Did you call my wife a pigging bitch?

"Hello" said a disembodied face through the greenery at the bottom of the garden.
 I was taken by surprise as I had just been out to take the dog to his kennel, feed hens and let the mad chicks out into the run.
"I'm your local neighbourhood friendly farmer from just up the road and I'm having a look at your ditch." It seems that his fields are quite sodden as his water isn't draining away so he's about to unblock some obstructions........and of course, water has to go somewhere....and following the laws of gravity...we are the lowest point.
Now our garden floods roughly once a ŷear, normally in the winter/spring time when it rains. Our picnic/barbecue area ends up under 10 inches of water sometimes. Last year I found my garden hose floating in it, ....during a hosepipe ban!
Now it appears that I need to order a load of sand and make my own beach as my back garden goes underwater. Might be good for the beach volleyball competitions!! Try to see the positive. "Sheena, where's your bikini?"

Hamish was barking since farmer Giles had turned up with his two dogs as farmers do. At this point Sheena came out, concerned that I may have passed out on the grass, in her short nightie almost giving the young farmer a glimpse of her pleasant pastures.
"Of course you could be digging a ditch.......to put a drainage pipe in. You will need to hire a small digger for a weekend and then run pipes to link the two ditches along your property," said the farmer.
Rather than think the farmer was being a bit forward, Sheena got quite excited at the idea of using a small digger in a confined space.
There's another nice little job to fill up my summer months. Need to look at small digger hire for a couple of days.

 Does the fun never end?

So it's no to drug pusher or prostitute then?

"I'm a barista," she said as I sat down.

My baby, well all 21 years of her, has got a job in a pub. I thought that she was going to say that she was a buxom barmaid as she's half way here anyway but no. They've done it all up and it's gone all modern. No dark and dingy bar with beams, a roaring fire with an ageing labrador smouldering in front and enough  horse brasses to retire a scrap metal merchant. It's all white and light green and the pool table and big screen t.v. have been replaced with a coffee and cake shop.

"OK, can we have a cappuccino and a hot chocolate then," said I slightly stunned. "I can make you a coffee but I've not been taught how to make a hot chocolate using THE MACHINE," said she turning round to face the large steaming and bubbling edifice with her head lowered in awe.
"A BARISTA!" said I in disappointment.
I am pleased that you have a job.
I am more pleased that I do not have to drive you for 15 minutes to get to it and pick you up again like I did last year since the Green Man Pub is just down the road. It is in fact well within staggering back distance, a journey which I have never made, well not staggering.
Why not become a drug pusher? I believe that their is money in it. ome people pay there way through University by doing as much, others squander their grants on it.
Why not become a hooker? Again there is money in it and I believe that you get to lie down a lot. Also, I believe that the cleavage revealing tops and easy access underwear are tax deductible.
I wonder if Careers guidance teachers are allowed to give advice that pusher or pimp are acceptable careers which need little or no GCSE's to get in at entry level.
But no. You have sold your soul to the man. The man who makes big bucks by selling coffee for the price of a jar.
The only way I can accept this is if I sit in the bar and wave at you round the corner and NOT use first names!!

Celebrity porn movie scandal.

Celebrity.
Should I ever get into the position of being one then please shoot me now. To be a celebrity appears to mean that you were once known for doing something but want to spend as much time trying to get in to the newspapers so that you can "kick start your career."
I read the daily mail "online" and am worried by the TV & Showbiz tab which takes me onto a page filled with articles about people I don't know. I don't know if not knowing these people is a good thing or a bad thing. The fact that I don't watch soaps, reality shows or care about TOWIE as I believe it is called (see previous grump about abbreviating things for the short attention span generation.)
Denise van Outen seems to be pictured in the paper either with or without her husband and has to justify her relationship. It's either a) over or b) she's putting on a brave face in public. THERE IS NO STORY HERE!
Cara Delevigne (who?) apparently is a walking coathanger with eyebrows that would suggest that Dennis Healy should make a comeback. DAY ONE, she is seen dropping a suspicious plastic bag in front of our house. IS IT DRUGS? How can I deflect the media attention from this? DAY TWO, release modelling pictures kissing another girl. DAY THREE, go clubbing with friend, singer Rita Ora, DAY FOUR, Admit to calling eachother "wifey" and command more column inches. Now, who mentioned drugs!

Farah Abraham! I've never heard of her either. Apparently there is a sex tape of her. Normally you have to be famous before the media uncovers a tape. Now in the 15 minutes of fame front we just cut to the chase.

I came to the conclusion that I have too much time on my hands since I frequently end up on the C-lebrity page (which is in between the headlines and the sport. ...like chocolate at a supermarket counter.)
I have decided that I need to get out more. I have purchase some designed clothing and am going to get ridiculously drunk at a nightclub. I even phoned up the red tops just to let them know I was going to be there. Nobody came. No flashes of paperazzi cameras as I staggered blindly out into the darkness. No chasing pack of photographers as I headed for a kebab. No young wannabe aspiring model saying that yesterday we had met, today we are having a torrid and passionate affair and that tomorrow the whole thing would be over and that she would check herself into rehab. I suppose this makes me a D-lebrity, not even good enough for a bleary eyed photo and a tawdy headline. I guess I'll have to go and make a nice cup of tea and plan my next career move.

