tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90712292024-03-13T10:56:01.741-07:00GEORGE SAYSMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.comBlogger871125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-4389522348647096822015-11-06T09:29:00.000-08:002015-11-06T09:29:21.821-08:00Just when you thought it was safe to...In response to Mr Adams:<br />
<br /><br />
Much has been happening this summer. <br />
<br /><br />
I may return to the blogosphere soon.<br />
<br /><br />
Anna is alive and well, although keeping a low profile!<br />
<br /><br />
GeorgeMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-19179675637454293102015-05-20T08:31:00.000-07:002015-05-20T08:31:02.741-07:00BOO!Whose hands are these on the end of my arms... 'Planck time' - could we eventually come up with 'Splinter time' - for events happening still faster - Events that appear before they have happened...<br />
<br />
... a hotbed of indifference... how do horses clean their teeth...<br />
<br />
Why has using your left brain become sort of <em>infra dig</em>?<br />
<br />
<br />
I think that in everything there's a time to move on... What do we want permanence... because it gives us a feeling of security - false security.<br />
<br />
GLORIOUS UNCERTAINTY<br />
<br />
<br />
Sometimes the river needs pushing,,,<br />
<br />
'Nobody famous was injured' (newspaper report)<br />
<br />
'I sang you my love song in 32 bars,<br />
Now you can buy your own beer, dear'...<br />
<br />
The camera never lies, but sometimes the photographer does...<br />
<br />
When I'm feeling pretty chocker,<br />
I take a Beta Blocker -<br />
And when my Beta's blocked<br />
I feel ok.<br />
<br />
But it doesn't last for long,<br />
So I sing a ragtime song -<br />
And that is sure to drive the blues away...<br />
<br />
George suddenly found himself in the wrong novel...<br />
<br />
A man of knowledge is a man of action <br />
(that is unless his leg's in traction)...<br />
<br />
Have you spoken to my husband yet?<br />
Yes, he said: Isn't the weather unusually wet.<br />
Not the sort of remark you'd forget.<br />
Indeed<br />
<br />
All art is an attempt to connect with that other reality - the <em>underlying </em>reality...<br />
<br />
Thrown into the waste-paper basket of Life...<br />
<br />
We need something bigger than ourselves - but what...<br />
<br />
If something is funny, it transcends taste - good or bad - and cannot give offence...<br />
<br />
I tried to explain to Elaine,<br />
When she caught me down Lovers Lane,<br />
I was picking wild flowers<br />
In between the showers - <br />
Of course I was high on cocaine<br />
<br />
They gave the Pope a 21 nun salute...<br />
<br />
It's hard to measure the quality of Life, but it's easy to measure whether someone is alive or dead...<br />
<br />
What do flies find so interesting about shit?<br />
<br />
If we shouldn't scratch - then why do we itch?<br />
<br />
Would you rather be created out of the passion of a one night stand or the planned timing of a sensible marriage? <br />
<br />
It was so cold the birds were frozen to the branches of the trees...<br />
<br />
<br />
Why did you do it?<br />
If only I knew...<br />
<br />
She said - We could make sweet music together.<br />
I said - Well, I suppose we could knock out a tune...<br />
<br />
Are we just a chemical factory on legs?<br />
<br />
If only we could blame somebody - but there's no one to blame...<br />
<br />
I was engaged to a winsome young girl, but she left me. Still, win some, lose some...<br />
<br />
Does your live scan, like a beautiful poem, or does it stutter and jar?<br />
<br />
'We are that which others allow us to be': Discuss<br />
<br />
He's brilliant but erratic-<br />
Keeps his mother in the attic...<br />
<br />
Listen to the different kinds of silence...<br />
<br />
<br />
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-51964564665053561152015-04-14T00:58:00.001-07:002015-04-14T00:58:15.839-07:00Thought for the day<br />
<br />
The darkest hour is just before you switch the light on.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-52413832953247573602015-04-12T05:04:00.002-07:002015-04-12T05:04:19.583-07:00Meanwhile, back at the ranch...<br />
<br />
Half an hour ago<br />
I decided to go with the flow;<br />
But now the tide has turned<br />
And my bridges all are burned.<br />
<br />
As the sands of time are running out,<br />
My whisper rises to a shout:<br />
They serve, who only stand and wait,<br />
Helpless in the grip of fate.<br />
<br />
And so I ask - no, I implore -<br />
Find me another metaphor.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-31726712903522253692015-04-11T02:02:00.001-07:002015-04-11T02:02:21.148-07:00saturdayIt's raining and there is a dove sitting in the tree at the end of the garden. And the dove is facing north. What can this mean? I must look it up in my 'Boys book of portents and omens'<br />
