Hurricane Bertha...

...My Arse. Supposed to be the "tailend" of Hurricane Bertha a couple of weeks ago, remember? Supposed to be a bit windy.

Man Alive. That was the day, while on hols, we visited Stonehenge. I'm surprised the stones were still standing.

In fact, they looked like a few had been blown over



Honest, they were like this when I found them...

Then on to the site of the Woodhenge for a picnic



5000 year old picnic tables

We parked up and found a slightly newer picnic table



and despite the force 10 gale and slight drizzle




not to mention the annoying wasps and other wildlife


Quick! Hide the mini Melton Mowbury pork pies!!

we were determined to have our picnic outside, despite horrified looks from passing motorists.


What in God's name are those poor devils doing number 1?
They...they're setting up a picnic sir!!

Opened a packet of crisps, and the first few got whipped away by the gale, so had to virtually put my mouth over the packet and suck.

Stupidly, the missus, in a completely misguided attempt at civility


....here Mimi, fancy one of my pickled walnuts?

tried to lay out some sort of semblance of a selection of picnic items. The mini pork pies not too bad. They just shuffled across the plate, but the picnic eggs took off as soon as released from the packet, rolling and bouncing across the table, where they were carried off by the wind and sailed away


What the hell's that, Benson?
It's another picnic egg, sir

We were able to get a bit of food down by kneeling at the edge of the table with our mouths open, and collecting items as they passed by.

Final challenge: CUP OF TEA.

Three of us formed a tight circle, with our backs to the gale. One held the picnic cup, another gripped the thermos of hot water, and a third held down the teabag in the cup with a spoon.

"Okay team, all ready?"
"READY!!"
"Release the water!!"
"Steady...steady...OK, now stir...and: REMOVE TEABAG!"
"I..I..don't think I can get hold of it..."
"Come on lad, just remember you're English. Think of Agincourt..."
"GOT IT!"
"Well done! See? Just like they taught you in training. Now, who's got the milk?"
"Oh bollocks, let's just go to a cafe."



Fuck me, them picnic eggs don't half repeat on you

Where's the Ball?

You really cannot win on the train/bus/underground can you?

I mean, I can now avoid rush hour, with all the hideousness that it entails but between rush hours, you have to put up with the hellish kids and the triply hellish accompanying mothers

At the, on the face of it, civilised time of 11.30 this morning on the way to Highbury & Islington on the Overground, sitting next to me was a mother with her small child in a pushchair. The mother had a large picture book. The conversation went like this:

Part (a) This is what actually happened

Part (b) Fantasy, but it kept me sane until my stop

Part(a)

Mother where’s the ball? Where’s the ball? Is that the ball? Where’s the ball?

Child bbbbbrrrrmmmmm

Mother where’s the ball then? Where’s the ball? Can you point to it? Where’s the ball? Where’s the ball, then?

Child ppppffffftttttttt

Mother Who’s a clever girl. Are you a clever girly? Are you? Are you? Can you show mummy the ball? Can you? Can you? Where’s the ball? Where’s the ball? Show mummy then. Who’s a clever girl? Ooooo's a clever girly whirly, eh? eh? Where's the ball?

Child mmmmmmbbbbbrrrruuuppphhhmmmmmmm

Mother Where’s the ball? Where’s the ball? Where’s the ball, then? Where’s the ball? Show mummy the ball. Can you show mummy the ball? Where’s the ball? Where’s the ball? Where’s...

Part (b)
Me (ripping the book out of the mother’s hands and pressing it against the child’s face) LOOK! LOOK! YOU STUPID SNOTTY-NOSED PIG-IGNORANT PUG-UGLY SNIVELLING LITTLE GOBSHITE. THERE’S THE FECKING BALL!!! HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY MISS IT??? HMMM??? I MEAN, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, IT’S FECKING BIG ENOUGH. YE GODS, IF IT WAS ANY BIGGER IT WOULD CRUSH THAT BASTARD SEAL GRINNING LIKE A LOBOTOMISED CRETIN TO TINY PIECES. HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY MISS IT??

Now, by all that’s holy, will you please point the bloody thing out to your mother, so we can all get a bit of peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask?? Is it??

Thank you.