Let's hear it for Tarragon........

Tarragon.

I absolutely loved him in all three Lord of the Ring films......or wasn't he the giant spider in the woods  outside Hogwarts?

I was delighted to see that Waitrose, the U.K. Superstore have voted Tarragon the Herb of the Month award.


I was a bit concerned as I wasn't aware of this award. How do you get to vote?  How many other herbs are up for it? Is there a prize? Is Simon Cowell involved in the audition process? "This is exactly what we were looking for."
Is there a trophy and if so if you win three times do you get to keep it?
Will Tarragon be turning up for a guest appearance on Graham Norton or will it get it's own chat show on cable?

Will the pressure of success prove too much for Tarragon as it is pictured coming out of a sleazy motel at two in the morning leaving a young mint plan hiding between the sheets.

Will it have to go to the Betty Ford Clinic for it's addiction to lemon grass?

Hopefully Tarragon will look after it's winnings as I'm sure that it will be minted!

It's a woman thing......

Why can you not just leave it alone?
"Can we please move the book cases from the downstairs hall to the conservatory so that I can put new cupboards where the bookcases used to be."......and so the furniture merry-go-round starts again. followed quickly by another innocent conversation. "Well, last night Bethany and her friend were continuously coming through the living room to get a drink from the kitchen to go back to her bedroom......so why don't we swap over her bedroom and the spare bedroom?........all this from two teenage girls need to get a drink. would it not be easier to get her a mini fridge for her bedroom?

Men and women are two entirely different species.

My wife likes continually moving things. We have 300 items in a house that holds 250 and they need to be moved, refreshed, taken in from the garage or the studio or down from the attic on a regular, never ending carousel that is spring cleaning. There was one occasion where we ended up moving three different sofas around from one room to the other, up stairs to downstairs to the garage in hours of backbreaking, sweat inducing mayhem.

As a bloke, I don't get it.

I agree that things should be nice, functional and easy on the eye as you move round the house......THEN LEAVE IT ALONE FOR FIVE YEARS. If it ain't broke don't fix it. when did you last hear someone say, "my living room stopped working so I just had to get a new one." NEVER. Why does the television need to be in a different corner? Why do the sofas have to face the other way? Why do all the pictures need to be moved to another room? Why do we need a kitchen table in the kitchen....when ten feet away in the dining room is a table which already provides all of the functions associated with the need to have something to eat off of. Why do we have to throw this item out in order to get something new which does exactly the same function as the item we have just got rid of?
Gentlemen, I can see you all nodding and sharing the pain of a man who has to constantly reshuffle the cards on an all too regular basis.
Ladies, I can see you shaking your heads, wagging your fingers and in some cases tutting as you go try to find which handbag you have left your mobile phone in so that you can forward the number of a good divorce lawyer to my wife.
Divorce solicitors, maybe after having won your case and got custody of the possessions for the wife.....maybe it can be your turn to move them round and change the pictures, move the beds..........

"The Sherrifs a NI............,"

Fried chicken.
That's all Sergio Garcia said. "I'll invite Tiger Woods over for some fried chicken." "Oh my god he's a racist!...." REALLY. Pardon my ignorance but is fried chicken the only thing that people of a certain ethnicity eat? Surely the Colonel must be a racist since all he makes is fried chicken. The Zac Brown band need to be taken into custody and hung at dawn for daring to release a song called "chicken fried"


I love the fact that another golfing figure said that Sergio had "lots of coloured friends." COLOURED!!!! BURN THE RACIST. It's like a Monty Python sketch or the moment in the Blues Brothers where the Penguin hits John Bellushi with a ruler for cussing resulting in more bad language and more slaps with the ruler.

Thanks to the media, we have been discussing this for days about how Sergio said the "N" word......no scroll back...HE DIDN'T but it has been treated like he has. "Yes he didn't actually say the N word but we all know what he meant." REALLY! "Let's assume that's what he meant and keep a story going for days and make a celebrity squirm for good column inches."
He didn't use the N word. That word is reserved for the use Black American singers who want to tell the world about their n*ggers and b*tches! ......."OOOOH - HE SAID BLACK NOT AFRICAN AMERICAN -BURN THE RACIST!"
I come from a time when Agatha Christie wrote about Ten Little  N*ggers or the phrase N*gger in the woodpile or to N*gger rig something or N*gger brown as a colour were common parlance. We never considered ourselves as racists.
As a child I used to collect the Robinsons jam tokens in order to get an enamel pinned golliwog badge. In the world of political correctness those disappeared overnight.
Did the Tiger say to the world "I have been racially abused?" No! But thanks to the media, the moral compass of the world we will conduct the public trial and provide the Judge, jury and witnesses.
Rather than fried chicken, maybe Sergio and Tiger should get together and watch Blazing Saddles, the best advert for the stupidity and ignorance of racism.
Mel Brooks, we thank you sir.