<br />
Today is the Grand National. I wont be having a bet. I used to be a gambler but now I have no interest in a wager - of any kind. Funny how something just 'leaves' you. Perhaps instead of desperately trying to give something up, we could just wait until it gives US up.<br />
<br />
Ten o clock strikes and I have much to do.<br />
<br />
I shall return.<br />
<br />
<br />Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-25474783882042068402015-04-09T14:30:00.002-07:002015-04-09T14:32:23.692-07:00And now for something completely different<br />
<br />
<i>ipso facto, virgo intacta; inter alia, genitalia</i><br />
<br />
<br />
I couldn't cope<br />
<br />
With being Pope,<br />
<br />
I haven't got the Latin;<br />
<br />
And apart from that,<br />
<br />
I'd feel a twat,<br />
<br />
Dressed up in silk and satin.<br />
<br />
<br />
Now, C of E<br />
<br />
Is more like me,<br />
<br />
But even they wear frocks;<br />
<br />
And Bishops wear those gaiters,<br />
<br />
Over their purple socks. <br />
<br />
<br />
In their fancy dress,<br />
<br />
Priests seek to impress -<br />
<br />
They do it all the time;<br />
<br />
But transvestite clerics<br />
<br />
Give me hysterics,<br />
<br />
Make up your own last line! <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-47967919656332996432015-04-06T05:31:00.000-07:002015-04-06T05:31:12.593-07:00Father explainsAn hour later, we were all gathered in the drawing room, at father's behest.<br />
<br />
Mother, Borris, Elsie, Mrs Brownlow, Lilly, Cook (fuuny but I've never known her real name) and myself.<br />
<br />
Father had had a bit of a scrub-up since his sudden appearance in the music room and looked more like his old self - although he had not shaven his beard off. His voice was grave as he addressed the assembled company. He spoke thus:<br />
<br />
'First, I should like to wish you all a very merry Christmas, although it is not as merry as one might wish. I am <i>on the run</i>! Yes it sounds melodramatic but there is no other way to put it. I have, as the current parlance has it,<i> blown the whistle</i>, on the organisation for which I work. And these people do not like whistle -blowers.<br />
<br />
I was taught, at my old school, that loyalty is the most important quality a man can have, and I have always stuck by this admirable principle. But sometimes one has to question the moral - and legal - implications of what one is being asked to do.<br />
<br />
I will not go into details - the less you know , the safer you will be - suffice it to say, I have spoken out against the recent immoral and, yes,<i> illegal</i> activities of a certain government department. I say <i>recent </i>because I have been proud to have devouted my life, for these past thirty years, to this department. A department, I may add, that has kept this country safe for us and our children to grow up in.<br />
<br />
'Gosh, father, you mean all this time you have been working for the <i>Security Services</i>?' I cried, admiringly.<br />
<br />
'Shush George - no names no pack drill, eh?'<br />
<br />
I had heard father use this expression before, and had never really understood it. I just knew it meant <i>shut up. </i>So I did. <br />
<br />
'This gentleman ,' (and here father pointed to Borris), 'is helping me to write an article for his newspaper exposing these recent activities.<br />
<br />
'His name's not Borris, and its the <i>Guardian</i>, ain't it?' interjected cook, rather cheekily.<br />
<br />
'Now then, Bessie, no names no pack drill.' Responded father.<br />
<br />
BESSIE. So that's her name. I shall remember this when next she is rude towards me. I said this to myself of course.<br />
<br />
'Me - I prefer the <i>Daily Mail.</i>.' Went on our cook, notwithstanding.<br />
<br />
'Well, I take the <i>Telegraph.' </i>said mother, 'It's a jolly good read.'<br />
<br />'I like the <i>Daily Mirror,' </i> Piped up Lilly, 'And I can do the crossword.<br />
<br />
'Shut up! All of you.' Said father. Your reading habits are irrelevant at this time.<br />
<br />
I had been going to say that I thought the <i>Observer </i>to be the only real quality newspaper - but I didn't, as I could see father was getting cross.<br />
<br />
'Now look here,'went on father, 'Borris (no it's not his real name) and I will be leaving shortly, because I expect Badger and Quinn to return at any moment. And this time they won't take NO for an answer.'<br />
<br />
As if on cue, there was a furious knocking at the front door. Lilly made as if to answer it.<br />
<br />
