Cereal Killer (BwD3)

Date: Thursday 8th October 2020

Location: Northwood

Specifically:

Top priority today is my meds - should keep me alive a bit longer assuming I don't go near any bridges, tall buildings deep water or fall foul of a local serial killer! My prescription is requested last minute as per usual courtesy of my hatred of making phone calls - especially the long winded tripe I'm obliged to listen to on the answer machine message before I even get to speak to a human being at the surgery.

Hymie isn't going anywhere - he's still bogged down in the mud - thanks to all the rain we've had. This means I need to beg a lift to the chemists at Ellsemere. First stop Karen - owner of Barney - the horse who was conned into buying a souvenir recently from a passing alien who stayed over with his missus for a wee and bed & breakfast. They also took the liberty of teleporting a few farm animals back to their home planet for a barbecue. Cheeky b******s didn't even ask - just said they deserved something for the extortionate cost of bed and breakfast!

I send a polite message via messenger ....

"Don’t suppose you could give me a lift to Ellesmere around 3.30 pm today? I need to collect meds from the chemist. You have yourself a great day young lady!"

"Soz be in Borth by then until 16th xxx"

"OK no probs - but it's imperative that you get over here. Don't worry I'll make it worth your while. I’ll send you a map plus written directions on where to meet up The location is top secret so when you've memorised the map you need to eat it - don't worry it's mint flavoured and quite tasty actually.

There's also a bit of cash for your trouble, a flask of tea and a scone in case you feel hungry. As an added safety precaution make sure you wear a ski mask to avoid recognition. I've also included additional protection (even though you always say it's like eating a toffee with the wrapper on) in the form of a high powered weapon. When you arrive at the farm stand by the side of the road twirling a bunch of keys and saying the secret words “come up and see me sometime sunshine” If you’re caught by the police eat the written instructions and run away.

So the humour didn't work. Next stop - Sean!

"Give me a lift otherwise I'll fuck up your life and burn the Aston Martin"

I read it back to myself. Hm - probably needs to be a little more subtle. I delete the message and try again...

"Hello Sean, please accept my humblest apologies for troubling you when I know you have very little in the way of free time. I am but a miserable low life, an empty crisp packet drifting along on the cruel wind of life, a scourge on society who does not even deserve to be used as fertiliser on your property let alone actually live on it. I ask only one thing of you before my time is up and that is to ask if you would be so terribly kind and good natured as to provide me with a lift to Ellesmere. I am your must humble servant..etc "

Again I read it back to myself. Hm - It's fine - not too obsequious or anything but I think I've made one or two grammatical errors. I'll have another go. Third time lucky n all that....

"Hello Sean, can I have a lift to Ellesemere this afternoon. Thanks"

I read it back to myself. Hm - it's boring and it's bollox but it's too late now. I hit 'Send' and wait. Fortunately it works and Sean agrees to give me a lift. Yay.

Now let's have another look at crap.

RUBBISH UPDATE

As I stated in a recent post - an ignorant minority of motorhome owners will chuck their rubbish anywhere rather than find a bin (with room in it!) or take it home. This frequently results in responsible users facing complaints from members of the public. I'm throwing my own crumpet but if I see any litter I pick it up and deposit it in a suitable repository.

It seems I'm not the only one having issues. This was posted by my friend John on Facebook today. It relates to general household rubbish but relates to everyone including motorhome owners.

Today has to be thick Thursday !!

Saw a security guard outside the entrance to the local dumpsite. I wondered why?

"why are you there?"

He answered sternly

"to make sure you have booked to get rid of your rubbish!"

"Seriously"

"yes" .

Talk about overkill!

The bloke is employed by a security firm.

Is it any wonder fly tipping is on the increase .!!"

Readers are welcome to comment in the forum but I wonder how effective these rules are and, more to the point, are they going to ultimately defeat the object of dumpit sites. Last year when my house was being sold I had, as you can imagine, lots of junk that warranted a trip to the dumpit site. On one of these excusrsions there was a queue so rather than hang about I parked across the road. I lifteed the boot and pulled out to bags of rubbish. I had barely moved two paces before some guy who I assume was an employee and "The Sun' IQ test failure starts shouting...

"carwatertin" yacarwatertin!", "carwatertin" yacarwatertin!"

"Huh?" "Pardon?"

I couldn't tell a word he was saying.

I continued to shorten the distance between reception year spelling bee loser and myself.

He continued "yercarwarskitten!" "yercarwarskitten!"

"Pardon?" "what's a Star Wars kitten?"

I got to within conversational range

"Excuse me"

"You can't walk it in mate, yer can't walk it in"

I had no idea what he was talking about. As it happened there was a sign on the gate which said rubbish can only be bought in in a car. Ah now I got it 'You can't walk it in'. I was angry and told him so - especially as, I assume, speaking the queens English is a prerequisite of his job. I do not like people yelling at me from across the street and especially not in an aggressive fashion. I went away and returned in my vehicle - A Citroen Berlingo van. I'm just about to get my rubbish out of the boot when I heard "weezyaphermit?" "Er beg pardon?"I asked "weezyaphermit?""Oiyercantdumprubbishinaworkvanweeartapermit".

My initial thought was that this must be the name of a railway station in Wales. Fortunately my brain was able to decipher this literary catastrophe. "Oh I see - I need a permit to bring rubbish in a commercial vehicle?" Well why didn't you just say so you illiterate ignoramus then I would have gone out and spent £5,000 on a replacement vehicle".

