The Other Side of Christmas

As we crawl out of the other side of Christmas falling over a mound of tinsel, paper and dying mince pies, there is a sense of surprise, that we are still here.
The world hasn’t ended and we have to get on with the business of greeting the New Year.
Damn.





Round about this time of year, folks who never take any notice of what us humble populace want or like, suddenly want to share their thoughts with one and all.
Of course there is our own dear Queen, this year she was fluting away in those eggshell vowels of hers about the value of Sport.


Sport? When the Public sector in this country is collapsing into a series of savage cuts, we wanna take to the Sports fields? I don’t think so. Then there was the Pontiff, who also made a speech: let me see now, God is a good thing and he wants to hug us, the Pope that is. Note to self; if the Pope comes here again, avoid Papal hugs.

Last, our Prime Minister, dear Davy Cameron gave us all a kick in the pants by sharing his Christmas thoughts: basically ‘things are going to be tough’.
Really?

Us great populace would never have guessed, would we, after all, there is only the continuing downturn in the British economy, the continuing loss of jobs and the continuing rise in the price of consumer goods.



We do a lot of continuing over here in the UK you know, we continue to put up with it: we can’t even take to the streets and protest with the enviable flair that the French show in troubled times. Change the pension age? No way, ‘C’est la guerre mon ami!” and the streets of Paris fill up with angry citizens who bring the city to a standstill.

Us Brits have different priorities, we know what the real issues are, oh yeah .
So empathise with the lady in Kent who dialled 999 to report the theft of a snowman outside her house.
She had used pound coins for the eyes and teaspoons for the arms, and as she said herself
"It ain't a nice road but you don't expect anybody to nick your snowman."



The police didn’t see the funny side of that but I’m sure you lot do, so with that thought I’ll bid you all
A Happy New Year.

Yep.


6R49GQCPQ9P

My Long Johns ?

Some deluded folks think you can be a fashion plate in winter, keep warm and still be a Vogue cover girl
Not true – in winter the young ladies wander around in skimpy t-shirts and something my beloved calls a curtain pelmet, but is really a skirt.
Quite, but that’s blokes.



I came across an article by one of these deluded people, but she’s a journalist, which kind of says it all. The items in her wardrobe could send me on holiday, several holidays in fact, so I’m sure she can be a fashion icon.

Let’s face it, wanna keep warm, then you wrap up and look like a Michelin man (or woman) and wear a bobbly hat, or one of those creations with ear flaps.
Have I got such head gear, yes I have and it’s furry as well.

In countries where snow is a serious business, people dress to suit the climate, everyone looks like a rubber tyre on legs and you wear them thermal undies, yes you do, but no one makes jokes about your Long Johns.
Of course they think us Brits are staring mad, we can’t dress properly but if we want to look blue and pimply with cold, that’s our misfortune.




I agree with the journalist’s comment
‘When tempted by The Military Look, remind yourself You Are Not In A Fashion Shoot’ but need to think about her passion for red coats. Must be thinking of Father Christmas.
If you see a shortish person in long red coat and furry hat with flaps, flapping...
Then it might be me – or Santa.

Expecting a picture of said hat are you?
Live in hope

Yup.




Quotes from The Guardian - Saturday, 30 October 2010.

Winter of Discontent

I have given up with the coaxing of the garden, there is no more so I guess we are about to enter our Winter of Discontent.


There is no more in the Councils' money box.
Up and down the country, councils look for ways of saving money they haven’t got. If the Government believes these bods can save millions in the year, they are dreaming.

But that don’t stop the morons threatening us all with cuts that will be ineffective, and worse, harm us all.




A little chip here, another chip over there – and a few part- time jobs go in the trash can leaving kids without help in school, and some poor sod looses benefit. But still disabled, you know and no amount of Cameron’s clap-trap will restore life to dead limbs.
As these politicians trot back to their country homes, pick up their snotty children from school (private), do they worry about us?

Of course not, and I expect some bastard is still creaming cash off us tax payers to finance the lifestyle he/she enjoys.




What we should do is begin a campaign of UTWS.
Useless time-wasting suggestions to stop the Government in its tracks, it will be so busy the councils will be left in peace.
And let me be the first bod to put up a suggestion

‘All road signs should match the surrounding environs, for example signs should be colour toned with the autumn foliage, so that everything….’blends’, yeah, just blends.’

Good one, don’t you think?
Yep.

