*Please note: Contains adult themes and material that some people may find offensive*.
Date: Sunday 5th July 2020 Quarantine: Day Location: Area 51, Nevada Desert. Specifically: Bugger off Real World: Sat blogging on my mobile while gazing at two cows who demonstrate their enjoyment of watching me that they’ve taken themselves off to scratch their arses on a tree. Virtual World. Forget it - struggling to get anything to charge up properly. BUT....
TAKING THE PISS
...I have got my water running properly! Fingers crossed.
Since my waterworks were repaired recently I have had no trouble whatsoever with obtaining water. I simply keep a supply of one gallon bottles which I top up whenever I get the opportunity. Why!? Because since the water flow was repaired I have been unable to get any water out of it!!!
... until today that is.
Here was the problem...
As soon as I turned on the tap I could hear the water gurgling as though it were trying to put in an appearance. Except it didn’t. But surely it had to be going somewhere. Simple logic, if the gurgling noise is the sound of water coming out of the tank and if the water is not filling up the sink then where was it going? Answer. Straight out of a pipe on the back of Hymie and watering the grass outside!
Back inside. I remembered there is a switch underneath the wardrobe (when you're trying to cram a three bedroomed, two story house into a van you have to expect the occasional weird compromise - and don't even get me started on the refrigerator switch in the cutlery drawer!) The switch turns the outside water pipe off and on. Push switch to the 'off' position and lo! running water - 'tis a miracle!
But don’t you just hate problems like that? When something ceases to operate but then starts working again for no fathomable reason? After it had been repaired I didn’t touch the switch. I wouldn’t go near it after it took so long to sort out. So. Will just have to resort to the age old remedy of keeping my fingers crossed.
PLUG
Whoops. Wrong plug! This plug.
You wouldn’t think that this could be the cause of so many problems would you?
A little sink plug.
But when the adhesive that bonds it to the sink disintegrates, then it falls out leaving a gaping hole. This Results in a useless sink (unless you enjoy the feeling of peeing on your foot every-time you turn the tap on).
This means that if you need to use this particular facility you have to improvise (wash your face in a bucket) compromise (use a public convenience) or *plunderise (nick someone else’s).
All are a pain in the arse (unless you’ve got a busted toilet as well in which case you won’t be relieving arse pain in a hurry) involving much inconvenience.
I know. Preaching to the converted. But just in case there are others like me who are tempted to procrastinate.......
*I know, not really a word but it helps if I use my ‘ise.
BIG NEWS!!
She’s done it!!!
My lovely friend Rachael has completed her first half marathon. In under 2.5 hours! What a fabulous lady!
Here’s a photo of the triumphant athlete!
What do you notice?
Well done! Not even breathing (heavily that is). Bit pink around the gills but apart from that she looks like she’s just returned from putting the cat out............. if she had a cat to put out in the first place that is, which she hasn’t but still - besides the point innit!?
“GET ON WITH IT!?”
Unfortunately what I haven’t had the heart to tell her is that I once did the half marathon in a record time of 7 min 48 secs.
Don’t say anything to her though. She’s very proud and I wouldn’t want to do anything to upset her.
My Racing Gear!MYTHICAL BEASTIES
I took great offence when I was told to be careful going out on a walk because theHere’s the racing outfit I used (below)...mythical creature known as the Gorgon was on the prowl. According to the half arsed lunatic that told me this toilet chuckingky snippet several people had already fallen foul of this terrifying creature and been turned to stone as a result. Apparently I need to tread carefully.
Really. I know I’ve made a few mistakes in the past and dropped more than the odd clanger but to tell me some yarn about the Gorgon wandering around Wales turning people into building materials was just too much. I ignored the twisted teller of tall tales and carried on with my walk.
After a few minutes I turned down a lane which looked interesting. Which round here is a bit like saying “I went for a stroll down the motorway because the prospect of being hit by a truck is infinitely more exciting than wandering around Wales”.
At the end of this lane was a gate which appeared to lead to a sizeable garden. It would also seem to be a popular one given the amount of cars parked up nearby. I could see why. The grass was freshly mown, flowers bloomed everywhere and I could just see a magnificent gothic looking building peeping through the trees.
