The Rants of Red Fred

Don't Mess With Grandma

2017-04-24T20:03:00.000+01:00

The generation of tough Grannies belongs to a generation that grew up after the second

World War; I tell you, Grannies were made of iron and their rule was iron as well.

The universal marker seems to be that Grandmothers were small of stature but tough as old

boots; most of them lived into their nineties, and if children wanted to survive, you did as

you were told, oh yes.

Grandma was viewed with a mixture of fear and wonder: the rules of the house were laid

down by her, and everyone knew it.

One such Grandma had the dinner ready by the appointed hour, no if’s or buts. If any of her

daughters were kept in at school, retribution was swift. Off came the apron, and Gran

marched down to the school.

“You, the dinner is on the table, home!” When the teacher protested the answer was “You

have my girls ‘till four. After that it’s my time, not yours.” So there; after Gran had broken

the teacher’s cane, I guess that teacher knew she was beaten.

I’m sure that religion was a factor; God could see everything you did, so behave, or else you

were in trouble. For that reason, children did all they could to make sure that parents (and

Grandma) never got to find out what their offspring were doing. God might, but that didn’t

matter. Don’t get caught, words to live by you know.

That didn’t work for one young lad who made a rough version of a sleigh with wheels that

he nicked off a pram. After he and a mate had terrorised the entire street racing down the

hill, no brakes of course, his Mum seized an axe and chopped the sleigh into bits of

matchwood. She was four foot nothing, obviously a Gran-in-Training.

They don’t make them like that any more.

The lore of Grandma is an old one: think about the story of Red Riding Hood. For pity’s

sake, the Grandmother is bloody terrifying: the core of this tale is that Grandmothers are

terrible things, they want to eat you, they have these teeth and you have to placate them

with gifts, mostly food.

Someone back in the mists of time was tortured or nearly eaten by a hungry Grandma. If you

stop to count them up there are a lot of very angry Grannies in those “fairy stories.’

Worried? Damn right you should be.

No wonder kids look at Grandmother sideways.

Just as I was sure that tough Grannies are a thing of the past, I began to wonder – talking to

one of the post war children, now a grandmother herself.

She had a run-in with the grandson; before he went off in a huff she told him “I won’t

forget, and I shall be waiting.” So she waited, and as he floated past her in a teenage dream,

Granny jumped him. Oh yeah.

When asked why, Grandmother replied “Because I did remember, and I am not stupid.”

Result – Grandmother 150 points. Teenage grandson – Null, Zero, Nada.

That child has learned a valuable life lesson.

'Don’t Mess With Grandma.'

Yep.

If Life Was A Rainbow

2017-03-06T16:05:00.000+00:00

Let us go and live in La La land; no, I do not mean the movie, rather the world of television advertising.

In moments of stress I want to be in television land where all you have

to worry about is, how clean is your sink, how clean is your dog, child,

whatever.

The weekly wash day is transformed into a singing, dancing affair

with ladies in green tights – I think there are some blokes in it but not

sure about the tights.

When the doorbell rings, I rush to the door, open, and greet some

hunky guy who wants to check my fire extinguisher.

"Hi ya.."

I’ve got news for you; if Hunky Guy wants to extinguish my fire, then

come right in.

But at the crucial moment….Yes! Big problem, is the toilet absolutely

spotless?

In the world of Reality, are you really, really going to give a tea-leaf

about the sodding loo? If it was for real, you and he are heading for the

bedroom, and if life was a rainbow, you would be tearing that shirt off

his manly torso.

All right, not the shirt but you get the idea ?

You have to come back to Planet Earth in the end - machines break

down, things stops working, and it’s time to find a Person to Fix -It.

Of course the Fix It Person, is out, terribly busy, will ring you back.

When they do, make damn sure to be waiting for him.

In television land this is where the Hunky Guy appears at your door, he

has a mega watt smile, abs and pecs to die for, and underneath

that shirt, the muscles ripple.

A deep husky voice asks if he can help; you bet, come right in.

Wake Up.

What you actually get is a wrinkly guy, of mature years, in scruffy blue

overalls and a toothy smile – just the one tooth you understand. He

carries a bag of clanking tools and leaves mud on the carpet.

To make sure the work gets done, you listen to a long (and painful)

recital of all the problems he struggles with, and how hard life is.

Bite your lip - do not mutter “Problems? Keep it to yourself, why don’t

you?”

If he wants tea, don’t throw it at him, it won’t go down too well.

When Mr Wrinkly has finished telling you what a good job he has done,

and goes, at last, just nod, and shut the door – quickly.

