WARNING: DEALS WITH ADULT THEMES AND CONTAINS MATERIAL THAT
SOME PEOPLE MAY FIND OFFENSIVE.
Date: Friday 1st Jan 2021
Location: Who cares I’m frozen go away - feels like somewhere on the moon!.
Specifically: Inside the Copernicus Magumby Crater somewhere between Oceanus Procol Harum and Mary's Monolthic Essentialorium (or whatever these places on the moon are called)
Mood: Go away before I *seti the dogs on you.
* See how I patronisingly helped you to get the joke with the use of bold type!!
As you might have gathered I’m not having the best of mornings down on the farm. But never mind, I’m not in the habit of letting things get me down or moaning unnecessarily (which is the first time I’ve spelled that without overdoing the ’S’s’ and being reprimanded by the spell checker). So, I’m thinkering (rare event) maybe a run in Hymie to Ellsemere will clear my head, besides according to ‘Mr RIDICULOUSLY OVERPRICED garage man’ he needs more time on the road than he’s getting at the moment.
I pull into my favourite car park close to the mere. As I square up I notice the face of a woman in a car next to me (which I thought was unusual as they’re usually attached to a body) She’s wearing one of those expressions that suggest your sole intention for leaving home that morning was to ruin their day. Usually I assume its about me, like I’ve accidentally emptied my ‘chemical waste’ cassette on their dog, mooned them through the window or . But this time I don’t give her ‘bulldog licking piss of a nettle’ face the time of day (thanks for the line Viz you pinch my humour and I’ll pinch yours). Big mistake as it turns out.
I leap out of Hymie and into the void (literally since the steps are buggered) and head towards the ticket machine, one of these ‘very sorry but we don’t give change because its a legitimate way of getting money out of you without actually stealing it’ things when they know damned well they could install them if they wanted to. En route I pass grizzly woman just as her and her (I assume) husband gets out of the car; a poker faced, grey haired fully paid up member of the coffin dodgers club. The sort of entitled twat who feels everyone should feel sorry for him because he only has a short while before he’s boxed up and sent on a one way journey to hell.
“You’ve made it really difficult for me to get out now” “look you’ve barely left any space for me to get past”. I look in the direction he’s pointing and it’s clear you could drive one of those ‘abnormal load’ lorries through there with little bother. “Awww really” I say and with that leap back into Hymie with as much dignity as I can muster (no steps remember) start him up, assume the position and then spend a few minutes driving backwards and forwards over his car (“Oh I’m sorry was your wife still in there?”) before chasing him round the car park in an attempt to bounce him under the chassis and suffer the indignity of having to crawl out from under Hymie covered in mud, wet leaves and general ell-crapola.
Not really of course, tempting though it might be, instead I just tell him it's not a problem. But this isn’t good enough for him, he’s just getting warmed up and wants a good moan inconsiderate people. He gets his wish when him and ‘hag face’ are joined by another couple; younger, but just as belligerent. They’ve never met before but now they’re like two pairs of Siamese twins, conjoined in a rant about how perfectly reasonable him and his wife have been and what an obstructive little shit I’ve been in not immediately responding to their ever so reasonable request. Other couple are making their feelings known by nodding in empathetic agreement with everything bucket face and bog brain say by nodding eagerly, muttering about “motorhome users”and punctuating their conversation with strategic glares in my direction, as though I had pinched their bank details and signed them over to the Association for Gypsies and Travellers (or A G and T for short).
Then, insanity took over. I lost it, the same way I had with the clown in Gainsborough some months ago tut tut tutting about my ACCIDENTLY infecting her with corona by walking the wrong way to the checkout queue (another bloody sardine faced suckass if ever I saw one). I can’t even remember what I said except it contained “I’m not moving it, it can stay where it is now you argumentative ‘*bleep* *bleep* (“Ooh did you hear what he called me Henry!?”)
I moved it of course, I’m not that unreasonable and I’ve no wish to see someone struggle if I can help it. But what I’m more worried about is my own attitude - I’ve lost it a few times like that recently - a moment where I shift from being calm to spouting anything and everything that comes to mind, dancing around them in circles and boogying off down the road. Kidding??? Oh no, I wish I was because I can’t be a pretty sight!
Following my encounter with the ding dong drama king and his “Oh god I just shit in my bloomers” wife, I take the walk past the mere.
Now here’s a piece of history for you. Ellesmere lake (MERE!!?) was the birthplace of the ballet Swan Lake! Yeah, straight up! Legend has it that if you wander around the lake (IT’S A BLOODY MERE YOU TOWNIE *BLEEP* !!!) on a day when there isn’t a ripple in the sky or a breeze on the water, and if you prostrate yourself in front of a suggestive picture of a swan (bit kinky if you ask me but I don’t make the legends) you might just be lucky enough to see one of these majestic creatures making like yer Jesus and walking on water! (FOR THE LAST TIME IT'S A MERE YOU DUMBASS!)
I didn’t believe a word of it of course. That was until I saw a small group of people pointing and chattering excitedly about something that had caught their eye. I followed their gaze (as you do when you’re a nosy b*****d who can’t mind his own business) and could not believe my eyes! There, right in the centre of the MERE (hah! Didn’t catch me out that time!) well away from any sort of platform, rockery or busted supermarket trolley stood a swan! Honest! Sure as I’m reclining in a state of bliss having my hair stroked and being fed grapes by a reincarnation of Cleopatra. I had no intention of photographing anything at that time, too keen to collect my prescription from the chemist and get back to Hymie out of the cold. But I made an exception now. I grabbed my phone and quickly fired off a few shots!! Proof of the origin of Swan Lake!!
SCARLETT NO-HAIRA
Tis the season for helping others and I’m not going to argue? (Because I’m not going to help anyone anyway! Hah!) Here’s a Facebook post from good friend, steampunk colleague and wildlife conservationist (well, she has two teenage children) Sharon Dawn-Walker who asks the Facebook community (and normal people) Now which one should I have”? It’s the perfect question from this lovely self-confessed nut job (geddit!! Nut? Head? Hair? Ah bollox then). Well the styles are certainly different and no mistake (though I would deffo pass on the second one - that’s the look that men have tried to avoid since wigs went out of fashion). But to choose one for Sharon? I’m struggling and so I give this response...
“Lie horizontally in front of a hedge
Get someone to pull you through it and out the other side
The result will produce a better style than any of the above AND for nowt!” 👍
It gets a laff! And if I can put a smile on her face I’m happy.
I decide the comments might make a nice blog entry and message Sharon for permission to use it. She replies..
“Once we are back on it you need to come sample a cooked dinner with us you will be very welcome....and I promise I wonder depress you lol”
Wasn’t that nice!? Not only an agreement but an invasion to dinner as well.
FROZEN AMINALS
As Julius, the former Roman Emperor once said “It never caesars to amaze me how horses cope during winter”. A sentiment I fully understand and empathise with. Come to think of it, it never ‘Caesar’s’ to amaze me how the Romans kept warm in those little mini skirts they had to wear either. I mean you have to feel for them don’t you? Which is probably the only way you’d find them in this weather. They’re able to stay out day and night and still look like they’re having fun (I’m back onto horses now by the way). Me? I nip outdoors for a minute and I’m running back inside for the hot water bottle and going into hibernation for the winter (and any chilly moments during the summer).
Karen messages to say...
“Hope ur ok. Was Barney fine?”
I respond with...
“Yes - I don’t know how the horses look so comfortable in this freezing cold! I fed Barney OK but lost a few body parts in the process. Just look at my window this morning!!!”
Brrrrrrrrrr makes me feel cold just looking at it!
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