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.
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.
31st January. Bananas.
Commissioned to do esoteric things with precious metals and stones, Craig has made a name in creating stylised bodily adornment. But I have to take issue with his claim that it's no different from plumbing or chimney lining.
I mean, granted we all have to make a living, the termite for instance does pretty well out of chewing through wood, but has little time for aesthetics. It's only in the last 100,000 years that anyone got seriously into jewellery. Gorillas, chimps and their ilk still haven't shown any signs of following this trail of creative self-expression out of the Stone Age blazed by Modern Humans.
Regarding the difference with chimney work and what it means to me: basically I climb up to the top of a building, hang off the chimney pot, beat my chest with my fists then someone gives me a big bunch of bananas.
I mean, granted we all have to make a living, the termite for instance does pretty well out of chewing through wood, but has little time for aesthetics. It's only in the last 100,000 years that anyone got seriously into jewellery. Gorillas, chimps and their ilk still haven't shown any signs of following this trail of creative self-expression out of the Stone Age blazed by Modern Humans.
Regarding the difference with chimney work and what it means to me: basically I climb up to the top of a building, hang off the chimney pot, beat my chest with my fists then someone gives me a big bunch of bananas.
30th January. Extreme Chiropracty II
Clocked in at the bone crunchers for a follow up, although things are pretty much normal backwise now. So we'll never know, unless there was a clone with the same problem, if it would have got better by itself.
Anyway I'd managed to mix up quarter-to and a quarter-past so I had a while to sit and read National Geographic whilst other clients were twisted about and sat on. I was struck by a picture of a Trainee Buddhist monk hanging upside down from a branch which recalled a dream from last night.
I was being shown around the World's Leading Treatment Centre for people who thought they were too short. The place had a lot of new buildings and was awash with funding as there was apparently no shortage of people who desired to be taller.
This was a bit strange as the centre made no secret of the fact that the treatment, in all cases, consisted of hanging upside down for long periods with a lot of weights attached. I was introduced to the patron of the centre who turned out to be Heather Mills-McCartney...
Anyway I'd managed to mix up quarter-to and a quarter-past so I had a while to sit and read National Geographic whilst other clients were twisted about and sat on. I was struck by a picture of a Trainee Buddhist monk hanging upside down from a branch which recalled a dream from last night.
I was being shown around the World's Leading Treatment Centre for people who thought they were too short. The place had a lot of new buildings and was awash with funding as there was apparently no shortage of people who desired to be taller.
This was a bit strange as the centre made no secret of the fact that the treatment, in all cases, consisted of hanging upside down for long periods with a lot of weights attached. I was introduced to the patron of the centre who turned out to be Heather Mills-McCartney...
29th January. Lifestyle No.324(b)
Mr T's rented cottage consists of a 16 track digital recording studio with kitchen attached and also integral workshop space for two motorcycles. During recording sessions various band members are spread around the rest of the house to minimise overspill of sound.
Apart from an electric guitar, a 12 string acoustic and a bass, each on it's own individual wall bracket, furnishing throughout is spartan.
It's not really a modus vivendi that many women would warm to, borne out by Mr T's current marital status. However over and above my capacity as itinerant chimney engineer, I am able to add a new category to the index of 'The Observers Book of Current Lifestyles' (UK Edition).
Apart from an electric guitar, a 12 string acoustic and a bass, each on it's own individual wall bracket, furnishing throughout is spartan.
It's not really a modus vivendi that many women would warm to, borne out by Mr T's current marital status. However over and above my capacity as itinerant chimney engineer, I am able to add a new category to the index of 'The Observers Book of Current Lifestyles' (UK Edition).
28th January. Ninety-Two.
Life is so short, or is it? Mother was 92 today. Born in 1915, this means that Grandfather must have seen some action on the home front shortly before hostilities began in France.
It's like the other day, opposite the G's front door stands the village war memorial and it says at the bottom of the list of the dead ..."Who gave their life for King and Country"
It seems such an abstract concept for dying young.