'Leave it!' snapped father, 'They'll have picked the lock in a minute.' And so saying, he grabbed a bottle of <i>Black Label </i>off the drinks table and, motioning for Borris to follow, he made for the window. 'Oh, just once thing,' he paused with his leg over the sill. 'Since the only male at Christmas Dinner will be my son, I want George to carve the turkey.'<br />
<br />
And he was gone. Borris, following close behind.<br />
<br />
I was elated. I was now 'man of the house' and had the important honour of carving the turkey. I would not, I resolved, let father down.<br />
<br />
The knocking started up again.<br />
<br />Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-89257984584481968322015-04-04T03:10:00.000-07:002015-04-04T03:10:00.769-07:00Anna returns ???<br />
I've had a mysterious voice-mail from Anna. Very brief. Says she may be coming back for the election!<br />
<br />
Now this is strange. She does not have British citizenship so she cannot vote.<br />
<br />
When I tried to ring her back it said the number was no longer in use!<br />
<br />
What's going on!<br />
<br />
<br />Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-71262545245932383842015-03-29T11:44:00.001-07:002015-03-29T11:44:23.015-07:00Keep taking the tabletsI am having trouble with my computer/broadband connection.<br />
Im typing this on a borrowed tabet.<br />
<br />
Hope to be publising soon.<br />
<br />
GeorgeMehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-8169659323487232222015-03-19T07:23:00.000-07:002015-03-19T07:23:00.136-07:00Here's a tip<br />
The Number 2 was peeling off the table, but the coffee was good, and the scrambled eggs on toast: a nourishing meal for £3.50. I gave a 50p tip. I was going to say 'of course', but there's no 'of course' about it; you give a tip if you feel the service has been good - well, I do. Some people don't give tips; they reason that if they don't get tipped in their job, why should waitresses, barmaids, hairdressers get tips. When I was a college lecturer, I would occasionally get a bottle of wine, or a case of beer, at Christmas, and it made me feel good, appreciated.<br />
<br />
There is an old story about the vagrant who stops a passer-by and says, 'Could you spare me a fiver for a cup of coffee?'<br />
<br />
'A fiver!' exclaims the man, 'for a cup of coffee?'<br />
<br />
The vagrant shrugs, 'Well, I like to tip.'<br />
<br />
Now that's style.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-65863876890858114312015-03-18T03:57:00.000-07:002015-03-18T03:57:09.822-07:00First sighting?<br />
This morning I heard the unmistakable call of the lesser-spotted
lawnmower. I rushed to the window, and was lucky enough to catch a
glimpse of a particularly fine specimen hovering over the garden across the road. <br />
<br />
I ran upstairs to get my camera but unfortunately when I came down it had gone.<br />
<br />
Is this, I wonder, the first sighting of this harbinger of Spring? Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-38921098972233276062015-03-18T02:44:00.001-07:002015-03-18T02:44:26.099-07:00Time to upgrade?<br />
I've had a text from my network supplier suggesting it's time I upgraded my phone.<br />
<br />
Maybe they are right. Perhaps it is a good idea to keep abreast with technology. On the other hand, I think we should bear in mind that technology is for us - not us for technology, and resist being led by the nose by this wonderful human development.<br />
<br />
It's a question of individuals <i>choosing </i> what bits of technology are really useful to them.<br />
<br />
I was thinking, what if this 'upgrading' philosoply could be applied to non-technology!<br />
<br />
Imagine getting a text saying 'It's time you upgraded your house? Your job?<br />
<br />
Or, how about 'It's time you upgraded your partner. You've had him/her for 5 years and there have been a lot of improvements since then. <br />
<br />
It would be interesting to see the response.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-1950587092000210402015-03-17T05:02:00.002-07:002015-03-17T05:02:27.754-07:00WESTMIINSTER<br />
<br />
<b>WESTMINSTER</b>. The name has a certain ring to it: a paedophile ring - allegedly.<br />
<br />
Politicians, peers, judges, senior figures of the establishment, even the Metropolitan Police - the news is full of it. Of course these are just allegations. It remains to be seen if any evidence is forthcoming. But it strikes me that if there is any truth in all of this, then maybe the role of Jimmy Saville needs to be re-evaluated.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-24638703713720633642015-03-15T13:50:00.001-07:002015-03-15T13:50:29.694-07:00Is this the most haunted pub in England?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<h4 class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ji9Ae_Gpb9fYfrVB0k69in9GZ_7d43v6SyMGzVqhV4cnH_FhwdvtVPTqVlKvSTjbecvtjn8MQpXcUW_OcFW064RHnV4p89EOgHeRFWemKbdP_4lOQivr4OxywXMEQeBQ7MUbhQ/s1600/unhauntedpub.jpg" height="390" width="400" />NO - IT ISN'T HAUNTED AT ALL</h4>