Act of Faith

As the garden closes down at this time of year, hard to believe that it will come back to life.
It is an Act of Faith to plant corms and bulbs, pushing them into the cold soil and watching the frost decimate the last few blooms before everything packs up for winter.

I’m not sure about the power of positive thinking, but willing to try.
Each bulb gets buried in the soil with an injunction to “Show up next Spring you bugger, or Else!”
They must be sitting there laughing at the idea - such optimism.





Wish I could say the same about the politics of this country – no Act of Faith will turn our present Government from their chosen path.

The Tories have reverted to their old beliefs, that a few swishes of the cane will make the feckless and undeserving poor, jump to it and work harder, without asking for help.
It’s in the DNA of the Tory party to implement stinging cuts in State Services, so the poor, the old, get less, of education, of health care, basic requirements.

For the Tories, it’s the same old song and they follow the path of their Ancestors.




Politicians use new phrases, but underneath, it’s the same animal; punish them all for needing help, those without a chance, don’t have any hope, you don’t deserve it.
And any one who does ask for benefit must be a scrounger.

Some are, but not all of us.

We can plant tulips and crocus for the Spring, keep some faith, and be optimistic.
A pity that our current masters can't offer anything at all.
Yep.

The Killing Zone

The garden has been taking a great deal of my time, and you can banish any ideas of gently communing with nature.
It's war, folks, just war – every time you go into a garden centre, guess where people head for?


The Killing Zone




The Killing department gives no concession to tree huggers, bee lovers, insect collectors, nope, don’t’ try to save the planet just eradicate the little critters. Buy your choice of poison and water all those lovely flowers.

I have yet to meet anyone who loves the lowly slug; if you do, don’t write to me, as I declared a holy war on the horrible mollusc some time ago.
Last year, the buggers destroyed practically everything I planted – so, stuff ‘em and throw blue pills everywhere.

With gardens, you don’t win it all – my sunflowers never got to their promised 10 feet and the butterflies have refused to visit me.
Ungrateful, I call it.
If the ladybirds don’t make use of the special house wot I have purchased, there is going to be trouble.

You think I can’t frighten a ladybird?





Think again.
Yep.

Oh Darling

I think I have just about recovered from the election campaigns – of course the Labour Party made whimpering noises, nothing new there. The feeling in Britain is that Labour deserved to lose, sometimes us taxpayers bite back.

(I won’t mention the low life that don’t..’pay’) Much.



'Your place or mine?"

However, us, the great unwashed electorate did not deserve the spectacle of the Tory (that’s your Republicans, you Yanks) leader, David Cameron practically kissing the Lib Dem leader every time a camera came near them.



No wonder Mr Clegg and his Lib Dems decided to be friends with the Tories, what fun, all those parties and freebies, yum yum, yum.



The Twins then made beaming noises at us and the Press, promising that a hung Parliament was NO problem at all, no no, no.


A week before that, Cameron was quoted as saying that it ‘would be a disaster’ for the country, just a complete disaster you know.

My, doesn’t the song change?


The television pundits nearly choked themselves with excitement, gazing avidly at reportage of the new alliance, chortling away.
“Look!” screeched one of them “Look! He’s patting Nick Clegg!” Yes, there was David patting Nick.
“Oh doesn’t that body language look amazing!” breathed another; if you get excited by two blokes gazing at each other, I guess it does.



The bravado and the hype have a short life, and when Davy and Nicky (I expect they are on buddy buddy terms by now) get down to the gritty stuff, we will find out if this pairing is going to work.



I suspect not, more so for the Liberal Democrats, who will get sidelined and largely ignored. Inter-Party squabbles will become commonplace.
And for the rest of us?



Life goes on much the same - Bills, bills, and more bills.
Yep.

Run for the Hills

Run for the hills, if you live in the UK right now. We are heading for several months of pre -election garbage and I don’t intend to be giving much space to any of the political mouthings in the future.




It promises to be a dispirited and lack lustre campaign on either side of the political fence, with a weary electorate who have seen the last 3 years plagued by economic doom, and the sight of empty spaces in the High Street.

Brown has begun making speeches that veer from ‘You never had it so good’ to ‘Give us a chance’ which is Labour‘s best effort and doesn’t deliver any hope whatsoever.

His opposite number, David Cameron, who comes from the old rich families so beloved by the Conservative party in this country, has been telling his party that it is their patriotic duty to throw the current government out.

No, he just wants the top job.




