad mistake.



He reacts badly….




Very badly….




But the lure of B & Q (that’s our hardware store, for you Yanks) grabs him. Don’t be simple, that smile means zilch, zippo.



“Just off to B & Q, dear”

And off he goes, beaming at you. Don’t smile back, it’s a waste of muscle power.




Some folks believe that life is good, that ‘He’ is gonna mend the roof, fix the kitchen sink, whatever. It’s a dream, it will not happen.
This guy is a fantasy. Believe me.




After hours of nail gazing, nail thinking and pondering, the Bloke will return, nailess of course, to consider his options. He has a happy hour, or two, maybe three. And not a single bloody nail gets hammered.




You want stuff fixed? Join a class, learn some plumbing, better than ‘Improve your French’ any day of the week. Yep.

Oh Capten' Pugwash

The Pirate...



Wanted to go to the Boat Show




So off we went. It was great fun, and there were folks who talked about boats



Serious stuff, and these two bods obviously were planning the Great Trek – or something.

And some people who …’talked’



Or looked at Boats…



And dreamed about Boats.




I rather liked this one…




And fell in love with this one. I wanted the Pirate to have a boat named ‘The Black Pig’ but he didn’t want to play Capten’ Pugwash, drat him.




This lady was wheeling and dealing, bet she sold a storm: as for that bug-eyed creature, is it humanoid? Doubt it.



Some folks took the selling game, more relaxed, and …'waited'.



It was a lovely day… the sun came out, and stayed out: the Band had a pre-session discussion




All I needed was this comfy looking boat with cushions: a tall glass of something sparking and….



Someone to do the rowing, please?




Nope. No Way.

More to see, so orff we went..for a boat trip.



And that's another story.