Having a stroke isn't normally considered a good thing, and certainly it wasn't a very positive outcome for Mr Evil.
When I lifted the lid of the freezer in search of questionably dated burgers the recently deceased chicken, in a carrier bag, was halfway to becoming more rigid than it already was...
Mr Evil's body is to be used in a breakthrough medical experiment presently uncosted but based on recent experience with the cat's bladder unlikely to be 'a bargain' by any stretch.
One Veterinary has agreed to take on the job of dissection to discover the exact location of a chicken's balls. This should provide the necessary practice to perform the de-sexing of the more ebullient Cocks still extant, suitably anaethetised of course.
Putting aside ethical considerations, Isabelle wasn't enthusiastic about my offer to 'gen up' anatomically then set-to with a Stanley knife, In that case there would be no need for recourse to anasthesia which poses more of a risk than the surgery itself.
If some of the operations proved unsuccessful that would be no bad thing, a view shared by the majority of the hens apart from Hettie II, who is a very fast runner.
2nd May. A New BMW, Sheer Driving Pleasure.
Had a rather disturbing dream. I am at the wheel of a brand new BMW saloon, one of the more plush models that comes in the £45,000 plus bracket. Isabelle informs me that she has just bought it, "Interest free over 5 years". I said "That's a riduculous amount of money a month, what do we need a new BMW for?"
The answer is that apparently lots of other people have new BMWs so we should have one as well.
"I don't like people who have new BMW's" I exclaim.
"Why?"
At this I am flumoxed to provide an answer as to why. At the same time I am siezed by a feeling once reserved for a brand new bicycle my parents bought/chose for me. My father could never understand why I seemed determined to wreck it by deliberately riding it through any available mud.
To make a point we turn off the smooth tarmac of the dual carriageway and are soon driving across a ploughed field at the same speed, the suspension bottoming out as the shock absorbers go crazy, My thoughts are " Ha! we'll see how much of this it can take."
The story concludes when Isabelle receives the check for a meal we are having at a country house to 'celebrate' the purchase of the BMW. This comes to over £300 despite the fact that I only had a coffee, to keep costs down. Isabelle informs the waiter that this was "a bit more than she wanted to pay and hadn't expected it to be over £200."
The answer is that apparently lots of other people have new BMWs so we should have one as well.
"I don't like people who have new BMW's" I exclaim.
"Why?"
At this I am flumoxed to provide an answer as to why. At the same time I am siezed by a feeling once reserved for a brand new bicycle my parents bought/chose for me. My father could never understand why I seemed determined to wreck it by deliberately riding it through any available mud.
To make a point we turn off the smooth tarmac of the dual carriageway and are soon driving across a ploughed field at the same speed, the suspension bottoming out as the shock absorbers go crazy, My thoughts are " Ha! we'll see how much of this it can take."
The story concludes when Isabelle receives the check for a meal we are having at a country house to 'celebrate' the purchase of the BMW. This comes to over £300 despite the fact that I only had a coffee, to keep costs down. Isabelle informs the waiter that this was "a bit more than she wanted to pay and hadn't expected it to be over £200."
1st May. Welcome to "It's a Political Knock-Out."
Back with the Aristocracy today, and Lord Thingy of Whatsy literally gave his life to public service, despite being an unelected peer.
Considered to be one of the finest minds in the Judiciary, at the age of 79 he still felt that he "Had a good mind and may as well use it rather than just sitting around", Lady Thingy told me.
However a mind cannot function without a brain and probably as a direct consequence of overwork Lord Thingy had a pretty severe stroke. Now the sitting around is rigidly enforced by his own body. "It's like being held prisoner" that's what Lady T. said.
I said it must be hard to let go when you have the power to make decisions that affect other peoples lives, a bit like "Our Tony".
Anyway, in a couple of days we can all go out shopping for new Politicians and vote for 'real change', if you can be bothered and you're still capable. It's a choice between Red, Blue, Yellow, Green and, so I've heard, the Grey team.
Somebody said the contest shouild be fought by a Monster Truck race and whoever comes over the line wins, but Politics has long been considered a "Dirty Game", the Romans were certainly a bunch of back stabbers. So the Monster Truck thing is maybe a bit too straight forward.
Bare knuckle fighting would disadvantage women, but would make better television. Putting them all in a Celebrity Big Brother house would be too boring and wouldn't increase the present ratings unless each carried their own choice of blade. Perhaps one of the more extreme Japanese-style game shows could be the answer?
I think just letting cadidates fight it out in a huge vat of custard with some kind of premium rate telephone voting would set the right tone for a civilized society, Simon Cowell could be involved.
Let the Viewers decide.
Considered to be one of the finest minds in the Judiciary, at the age of 79 he still felt that he "Had a good mind and may as well use it rather than just sitting around", Lady Thingy told me.
However a mind cannot function without a brain and probably as a direct consequence of overwork Lord Thingy had a pretty severe stroke. Now the sitting around is rigidly enforced by his own body. "It's like being held prisoner" that's what Lady T. said.
I said it must be hard to let go when you have the power to make decisions that affect other peoples lives, a bit like "Our Tony".
Anyway, in a couple of days we can all go out shopping for new Politicians and vote for 'real change', if you can be bothered and you're still capable. It's a choice between Red, Blue, Yellow, Green and, so I've heard, the Grey team.
Somebody said the contest shouild be fought by a Monster Truck race and whoever comes over the line wins, but Politics has long been considered a "Dirty Game", the Romans were certainly a bunch of back stabbers. So the Monster Truck thing is maybe a bit too straight forward.
Bare knuckle fighting would disadvantage women, but would make better television. Putting them all in a Celebrity Big Brother house would be too boring and wouldn't increase the present ratings unless each carried their own choice of blade. Perhaps one of the more extreme Japanese-style game shows could be the answer?
I think just letting cadidates fight it out in a huge vat of custard with some kind of premium rate telephone voting would set the right tone for a civilized society, Simon Cowell could be involved.
Let the Viewers decide.
30th April. Another Lovely Day.
No doubt April will turn out to be the warmest April since thermometers were invented, like March.
Leaving for the leisure pool a pale full moon is rising above the wood as the sun's rays come low over the green field of spring barley. Clouds, recently, seem to be a thing of the past.
At the top of the hill the town below seems like another town in an imaginary country, the sky glowing slightly red above the distant hills, somehow portentous.
This beautiful, dry weather doesn't seem natural, it makes you wonder if maybe we're all going to die soon?
Like the calm before a storm.
Leaving for the leisure pool a pale full moon is rising above the wood as the sun's rays come low over the green field of spring barley. Clouds, recently, seem to be a thing of the past.
At the top of the hill the town below seems like another town in an imaginary country, the sky glowing slightly red above the distant hills, somehow portentous.
This beautiful, dry weather doesn't seem natural, it makes you wonder if maybe we're all going to die soon?
Like the calm before a storm.
29th April. Married Life Template 25(a).
The following conversation utilises one of a small number of basic templates, each applicable to a wide variety of situations throughout Married Life. Just edit the words in brackets.
"You said it would take [a weekend] to [build that shed], it's taken [two] weeks!"
The fact that the [Daihatsu's MOT challenge] had to be worked around seems like a feeble excuse.
"All these [endless cups of tea], the [workshop] has to be [built] before we [go to Venice]."
[Venice]? argh, yes, course we've only just got back from... now where was it ?
"If it's taken [two] weeks to [build an eight by four shed] how long is a [twenty-four foot workshop] going to take?!! We'll have to get a firm in."
"You said it would take [a weekend] to [build that shed], it's taken [two] weeks!"
The fact that the [Daihatsu's MOT challenge] had to be worked around seems like a feeble excuse.
"All these [endless cups of tea], the [workshop] has to be [built] before we [go to Venice]."
[Venice]? argh, yes, course we've only just got back from... now where was it ?
"If it's taken [two] weeks to [build an eight by four shed] how long is a [twenty-four foot workshop] going to take?!! We'll have to get a firm in."
28th April. Asparagus Night.
A red wine aperitif served in a very large glass preceeded the main course of farm fresh asparagus served with cheap champagne followed by a digestif of bottled Peroni beer.
Isabelle retired early, partly on account of weariness with my conversation which in these circumstances can drift towards the sandbank of self-absorption and once there easily become stuck-fast.
Then a few beers later as talk continued with J. and Stuart, I suddenly realised mid-sentence that whatever I was talking about didn't make any sense to me, let alone anyone else. I'd actually reached a point where I'd managed to bore myself silly.
Isabelle retired early, partly on account of weariness with my conversation which in these circumstances can drift towards the sandbank of self-absorption and once there easily become stuck-fast.
Then a few beers later as talk continued with J. and Stuart, I suddenly realised mid-sentence that whatever I was talking about didn't make any sense to me, let alone anyone else. I'd actually reached a point where I'd managed to bore myself silly.
27th April. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid.
The man at the only one of two garages in the area that will do a motorcycle MOT says "That front tyre's looking a bit soft" whilst he bounces up and down on the front forks in what looks like an all out effort to push whatever fork oil remains past the seals.
I thought he was going to fail me just because the tyre wasn't hard enough. Anyway he gets the airline off the wall - "Eleven PSI! "
"Well it's been lying over the winter" I explained. He checks the back tyre tut, tutting whilst inflating the tyre from ten up to thirty PSI.
"Did you check ANYTHING on the bike, I bet you didn't - look the cobwebs are still on it!"
"After three-quarters of an hour spent pushing , pulling and yanking at every component the MOT man is forced to give up and exclaims "I can't BELIEVE it! It's passed!!!"
I have to admit that prior to the re-inflation of the tyres handling had become a litttle unforgiving especially with regard to cornering on fast A roads. Imagine what they'd have said at this second inquest of the week (see previous).
I thought he was going to fail me just because the tyre wasn't hard enough. Anyway he gets the airline off the wall - "Eleven PSI! "
"Well it's been lying over the winter" I explained. He checks the back tyre tut, tutting whilst inflating the tyre from ten up to thirty PSI.
"Did you check ANYTHING on the bike, I bet you didn't - look the cobwebs are still on it!"
"After three-quarters of an hour spent pushing , pulling and yanking at every component the MOT man is forced to give up and exclaims "I can't BELIEVE it! It's passed!!!"
I have to admit that prior to the re-inflation of the tyres handling had become a litttle unforgiving especially with regard to cornering on fast A roads. Imagine what they'd have said at this second inquest of the week (see previous).
26th April. When the Cock Crows Three Times or More.
Did the cock crow once or twice before Peter's third denial? These type of Biblical questions are merely academic, this morning I decided to measure the Cockerel crowing frequency 'chez nous'. Over a typical two minute period the average rate was once every 12 seconds.
"Truly I say to you, this very morning, before a cock crows one hundred and twenty times I shall lose my grip on reason".
I'm seized by a desire to cull the whole lot apart from The Cream Puff and dispose of the bodies in the wood then make a strenuous denial.
However faith in the Marriage could easily be undermined, some acts cannot be forgiven especially those of a premeditated nature.
"Truly I say to you, this very morning, before a cock crows one hundred and twenty times I shall lose my grip on reason".
I'm seized by a desire to cull the whole lot apart from The Cream Puff and dispose of the bodies in the wood then make a strenuous denial.
However faith in the Marriage could easily be undermined, some acts cannot be forgiven especially those of a premeditated nature.
25th April. A Daihatsu Lullaby.
Had to stop in a lay-by and go to sleep before I was the subject of a Coroners inquest and that was at 6pm. So, delayed, I arrive at Mr & Mrs F's ex-farmhouse in the middle of endless moorland. Mr F goes into a similarly endless explanation about chimney problems; I have to draw a diagram. It's a classic case of building malpractice.
I drive back for 8pm without mishap, Isabelle is settling down with 'Property ladder', I leave for the Leisure Pool to avoid hearing any more chat about building work, swim sixty lengths drive back and get the end of 'The Apprentice', the bit where A. Sugar says 'You're Fired!'
The question is why am I awake now at 11.50pm, if I needed to go to sleep at 6 pm? Is driving just a form of hypnosis?
I drive back for 8pm without mishap, Isabelle is settling down with 'Property ladder', I leave for the Leisure Pool to avoid hearing any more chat about building work, swim sixty lengths drive back and get the end of 'The Apprentice', the bit where A. Sugar says 'You're Fired!'
The question is why am I awake now at 11.50pm, if I needed to go to sleep at 6 pm? Is driving just a form of hypnosis?
24th April. The Tube Mouse & The Wheeler.
Tonight I'm annoyed with myself because according to 'The Aerobics Way' by Kenneth H. Cooper 1970, a man of my age and decrepitude, running 1.5 miles in 12mins 20secs is deemed to be only 'Good' rather than 'Excellent' or even 'Superior' (10mins 30secs).
Meanwhile Isabelle gets comfortable in front of Channel 4.
The body reacts to the additional loading of exercise by increasing VO2 max, the volume of oxygen the body can use, 'the training effect'.
Similarly the body reacts to comfort and relaxation by an increasing state of breathlessness 'the anti-training effect'.
We are conducting a long term experiment here in Health & Efficiency. The results may or may not correlate well with the mice research of a few years ago.
Two mice of similar size and make up were fed an identical diet. The Tube Mouse spent most of it's time asleep in a toilet roll tube waking up only to eat. The Wheeler ran continuously night and day in a hamster wheel.
The results showed that The Wheeler wore itself out and the Tube Mouse lived to a good age.
Meanwhile Isabelle gets comfortable in front of Channel 4.
The body reacts to the additional loading of exercise by increasing VO2 max, the volume of oxygen the body can use, 'the training effect'.
Similarly the body reacts to comfort and relaxation by an increasing state of breathlessness 'the anti-training effect'.
We are conducting a long term experiment here in Health & Efficiency. The results may or may not correlate well with the mice research of a few years ago.
Two mice of similar size and make up were fed an identical diet. The Tube Mouse spent most of it's time asleep in a toilet roll tube waking up only to eat. The Wheeler ran continuously night and day in a hamster wheel.
The results showed that The Wheeler wore itself out and the Tube Mouse lived to a good age.
23rd April. Triumph of The Will!
When I got home it crossed my mind to open that bottle of Moet & Chandon by way of celebration; having been examined in accordance with Section 45 of the Road Traffic Act 1988 I have been awarded the highest qualification that the Department For Transport can bestow, an MOT Test Certificate!
"A THIRD time lucky middle-aged local man has spoken of his life-changing roadworthiness marathon with a 1995 Daihatsu which started when the previous MOT expired.
He told the PA the change the work has had on his life has been priceless – and an experience he hopes will inspire others, as well as raising over £75 for the Vehicle & Operator Services Agency.
He said: 'I am very proud that I achieved the challenge, which was a once in a lifetime event, I feel totally exhilarated and now ready to tackle anything that life has to offer me.'
Looking back on his astonishing journey, he said: 'Hopefully this will be an inspiration to others that anything can be achieved if you put your mind to it, whatever one’s circumstances.'
The father-of-one said: 'Commitment, enthusiasm and determination and most of all a good sense of humour was paramount.' "
"A THIRD time lucky middle-aged local man has spoken of his life-changing roadworthiness marathon with a 1995 Daihatsu which started when the previous MOT expired.
He told the PA the change the work has had on his life has been priceless – and an experience he hopes will inspire others, as well as raising over £75 for the Vehicle & Operator Services Agency.
He said: 'I am very proud that I achieved the challenge, which was a once in a lifetime event, I feel totally exhilarated and now ready to tackle anything that life has to offer me.'
Looking back on his astonishing journey, he said: 'Hopefully this will be an inspiration to others that anything can be achieved if you put your mind to it, whatever one’s circumstances.'
The father-of-one said: 'Commitment, enthusiasm and determination and most of all a good sense of humour was paramount.' "
22nd April. Stepford Fembots.
"So, given free reign, what would your idea of a perfect man be?" I said looking down from the step ladder up against the partially built 'storage solution' shed.
"A hard man, but who only shows his soft side to me."
"The fact that, as a jealous husband I'd be willing to bludgeon another man to death, doesn't that make me more attractive then?"
"No! I wouldn't want a murderer!"
"What's your ideal woman?"
"I find it hard to imagine any composite female, although I can see the attraction in some kind of Fembot that offered infinite variability."
Checkout these features:
Volume up
Volume down
Shuffle
Mute
Select all
Create an imix
Save as
Delete
Services
Report Bugs to Apple
Help
"A hard man, but who only shows his soft side to me."
"The fact that, as a jealous husband I'd be willing to bludgeon another man to death, doesn't that make me more attractive then?"
"No! I wouldn't want a murderer!"
"What's your ideal woman?"
"I find it hard to imagine any composite female, although I can see the attraction in some kind of Fembot that offered infinite variability."
Checkout these features:
Volume up
Volume down
Shuffle
Mute
Select all
Create an imix
Save as
Delete
Services
Report Bugs to Apple
Help
21st April. Relationships On screen/Off screen.
Set off on a cycle/run/swim/run/cycle exercise to punish myself for not being romantic enough or to reward myself for re-welding the patches on the car last night, it's hard to say.
Left my bike round the back at F&D's, F had been left in charge of nappy changing for the afternoon while D went through a monthly process of re-beautification. They recently opted for the Full Relationship Monty in the shape of another human being or mouth to feed. As I ran off towards the Leisure Pool, F said something about everlasting youth, I'm not sure if that applied to a willingness to exercise or not being saddled with a couple of years of disposable nappies.
Later we watched Anthony Hopkins shoot his unfaithful wife in the face, evidently he hadn't been romantic enough either, maybe what she'd really wanted was a baby?
Stuart said the whole thing was 'pish' and Hollywood had run out of ideas, the plot was weak.
Regarding romance, with his low attention span he couldn't see how a relationship could last anything like ten years in the first place, the concept was just too scary to contemplate.
"Why don't you just buy yourself a huge vibrator" was Stuart's take on it.
"That's not Romance"! countered Isabelle.