There is the Postman of course – OK, my Postman is short, and rotund

I have to say. He wears shorts in all weathers, and they are a tad

baggy. But I see those Legs twinkle down the road in the morning, and

my day acquires a Sparkle.

How sad is that?

Yep

Don't Be A Zombie

2017-02-26T11:51:00.000+00:00

One of the joys of British politics is the sheer madness of our
politicians; we have plenty of nutters, lets be honest. By contrast,
Britain has a long history of splendid, dignified, traditions that should
guarantee the holders of public office also behave with dignity, or gravitas; but it doesn’t.

Want to look for the nutters? No better place than the House of

Commons, with its members, and chief among them, Speaker of the House.

The Hon. John Bercow, elected in 2009, by his fellow MP’s is a the

latest example; torrents of outrage and abuse ensued when our

Speaker announced that he would not invite President Donald Trump to

address the House if he visits this country.

Speaker, Mr John Bercow

Given the torrents of vitriol that began with the President’s election

from residents of the United Kingdom, (and elsewhere) I am amused to

read that various Members of Parliament became so offended that they

called for Mr Bercow’s resignation.

It seems that the Speaker crossed over the line of Impartiality.

In theory the Speaker is party neutral, and John Bercow is now listed

as ‘no party affiliation’. But he was a Conservative MP, and I am

sure that his heart and mind will be Tory to the end. Maybe not his most

glorious moment, but not the end of democracy either.

I quote Mr Duddridge "I think there will be a vote of no confidence and I think he will go. “

Daily Telegraph 2017/02/12

No, I’ve never heard of this MP, and I don’t expect we will hear of him

again. After that many and various crimes were cited.

Financial Irregularity – more than one MP is guilty of that, nothing new

there.

How Mr Bercow voted in the EU referendum – It was either Yes or No wasn’t it?

A target of censure?

As his office said, he is entitled to vote, and nothing to do with his role

as Speaker. Politics attracts many extroverts, nutcases, and idealists,

and it makes for a rich mix.

It is a mix we should all enjoy and keep alive, so sod anyone who

longs for political correctness which adds up to a living death, and do

you want to be a zombie?

The members who voted John Bercow into this post knew very well the

sort of Speaker they would get, of course they did.

No good moaning about it now, got what they paid for wouldn’t you

say?

As the MP, John Whittingdale told the Telegraph , “John was elected with a very firm pledge that he wouldn't stay for more than eight or nine years, and we are pretty much getting close to the end of the that period. So, I wouldn't expect him to stay for much longer."

Dream on sunshine, dream on.

None of you will be surprised to hear that at the time of writing, John

Bercow is, guess what? Still the Speaker of the House.

Yep.

http://www.parliament.uk

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/02/12

Britain is Closed (for the duration)

2013-01-20T14:17:00.000+00:00

I’m sitting here in snow bound Britain in the sure and certain knowledge that northern Europe (and the Yanks) are wondering what all the fuss is about.

British airports close, the roads close, most of our schools close, and cars drift into ditches. Where they stay for the duration. Let’s face it, this country has closed shop, we’ll get back to ya ‘all.

Later.

It is hardly worth mentioning the trains, the network never runs properly. I expect the Krauts are laffing into their furry mittens at this very moment.

Scotland is excused, they do snow all the time, poor sods.

The news has been enlivened by interviews with Council officials who pontificate that (a) they are well prepared, and (b) can’t be expected to forecast the fall of snow.

Not true, the Met Office does a good job with this forecasting lark - we know when, where, and HOW MUCH.

Doesn’t help any, folks can’t get to work and spend hours shivering at stations or stuck in their cars.

Business suffers through lost work as we slide on black ice, deeper into recession.

For those of us who still live in the real world we got recession, whatever crap, Boy David is mouthing to camera.

What am I going to do? Going outside to build a large and politically incorrect snow lady.

Give the neigbours something to choke over eh?

Yep.

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Get a Shed

2012-04-27T21:22:00.001+01:00

Every man needs a shed, there is no doubt about it; a kingdom, an entire universe that he can rule well away from her indoors, and reminders about those jobs around the house.

Jobs that a bloke couldn’t give two curses for. Her indoors says they are essential.

Sheds give out the message that a bloke has work to do, serious work you know, the sifting of nuts, the grading of bolts, you get the idea.

Well out of the wife’s domain. Far, far away out of her reach – Wow.

Better still, blokes can have sheds as a group activity: they do, set up societies for Blokes and Sheds.

Without going near these meetings I can tell you what they talk about.

Women – how unreasonable they are, the wife, the girlfriend, the mistress.

If it’s the wife, ‘She wants a new kitchen’ the mistress “She wants more sex’ and the girlfriend “When is the wedding?’