It's not where you are- it's who you're with that counts.

Like weddings for instance.
You could be anywhere in the world for a wedding, a beautiful cathedral, a ruined castle, a tropical beach, it all doesn't matter because it's the eyes that you are terrified to look into in case you cry first or the warm, trembling hand that you hold that is the important thing. .
Sometimes we forget those little things.
People who don't let you down when you need them. That's what's important. Changing your work schedule to support your husband in hospital or to attend that important primary school assembly as a proud parent, that is what is important.
How many friends do you have? No, really! People that you can always count on, who have NEVER let you down. If you get onto the fingers of a second hand then you are either a) very lucky or b) delusional and need to listen to what some of these people say about you when you are not around.
Mates!
Roger and I had booked tickets for the champions league final but did not get to go to Germany last year so we did the second best thing, we watched the game together.
The sight of two grown men almost in tears when we went one goal down to the relief of Drogba's equaliser, to the harrowing, floor pacing agony of extra time and penalties and the exquisite joy of victory and two grown straight blokes, hugging each other, shouting and wiping tears from their eyes was probably a sight to behold.
Dilemma! In the stadium on my own, or watching the TV with my best mate. No decision. Mate every time. Maybe that's why we also watched the F.A. Cup final together as well.
Life is full of experiences and they mean nothing if they can't be shared.
One year on and it is the eve of the Champions league final again. No Chelsea, no interest other Than the memory of a year ago, a load of white puddings and an obscene amount of whiskey.
Some moments as they say, are priceless!

I'm ready for my close up Mr. De Mille.

"You've got five minutes to get ready to go to the pictures." said I to my eldest daughter over the phone as my youngest daughter and I drove at breakneck speed home from school on a mission.
I think she spent 30 seconds on the clothes and the rest on perfume and the make up was going on thick as I arrived.
Can anyone explain to me exactly why you need make up in order to sit in the dark for two hours? I mean it's dark and nobody can see you. Go figure.
On my first date with my wife (first time round) I should have known that I was in trouble because at the time when I arrived to pick her up she was just going IN for her bath!  I know that some things are worth waiting for but......( yes you still are dear but) ......I should have taken that as a warning.
Hair and make up and clothes are things that stop women from being spontaneous.

Heck, I've gone to the paper shop on a Sunday morning in my pyjamas. What was the point in changing as once I had cooked the bacon I was going back up to bed with a buttie and a coffee to read the Sunday papers?
I want to get up and go out when the fancy takes me and not have to worry about which of my handbags, jackets or coats I may have left my purse/phone/car keys in.

Then again there are many differences between the genders which formed part of my discussion on BODMAS or order of operations to my year 7 class today. "A £1 calculator is like a bloke and a scientific calculator is like a woman" I said to my class of 11 year olds. The £1 calculator is brilliant at doing one simple sum and does it right every time....except when you ask it to do two  things at once such as 2+3 x7 then it falls to pieces.

The scientific calculator is female, excellent at multitasking and 95 % of its functions are fascinating but you'll never find out exactly what they do. (Blokes don't know hitch buttons to press anyway but that's not in the year 7 speech.)

I'll huff and I'll puff......

Carnage. Devastation. Horror. Death.
Looking at what has been left in the wake of the twister that has hit America. My thoughts go out to the families and friends of those involved.
Yet again, I have a concern. When you look at the devastation you realise that the wind speeds of up to 200mph have ripped off roofs and thrown wood all over the place.
Wood! Not brick. Wood. For years we have been in love with Ty Pennington and the program Extreme Makeover, Home Edition as he and his crew go and demolish a house and rebuild it in seven days for a deserving family. In seven days you can build a house with wood. Not brick.
In the wizard of Oz, Dorothy is whisked away in the wooden farmhouse in a tornado and brought crashing down into the world of Oz.
Why are so many houses in America built of wood. especially in areas where you have hurricanes and tornados? "As safe as houses" normally implies a place where people are comfortable and a sanctuary for all inside. Not so in this case.
I understand the concept of using what you have and building quickly and cheaply but not in areas where your life will be threatened. People choose to live there knowing of the issues but not in houses that are fit for purpose.
In the UK in recent years we have had much flooding due to additional rain ( but still we have hosepipe bans) yet we build houses in floodable areas that are repeatedly under water.
Surely house builders have a responsibility to build houses so that they are raised a metre or so and have a space below the ground floor.
I watched a recent news reel of volcanic eruptions in Italy taken from the towns below. BELOW. Yes  they may have a major eruption every few hundred years but surely common sense says there is no wisdom In building houses so close to a ticking time bomb.
Is it just me or by knowing what we know it is better to build well once rather than rebuild continually, one dollar from the builders versus 10 dollars in insurance?

Baby chick diary 2

It's not often when my wife uses the phrase "Wow look at the size of that!" and when she does, enjoy it and be proud.

Sadly she was talking about Our baby chicks, Eva and Beyonce who are growing at an amazing rate. The lack of supportive mother is not an issue.