<h4 class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
But the picture wasn't photo-shopped or manipulated in any way - this is how it came out of the camera </h4>
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-41098311000349880412015-03-15T04:50:00.000-07:002015-03-15T04:50:21.172-07:00Sunday<br />
<br />
Scientists tell us that, in a few million years, the star we call our 'sun' will burn out. This will leave planet earth a barren rock, incapable of sustaining life.<br />
<br />
But this doesn't help me to decide which shirt to wear today.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-21743069260312428542015-03-14T05:02:00.000-07:002015-03-14T05:02:32.193-07:00Scary, or what?<br />
I have recently been studying the various 'conspiracy theories' surrounding the events of 9/11.<br />
<br />
At first, I thought they were just plain daft. Could anybody seriously believe that the US government would 'mastermind' the destruction in New York on that day?<br />
<br />
But so many people: airline pilots, scientists, demolition experts, CIA Whistle-blowers and even some politicians are putting forward all sorts of 'explanations' challenging the official account of what happened.<br />
<br />
From what I can see, these theories range from holograms to drones; real planes, but not piloted by jihadis to real hijackers whose intentions were known in advance by the government (or some part of it) and allowed to go on anyway.<br />
<br />
These theories cite the 'false flag' practice, allegedly routinely carried out by security services around the world: rigging some sort of 'atrocity' and then blaming some other country.<br />
<br />
As regards the 'hologram' theory, which sounds so far-fetched as to be laughable - it is pointed out that military technology is '50 to 100 years advanced of anything we can imagine.'<br />
<br />
If any of these 'explanations' are true, then what are we to think? Of governments? the security services? the military? Are we so 'out of touch' with what is really going on?<br />
<br />
If so, should we be truly afraid?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-92031233263714261492015-03-13T09:37:00.002-07:002015-03-13T09:45:56.860-07:00Notes from the pub (you're never alone with a notebook and pen)<br />
Enter a couple... in their thirties. I've seen them before. They usually sit at the tall table in the middle of the pub, where she dangles her patent-leather slippered feet. This time they go to the bar. He crooks his arm around her neck, draws her to him, kisses her. I wonder, idly, if this is an office romance.<br />
<br />
Three young girls are playing pool and drinking from bottles with straws.<br />
<br />
I am sitting, alone, in a corner of the room. <br />
<br />
I was served with my pint by that nice blonde barmaid. 'I like your nails'. They are two-toned, orange and black.<br />
'Thankyou.'<br />
<br />
'Kroenenburg?' she had asked. <br />
Bitter please' <br />
'We've run out.' She'd smiled apologetically.<br />
'I'll have a pint of Foster's'<br />
<br />
A colleague of mine, Billy, used to have a saying 'No wonder barmaids drown their young'. He used the phrase whenever Derek, the office-boy, made a mistake.<br />
<br />
I like it in here. It's warm and friendly. Like William Blake's 'alehouse'.<br />
<br />
<br />
Two very tall women walk in. They could be models, although I don't think they are.<br />
<br />
I'm down to the last inch of my pint, and the beer is just starting to hit my legs. Shall I have another one? I don't want to go home yet.<br />
<br />
I watch the barmaid - Sharon? Sylvie? Stella? pulling a pint, and it occurs to me that barmaids have a life outside of the pub, and these lines come into my head:<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>This barmaid has a life</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>When she goes away from here –</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>What d’you think she’s pulling</i></div>
<i>
</i><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>When she isn’t pulling beer?</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<![endif]-->Later these lines turned into this:
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>On the Pull</u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This barmaid has a life</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When she goes away from here –</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