I didn't really say that of course and I get there have to be rules. But, given the attitude of some of these council employees it's not surprising that some people would rather sling their crap over a hedge.

KINKY OWL

This was posted to Facebook by my lovely friend Sharon Dawn-Walker. Eeeh the things you learn eh?

"How old were you before you realised owls had long legs?"

..and of course my response...

"Ewwwww looks like a washed up sex worker. Wouldn’t go near the thing. On behalf of a er..... friend how much for an hour?"

BRUSHES WITH DEATH

No 3: Dying from Fright (Part 1)

To this day I have no idea how much of the following story is truth and how much is fiction. What I can tell you is that even now, 50 years after the event, it remains the single most terrifying thing that has ever happened to me. The events took place at 12 Westfield View, Canklow Road, Rotherham. I was 4 years old at the time.

I don’t recall when we moved into the house. I certainly wasn’t born there and I’m pretty sure my sister didn’t arrive until later. All I knew was that the property was mortgaged, very solid and well built. Coal for the heating was kept in a cellar below ground - accessible to tenants via a stairway from the living room.

The downstairs area consisted of a large living room with a kitchen leading from it. There was also another large room at the front of the house accessible from the street. This room and the living room were connected via a corridor. Upstairs is a mystery because my memory is foggy beyond the uppermost step. But common sense dictates that since we were a family of four and took in lodgers as well that the upstairs must have consisted of at least one large bedroom that my parents would have slept in and two smaller rooms - one for myself and one for use by the lodgers (or at least until

my sister was born).

It was also haunted.

It was also the only time in my life when I think mum was really happy. Our days were filled with the smells of her delicious cooking and seemingly endless baking - jam tarts, lemon tarts, cakes, sweet pies, savoury pies, fruit buns, butterfly buns, plain scones, sweet scones and savoury scones. You can also add my name to the list of children who delighted in being allowed to scoop out the mixing bowl after mum had transferred the contents to the oven.

Mum was a giggler. When she got started she couldn’t stop. It was infectious pretty soon I would be giggling as well. I don’t think I ever understood what she was giggling at but for some reason this made it funnier and soon I would be rolling around on the floor helpless with laughter. Its a cliche but mum really did have the voice of an angel (not that I ever witnessed any of them of course). She was always laughing and singing. Happy songs during the day, soft and gentle lullaby’s in the evening. The one song I can never forget was ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’ even today my eyes fill with tears of sadness if I hear it being sung anywhere. One aspect of her singing that I didn’t always appreciate was her habit of turning my requests - usually for things I couldn’t have - into songs! For example “Mum can I have a bike for Christmas?” would become

“Mum can I have a bike for Christmas,

Would you please buy me a bike?

“No I’m afraid not son they’re far too much money

But you can have something cheaper if you like”

I really should have appreciated it a lot more. What a talent!

By contrast I remember very little of my father in fact I don’t remember seeing him in the house very often at all. When he was present (fully present that is) he was usually full of beer, fast asleep or hiding behind his newspaper when anything cropped up that he didn't want to deal with (which was frequent). I have no recollection of him ever playing with me or interacting in any way. But there is one incident I do recall.

One day he took me to Clifton Park. I don't remmber what we did there - certainly wouldn't have been anything that cost money - all I remember is the walk back. Out of the park gates and along Doncaster Road. Towards the bottom was 'Coopers' at the time Rotherham's biggest toy shop. I looked in the window as we passed. Right in the centre of the window was the biggest chemistry set I ever saw. It was something of an obsession with me at the time and I was forever talking about chemistry, experiments, equipment and the various chemicals. I pestered my parents endlessly for one - but of course, as with the bike, it was beyond my parents means - partly because I wanted the biggest one I could find which at the time was - probably ICI.

I looked at dad hopefully and asked if I could have it. To my utter amazement he agreed. I did a double take. "What? you're serious?" "Yes" he said. "Really? Youre really really serious I can have it!? "Yes son". I was so thrilled I could scarcely breathe. I checked one last time just to make sure I wasn't hallucinating "so I can go in and buy it". "Yes son you can have anything you want - go on in I'm right behind you"

I was so enthusiastic about getting through the door that I was unprepared for what happened next. As I simultaneously pulled down the door handle and pushed against the door I was met with an unexpected resistance. Thinking that I'd turned the door handle in the wrong direction I tried again. It was like trying to topple a brick wall with my bare hands. Puzzled I tried again twisting the door handle this way and that in an attempt to enter the shop. That's when I noticed the darkness. I shielded my eyes with my hand to get a better view through the glass. No customers. No staff. I looked though the windows on my left and right. Nothing. That's when the penny finally dropped. The shop was closed. It was closed because today was Sunday.

I don't know why this detail seem to have slipped my mind but I was sure of one thing - it hadn't slipped my fathers. I turned to him my face filled with disappointment. He started to laugh. He laughed so hard he couldn't stop. He was like a schoolboy who had been awarded class clown of the year award. It says a lot that as I write now fifty plus years later I can remember the event like it was yesterday. I told mum of course. She was livid. I wasn't present for the conversation but I know she gave him what for. He still didn't get it- even when she told him "you do not do things like that to a child!". Had we been able to afford it I'm sure she would have told him that he better buy me the chemistry set if he knew what was good for him. But we couldn't and he didn't - he never seemed to run out of money for beer and cigarettes though. .

*Imperial Chemical Industries

Part 2 will be on Friday 9th October 2020

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