The Secret

The Secret. It's the latest rage. You ask the Universe for something you want - and you get it.
It used to be called visualisation.
I tried it once.
I visualised a Jaguar on my drive.
The Jag turned up shortly afterwards on my shared drive.
The Jag that my neighbour had just treated himself to.
So it does work. But you have to be careful how you do it.

Too sexy for my nest.

It's official! I'm sexy. Admire the cock here...
Happy St George's Day BTW...

Human pin cushion

I was sitting topless in the middle of Santa Cruz, Las Palmas today with scores of people staring at me and going "Ouch!" or whatever the Spanish equivalent is.
It happened this way. Not having had any proper treatment for my frozen shoulder (The Bowen Therapy didn't work) I spotted a lady doing an exhibition of acupuncture at a fair in the town centre.
I asked how much it was and she said it was free. I got someone to roughly translate what the problem was as I don't think they have a term for Frozen Shoulder in Spanish and if they have, I don't know it.
She indicated I was to take off my shirt and then he stuck needles in my shoulder and wrist. As scores of schoolkids crowded round with pained expressions (I'll post the pics when I get the chance) I felt like a freak show exhibit.
After she stuck the needles in, she set fire to them. Well, she held some burning herby thingy on top of them. My dear wife was in tears laughing.
I have to say that it didn't hurt but even worse, it didn't work either.
Ah well. Back to the Ralgex and onto the next ineffective treatment. although I shouldn't expect miracles after one go, I suppose. It was a bit of a lark though.

The first swallow!

Yippee. I have just seen the first swallow of the year in our village.
I love the little blighters. So brave. Such endurance. Bringers of sunshine and hope.
I'm a happy Birdy.
Have you seen one yet?

Prolier than thou?

Cor. That Hazel Blears is common as muck...
And she wants to be Deputy Leader of the Labour Party?
Clock this...


I grew up in the 1960s in Salford in a traditional working class street, with children playing outside terraced houses, and neighbours who looked out for each other. My Dad was a fitter in a factory. He was a union man, who always paid his dues to the AEU. As a teenager, my Mum had won a scholarship to a London arts college, but couldn’t afford to go. She worked as a secretary for the EETPU.

Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night half an hour before I went to bed, drink a cup of sulphuric acid, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay't mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad and our mother would kill us and dance about on our graves singing Hallelujah.

As G and S once said....

We're public guardians bold yet wary
And of ourselves we take good care
To risk our precious lives we're chary
When danger threatens we're not there
But when we see a helpless woman
Or little boys who do no harm…
We run them in, we run them in
We run them in, we run them in
To show them we're the beaux gendarmes

Sellout

Leading Seaman Faye Turney has told how she "felt like a traitor" when she was forced to write "confession" letters shown on Iranian television.

I hope she and those other navy personnel captured by Iran who were allowed to sell their stories (for a reported six figure sum) are proud of themselves.
It seems everything has its price in today's world and under this country's shabby "Government".
What a story our grandfathers and great grandfathers could have sold.
As they would have probably said: "You don't understand the meaning of the word 'ordeal'"
Or indeed the words "service to your country".

Not trained properly

My son was on a train near Bolton the other day. It had been held up and diverted because of track problems and it was packed like sardines.
Suddenly, the driver announced: "We apologise for the delay and the amount of passengers. It's looking like an Indian train".
My lad looked round and a good third of the passengers were Asians and not too happy looking.
"Vat did he say?" asked one incredulously.
"Oh just something about being sorry for the delay" muttered an embarrassed Englishman.
Some people eh?

Piles of info

Met a bloke I know in the supermarket this morning and as I was bagging up, he told me about a keyhole operation he had just had to remove a polyp from his arse.
He went into graphic detail about how it was shaped like a cauliflower on a stalk and how it had bled profusely and impeded his toilet activities. He had asked his wife to bathe his sore bum for him and she had flatly refused. How disgraceful.
I didn't want to know all that and probably you didn't either.
Why do people take great delight in imparting such gory medical stuff? I wouldn't do it - and I suspect none of you good people would either.
Would you?

Cards

It was supposed to be a significant birthday today for a dear relative of mine today.
He had undergone a terrible cancer operation late last year and went into hospital at the weekend with breathing difficulties.
I spoke to his wife for a long time on Sunday and asked her to give him our love*.
We posted his birthday card on Monday but last night received the shock news that he had died.
He was a popular man. A gentleman and a gentle man. Today, he will have received lots of birthday cards but he won't be there to open them.
His wife will, sadly, have to read them and the messages of love and hope they will doubtless contain.
I feel awful having sent the card but we weren't to know what was to happen.
I just hope in some way, knowing how popular he was will bring some comfort to his widow.
* During our conversation, she told me that, in the hospital, her husband had felt two hands upon his head like his mother used to do when he was small. This happened twice. He had looked round twice and there was no-one there. I think he felt comforted by this. I would like to think it was his mother, come to take him home. Who knows?

Night Fever

I was having a better sleep last night when the nerve in the frozen shoulder went TWANG! and woke me up.
I tried to get back to sleep but it's difficult when you can only sleep in one position and bloody Mika's Grace Kelly is going through your head. It's one of those songs where you don't know the words but you know the rhythm. And as you're lying there with "DA DA DA DA DAH DAHDADA DA DA DAh DA DAHDAH DA DA DAH DAHDADA DA DA DAh DA DAHDAH" piercing your sleep-starved brain.
I tried desperately to replace it with Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata but it refuse to accede, leaving me to reflect that the only way it could be worse is that it might have been the Proclaimers' I Would Walk 500 Miles tormenting my mind.
Oh bloody hell. It's started to take over ..."and-I-would-walk-five-hun-dred-miles" and I wish I hadn't mentioned it.
Sod off you specky twits and take Peter Kay with you!
What's on your Inner Juke Box?

My old mate

Had to laugh. Yesterday I phoned a mate of mine to see how he was. Well, actually I know how he is - he's type A. A bit short-tempered and fiery as befits a former sergeant.
He recently took an 80-odd years old mate on a trip which was fraught with problems and has been visiting his mother who has had to go in a home.
"That's it" he told me. "I said to the wife, I've had enough of old people. Anybody over 70 can piss off as far as I'm concerned" he ranted.
I hadn't the heart to point out to him that he's 69 this year.