Left my bike round the back at F&D's, F had been left in charge of nappy changing for the afternoon while D went through a monthly process of re-beautification. They recently opted for the Full Relationship Monty in the shape of another human being or mouth to feed. As I ran off towards the Leisure Pool, F said something about everlasting youth, I'm not sure if that applied to a willingness to exercise or not being saddled with a couple of years of disposable nappies.
Later we watched Anthony Hopkins shoot his unfaithful wife in the face, evidently he hadn't been romantic enough either, maybe what she'd really wanted was a baby?
Stuart said the whole thing was 'pish' and Hollywood had run out of ideas, the plot was weak.
Regarding romance, with his low attention span he couldn't see how a relationship could last anything like ten years in the first place, the concept was just too scary to contemplate.
"Why don't you just buy yourself a huge vibrator" was Stuart's take on it.
"That's not Romance"! countered Isabelle.
20th April. True Romance?
It's a fine line that divides the romantic man from the stalker, the attentive suitor from the all consuming obsessional.
There's about as much chance of a romantic man knocking on a woman's door who isn't some kind of nut, as a posse of adoring attractive younger women draping themselves over me without a transaction involving a large amount of money.
"Where are all these more romantic men anyway?" I asked Isabelle during a recent discussion about this often problematic aspect of relationship. (Synonyms: extravagant, exaggerated, wild, imaginative, fantastic, improbable, unreal).
No it's not easy to point to a living person, only on-screen characters. I'd like to single-out 'Grey's Anatomy' as the current vehicle for these wildly imaginative fantastically improbable unreal extravagant - or if you like, romantic depictions - of men.
There's about as much chance of a romantic man knocking on a woman's door who isn't some kind of nut, as a posse of adoring attractive younger women draping themselves over me without a transaction involving a large amount of money.
"Where are all these more romantic men anyway?" I asked Isabelle during a recent discussion about this often problematic aspect of relationship. (Synonyms: extravagant, exaggerated, wild, imaginative, fantastic, improbable, unreal).
No it's not easy to point to a living person, only on-screen characters. I'd like to single-out 'Grey's Anatomy' as the current vehicle for these wildly imaginative fantastically improbable unreal extravagant - or if you like, romantic depictions - of men.
19th April. A Type of Wild Goose Chase.
Spent half an hour chasing a cockerel around in the dark getting more agitated with each failed attempt at an ambush. The reason for the chase began after climbing up a step ladder for a stealth grabbing when it was in its habitual roost. Despite the complete surprise of the attack it managed to beat its wings so furiously that it slipped from my grasp. Once on the ground, which would be familiar to it, there seemed to be enough light for it to get going.
In the end i was just running around the garden in my long johns brandishing a length of 2 by 2 in one hand and a towel in the other like some wierd type of gladiatoral combatant. I didn't want it to 'win' but in the end the bird stayed quiet and wherever it was it stayed put, I had to retire.
In the end i was just running around the garden in my long johns brandishing a length of 2 by 2 in one hand and a towel in the other like some wierd type of gladiatoral combatant. I didn't want it to 'win' but in the end the bird stayed quiet and wherever it was it stayed put, I had to retire.
18th April. The New Arrival.
Isabelle can always find room in her heart for another creature in need, it's just a question of finding space in the house.
A blue Budgie with a disability and a history of allergy creation is welcomed complete with it's own stock of cuttlefish and accoutrements.
This brings the indoor avian count to three, the Budgies seem to accept this menage a trois without complaint.
On it's maiden flight the new arrival crashes to the kitchen floor right in front of 'Tigger' the half-paralysed cat whose hunting days were thought to be over, it was a remarkable escape.
A blue Budgie with a disability and a history of allergy creation is welcomed complete with it's own stock of cuttlefish and accoutrements.
This brings the indoor avian count to three, the Budgies seem to accept this menage a trois without complaint.
On it's maiden flight the new arrival crashes to the kitchen floor right in front of 'Tigger' the half-paralysed cat whose hunting days were thought to be over, it was a remarkable escape.
17th April. Two Failures, One Day.
I looked up over my Tesco glasses putting aside "DNA and The Ultimate Forensic Record of Evolution" to receive the verdict from the designated MOT tester at the garage. "It's not a long list" he said, "but that's probably not what you wanted to hear, both inner sills need some more welding, I've marked them with yellow chalk and the front brakes are out of balance".
They always like to see you jump through a couple of hoops before handing over that all important bit of paper, instead I get the one marked Failure with some highlighting of the fact that with regard to driving on public roads the vehicle is in a "Dangerous" condition.
This miscarriage came hard on the heels of the earlier disappointment that Mr R's chimney in Flat 3 'The Castle' doesn't appear be 'a goer'. After two days of poking and shoving from above and below this fact was verified by the smoke alarm going off in what transpired to be Flat 8 during testing.
Luckily the owner, Ms S, an elderly summer visitor and a very strong opponent of the use of chimneys in 'tenements' up to the point of paranoia about smoke and fire, was absent; otherwise I may have had another failure on my hands, the continuing abilty of Ms S's ventricles to contract.
.
They always like to see you jump through a couple of hoops before handing over that all important bit of paper, instead I get the one marked Failure with some highlighting of the fact that with regard to driving on public roads the vehicle is in a "Dangerous" condition.
This miscarriage came hard on the heels of the earlier disappointment that Mr R's chimney in Flat 3 'The Castle' doesn't appear be 'a goer'. After two days of poking and shoving from above and below this fact was verified by the smoke alarm going off in what transpired to be Flat 8 during testing.
Luckily the owner, Ms S, an elderly summer visitor and a very strong opponent of the use of chimneys in 'tenements' up to the point of paranoia about smoke and fire, was absent; otherwise I may have had another failure on my hands, the continuing abilty of Ms S's ventricles to contract.
.
16th April. An Inconvenient Truth.
Awoke unexpectedly in the night with an ominous sense of welling up-chuck, it was something progressive that wouldn't go away, an inconvenient truth like Al Gore's. I wanted to believe I could just go back to sleep and pretend it wasn't happening.
In the end It WAS happening, a sudden rise in sea level, I had to face facts and make my way to the bathroom...
The culprit in this case not gas-guzzling but nearly-out of-date lager-guzzling or was it the chocolate pie?
In the end It WAS happening, a sudden rise in sea level, I had to face facts and make my way to the bathroom...
The culprit in this case not gas-guzzling but nearly-out of-date lager-guzzling or was it the chocolate pie?
15th April. 300 Winks.
"It's Miller Time but only just", I said lifting up my rust stained can to display the best before date on the bottom: 30:4:07.
Don't bring any beer, I'd specifically said this, as the whole object of the BBQ was to get rid of some of the what will soon be out of date lager, which at one time had been left lying in the garden for several weeks, possibly months.
After a certain level of consumption and the approach of evening, some of the party decided on a visit to the cinema, for which I had little enthusiasm. Isabelle informed me, after the others had left, that we were to follow on in the Daihatsu, I said my driving ability was adversely compromised on account of all the Kronenbourg, Carlsberg etc and we were now stranded. Thanks to mobile technology what would have been an epic in itself was quickly sorted out.
On the subject of epics, once I was guided to a comfy seat to view the film '300' the dialogue proved to be a little on the soporific side and basically it cost me or someone else £5.50 for two hours sleep.
Don't bring any beer, I'd specifically said this, as the whole object of the BBQ was to get rid of some of the what will soon be out of date lager, which at one time had been left lying in the garden for several weeks, possibly months.
After a certain level of consumption and the approach of evening, some of the party decided on a visit to the cinema, for which I had little enthusiasm. Isabelle informed me, after the others had left, that we were to follow on in the Daihatsu, I said my driving ability was adversely compromised on account of all the Kronenbourg, Carlsberg etc and we were now stranded. Thanks to mobile technology what would have been an epic in itself was quickly sorted out.
On the subject of epics, once I was guided to a comfy seat to view the film '300' the dialogue proved to be a little on the soporific side and basically it cost me or someone else £5.50 for two hours sleep.
14th April. Designer Shed Price Tag.
An excellent July afternoon today for construction, 24.3 degrees C. then cool in the evening, something like spring in the Alpujarras. We may be able to use the storage shed for air curing hams in the coming years...
Isabelle remarked that she "Could see a difference between our shed and the ones in B&Q" which is quite something. Yes, it's a dog eat dog world the world of shed construction, the B&Q shed has it's materials pared down to the barest minimum, any less and it would collapse under the weight of it's own roof. Mass production with a heavy investment in woodworking machinery being the only way to combat the small margins.
Material costs of 'The Shed' have spiralled, quite naturally, beyond the purchase price of any B&Q shed. In reality if shed manufacture was to provide a living, we could add on 100% to the materials, then labour three days or more, paint, ironmongery, roofing felt, sundries.
The completed shed would retail for approximately £2000, a factor of 10 greater than the B&Q matchwood offering. From the catalogue buyer's perspective the two sheds would appear identical.
Isabelle remarked that she "Could see a difference between our shed and the ones in B&Q" which is quite something. Yes, it's a dog eat dog world the world of shed construction, the B&Q shed has it's materials pared down to the barest minimum, any less and it would collapse under the weight of it's own roof. Mass production with a heavy investment in woodworking machinery being the only way to combat the small margins.
Material costs of 'The Shed' have spiralled, quite naturally, beyond the purchase price of any B&Q shed. In reality if shed manufacture was to provide a living, we could add on 100% to the materials, then labour three days or more, paint, ironmongery, roofing felt, sundries.
The completed shed would retail for approximately £2000, a factor of 10 greater than the B&Q matchwood offering. From the catalogue buyer's perspective the two sheds would appear identical.
13th April. Cheap Rubbish-Well not Even Cheap.
On the pre-agreed way to Travis Perkins to buy enough wood to make another shed to store even more things we had to turn around and drive to B&Q. Isabelle had a particular 'summerhouse' in mind. I relented but scoffed at the likely quality of construction.
"They're only £300.00".
"Only"?
We waltzed into the megastore for what proved to be a quick look-over whatever flimsy sheds were in stock. This confirmed that the materials employed resembled matchwood clad with old orange boxes. "You could reinforce it with more wood" suggested Isabelle.
"Well it would need another floor and a roof and then the walls aren't up to much".
We continued on to Travis Perkins. By the time the roof rack was loaded up, according to my calculations, it began to look like there was enough timber for a three-bedroom bungalow.
"They're only £300.00".
"Only"?
We waltzed into the megastore for what proved to be a quick look-over whatever flimsy sheds were in stock. This confirmed that the materials employed resembled matchwood clad with old orange boxes. "You could reinforce it with more wood" suggested Isabelle.
"Well it would need another floor and a roof and then the walls aren't up to much".
We continued on to Travis Perkins. By the time the roof rack was loaded up, according to my calculations, it began to look like there was enough timber for a three-bedroom bungalow.
12th April. A Long Lost Desire.
Isabelle declined my invitation to join me in the River Earn tonight despite the late sunshine. I'd have to go it alone, this meant driving there pre-zipped into the wet suit, which so far appears to be a two man job.
"Have you got your mobile? Phone me as soon as you come out of the river so I know you haven't drowned?"
Sitting at the wheel of the car inevitably increased the constriction mainly around the neck I wondered if I'd pass out like some deviant in a rubber suit?
By the time the river was in sight I'd reconnected with a long lost childhood desire to plunge into cold water.
On past summer days I used to plague the 'Old Dears' from the back seat of the Austin A40 with the question "Is there anywhere you can swim around here?" Which for practical reasons was usually but not always ignored.
"Have you got your mobile? Phone me as soon as you come out of the river so I know you haven't drowned?"
Sitting at the wheel of the car inevitably increased the constriction mainly around the neck I wondered if I'd pass out like some deviant in a rubber suit?
By the time the river was in sight I'd reconnected with a long lost childhood desire to plunge into cold water.
On past summer days I used to plague the 'Old Dears' from the back seat of the Austin A40 with the question "Is there anywhere you can swim around here?" Which for practical reasons was usually but not always ignored.
11th April. Life Sentence.
Inspired by some eight-year-old Chinese Medal hopeful on The 6 O'clock News, whose dad makes her run the equivalent of a Marathon every night before supper, I left Isabelle with 'Reporting Scotland' as I was determined to cycle 20k at approximately the right pace. This would be followed by running to the shop and back (5k).
I'm driven by the need to 'do something' before all my cartilage turns to bone and my arteries are solid with animal fats, when the only thing to do might be lawn scarification (see earlier).
Actually this is simply a rationalisation after the event, I've no idea why I'm doing it. The desire to win anything can't be the motivation, that's out of the question.
Maybe it's like people serving a life sentence in prison who take up some kind of self-improvement, you could say. Well, what's the point of that?
I'm driven by the need to 'do something' before all my cartilage turns to bone and my arteries are solid with animal fats, when the only thing to do might be lawn scarification (see earlier).
Actually this is simply a rationalisation after the event, I've no idea why I'm doing it. The desire to win anything can't be the motivation, that's out of the question.
Maybe it's like people serving a life sentence in prison who take up some kind of self-improvement, you could say. Well, what's the point of that?
10th April. Stages of Life on A Tuesday.
Today Mr & Mrs M. were in the process of scarifying their lawn which is divided in two by the path leading to the front door of the detached bungalow; Mr M. in charge of the electric rotary device and Mrs raking the moss into piles. "I'm not an immaculate lawn fiend" explained Mr M. "but it was getting pretty bad".
The M's are at the lawn scarification stage of life with no dependants, mainly going away with SAGA or extended golfing breaks in the Algarve interspersed with property maintenance until illness strikes... It might be something as simple as Golfers Elbow or something worse like Bowel Cancer, one never knows.
I'd only just got home and A.N. Other e-mailed, could he borrow my roof ladders and me because his family, it appears, cannot live without television. A.N. is unable to go beyond the level of the gutters to fix the cable from the aerial due to Vertigo and is also going through some kind of mid-life stage. Recently he has been working his notice, "From tomorrow technically I'm on holiday, subject to negotiation".
"Then what?"
"Then I'll probably commit suicide"
This endless carousel of households is making my head spin...
The M's are at the lawn scarification stage of life with no dependants, mainly going away with SAGA or extended golfing breaks in the Algarve interspersed with property maintenance until illness strikes... It might be something as simple as Golfers Elbow or something worse like Bowel Cancer, one never knows.
I'd only just got home and A.N. Other e-mailed, could he borrow my roof ladders and me because his family, it appears, cannot live without television. A.N. is unable to go beyond the level of the gutters to fix the cable from the aerial due to Vertigo and is also going through some kind of mid-life stage. Recently he has been working his notice, "From tomorrow technically I'm on holiday, subject to negotiation".
"Then what?"
"Then I'll probably commit suicide"
This endless carousel of households is making my head spin...
9th April. High School Reunion.
They say our year was a bad year, Class of 1976. I said "I'm not sure about this reunion thing" and David said "Well I've managed to avoid these people for thirty years".
I'm surprised there haven't been incidents reported in the U.S. where some ex-pupil's appearance at the Class Reunion was marked by his producton of a semi-automatic weapon once the initial introductions had been made...
To my knowledge nobody from our year has achieved world fame or 'A' list celebrity status. However comparisons will be inevitable as to 'how well one has done', having been given the last thirty years to do it. Let's face it, if you haven't done it yet you're probably not going to, full stop.
I must represent one of the more notable failures, despite quite reasonable exam results my greatest achievement is, in the words of 'Junior' with reference to chimney work, "To have wasted my life".
I'm surprised there haven't been incidents reported in the U.S. where some ex-pupil's appearance at the Class Reunion was marked by his producton of a semi-automatic weapon once the initial introductions had been made...
To my knowledge nobody from our year has achieved world fame or 'A' list celebrity status. However comparisons will be inevitable as to 'how well one has done', having been given the last thirty years to do it. Let's face it, if you haven't done it yet you're probably not going to, full stop.
I must represent one of the more notable failures, despite quite reasonable exam results my greatest achievement is, in the words of 'Junior' with reference to chimney work, "To have wasted my life".
8th April. Cat Bladder Superhero.
I've had to take over the daily squeezing of the cat's bladder, a considerable saving in Veterinarian bills which is what the vet himself said - "just think, if you can master the technique it'll be worth a tenner each time".
Expressing cat's urine is a bit like trying to squeeze a balloon filled with blancmange, which also happens to be inside a cat. There is another feeling too; that maybe the cat is being squeezed to death, this was behind Isabelle's problem in achieving a proper jet of piss.
Motivated by an urgent need to conserve funds I soon had the measure of Tigger's piddle.
Isabelle was very proud of my efforts and also wowed later in the day by my working knowledge of Microsoft Excel which helped, in a small way, to calm things down before there was any damage to the lap top.
It's not the first time that Bill Gates has brought a certain tenseness into our evenings here and probably not the last...
Expressing cat's urine is a bit like trying to squeeze a balloon filled with blancmange, which also happens to be inside a cat. There is another feeling too; that maybe the cat is being squeezed to death, this was behind Isabelle's problem in achieving a proper jet of piss.
Motivated by an urgent need to conserve funds I soon had the measure of Tigger's piddle.
Isabelle was very proud of my efforts and also wowed later in the day by my working knowledge of Microsoft Excel which helped, in a small way, to calm things down before there was any damage to the lap top.
It's not the first time that Bill Gates has brought a certain tenseness into our evenings here and probably not the last...
7th April. Easter Emergency Call-Out.
With the words "We'll very much make it worth your while" ringing in my ears I ascended the extension ladders as far as the level of the guttters, a vast pattern of Aberfoyle slates sloped upwards towards the unreachable chimney stack, the distance a good bit longer than the roof ladder. The panorama of endless grouse moor stretched in all directions in this perfect Bank Holiday sunshine.
"Yes, 'The Family' are coming up from 'Down South' to the shooting lodge on Easter Sunday and the house keeper says that the crows have blocked the drawing room chimney with twigs, it has to be done today we'd very much appreciate blah blah....".