Do they talk about sheds? No of course they don’t. Wake up, for pity’s sake.

After the females, down to the important stuff; Cars, the Footie, the Pub.

There is nothing to worry about, really there isn’t. Blokes can only think one thought at a time. For a very long time let me tell you.

It takes well over 24 hours before the bloke moves on to the next thought; most women have gone through a whole books worth of thoughts in half that time.

Give your bloke a shed – then lock him in it. He won’t notice, far too busy isn't he?

Yep.

Is My Egg Happy?

2011-04-11T15:39:00.002+01:00

Need all the brain cells firing when you go shopping these days – gone are the days of just buying the bread, the milk and the eggs. Basic foods are now multi-choice, bread with nuts, bread without. With added fibre or just the bog standard white stuff?

Can’t even just buy brown or white, it come in mixtures so you can have beige bread - if you want.

And eggs are complicated you know, I’m sure you didn’t; we have large and then very large, and Extra Large.

Sometimes, you can find eggs so large it makes you wince, well, think what it did to the hen. Enough to make your eyes water don’t you think?

No hen with feelings could sit there producing mammoth eggs without a great big squawk of protest.

Supermarkets get up to all sorts of tricks, and the deception begins well before the egg gets to the carton. Not content with the hen clucking her heart out, the buggers try to fool us into thinking that she enjoys it. Yes they do, why else would the cartons be labelled HAPPY EGGS? We are being misled, that’s what.

Think about it –each little bundle of egg is so happy, and the hen is smiling from ear to ear as she lays another size 8 egg? I don’t think so.
If this trend goes on I’ll be looking at my boiled egg only to see a little smiley face beaming at me.

It’s the stuff of nightmares

Yep.

Get Ahead Get a Torch

2011-02-01T20:39:00.006+00:00

A word of advice to all you folks out there; go, get yourself a torch because we are entering The Age of Darkness. For real.

Where I live, we will be in darkness as the council has decided to turn all the road lights off ‘except the essential ones at junctions and roundabouts’.

So we can all creep up the road in the dark can’t we?

One local lady complained about the lack of lighting down her street, and guess what?

She was told to get herself a TORCH!

There you are nothing to worry about is there? No good if we do as you, me and the rest of the populace can jolly well look after ourselves.

It seems that in some parts of the country, the police won’t go out in the dark as it is too dangerous; and there we were thinking the police are employed to protect us. Afraid not, it seems that our coppers can’t face the darkness; in Wisbech, Cambridgeshire, officers will not patrol a playground plagued by teenage hoodlums.

“A senior officer told stunned councilors there would be no patrols after 8pm at newly-built Waterlees Park in Wisbech, Cambridgeshire, for health and safety reasons.”

The Inspector said his staff couldn’t go into the Park at night as …get this, ‘They can’t see where they’re going”

Understandably the council was stunned by this pearl of wisdom, and one council chappie asked” Don’t they carry torches?’

NO, that’s what the rest of us have to do, Councilor and the police are going to stay indoors with all the lights on.

But the Cambridge police did say that if a crime was committed they would turn out and ‘take appropriate action.’ So that’s all right then, don’t you worry none.

But get a torch – a stonking great big one, you’ll going to need it.

YEP

Source/Mail Online Monday, Jan 31 2011

Yes Dear, No Dear

2011-01-06T14:34:00.021+00:00

Now that the festive hols are over and the Christmas tree gets shoved back in the loft, blokes all over the country heave a sigh of relief and hurry off to places like B&Q, or any DIY they can find.
You see them pacing the store, brows furrowed in deep thought as they consider the merits of anodised bolts or plated screws, so happy to be free of domestic woes, the turkey that crisped a tad too much or the unwanted gifts from family.

And the Missus is still smouldering cos she didn’t get those hair straightners or the sparkly little trifle she had pointed out, very carefully.

Big Mistake, yes indeed, so he escapes to B&Q to get on with the things that matter like the new garden shed, or the essential refurbishments for the garage; no bloke can manage without a well equipped garage and I’m not talking about the car.

No one is going to bug them with unwanted reminders or suggest they get on with enhancing the kitchen, or ‘Do you need any help, Sir?”
Not in B&Q I can tell you, as the staff are either invisible or down the Job Centre, so it’s peace, folks, total peace.

But not for the couples who have decided to tackle the biggie, the NEW KITCHEN.

One of you has at be in charge, and I suggest to all the blokes that it’s left to the Missus or your life is going to be hell, the sort that never ends.
Just watch Madame as she goes into kitchen details, the hob, the dishwasher, the self cleaning sink and the toaster that lights up, but try to stay awake because it’s you that will be paying.