What d’you think she’s pulling</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When she isn’t pulling beer?</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling wool</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Over unsuspecting eyes –</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling rabbits</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Out of hats – as a surprise.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling up her socks,</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Resolving to do better –</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling out the rug</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
From under from under some go-getter.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling ropes</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To make the church bells ring –</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling tails</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
On cats – the naughty thing.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling faces</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To make her boyfriend smile –</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling up her skirts</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To climb some rustic stile.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling on the oars</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Of rowing boat or skiff<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>–</div>
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Perhaps she’s pulling out her gear</div>
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To roll herself a spliff.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling up the weeds</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To make her garden pretty –</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling crackers</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And reading jokes, so witty.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling down her blind</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Before she goes to bed –</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling out the corks</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And watching wine flow red.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling out all stops,</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Some gentleman to please –</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps she’s pulling muscles</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And dislocating knees.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For there are oh so many things</div>
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A girl like her could pull –</div>
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So when she’s finished here tonight,</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I bet her life’s not dull.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-40696788267013968482015-03-12T04:20:00.000-07:002015-03-12T04:20:08.080-07:00A bird on a pole<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZl64o8qPV4zBlEzRUVbsg4MyJ-3DnRzal557ryd6JHPFuYbsZhgNwz-9pN9Wt1rfv6MezHGoZ4DZmF_bJxVedaab9OT1KeNKb9ZuJvWwRc4_bdmXGJGRDZswzQBc2_2f9E1pshQ/s1600/2050-12-31+23.59.59-106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZl64o8qPV4zBlEzRUVbsg4MyJ-3DnRzal557ryd6JHPFuYbsZhgNwz-9pN9Wt1rfv6MezHGoZ4DZmF_bJxVedaab9OT1KeNKb9ZuJvWwRc4_bdmXGJGRDZswzQBc2_2f9E1pshQ/s1600/2050-12-31+23.59.59-106.jpg" height="467" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
A bird on a pole;<br />
Does this bird have a soul,<br />
That will fly away when it dies?<br />
That will soar up above<br />
On the wings of God's love,<br />
To a home in some heavenly skies?<br />
<br />
Or will it just rot,<br />
Right there on the spot<br />
Where it fell off its perch in the sea?<br />
A meal for some crabs,<br />
Flounders and dabs?<br />
- The answer is quite beyond me.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-14734742842514741482015-03-11T01:39:00.001-07:002015-03-11T01:39:12.877-07:00ELECTION - latest news<br />
For those of you who live in foreign lands, and may not have heard, we in Britain are having a General Election in May.<br />
<br />
<br />
There is no truth in the rumour that a team of observers from Afghanistan will be sent over to see the election is conducted fairly.<br />
<br />
The latest poll suggests that there will be a coalition comprising: Green, UKIP and Monster Raving Looney parties.<br />
<br />
At a dinner in London last night, David Cameron said, 'They didn't give us many peas, did they!'<br />
<br />
<br />
This blog, in keeping with its hard-hitting yet neutral political stance, will be keeping you updated on the latest election news.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-90980394647475529492015-03-08T03:04:00.000-07:002015-03-08T03:07:00.096-07:00Home for Christmas: unforseen complications<br />