Mrs C. The Housekeeper led me through corridors where large oil paintings of men in Highland dress and portraits of women in black frocks shared the wall space with Stags heads, all of them glowering downwards. Next I made my way through the attic squeezing past at least forty feet of model railway layout to eventually find a skylight which had been installed to relieve some of the gloom in the upstairs landing.
"Have you got a short step ladder?"
Balancing this above the glass window below the skylight I heaved myself through several decades of cobwebs and managed to get one leg outside onto the slates. "This is a right laugh, I mused, it's just as well I'm not such a fat bastard..."
"Yes, 'The Family' are coming up from 'Down South' to the shooting lodge on Easter Sunday and the house keeper says that the crows have blocked the drawing room chimney with twigs, it has to be done today we'd very much appreciate blah blah....".
Mrs C. The Housekeeper led me through corridors where large oil paintings of men in Highland dress and portraits of women in black frocks shared the wall space with Stags heads, all of them glowering downwards. Next I made my way through the attic squeezing past at least forty feet of model railway layout to eventually find a skylight which had been installed to relieve some of the gloom in the upstairs landing.
"Have you got a short step ladder?"
Balancing this above the glass window below the skylight I heaved myself through several decades of cobwebs and managed to get one leg outside onto the slates. "This is a right laugh, I mused, it's just as well I'm not such a fat bastard..."
6th April. No Sign of Weil's Disease - Yet.
A chill wind blew out of the west and the sunshine of the last few days had vanished. The River Earn immersion event had attracted a small group with various opinions about water temperature and such. Callum's divers watch gave a reading 24 degrees centigrade which couldn't have been right, 24 degrees Kelvin might have been nearer.
Once I was completely gimped up and double-rubbered about the head I made my way in carpet slippers to the riverbank, unable to pick-up much of the conversation on account of the ear plugs. I prided myself in the knowledge that despite driving over the adjacent bridge for about twenty-five years I've never once seen anyone swimming here.
The initial shock wasn't that bad, it was the subtle effect on breathing; after having just taken one breath i was already wanting to take another when I was looking down through the goggles at the river bed. Swimming front crawl in a rubber gimp suit felt a bit like trying to type in leather gauntlets, just very awkward...
My idea was, swim for ten minutes one way then turn around, however the spectators got caught up in the undergrowth trying to follow the bank and after a grand total of eight minutes I was ready to call a halt to the proceedings, Just when I thought I'd got swimming under control...tch,tch, tch....
Once I was completely gimped up and double-rubbered about the head I made my way in carpet slippers to the riverbank, unable to pick-up much of the conversation on account of the ear plugs. I prided myself in the knowledge that despite driving over the adjacent bridge for about twenty-five years I've never once seen anyone swimming here.
The initial shock wasn't that bad, it was the subtle effect on breathing; after having just taken one breath i was already wanting to take another when I was looking down through the goggles at the river bed. Swimming front crawl in a rubber gimp suit felt a bit like trying to type in leather gauntlets, just very awkward...
My idea was, swim for ten minutes one way then turn around, however the spectators got caught up in the undergrowth trying to follow the bank and after a grand total of eight minutes I was ready to call a halt to the proceedings, Just when I thought I'd got swimming under control...tch,tch, tch....
5th April. We are Go! for Hypothermia.
Dropped in at the sports shop in the retail park that specialises mainly in Chav-wear. However it wasn't a complete drug dealing outfit I walked out with, it was a couple of rather fetching silicone bathing caps.
One might have been enough but the imagined numbing sensation of pain in the forehead from the waters of the Earn convinced me that a doubling up of rubber would be the safer option.
Yes, provisionally we're on for the premier immersion in the River tomorrow evening. Stuart has agreed to take on the role of a stand-by bouyancy-aid in exchange for Barbecued Chicken at 'The Foundry'. It'll be the acid test for the rubber Gimp suit and also my heart.
Judging by other hypothermic experiences in notably warmer waters such as the pacific coast of Mexico, full circulation may not be restored until after the bank holiday...
One might have been enough but the imagined numbing sensation of pain in the forehead from the waters of the Earn convinced me that a doubling up of rubber would be the safer option.
Yes, provisionally we're on for the premier immersion in the River tomorrow evening. Stuart has agreed to take on the role of a stand-by bouyancy-aid in exchange for Barbecued Chicken at 'The Foundry'. It'll be the acid test for the rubber Gimp suit and also my heart.
Judging by other hypothermic experiences in notably warmer waters such as the pacific coast of Mexico, full circulation may not be restored until after the bank holiday...
4th April. Hasta la Vista, Baby!
Thirty-two minutes to swim sixty lengths and that was after colliding with an exchange Spanish pupil messing about somewhere near the deep end.
These bored teenagers had probably been dumped at the Leisure Pool by their host families in full knowledge that the main pool with all the exciting flumes and splashy things shuts up shop at 8pm.
So there they are in the so-called Training Pool getting in the way of serious swimmers and arthritics who just want to go up and down the lanes.
Secretly I'd already decided that I was just going to plough willy-nilly into any child that got in the way and let the authorities deal with the fallout. At the point of impact I thrust the errant Spaniard downwards, and in effect swam over the top of him, which in retrospect seems a little unfeeling.
After that though, the lane I happened to be in stayed fairly clear apart from an overweight woman who was mostly getting her breath back at either end of the pool.
These bored teenagers had probably been dumped at the Leisure Pool by their host families in full knowledge that the main pool with all the exciting flumes and splashy things shuts up shop at 8pm.
So there they are in the so-called Training Pool getting in the way of serious swimmers and arthritics who just want to go up and down the lanes.
Secretly I'd already decided that I was just going to plough willy-nilly into any child that got in the way and let the authorities deal with the fallout. At the point of impact I thrust the errant Spaniard downwards, and in effect swam over the top of him, which in retrospect seems a little unfeeling.
After that though, the lane I happened to be in stayed fairly clear apart from an overweight woman who was mostly getting her breath back at either end of the pool.
3rd April. Demolition Derby.
An Architect's signature stone chimney came under the hammer this afternoon, that is, the demolition hammer. Regardless of aesthetic consideration the chimney was flawed from the design stage despite the undoubted professional qualifications of its creator. "Whoever built this thing should have been taken out and executed" I remarked to Mrs D, making no attempt to conceal my opinions.
"Yes, well, when we bought the house we thought the extension would all have been built properly, there must be regulations about these things".
"Quite".
I must say I derived a certain amount of satisfaction as the chisel of the 'Kango' bit into the stonework and the chips began to fly, the monumental chimney was completely ruined by the time afternoon tea was served.
It's my experience that much of the world is a bit like those ubiquitous individual stainless steel teapots that seem to be incapable of performing the one task required of them, pour tea into a cup rather than all over everything else.
"Yes, well, when we bought the house we thought the extension would all have been built properly, there must be regulations about these things".
"Quite".
I must say I derived a certain amount of satisfaction as the chisel of the 'Kango' bit into the stonework and the chips began to fly, the monumental chimney was completely ruined by the time afternoon tea was served.
It's my experience that much of the world is a bit like those ubiquitous individual stainless steel teapots that seem to be incapable of performing the one task required of them, pour tea into a cup rather than all over everything else.
2nd April. The Gimp.
Took delivery of My e-Bay wet suit today, which at first sight seemed to be roughly the right length. Actually getting into the thing proved easier said than done and I concluded that it must be sized for a twelve year old child who was also a possible anorexic.
This was contraindicated by various websites which proved beyond reasonable doubt that the size F3 of this particular make would actually fit someone larger than me. (In-credible!) Further research showed that there was some trick involving a Tesco bag and turning the wetsuit inside out.
The plastic bag reduces the rubbery-ness and allows first the feet and then the hands in, the bag however then gets trapped between the skin of the wearer and the skin of the suit, and then when it was no longer inside out it was back to front. Such force was required to get the lower half as far as the hips I thought I was going to have it pulled apart at the seams before it had even been near water.
"Could you zip me up?' I asked Isabelle who was engrossed in some documentary about genetically modified animals. Once the zip was up I felt like a Californian Seal Lion crossed with a Human and I was under a lot of pressure internally, "It's certainly skin tight" I managed to opine. My appearance was highly reminiscent of 'The Gimp' in Pulp Fiction.
What worries me is 'pre-race nerves', because everytime I go to the Leisure Pool I always seem to be in need of a period of time on the loo just before swimming, maybe it's anxiety, I don't know. Imagine being taken short in this rubber gimp suit in front of hundreds of fellow competitors...
This was contraindicated by various websites which proved beyond reasonable doubt that the size F3 of this particular make would actually fit someone larger than me. (In-credible!) Further research showed that there was some trick involving a Tesco bag and turning the wetsuit inside out.
The plastic bag reduces the rubbery-ness and allows first the feet and then the hands in, the bag however then gets trapped between the skin of the wearer and the skin of the suit, and then when it was no longer inside out it was back to front. Such force was required to get the lower half as far as the hips I thought I was going to have it pulled apart at the seams before it had even been near water.
"Could you zip me up?' I asked Isabelle who was engrossed in some documentary about genetically modified animals. Once the zip was up I felt like a Californian Seal Lion crossed with a Human and I was under a lot of pressure internally, "It's certainly skin tight" I managed to opine. My appearance was highly reminiscent of 'The Gimp' in Pulp Fiction.
What worries me is 'pre-race nerves', because everytime I go to the Leisure Pool I always seem to be in need of a period of time on the loo just before swimming, maybe it's anxiety, I don't know. Imagine being taken short in this rubber gimp suit in front of hundreds of fellow competitors...
1st April. April Fool?
"Excuse me?" said the waitress from behind me in the High Street waving the till receipt, "It actually said Card Declined."
"Oh?" I followed her back into the Restaurant/Gallery like a common criminal. "My wife will be back shortly she has a different card".
Unable to consume any more food or drink I leafed through the complementary copy of the local paper squinting without my Tesco glasses at various court reports. The larger print told of an inept attempt by some guy to make an insurance claim after paying some Hoodies £50 to set fire to his car...
If I could stage my own death the Life Insurance would certainly ease the cash flow. The trouble is, you can't simply disappear, you need a death certificate. These must be easily forged or even downloaded, surely. If they can fake an identity of someone living they can fake the paperwork for being dead?
I see Google has 4,700,000 entries for Faking Your Own Death, so I'm not the first person to have thought of it. The main problem seems to be what happens afterwards, ie. re-emerging into another life, which is on the face of it, remarkably similar to Your Own Death in general.
"Oh?" I followed her back into the Restaurant/Gallery like a common criminal. "My wife will be back shortly she has a different card".
Unable to consume any more food or drink I leafed through the complementary copy of the local paper squinting without my Tesco glasses at various court reports. The larger print told of an inept attempt by some guy to make an insurance claim after paying some Hoodies £50 to set fire to his car...
If I could stage my own death the Life Insurance would certainly ease the cash flow. The trouble is, you can't simply disappear, you need a death certificate. These must be easily forged or even downloaded, surely. If they can fake an identity of someone living they can fake the paperwork for being dead?
I see Google has 4,700,000 entries for Faking Your Own Death, so I'm not the first person to have thought of it. The main problem seems to be what happens afterwards, ie. re-emerging into another life, which is on the face of it, remarkably similar to Your Own Death in general.
31st March. My Conversational Polish - Zero.
It was the morning after the confrontation with the owners of Flat A. about the deluge.
So I knocked on the door of Flat A, after two attempts one of the tenants answered, a youngish blonded woman, who I recognised from the last attempt at repair to the entrance door into Faeces Close. On that occasion I had enquired if she still had a key to the door and was met with a blank look, but not just a blank look it was more like the deceased Patrick Swayze addressing Demi Moore in 'Ghost', was I in another dimension?
Anyway when she came to the door she blanked me out as much as anyone could blank out someone who's just knocked on the front door, "It's about the water leaking from the flat above"
(Blank)
"I from up there, water drip, drip is happening now?"
(Blank)
"WATER, DOWN, COMING IS NOW?"
"I no.. understand..."
Ascertaining when, if ever, this plumbing problem is cured could be a protracted business.
So I knocked on the door of Flat A, after two attempts one of the tenants answered, a youngish blonded woman, who I recognised from the last attempt at repair to the entrance door into Faeces Close. On that occasion I had enquired if she still had a key to the door and was met with a blank look, but not just a blank look it was more like the deceased Patrick Swayze addressing Demi Moore in 'Ghost', was I in another dimension?
Anyway when she came to the door she blanked me out as much as anyone could blank out someone who's just knocked on the front door, "It's about the water leaking from the flat above"
(Blank)
"I from up there, water drip, drip is happening now?"
(Blank)
"WATER, DOWN, COMING IS NOW?"
"I no.. understand..."
Ascertaining when, if ever, this plumbing problem is cured could be a protracted business.
30th March. A Love Renewed.
Curiously after yesterday's venting of steam and magmatic gases, the tectonic plates of matrimony seem to have shifted a little then settled again. The tremendous stresses that had been building up along the fault line have been relieved.
Driving back along the dual-carriageway, as we passed the Hotel on the east bound side, thoughts wandered to that original honeymoon stop-over with the then 'soon-to-be' mother of 'Junior'. It occured that 2007 would have been the 25th Wedding Anniversary, Silver in fact.
Although it may as well have been 30 million years ago when the Americas broke away from the continent of Africa, certainly a devastating upheaval. Then the Atlantic rushed in and filled the enormous rift between them, and that was that.
Driving back along the dual-carriageway, as we passed the Hotel on the east bound side, thoughts wandered to that original honeymoon stop-over with the then 'soon-to-be' mother of 'Junior'. It occured that 2007 would have been the 25th Wedding Anniversary, Silver in fact.
Although it may as well have been 30 million years ago when the Americas broke away from the continent of Africa, certainly a devastating upheaval. Then the Atlantic rushed in and filled the enormous rift between them, and that was that.
29th March. Versuvius Enacted.
What with the cat's bladder and what have you, I'm afraid I lost the plot this morning in a frenzied attack on the washing-up shortly before leaving late for Mr J's rubble-ized house. This resulted in several dish breakages and a laceration to the right index finger.
Isabelle gave me a good whacking with the plastic dish drainer but told me later that she "Still liked me deep down despite being VERY pissed-off at the time".
These eruptions seem to occur with a frequency of about once every ten years, then the most we can say is that the volcano is 'dormant'. To say it was 'extinct' would be a mistake but perhaps I exaggerate, it was nothing like Mount St Helens or Krakatoa.
Isabelle gave me a good whacking with the plastic dish drainer but told me later that she "Still liked me deep down despite being VERY pissed-off at the time".
These eruptions seem to occur with a frequency of about once every ten years, then the most we can say is that the volcano is 'dormant'. To say it was 'extinct' would be a mistake but perhaps I exaggerate, it was nothing like Mount St Helens or Krakatoa.
28th March. My e-Bay Wetsuit.
On the return from another rubble-filled day in Chimney World I stopped off to make an assessment of the local watercourse. This was with a view to stepping up from the indoor heated 'Leisure' Pool to the real work of ploughing through the considerably more head numbing River Earn.
Anticipating another delivery from e-Bay, this time of a secondhand wetsuit ('Used once') and reputed to be specific to swimming, I thought it best to reconnoiter the riverbank with a view to immersion before the weather and the water warms up fully.
Despite all the news about Scotttish salmon dying in their thousands because a water temperature of 20 degrees C. is apparently lethal, the Earn felt like it was a good bit less than that today when I stuck my hand in for about two seconds...
Another worry, besides the temperature and the possibility of drowning, will be the avoidance of entanglement with local anglers and their paraphernalia.
If all else fails I, or indeed Isabelle, can always re-advertise the wetsuit as 'used twice'.
Anticipating another delivery from e-Bay, this time of a secondhand wetsuit ('Used once') and reputed to be specific to swimming, I thought it best to reconnoiter the riverbank with a view to immersion before the weather and the water warms up fully.
Despite all the news about Scotttish salmon dying in their thousands because a water temperature of 20 degrees C. is apparently lethal, the Earn felt like it was a good bit less than that today when I stuck my hand in for about two seconds...
Another worry, besides the temperature and the possibility of drowning, will be the avoidance of entanglement with local anglers and their paraphernalia.
If all else fails I, or indeed Isabelle, can always re-advertise the wetsuit as 'used twice'.
27th March. Dr Romanov and The Bicycle.
Unless Dr. Romanov's centre of gravity is substantially altered by an immense beer belly his advice concerning maximum cycling efficiency may involve taking a hacksaw to my brothers bike.
This information came to light once the bicycle was connected to the giant hamster wheel. According to the Doctor, the weight of one's body is most effective when above the pushing of the pedals. Thus one is in effect permanently falling over the handlebars and gravity does all the work.
His idea is that one cannot push any harder than one's own weight (true enough). This is the maximum force that could ever be exerted. It's possible then that a massively overdeveloped stomach when coupled with the correct seating position could be a winner... but only in The Tour de France, probably not in a Triathlon.
This information came to light once the bicycle was connected to the giant hamster wheel. According to the Doctor, the weight of one's body is most effective when above the pushing of the pedals. Thus one is in effect permanently falling over the handlebars and gravity does all the work.
His idea is that one cannot push any harder than one's own weight (true enough). This is the maximum force that could ever be exerted. It's possible then that a massively overdeveloped stomach when coupled with the correct seating position could be a winner... but only in The Tour de France, probably not in a Triathlon.
26th March. Happy Arsemas.
Scarred for life and yet that unseemly boil has acted as a spur to action for precisely one calendar year.
I must congratulate my bottom. Of course it's an ill wind indeed that blows no good, those voracious bacteria acted as a timely mid-life shot across the bows together with the laboured breathing of my fellow patients on the ward during that brief hospitalization. Sadly some of these will no doubt have breathed their last, before this anniversary.
I had to sit and twiddle my thumbs tonight for at least an hour whilst Isabelle was 'giving a talk' in Dundee. From the vantage of the car park I could see that piece of kinetic public art redolent of H G Wells' War of the Worlds. The surroundings have certainly changed since the day I played some part in its final placement. That day, one of the main problems concerned emptying ones bladder at such a conspicuous site.