Don’t follow the example of our chum, telling his wife just what they need and would have, how this kitchen was really great, and so on. The expression on his wife’s face said it all.‘Kill, Kill, Kill

Poor sod, quite oblivious that his wife wasn’t on the same page, had left the room, and she will never ever forgive him.
Believe me, she won‘t.
Wander as a cloud or maybe a six throttle Black & Decker through the spaces of your DIY store, but leave the kitchen to your Domestic Goddess, and practice chanting every day,

“Yes dear, No dear, whatever you say, dear” and if you must, “Three bags full, dear.”But the last mentioned, is best kept silent, don’t you think?
Yep.
Red Fred, who is not a bloke or red, likes to rant; in fact has a Diploma in it. Has no interest in helping little old ladies across the road or kissing babies.
Boil babies? Of course

Red Fred 2005 -2011

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The Other Side of Christmas

2010-12-31T22:11:00.013+00:00

As we crawl out of the other side of Christmas falling over a mound of tinsel, paper and dying mince pies, there is a sense of surprise, that we are still here.
The world hasn’t ended and we have to get on with the business of greeting the New Year.
Damn.

Round about this time of year, folks who never take any notice of what us humble populace want or like, suddenly want to share their thoughts with one and all.
Of course there is our own dear Queen, this year she was fluting away in those eggshell vowels of hers about the value of Sport.

Sport? When the Public sector in this country is collapsing into a series of savage cuts, we wanna take to the Sports fields? I don’t think so. Then there was the Pontiff, who also made a speech: let me see now, God is a good thing and he wants to hug us, the Pope that is. Note to self; if the Pope comes here again, avoid Papal hugs.

Last, our Prime Minister, dear Davy Cameron gave us all a kick in the pants by sharing his Christmas thoughts: basically ‘things are going to be tough’.
Really?

Us great populace would never have guessed, would we, after all, there is only the continuing downturn in the British economy, the continuing loss of jobs and the continuing rise in the price of consumer goods.

We do a lot of continuing over here in the UK you know, we continue to put up with it: we can’t even take to the streets and protest with the enviable flair that the French show in troubled times. Change the pension age? No way, ‘C’est la guerre mon ami!” and the streets of Paris fill up with angry citizens who bring the city to a standstill.

Us Brits have different priorities, we know what the real issues are, oh yeah .
So empathise with the lady in Kent who dialled 999 to report the theft of a snowman outside her house.
She had used pound coins for the eyes and teaspoons for the arms, and as she said herself
"It ain't a nice road but you don't expect anybody to nick your snowman."

The police didn’t see the funny side of that but I’m sure you lot do, so with that thought I’ll bid you all
A Happy New Year.

Yep.

6R49GQCPQ9P

My Long Johns ?

2010-11-18T20:23:00.022+00:00

Some deluded folks think you can be a fashion plate in winter, keep warm and still be a Vogue cover girl
Not true – in winter the young ladies wander around in skimpy t-shirts and something my beloved calls a curtain pelmet, but is really a skirt.
Quite, but that’s blokes.

I came across an article by one of these deluded people, but she’s a journalist, which kind of says it all. The items in her wardrobe could send me on holiday, several holidays in fact, so I’m sure she can be a fashion icon.

Let’s face it, wanna keep warm, then you wrap up and look like a Michelin man (or woman) and wear a bobbly hat, or one of those creations with ear flaps.
Have I got such head gear, yes I have and it’s furry as well.

In countries where snow is a serious business, people dress to suit the climate, everyone looks like a rubber tyre on legs and you wear them thermal undies, yes you do, but no one makes jokes about your Long Johns.
Of course they think us Brits are staring mad, we can’t dress properly but if we want to look blue and pimply with cold, that’s our misfortune.

I agree with the journalist’s comment
‘When tempted by The Military Look, remind yourself You Are Not In A Fashion Shoot’ but need to think about her passion for red coats. Must be thinking of Father Christmas.
If you see a shortish person in long red coat and furry hat with flaps, flapping...
Then it might be me – or Santa.

Expecting a picture of said hat are you?
Live in hope

Yup.

Quotes from The Guardian - Saturday, 30 October 2010.

Winter of Discontent

2010-11-01T16:21:00.013+00:00

I have given up with the coaxing of the garden, there is no more so I guess we are about to enter our Winter of Discontent.

There is no more in the Councils' money box.
Up and down the country, councils look for ways of saving money they haven’t got. If the Government believes these bods can save millions in the year, they are dreaming.

But that don’t stop the morons threatening us all with cuts that will be ineffective, and worse, harm us all.