'Happy Christmas, lover.'<br />
<br />
Elsie came forward and gave me a big kiss. She tasted very different from cook. 'Here's your present.'<br />
<br />
I took it from her; it felt soft and squashy. What could it be? What did I want that was soft and squashy?<br />
<br />
I tore off the paper, and - joy of joys: A Christmas sweater. With a reindeer's head, antlers and all. The reindeer had a red nose. But who was bothered with minor innacuracies at a time like this. Certainly not me.<br />
'Oh, thankyou Elsie, you have restored my faith in the Yuletide season.' I blubbed<br />
<br />
'Well, and where's mine?' demanded Elsie.<br />
<br />
I was dumbfounded, embarassed and a little fearful. And it's hard to be all three at the same time.<br />
<br />
I had forgotten to get her a present, but I couldn't tell her that. 'Ah, well... err... I prevaricated.<br />
<br />
'You haven't got me one, have you?' Elsie was omminously quiet. And I knew that, when omminously quiet, she was dangerous' Of course I've got you a present. Do you really think I would forget?'<br />
<br />
'Well, where is?' Elsie sounded suspicious.<br />
<br />
I had a sudden brainwave. 'It's in my bedroom. I wanted to surprise you by presenting it to you at dinner, in front of the whole family.'<br />
<br />
'Oh, you're so romantic, darling.I wonder what it can be!' And Elsie winked, and then kissed me again - hard and lasciviously.<br />
<br />
'Not in hear, my precious,' I said, 'Someone might come in.'<br />
<br />
'So what!' demanded the brazen hussy.<br />
<br />
I was saved from answering by the appearance of Mrs Brownlow in the doorway. 'Ah, there you are, you little lovebirds,' she said. 'your mother wishes you to partake of a glass of sherry with her and Mr Borris, on the terrace.'<br />
<br />
'On the terrace, Mrs B! ' I expostulated. 'But it's freezing cold - and I do believe it is starting to snow!'<br />
<br />
'Yes, but your mother is sharing a herbal cigarette with Mr Borris. And you know she won't allow smoking inside the house.'<br />
<br />
'But father smokes his pipe in the house.' I objected.<br />
<br />
'Look, why don't you just do as you're bleedin' well told!' hissed the housekeeper, in that ugly tone she can effect when faced with a superior intellect.<br />
<br />
'Now look here,' I began... But Elsie was too quick for me.<br />
<br />
'How dare you speak to my fiancee like that!' She shouted.<br />
<br />
'Yes, that's right, how dare - ' I stopped suddenly "Fiancee!". What on earth was Elsie talking about?<br />
<br />
Mrs Brownlow sniggered. 'Fiancee my arse. I know all about your antics with that rugby team, you little tart. I think most of them scored that night.'<br />
<br />
'You nosey old cow.' screamed Elsie and straightaway went for the housekeeper. I, fearing that an ugly fracas might ensue, tried to insinuate myself between them, promptly receiving a blow to the head from our housekeeper's mighty fist. I shouted out in pain, felt my vision blurr and slid to the floor.<br />
<br />
'Sorry, George,' apologised Mrs B, 'that was meant for the harlot.' She bent down to assist me to my feet, giving Elsie the chance to kick her in the corsets. But Elsie, lifting her leg too high, overbalanced and fell on top of the housekeeper who fell on top of me.<br />
<br />
We were all scrabbling in an undignified heap on the Axminster, when a voice, resonant with authority, irony and whisky, called called out, 'May anyone join in?'<br />
<br />
It was father.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-19500658479380809222015-03-04T13:45:00.000-08:002015-03-04T13:45:29.864-08:00"Time" is an endagered species.<br />
<br />
So why do people want to kill it?<br />
<br />
You see them, on a train, a bus, an aeroplane, headphones welded to their ears, texting or phoning, reading a book or a Kindle, playing games on their tablet - anything to avoid being where they are. Why do they always want to be somewhere else? What's wrong with "here".<br />
<br />
And when you get "there" it becomes "here" and you're looking for somewhere else to go. <br />
<br />
Okay, if you are in pain or deeply depressed, then "here" is a painful place to be. But if you're just bored, well, why not have a closer look at that boredom; you might find something that surprises you.<br />
<br />
People talk about "escaping into a book". Well, that's ok; I'm a bit of a reader myself, but there's a time and place. When I'm on public transport I like to look around: the scenery gliding past outside the window, the people, faces, colours. I like to feel the motion of the train or the bus, hear the sounds, smell the smells. Of course if someone sneezes or coughs loudly behind me, I curse them under my breath and hope I don't catch anything. But hey - there are risks attached to reality. Perhaps that's why so many prefer virtual reality.<br />