And there are the rest of us, trying to make our bank accounts balance (and failing) pay off our credit cards (and failing) and induce our beloveds to finish off those chores that have been hanging around for a few years (and failing).
Not being politicians, we are unable to make the bank manager believe that

a) We can claim it all as justifiable expenses

b) Make our beloved understand that his/her, prospects are in considerable danger if he/she, doesn’t pull a finger out.

Or have said finger pulled out, instead.



Find something else to enjoy for the next few months.
Bury your pot of gold in the garden and stock up on some good DVD’s. After all politics and reality seldom make good bedfellows.

Well, never actually

Yep.

One Onion, Two Parsnips

‘Nearly Spring’ I keep hearing - these folks must be in a state of delusion: I rush into the garden expecting to see an outburst of flowering plants. Do I see any such thing? No.
I have plants, but they are mostly non- flowering you know. Leaves yes, flowers, no.

As winter got going, I bought some ‘Winter Flowering Pansies’ Here is my picture of these wonders.




Not a flower in sight eh? They have been like that all winter. Producing leaves. Wonderful.
Still, mustn’t worry, plant some bulbs, yes, they got flowers: so I stuffed the bulbs into a couple of tubs.
Here is my picture of the tubs.





Nothing, zero, nada, bugger all - the greenery is one onion which started itself in my kitchen and two parsnips, likewise. If the daffs ever appear, they can fight it out between them.

The snow came down, didn’t mind that, at least it was quite pretty -when the white stuff melted away, I was gratified to see several green shoots in the garden, no flowers of course, but green leaves, oh yes.

However, on the next day, guess what? One lone snowdrop. Here is a picture of the snowdrop, in case the unbelievers amongst you, don’t believe me.




The snow came down soon after that, so the effect is ‘understated’, subtle, that’s the word I want. There are still things growing in the garden. Here is a picture of something growing in the garden.





No, I don’t what it might be, hafta wait and see won’t you?
Yep.

So 'Shut It...'

It would be a good idea for the pundits to shut it, at least for the next 6 months, as two major companies in the UK announce the loss of jobs in the thousands.
No one is going to cheer the experts on as they promise us a rosy, and wealthy economic outlook.



Eon chose to fabricate a jargon laden excuse for the sacking of their workforce in Essex, with a ‘suit’ blabbing away to camera. I’m sure he will continue to enjoy his company car, and his nice house in a good area, before he moves on to another position, with a nice car and a nice house….I guess you get the picture.

In harsh contrast, Cadbury fell to the mighty dollar as Kraft flexed their financial muscle, but the result was the same.A massive loss of jobs, and a loss of tradition as well.

Sad as that may be, tradition has no defence against the economics.



The same day, we were treated to our resident incompetent, Prime Minister Gordon Brown, assuring the House (and us) that the Government would do everything they could to ensure that the newly jobless would be given work experience so that they could all skip gaily on to the next job.

Use a space to think here, which is more than Gordon does – folks who have lost their job, do they need more work experience?

No. They need a job.

‘Simples’ as Aleksandr would say.



Work experience is the great con-trick of our time, it takes the unemployment figures down, and in six months time the so- called ‘experience’ comes to an end.

It’s back to the job centre as the politicians beam and pat themselves on the back, cos’ they are Doing something.
Goodness Gracious Me.

Yep.

Crash and Burn

I’m sure that everyone has finished Christmas with a credit card that is going ‘crash and burn’ all the way to the bank; but feeling quietly satisfied that they have acquitted themselves with honour in the prezzi department; like a friend of mine who is glowing smugly as her brother wanted a new bird feeder, and that’s what he got – the lucky blighter. Apparently he was thrilled.


Me myself? I am the proud owner of a new ‘hoodie’, it seems I fit the profile, and that’s all I’m saying. I do like the very long sleeves, so I can hunch my shoulders and scrunch my hands together, in approved anti-social mode.
Of course, the vivid stripes of pink and green do make one rather visible




However, I did hit the bull’s eye with this, yes, the glorious Sheep Shaggers’ beer; it made the perfect gift and I expect that the lucky recipient will write a heartfelt letter of thanks to Santa.

Best if he does, eh?

And before anyone replies with indignant and outraged protests about sheep, and their rights, let me assure you that I am very fond of sheep, I think they’re very sweet, and tasty as well.
That's as far as the interest in sheep goes, thank you

Lastly, here is a picture of my latest Hat, which will induce feelings of envy in all who see it. And a Happy New Year to you all.



Yep.

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.