Anyway, over a decade has passed since, I'm surprised it's still standing and capable of movement, a bit like me...
I must congratulate my bottom. Of course it's an ill wind indeed that blows no good, those voracious bacteria acted as a timely mid-life shot across the bows together with the laboured breathing of my fellow patients on the ward during that brief hospitalization. Sadly some of these will no doubt have breathed their last, before this anniversary.
I had to sit and twiddle my thumbs tonight for at least an hour whilst Isabelle was 'giving a talk' in Dundee. From the vantage of the car park I could see that piece of kinetic public art redolent of H G Wells' War of the Worlds. The surroundings have certainly changed since the day I played some part in its final placement. That day, one of the main problems concerned emptying ones bladder at such a conspicuous site.
Anyway, over a decade has passed since, I'm surprised it's still standing and capable of movement, a bit like me...
25th March. Labels for this post: bore, running, Dr. Romanov.
When it comes to running 10k I'm hoping to steal a march on the other competitors by following the techniques of one Dr Romanov. No relation, presumably, to The House of Romanov last imperial dynasty of Russia, although maybe that explains why the good Doctor's shacked up in Florida?
There always seems to be some special credibility lent to anyone with a name like Dr Romanov particularly when coupled with the mystique of a heavy foreign accent. Dr Romanov's techniques seem to revolve around letting gravity do the work, ie falling, I mean, for instance it would be difficult to run if you were weightless in space.
Of course it's all fascinating to me, if no one else. As Junior was fond of telling me "I only had three topics of conversation":
1. Posture
2. The screenplay to If..
and
3. I can't actually remember what the third one was, I'll have to ask.
There always seems to be some special credibility lent to anyone with a name like Dr Romanov particularly when coupled with the mystique of a heavy foreign accent. Dr Romanov's techniques seem to revolve around letting gravity do the work, ie falling, I mean, for instance it would be difficult to run if you were weightless in space.
Of course it's all fascinating to me, if no one else. As Junior was fond of telling me "I only had three topics of conversation":
1. Posture
2. The screenplay to If..
and
3. I can't actually remember what the third one was, I'll have to ask.
24th March. When People That Live Here Die.
Just in case we were both killed on the M90, Isabelle felt it necessary to leave word about Tigger, who wasn't coming to Edinburgh and was staying in the kitchen, because if we died no one would know and Tigger's bladder would explode (see previous).
After a few days, as well as the dead cat, they would find on the kitchen table a pair of 'Shimano Dura Ace' pedals awaiting fitment, and a cheap heart rate monitor. They'd say "Well, he's never going to do that Triathlon now, is he? Some of this stuff might fetch a bit on e-bay, otherwise the rest can go to charity shops. And oh, can you phone Holden's Environmental for a skip"?
A couple of days should be enough to completely clear away one's existence. Well, three days maximum, that's how long it took me to destroy the remaining evidence of the previous owners thirty year occupancy of this house.
After a few days, as well as the dead cat, they would find on the kitchen table a pair of 'Shimano Dura Ace' pedals awaiting fitment, and a cheap heart rate monitor. They'd say "Well, he's never going to do that Triathlon now, is he? Some of this stuff might fetch a bit on e-bay, otherwise the rest can go to charity shops. And oh, can you phone Holden's Environmental for a skip"?
A couple of days should be enough to completely clear away one's existence. Well, three days maximum, that's how long it took me to destroy the remaining evidence of the previous owners thirty year occupancy of this house.
23rd March. Silicon Face.
I can never quite get a 100% seal with swimming goggles even yet (see earlier), due to being very bony or just plain deformed about the face, maybe if I was a bit more fat and puffy about the eyes they would seal ok.
After giving some thought to the matter a solution presented itself in the guise of that trusted and indispensible product, silicon rubber. The instructions always say "Ensure surface is dry and free from grease" , so logically if the surface was very greasy it wouldn't stick at all?
What better way to form a perfect mating surface with one's face, simply, pre-oil face, apply silicon rubber to the goggles, put on goggles, tighten strap, wait until the curing process is finished then remove to observe a custom shaped soft rubber seal that can only fit the one visage.
I selected a bottle of skin care lotion from the many in the bathroom and rubbed well into the forehead and around the necassary contours. The Clear Silicon Rubber was a small tube provided with Selkirk Chimney products which must be good stuff, I applied a liberal quantity and positioned the goggles. Sorted.
After about two seconds the Acetic acid released during the curing process began to cause my eyes to water, so I shut them. After a minute had elapsed there was a noticeable burning sensation in the skin in contact with the silicon. I prised the goggles off, reasoning that my face would still leave an impression but the suction was so high the moulding effect was compromised. The burning continued unchecked.
Keeping my eyes shut I made my way to the bathroom via the porch fumbling around for abrasive hand cleaner, all that stuff about not sticking to oil isn't strictly true. The abrasive action of the cleaner made some impression, well, enough to be safe to reopen my eyes.
The rest of it I was able to pick off like peeling skin whilst watching some drama on BBC1.
After giving some thought to the matter a solution presented itself in the guise of that trusted and indispensible product, silicon rubber. The instructions always say "Ensure surface is dry and free from grease" , so logically if the surface was very greasy it wouldn't stick at all?
What better way to form a perfect mating surface with one's face, simply, pre-oil face, apply silicon rubber to the goggles, put on goggles, tighten strap, wait until the curing process is finished then remove to observe a custom shaped soft rubber seal that can only fit the one visage.
I selected a bottle of skin care lotion from the many in the bathroom and rubbed well into the forehead and around the necassary contours. The Clear Silicon Rubber was a small tube provided with Selkirk Chimney products which must be good stuff, I applied a liberal quantity and positioned the goggles. Sorted.
After about two seconds the Acetic acid released during the curing process began to cause my eyes to water, so I shut them. After a minute had elapsed there was a noticeable burning sensation in the skin in contact with the silicon. I prised the goggles off, reasoning that my face would still leave an impression but the suction was so high the moulding effect was compromised. The burning continued unchecked.
Keeping my eyes shut I made my way to the bathroom via the porch fumbling around for abrasive hand cleaner, all that stuff about not sticking to oil isn't strictly true. The abrasive action of the cleaner made some impression, well, enough to be safe to reopen my eyes.
The rest of it I was able to pick off like peeling skin whilst watching some drama on BBC1.
22nd March. Cat Bladder World.
Life seems to be revolving around the cat's bladder these days.
"Could I drive to the vet first thing to have his catheter taken out?" Then drive him back home, of course, then do a full day's work with my head down a chimney.
I tell a lie, it wasn't really a full day's work because I didn't have enough bricks with me and the job may prove actually easier than first thought, for once. I may have to 'spin it out a bit' as we call it in the trade, to justify the exorbitant fee already quoted and accepted.
I've no need to feel guilty though, who else are they going to get to do it? I was even recommended by some other guy who started up with an ad in the Yellow Pages, but it must have been too much hassle, which it is. Besides I can't think of anything else to do for a living, and it gets you out of the house away from things like 'Tigger's bladder', for instance.
I came back early full of purpose and started pulling the car apart again only to be summoned to the vets, this time for pills that make a Human pee and presumably a cat as well, by tomorrow morning. If not I can see another trip to the vet's looming.
"Could I drive to the vet first thing to have his catheter taken out?" Then drive him back home, of course, then do a full day's work with my head down a chimney.
I tell a lie, it wasn't really a full day's work because I didn't have enough bricks with me and the job may prove actually easier than first thought, for once. I may have to 'spin it out a bit' as we call it in the trade, to justify the exorbitant fee already quoted and accepted.
I've no need to feel guilty though, who else are they going to get to do it? I was even recommended by some other guy who started up with an ad in the Yellow Pages, but it must have been too much hassle, which it is. Besides I can't think of anything else to do for a living, and it gets you out of the house away from things like 'Tigger's bladder', for instance.
I came back early full of purpose and started pulling the car apart again only to be summoned to the vets, this time for pills that make a Human pee and presumably a cat as well, by tomorrow morning. If not I can see another trip to the vet's looming.
21st March. A Doddle Actually.
It's all been some kind of mistake. I'm not meant to be welding patches on the sills of this car. As a general rule when a vehicle reaches this point of biodegradation it should be sent for 'recycling'.
However a cursory inspection serves to foster the delusion that all that's needed "Is a spot of weld" before the annual MOT Certificate will be firmly in my grasp. In fact, merely a formality guaranteeing another year of fully legal motoring.
Once work is well under way the full extent of the corrosion is revealed. Having taken the nearside rear wheel off to get a better view, the rubber mats are visible through parts of the floor.
It's a classic case.
However a cursory inspection serves to foster the delusion that all that's needed "Is a spot of weld" before the annual MOT Certificate will be firmly in my grasp. In fact, merely a formality guaranteeing another year of fully legal motoring.
Once work is well under way the full extent of the corrosion is revealed. Having taken the nearside rear wheel off to get a better view, the rubber mats are visible through parts of the floor.
It's a classic case.
20th March. A Lovely meal Out.
"Can you eat as you drive?" asks Isabelle when I'm halfway through my Fish Supper in a parking space. This irritates me, but we pull out and set off nonetheless, at a slightly too aggressive pace for driving in town at night, especially whilst eating chips.
"I'll have to get out if you don't slow down and spend the night in Dundee" warns Isabelle, the thought of more expense has the desired effect of moderating our progress.
We have to get back home 'tout de suite' in case Tigger's catheter, which is held in with stitches, has snagged on something in the kitchen and pulled his penis off...
Tigger isn't any more seriously damaged than he already was, in fact the paralysed back legs have a bit of twitching in them now.
"I'll have to get out if you don't slow down and spend the night in Dundee" warns Isabelle, the thought of more expense has the desired effect of moderating our progress.
We have to get back home 'tout de suite' in case Tigger's catheter, which is held in with stitches, has snagged on something in the kitchen and pulled his penis off...
Tigger isn't any more seriously damaged than he already was, in fact the paralysed back legs have a bit of twitching in them now.
19th March. I Thought I was Reasonably Fit????
I headed off for a circuit round to the local shop on the bike which was wasted on my brother as fast as humanly possible, leaving the stopwatch, which is handily provided inside every mobile phone, on the window sill. Twelve mins 3 secs. I repeated the route in the Daihatsu; yes, 1 lap to the shop is 4.66 kms. A quick calculation points to the distinct possibilty of coming last in the 40 km cycling section of that Triathlon thing I've already paid £45 to enter.
Not only that, I ended up feeling a bit sick from lack of oxygen; the hamster wheel attachment can't come soon enough. I've also taken the liberty, as much as I'm disinclined to gadgetry, of purchasing a discontinued heart rate monitor from e-bay, after reading some guff about maintaining a pulse rate that is calculated from age and what have you, which comes out at 136.
I thought I was reasonably fit but I was way off, way off! For instance, with the swimming, it took me 37 mins to swim the allotted number of lengths the other night, and that's after practicing for a good few months. The fastest time in last years Triathlon thing was 19mins!
This was the world record in 1927, but this currently stands at 14mins something.
In-credible!
Not only that, I ended up feeling a bit sick from lack of oxygen; the hamster wheel attachment can't come soon enough. I've also taken the liberty, as much as I'm disinclined to gadgetry, of purchasing a discontinued heart rate monitor from e-bay, after reading some guff about maintaining a pulse rate that is calculated from age and what have you, which comes out at 136.
I thought I was reasonably fit but I was way off, way off! For instance, with the swimming, it took me 37 mins to swim the allotted number of lengths the other night, and that's after practicing for a good few months. The fastest time in last years Triathlon thing was 19mins!
This was the world record in 1927, but this currently stands at 14mins something.
In-credible!
18th March. Tom Cat Catheter.
Poor old Tigger (see previous) has been released from the vet's, now with suspected nerve damage in the lower spine - from what, it's not that clear. Clarification can be bought for roughly £1500 by way of a Cat Scan (No pun intended).
Tigger is happy enough and seems his usual self, apart from being half paralysed and unable to empty his bladder. Isabelle has been given a crash course in Tom cat catheterisation, not an easy procedure emptying a cat's bladder and something to look forward to in the morning.
Whether there is any chance of recovery remains to be seen, it could be some calcified lump between the vertebrae, as there doesn't appear to be any sign of injury.
I'm kind of dreading having a catheter fitted myself (assuming I ever live that long).
Tigger is happy enough and seems his usual self, apart from being half paralysed and unable to empty his bladder. Isabelle has been given a crash course in Tom cat catheterisation, not an easy procedure emptying a cat's bladder and something to look forward to in the morning.
Whether there is any chance of recovery remains to be seen, it could be some calcified lump between the vertebrae, as there doesn't appear to be any sign of injury.
I'm kind of dreading having a catheter fitted myself (assuming I ever live that long).
17th March. Tigger The Half Cat.
8am found me crawling on my stomach along the bottom of the hedge behind the container with instructions to retrieve Tigger, missing for two days.
Reaching under to grab him he made no attempt to evade capture which was uncharacteristic. Having pulled him out the reason for this became clear, both of his back legs were all floppy and lifeless.
Obviously another 'urgence medical'. The usual vet, Dr. Death, wasn't due in for another two hours, which may have been a blessing as Dr Death is a strong advocate of euthanasia and usually manages to dispatch the patient anyway during the course of treatment.
The competition around the corner was able to offer a swift diagnosis 'an illiac thrombosis' this is a clot that cuts off the blood supply to the back legs. Prognosis is not good, drugs are administered to hopefully dissolve the clot.
The fitting of a rear axle with a pair of wheels probably isn't practical, poor Tigger's existence hangs in the balance, dear oh dear... and costs are rising.
Reaching under to grab him he made no attempt to evade capture which was uncharacteristic. Having pulled him out the reason for this became clear, both of his back legs were all floppy and lifeless.
Obviously another 'urgence medical'. The usual vet, Dr. Death, wasn't due in for another two hours, which may have been a blessing as Dr Death is a strong advocate of euthanasia and usually manages to dispatch the patient anyway during the course of treatment.
The competition around the corner was able to offer a swift diagnosis 'an illiac thrombosis' this is a clot that cuts off the blood supply to the back legs. Prognosis is not good, drugs are administered to hopefully dissolve the clot.
The fitting of a rear axle with a pair of wheels probably isn't practical, poor Tigger's existence hangs in the balance, dear oh dear... and costs are rising.
16th March. The Magic Movie Camera. (A Dream of Speculation)
I find myself in receipt of a cardboard box containing an old 8mm movie camera and a selection of reels of film. For some reason these can be watched without a projector, through the medium of the camera.
We start to watch one, a fascinating picture of the town some time ago, "This movie has the capacity to transport you to the past" I remark, actually quite literally, it appears. We are now standing at the corner of Glenearn Road, work is in progress on the building of Tesco, the first one that was demolished a few years ago.
The roads are quieter too and judging by the model of Ford Escort this must be about 1967?
I have an idea, it's Thursday, property day in 'The Courier', let's have a look at the price of flats! We could buy half a dozen at a hugely reduced price, then return to the present day and - Bingo!
A newsagent beckons, I pick up a copy of the long running newspaper, wait a minute though, is this pre-decimalisation? How can I pay for it with money that hasn't even been invented yet?
I leaf through the paper, there are some grainy school photos that have made the local news section, there I am in a group shot.
Maybe this is 1971?
"Is this definitely today's date" I ask the shop assistant, who understandably looks at me as if I am mental. I fumble through a handful of loose change looking for coins with older dates on... otherwise it could precipitate an enquiry.
"23 pence..?"
Aaaach! It's all so confusing. Does it really matter about the dates? I've got a 20 pence piece... but didn't they come in at a later date?
We start to watch one, a fascinating picture of the town some time ago, "This movie has the capacity to transport you to the past" I remark, actually quite literally, it appears. We are now standing at the corner of Glenearn Road, work is in progress on the building of Tesco, the first one that was demolished a few years ago.
The roads are quieter too and judging by the model of Ford Escort this must be about 1967?
I have an idea, it's Thursday, property day in 'The Courier', let's have a look at the price of flats! We could buy half a dozen at a hugely reduced price, then return to the present day and - Bingo!
A newsagent beckons, I pick up a copy of the long running newspaper, wait a minute though, is this pre-decimalisation? How can I pay for it with money that hasn't even been invented yet?
I leaf through the paper, there are some grainy school photos that have made the local news section, there I am in a group shot.
Maybe this is 1971?
"Is this definitely today's date" I ask the shop assistant, who understandably looks at me as if I am mental. I fumble through a handful of loose change looking for coins with older dates on... otherwise it could precipitate an enquiry.
"23 pence..?"
Aaaach! It's all so confusing. Does it really matter about the dates? I've got a 20 pence piece... but didn't they come in at a later date?
15th March. Achievable Goals, Pointless Exercise.
The Training Pool seems to have got shorter. 60 lengths isn't the same as it was a few weeks ago, it's the only explanation. Now we can tick one box and move on.
Next up is the purchase of a giant hamster wheel, the secret weapon in winning the war against Cycling Fatigue. This connects to the back wheel and has a few magnets in it, with a bit of ingenuity the device could power the television for Isabelle's benefit.
Running poses a special problem which I intend to solve by recruiting someone with a driving licence, ie not Isabelle. I don't know if you've ever seen yourself running on a video, there's always one leg going all awry which not only wastes energy but also virtually guarantees a hip replacement, long term.
The corrective procedure involves attaching a wardrobe door with full length mirror to the back of the car, then following at a close distance at a pre-agreed pace...
Next up is the purchase of a giant hamster wheel, the secret weapon in winning the war against Cycling Fatigue. This connects to the back wheel and has a few magnets in it, with a bit of ingenuity the device could power the television for Isabelle's benefit.
Running poses a special problem which I intend to solve by recruiting someone with a driving licence, ie not Isabelle. I don't know if you've ever seen yourself running on a video, there's always one leg going all awry which not only wastes energy but also virtually guarantees a hip replacement, long term.
