Don't do it yourself

Haven't done any blogging for a while; I have been decorating. Painting the ceiling of the master bedroom. I had a hell of a job getting the cherubs in proportion... and don't talk to be about the bloody seraphim! On my back on the scaffolding for the best part of a week. Then she comes in and says: I think I would have preferred the eggshell-blue! I ask you.

Now then R.J., I appreciate your concern but I draw the line at attending one of those V.D. clinics. The old purple ointment was good enough for my grandad, and it is good enough for me. Besides, once they have you on their books, they start inviting you to the staff Christmas party and all that stuff.

Anyway, I told you all, although I am technically sleeping with the lesbian, the bolster remains firmly in place. And I haven't been down the Jolly Pervert for well over a week.

Oh, by the way, Syd's back. Old whatsername chucked him out. He's been moping about the place for days, but I told him: aim your sights a bit higher than a council estate, my lad. We had a bit of an argument and he said I was not a good role model. He reads too many books.

Well, must get off now, the bitch has just whelped.

George

Some recent developments

Still haven't got the scooter back. But old Wetherspoon has resumed duties down the local nick. The ECT has certainly helped. You would not know there was anything wrong with now - except for the occasional facial spasm.

Anyway, he was on the case pretty sharpish. He's set up an incident room in the village hall. And called in a "Profiler" from Penketh University: guy by the name of Crocker; Dave Crocker. He's a pretty weird character. Wears this sort of fur hat - all the time!

But he's come up with something: says the guy they are looking for is of a criminal bent; probably lives with his common-law wife, on one of the "sink estates"; has a grudge against the capitalist society because of the unfair distribution of wealth; a drug user (and probably a dealer); aggressive with sado-masachistic tendencies, also...... wait a minute! I recognise that description - Gary, Carol's ex. He's back in the area. As soon as I have finished this I will be on the blower to old Wetherspoon.

Georgina wanted to return to the marital bed last night. Said the sun-lounger I have been making her use for the past week is doing her back in. I relented, but insisted on placing a bolster between us. Well, you can't be too careful.

Must close now and ring the nick.

Yours as ever,

George

Shakespeare was wrong

If "all the world's a stage" - when am I going to get a bleedin' part?

Things are going from bad to worse. I have had my scooter stolen; from an ancient Priory, would you believe. Is nothing sacred? I was absorbing the culture while someone was nicking my machine.

I have reported it to the police, and to my insurance company. If I don't get it back in 21 days they will pay a settlement figure.

I have another motor-bike, but the weather has been so cold of late that I have not been out on it. Well, I am turned 48 now, so I have to take care of myself.

Georgina is back. And she has picked up some pretty filthy habbits while she's been away. But more of that next time.

In the saddle

George

A Grammar School Girl

I was right. Sydney is staying with his girlfriend, in her flat on the 'Parade'. And before you go thinking he's got himself involved with some old slapper, let me tell you Sybil is educated. She's an ex Grammar School girl. How do I know? I found another poem - and it had her phone number written on the bottom (that's how I found it).

'Twas a Grammar School girl
Set my head in a whirl,
In her gymslip so short and enticing;
And her black stocking-tops,
Where she hid lollipops -
Their flavour was strangely exciting.

Actually, it was Sybil I spoke to on the phone - Syd wouldn't talk to me. She called me 'love' - which was nice. "Don't worry, love" she said "I'll get the silly bugger to ring you".

He hasn't phoned so far, but his mother has - the lesbian. Wants me to take her back. Seems the Swedish tart has dumped her. Anastasia was bi-sexual (I could have told her that) and she took off with the bloke who runs the dodgems on the Pleasure Beach.

Told her I'd think about it. Well the place is in a mess. Needs a damn good clean. I mean, I can't live in a place like a tip. I have my standards.

I told her I'd think about it. Let her sweat a bit, eh.

George

A health problem

I think I have caught something off Carol.

I was a bit snuffly when I got up, and now I really think I am coming down with a cold. It just shows you how dangerous this romantic stuff can be. Now I come to think of it, she was sneezing a bit last night, but she said it was Hay Fever. I must have been stupid - Hay Fever - in February!

I was due to compete in the "6 peaks" race tommorrow, but they can forget that now. Acutally it isn't 6 peaks - it is 6 gradual slopes. Even so, it is a test of fitness and stamina. And it is tradition that the winner has his pick of the "Little Farting Drum Majorettes". So it is a pity I shan't be competing.

By the way, Adams. old sport - I looked up "syntax" in Syd's dictionary "the arrangement of words and phrases to create well- formed sentences" and I realise I have been syntaxing all my life; in fact you could say I was a born syntaxer. So Syd takes after his dad eh!

Pass the parecetemol.

George

Poets Corner

To lose your virginity
To a Doctor of Divinity,
Just because he happened
To be in the vicinity,
May not be very clever -
But it doesn't seem a sin to me.

Imagine my consternation when I found this poem on a sheet of paper tucked in a copy of "Aeromodeller". I was having a rummage in Syd's bedroom to see if I could find any clues as to his disappearance. I mean, I know he scribbles a bit of the old poetry from time to time, but what is one to make of this?