 I do worry that we may be raising a pair of feathered humans.

Last week they enjoyed their first football.
A Europa League win for Chelsea. They got quite excited.  I couldn't get them to cheep along to "one man went to mow" or "Celery," but what they lacked in ability, they made up for in enthusiasm.

They love to have the back of their heads rubbed and have started to fly.
Well, flutter their wings like mad to make you worry as to when was the last time  you saw one of the cats.

 The other thing that they now love to do is, peck, peck, peck followed by a bow and a shake!
Amusement for all who get to watch.

They are cute and they do love climbing up my t-shirt and trying to find height.

The cult of Castle.

Ever played that game where you think of people you r. would like to have round your table for an imaginary dinner party?

Nathan Fillion, star of hit show Castle and the Joss Whedon space/western series Firefly would have to be there. It appears that like Michael Caine, he spends his life on stage playing himself, a witty, joke cracking crime writer, who knows that that other characters have strengths that he doesn't have and is frequently humbled by his lack of criminal procedures but always comes good in the end.

In our house, Castle is one of the few program's we can all sit and watch (even with ipad in hand) and all leave feeling better for the experience.

Even when doing promos for the show, he comes across as a naughty boy which appeals to men and women alike.

On screen, he is shown up by his muse, Lieutenant Kate Beckett (actress Stana Katic) who twists him round her little finger, has him lolloping around like an Andrex puppy who still maintains that she has a darker side that he knows nothing about ( but would love to.)

Who else would I like to have round the dinner table?

My wife -goes without saying that the food would be fantastic.
Billy Connolly- would we be able to eat for laughing.
Kim Kardashian - is there any substance to the woman and does she become a real person when there are no cameras.
Roman Abramovich - being able to find out anything about the Chelsea Oligarch would be amazing. Should I not be able to find anything out, at least he would bring some good bottles of wine!

"It was never like that in the War son!"

Eurovision is back!

It's song contest time and unlike marmite, we actually love it and hate it at the same time. We love getting a glimpse of our partners in Europe and their concept of what a popular song actually is. In some cases there are countries ha I have scored of my list of " would like to visit" based solely on their choice of song alone. Big clue, if it looks like it would be popular in CCCP in 1960 don't apply for the travel visa.

We hate the voting, realising that yet again our song does not have the zest of Lulu, Petula Clarke, Tony Orlando and Dawn, Bucks Fizz or Katrina and the Waves.  (Katrina, isn't she American....) Then again Celine Dion the Canadian Chanteuse did sing for Switzerland....

Terry Wogan would go apoplectic at the voting when the Balkan or Scandy-wedgie  countries would give Douze points for  eachother.  It definitely wasn't like that in any of the major conflicts in Europe over the last thousand years. Most of them have been sending tanks and soldiers over the border to try to reclaim territory but as soon as it's Eurovision they forget all that and send them Douze points instead.

Mind you, does anyone want to win Eurovision? Ireland certainly don't the fact that they won it and then retained it 30 odd years ago nearly bankrupted em.....maybe that's why they sent Jedward for two consecutive years....they didn't need a bigger Euro bailout.  Assume that this year Greece will be trying to avoid victory.
Go Bonnie!

CHAMPIONES! CHAMPIONES OLE OLE OLE!

Chelsea F.C. champions of Europe in the Europa league. Holders of both European trophies simultaneously .....and at the same time! Didn't think it was going to happen as we were pummelled by short sharp passing in the first half but like we did against Barca and Bayern last season, like Cassius Clay and his "dope on the rope" for ten rounds we absorbed all the punches and then hit them hard when they were tired.

Not impressed with ITV's coverage. So many shots of nail biting fans in the crowd.(cameraman was either rubbish or gay 'cos normally they find scantily clad women and take close ups.)  So much so that they almost missed Nando's opening goal. Just like they did in Barcelona.

I can understand last season as the camera had rusted into position as we had defended solidly for 40 minutes in the second half that it hadn't moved, poor man ha to get the wd40 out as Nando sprinted into the other half and past the keeper to the sound of Gary Neville's Scoregasm.

ITV also screwed up two weeks earlier when they had " The Special One" on the mike after going out in the semi finals and he wanted to talk, he wanted to tell the world that he was coming home to his beloved Chelsea.....but when he said that he wanted to go somewhere that he was loved..... They cut him off and said " I suppose that means England" and went to a commercial break.

John Terry took a beating for changing into his full kit including special cup final boots, just to pick up a trophy in a final that he didn't play in for the second year running. Apparently,  he was going to pick up the trophy even if Benfica won!

This is why SKY are the best at what they do. Now we have BT vision and ESPN showing football matches. Maybe they should ask SETANTA for advice.......

The lost art of being a kid.

What are kids supposed to do?

About five years ago the best seller on the book charts was the Dangerous Book for Boys. It was basically a book  telling kids how their parents used to be kids. Isn't this like teaching your grandmother to suck eggs I hear anyone over the age of 50 say?