I walked through the gates to have s closer look. It seemed very quiet. Where were the people who owned the cars? Where were the pedestrians? Where were the ramblers and casual passers by? I saw no one yet I distinctly heard the sound of people singing miserable songs from the vicinity of the gothic looking building. Three long black cars were also parked up nearby. The drivers were also stood outside them drinking and smoking (clearly local teenagers must have put a match to them while they weren’t looking!)
It was then that I saw them. Two people just up ahead of me at the side of the path. Looking at something? Waiting? Searching? I couldn’t tell. Curiosity got the better of me as I approached. Closer and closer. I was just about to speak when I was overcome with a feeling of pure unspeakable horror. The people weren’t just standing still they had been turned into statues! Their faces contorted in a strange mixture of surprise, fear and pure terror. Further along I saw a man. frozen in time. His face twisted in agony as though he had faced down the devil himself. Four figures standing atop a platform surrounded by white gravel, a child its face fixed in a beatific smile - blissfully unsware of the danger that had befallen it. No wonder I couldn’t see any people. Clearly they had all been frozen into ghostly statues.
“The gorgon”.
I whispered the words so quietly I frightened myself with my own voice. It was then that I remembered an old song from the 1980's about the Gorgon. I began to sing "Gorgon is a moron, Gorgon is a moron, I know she's a moron, Gorgon is a moron". It did'nt work. I was still scared shitless. I took the only course of action left open to me. I ran. I ran, I ran and I ran (this is not a plug for a country in the Gulf in case you were wondering) my heart pounding in my chest. All the while I was praying “please, please please let the gates be open please. I swear I will never return here as long as I’m alive”.
On a final note. I heard a rumour recently to the effect that the Gorgon also had a sister called Zola who, for those unfortunate enough to look into her eyes, were turned into lumps of cheese. But I really don’t think I want to get into that right now?
Two unfortunates who were turned into cheese.
WHERE’S WEST KIRBY???
Woke this morning to a little thoughtlet drifting along on the brainwaves. I turned over hoping it might go away - given that yesterday I told myself I was going to have Sunday off. But it’s difficult to shake of an idea when your job is based on ideas. Then there’s the uncomfortable thought that you might not get another one for some time.
As you may recall I recently spent a couple of weeks with my friend Kat in West Kirby (which is absolutely not in Liverpool!). From here you can see Wales peeping above the horizon.
Well - and here’s the bit that got me a thinketing - if you can see Wales from West Kirby surely you should be able to see West Kirby from Wales! ‘Simples’ as those little rodents are so fond of saying on just about every advert on television (May they be exterminated with their own hyperbole!)
So! Given that I have been largely unsuccessful in finding any walks of particular interest I set about searching for West Kirby instead.
I looked inside a wheely bin
I searched in the toilet
I looked from the top of a silo
I stared down into a pit
I looked under a car
Tony looked and Shirley looked
But we couldn’t see any sign of West Kirby
In desperation I sent a concise message to my friend Kat saying
‘Kat! I am in Wales but I can’t see West Kirby but I should be able to see West Kirby from Wales because I can see Wales from West Kirby while I am stood on the marina which is more like a big swimming pool than the sea but I can’t see West Kirby and neither can my friends Tony, Shirley, Sean, Ali and Ian. Can you help us to see West Kirby from Wales by standing on top of the roof of your four story house and waving to us so that we might have the pleasure of seeing West Kirby from our location in Wales!?
Thanks sweetie
PS It might help if, while you are standing on your roof, you stand on a chair as well so that we might have a better chance of watching you waving at us from West Kirby.
She said “No” Spoilsport.
MY KAT WANTS PRETTY VIEWS
Oh dear - the responsibilities of friendship. Kat asks me to “Send me some pics if your’e somewhere pretty”. Well what to do? The part of Shropshire where I am currently residing isn’t ugly by anyones standards - but it’s not exactly picturesque either. I suppose it’s typical of many faming communities where the farm owners like to have lots of buildings but don’t really do much with them other than stand with hands on hips watching them collapse in on themselves declaring...
“Well would you look at that taffy - yonder barn has just collapsed on top of Mary from The Beast & Bottle. Stood nigh on 800 years that barn has. It would only 20 year for these modern buildings to fall down”
I suppose I better just tell it like it is.
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