A little chip here, another chip over there – and a few part- time jobs go in the trash can leaving kids without help in school, and some poor sod looses benefit. But still disabled, you know and no amount of Cameron’s clap-trap will restore life to dead limbs.
As these politicians trot back to their country homes, pick up their snotty children from school (private), do they worry about us?

Of course not, and I expect some bastard is still creaming cash off us tax payers to finance the lifestyle he/she enjoys.

What we should do is begin a campaign of UTWS.
Useless time-wasting suggestions to stop the Government in its tracks, it will be so busy the councils will be left in peace.
And let me be the first bod to put up a suggestion

‘All road signs should match the surrounding environs, for example signs should be colour toned with the autumn foliage, so that everything….’blends’, yeah, just blends.’

Good one, don’t you think?
Yep.

Act of Faith

2010-10-24T17:47:00.010+01:00

As the garden closes down at this time of year, hard to believe that it will come back to life.
It is an Act of Faith to plant corms and bulbs, pushing them into the cold soil and watching the frost decimate the last few blooms before everything packs up for winter.

I’m not sure about the power of positive thinking, but willing to try.
Each bulb gets buried in the soil with an injunction to “Show up next Spring you bugger, or Else!”
They must be sitting there laughing at the idea - such optimism.

Wish I could say the same about the politics of this country – no Act of Faith will turn our present Government from their chosen path.

The Tories have reverted to their old beliefs, that a few swishes of the cane will make the feckless and undeserving poor, jump to it and work harder, without asking for help.
It’s in the DNA of the Tory party to implement stinging cuts in State Services, so the poor, the old, get less, of education, of health care, basic requirements.

For the Tories, it’s the same old song and they follow the path of their Ancestors.

Politicians use new phrases, but underneath, it’s the same animal; punish them all for needing help, those without a chance, don’t have any hope, you don’t deserve it.
And any one who does ask for benefit must be a scrounger.

Some are, but not all of us.

We can plant tulips and crocus for the Spring, keep some faith, and be optimistic.
A pity that our current masters can't offer anything at all.
Yep.

The Killing Zone

2010-07-02T22:17:00.003+01:00

The garden has been taking a great deal of my time, and you can banish any ideas of gently communing with nature.
It's war, folks, just war – every time you go into a garden centre, guess where people head for?

The Killing Zone

The Killing department gives no concession to tree huggers, bee lovers, insect collectors, nope, don’t’ try to save the planet just eradicate the little critters. Buy your choice of poison and water all those lovely flowers.

I have yet to meet anyone who loves the lowly slug; if you do, don’t write to me, as I declared a holy war on the horrible mollusc some time ago.
Last year, the buggers destroyed practically everything I planted – so, stuff ‘em and throw blue pills everywhere.

With gardens, you don’t win it all – my sunflowers never got to their promised 10 feet and the butterflies have refused to visit me.
Ungrateful, I call it.
If the ladybirds don’t make use of the special house wot I have purchased, there is going to be trouble.

You think I can’t frighten a ladybird?

Think again.
Yep.

Oh Darling

2010-05-17T13:38:00.010+01:00

I think I have just about recovered from the election campaigns – of course the Labour Party made whimpering noises, nothing new there. The feeling in Britain is that Labour deserved to lose, sometimes us taxpayers bite back.

(I won’t mention the low life that don’t..’pay’) Much.

'Your place or mine?"

However, us, the great unwashed electorate did not deserve the spectacle of the Tory (that’s your Republicans, you Yanks) leader, David Cameron practically kissing the Lib Dem leader every time a camera came near them.

No wonder Mr Clegg and his Lib Dems decided to be friends with the Tories, what fun, all those parties and freebies, yum yum, yum.

The Twins then made beaming noises at us and the Press, promising that a hung Parliament was NO problem at all, no no, no.

A week before that, Cameron was quoted as saying that it ‘would be a disaster’ for the country, just a complete disaster you know.

My, doesn’t the song change?

The television pundits nearly choked themselves with excitement, gazing avidly at reportage of the new alliance, chortling away.
“Look!” screeched one of them “Look! He’s patting Nick Clegg!” Yes, there was David patting Nick.
“Oh doesn’t that body language look amazing!” breathed another; if you get excited by two blokes gazing at each other, I guess it does.

The bravado and the hype have a short life, and when Davy and Nicky (I expect they are on buddy buddy terms by now) get down to the gritty stuff, we will find out if this pairing is going to work.

I suspect not, more so for the Liberal Democrats, who will get sidelined and largely ignored. Inter-Party squabbles will become commonplace.
And for the rest of us?

Life goes on much the same - Bills, bills, and more bills.
Yep.