<br />
I've a feeling I've said some of this before -but it's worth saying again. Isn't it? Oh well, suit yourself.<br />
<br />
I'm off to bed.<br />
<br />
<br />Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-76016506040795160642015-02-27T01:18:00.000-08:002015-02-27T01:18:04.658-08:00Home for Christmas - a dissapointing start to the big day<br />
I went in search of mother and found her in the kitchen, preparing the sprouts. Although cook is responsible for the food at <i>Wynorin</i>, mother always insists that she, herself, prepares the sprouts at Christmas.<br />
I don't know why she does this; one of her little idiosyncrasies.<br />
<br />
Anyhow, I drew her attention to the missing presents.<br />
'Ah, yes, I had been meaning to tell you,' she said, pausing, sprout in hand, 'I have used the money I was going to spend on your Christmas presents to buy a donkey for some people in Africa.'<br />
<br />
'What!', I expostulated, 'What people?'<br />
<br />
'Well, George, I felt it was time to consider those far less well off than us this Christmas. And I saw this piece in the paper where you could send a donkey to a disadvantaged family in that dark continent. I was horrified when I read about the conditions under which these folk are living. Do you know, these people are starving, and they have to walk miles to the nearest supermarket. And they haven't got a 4x4 like we have. So I thought you would not mind sacrificing your presents this Yeletide so that they could ride, in relative comfort, to get food and such.'<br />
<br />
'But mother,' I protested, 'could you not have made a smaller donation? Say for half a donkey?'<br />
<br />
'Don't be silly, George, what good would half a donkey be?' She gave me a withering look.<br />
<br />
I ignored this. 'Anyway, how are you going to get a donkey to Africa?' I queried.<br />
<br />
'George, you can be so obtuse at times. Of course I am not personally shipping the aninmal. You send the money to this company and they see to all the travel arrangements.'<br />
<br />
'If these people are that hungry they will probably eat the donkey.' I averred.<br />
<br />
'Goodness me, I hope not.' Said mother, a note of alarm in her voice. 'As a token of thanks I was allowed to give the donkey a name; I have called him GEORGE.<i> </i>I should hate to think they have eaten my poor George.'<br />
<br />
'You called an ass after your son!' I cried in disbelief. 'What sort of a mother does that?' I was quite cross.<br />
<br />
Just then, cook came into the kitchen, and mother gave me one of her looks which meant 'Not in front of the servants.'<br />
<br />
So I left, determing to go and sulk in the music room.<br />
<br />
As I was crossing the hall, a gutteral voice bellowed 'Merry Christmas, kiddo!'<br />
<br />
I hate being called 'kiddo' especially by some jumped up Aberdonian journalist. So I ignored Borris and continued into the music room. Alone at last, I gave way to my emotions, and shed a few tears. What a Christmas this was turning out to be, I despaired.<br />
<br />
There was a soft knock at the door. Hurriedly composing myself, I wiped my eyes and called 'Come'.<br />
<br />
It was Elsie, holding a large parcel wrapped in Christmas paper, with reindeer and robins and such.<br />
<br />
A proper present. My heart leapt.<br />
<br />
<br />Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-22161465432340397042015-02-22T08:51:00.000-08:002015-02-22T08:51:27.567-08:00Tip for today<br />
<br />
Don't anthropomorphise inanimate objects - they don't like it.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-33892439472031409292015-02-18T12:52:00.000-08:002015-02-18T12:52:41.476-08:00Stay cool, man<br />
<br />
I am reading one of my stories at a literature festival tomorrow, and am feeling a bit apprehensive. It's not that I haven't done this sort of thing before, but this time it's a children's story - the first and only one I have written - and the audience will be mainly children.<br />
<br />
I have read somewhere that Jesus said, 'Take no thought for the 'morrow.' I don't think he meant never do any planning or thinking about the future, but more like, 'relax and deal with things as they come'. But how do I know.<br />
<br />
Still, I like to think that if he were here today, he would be a sort of hippie, and so he might say, 'Stay cool, man'.<br />
<br />
Yeah. That'll do for now, man.Mehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03795133881566952706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9071229.post-88695544232567693852015-02-18T09:54:00.001-08:002015-02-18T09:54:53.161-08:00Nothing to do with me<br />
<br />
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