The corrective procedure involves attaching a wardrobe door with full length mirror to the back of the car, then following at a close distance at a pre-agreed pace...
14th March. An Unproductive Morning.
Mr & Mrs S. are at that stage in life between finishing work and going into a care home.
"You'll be alright for a pension if you've still got a 25% share in the company" I said.
"I didn't even start thinking about a pension until I was 55" replied the former Managing Director.
Mr S. seemed to have a bit of a strop on today, there he was all gloved up and hacking away at gorse bushes lathered in sweat the way that retired people do. I motioned to him across the windswept grassland that his opinion was required yet again regarding the positioning of the stove, which is Ivory coloured to match the 3 piece suite.
As a former CEO Mr S is mindful only of results and productivity, not labour relations, whereas I am more concerned with not bringing down the living room ceiling and other potential disasters.
The view from the living room takes in another white elephant, the 'mothballed' Hyundai semi-conductor plant, a bit of a disaster for the British tax payer. Mr S. gave me a lecture on the decline of manufacturing, how workers in the UK want £27.50 an hour as against £2.50 in the far-east.
"We just canny compete with that".
"You'll be alright for a pension if you've still got a 25% share in the company" I said.
"I didn't even start thinking about a pension until I was 55" replied the former Managing Director.
Mr S. seemed to have a bit of a strop on today, there he was all gloved up and hacking away at gorse bushes lathered in sweat the way that retired people do. I motioned to him across the windswept grassland that his opinion was required yet again regarding the positioning of the stove, which is Ivory coloured to match the 3 piece suite.
As a former CEO Mr S is mindful only of results and productivity, not labour relations, whereas I am more concerned with not bringing down the living room ceiling and other potential disasters.
The view from the living room takes in another white elephant, the 'mothballed' Hyundai semi-conductor plant, a bit of a disaster for the British tax payer. Mr S. gave me a lecture on the decline of manufacturing, how workers in the UK want £27.50 an hour as against £2.50 in the far-east.
"We just canny compete with that".
13th March. Back in Circulation.
In an idle moment I gazed out of the window over the motorway to the site of the former open cast coal mine, now pleasantly grassed over.
The umpteen millions of tons of carbon are long gone, having been burnt and returned to the atmosphere for better or worse. This is so we can enjoy life with the convenience of electricity.
In the process somebody's farm was swallowed up, not to mention the farmhouse. That's how this palatial testament to the tastes of the 80's was erected on this side of the M90 as compensation for the retiring farmer. A gentleman now, sadly, also returned to the atmosphere and carbon cycle.
The umpteen millions of tons of carbon are long gone, having been burnt and returned to the atmosphere for better or worse. This is so we can enjoy life with the convenience of electricity.
In the process somebody's farm was swallowed up, not to mention the farmhouse. That's how this palatial testament to the tastes of the 80's was erected on this side of the M90 as compensation for the retiring farmer. A gentleman now, sadly, also returned to the atmosphere and carbon cycle.
12th March. Talk Dirty Then.
"You must get sick of seeing other peoples' roofs all the time" said the friendly oak flooring man with a strangely out of place West Country accent, although for all I know he could have been from Kent.
"It's a living" I replied.
"Still getting a job then" said the friendly bicycle selling man in between the showers of rain.
"There's always people waiting for me" I said.
"It's a pity it's so strenuous, nothing's easy though" he added.
There always has to be easier ways, surely, of making a living, these premium rate phone numbers seem to be quite a good earner.
It's a known fact there must be people, that is men, who have some sort of sexual predilection to anything you'd care to mention - Chimneys for instance:
"....Yeah well, there was this really big chimney in an eighteenth century terrace house, two storey, right? Very lumpy...mmm.... Blocked solid with soot and twigs, absolutely filthy and d'you know what? The middle chimney pot had fallen in, disgusting. I had to break in through the attic, and give it a good hammering with the vibrating hammer before I could even think about 8 metres of 6 inch 904 flexible and etc etc...
Call Charge £1/min.
"It's a living" I replied.
"Still getting a job then" said the friendly bicycle selling man in between the showers of rain.
"There's always people waiting for me" I said.
"It's a pity it's so strenuous, nothing's easy though" he added.
There always has to be easier ways, surely, of making a living, these premium rate phone numbers seem to be quite a good earner.
It's a known fact there must be people, that is men, who have some sort of sexual predilection to anything you'd care to mention - Chimneys for instance:
"....Yeah well, there was this really big chimney in an eighteenth century terrace house, two storey, right? Very lumpy...mmm.... Blocked solid with soot and twigs, absolutely filthy and d'you know what? The middle chimney pot had fallen in, disgusting. I had to break in through the attic, and give it a good hammering with the vibrating hammer before I could even think about 8 metres of 6 inch 904 flexible and etc etc...
Call Charge £1/min.
11th March. The 'Chicken 'n' Mushroom' Tree.
"It's weird without the tree there anymore", was tonight's comment.
The 'Chicken and Mushroom' Tree had to go as it was beginning to cast a shadow not only over the house but also the marriage.
The 'Mushroom' tree transmogrified to the 'Chicken and Mushroom' tree after it became the habitual roost of various fowl that repeatedly refused to spend the night in the relatively soundproof hen house. The resultant neighbourhood reveille, anticipating dawn by several hours, was becoming a source of domestic disharmony.
The time for debate was over, the Robin would have to find an alternative perch for singing, the Blue Tits would have to swoop down to the peanuts from somewhere else.
Over the years the Robin, who favours the very top of this particular Leylandii, had been relentlessly pushed towards the stratosphere. At one time the bird was level with the upstairs windows, but nowadays had become practically inaudible from ground level.
A few years ago the tree had previously threatened the marriage when in an uncharacteristic frenzy I took a saw to the lower branches after another Blue Tit had been ambushed by Jiminy the cat.
"What the *uck have you done to the tree!!?" yelled Isabelle, "That was a beautiful tree!"
"It'll grow back" I answered menacingly, still wielding the saw. Of course it never did and the result was a tree that looked like a mushroom.
The 'Chicken and Mushroom' Tree had to go as it was beginning to cast a shadow not only over the house but also the marriage.
The 'Mushroom' tree transmogrified to the 'Chicken and Mushroom' tree after it became the habitual roost of various fowl that repeatedly refused to spend the night in the relatively soundproof hen house. The resultant neighbourhood reveille, anticipating dawn by several hours, was becoming a source of domestic disharmony.
The time for debate was over, the Robin would have to find an alternative perch for singing, the Blue Tits would have to swoop down to the peanuts from somewhere else.
Over the years the Robin, who favours the very top of this particular Leylandii, had been relentlessly pushed towards the stratosphere. At one time the bird was level with the upstairs windows, but nowadays had become practically inaudible from ground level.
A few years ago the tree had previously threatened the marriage when in an uncharacteristic frenzy I took a saw to the lower branches after another Blue Tit had been ambushed by Jiminy the cat.
"What the *uck have you done to the tree!!?" yelled Isabelle, "That was a beautiful tree!"
"It'll grow back" I answered menacingly, still wielding the saw. Of course it never did and the result was a tree that looked like a mushroom.
10th March. Care Home Hullabaloo.
Accusations were flying this week apparently, down at the Care Home. Mother got a bit obstreperous with the staff insisting that her ruby ring '...Was missing and must have been stolen'! By all accounts it took about two hours to get her calmed down. The jewellery in question had in fact been given to my brother for safekeeping about two years ago, which he explained to her the next day when she raised the issue again.
The facts regarding memory seem to be, in essence, last thing in - first thing out, so explanations of any sort only have a temporary effect.
An 'assessment' is on the cards, which always sounds a bit sinister to me, smacking a bit of the Third Reich, but really it will likely be a variant of the 'Tony Blair Test' (see previous). I wonder what they ask if the Tony Blair Test is considered too difficult?
'She always was domineering' admits my brother, well if that's not an understatement I don't know what is.
Having shed a fair amount of data processing, mainly social convention and polite chat, it seems we are left with the core user-interface of the operating system itself, which is "I WANT TO SEE THE MANAGER!"
The facts regarding memory seem to be, in essence, last thing in - first thing out, so explanations of any sort only have a temporary effect.
An 'assessment' is on the cards, which always sounds a bit sinister to me, smacking a bit of the Third Reich, but really it will likely be a variant of the 'Tony Blair Test' (see previous). I wonder what they ask if the Tony Blair Test is considered too difficult?
'She always was domineering' admits my brother, well if that's not an understatement I don't know what is.
Having shed a fair amount of data processing, mainly social convention and polite chat, it seems we are left with the core user-interface of the operating system itself, which is "I WANT TO SEE THE MANAGER!"
9th March. How Green Was My Depression?
I even joined the Green Party and stood as a candidate in the local elections. Course I was younger then, I got a bit depressed about the planet in the mid 1980's and to think all that hand-wringing was in vain. Thanks to Channel 4, a weight may have been lifted, there may be no need to maintain that life-denying pessimism that's so much a part of me, may be the atmosphere isn't going to boil off by 2010 leaving us with a climate like Mars.
Global Warming may not be everything it's been hyped-up to be, but let's not forget the plight of the Orang-Utan and the Sumatran Tiger. I'm still paying WWF £2 a-month direct debit to ensure they don't go the same way as the Giant Moa and whatever other things we've killed off, including several species of human beings, Neanderthals et al.
Yes, the forest in Borneo is cleared to produce Palm oil to make margarine that may give you a 'healthy heart' yeah well I'd rather keep the Tiger and eat butter.
But about these Ice cores, does the CO2 level lag 1000 years behind the Global temperature or not? And if it does what other explanation is there other than CO2 not causing temperature rise?
Cosmic Rays and Climate yes
http://denmark.dk/portal/page?_pageid=374,931599&_dad=portal&_schema=PORTAL
Cosmic Rays and climate no
http://www.realclimate.org/index.php/archives/2006/10/taking-cosmic-rays-for-a-spin/
Global Warming may not be everything it's been hyped-up to be, but let's not forget the plight of the Orang-Utan and the Sumatran Tiger. I'm still paying WWF £2 a-month direct debit to ensure they don't go the same way as the Giant Moa and whatever other things we've killed off, including several species of human beings, Neanderthals et al.
Yes, the forest in Borneo is cleared to produce Palm oil to make margarine that may give you a 'healthy heart' yeah well I'd rather keep the Tiger and eat butter.
But about these Ice cores, does the CO2 level lag 1000 years behind the Global temperature or not? And if it does what other explanation is there other than CO2 not causing temperature rise?
Cosmic Rays and Climate yes
http://denmark.dk/portal/page?_pageid=374,931599&_dad=portal&_schema=PORTAL
Cosmic Rays and climate no
http://www.realclimate.org/index.php/archives/2006/10/taking-cosmic-rays-for-a-spin/
8th March. Global Warming, My Arse?
According to Channel 4, man-made Global warming is a complete scam. It's always the ice cores dating back thousands of years that are held up as incontrovertible proof that there's a link between CO2 levels and global temperature.
There is a link but apparently the line of CO2 follows the line of temperature, not the other way round. That is CO2 doesn't cause the temperature change. As the oceans warm up, less CO2 can be held in them and so this ends up in the atmosphere.
The Global temperature closely follows solar activity. They say when there's more solar wind, as in more sun spots, this reduces the amount of cosmic rays reaching Earth's atmosphere. The cosmic rays have something to do with cloud formation, so less cosmic rays mean less clouds and therefore a warmer temperature.
This will be good news for sea levels here, we may not have to move house after all, but possibly bad news for cousin B. whose career depends on persuading us all to reduce CO2 emmisons. Junior was just through telling me on the phone that the Earth was *ucked, possibly, but in this light it will be from the Political chaos due to the oil running out rather than the Climate chaos from burning it.
There is a link but apparently the line of CO2 follows the line of temperature, not the other way round. That is CO2 doesn't cause the temperature change. As the oceans warm up, less CO2 can be held in them and so this ends up in the atmosphere.
The Global temperature closely follows solar activity. They say when there's more solar wind, as in more sun spots, this reduces the amount of cosmic rays reaching Earth's atmosphere. The cosmic rays have something to do with cloud formation, so less cosmic rays mean less clouds and therefore a warmer temperature.
This will be good news for sea levels here, we may not have to move house after all, but possibly bad news for cousin B. whose career depends on persuading us all to reduce CO2 emmisons. Junior was just through telling me on the phone that the Earth was *ucked, possibly, but in this light it will be from the Political chaos due to the oil running out rather than the Climate chaos from burning it.
7th March. The Aristocrats.
I get a call from Lady Somebody-or-other after a chimney fire. The Aristocracy are normally the preserve of Old W., one of the few competitors in the field, who, they say, only works for the 'Titled'.
According to Lady So-and-So, 'Old W. is unavailable due to ill health' but having briefly assessed the job it seems likely that Old W. could be simply feigning illness in order to avoid the hassle, adhering to the maxim of 'picking the low-hanging fruit'. On the other hand, Old W. may have something terminal, which would leave a clear monopoly apart from Old R. who is practically up for retirement anyway.
Old Lord So-and-So is wheeled into the sitting room well wrapped in a tweed blanket with the housekeeper in attendance, on the off chance of catching any new pronouncement on the chimney. Old W's quote was 'nothing short of extortion' according to her Ladyship, so I was keen to learn something, for once, of his current pricing structure. In truth, the figure was only marginally more extortionate than what could be considered 'reasonable'.
I don't understand Old W's penchant for the Nobility as they invariably have little money, just large draughty houses and a few ponies in fields. I suggested Her Ladyship tries it on with their house insurer and meanwhile agreed to carry out a Colonoscopy on the living room chimney this Friday.
According to Lady So-and-So, 'Old W. is unavailable due to ill health' but having briefly assessed the job it seems likely that Old W. could be simply feigning illness in order to avoid the hassle, adhering to the maxim of 'picking the low-hanging fruit'. On the other hand, Old W. may have something terminal, which would leave a clear monopoly apart from Old R. who is practically up for retirement anyway.
Old Lord So-and-So is wheeled into the sitting room well wrapped in a tweed blanket with the housekeeper in attendance, on the off chance of catching any new pronouncement on the chimney. Old W's quote was 'nothing short of extortion' according to her Ladyship, so I was keen to learn something, for once, of his current pricing structure. In truth, the figure was only marginally more extortionate than what could be considered 'reasonable'.
I don't understand Old W's penchant for the Nobility as they invariably have little money, just large draughty houses and a few ponies in fields. I suggested Her Ladyship tries it on with their house insurer and meanwhile agreed to carry out a Colonoscopy on the living room chimney this Friday.
6th March. Why Holidays Ruin You.
"Your job's quite exciting!" said Mr. B. looking up and casting an eye over the huge hole in his gable wall. For a moment I looked at him dumbfounded, "Well that's certainly a novel take on things" I replied.
There's a generally accepted rule that everybody in employment secretly harbours a desire for an entirely different career. The Pharmacist that wanted to be a farmer, the Engineer that wanted to be an Airline pilot etc etc.
Mr B. had been a Headteacher, not a vocation I can say has ever really appealed and an increasingly unappealing career choice to everyone else, hence the crisis in education. As the exception that proves the rule I seem to lack that inner calling for an alternative profession or in fact any known type of work.
The second day back is worse than the first. The first at least had an aspect of novelty. From the vantage of the second, holes in walls etc stretch ahead to the horizon, like the converging of parallel railway lines,
By the third day I hope to have regained the more or less normal level of self-deception which is so vital in preserving mental health.
There's a generally accepted rule that everybody in employment secretly harbours a desire for an entirely different career. The Pharmacist that wanted to be a farmer, the Engineer that wanted to be an Airline pilot etc etc.
Mr B. had been a Headteacher, not a vocation I can say has ever really appealed and an increasingly unappealing career choice to everyone else, hence the crisis in education. As the exception that proves the rule I seem to lack that inner calling for an alternative profession or in fact any known type of work.
The second day back is worse than the first. The first at least had an aspect of novelty. From the vantage of the second, holes in walls etc stretch ahead to the horizon, like the converging of parallel railway lines,
By the third day I hope to have regained the more or less normal level of self-deception which is so vital in preserving mental health.
5th March. Back To (Harsh) Reality (With a Bump).
Mr B. looked a little drawn this morning and announced that shortly he would be 'Having to leave me to it' and 'Did I mind?' as he had to depart forthwith to pick up Mrs B. from hospital.
'Oh?' I replied.
'Yes we've had quite a weekend of it, I must admit.
Mrs B. had been cleaning the kitchen window when she crashed down on the recently ceramic tiled floor shattering one wrist and incurring a concussion. 'Blood everywhere, had to wait three hours for an ambulance... She's not the most mobile of people' explained Mr B. (A litttle too heavy on the hips, if memory serves).
Looking around the B's living environment with a renewed perspective the cottage resembles an obstacle course for anyone with compromised mobility, decking with stairs (lethal when wet), rustic uneven steps down to the drying green, several dogs all with leads and the strength to pull you over.
Of course this is the likely future for most couples, luckily we have timber floors throughout which have the benefit of being a little more forgiving.
'Oh?' I replied.
'Yes we've had quite a weekend of it, I must admit.
Mrs B. had been cleaning the kitchen window when she crashed down on the recently ceramic tiled floor shattering one wrist and incurring a concussion. 'Blood everywhere, had to wait three hours for an ambulance... She's not the most mobile of people' explained Mr B. (A litttle too heavy on the hips, if memory serves).
Looking around the B's living environment with a renewed perspective the cottage resembles an obstacle course for anyone with compromised mobility, decking with stairs (lethal when wet), rustic uneven steps down to the drying green, several dogs all with leads and the strength to pull you over.
Of course this is the likely future for most couples, luckily we have timber floors throughout which have the benefit of being a little more forgiving.
4th March. I Meet Johnny Rotten.