Run for the Hills

2010-03-01T17:52:00.006+00:00

Run for the hills, if you live in the UK right now. We are heading for several months of pre -election garbage and I don’t intend to be giving much space to any of the political mouthings in the future.

It promises to be a dispirited and lack lustre campaign on either side of the political fence, with a weary electorate who have seen the last 3 years plagued by economic doom, and the sight of empty spaces in the High Street.

Brown has begun making speeches that veer from ‘You never had it so good’ to ‘Give us a chance’ which is Labour‘s best effort and doesn’t deliver any hope whatsoever.

His opposite number, David Cameron, who comes from the old rich families so beloved by the Conservative party in this country, has been telling his party that it is their patriotic duty to throw the current government out.

No, he just wants the top job.

And there are the rest of us, trying to make our bank accounts balance (and failing) pay off our credit cards (and failing) and induce our beloveds to finish off those chores that have been hanging around for a few years (and failing).
Not being politicians, we are unable to make the bank manager believe that

a) We can claim it all as justifiable expenses

b) Make our beloved understand that his/her, prospects are in considerable danger if he/she, doesn’t pull a finger out.

Or have said finger pulled out, instead.

Find something else to enjoy for the next few months.
Bury your pot of gold in the garden and stock up on some good DVD’s. After all politics and reality seldom make good bedfellows.

Well, never actually

Yep.

One Onion, Two Parsnips

2010-02-14T15:16:00.011+00:00

‘Nearly Spring’ I keep hearing - these folks must be in a state of delusion: I rush into the garden expecting to see an outburst of flowering plants. Do I see any such thing? No.
I have plants, but they are mostly non- flowering you know. Leaves yes, flowers, no.

As winter got going, I bought some ‘Winter Flowering Pansies’ Here is my picture of these wonders.

Not a flower in sight eh? They have been like that all winter. Producing leaves. Wonderful.
Still, mustn’t worry, plant some bulbs, yes, they got flowers: so I stuffed the bulbs into a couple of tubs.
Here is my picture of the tubs.

Nothing, zero, nada, bugger all - the greenery is one onion which started itself in my kitchen and two parsnips, likewise. If the daffs ever appear, they can fight it out between them.

The snow came down, didn’t mind that, at least it was quite pretty -when the white stuff melted away, I was gratified to see several green shoots in the garden, no flowers of course, but green leaves, oh yes.

However, on the next day, guess what? One lone snowdrop. Here is a picture of the snowdrop, in case the unbelievers amongst you, don’t believe me.

The snow came down soon after that, so the effect is ‘understated’, subtle, that’s the word I want. There are still things growing in the garden. Here is a picture of something growing in the garden.

No, I don’t what it might be, hafta wait and see won’t you?
Yep.

So 'Shut It...'

2010-01-23T22:22:00.005+00:00

It would be a good idea for the pundits to shut it, at least for the next 6 months, as two major companies in the UK announce the loss of jobs in the thousands.
No one is going to cheer the experts on as they promise us a rosy, and wealthy economic outlook.

Eon chose to fabricate a jargon laden excuse for the sacking of their workforce in Essex, with a ‘suit’ blabbing away to camera. I’m sure he will continue to enjoy his company car, and his nice house in a good area, before he moves on to another position, with a nice car and a nice house….I guess you get the picture.

In harsh contrast, Cadbury fell to the mighty dollar as Kraft flexed their financial muscle, but the result was the same.A massive loss of jobs, and a loss of tradition as well.

Sad as that may be, tradition has no defence against the economics.

The same day, we were treated to our resident incompetent, Prime Minister Gordon Brown, assuring the House (and us) that the Government would do everything they could to ensure that the newly jobless would be given work experience so that they could all skip gaily on to the next job.

Use a space to think here, which is more than Gordon does – folks who have lost their job, do they need more work experience?

No. They need a job.

‘Simples’ as Aleksandr would say.

Work experience is the great con-trick of our time, it takes the unemployment figures down, and in six months time the so- called ‘experience’ comes to an end.

It’s back to the job centre as the politicians beam and pat themselves on the back, cos’ they are Doing something.
Goodness Gracious Me.

Yep.

Crash and Burn

2010-01-02T15:38:00.015+00:00

I’m sure that everyone has finished Christmas with a credit card that is going ‘crash and burn’ all the way to the bank; but feeling quietly satisfied that they have acquitted themselves with honour in the prezzi department; like a friend of mine who is glowing smugly as her brother wanted a new bird feeder, and that’s what he got – the lucky blighter. Apparently he was thrilled.