It's like the other day, opposite the G's front door stands the village war memorial and it says at the bottom of the list of the dead ..."Who gave their life for King and Country"
It seems such an abstract concept for dying young.
27th January. Burns Night Bash.
We have been invited as a great priviledge into the bosom of a well known extended family to eat a Haggis. For those not familiar with Robert Burns, the National Bard's birthday is celebrated with a distinctly Scottish flavour. It is indeed impossible to conceive of a Burns Supper without a haggis (or alcohol). The constituents of this delicacy are usual glossed over but suffice to say that originally it was a meal more associated with the common man than say the landed gentry. Haggis is not advised to form any part of a calorie-controlled diet, a fact that Isabelle was willing to quietly forget in order to enjoy the full Burns experience.
The Haggis is 'addressed' with the requisite poem from Rabbie's collected works followed by, in this case an informal selection of written works and unnacompanied songs, together with some Highland dancing performed by the fresher faced family members.
As the evening drew on it seemed possible that I might get away without having to take to the makeshift stage, but no...
The only written work within easy recall was something penned as a younger person whilst plumbing hitherto unexplored depths of the human character during the short but stormy years of marriage to 'Juniors' mother. A period when a particularly violent clash of personalities was evidenced...
The Haggis is 'addressed' with the requisite poem from Rabbie's collected works followed by, in this case an informal selection of written works and unnacompanied songs, together with some Highland dancing performed by the fresher faced family members.
As the evening drew on it seemed possible that I might get away without having to take to the makeshift stage, but no...
The only written work within easy recall was something penned as a younger person whilst plumbing hitherto unexplored depths of the human character during the short but stormy years of marriage to 'Juniors' mother. A period when a particularly violent clash of personalities was evidenced...
26th January. A Dream Crashes.
I'm standing looking at a building in some High Street, apparently we own all the flats in this building. On the ground floor there is an old fashioned garage with doors that fold back leaving it open to the street. I said I don't think we own that garage do we?
We take a look around, the place is a hive of activity with mechanics everywhere, we go down a staircase to a cavernous area underneath, below the street level.
I look up and the supporting structure is made of massive concrete beams such as is used in earthquake-proof buildings. Despite this, the beams are just balanced on top of each other and worse the whole thing is swaying about with whatever is going on above in the garage.
I'm just about to say lets get out of here! when the entire structure collapses, I escape injury but Isabelle is flattened by the concrete. In fact flattened so completely that when I pick her up she looks like a sticker for Bob Heath Visors such as was often stuck on the side of motorcycle helmets to advertise one's endorsement of the same.
I lay her down, still flat, but then she gradually fills up again with some kind of liquid, back to original size, and none the worse for it...
We take a look around, the place is a hive of activity with mechanics everywhere, we go down a staircase to a cavernous area underneath, below the street level.
I look up and the supporting structure is made of massive concrete beams such as is used in earthquake-proof buildings. Despite this, the beams are just balanced on top of each other and worse the whole thing is swaying about with whatever is going on above in the garage.
I'm just about to say lets get out of here! when the entire structure collapses, I escape injury but Isabelle is flattened by the concrete. In fact flattened so completely that when I pick her up she looks like a sticker for Bob Heath Visors such as was often stuck on the side of motorcycle helmets to advertise one's endorsement of the same.
I lay her down, still flat, but then she gradually fills up again with some kind of liquid, back to original size, and none the worse for it...
25th January. Extreme Chiropracty
Made an appointment with the bone cruncher although there are no objective controlled trials with definitive conclusions for or against chiropractic. What can there be to lose apart from the consultation fee?
I was convinced that there was something wrong with the bits that join my arms on, I intimated to the Main Man. In a breezy style typical of our Antipodean cousins his inspection of the thoracic vertebra revealed that T1 and T2 were stuck together, not to mention tension in the old Trapezius muscle of the right shoulder.
"Let's get to work!" he said, (this is where the crunching bit inevitably comes in). So he gets me in something of a Half Nelson and assures me that it's "completely safe" which I do believe but it's not that easy to "just relax", not in this situation.