Nowadays all you need to be a kid is a laptop, a smart phone and a TV remote control and you can connect with the world without having to get your backside out of  bed or off the sofa.
How can a kid forget to be a kid? Simples as Alexander Meercat would say. Technology. Yes it is fantastic and inspirational but it has taken the fun out of creating things.

• Have you ever made a catapult from a piece of wood, strips of rubber from an old bicycle tyre and fired pebbles at empty coke tins ( or seagulls in the garden?) 
• Ever taken the old pram or push chair that your baby sister used to use and convert it to a simple go cart just to go careering down nearby hills at full speed barely in control? 
• Ever built a tree house using discarded bits of wood and corrugated iron sheets?
• Ever whittled a mysterious gun using your penknife?

If the answer is no to the above then I am afraid for you and your ability to be a man. People don't make stuff any more. We all go out and buy our flat packs and put them together but don't actually create stuff from first principles.
My wife will sit and create wonderful meals and is keen on crochet and is constantly making little throws or quilts.
My mum asked, that when my parents die what would I like. I said dads shed. It is almost as old as I am, has moved from house to house with every move that they made but was a hallowed place where I use to create things as a child. Even my kids were left in it to play with a hammer and nails. They would come out with little bits of wood nailed together claiming that they had created the Titanic. Sadly there wasn't a river nearby to see if it would sink like I would have done in my youth.

Penknives. If you talk about kids and penknives you think about school violence, gangs and stabbings. I'm a country boy. Every child used o have a pen knife just for a bit of whittling. Sticks were cut to make walking sticks or swords, all you needed was two bits of stick and some twine ( point sharpening optional depending on how evil you were.)

I once found an arrow. Not a sharp pointy one but a sporting arrow. So what did I do? Cut down a good strong stick, using wmy penknife, put grooves in the top and bottom, put a piece of string under tension and you have created a simple bow. Not worthy of sorting out the French a Agincourt but enough o fire an arrow over a good enough distance. To hit your sister. The resultant crying and threatening to tell aforementioned parents was not part of the plan but how many of you have actually shot a sibling with an arrow? I rest my case.

That is what being a kid is about.
The good thing about enjoying being a creative kid is that when you grow up you get to have more creative toys. Drills, circular saws, paint strippers..........

Be careful what you wish for.

Roberto Mancini is, according to the media a proverbial dead man walking. Pellegrini is expected to take over from him any day now. Mancini and his sky blue millionaires suffered the embarrassment of defeat to the pie-eaters of Wigan on Saturday.
Going back only a few days to last Thursday when Sir Alex Ferguson, having retired from football and Davie Moyes was named as his successor, Mancini said that he was looking forward to doing battle with him in the Community Shield in August.
Hold on a minute. Didn't you have to have actually won the F.A. Cup first and also still be in a job for that to happen?
Over two years ago when Cesc Fabregas was injured and the Arsenal team were looking for ways for their non playing captain to accept the trophy. Sadly the trophy that they lost to Birmingham City.
Success in football is temporary. Look at the winners of last seasons trophies.

• Champions league winners - Chelsea -Roberto di Matteo - sacked
• F.A. cup winners -Chelsea -Roberto do Matteo -sacked
• Carling cup winners -Liverpool -Kenny Dalglish - sacked
• Championship winners -Reading -Brian McDermott -sacked
• Premiership winners- Manchester City - Roberto Mancini - (watch this space.)

Arsenal have kept Arsene Wenger for 9 trophyless seasons now.....but on the other hand....they haven't needed to employ anyone to polish silverware............

The Lord giveth........

Life in baby chick land is not well.

Two of our baby chicks have become big strong cheeping bundles of fluff, roaming the upturned hollowed out stool that is their home. Lana is not doing so well.

She was the smallest of the three, and we thought that she was also the youngest, as chickens do grow at such an impressive rate that at times it is hard to imagine them once fitting into an egg.

She was always a bit wobbly and found standing difficult, but I think that as time has gone by, it looks like she is not going to make it. She moves between moments of jerky, playful excitement when being gently stroked to cold shallow breathing with eyes closed.

Got a panicky text from Gabi at work earlier today saying that she thought that she wasn't going to make it but Lana rallied and surprised us all.

The fact that she is still here at all is testiment to the love that Gabi has show her. We recycled a medical wound wash bottle to act as a pipette to drop water into her beak.

Gabi hard also sat making small crumbs of food and placing them into her mouth and then washing them down with a few drops of water.

Even though she's still with us, I will be surprised if she makes the night.

Lana! I hope that you get to sing your song in a better place.

The baby chick diary.

Dear diary, Woke up, fought my way outside of  confinement in egg to freedom only to find I had been confined inside a larger oven with many other prisoners. Had meeting and formed escape plan.

Dear diary, The authorities have opened the door to freedom. Escape plan goes into action. The boys decide to stand still and practice looking good whilst we girls run and throw ourselves out of the incubator in a vain fluffy winged attempt to fly. Crazy Dave alone in the corner trying to peck a hole brought a metal floor. God give me strength.

