Oh yes - very much chance I read blog

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Oh yes, Georgie... I do  see this being written here on blog to which I still have password, and which being how you have not changed such password is indicating to me that you still want to be in touch with your Anna. Is not this so?

I am in two changes of mind though about my letter what you publish here. With one of the hands I am being touched, deeply. Because you still keep letter which is from many years ago and this is telling me you still love me, as I do.

But with other one of hands I do not like for everyone what reads blog to see Anna’s innermost pourings out of the heart. Although when coming to think about it hardly any person read blog excepting me and Mr Adams. Oh, and he is right about you should be getting poems publicised in small book. I do not think though that you should include all ones which begin ‘There was a young lady from…’ Because this is not Sweden and people are thin minded in England. But never worry there are plenty of other rhymes – I do not mind you include poems you write special for Anna!

Now here is some news which you are not expecting. Your Anna has commenced study for degree in Sociology at university of Leicester (this is way they spell but is said as Lester. Stupid English language again, although will have better to get to gripes with it because of my study.) Are you not indeed proud of one?

Also to help fund my way (stingy English government of these two boys David and Nick) I am working part of the times as filling station attention. You probably think this is underneath a lady of my breeding to be sloshing the petrol and the diesels around, but no, this is not so. I work at the Supermarket ASDA which is good place to work for. I sit in little booth and punters place in tank own petrol and then come and pay Anna through little window.

Very cosy in this booth I am and they give me small television to watch in between punters. The manager in charge say… I am sorry Anna it is only a small one. I say… That is story of my life, Kiddo. He laugh loudly at my little joke.  ( I think he would like to have intercourse with me, but I no longer do such things with any Dick or Tom because I am now academic student.)

Oh, and this mean also that I have quit porn industry. Unhappy I have been with this enterprise for some time because it take advantage of women. Funny I never see this way before but women are treated bad. And viewers of such muck are to blame also because though they may say we would not be doing such stuff to these girls they watch – which as bad. Well worse really because they only not do stuff themselves because they too scared. So they take enjoyment  variously  (which is like eating sweet with wrapper still on).

Oh, Georgie, how I have rambled upon all these things. But must finish for now because have essay to complete for tutor (who also wish to have sex with me – but no way I tell her) title of essay is ‘Discuss  New-Wave Feminism’ from a post-modernist perspective’.  3000 words is wanted and so far I write only 160 – and some of these I have used twice!

Aching as always to be hearing from you . There is fine McDonalds right next to campus (good word, eh!) Why not do we meet there in nearest future.

Your ever loving Anna

Poems and things

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Thank you for your comment RJ. As a matter of fact I started to collect some of my poems  together, thinking I might try and get a 'slim volume' published but I sort of ran out of steam. I will have another go.

Strange you should mention Anna. I was going through some papers in preparation for my bankruptcy hearing, when I came across this old letter from her. It brought tears to my eyes, I don't mind telling you.

Where is she now? I wish I knew. The last I heard she had taken over the flat of that gay bus-driver... Brian, I think his name was.

There's just a chance she may read this. Fingers crossed.

You sound like you have found your ideal spot 'off the beaten track'.

Enjoy.

Regards to 'the latest Mrs Adams'.

A Possible Solution

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My dear, I’d like you to consider

Selling yourself to the highest bidder –

We’re short of cash, there is no doubt,

And frankly I see no way out

Except recourse to such a measure,

Besides, if you can offer pleasure

To some poor, desperate, lonely soul –

Well surely that’s a worthy goal!

They tell me E Bay is quite good,

As long as it is understood

The buyer will collect himself

Those goods that aren’t quite ‘off the shelf’,

Or pay a charge for post and packing

(Cardboard, string – perhaps some sacking).

We might deliver – for a fee –

(If a price we could agree).

One final rule we must observe:

To fix a reasonable reserve –

If that’s not reached, then we don’t sell -

Although I think we would do well

To make it fairly low, my dear,

Considering model – and the year!

A photo now?  Perhaps best not -

Of late you haven’t looked so hot.

I’m glad it’s all been sorted out –

Isn’t that what marriage is about:

Striving for a common goal?

And I think that, on the whole,

We work together as a team,

So having said that, let us dream

Of pastures new, a future bright –

But for now, just hold on tight.

There’s no harm in a bit of lust –

And parts you use will never rust.

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The days go skipping by
Like children
On their way home from school

Soon they will grow into years
And leave
Without saying goodbye

A poem for Christmas

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Leave me alone, Father Christmas,
I’m really not in the mood

For tinsel, holly and crackers,

And all that fake festive food.

The turkey doesn’t want stuffing -

And frankly, neither do I -

As the Christmas tills keep ringing,

I keep on asking WHY?

Why we go with this seasonal circus,

Jump through the same hoops every year,

When gentlemen have to be merry,

And so, drink gallons of beer.

And young girls lose all inhibitions –

Their virginity too, I’ll be bound –

To be single mums pushing buggies

When September comes around.

And chasing those ‘Special Offers’,

On stuff the big stores cannot shift,

As you elbow your way through shoppers,

On escalator;  in lift.

Those ‘Christmas Specials’ on telly

(Recorded in July),

Whose stars have flown south for the winter,

And bask ‘neath Jamaican skies.

                                           

And even those homes whose finances

At this time are terribly sparse,

Must have the traditional fairy

With a Christmas tree stuck up her arse.

So let’s hear it for old Scrooge, then,

Bah, humbug – and all that stuff,

I think I’ll go hide in the wardrobe –

Of Christmas I’ve had enough!

