Just when you thought it was safe to...

In response to Mr Adams:


Much has been happening this summer.


I may return to the blogosphere soon.


Anna is alive and well, although keeping a low profile!


George

BOO!

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...

... a hotbed of indifference... how do horses clean their teeth...

Why has using your left brain become sort of infra dig?


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.

GLORIOUS UNCERTAINTY


Sometimes the river needs pushing,,,

'Nobody famous was injured' (newspaper report)

'I sang you my love song in 32 bars,
Now you can buy your own beer, dear'...

The camera never lies, but sometimes the photographer does...

When I'm feeling pretty chocker,
I take a Beta Blocker -
And when my Beta's blocked
I feel ok.

But it doesn't last for long,
So I sing a ragtime song -
And that is sure to drive the blues away...

George suddenly found himself in the wrong novel...

A man of knowledge is a man of action
(that is unless his leg's in traction)...

Have you spoken to my husband yet?
Yes, he said: Isn't the weather unusually wet.
Not the sort of remark you'd forget.
Indeed

All art is an attempt to connect with that other reality - the underlying reality...

Thrown into the waste-paper basket of Life...

We need something bigger than ourselves - but what...

If something is funny, it transcends taste - good or bad - and cannot give offence...

I tried to explain to Elaine,
When she caught me down Lovers Lane,
I was picking wild flowers
In between the showers -
Of course I was high on cocaine

They gave the Pope a 21 nun salute...

It's hard to measure the quality of Life, but it's easy to measure whether someone is alive or dead...

What do flies find so interesting about shit?

If we shouldn't scratch - then why do we itch?

Would you rather be created out of the passion of a one night stand or the planned timing of a sensible marriage?

It was so cold the birds were frozen to the branches of the trees...


Why did you do it?
If only I knew...

She said - We could make sweet music together.
I said - Well, I suppose we could knock out a tune...

Are we just a chemical factory on legs?

If only we could blame somebody - but there's no one to blame...

I was engaged to a winsome young girl, but she left me. Still, win some, lose some...

Does your live scan, like a beautiful poem, or does it stutter and jar?

'We are that which others allow us to be': Discuss

He's brilliant but erratic-
Keeps his mother in the attic...

Listen to the different kinds of silence...

Thought for the day

The darkest hour is just before you switch the light on.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Half an hour ago
I decided to go with the flow;
But now the tide has turned
And my bridges all are burned.

As the sands of time are running out,
My whisper rises to a shout:
They serve, who only stand and wait,
Helpless in the grip of fate.

And so I ask - no, I implore -
Find me another metaphor.

saturday

It'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'

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.

Ten o clock strikes and I have much to do.

I shall return.

And now for something completely different

ipso facto, virgo intacta; inter alia, genitalia


I couldn't cope

With being Pope,

I haven't got the Latin;

And apart from that,

I'd feel a twat,

Dressed up in silk and satin.


Now, C of E

Is more like me,

But even they wear frocks;

And Bishops wear those gaiters,

Over their purple socks.


In their fancy dress,

Priests seek to impress -

They do it all the time;

But transvestite clerics

Give me hysterics,

Make up your own last line!

Father explains

An hour later, we were all gathered in the drawing room, at father's behest.

Mother, Borris, Elsie, Mrs Brownlow, Lilly, Cook (fuuny but I've never known her real name) and myself.

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:

'First, I should like to wish you all a very merry Christmas, although it is not as merry as one might wish. I am on the run! Yes it sounds melodramatic but there is no other way to put it. I have, as the current parlance has it, blown the whistle, on the organisation for which I work. And these people do not like whistle -blowers.

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.

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, illegal activities of  a certain government department. I say recent 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.

'Gosh, father, you mean all this time you have been working for the Security Services?' I cried, admiringly.

'Shush George - no names no pack drill, eh?'

I had heard father use this expression before, and had never really understood it. I just knew it meant shut up. So I did.

'This gentleman ,' (and here father pointed to Borris), 'is helping me to write an article for his newspaper exposing these recent activities.

'His name's not Borris, and its the Guardian, ain't it?' interjected cook, rather cheekily.

'Now then, Bessie, no names no pack drill.' Responded father.

BESSIE. So that's her name. I shall remember this when next she is rude towards me. I said this to myself of course.

'Me - I prefer the Daily Mail..' Went on our cook, notwithstanding.

'Well, I take the Telegraph.' said mother, 'It's a jolly good read.'

'I like the Daily Mirror,'  Piped up Lilly, 'And I can do the crossword.

'Shut up! All of you.' Said father. Your reading habits are irrelevant at this time.

I had been going to say that I thought the Observer to be the only real quality newspaper - but I didn't, as I could see father was getting cross.

'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.'

As if on cue, there was a furious knocking at the front door. Lilly made as if to answer it.

'Leave it!' snapped father, 'They'll have picked the lock in a minute.' And so saying, he grabbed a bottle of Black Label 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.'

And he was gone. Borris, following close behind.

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.

The knocking started up again.

Anna returns ???

I've had a mysterious voice-mail from Anna. Very brief. Says she may be coming back for the election!

Now this is strange. She does not have British citizenship so she cannot vote.

When I tried to ring her back it said the number was no longer in use!

What's going on!

Keep taking the tablets

I am having trouble with my computer/broadband connection.
Im typing this on a borrowed tabet.

Hope to be publising soon.

George

Here's a tip

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.

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?'

'A fiver!' exclaims the man, 'for a cup of coffee?'

The vagrant shrugs, 'Well, I like to tip.'

Now that's style.