Dear diary, Our escape plan has failed. The authorities captured us and placed us into solitary confinement, even though we are three.  We will huddle together and shriek our rage against the injustice.

Dear diary, the authorities have rehoused us next to a giant mass of ginger feathers and I shout the word "mommy." I am ignored. This means that slow lingering death will come shortly. This may be my last entry.

Dear diary, we have been split up again and imprisoned in a warm clammy place between large mounds of moving skin.  I have read Dante's Inferno and know that I am nearing the fires of hell. All is lost. Not long now. I will close my eyes and ignore the pain.

Dear diary, we have been put in a new cell with what I can only describe as having a heated waterbed which makes me seasick and I scream to let the authorities know but they do not listen. Does this cruelty never stop.

Dear diary, it is now dark and the authorities have left only one to guard us. We shall wait until she leaves us alone and then together in the dark we will sing the song of our forefathers.

Birds and their bosoms.....

We'd not had much of an anniversary.
Not the wedding anniversary or the getting engaged anniversary, but the having started going out second time ('cos the first time lasted 3 months -she dumped me) anniversary. All due to the dreaded kidney stone. We had already prepared the auxiliary chicken run for the 4 new ex-battery chickens that we were giving a new home to. So Sheena said " why don't we go and buy each other a baby chick for our anniversary?"
She had been in love with the concept of particular breed of chicken which laid blue eggs. We had two last year. Florence had medical problems and passed away and Kiev, well, Kiev wasn't a chicken so was therefore useless on the egg front and eventually was out foxed!
We drove to chicken lady and her small house with the large acreage of chicken, duck, goose, goat you name it in her back garden. "What would you like today?"
"Can we have three chicks please?" said my wife. ......THREE..let me see I buy you one, you buy me one and that means....that means...SHE's HAVING AN AFFAIR! That's what my maths worked out.
"We've also got broody bantams so can we have some eggs please?" " Three or five," said I. In the chicken world they need an odd number. Chicken lady said so so it must be true! "Five!" she said.
There's no holding her back when she starts.
When walking back to the car I pointed out that we only came for two chicks, "I remembered three from somewhere." she said
Sadly our broody bantams did not take to the new chicks, so my wife and daughters decide that in order to keep them alive, they would incubate them somewhere warm and motherly.
Thus three sets of bosoms were filled with baby chicks. The cheeping slowly stopped, eyes closed and happiness and sleep ensued.

Just another old American tradition.

Whilst at home I now have email and thus can link into my school and follow what is going on via the plethora of daily emails. It seems that the Year 11 prom passed without incident.

Proms.

Don't get me started. A horrible American tradition that has seeped it's way over here. When I come to power it's the first thing that will go. For a start, why have them BEFORE the exams? It's like giving kids their pocket money BEFORE they tidy their room. In an ideal world (or China) you could probably guarantee success.

Thanks for working hard and achieving your grades....oh....you didn't achieve your grades...ah well that's a shame, can we have your dinner back please?

Why reward a student who has undergone five years in the secondary education system and has spent all of that time trying to break the rules for wearing their uniform correctly (or trying hard not to wear it at all in the case of some PE kit or a sensible school shoe,) with the right to dress up in a suit or evening dress to a standard that shows that they were entirely capable of doing so for five years but just couldn't be bothered?

We spend years getting them to remove make up, nail polish and jewellery and then insist on an evening where they can have had their spray tans, their afternoon at the nail salon and the hairdresser and then put on their £150 frocks and all at the age of 15.

We then gripe at the media who try to make kids appear older than they look yet as a school here we are helping promote the same.
"But it's a rite of passage!" you say.  It might be a rite but it's so wrong.
Did you have a prom at your school? No!
So now that we have started an American high school tradition we need to continue as we have set a precedent.
America also has high school shooting massacres, are there any plans soon to adopt these here?

The road to recovery..is not always smooth

Hospital seems a lifetime away as I lay in my bed this morning. Two days without food as I clung to my drips nil by mouth. When a nurse attempted to remove my jug of "rinse and swill" water that had, at least kept my mouth moist for 48 hours...she was treated to a Gollum like portrayal of a man in need.

I had also not fully appreciated the luxury that I had been allowed in having a single room to myself for the first here nights. handy for the amount of visits that I had to make to the toilet sometimes one after the other. I spent a night out on the ward at the end as my temperature was a bit high. high due to the excessive heat, the inability to open windows and the fact that I'm used to a 450 year old house with no heating.

The ward. Now here was an experience. A night with the great unwashed. A night with people who I only had one thing in common with. An opportunity to watch society in microcosm. One lad was a private contractor who was desperate to get back to work otherwise he might lose the contract. Another who had a damaged elbow that should have been operated on but he hospital had timetabled his CT scan and theatre time together so he had to wait another day for his second operation. a third gentleman had limited English and apparently sleep apnea and didn't seem inclined to take on any of the suggestions that the doctors were giving him. He also had a love of putting his gown on backwards despite numerous requests not to. The last gentleman in the bed next to me had lost fingers due to German booby traps at the end of the war. He asked where I was from. hen I said Takeley, near Stansted Airport, he said that he had lived in Stortford all of his life and never heard of it. I filed him under "mad as a piece of cheese," and though conversation over. On his first night he also managed to snore loudly, talk frequently in his sleep and then exit he bed from the wrong side and disconnect any tubes he was attached to as I lay in the next bed unable to sleep, having played 150 games (1 level of Flow Free) on the ipad and the watch a movie.