It's a wet saturday afternoon and I find myself in a claustrophobic village hall somewhere in rural Wales. "It must be difficult when you're the only gay in the village" I chortle to the denim clad gent who happens to be sitting next to me, an oblique reference to the 'homosexualist' Daffyd living in the similarly narrow-minded fictional Welsh town of Llanddewi Brefi.
The man adjacent turns out to be Steve Jones ex-guitarist of the Sex Pistols "Let's get the *uck out of here" he says "D'you wanna go round and see Johnny Rotten?"
I give this suggestion a nod of assent.
A short walk and we are at the local BP Filling Station, to be greeted on the forecourt by the proprietor and former lead singer of the notorious punk band. I wonder that such an unruly character had the necessary business acumen and stability to acquire and run such an enterprise.
I try to enter into a discussion "You know... 'Holidays in The Sun'?" referring to the 4th single.
"Yeah?" he says wearily,
"Well there's never really been anything with the same drive and energy since...has there? " I enthuse.
"Yeah, whatever..." he mouths before returning to more pressing matters regarding driving and energy.
The man adjacent turns out to be Steve Jones ex-guitarist of the Sex Pistols "Let's get the *uck out of here" he says "D'you wanna go round and see Johnny Rotten?"
I give this suggestion a nod of assent.
A short walk and we are at the local BP Filling Station, to be greeted on the forecourt by the proprietor and former lead singer of the notorious punk band. I wonder that such an unruly character had the necessary business acumen and stability to acquire and run such an enterprise.
I try to enter into a discussion "You know... 'Holidays in The Sun'?" referring to the 4th single.
"Yeah?" he says wearily,
"Well there's never really been anything with the same drive and energy since...has there? " I enthuse.
"Yeah, whatever..." he mouths before returning to more pressing matters regarding driving and energy.
3rd March. "Gooooood morning, Tes-coooooooo!!"
Pulled in at Tesco with a view to provisioning for the coming week, the new dictate regarding tinned food coming immediately into force. The net result was that whole swathes of the store were now, what amounted to, no go areas.
Of course it would be impossible to reproduce the diet of the last three weeks in all its diversity; a customer could easily be left searching the aisles in vain for Live Eels, Chickens Feet, or Goat's Udder. The only goat products regularly stocked relate purely to the contents of the udder.
At the fresh fish counter all the fish are dead so they're not really that fresh. I bought a bag of Cashew nuts the only purchase in a full trolley that has the potential to keep longer than about three days.
Of course it would be impossible to reproduce the diet of the last three weeks in all its diversity; a customer could easily be left searching the aisles in vain for Live Eels, Chickens Feet, or Goat's Udder. The only goat products regularly stocked relate purely to the contents of the udder.
At the fresh fish counter all the fish are dead so they're not really that fresh. I bought a bag of Cashew nuts the only purchase in a full trolley that has the potential to keep longer than about three days.
2nd March. More Whims of Fortune/ How the Cookie Crumbles.
After an emotional farewell to Isabelle's Grandparents we pull up at the traffic lights in Trang-Bang, a coffin is being made ready over the road, someone has recently died.
Turns out the deceased was the rider of the motor cycle that was on it's side in the middle of the highway last night on the way back from the goat place.
The combination of alcohol and the belief in youthful invulnerability was pulled up short by the concrete barrier that separates the carriageways. The 22 year old had run a red light and collided with a Honda 50 pulling a trailer. All in a failed attempt to get away from the local police, no crash helmet of course. A more or less weekly occurence, so they say.
HOW THE COOKIE CRUMBLES.
Isabelle's dad hands over a small denomination note to a Saigon lottery ticket seller who is missing both arms.
There are other similar men to be seen on the streets , all about the same age, all with various amputations. Outside the ice-cream shop a regular feature is a man who wears a shoe on each hand and part of a car tyre where his legs should be. Another, who still has part of one leg, gets around on a skateboard.
"Who are these guys?" I enquire of Isabelle's dad.
"All soldiers of South Vietnamese army" is the answer. Not only unlucky enough to have something horrendous as having both legs blown off, they also happened to be on the losing side of the war.
As a result they hadn't exactly endeared themselves to the government of the last thirty years. They don't get any other money or help at all.
THE CASE AGAINST HEINZ.
One has to take for granted that any soujourn at the grass-roots level of rural Vietnam is bound to result in a catalogue of minor illness, even without eating the lettuce. I'm certainly glad to have taken a fleece as it proved to be still possible to feel cold, given the right contagion, with an air temperature languishing, in the mid 30's celsius.
What has perplexed me, despite the huge variance in diet and a daily consumption of spices, salt and beer, is the complete absence of the twin evils of indigestion and heartburn.
And yet barely out of Asia and some aspect of Air France catering 'doesn't agree'. Suspicion falls on tinned food - the Tuna. It can't be the fish itself, I've eaten more fish in 3 weeks than the last 3 years. It's all been fresh food, the only thing out of a can was beer, and most of that was in bottles anyway.
The research program will continue. No more beans ?
Turns out the deceased was the rider of the motor cycle that was on it's side in the middle of the highway last night on the way back from the goat place.
The combination of alcohol and the belief in youthful invulnerability was pulled up short by the concrete barrier that separates the carriageways. The 22 year old had run a red light and collided with a Honda 50 pulling a trailer. All in a failed attempt to get away from the local police, no crash helmet of course. A more or less weekly occurence, so they say.
HOW THE COOKIE CRUMBLES.
Isabelle's dad hands over a small denomination note to a Saigon lottery ticket seller who is missing both arms.
There are other similar men to be seen on the streets , all about the same age, all with various amputations. Outside the ice-cream shop a regular feature is a man who wears a shoe on each hand and part of a car tyre where his legs should be. Another, who still has part of one leg, gets around on a skateboard.
"Who are these guys?" I enquire of Isabelle's dad.
"All soldiers of South Vietnamese army" is the answer. Not only unlucky enough to have something horrendous as having both legs blown off, they also happened to be on the losing side of the war.
As a result they hadn't exactly endeared themselves to the government of the last thirty years. They don't get any other money or help at all.
THE CASE AGAINST HEINZ.
One has to take for granted that any soujourn at the grass-roots level of rural Vietnam is bound to result in a catalogue of minor illness, even without eating the lettuce. I'm certainly glad to have taken a fleece as it proved to be still possible to feel cold, given the right contagion, with an air temperature languishing, in the mid 30's celsius.
What has perplexed me, despite the huge variance in diet and a daily consumption of spices, salt and beer, is the complete absence of the twin evils of indigestion and heartburn.
And yet barely out of Asia and some aspect of Air France catering 'doesn't agree'. Suspicion falls on tinned food - the Tuna. It can't be the fish itself, I've eaten more fish in 3 weeks than the last 3 years. It's all been fresh food, the only thing out of a can was beer, and most of that was in bottles anyway.
The research program will continue. No more beans ?
1st March. Farewell to Trang-Bang.
A welcome return to the Goat Restaraunt 'en famille' marked the occasion of the Grand Finale here in Trang-Bang. This time the famous deep fried Goats Udder was augmented with some bring-your-own intestinal pig tripe, produced by Grandmother from a tupperware.
This was pretty good as tripe goes but at this late stage in life I don't know if I'll ever be a complete convert to chopped intestinal wall.
Earlier today lunch had featured another hitherto unseen delicacy; chicken soup with quail eggs, chicken salad and the piece de resistance, a platter of boiled chicken's feet.
The quail egg is excellent but I'm afraid I lacked the necessary courage for the boiled feet, partly because of the thought of those distorted, bumble-footed claws of 'Hettie' and 'The Cream Puff' et al, back home.
This was pretty good as tripe goes but at this late stage in life I don't know if I'll ever be a complete convert to chopped intestinal wall.
Earlier today lunch had featured another hitherto unseen delicacy; chicken soup with quail eggs, chicken salad and the piece de resistance, a platter of boiled chicken's feet.
The quail egg is excellent but I'm afraid I lacked the necessary courage for the boiled feet, partly because of the thought of those distorted, bumble-footed claws of 'Hettie' and 'The Cream Puff' et al, back home.
28th February. Sun.Sand and Squid.
Our last night on Phuquoc we were shown to a particularly fine table overlooking the sea and the just discernable red glow of the sun, now set. We ate an entree of bolied squid-rubber pieces, which I have become quite accustomed to.
The bright lights of the squid fishing boats lay strung out like a string of pearls across the blackness beyond the fringe of coconut palms.
This morning from the vantage of our early pre-flight balcony breakfast the last squid fisher turns off his lights. The floatilla of small boats head towards harbour across the grey sea in the grey light of approaching dawn.
Lacking the necessary cognitive ability to establish any belief regarding cause and effect the squid are condemned to forever fall for the same old trick with the lights. It's widely held that a pattern of causal thinking precedes, and indeed is, a prerequisite for language development.
For instance, a young squid will never ask "What are those lights for?" Similarly an older and wiser squid will never advise " Whatever you do don't go near the lights - you've been warned!"
The bright lights of the squid fishing boats lay strung out like a string of pearls across the blackness beyond the fringe of coconut palms.
This morning from the vantage of our early pre-flight balcony breakfast the last squid fisher turns off his lights. The floatilla of small boats head towards harbour across the grey sea in the grey light of approaching dawn.
Lacking the necessary cognitive ability to establish any belief regarding cause and effect the squid are condemned to forever fall for the same old trick with the lights. It's widely held that a pattern of causal thinking precedes, and indeed is, a prerequisite for language development.
For instance, a young squid will never ask "What are those lights for?" Similarly an older and wiser squid will never advise " Whatever you do don't go near the lights - you've been warned!"
27th February. Phuquoc - Not a Nice Place To Stay in The 1960's.
"It's just as well we get to swim first before lunch to forget about the prison" says Isabelle above the noise of the surf on another amazing beach of white sand.
If you happened to get on the wrong side of the South Vietnamese government in the 60's you might have also found yourself staying here on Phuquoc, in something less than four star accomodation along with 40,000 others. Needless to say this was the sharp end of a fairly brutal regime.
When lunch is served we have all spent a little too long in the sea, Isabelle for some reason without any sunscreen, is looking a bit like a BBQ'd prawn after less than an hour.
On the way back in the mini-bus my mind keeps dwelling on one particular barbarity, the torture of being put inside a roll of barbed wire in the full glare of the sun for days on end with a periodic dousing in salt water. "Seasoning" the guards called it, the result seems to have been complete loss of skin.
If you happened to get on the wrong side of the South Vietnamese government in the 60's you might have also found yourself staying here on Phuquoc, in something less than four star accomodation along with 40,000 others. Needless to say this was the sharp end of a fairly brutal regime.
When lunch is served we have all spent a little too long in the sea, Isabelle for some reason without any sunscreen, is looking a bit like a BBQ'd prawn after less than an hour.
On the way back in the mini-bus my mind keeps dwelling on one particular barbarity, the torture of being put inside a roll of barbed wire in the full glare of the sun for days on end with a periodic dousing in salt water. "Seasoning" the guards called it, the result seems to have been complete loss of skin.
26th February. Things Take Time.
The mini-bus grinds to a halt with the tell-tale sound of steam escaping at high pressure. "The other driver forgot to top up the water" explains our tour guide. Tch! If only life were that simple, in reality one fan belt is completely shredded.
The ergonomics of this particular Toyota are such that the engine is about as accessible as a ship in a bottle.
Luckily we are at a major intersection on the island; two dirt roads and a ramshackle cafe. We take tea and then we take coffee then tea again.
Eventually two mechanics arrive on a Honda with a bag of tools they proceed to strip off various components then go away again, it's likely it was the wrong fan belt.
We become the focus attention once the two resident small boys lose interest in the disassembly of the Toyota. How to juggle with stones, skipping with a length of telephone cable, riding a bicycle backwards, the Limbo again with the telephone cable, a see-saw, then a primitive working model Trebuchet.
As the first stone whizzes high in the air the boys are eager to try their hand. This proves all too much for our tour guide who suddenly steps in and hurls the Trebuchet components asunder, muttering something about the windscreen of the mini-bus.
We sit down again and continue our wait...
The ergonomics of this particular Toyota are such that the engine is about as accessible as a ship in a bottle.
Luckily we are at a major intersection on the island; two dirt roads and a ramshackle cafe. We take tea and then we take coffee then tea again.
Eventually two mechanics arrive on a Honda with a bag of tools they proceed to strip off various components then go away again, it's likely it was the wrong fan belt.
We become the focus attention once the two resident small boys lose interest in the disassembly of the Toyota. How to juggle with stones, skipping with a length of telephone cable, riding a bicycle backwards, the Limbo again with the telephone cable, a see-saw, then a primitive working model Trebuchet.
As the first stone whizzes high in the air the boys are eager to try their hand. This proves all too much for our tour guide who suddenly steps in and hurls the Trebuchet components asunder, muttering something about the windscreen of the mini-bus.
We sit down again and continue our wait...
25th February. Phuquoc Island.
We have been banished to a four star hotel on a rain forest clad island only 3 km from the coast of Cambodia.
A handful of guests take up afternoon position on the blue painted reclining chairs. The sound of two fat Russian ladies mingles with the chat of the overstaffed lifeguard facility. A warm onshore breeze rustles the fronds of the coconut palms as the waves break on the near perfect white sand, this must be like those trips that people win...
"Since I met you life's just been one long holiday" I remark to Isabelle whilst munching another handful of cashews. "It just doesn't make any sense though does it? Those guys out there on those fishing boats, I bet they all work harder than me and only make threepence-a-day..."
It's all just down to the whim of fortune.
Coincidentally fortune took rather a nasty turn here on Phuquoc for Isabelle's dad four or five years ago, after a meal consisting of oysters and other raw shellfish.
Some rare parasite decided to set up home in his heart and lungs. There followed three years of serious illness together with a whole battery of drug therapies until the all-clear could eventually given.
Phuquoc can also offer visitors a bout of Malaria courtesy of the Anopheles mosquito.
A handful of guests take up afternoon position on the blue painted reclining chairs. The sound of two fat Russian ladies mingles with the chat of the overstaffed lifeguard facility. A warm onshore breeze rustles the fronds of the coconut palms as the waves break on the near perfect white sand, this must be like those trips that people win...
"Since I met you life's just been one long holiday" I remark to Isabelle whilst munching another handful of cashews. "It just doesn't make any sense though does it? Those guys out there on those fishing boats, I bet they all work harder than me and only make threepence-a-day..."
It's all just down to the whim of fortune.
Coincidentally fortune took rather a nasty turn here on Phuquoc for Isabelle's dad four or five years ago, after a meal consisting of oysters and other raw shellfish.
Some rare parasite decided to set up home in his heart and lungs. There followed three years of serious illness together with a whole battery of drug therapies until the all-clear could eventually given.
Phuquoc can also offer visitors a bout of Malaria courtesy of the Anopheles mosquito.
24th February. The All Bits Combined Religion.
We turn up before the appointed 12 noon outside the Great temple of the Cao Dai-ists. The faithful, dressed in white sheets, are begining to flock together. Strictly no footwear inside, so in the queue the pavement burns the soles of the feet a little.
We take our place in the cool of the gallery which is reserved for un-believers. Over a thousand fully paid up members of the Waiting-for-God's-Representatives-on-Earth-To-Arrive Society file in, men to the right hand side and women to the left.
The Cao Dai have been hanging around since about 1920 in feverish expectation of the arrival of these mediators of the Almighty. Six or seven vacant chairs form the centrepiece of the temple, which to date have never been filled.
Briefly, the faith recognises Confucious, Buddha and Jesus, although Victor Hugo comes in on the act somewhere as well. There is lot of use made of pink and sky blue paint, melanges of serpents and then one huge eye, the Eye of God...
Anyway, an oriental string band starts up which accompanies the massed voices. The effect is not unlike early Pink Floyd, the end of the 'Obscured by Clouds' album, I think.
I'm only guessing, but this daily ritual and collective power of mind looks like it could easily be designed to hasten the imminent arrival of the seat-takers.
"Imagine if they did turn up today!" I say to Isabelle, "That would be a turn up for the books!" As we file out before the queuing starts again, in my mind I'm saying "I'll let you get on then" which of course is the polite way to say "I want to go now".
TONIGHTS MENU.
An entree of roll your own rice pancake with Intestinal tripe-rubber and lettuce (Don't eat the lettuce) dipped in fermented fish sauce. Followed by Curried pelvic cartilidge and frogs legs with onion pieces. Main course; Boil your own eel segments in spicey liquid with groundsel, grated banana peel and cold rice noodles. Washed down with two bottles of 'Saigon Red' beer.
We take our place in the cool of the gallery which is reserved for un-believers. Over a thousand fully paid up members of the Waiting-for-God's-Representatives-on-Earth-To-Arrive Society file in, men to the right hand side and women to the left.
The Cao Dai have been hanging around since about 1920 in feverish expectation of the arrival of these mediators of the Almighty. Six or seven vacant chairs form the centrepiece of the temple, which to date have never been filled.
Briefly, the faith recognises Confucious, Buddha and Jesus, although Victor Hugo comes in on the act somewhere as well. There is lot of use made of pink and sky blue paint, melanges of serpents and then one huge eye, the Eye of God...
Anyway, an oriental string band starts up which accompanies the massed voices. The effect is not unlike early Pink Floyd, the end of the 'Obscured by Clouds' album, I think.
I'm only guessing, but this daily ritual and collective power of mind looks like it could easily be designed to hasten the imminent arrival of the seat-takers.
"Imagine if they did turn up today!" I say to Isabelle, "That would be a turn up for the books!" As we file out before the queuing starts again, in my mind I'm saying "I'll let you get on then" which of course is the polite way to say "I want to go now".
TONIGHTS MENU.
An entree of roll your own rice pancake with Intestinal tripe-rubber and lettuce (Don't eat the lettuce) dipped in fermented fish sauce. Followed by Curried pelvic cartilidge and frogs legs with onion pieces. Main course; Boil your own eel segments in spicey liquid with groundsel, grated banana peel and cold rice noodles. Washed down with two bottles of 'Saigon Red' beer.