Just when I knew the pull and twist was coming, together with the crunch, I was stuck with a particular image in my mind; it was something Disco Dave had related about the first time he tried to wring the neck of a chicken.
Having followed the instructions, i.e. pull and twist, he put the bird down, knowing that they can continue to function after the neck is broken. The thing was the chicken stood there blinking and didn't look in the least bit dead."Obviously didn't pull hard enough", he thought. The second attempt saw the head completely wrenched free from the body...
I was convinced that there was something wrong with the bits that join my arms on, I intimated to the Main Man. In a breezy style typical of our Antipodean cousins his inspection of the thoracic vertebra revealed that T1 and T2 were stuck together, not to mention tension in the old Trapezius muscle of the right shoulder.
"Let's get to work!" he said, (this is where the crunching bit inevitably comes in). So he gets me in something of a Half Nelson and assures me that it's "completely safe" which I do believe but it's not that easy to "just relax", not in this situation.
Just when I knew the pull and twist was coming, together with the crunch, I was stuck with a particular image in my mind; it was something Disco Dave had related about the first time he tried to wring the neck of a chicken.
Having followed the instructions, i.e. pull and twist, he put the bird down, knowing that they can continue to function after the neck is broken. The thing was the chicken stood there blinking and didn't look in the least bit dead."Obviously didn't pull hard enough", he thought. The second attempt saw the head completely wrenched free from the body...
24th January. 'Deep Heat' Roadtest.
Over the last few days the level of suffering in Chimney World has been increased slightly above the norm for mid-January.
This morning, despite my protests, Isabelle insisted on slapping one of those 'Deep Heat' stick-on patches on my back as a parting gift, claiming that otherwise they'd only be wasted after her buying them. The result was not just an aching shoulder but a hot aching shoulder.
The benefits of modern medecine improve the quality of our lives in so many different ways.
This morning, despite my protests, Isabelle insisted on slapping one of those 'Deep Heat' stick-on patches on my back as a parting gift, claiming that otherwise they'd only be wasted after her buying them. The result was not just an aching shoulder but a hot aching shoulder.
The benefits of modern medecine improve the quality of our lives in so many different ways.
23rd January. How We Evolved A Big Brain.
How come we appreciate beauty? All this beauty thing is just a by-product of having a big brain. The reason for this heavyweight grey matter can be put down to the evolution of language.
As a former virgin, I can easily vouch for the difficulty posed by working up, or in point of fact, not working up the courage to speak to 'beautiful' girls. Basically, the better the chat up line, the more chance there is of a snog, or ultimately a bit of 'How's your father?' and so on and so on, over the millenia... "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?", etc...
To make it easier, a hypothetical example:
"Corr! she's certainly a looker (i.e. beautiful), watch me lads as I chat her up."
"Pah! you've no chance!"
"Hallo luv, do you come here often?"
(Scornful laughter) ..."Get lost!"
And there we have it all, in a nutshell.
As a former virgin, I can easily vouch for the difficulty posed by working up, or in point of fact, not working up the courage to speak to 'beautiful' girls. Basically, the better the chat up line, the more chance there is of a snog, or ultimately a bit of 'How's your father?' and so on and so on, over the millenia... "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?", etc...
To make it easier, a hypothetical example:
"Corr! she's certainly a looker (i.e. beautiful), watch me lads as I chat her up."
"Pah! you've no chance!"
"Hallo luv, do you come here often?"
(Scornful laughter) ..."Get lost!"
And there we have it all, in a nutshell.
22nd January. Triumph of The Uterus.
The bookshelves at the G's have a wide ranging selection of travel guides. Well thumbed paperbacks, The Rough Guide to West Africa, ditto Central America, ditto Mexico, ditto Malaysia, Wild Flowers of somewhere... was it Corsica? India, Turkey, City Guide to Brisbane...
Now they've got kids. One pre-school who keeps calling "Mummy" while the hoover's going upstairs, the other started at primary and a bit more intransigent.