Jesus

Dealing with Death

Back from my hols:  extreme downpours expected today. Weather advice is "seek shelter".



 I note further advice that says to check on elderly neighbours



Don't think I'll bother thanks, so have been stuck in all day, and produced this...with apologies to Woody Allen and Terry Pratchett, amongst others probably.

Lights! Action!




Scene  Shabby office interior. There is a portly gent sitting at a scuffed Ikea dining table acting as a desk. There are a few papers strewn about.



The gent is writing out an invoice. There’s no-one else there. The buzzer goes.


Simsqu yes?

DEATH I have come for you

Simsqu are you here about the gutters?

DEATH What? NO! Let me in! I have come for you

Simsqu Because they’re completely clogged with leaves…

DEATH (sighing loudly) Look, just let me in

Simsqu OK,OK, whoever you are. Fourth floor. And the lift’s out.

DEATH WHAT??

Simsqu You heard me matey. You want to see me, fourth floor

DEATH (rustling paperwork) Jeez, there’s nothing down here about that…OK, OK, I'm on my way...

I buzz him in. 5 minutes later there is a knock on the door. I open it, and a tall, black robed, hooded figure stands there, bent over, panting. He has a huge sickle in one hand, and the other hand is leaning heavily on the doorjam.

Simsqu OK, you can go right back down mister, Hollowe’en was last week, and in any case, I’d hazard a guess you are over six years of age, and where’s your mum?

DEATH getting his breath back four flights! Can I sit down?



Simsqu Who are you?

DEATH Who do I look like?

Simsqu How are you going to get at the gutters in that outfit?

DEATH I’M NOT HERE ABOUT THE GUTTERS!

Simsqu OK, calm down. Look, you can get your breath back, but I’m in the middle of doing invoices…

DEATH Hah! You won’t need invoices where you’re going. Can I sit down please? I just need a moment

Simsqu Sure. But make it quick

DEATH glides across the threshold and makes for my chair

Simsqu Hey! That’s my chair. You take the stool

DEATH  Oh, excuse me Four flights and he offers me the stool. How about a glass of water?

Simsqu Anything else?

DEATH A hobnob?

Simsqu exasperated Who are you? You look terrible. You look like death.

DEATH Four flights and I’m supposed to look like Keira Knightly? DEATH sits down heavily on the stool As a matter of fact, I am death. And as I said at the beginning, I have come for you

Simsqu Really? What, now? Before I’ve finished writing my invoice?

DEATH WILL YOU FORGET THE INVOICE ALREADY!

Simsqu WHAT, SO MY CLIENTS GET WORK DONE FOR FREE???

I stand there defiantly with my hands on my hips. DEATH has his arms folded tightly across his bony chest.

DEATH How much is it for?

Simsqu conspiratorially £750.00+VAT

DEATH OK, but hurry up. I haven’t got all day.

I get DEATH a glass of water, sit down and carry on typing

Simsqu So you’re really here for me, eh? The real thing?

DEATH Have you got a biscuit?

Simsqu Shouldn’t you have come out with a packed lunch or something? I mean, I get that you have come for my soul, but I don’t remember anything from my bible studies about hobnobs

DEATH (defensively) Look, I wasn’t expecting four flights, OK? What can I say? I’ve got low blood sugar

Simsqu In that tin over there. Next to the muesli

DEATH Hah! Thought that would give you a few more years, eh? You may as well have eaten eggs fried in lard, all the good it did you.

DEATH looks in the tin Oooh Jammy Dodgers. That’ll do. he sits down again, happily munching on his biscuit

Simsqu So…what now?

DEATH What now? I get my breath back, I transport you to the everafter

Simsqu You mean Heaven?

DEATH I didn’t say that

Simsqu Hell?



DEATH Didn’t say that either. I am not at liberty to tell you. Suffice it to say, it’s one or the other

Simsqu Says who?

DEATH Says the Big Cheese upstairs

Simsqu Aha! So it is Heaven

DEATH I never said that!

Simsqu Well if it had been Hell, you would have said the Big Cheese downstairs

DEATH I..I…look, it’s a secret, OK. Brushing the crumbs off his cloak, DEATH stands up unsteadily Right, now if you’ll just pass us the biscuit barrel, we’ll be off…

Simsqu You’re taking not only my soul, but my Jammy Dodgers?