23rd February. No Alternative Health.
The phone rings constantly in the early morning but Isabelle's Grandparents are away, for once, at their other residence by the sea. These callers are in all probability desperate Mothers of sick children. Grandfather seems to be the only healthcare system available in Trang-Bang and covers both angles, Conventional and Chinese.
The Pharmacy is looking a little tired after all the years of 7-days-a-week queuing to see the Great Dispenser of Herbal Remedies, now a nonagenerian. Hardwood drawers are stuffed full of esoteric dried substances which are then heaped up into the appropriate combination following diagnosis in Grandfather's consulting room. Alternatively one may be prescribed a bottle of brown liquid tincture best described as a Tonic, possibly for the nerves.
One may scoff and say that it could all be one form or other of 'snake oil' and at worst it doesn't do you any harm, but the business has remained popular. This has provided a considerable bounty as there is no free healthcare in Vietnam.
It's rumoured that take-home is something of the order of 2000$ US. a-day. One can appreciate the position that this provides when many of the population have to make do with one $ a-day...
"If a person is poorly, receives treatment to make him better, then no amount of reasoning known to medical science can convince him that it may not have been the treatment that restored his health" - Peter Medawar.
The Pharmacy is looking a little tired after all the years of 7-days-a-week queuing to see the Great Dispenser of Herbal Remedies, now a nonagenerian. Hardwood drawers are stuffed full of esoteric dried substances which are then heaped up into the appropriate combination following diagnosis in Grandfather's consulting room. Alternatively one may be prescribed a bottle of brown liquid tincture best described as a Tonic, possibly for the nerves.
One may scoff and say that it could all be one form or other of 'snake oil' and at worst it doesn't do you any harm, but the business has remained popular. This has provided a considerable bounty as there is no free healthcare in Vietnam.
It's rumoured that take-home is something of the order of 2000$ US. a-day. One can appreciate the position that this provides when many of the population have to make do with one $ a-day...
"If a person is poorly, receives treatment to make him better, then no amount of reasoning known to medical science can convince him that it may not have been the treatment that restored his health" - Peter Medawar.
22nd February. The Uninvited Dinner Guest.
Progressing through all the various courses, we are seated at another Saigon restaurant, a farewell repast for 'K' and Brother-in-law Ayk's departure for Tokyo tonight.
Chopped-up small roasted piglet, mainly thick brown skin with white fat and visible body parts. Spicey eel, salty but good. Boil-your-own white squid-rubber, fish and water cress in a tamarind liquid; great for blocked sinuses. ("We never stay long in the city because of the pollution" admits Isabelle's step-mother.)
Suddenly there is uproar diametrically opposite! 'F' and 'K' are out of their seats and on their feet with loud exclamation. Apparently a large cockroach is enjoying it's High Tea beneath the table. "Everybody's got to eat" comments Brother-in-law Ayk, with a drole shrug of the shoulders, still seated.
Concerned staff are quickly in attendance, chief among them the young woman in denim mini-skirt whose main responsibility seems to be making sure the ice in one's beer is topped up. Wielding one of the vacated plastic seats the unsuspecting diner is unceremoniously crushed, mid-mouthful, under a chair leg.
Although we did at one time have a couple of plates of roasted Cicadas, close cousins no doubt, the Cockroach is remarkably one of the few things not to have featured on any menu to date; menus that are so extensive as to require a book binding.
Chopped-up small roasted piglet, mainly thick brown skin with white fat and visible body parts. Spicey eel, salty but good. Boil-your-own white squid-rubber, fish and water cress in a tamarind liquid; great for blocked sinuses. ("We never stay long in the city because of the pollution" admits Isabelle's step-mother.)
Suddenly there is uproar diametrically opposite! 'F' and 'K' are out of their seats and on their feet with loud exclamation. Apparently a large cockroach is enjoying it's High Tea beneath the table. "Everybody's got to eat" comments Brother-in-law Ayk, with a drole shrug of the shoulders, still seated.
Concerned staff are quickly in attendance, chief among them the young woman in denim mini-skirt whose main responsibility seems to be making sure the ice in one's beer is topped up. Wielding one of the vacated plastic seats the unsuspecting diner is unceremoniously crushed, mid-mouthful, under a chair leg.
Although we did at one time have a couple of plates of roasted Cicadas, close cousins no doubt, the Cockroach is remarkably one of the few things not to have featured on any menu to date; menus that are so extensive as to require a book binding.
21st February. 14 Million Tons of High Explosive.
"Bomb, bomb, bomb... flat! had been Grandmother's explanation as to the fate of her original family home.
A fact borne out by the War Remnants Museum in Saigon.
I make a lone expedition, claiming special interest, except it's all mixed up with the Apollo moonshots, The Monkees and anything else coming through the airwaves about the US in grainy black & white, 405 lines.
It's all here in full grotesque Technicolor; Napalm, Phosphorous and Agent Orange which certainly "Spread across the sky like marmalade", all 70 million litres of it.
Near the end there is a glass case containing the medals of a highly decorated American Sargeant, a gift to the museum with an apology in cross-stitch, "To the people of a united Vietnam, I was wrong. I am sorry".
AIR RECONNAISANCE DREAM.
I am strangely able to hire a light aircraft, a twin-seated Cessna, despite having neither a pilots licence nor any experience of flying. I ask J. Franklin if he fancies a flight up Glenshee since it's such a clear crisp day, that's ok with him.
We fly northwards, the distant snow clad hills glistening in the sun resembling more some part of the Himalayas than Perthshire...
The flight goes steadily enough, there's not that much to it really, this piloting thing. Then I have to take action to avoid some power lines, soon we are out of control, aeronautically and emotionally, panicking as I push foot pedals and anything else to forestall disaster.
Somehow we regain a level flightpath, great, except for the fact that we are now flying upside down. JF looks to me to rectify this matter, I push the joystick hopefully, then gritted my teeth as the plane twists round in one sickening manouvre.
We need fuel, I'm a little apprehensive of making a landing, never having done it before, but we spot a road in the snowy landscape, which now looks like Canada, miraculously we land and taxi to a gas station.
It turns out this isn't Canada it's the US. They refuse to sell us any fuel on account of me not having the right paperwork. Search as I might I can't find any documents relating to anything at all. We are stranded God knows where? and I'd only hired the plane for an hour.
A fact borne out by the War Remnants Museum in Saigon.
I make a lone expedition, claiming special interest, except it's all mixed up with the Apollo moonshots, The Monkees and anything else coming through the airwaves about the US in grainy black & white, 405 lines.
It's all here in full grotesque Technicolor; Napalm, Phosphorous and Agent Orange which certainly "Spread across the sky like marmalade", all 70 million litres of it.
Near the end there is a glass case containing the medals of a highly decorated American Sargeant, a gift to the museum with an apology in cross-stitch, "To the people of a united Vietnam, I was wrong. I am sorry".
AIR RECONNAISANCE DREAM.
I am strangely able to hire a light aircraft, a twin-seated Cessna, despite having neither a pilots licence nor any experience of flying. I ask J. Franklin if he fancies a flight up Glenshee since it's such a clear crisp day, that's ok with him.
We fly northwards, the distant snow clad hills glistening in the sun resembling more some part of the Himalayas than Perthshire...
The flight goes steadily enough, there's not that much to it really, this piloting thing. Then I have to take action to avoid some power lines, soon we are out of control, aeronautically and emotionally, panicking as I push foot pedals and anything else to forestall disaster.
Somehow we regain a level flightpath, great, except for the fact that we are now flying upside down. JF looks to me to rectify this matter, I push the joystick hopefully, then gritted my teeth as the plane twists round in one sickening manouvre.
We need fuel, I'm a little apprehensive of making a landing, never having done it before, but we spot a road in the snowy landscape, which now looks like Canada, miraculously we land and taxi to a gas station.
It turns out this isn't Canada it's the US. They refuse to sell us any fuel on account of me not having the right paperwork. Search as I might I can't find any documents relating to anything at all. We are stranded God knows where? and I'd only hired the plane for an hour.
20th February. Helmet Not Included.
Boasting an engine size of only 50cc. and with a very soft suspension, the Saigon motor-cycle taxi experience may be an option, if you're not too massively Western.
It transpires en-route that red lights really are only for guidance when to use the horn.
The basic rule seems to be that everyone has right of way, all the time and from all directions at once. That is, everyone assumes that everyone else will get out of everyone else's way. A simple working algorithm such as governs the outwardly complex movement of flocks of birds or shoals of fish.
To be fair the motor-cycle taxi men all have use of four limbs but then this gives no clue to the real attrition rate within their profession.
It transpires en-route that red lights really are only for guidance when to use the horn.
The basic rule seems to be that everyone has right of way, all the time and from all directions at once. That is, everyone assumes that everyone else will get out of everyone else's way. A simple working algorithm such as governs the outwardly complex movement of flocks of birds or shoals of fish.
To be fair the motor-cycle taxi men all have use of four limbs but then this gives no clue to the real attrition rate within their profession.
19th February. Day Trip To Cambodia.
Vietnam is like a chocolate box Switzerland or Austria compared with Cambodia.
We head west to the border through a vast expanse of green rice paddies stopping only to pick up an official. We are then ushered through the checkpoint, no passport or visa required, directly to the new casino which is conveniently right up against the border. The arrangement helps to avoid any unpleasant local sights.
This supposed Las Vegas style enterprise has more in common with Tijuana, it occurs, when we pull in at the rather underwhelming 'International Border Market', half a mile further on.
"Very very cheap!" says Isabelle's dad gleefully as we squeeze through the baking, fly-blown market, assailed by women with babes-in-arms, as the dust from the street swirls around with a mixture of plastic litter.
This is a pretty miserable place and not at all quaint I remark of the condition of the locals as we slip effortlessly back into the comfort of the air conditioned Toyota.
Brother-in-law Ayk still claims that this represents civic pride compared with his recent Bangladesh experiences??
We head west to the border through a vast expanse of green rice paddies stopping only to pick up an official. We are then ushered through the checkpoint, no passport or visa required, directly to the new casino which is conveniently right up against the border. The arrangement helps to avoid any unpleasant local sights.
This supposed Las Vegas style enterprise has more in common with Tijuana, it occurs, when we pull in at the rather underwhelming 'International Border Market', half a mile further on.
"Very very cheap!" says Isabelle's dad gleefully as we squeeze through the baking, fly-blown market, assailed by women with babes-in-arms, as the dust from the street swirls around with a mixture of plastic litter.
This is a pretty miserable place and not at all quaint I remark of the condition of the locals as we slip effortlessly back into the comfort of the air conditioned Toyota.
Brother-in-law Ayk still claims that this represents civic pride compared with his recent Bangladesh experiences??
18th February. Integrity Testing.
We sit in large reclining armchairs waiting for 'K' to reappear from her massage, in front a massive plasma screen shows an unintelligible documentary about water-weed. A young woman, mini-skirted, brings peanuts and 'Tiger' Beer; Brother-in-law Ayk seated alongside, remarks "My wife brought me to a whore house".
"Yes there does seem to be more on offer here, I reply.
Both of us had shared a similar experience, the walking on the back massage followed the usual routine, but once rolled over to face upwards, things began to take a much more frightening direction.
The only way out was to make clear, despite the language barrier, that massaging of the 'Old Man' wasn't strictly necessary.
"That was difficult" admitted Brother-in-Law Ayk.
"Yes there does seem to be more on offer here, I reply.
Both of us had shared a similar experience, the walking on the back massage followed the usual routine, but once rolled over to face upwards, things began to take a much more frightening direction.
The only way out was to make clear, despite the language barrier, that massaging of the 'Old Man' wasn't strictly necessary.
"That was difficult" admitted Brother-in-Law Ayk.
17th February, Cu Chi Tunnels.
"You look like your gonna gag on that mate" advises a sun-aged Australian sitting opposite at the crude dining table. This is Manioc, Cassava or call it Tapioca, if you will, the carbohydrate that sustained the Cu Chi Guerillas in the relentless campaign against the 'Evil Americans'.
We are in an underground canteen, part of a subterrenean network totalling 260 kilometres. According to the over-dubbed black & white documentary this allowed the Viet Cong to appear and dissappear at will, exacting a heavy toll of US casualties.
One particular fierce young woman was decorated twice, once as 'Brave Exterminator of Americans' and later, 'War Hero American Killer'
The retired Aussie informs me about conscription from Down Under, "I think they just put your name on a marble and then pulled it out, I guess I was just lucky"
It's hard to imagine visiting "The Tunnels of Baghdad" in thirty years, to hear how brave freedom fighters beat back the 'Evil Americans' once again, while we eat some kind of middle-eastern flatbread.
We are in an underground canteen, part of a subterrenean network totalling 260 kilometres. According to the over-dubbed black & white documentary this allowed the Viet Cong to appear and dissappear at will, exacting a heavy toll of US casualties.
One particular fierce young woman was decorated twice, once as 'Brave Exterminator of Americans' and later, 'War Hero American Killer'
The retired Aussie informs me about conscription from Down Under, "I think they just put your name on a marble and then pulled it out, I guess I was just lucky"
It's hard to imagine visiting "The Tunnels of Baghdad" in thirty years, to hear how brave freedom fighters beat back the 'Evil Americans' once again, while we eat some kind of middle-eastern flatbread.
16th February. The Biggest Street Party in Vietnam.
Tonight I have been exempted from viewing the festive flower show, safe here in the gated community of The Rex Hotel, downtown Saigon, famously the haunt of journalists during the Vietnam War. Music plays from a Trio that wouldn't have been out of place before World War II, this is real peace compared with the armies of people outside.
In the run up to New Year's Eve (tomorrow) the populous can't seem to resist the temptation to be even more crowded together than usual. The streets that aren't closed to traffic are grid-locked with mopeds, the ones that are shut have an uncountable seething carpet of pedestrians .
Comparison to that other Hogmanay experience comes to mind, 'The Biggest Alcohol-Fuelled Street Party in Europe' etc etc. Perhaps my own lack of sociability unless fully 'tanked up' is the clue to the desire to hide in The Rex Hotel?
All these masses of predominantly young people, no violence and no one puking their guts up.
There's a lot of things they don't have in Vietnam; Thrash metal, Graffitti, War Memorials listing the dead and another one of them is the morning after 'pavement pizza'.
In the run up to New Year's Eve (tomorrow) the populous can't seem to resist the temptation to be even more crowded together than usual. The streets that aren't closed to traffic are grid-locked with mopeds, the ones that are shut have an uncountable seething carpet of pedestrians .
Comparison to that other Hogmanay experience comes to mind, 'The Biggest Alcohol-Fuelled Street Party in Europe' etc etc. Perhaps my own lack of sociability unless fully 'tanked up' is the clue to the desire to hide in The Rex Hotel?
All these masses of predominantly young people, no violence and no one puking their guts up.
There's a lot of things they don't have in Vietnam; Thrash metal, Graffitti, War Memorials listing the dead and another one of them is the morning after 'pavement pizza'.
15th February. Morning Callers At The Front Gate - Trang-Bang.
First off, an escaped chicken en-route to market or kitchen, pursued by two women.
This freedom-loving pullet, much to the delight of the dogs, is cornered at the gate but makes another break for it before final recapture. Luckily Isabelle is powerless to intervene on its behalf as it squawks out its alarm.
Next a youngish man, not completely with-it, probably the village druggie, lurks on the pavement. The dogs bark angrily at the extended palm, the unending racket brings Isabelle's dad out of the house who dispenses some small denomination note. The young man wanders across the street then accosts a small girl in a pink dress who after a short interval wisely runs away.
A chauffered Toyota arrives, a white shirted official enters through the gate bearing a case of Heineken and other gifts for the New Year, the dogs don't bark at all. We line up to shake hands, apparently it is the Deputy Minister for the Environment, "He must have his work cut out" I comment, sotto-vocce, to Isabelle.
BIZARRE RESTAURANT DREAM.
A large breakfast bowl arrives with the usual chopsticks, a clear consomme with a dead rat still with all its fur on, half submerged in the middle. I look to Isabelle's dad for confirmation that it's 'OK'.
GOT CHANGE OF A FIVER?
I request some change for a 50,000 Dong banknote from Isabelle's dad, in the process he exclaims, "Look at this! In-credible! one Dong! ONE Dong!
At the current exchange rate this coin is worth precisely three-hundreths of a penny or if you like, thirty-thousandths of one Pound Sterling. Buying anything at all can easily lead to a mental arithmetic headache. As for buying something like a car or say a block of flats and we're quickly up in the realms of Astronomy.
This freedom-loving pullet, much to the delight of the dogs, is cornered at the gate but makes another break for it before final recapture. Luckily Isabelle is powerless to intervene on its behalf as it squawks out its alarm.
Next a youngish man, not completely with-it, probably the village druggie, lurks on the pavement. The dogs bark angrily at the extended palm, the unending racket brings Isabelle's dad out of the house who dispenses some small denomination note. The young man wanders across the street then accosts a small girl in a pink dress who after a short interval wisely runs away.
A chauffered Toyota arrives, a white shirted official enters through the gate bearing a case of Heineken and other gifts for the New Year, the dogs don't bark at all. We line up to shake hands, apparently it is the Deputy Minister for the Environment, "He must have his work cut out" I comment, sotto-vocce, to Isabelle.
BIZARRE RESTAURANT DREAM.
A large breakfast bowl arrives with the usual chopsticks, a clear consomme with a dead rat still with all its fur on, half submerged in the middle. I look to Isabelle's dad for confirmation that it's 'OK'.
GOT CHANGE OF A FIVER?
I request some change for a 50,000 Dong banknote from Isabelle's dad, in the process he exclaims, "Look at this! In-credible! one Dong! ONE Dong!
At the current exchange rate this coin is worth precisely three-hundreths of a penny or if you like, thirty-thousandths of one Pound Sterling. Buying anything at all can easily lead to a mental arithmetic headache. As for buying something like a car or say a block of flats and we're quickly up in the realms of Astronomy.
14th February. Marriage Parfait.