The two charts on the fridge have rows for things like 'Not being rude', 'Keeping my shit together' or words to that effect. A points system leads to various rewards to work for, the eldest seems to have further to go before receiving a Kinder egg.
I wonder if the G's got bored with seeing the World? or maybe they'd seen it all.
Now they've got kids. One pre-school who keeps calling "Mummy" while the hoover's going upstairs, the other started at primary and a bit more intransigent.
The two charts on the fridge have rows for things like 'Not being rude', 'Keeping my shit together' or words to that effect. A points system leads to various rewards to work for, the eldest seems to have further to go before receiving a Kinder egg.
I wonder if the G's got bored with seeing the World? or maybe they'd seen it all.
21st January. Dropping Like Flies.
The perennial mystery of where flies go in the winter was cleared up this afternoon. A great many of them where asleep underneath the slates of the tile salesmans steading conversion.
Unlucky for those that had bedded down right where the new chimney had to come through the roof. These individuals were in no fit state for a reveille so early in the season as they tumbled down the roof in the numbing wind. Their final resting place involved a very short swim in the ice and meltwater lying in the gutters, such is the transitory and fragile nature of an insect's life.
Well, Life full stop.
Unlucky for those that had bedded down right where the new chimney had to come through the roof. These individuals were in no fit state for a reveille so early in the season as they tumbled down the roof in the numbing wind. Their final resting place involved a very short swim in the ice and meltwater lying in the gutters, such is the transitory and fragile nature of an insect's life.
Well, Life full stop.
20th January. Property Enigma.
Isabelle had it in mind to look at yet another flat in another high street. The allotted time for the viewing arrived whilst I was still munching through a cheese and ham toastie in the local cafe. "I'll catch you up" I proffered.
A few minutes later and we were both hanging around outside Flat A.
"Where's the Estate Agent then?"
"Maybe they're in the flat"
The knock was answered by a young couple from the Subcontinent of India who appeared perplexed to learn that their flat was for sale.
Despite being on the market several weeks viewers must have been pretty thin on the ground or there must be a typo.
A few minutes later and we were both hanging around outside Flat A.
"Where's the Estate Agent then?"
"Maybe they're in the flat"
The knock was answered by a young couple from the Subcontinent of India who appeared perplexed to learn that their flat was for sale.
Despite being on the market several weeks viewers must have been pretty thin on the ground or there must be a typo.
19th January. Not Point-less.
I wouldn't say I'd actually lost sleep over the prospect of todays work placement but the idea of the railings, each with it's own pointed fleur-de-lys, arranged like daggers at the foot of the ladders had been playing on my mind.
Having narrowly missed the windscreen of the local bus whilst swinging the ladders off the roof rack the next task was to nervously lash them to the row of iron spikes. This was in case they fell down the ten foot drop between the railings and the basement of the Gs' house. Then the roof ladder itself proved to be somewhat water-logged making it a slightly heavier proposition...
In the event of impalement I'm sure any passing child of that age when every question begins "Why..?" would be sure to ask "Mummy, why is that man impaled on those railings?"
"Because he failed in his duty to complete a full Health and Safety risk assessment, darling."
"Yes but why...?"
"Why......Mummy?"
Having narrowly missed the windscreen of the local bus whilst swinging the ladders off the roof rack the next task was to nervously lash them to the row of iron spikes. This was in case they fell down the ten foot drop between the railings and the basement of the Gs' house. Then the roof ladder itself proved to be somewhat water-logged making it a slightly heavier proposition...
In the event of impalement I'm sure any passing child of that age when every question begins "Why..?" would be sure to ask "Mummy, why is that man impaled on those railings?"
"Because he failed in his duty to complete a full Health and Safety risk assessment, darling."
"Yes but why...?"
"Why......Mummy?"
18th January. Coq Au Styrofoam.
Even Hettie the hypothermic hen was enthusiastic about the snow that started falling this morning. Chickens seem to show a remarkable affinity for any white material irrespective of its chemical composition.