But hey, let's enjoy this time of year - let's enjoy every time of year!

Sprouts

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I should have eaten more of my sprouts
At dinner 
Before starting on my pud
I know I should

They were a lovely colour
Bright green they were
The size of golf balls
But they were hard
And I thought sprouts which are hard
May be hard
To digest
So I left the rest

But that's the way they cook them
Nowadays
They tell me


There's a name for this kind of cooking
And they told me -

But I can't remember it

Anyway, I feared hard sprouts may harm
My digestion
- There's always a question
Mark about
One's digestion -
So I left some
Some of these lovely sprouts
So green and bright and
Fresh looking

Cooking them further may have
Spoiled the colour
Cooking them fuller
May have made them go
A pale yellow
And all  mushy

And now I come to think of it
They may have been more crisp
Than hard

Given another chance I would eat
All of them

An avian moment

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To the anonymous gentleman who seemed to be suggesting that my Major Retrospective was a myth:

The only reason I am unable to give a firm date for the opening is because the new Assembly Rooms are not quite finished. There seems to be some dispute  between the builder and the local council. I believe it is something to do with the quality of roofing felt.

And as regards your comment that my photograph Is 'just a plug and a plughole' ... well all I can say, sir, is that you are a PHILISTINE.

I don't think you deserve to see any more of my work, but I am prepared to give you a second chance.

Here is another of my pictures to be featured in the exhibition: An avian moment

Some thoughts on personal hygiene

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Sitting on the lavatory this morning, I thought - I wonder who decides where the perforations should go in a toilet-roll; obviously the placement of the perforations determines the size of the usable piece.

The piece in my hand seemed very small. Now I have not got a particularly big hand but I felt this was really stretching things a bit: to wipe my bum with this tiny sheet and still keep my fingers clean.

Later I measured a sheet (another one – obviously). It measured 12cmx10.5cm. This seems sparse, not to say paltry, considering the job in hand.

Just who decides how big a sheet should be? Is it decided at a full board meeting of the toilet-roll factory directors? Or does the MD say at breakfast, to his wife – how big do you think a piece of toilet paper should be? And his wife - who is getting the kids ready for school - just says the first thing that comes into her head?

If she is a midget she will specify a small size.

On the other hand, if she is a very big woman, with massive hands, you will end up with a more generous piece.

There could, however, be some kind of standardisation between manufacturers? Perhaps even a British Standard for toilet sheets. Now, with the Common Market, we may even be subject to an

EU directive on toilet-rolls.  In which case the size is of a piece is probably based upon an average European hand size.

(It would be interesting to know if any studies have been done to establish a correlation between hand size and arse size. But that is straying from the present topic.)

Of course it’s not just the length – the width is also important. But I bet that is already an industry standard, because the roll has to fit any holder.  So obviously the paper makers are in in thrall to the roll-holder makers who, in turn, are constrained by the materials and machinery available to them.

 Standardisation all the way.

 And are we, the public, ever consulted? Not likely. Have you ever been stopped on entering a supermarket, and invited to ‘try a piece of toilet paper’ and then give feedback on size, texture, absorbency and so on? I haven’t.

Incidentally, regarding absorbency, when I worked in a factory many years ago, if you wanted to go to the lavatory you first of all had to get permission from the foreman. Then there was a man at the entrance to the stalls (which had no doors!) and he issued you with 2 pieces of toilet paper. It was that shiny kind (no longer in use, thankfully) with IZAL stamped across. 

Of course, it didn’t absorb anything. It just skidded off your bum. If you were ‘loose’ it was just too bad. You still only had two pieces. If you had diarrhoea you stayed at home. It would be an interesting study: how many workdays were lost due to the ‘2 sheet rule’.

But we’ve have come a long way from the squares of old newspaper our family used to have nailed behind the (outside) lavatory door when I was a boy. (of course we only used the ‘broadsheets’).

Today we have lovely soft toilet tissue (note the change in name) and many brands to choose from. Luxury!

So I salute the manufacturers… there’s just that question of the perforations.

Next week I shall be looking at the development of the sausage over the last half century.

Announcing a Major Retrospective

For all readers of my blog who are lovers of the fine arts.

Here is a sneak preview of one of the still-life photographs in my Major Retrospective Exhibition which will open at the Assemble Rooms - Great Sankey. (date to be announced)





 Plug with plughole 

Limited edition prints of this and other pictures will be on sale at the exhibition, or may be ordered from this website.

There's a time to rhyme

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I like to do a bit of poetry (or as Anna calls it 'poeming') now and again.
 Here is one I wrote a long time ago.

NORTHERN LIFE

We had fried fish today, for tea,

Fresh, from t’chip-shop d’yer see.

I said: I must not eat t'batter,

For t'batter's sure to make me fatter.

Our mother, she did not agree –

And threw t'teapot straight at me!

My dad, he looked up from his paper,

Shouting: Stop this bleedin’ caper,

I’m tryin’ t’do t’crossword, here –

Now go and get me some more beer.

He banged his jug down on t'table,

I ran as fast as I was able,

To the ‘Offy’ down our street,

But coming back I chanced to meet

My girlfriend, Mary Ellen Hickey,

Who said: Oi, Oi, let’s have a quickey.

We did, but when I got back 'ome,

The beer had lost its head of foam.

Luckily, mi dad was out –

Knocked cold by mother’s fearsome clout.

I said: What have you done to dad?

He’s really looking rather sad.

She finished off  t'beer herself,

Replaced t'jug upon t'shelf

And said: Nah lad, no time for strictures –

Get yer cap – we’re off t’pictures.