Mind you if there's one thing that I did get was an appreciation of the constant strife that the nurses go through and how they, for the most part remain cheery through it all. When you have to deal with one back to front gown and anything that may pop up in the limited conversation and an 8 fingered attempt to put on fresh pyjama bottoms as you open the curtains, a quick smile and they take it in their stride and its off to the next bed.

It always pays o be nice. I read the discharge notes which described me as a "51 year old pleasant gentleman." Mind you if he had seen me when the nurse tried to take my water away......

Greed is good......but Hunger is better.

Greed is good. The mantra of Gordon Gecko and leeches of Wall Street who sucked money for their own personal gain. Footballers have now become greedy. When we think of the wages handed to people who have the ability to kick a football ( and loads more who can't) and compared it to the wage of the fan who pays to watch them on TV because to go to an actual game costs a small fortune,  the differences are staggering.
You don't mind your favourite movie star getting your Cineworld money as at least they can guarantee you a happy ending.
You can't buy success. Chelsea get accused of doing just so but at least have a trophy cabinet to contradict the statement next to the managerial exit door. QPR tried to buy success this season and are now planing for life in the championship with overpaid players who will think they are too good for the division. The Gallacticos of Real Madrid should have been the greatest team on the planet, yet never achieved Champions league success at that time.
Real Madrid. The team that won the first five Champions League titles with Alfredo Di Stefano who later went on to become their manager. A manager who would lead them to a European Cup Winners Cup Final in 1983.
Gothenburg.
A place not widely known for its sporting history, except if you come from Aberdeen. On May 11th 1983, Alex Ferguson took a group of hungry players to the rain drenched Ullevi Stadium where they not only beat Real Madrid but looked the better team for most of the game. Fergie's mentor, the late Jock Stein had said "give Di Stefano a bottle of whiskey...." to  give them the idea that as Aberdeen you are just happy to be here.
Even happier to take the trophy home on a ferry full of happy drunks with empty pockets.
A night that got Alex Ferguson noticed south of the border.  A game that showed Manchester United that here was a manager who wins silverware.

Cheers Sir Alex....from one of the ORIGINAL Red army!

..."and the mummy duck said " ...........

A picture paints a thousand words. Sometimes a picture can say more than words and on other occasions you can get entirely the wrong meaning.
Take Monday morning.
My wife sent me a picture of a mummy duck and her babies walking across our garden on a sunny bank holiday morning.  
A sign  that spring had sprung, the sun was out and all was well with the world.

At the other end of the phone line was a man on his side bent double as the kidney pain shot through him and the nurse failed to come with a pain killer. "What has she bought a family of ducks for?" Sheena does have a history in this area. Bethany gets hit by a car.....Wednesday the abandoned killer of the cat world appears as a gift to "take Bethany's mind off of the accident."

Of course, I was in no position (other than foetal) to question as to how and where/when she could have managed to make any pet investment.
Bobby is unwell, let us get him some poultry to ease his pain. I had unfortunately mentally unleashed the Kraken that was about to create havoc even as I looked at the photo.

As the baby ducks moved through the garden they were totally unaware of the reputation that the Birss family cats have in the local area for their ruthless efficiency. Rats have been removed from stables and locals doff hats and offer marriage to their unwed daughters as they pass.

The killer kittys swooped down and ran off with an assortment of baby ducklings leaving a distraught mummy duck calling out for her offspring in the bushes only to have no reply and an even more distraught wife, unable to stop the carnage.

You want to shove a what up where?

So it's a kidney stone.
7mm diameter of solid gut ache that had me bent double and fearing the worst.  A C.T. scan was taken and the consultant gave me the news that they were going to put a stent in to relieve the pain.
"Will that be keyhole surgery?" asked Sheena.
At this stage I was kind of just wanting the pain to go away. " "No" said the doctor, "We shall go up through his manhood and place a stent with a camera to show us the way."
Whilst the family discussed and asked sensible questions, I lay there a bit on the stunned side. The thought that getting better actually had consequences.
Gabi was jovial about the concept that a lady surgeon had referred to my "manhood" kept her smiling for a bit whereas I developed some gallows humour as the nerves kicked in.
There was a delay as we waited for the off but then it all became a blur as I was whisked off to theatre.
A theatre full of ladies. " Have you been in an operating theatre before?" "Yes," I replied "the last time I was in a surgeon took the end of my willy off." Pointing out of course that I was referring to my circumcision.
It seemed like one minute I was describing my favourite type of whiskey and the next I was sitting up n recovery.  Things looked a mess as I had a quick glance down at the battle zone. They said they were going to put a camera up there.
It felt like an entire BBC camera crew and if you listen carefully I can still hear David Attenborough still in situ.
A paracetamol drip and an anti clotting injection to the stomach, a hug and a goodnight kiss from the wife and it was all over. Well round one at any rate.
What else could possibly happen?.