Recently after the delivery of some or other new home exercise machine and with the wheelie bin already at capacity there were several large pieces of the packaging outside. At first light each morning there was the sound of hens pecking at polystyrene. Assuming the consumption of white material such as emulsion paint, tesco hygiene cat litter, lime wash, and now snowflakes has some basis in the production of eggshells, the polystyrene would surely produce a very lightweight egg?
Recently after the delivery of some or other new home exercise machine and with the wheelie bin already at capacity there were several large pieces of the packaging outside. At first light each morning there was the sound of hens pecking at polystyrene. Assuming the consumption of white material such as emulsion paint, tesco hygiene cat litter, lime wash, and now snowflakes has some basis in the production of eggshells, the polystyrene would surely produce a very lightweight egg?
17th January. Snow at Mains of Chaffinchton.
The wind whistled through the windows of the tile-salesmans' still chimneyless steading conversion. I stared out over the snow covered decking towards the heather of the hills as a lone buzzard circled amongst the intermittent flurries... Still it does actually look like a typical January day for a change, up here anyway.
Once I'd scraped the worst of the snow off the roof any resolve to "just get on with it" had faded with the prospect of anything to do with handling slates. That's how I came to be inside looking out with a cup of coffee, 'seeing what the weather's going to do'.
My mind wandered to Joe Taskers' account of winter on the north face of the Eiger as a sort of yardstick of triumph over physical discomfort. Cutting a hole in the roof today wouldn't be that bad, in the grand scheme of things. However the alternative of driving back home and taking the starter motor off the Daihatsu seemed almost like a luxury day out at an exclusive health spa, in comparison...
Once I'd scraped the worst of the snow off the roof any resolve to "just get on with it" had faded with the prospect of anything to do with handling slates. That's how I came to be inside looking out with a cup of coffee, 'seeing what the weather's going to do'.
My mind wandered to Joe Taskers' account of winter on the north face of the Eiger as a sort of yardstick of triumph over physical discomfort. Cutting a hole in the roof today wouldn't be that bad, in the grand scheme of things. However the alternative of driving back home and taking the starter motor off the Daihatsu seemed almost like a luxury day out at an exclusive health spa, in comparison...
16th January. A Calm Day on a Roof.
Hardly a breath of wind today and -1 degrees C. showing on the funk-wetterstation this morning, whatever funk means?
Once reseated on the Prize Charolais-Herds' roof I was able to take in the open vista; clear across the flooded farmland to the Little Chef (now in receivership), the feint swish of the traffic carried on the still air together with the sound of swans and migratory geese. Do these geese really need to bother coming here now it's so mild?
Then I'd forgotten just how much racket store cattle make bellowing and hrrumphing all day, reminiscent of what it used to be like here before they sold up the farm next door and went the 'Amway' route, that lost highway.
As dusk fell the lights of the tractor shone through the veil of dust from the hay being churned out to the cattle and from the wet fields below there was the sound of a shotgun discharging, and a helluva lot of geese noises.
Once reseated on the Prize Charolais-Herds' roof I was able to take in the open vista; clear across the flooded farmland to the Little Chef (now in receivership), the feint swish of the traffic carried on the still air together with the sound of swans and migratory geese. Do these geese really need to bother coming here now it's so mild?
Then I'd forgotten just how much racket store cattle make bellowing and hrrumphing all day, reminiscent of what it used to be like here before they sold up the farm next door and went the 'Amway' route, that lost highway.
As dusk fell the lights of the tractor shone through the veil of dust from the hay being churned out to the cattle and from the wet fields below there was the sound of a shotgun discharging, and a helluva lot of geese noises.
15th January. They Call it Stormy Monday.
I didn't even bother with the Tile salesmans chimney today due to the prevailing weather conditions up there at Chaffinch City the rather exposed location of his steading conversion. However the wind strength out at Mr & Mrs Prize Charolois -Herd also turned out to be far enough up the Beaufort Scale to be rattling the slates on the roof of the farmhouse, as well as the glass in the living room windows.