DEATH Well..I still feel a bit woozy

Simsqu I’m not going.

DEATH incredulous Er…HELLLOOO…I’m death. The Grim Reaper. You don’t have a choice.

Simsqu But why do I have to go anywhere. Can’t I just die and stay here?

DEATH What, here? With a packet of muesli, a bashed up filing cabinet, and an out of date computer running a very old version of windows XP sitting on top of what appears to be a landfill site for all eternity? You know Microsoft has stopped supporting XP don't you?

Simsqu  I..er...I did hear something about that, yes.

DEATH  Well there you go. Nothing left to live for now, so...DEATH clicks his bony fingers (it sounds like castenets)...on your feet and let's go...

Simsqu Look, if it’s all the same to you,  when I die I’d rather not go to heaven, but just stay home

DEATH Home?

Simsqu 76 Lobelia Avenue, Enfield. Just past the post box.

DEATH stares openmouthed.  Ye Gods, I’m offering you Heaven!

Simsqu Well, what’s it got?

DEATH WHAT’S IT GOT? It..it..it’s got…well…er..Ah! Think of all that milk…

Simsqu Lactose intolerant

DEATH …and honey

Simsqu Diabetic

DEATH But it’s all green fields, warm breezes, rolling hills

Simsqu I could go to Hampstead Heath for that

DEATH Bu...but...everyone’s happy, and it’s all lovely and…

Simsqu Do they have cable?

DEATH Do they… what??

Simsqu You heard me. Do they have cable? Can I get The Big Bang Theory?

DEATH Can you get…Look! Goddamit! I’m offering you HEAVEN! It’s what everyone wants! You don’t NEED cable. You’ve got…

Simsqu Yes, you’ve said what I’ve got. A bunch of trees and bottles of milk turning sour in the warm breezes. If I am dead, then if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather spend eternity on my sofa.

DEATH Unbelievable. Look, I haven’t got time for this. A ferry across the River Styx awaits



Simsqu The 121 bus to Enfield will do.



DEATH Oh this is ridiculous. Even if I wanted to, I am not allowed…

Simsqu You’re not allowed? Says who? The Big Cheese? Come on man, step up to the plate. You’re DEATH for God’s sake. The Ultimate Harbinger of Doom. The Grim Reaper, The Pale Rider. It’s about time you took control of your own destiny. What are you, some lacky?

DEATH No! I’m DEATH!

Simsqu Of course you are!

DEATH I do what I please!

Simsqu Damn tootin!!

DEATH I mean, who the HELL does he think he is? Sitting up there, mister high and bloody mighty, giving out orders. To ME!!

Simsqu The nerve!

DEATH Enfield did you say?

Simsqu Let’s saddle up pardner. Do you know the way?

DEATH tapping his pocket Satnav. Don’t forget the invoice. We’ll pop it in the postbox on the way

Simsqu  Attaboy. Big Bang Theory? Indian Takeaway?


...and one pilau rice

DEATH  I'm buying

Simsqu God bless you

DEATH  Fat chance

exeunt

Right...

...off on my hols


...it didn't look like that in the brochure

Must remember to turn off the gas



put out the cat



cancel the milk



and take a brolley



I do not have any mobile telecommunication devices, and my computer is not very portable



so shall catch up end of the month

A Good Trampling

I tend to never take a train / tube  /bus until at least 9.30 in the morning nowadays. I have no desire to relive the squashed and depressing, personal space invading, garlic breath from last night's italian wafting, early morning rush hour commuting hell


I'm terribly sorry, but is this Finsbury Park? 

plus the fact that you always get stuck one millimetre away from the head of a dork playing their iPod thingy too loud so that everyone can hear that incredibly annoying 'tzss tzss tzss' sound.


Ooooh! Girls Aloud: my favourite!

No, what you really need is a lightweight, convenient strap-on high-powered invisible nuclear accelerator-laser-type apparatus

last chance to turn it down, punk

that you could aim at the head of said inconsiderate oik, and when you pointed this laser thing at their heads, you could turn a huge dial round to 'danger', press a large red button, the laser would emit a satisfyingly heavy-duty electronic pulsing sound, and their heads would immediately explode into tiny tiny pieces in a burst of light as brilliant as a billion suns.