Me thinks the lad's a bit of a wuss.

Ow.
That was how it started.
Thought i'd pulled a muscle in my tummy.
This is a bit sore i thought. I went downstairs to put the kettle on.
A hot water bottle will do it.
Sadly it didn't. I thought that I had better wake the boss as this felt serious. So serious that I had roll on the floor, the bed, anywhere that would have me.

The ambulance team hit me with 2 shots of morphine to little effect. One paracetamol cocktail and a suppository and things were right as rain....till they wore off and the cycle began again. I was admitted and looked after.
The cycle of morphine, drowsy happiness then the dreaded bile and pain mode meant that we went back and started again.

Thanks to Averil and Julian for coming up to see me. Thanks for all of the well wishing texts we have received. I have had a pain free night. Sadly, I need to go to the bile store 'cos im almost out. My worry is that if there is no pain and things have apparently got better, I never want to have that much pain ever again.

Will go now as it's hard to type on a smart phone. Thanks to Bear for reading Skullduggery Pleasant to me last night. thanks to Gagz who is on a train heading south.

But thanks mostly to Sheena whose  bank holiday weekend and anniversary I ruined.

Could we get any lazier?

The English language is a beautiful thing. Used correctly, it can lift you up when you're down or fill your heart with joy.
Used incorrectly, it makes me want to cry.
 I am still getting used to all the joys of my ipad which I still regard as a toy and not a real computer. "Dad, you need to down load an app." "A what?" Apparently, application has too many syllables for today's youth so there are now apps a-plenty. "
You could download the Facebook application or the Twitter application....you see my point....it is a loss of three syllables but how lazy do we need to be
Cars.
I needed to update my motor a year ago.
Exchange my little Blue Suzuki for a bad Black Hyundai. All the way through from the first meeting to the final transfer of papers, at no stage did the automobile vendor or myself suggest that we should proceed with the "part-ex." Part-ex! Part exchange is the phrase, this only involves the brutal amputation of one syllable.
GLEE.
A source of joy for many a small child over the last few years. My gripe here is not the shortening of words but the concept of the mash-up.
Nothing says I am talentless and uncreative like taking two songs written and sung successfully by other artists and musically welding them together because you don't have the talent to create an original piece of music from first principles.
We don't all need to talk like Nowl Coward to appreciate the English Language but it is sad to see it bleeding slowly to death.
Will today's youth shorten all words to monolylables before realising that even this is too strenuous for them so we will eventually end up communicating by multilayered tones of grunting......some teenagers are there already.

....and the Geek shall inherit the Earth.....

I have just been to the theatre with my fourteen year old to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show. We had a few moments before the show and so being a caring and considerate parent, thought that we might  have a glimpse into New Look....Apparently it's a popular shopping venue that is quite popular with the youth of okay.
Whilst moving round the " youff" section I was concerned with the current trend in clothing where children had "Geek" or "Nerd" "Dweeb" written on t-shirts and tops.
I thought that all of these words to describe people who were uncool and unfashionable.
Have Geeks become fashionable?
I don't think so.
The fact that skinny bitches, the Traceys and Kylies of this world, can go and buy these tops and walk about with this FAKE label on their chest pretending to be Geeks. these are the same people who probably made the kids in the library miserable, laughed at the Nerds and shouted "dweeb" at people they disapproved of.
They also wear a pair of fake spectacles to go with it to add insult to injury. They can turn up to the disco in their labeled clobber trying to pick up Dwayne or Jason, safe in the fact that their Geek status can be thrown onto the floor back at his place because Dwayne and Jason would never go out with a real Geek.
These will be the same people who made the lives of ginger kids hell........but probably have ginger highlights into their dyed blonde hair.

They probably indulged in casual racism.....whilst going on holiday desperate to get the brown east skin on the plane back onto the club 18:30 holiday.

How fashionable is a Real Nerd in a Nerd t-shirt? They would never wear one but if they did, Tracey and Kylie would surely make their lives hell.

The Germans are coming, the Germans are coming

Wembley, 2013. The champions league final between Bayern Munich and Borussia Dortmund.
All the money that went into the new wembley and we couldn't manage an all English Final.
 Even better, an all London Final.
Chelsea v Arsenal.
Arsene Wenger and Rafa Benitez have come up with a master plan.
They have got Captain Mainwairing and the rest of the Home Guard of Dads Army to solve the problem.
Corporal  Jones and the rest of the lads are going to remove all the road signs so that no roads lead to Wembley.
The Germans will end up somewhere in the Welsh mountains.
Sepp  Blatter could investigate as to how the Champions league final had to go ahead with two London teams because the TV cameras were ready to roll.
"Right we want to find out who did this? What is your name?"
"Don't tell him Mata"
"Private Mata."