Priorities here put private education and prize winning bulls way above property maintenance. When I slid open one of the sash windows to put the extension lead out the wind almost took the glass with it.
Priorities here put private education and prize winning bulls way above property maintenance. When I slid open one of the sash windows to put the extension lead out the wind almost took the glass with it.
14th January. Mauled by Laura - Another Day Wasted.
"Brrrr brrrr, brrrr brrrr"
"Hallo, I'm outside the flat now but it's raining..."
"Didn't you get my message?"
"No"
"Well we had to get a slater on an emergency call-out to look at the roof, a reputable tradesman. The leak was so bad in the bedroom all my clothes are ruined, look, I'm handing you over to my boyfriend to tell you what the slater said..."
"Hallo, will I tell you what exactly his report was...?"
"If you like."
"He said it was a f***ing shambles, slates stuck there with silicon rubber and some missing completely."
"Well..errr.. yes, your side is the worst but you know I'm not the only person that's had a go at the roof over the years. What can you do? the whole thing needs completely re-slating."
"We're not blaming you entirely for Laura's flat becoming unliveable, and I'm not going to charge you for the bed and breakfast..."
"Hallo, I'm outside the flat now but it's raining..."
"Didn't you get my message?"
"No"
"Well we had to get a slater on an emergency call-out to look at the roof, a reputable tradesman. The leak was so bad in the bedroom all my clothes are ruined, look, I'm handing you over to my boyfriend to tell you what the slater said..."
"Hallo, will I tell you what exactly his report was...?"
"If you like."
"He said it was a f***ing shambles, slates stuck there with silicon rubber and some missing completely."
"Well..errr.. yes, your side is the worst but you know I'm not the only person that's had a go at the roof over the years. What can you do? the whole thing needs completely re-slating."
"We're not blaming you entirely for Laura's flat becoming unliveable, and I'm not going to charge you for the bed and breakfast..."
13th January. CSI Columbo.
"I wish I'd watched more re-runs of Columbo", how many people are going to turn around and say that on their deathbed? Eh?
There was that much rain and wind this afternoon I was excused from something outside and found myself watching the outwardly shambolic Peter Falk cleverly piecing the usual plot formula together, some time in about 1972. As always, the finally outwitted villain just happens to be the guy who seemed the most helpful to the Lieutenant earlier on before the 2nd commercial break.
The thing is, can young people today understand Columbo?
Couldn't they trace the suspects movements from his mobile calls?
Why are the interiors so kitsch?
What is a typewriter anyway?
What about satellite imagery, the skys usually clear enough in LA?
What's a Darkroom? and why does it have an orange light?
..."Just one more thing"... couldn't they simply wrap it all up in five minutes with a DNA test?
There was that much rain and wind this afternoon I was excused from something outside and found myself watching the outwardly shambolic Peter Falk cleverly piecing the usual plot formula together, some time in about 1972. As always, the finally outwitted villain just happens to be the guy who seemed the most helpful to the Lieutenant earlier on before the 2nd commercial break.
The thing is, can young people today understand Columbo?
Couldn't they trace the suspects movements from his mobile calls?
Why are the interiors so kitsch?
What is a typewriter anyway?
What about satellite imagery, the skys usually clear enough in LA?
What's a Darkroom? and why does it have an orange light?
..."Just one more thing"... couldn't they simply wrap it all up in five minutes with a DNA test?
12th January. One Blue Hand.
One hassle inevitably led to another, and before the afternoon was over I had the ex-SAS man's toilet in bits.
"Not flushing properly", apparently. After various trips to the plumbing aisles of B&Q for spare parts, nothing fitted together because toilets are a bit like mobile phones; they keep changing the design. The short answer, as for many other sanitary problems is a generous application of silicon rubber.
The experience has left an inedelible mark in the form of one blue hand. This is because the ex-SAS man, rather than availing himself of the loo brush provided, prefers the dropping of the mysterious blue cube into the toilet cistern method of toilet hygiene.