Me myself? I am the proud owner of a new ‘hoodie’, it seems I fit the profile, and that’s all I’m saying. I do like the very long sleeves, so I can hunch my shoulders and scrunch my hands together, in approved anti-social mode.
Of course, the vivid stripes of pink and green do make one rather visible

However, I did hit the bull’s eye with this, yes, the glorious Sheep Shaggers’ beer; it made the perfect gift and I expect that the lucky recipient will write a heartfelt letter of thanks to Santa.

Best if he does, eh?

And before anyone replies with indignant and outraged protests about sheep, and their rights, let me assure you that I am very fond of sheep, I think they’re very sweet, and tasty as well.
That's as far as the interest in sheep goes, thank you

Lastly, here is a picture of my latest Hat, which will induce feelings of envy in all who see it. And a Happy New Year to you all.

Yep.

The Ladies

2009-12-05T20:34:00.005+00:00

I suspect that the fearsome ladies of my childhood are no more – generally, they were rather well endowed round the bosoms area,: without exception, they had voices that could cut through steel. They certainly found you, wherever you might choose to seek sanctuary.

The preference for pastel shade knits was misleading – there was nothing, absolutely nothing pastel about them. About as comfortable as a dragon breathing fire, if you ask me.
Children never got asked – you got told. In forthright terms, with words of one syllable.

It was better not to be anywhere near the ladies, and then they couldn’t get you.
If one of the ladies said “I was looking for you, Diana, I wanted you to bla..bla.. bla” - it was several hours too late by then.
Good Result.

God help a child who forgot the ‘please’ and’ thank you’ bit; at that point a glacial blue eye swivelled in your direction, don’t know what they did with the other one. A bit like a fish being speared
God help you if you forgot anything, really.

The adage ‘Children should be seen and not heard’ isn’t followed these days –get to see (and hear) the little buggers even when you don’t want to. The truth was that adults didn’t want to lay eyes on you, and if they heard you…it was time to run for the hills.

They are not forgotten, the ladies of my childhood although they have gone–trouble is, I’m not entirely sure about that. You might think I have anxiety issues here and your’re damn right.
Yep.

Zaphod

2009-09-29T22:49:00.002+01:00

I am sorry to say that Zap, as we called him, or Zaphod, died on Sunday 27th September. He often wrote here, and was an expert on the Kraken

His friends and his family will miss him - and so will I. I am so glad I got to knnow him, and enjoy his friendship

Covered in Cow Poo

2009-09-16T23:01:00.009+01:00

I havn’t been to Glastonbury for a couple of years, which convinced me that the place was quite normal, and my memory had just hazed over. The brain had just picked out the goofy bits.
Not so, it's in a different time warp, all right.

Of course, I enjoyed it, only morons and George Bush wouldn’t
The shops are full of dragons, fairies and green men, but I am made of sterner stuff and concentrated on the things that matter
Eating, yes, eating

I thought we would try the St George and Pilgrim hostelry again. My theory being that it couldn’t be as daft as I remembered.
It bloody was.

Me and the Pirate made our way there one Sunday evening. Most of the hotel was in darkness, no staff, nothing.
We found the bar, it had lights on, there was a human being behind the bar, sort of. Food yes, they had that. I found a table, and cleared the used plates and glasses. It’s like that in the George.
At least I didn’t have to go and cook the damn food; getting too adventurous I asked for dessert.

Big round eyes.

“The kitchen is closed” Past the witching hour of 8 o’clock, you see.
Right….”.coffee?”
He looked sadly at the coffee machine right beside him, conceding that they did coffee.

I have no qualms about eavesdropping on folk’s conversations – if people will talk loudly about their goofs in the George, I’m happy to listen.

“Yeah, he owed me 25 quid for the gig….so I got a string of lights instead” pause “So that was all right”
Going to be hungry, isn’t he?

Being a sucker for punishment, I insisted on going back there for a last cup of coffee before leaving “It might be ok”. Famous last words.
The George was doing well as usual; served the wrong meal to the wrong bod, and tried to give us more coffee, when we wanted to pay.

Of course, I walked to the Tor, all the way to the top.
It was covered in cow poo.
Yep.

And who is this weirdo..huh?

I wanna be a Roman

2009-08-01T20:33:00.005+01:00

The long hot summer the weather pundits promised us over here in the UK, has been and gone, all two weeks of it.
The rains are back, the clouds are grey, things are back to normal, and folks are wearing their macks again and clutching umbrellas.
(That’s weather- wear and parasols to you Yanks)

At least we had the European elections.
Elections can be fun before you all start groaning, yes they can.
I encountered the glories of the ‘Roman Party' headed by a certain ‘Jean-Louis Pascual’

‘The Roman Party. Ave!”
Has a certain ring to it, don’t it but that’s all you get, no posters, no leaflets, so I went hunting on the Web.