This anniversary we breakfast at a well patronised restaurant, serving individual fried-up prawns in a special eggy-batter, six different people work this production line process.
There are visitors here probably from the U.S. "All prostitutes!" declares Isabelles dad, which seems rather harsh... Granted they all have plucked eyebrows and still maintain a certain look despite the advancing years. One woman sits with her husband and extended family. There's no doubt from his characteristic wide jaw that this American is a returning war vet who managed to get his girlfriend out of the country before the VC overwhelmed this seaside resort. Vung Tau was popular for 'R&R' during the war and also the final point of departure of U.S. forces.
Thirty-odd years, a successful enough marriage despite the odds. Actually, today marks only our 10th year, a record for me but still small beer compared with Isabelles grandparents. Their union has stood sixty-five years, produced thirteen children and survived three wars; Japanese, French, and American, to quote one of Isabelle's dad's most popular phrases "In-credible!"
ENGLISH.
We take our lunch in a primitive but relaxing restaurant shack in a mangrove swamp. I skip the first course of deep-fried barnacles in batter for fear of shellfish bottom or worse. One has to be quick with the main course, to dig in with chopsticks and get a share of the fish but not the driver's flu.
The driver and I are drawn together by the recognition of the common bond of difficulty with conversational French. In his case complete incomprehension and mine, semi-incomprehension. We drink 'Saigon' beer whilst swinging in hammocks and struggle with other languages, ie English and Vietnamese.
I gather that the driver is twenty-nine and yes, you have to pass a driving testin Vietnam. He has been driving for three years and has twenty-five brothers and sisters? "In-credible!"
I have to resort to Isabelle's dad for clarification... The driver has one brother aged twenty-five. There is much amusement in the universal language of laughter.
There are visitors here probably from the U.S. "All prostitutes!" declares Isabelles dad, which seems rather harsh... Granted they all have plucked eyebrows and still maintain a certain look despite the advancing years. One woman sits with her husband and extended family. There's no doubt from his characteristic wide jaw that this American is a returning war vet who managed to get his girlfriend out of the country before the VC overwhelmed this seaside resort. Vung Tau was popular for 'R&R' during the war and also the final point of departure of U.S. forces.
Thirty-odd years, a successful enough marriage despite the odds. Actually, today marks only our 10th year, a record for me but still small beer compared with Isabelles grandparents. Their union has stood sixty-five years, produced thirteen children and survived three wars; Japanese, French, and American, to quote one of Isabelle's dad's most popular phrases "In-credible!"
ENGLISH.
We take our lunch in a primitive but relaxing restaurant shack in a mangrove swamp. I skip the first course of deep-fried barnacles in batter for fear of shellfish bottom or worse. One has to be quick with the main course, to dig in with chopsticks and get a share of the fish but not the driver's flu.
The driver and I are drawn together by the recognition of the common bond of difficulty with conversational French. In his case complete incomprehension and mine, semi-incomprehension. We drink 'Saigon' beer whilst swinging in hammocks and struggle with other languages, ie English and Vietnamese.
I gather that the driver is twenty-nine and yes, you have to pass a driving testin Vietnam. He has been driving for three years and has twenty-five brothers and sisters? "In-credible!"
I have to resort to Isabelle's dad for clarification... The driver has one brother aged twenty-five. There is much amusement in the universal language of laughter.
13th February. Mekong Delta Blues.
Seated two by two we plough through the choppy grey waters of the Mekong River in a traditional longboat. We have paid for Isabelles anxiety to be first in the queue by being seated at the stern next to yet another unsilenced diesel. 'K' and 'F' are in another boat together with the sun cream.
The local people conduct their whole lives on the water, we power past floating markets and boatyards, the spray leaving a dubious film on the lips, Isabelle videoing continuosly. I nudge her elbow as I feel I should point out that 'F' is videoing us from the other boat running alongside, this results in a mid-shot disruption and aggravation. "You're so ****ing irritated!" I yell above the racket of the diesel outboard, what I meant to say was irritable. Anyway I make a mental note not to point out anything else...
This silence in relations is soon smoothed out against the clatter of another, incredibly large, diesel engine, the prime mover for the rice mill, our next stop on the tour.
The local people conduct their whole lives on the water, we power past floating markets and boatyards, the spray leaving a dubious film on the lips, Isabelle videoing continuosly. I nudge her elbow as I feel I should point out that 'F' is videoing us from the other boat running alongside, this results in a mid-shot disruption and aggravation. "You're so ****ing irritated!" I yell above the racket of the diesel outboard, what I meant to say was irritable. Anyway I make a mental note not to point out anything else...
This silence in relations is soon smoothed out against the clatter of another, incredibly large, diesel engine, the prime mover for the rice mill, our next stop on the tour.
12th February. Apocalypse Then.
The diesel engine chugs relentless as we progress slowly up some backwater of the Mekong a la Martin Sheen. Finally in the heat of midday we step ashore deep in the hinterland...
Another restaurant. No one has gone AWOL and lost their mind here...
At table, the conversation continues in french, I interject: "Would you eat a baby if it was properly cooked?" 'K' and 'F' looked puzzled, Isabelle glares at this 'faux pas'. The conversation has obviously moved on somewhat from discussing what one is prepared to eat.
I'm sure 'K' said she'd eaten monkey...
CLOSE ENCOUNTER WITH AN INCUBUS.
I lie down in room 307 at the Hoa Phuong Hotel to catch forty winks before going out to another restaurant.
Suddenly a powerful male entity grabs me from behind, muttering something in my ear.
At the same time I am being subject to an extraordinary violation!...
I wake up and think this can't be happening, the door was locked, it must be a dream or is it? I try to move or shout out but find I'm completely paralysed and speechless for what seemed like an uncomfortably long time.
I'm left curious as to whether I've been fitted with some kind of alien probe.
Another restaurant. No one has gone AWOL and lost their mind here...
At table, the conversation continues in french, I interject: "Would you eat a baby if it was properly cooked?" 'K' and 'F' looked puzzled, Isabelle glares at this 'faux pas'. The conversation has obviously moved on somewhat from discussing what one is prepared to eat.
I'm sure 'K' said she'd eaten monkey...
CLOSE ENCOUNTER WITH AN INCUBUS.
I lie down in room 307 at the Hoa Phuong Hotel to catch forty winks before going out to another restaurant.
Suddenly a powerful male entity grabs me from behind, muttering something in my ear.
At the same time I am being subject to an extraordinary violation!...
I wake up and think this can't be happening, the door was locked, it must be a dream or is it? I try to move or shout out but find I'm completely paralysed and speechless for what seemed like an uncomfortably long time.
I'm left curious as to whether I've been fitted with some kind of alien probe.
11th February. Goats Udders Rule.
We jolt down the highway in the jeep as the red disc of the sun sinks behind. Our destination tonight, one of Grandfathers favourite haunts.
The patron welcomes us under the vaulted corrugated iron roof as some martial arts drama flickers unwatched on the tv and what proves to be a huge captive snake tastes the air with its forked tongue.
The reptile is indeed fortunate not to be on the menu as this is the speciality goat restaurant. Our table top fryers are set up and Grandmother swizzles the mouth watering entree of sliced pink meat and okra around.
What's the best thing you've ever eaten ? Quite possibly deep fried goats nipples
- no joke.
The patron welcomes us under the vaulted corrugated iron roof as some martial arts drama flickers unwatched on the tv and what proves to be a huge captive snake tastes the air with its forked tongue.
The reptile is indeed fortunate not to be on the menu as this is the speciality goat restaurant. Our table top fryers are set up and Grandmother swizzles the mouth watering entree of sliced pink meat and okra around.
What's the best thing you've ever eaten ? Quite possibly deep fried goats nipples
- no joke.
10th February. The Mystery of The Massage Place.
"What happens if I get an erection?" I pondered, as a lithe young woman in a mini skirt led us upstairs.
"Just think of your mother" warned Isabelle. This particular fear proved groundless even as the masseuse straddled my bare back, the pummelling and thwacking caused Isabelle, who was spectating, to remark; "Crikey your back's as red as a beetroot".
That was only a prelude to the climax of being repeatedly walked on. A final twisting and wrenching and I was free to go. The fear of dislocation together with the shear heat of friction had successfully kept any potential eroticism at bay.
The consensus from 'K', Isabelles sister, was that it could all still be a front for prostitution. This opinion was based on the uncommon levels of eye make up alone...
"Just think of your mother" warned Isabelle. This particular fear proved groundless even as the masseuse straddled my bare back, the pummelling and thwacking caused Isabelle, who was spectating, to remark; "Crikey your back's as red as a beetroot".
That was only a prelude to the climax of being repeatedly walked on. A final twisting and wrenching and I was free to go. The fear of dislocation together with the shear heat of friction had successfully kept any potential eroticism at bay.
The consensus from 'K', Isabelles sister, was that it could all still be a front for prostitution. This opinion was based on the uncommon levels of eye make up alone...
9th February. Respect! Ancestors.
The incense slowly burns down on the living room table, this is the allotted time given to the ancestors to first have their fill of the roast suckling pig and other delicacies. Not surprisingly they don't seem to eat much, possibly because they no longer have stomachs or bodies for that matter. If they were simply living a purer afterlife existence as vegans they could have just had the rice.
These kind of details are always a bit hazy, or simply glossed over, but it's worked well enough for 6000 years so Isabelle's dad tells me.
However, belief seems to be nowadays restricted to the elderly, possibly for good reason...
These kind of details are always a bit hazy, or simply glossed over, but it's worked well enough for 6000 years so Isabelle's dad tells me.
However, belief seems to be nowadays restricted to the elderly, possibly for good reason...
8th February. Saigon Fish.
Directly from bagage reclaim we emerge into the peace and quiet of Saigon, the streets are deserted... Well not quite... traffic levels are chaotic even by Vietnam standards.
In the sea of vehicles the mopeds are like shoals of mackerel, our driver steers upstream, miraculously the mackerel part around the bow as if of one mind. We navigate by dead reckoning to our first port of call, a restaurant.
We eat crunchy dried minature fish then a large boiled fish out of a glass tank - tasty though.
SAIGON PROLOGUE Shitting Over Cambodia.
As I sit on the loo we start our descent to Saigon, I have to make haste, this is wierd, 30,000 ft below this stainless steel pan are the rain forests of Cambodia.
In the sea of vehicles the mopeds are like shoals of mackerel, our driver steers upstream, miraculously the mackerel part around the bow as if of one mind. We navigate by dead reckoning to our first port of call, a restaurant.
We eat crunchy dried minature fish then a large boiled fish out of a glass tank - tasty though.
SAIGON PROLOGUE Shitting Over Cambodia.
As I sit on the loo we start our descent to Saigon, I have to make haste, this is wierd, 30,000 ft below this stainless steel pan are the rain forests of Cambodia.
7th February. Mood At C.D.G. Airport Paris.
"Just get me any kind of baguette" I mouthed, (curiously renamed a sandwich, just for contrariness). Fillings proved rather unimaginative, I thought; boiled egg with lettuce and tomato, something like Mother would have dreamed up in 1974.
Staffing levels are visibly still up there with the De Galle era. In fact George Bush famously hit the nail on the head; "The trouble with the French is they don't know the meaning of entrepreneur"...
Staffing levels are visibly still up there with the De Galle era. In fact George Bush famously hit the nail on the head; "The trouble with the French is they don't know the meaning of entrepreneur"...
6th February. Vacances Gastronomique d'Indochine.
The fact of the matter is we have to be transported to Vietnam tomorrow, by Air Something-or-Other, straight into Isabelle's Grandparents kitchen. It's going to be another marathon eating vacation. More or less a working holiday as far as the digestion goes. Restaurants too numerous to mention and then there's the meals dished up by the woman from Cambodia that lives in the kitchen and sleeps on the dining table.
There's very little that isn't eaten in this part of South-East Asia. The main advice for any visiting western gourmand is; 'Don't eat the lettuce', unless you want to spend the day on a toilet.
There's very little that isn't eaten in this part of South-East Asia. The main advice for any visiting western gourmand is; 'Don't eat the lettuce', unless you want to spend the day on a toilet.
5th February. Chicken Stew.
Poor old Hettie the hypothermic hen came in for a bit of abuse this evening, flattened under the combined weight of four or five of her more rumbustious nephews. These young beaus function at the basest of levels and think nothing of gang raping their mother, grandmother or a retarded sister. A geriatric aunt like Hettie who's basically at the care home stage is as much fair game as anything else.
They all start sweet and fluffy enough, boys and girls playing nicely together, even sharing their mixed corn, then Bingo! The cockerels become violently libidinous, whilst the hens just become overly concerned with the details of the pecking order.
The case for Caponisation has been made, something has to go, either balls or heads.
They all start sweet and fluffy enough, boys and girls playing nicely together, even sharing their mixed corn, then Bingo! The cockerels become violently libidinous, whilst the hens just become overly concerned with the details of the pecking order.
The case for Caponisation has been made, something has to go, either balls or heads.
4th February. Trouble in Faeces Close.
In order to preserve a Medieval Right of Way they had to leave a back passageway between Domino's Pizza and No. 185. This should have been renamed Faeces Close, Vomit Wynd or alternatively Urine Alley, the walls also double as a blank canvas for artists working with more traditional media.
Previous attempts to prevent the ingress of undesirables from Faeces Close into the stairwell of 185 proved a failure, the Constabulary became involved when the tenant of neighbouring Flat C became a casualty of a skirmish with the Alcoholics that take up a daily residence in the bin store/ drinking den.
Our tenant e-mailed to say that she didn't mind giving the stairwell an occasional sweep but drew the line at dealing with human excrement... Inevitably today I formed up a faeces detail then headed out for a general clear up of whatever and to take door security to another level. I'm afraid that due to inherent electro-mechanical fragility we're going to have to let the convenience of intercom controlled door locking go, from now on it's No Key, No entry. I said, just send another e-mail when the door's lying splintered off its hinges.
Previous attempts to prevent the ingress of undesirables from Faeces Close into the stairwell of 185 proved a failure, the Constabulary became involved when the tenant of neighbouring Flat C became a casualty of a skirmish with the Alcoholics that take up a daily residence in the bin store/ drinking den.
Our tenant e-mailed to say that she didn't mind giving the stairwell an occasional sweep but drew the line at dealing with human excrement... Inevitably today I formed up a faeces detail then headed out for a general clear up of whatever and to take door security to another level. I'm afraid that due to inherent electro-mechanical fragility we're going to have to let the convenience of intercom controlled door locking go, from now on it's No Key, No entry. I said, just send another e-mail when the door's lying splintered off its hinges.
3rd February. The Fall of Paris.
Woke up in the middle of the night and found an orange thing, like a balloon sculpture made of very fine material, floating about the bedroom. To be honest it was a bit freaky, but on examination each part of it carried a coded message, obviously from Whitehall.
We had to dismantle the secret radio transmitter and bury anything incriminating in the pre-dug trench under the front door step. The reason for this was that the Armies of the Third Reich were fast approaching Paris where we had been living.
From now on, we would be working behind enemy lines...
We had to dismantle the secret radio transmitter and bury anything incriminating in the pre-dug trench under the front door step. The reason for this was that the Armies of the Third Reich were fast approaching Paris where we had been living.
From now on, we would be working behind enemy lines...
2nd February. High Carbon Holidays.com
I was kind of bothered today by the plight of the World's Smallest Monkey (see earlier) and all the other things on critically endangered lists. It's tiny face looking back through the glass and how it flitted about making it very difficult to catch and eat. A strategy that had served it well enough until quite recently...
Bothered, but not bothered enough to refrain from a long-haul flight to the other side of the world even to somewhere I've already been. And not bothered enough to refrain from buying a couple of sheets of plywood if I was needing some.
Therein lies the rub, what do you do? Make possession of plywood illegal? Ban foreign holidays? Or what, plywood rationing? Or a lottery system for holiday destinations? The Laminated Timber Taxation Bill? Foreign travel only for the incredibly rich? There's no going backwards, not willingly...
An early night with a mug of undiluted Roundup* may be the only realistic answer to many intractable questions concerning Human Nature.
* Trademark of the Monsanto Co.
Bothered, but not bothered enough to refrain from a long-haul flight to the other side of the world even to somewhere I've already been. And not bothered enough to refrain from buying a couple of sheets of plywood if I was needing some.
Therein lies the rub, what do you do? Make possession of plywood illegal? Ban foreign holidays? Or what, plywood rationing? Or a lottery system for holiday destinations? The Laminated Timber Taxation Bill? Foreign travel only for the incredibly rich? There's no going backwards, not willingly...
An early night with a mug of undiluted Roundup* may be the only realistic answer to many intractable questions concerning Human Nature.
* Trademark of the Monsanto Co.
1st February. The Worlds Smallest Monkey.
I found myself staring into the face of the world's smallest monkey, albeit on the other side of plate glass. They have a body about the size of a rat with what looks like a shrunken human head attached. Of course these are on the 'endangered' species list along with just about everything else in the zoo, apart from opportunist grey squirrels, jackdaws and Us.
There's not much the World's Smallest Monkey can say about its habitat being turned into sheets of plywood because of its language abilities. Evolution can't go backwards, having backed itself into an ecological cul-de-sac, it's only choice is to cash in it's chips.
By a remarkable coincidence we met F&D who were wheeling their very own Pink Bush Baby around, who was two today. Unlike the WSM she is showing an amazing ability to soak up vocabulary and in a few short years will be able to fully understand the plight of the World's Smallest Monkey and how plywood is made.
There's not much the World's Smallest Monkey can say about its habitat being turned into sheets of plywood because of its language abilities. Evolution can't go backwards, having backed itself into an ecological cul-de-sac, it's only choice is to cash in it's chips.
By a remarkable coincidence we met F&D who were wheeling their very own Pink Bush Baby around, who was two today. Unlike the WSM she is showing an amazing ability to soak up vocabulary and in a few short years will be able to fully understand the plight of the World's Smallest Monkey and how plywood is made.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)