These cubes, once part dissolved, colour the toilet water bright blue and anything else they come into direct contact with.
"Not flushing properly", apparently. After various trips to the plumbing aisles of B&Q for spare parts, nothing fitted together because toilets are a bit like mobile phones; they keep changing the design. The short answer, as for many other sanitary problems is a generous application of silicon rubber.
The experience has left an inedelible mark in the form of one blue hand. This is because the ex-SAS man, rather than availing himself of the loo brush provided, prefers the dropping of the mysterious blue cube into the toilet cistern method of toilet hygiene.
These cubes, once part dissolved, colour the toilet water bright blue and anything else they come into direct contact with.
11th January. Budgie Health Report.
Herbert has been looking somewhat dishevelled of late, just not looking after himself the same. He's let personal grooming slip, trapped as he is in a loveless arranged marriage courtesy of 'Pets at Home'. The vet recommended the ubiquitous universal antibiotic in the drinking water as a wee pick-me-up.
Harriet looks well but has a few movement routines she's fond of going into, it may be early onset Alzhiemers. To be fair she must have heard every anecdote, story, and joke her erstwhile husband is capable of wittering on about...
The trick is to minimise or simply avoid any eye contact.
Harriet looks well but has a few movement routines she's fond of going into, it may be early onset Alzhiemers. To be fair she must have heard every anecdote, story, and joke her erstwhile husband is capable of wittering on about...
The trick is to minimise or simply avoid any eye contact.
10th January. Telephone Conversation with Mrs H.
"Could you cut two inches off the front of the hearth?"
"Not very easily, not now. You're supposed to have 300mm in front of the stove according to the building regulations. If your house burned down the insurance wouldn't pay out."
"Are the slabs stuck to the floor?"
"Yes, with tile cement."
"Well, it's just that they're upside down with the bar code labels showing."
"No, it's the smooth side that faces up."
"I bought them because I liked the rustic effect, I thought the bar code labels were on the back."
"Well they're kind of stuck down now."
" Oh well, I'll just have to cry every time I look at the hearth."
(Jeezuz!)
"Not very easily, not now. You're supposed to have 300mm in front of the stove according to the building regulations. If your house burned down the insurance wouldn't pay out."
"Are the slabs stuck to the floor?"
"Yes, with tile cement."
"Well, it's just that they're upside down with the bar code labels showing."
"No, it's the smooth side that faces up."
"I bought them because I liked the rustic effect, I thought the bar code labels were on the back."
"Well they're kind of stuck down now."
" Oh well, I'll just have to cry every time I look at the hearth."
(Jeezuz!)
9th January. Telephone Survey.
An unusual thing happened today, somebody used a phone box; I hasten to add, to make a phone call, not as a toilet or to give birth in.
I was on the roof of number 25 Post War Crescent when a fairly stooped wife in a head scarf came ambling along over the road. She struggled in the wind with the heavyweight red painted door finally entering the archaic example of telecommunications.
It's likely that she was representative of todays public telephone user.
How thankful the residents of Numbers 24 and 26 must be now that teenagers don't have to spend most of the evening hanging around outside constantly phoning the other box in the village for an essential minute by minute update of what's happening 250 yards away.
Later in the afternoon the survey sample was increased from one to two when an identical woman in a headscarf made another half hour call.
I was on the roof of number 25 Post War Crescent when a fairly stooped wife in a head scarf came ambling along over the road. She struggled in the wind with the heavyweight red painted door finally entering the archaic example of telecommunications.
It's likely that she was representative of todays public telephone user.
How thankful the residents of Numbers 24 and 26 must be now that teenagers don't have to spend most of the evening hanging around outside constantly phoning the other box in the village for an essential minute by minute update of what's happening 250 yards away.
Later in the afternoon the survey sample was increased from one to two when an identical woman in a headscarf made another half hour call.
8th January. A Mega-Tsunami of Brickwork
I ripped off the plasterboard exposing the remains of the fireplace at Mrs Hs' before setting about the surrounding wall with the Kango electric hammer.