Anyway. Where was I? Oh yes, I tend to avoid the rush hour, but yesterday morning I had a 9.00 appointment in town so was forced to take the train at about 8.15

As I got on people were squashed in the entrance, and there seemed to be lots of space along the aisle, so I shouted "can you move forward please!" at which point a furious beetroot faced woman turned on me and said "there are small children here!!!"

Well I couldn't see them. They were too small. Had her tone been informative rather than accusatory, I would have left it at that, so of course I said, rather louder than necessary "well can you just trample them underfoot please".

As she was inhaling a huge indignant breath to no doubt unleash a string of smug, righteous vitriol on me,



the whole carriage erupted in laughter, so she shut up.

Surely small children could do with a bit of trampling now and then?

Never did me any harm

The Highwire Artiste

Remember the fantastic chap who arrives in his own cloud of dust and does everything? (see blog entitled "dust")--------->

Well, his name is Dragan (that's not his real name. His real name is Thomas). Our french windows need some work, and he came round the other day to look at them.


Hi! I've come to fix the french windows.
Oh of course. Do come through won't you?

I happened to mention to him that our gutters seemed to be blocked, and before I could say "sandstorm" he was up in our first floor lounge, opening the sash windows

Now one thing you need to know about Dragan is that he is extremely tall, but does not realise it. For example, he once fitted window locks. "All done. I've put them at shoulder height for easy reach."

Yes.

HIS shoulder height. We have to stand on a chair to get to them.

He is also pretty chunky. Not fat, but hefty.

And fearless.

So before I could say health and safety, he was through the window and balancing on the six inch window ledge, all 100+ kilos of him, fifteen feet above the concrete, and reaching on tiptoe up to the gutter to have a feel around



I'm sure I can reach the gutters from here...

"Hmmmm I need stick - get me stick"

I search wildly around for a stick. I come up with this



which is a longhandled shoehorn. I pass it to Dragan through the window. All I can see is one foot dangling off the ledge and another on tiptoe about an inch away from the edge. The feet start moving about: he's clearly jiggling the shoehorn around trying to clear the blockage. Great clods of moss & earth start flying about.

"I need thinner stick!"

"Don't worry - I'll get a proper ladder and we can do it another day!" I shout, terrified of having to scrape a huge Lithuanian off the concrete.

"STICK!!"

Christallbloodymighty. I look round wildly for a stick. I see some ornamental twigs in a huge glass vase in the corner of the lounge.



It came as a complete surprise to me that is was there. I can only assume the missus had put it there sometime over the past thirty years. It is the sort of decoration that is never noticed by men, along with cushions, curtains and pianos.


DOREEN!! What the hell have you done with my darts board??

I pounce on the vase and tear out huge handfuls of twigs that have not only been delicately and painstakingly sprayed silver, but I also realise to my horror, are entwined around strings of tiny fairy lights, and the whole contraption is actually a fecking LIGHT FEATURE.




How the hell have I not noticed this?? I take a quick look round the room in case I've missed something else lurking behind the nest of tables,


Surprise!!!

and then pass Dragan a bunch of silver twigs, hastily stripped of the fairy lights, which are now scattered across the room; the only remnants of a no doubt much loved and cherished light feature put in place by the missus, possibly decades ago, and thoughtlessly destroyed by me in an ill-conceived attempt to avoid being arrested by plod, having been spotted dragging a dead Lithuanian towards a skip.

After much riddling of sticks down the gutter drainpipe, Dragan shouts to me, "quick: WATER!!!"

ER...er...Again I look around wildly. I see the denuded vase on the floor. I grab it, along with the electrtical chord trailing out the back, and fill it up with water from the bathroom. After three refills, Dragan announces "good: all clear!!", shakes my hand, and promptly leaves.

I look round the room. There is a soaked electrical appliance in a pool of water, fairy lights scattered about, some still on wires, and some crushed underfoot, and silver twigs in various states of decay sitting on the sofa, which is smeared with moss.


I spend the next half hour gathering this mess up, and put it in the boot of the car, ready for a trip to the dump.

She'll never notice.

Will she?



You bastard! Really? A fucking barometer? Thought I wouldn't notice eh?