His web page is a masterpiece of non – information; here it is

Position: Bus Driver
Interesting Fact: Jean Louis was born in France.

His manifesto suggests that

“…we should consider moving British jail to other Eastern European countries to run at less costs for the British tax payers we could seek permission of Vladimir Putin President of Russia. the reason for this is most British jails are run like hotels and sanctuaries.”

I wonder if Mr Putin would be interested in the idea? I rather like it myself.

Some quotes from his fans on the Web

Q: “What did the Romans do for us anyway?
A: Aqueducts and Months of the Year

Q: Does anyone know anything about Jean Lous Pascual?

A: “He is a bus driver from Reading who puts himself forward for elections and gets about 20 votes. “
A: “He likes strutting his stuff in a little leather tunic or maybe a toga turns him on?”

I look forward to the day when Jean Louis becomes President of France. I’m sure he will be a howling success.

And he writes his manifesto in crayon.
Yep.

Cold Times

2009-05-21T22:39:00.005+01:00

There is a coldness in the air, here in Britain and I am not referring to the freezing winds of May which will cause Shakespeare’s ‘darling buds’ to become frost bitten if it doesn’t warm up soon.

No, I refer to the ongoing furore over our parliamentary members and their astonishing inability to understand the difference between right and wrong.

Nothing new you may say, and you are right – politicians are not renowned for their morality but I would suggest that their indifference, indeed their blatant lack of interest in the people who voted them into office has reached a new high.

(Denis the Menance , Beano comics, UK)

Some MPs got caught and some owned up; all of them protested that ‘It was within the rules’
Not good enough.

Reclaiming for non-existent mortgages, four thousand pounds worth of electronics, expenses for the wife, the gardener, are not within the rules.

Now it seems, we have to re-educate our politicians in some very basic ethics.
It is not the rule that ‘Thou shalt defraud the taxpayer’ at all times.

Some one ought to point this out to the Prime Minister .

Yep.

Negative Attitudes

2009-03-14T22:30:00.009+00:00

There are times, when we need our heroes; this is one of them, not least because we suffer from the officially ‘dullest’ Prime Minister in the last two centuries

We find our heroes as children, and keep them.
I’m sure there are any number of adults who travel to the office, outwardly sober in suit and tie, clutching briefcase.
But in their heads, they are Captain Courageous and they’re gonna save the world in snazzy lycra red underpants and blue tights.

Traditional heroes can be analysed, historically corrected and the myths de-bunked; but it’s too late for you and me, oh yes it is.
The latest casualty of correctness is Robin Hood

(Statue of Robin Hood, Nottingham, UK)

He is now viewed with a….'Negative Attitude’
Bloody Hell, now the academics are telling us that Robin in the Hood , isn’t any good.
A 15C manuscript discovered at Eton College, describes him as ‘infesting parts of England with continuous robberies.’

Dr Luxford, an expert in medieval manuscript studies, said: "Rather than depicting the traditionally well-liked hero, the article suggests that Robin Hood and his merry men may not actually have been 'loved by the good'.
(BBC News Front Page)

Infesting? Heroes don’t infest, they are good and like to help people – or something like that.

I’m torn here; the scholar within admires the academic input, the preciseness of fact. But I still remember the green legged hero who swung through the trees of Sherwood Forest, played by Richard Greene

(Richard Greene in the Adventures of Robin Hood, ATV. 1955 -58)

in the television series produced by ATV and shown every Sunday afternoon. And guess who sat there as Robin Hood, with his Brillcream hair-do and RADA accent put everything to rights and made the Sheriff cry?

Me.
Yup.

For you Saddoes, who want to hear the theme song ‘Robin Hood ’ go to

Adventures of Robin Hood

Take Up Knitting

2009-03-03T22:59:00.010+00:00

I’ve come to the conclusion that blokes need something to do with their hands; and if any of you lot are getting the wrong idea…?.
Disappointment is coming your way.
It’s a simple life for the average bloke, and left to their own devices, they go for simple options.

Ferret around under the bonnet of a car, muttering..”Ahhh..” with much intake of breath, followed by trip to B&Q. May return by nightfall.
Watch football on TV.
Watch fishing on TV.
Go to football…. Go…..I’m sure you get the rest.

What blokes need are things to do, you know, stuff like that. Give him something useful to do, and there he is offering to go to IKEA
All by himself.

Just build a fairly elastic time-lapse into the sequence, and I daresay you’ll get results….eventually.
Last point.
Don’t get excited, remember that blokes are one-cell beings who process one thought at a time, multi-tasking is not an option here.

And if you aren’t the patient sort – take up knitting.
Yep.