Actually, I have just remembered; the lesbian said something about him having a girlfriend: Sybil, I think it was. She's got a flat on the same estate as Carol. Talking of the aforesaid, I left there rather sharpish. She had a 'phone call from Gareth (Wayne's dad). He's out on licence and wants to come to see his son. Carol wanted me to stay because Gareth can be quite violent. But I said a man needed time with his son, and I could not interfere with that. She seemed quite upset. I think she'll be alright.

Well, Sydney's probably staying with Sybil; that will be the explanation. If I can find a phone number I will give her a ring.

Meahwhile I'll pop down the the "Jolly Pervert" for a spot of lunch. Feeling a bit peckish, what with all this dashing about.

George

Sydney does a runner

I had a phone call from Cecil (our vicar) on my mobile - it was at a most inappropriate time: I was unblocking Carol's U bend. Wayne, her youngest, had emptied a full packet of Porridge Oats down the sink; and you know that stuff sets like concrete.

Anyway, Cecil was in a right tizzy; seems Sydney never turned up at camp. And Cecil had reserved him a place in his tent. Anyway, when he hadn't showed at 2am he gave the place to young Bert from the Off- Licence. But he thought he had better give me a ring.

Well, I am sure I don't know where the silly sod is. And I have more pressing matters to attend to. But I rang the local nick to report him missing. Inspector Wetherspoon is still on 'gardening leave' so I had to speak to that dolt Berkinshaw - how he made seargant I'll never know: I could hear him licking his pencil over the phone. He asked me had Sydney been worried about anything. I said what's the little bugger got to worry about. He lives in the lap of luxury. I don't think Berkinshaw liked that. He put the phone down.

I also tried ringing his mother, but the lesbian has her phone switched off. Her and the Swedish tart are in Blackpool; or so I'm told by Harry Carter. He'd taken them to the station in his taxi and hung about a bit. Swears he heard them book tickets for Blackpool North.

Well, as I said, I have other fish to fry. Talking of fish, Carol and I had a lovely fish-supper last night, with a couple of bottles of Newcastle Brown (each). I must have been really merry - I've agreed to get a tattoo done!

Let you know if it hurts.

George

Old friends

Good to hear from you again, Hector, old sport. Sorry about your spot of bother but it seems you can handle that sort of thing. Thank God for the Old School Tie, eh!
And R. J.. Do you know, your style of writing is somehow familiar - and your sense of humour. We once had a coal man who used to send us quirky notes when his bill remained unpaid. He had a very similar style; but his name wasn't Adams. I can't for the life of me remember it now. He gave up his business to join the Navy.

Anyway, old Maggie, down the 'Pervert'. You will not believe what she expected me to do for her. And me recovering from a hernia!
I said: Maggie I am not carrying those kegs of lager up the cellar steps.; not in my condition.
She didn't like it one bit. And when closing time came she said she had changed her mind about my staying the night. Well, I ask you! There's gratitude.

As luck would have it, Carol gave me a lift. Lovely girl. All those tattoes, and piercings. She was telling me she doesn't have any luck with boy friends; not when they know she's got six kids. I felt really sorry for her and asked her round to the House for a nightcap.

All those tattoes and piercings!

Doing one's best for the under-privileged.

George

The return of the prodigal

Hi - George here. I'm back.

The old cow has gone away for the weekend with her girlfriend. Now, I am not prudish, and I have nothing against lesbians - but when your own wife turns out to be one! Well it fair does one's head in.

The person I feel sorry for is Sydney. The poor lad thinks his mum has got herself a nice friend. Well, I am not going to disillusion him - yet. He is away himself this weekend. Cecil (our vicar) has taken some of the choir camping. I think it is good Sydney should get out of the house for a bit.

I have been eating at "The Jolly Pervert". Maggie - the landlady - has been really looking after me. Her dumplings are praised throughout the Cotswolds. She's asked me to give her a hand behind the bar tonight. Old Walter - the cellerman - has gone with the vicar and his boys, under canvass.

Well, as they say around these parts: It's an ill wind that blows up the nostrils of a horse of a different colour!

Wise words.

Yours from the Tap Room,

George

The Festivities

Well, Christmas turned out to be not as bad as I had feared. Hector, dear, I would have loved to have had you over, but you would have had to share a room with Sydney (the East Wing is still subject to the 'condemned' notice, placed by the council in August) and I know you like your privacy. Perhaps New Year?

I decided to put my foot down and insist that George and the Swedish trollop did not share a bedroom. George slept in the 'Blue Room' and the Swede came in with me.
And, do you know, I quite got to like Anastasia. It just goes to show that you should never judge a person until you really get to know them - and I really did get to know her over the next few days. She revealed a whole new side to her that I never thought existed: warm, fun loving, adventurous.

Cecil (our vicar) disgraced himself during 'Charades' - the less said about that the better.

George was all sulky when he could see how well Anastasia and I were getting on.

Sydney invited some of his friends from the 'Drop-In Centre' and mother brought her new boy-friend, Angelo. So you can see we had quite a houseful. (The downside being that so many people puts quite a strain on the lavatorial arrangements - and the drains are still blocked! - still, we all 'mucked-in' so to speak.)

Have to close now - Anastasia wants a little help with her blouse.