Important announcement

I have decided to make my autobiography, ‘The Boy’s Story’, available to a wider audience by serialising it on the ‘net’. The idea came to me this afternoon after a cycle ride around the village. I called at Old Mother Shipford’s Tea Rooms (at the back of the Off-Licence) for a pot of Earl Grey and one of her special mushroom omelettes. It refreshed me no end.
She tells everyone that she comes from a long line of witches. Apparently, her great grandmother had a ducking-stool named after her.
How she manages to keep her licence to sell ‘wines and spirits’ I do not know. Rumour has it that she is ‘very friendly’ with Squire Trawlerany, Chairman of the Local Magistrates - Say no more.
But I digress. I shall be setting up a web-site shortly and publishing the address here on this ‘blog’.
Watch this space.

Bank Holiday

My brother, Hector, telephoned and asked if he could come over for the holiday. I was not too keen - I mean, we are not exactly close. He used to go out with the lesbian before me. In fact is was through Hector that I met her. He dumped her and she rebounded into me.
Of course she said she only went out with him because he had a motor bike - and I, like the fool I am, believed her.
Eight months later, Eric was born. Note that: eight months. She said he was premature but I am sure he is Hector's son; he even looks like him. Of course I brought him up as my own; that is until he joined the Air Force as a 'boy entrant'. Done well for himself though: he's a sergeant cook, stationed in Wiltshire. We never see him.

Needless to say, the lesbian is delighted Hector is visiting. She wants us all (including the Swedish tart) to go to an exhibition of 'Feminist Art' - whatever that is - says it will be a way to really get to know one another again: bond - I hate that expression.

I don't know where he's going to sleep - Hector. He's not having my bed. The lesbian says he can doss on the futon in her room. Fine by me. If he thinks he's on a good thing there, he's in for a shock. He doesn't know about her switching tracks, so to speak.

Anyway, I'm off down the pub for lunch.

My brain is hurting

Been down the psychiatric out-patients. I got a bit depressed what with all the goings-on.
The psychiatrist, a Mr Singh (nice chap - for a foreigner) told me not to worry; that my behaviour was a sane reaction to an insane situation.
He has prescribed Prozac, which I have been taking in the minimul dosage - and in the morning. He also recommended that I take a holiday.
I said, what, you mean like to Gt Yarmouth? (that's where we used to go when I was little).
He said no, somewhere further afield: new sights, new sounds, new smells, new people.
I said, like Jersey or Guernsey then.
No, he expostulated, have you not thought about crossing the ocean? Going to visit new lands?
He's got something there, I thought. So I forced open the lesbian's filing cabinet and retrieved my passport. (she confiscated it after that regrettable trip to Bangkok - while I still in the clinic).
Anyway I have got my Readers Digest Big Atlas out in front of me, so I will let you know how I get on.