A large spider, rudely awakened, made for a gap between the bricks and the laminate flooring. It must have spent the rest of the day wondering what the hell the noise was all about.
The same thought must have crossed the mind of the goldfish in the kitchen and the woman next door, who had the TV turned up especially loud, I noticed, in the afternoon.
A large spider, rudely awakened, made for a gap between the bricks and the laminate flooring. It must have spent the rest of the day wondering what the hell the noise was all about.
The same thought must have crossed the mind of the goldfish in the kitchen and the woman next door, who had the TV turned up especially loud, I noticed, in the afternoon.
7th January. A Load of Rubbish.
Filled up the trailer with half a ton of detritus from the driveway. In the long run it's better if I set a new stern example by being ruthless with clutter. Normally things are put aside for 'the future' to be thrown out two or three years later. By that time they are sufficiently rotted or rusted to be of any conceivable use.
Amongst today's scrap was the remains of the unmotorised treadmill machine which was recently doing double-duty as a perch for robins and hens. It's original capacity to provide cardiovascular exercise had been heavily outweighed by it's unique ability to cause Isabelle a herniated disc between L4 and L5.
Amongst today's scrap was the remains of the unmotorised treadmill machine which was recently doing double-duty as a perch for robins and hens. It's original capacity to provide cardiovascular exercise had been heavily outweighed by it's unique ability to cause Isabelle a herniated disc between L4 and L5.
6th January. Friday Night Fever.
Welcome to illness, courtesy of up north, Aberdeen Pre-Schoolers 1. me 0.
The delirium of the night resulted in tortured dreams of everyone in the world having not just one but several Bank of Scotland Visa cards. The situation was so out of control that the bank was forced to write off the untold millions in personal debt.
The delirium of the night resulted in tortured dreams of everyone in the world having not just one but several Bank of Scotland Visa cards. The situation was so out of control that the bank was forced to write off the untold millions in personal debt.
5th January. Getting To Grips With 2007.
I had to force myself to wish a "Happy New Year" to various individuals that normally populate 'Chimney World'. Naturally not many people looked that happy, because they were back working at somewhere like the builders merchants; or if they did laugh, it was the hollow laugh of irony.
Roughly translated, "Did you have a good new year?" means "Did you have a large enough intake of alcohol to momentarily forget just what a dead end your life has become"?
The general idea is that, if this annual opportunity for complete intoxication was missed due to some circumstance, then ones' life is very much poorer for it.
Roughly translated, "Did you have a good new year?" means "Did you have a large enough intake of alcohol to momentarily forget just what a dead end your life has become"?
The general idea is that, if this annual opportunity for complete intoxication was missed due to some circumstance, then ones' life is very much poorer for it.
4th January. Running Hot & Cold.
Peter phoned for technical advice.
"The cold water's coming out hot, any ideas?"
Well, if it was your heating that was at fault, wouldn't you be poisoned by the anti-freeze and corrosion inhibitor in the system? Maybe it's a massive electrical short; is the meter spinning out of control? Or wait... Could it be seismic activity, a crack in the Earth's crust? You must have seen "Dantes' Peak", you know, with Pierce Brosnan? Unusual events, like water heating up, are a tell-tale sign that baby's going to blow! Get the hell out! You can't outrun a pyroclastic flow!
"The cold water's coming out hot, any ideas?"
Well, if it was your heating that was at fault, wouldn't you be poisoned by the anti-freeze and corrosion inhibitor in the system? Maybe it's a massive electrical short; is the meter spinning out of control? Or wait... Could it be seismic activity, a crack in the Earth's crust? You must have seen "Dantes' Peak", you know, with Pierce Brosnan? Unusual events, like water heating up, are a tell-tale sign that baby's going to blow! Get the hell out! You can't outrun a pyroclastic flow!
3rd January. Awakening.
The light of a grey Aberdeen dawn filtered through the french windows sillouetting the leafless trees against a blustery northern sky. I lay in a sleeping bag with a full bladder on the floor of Jimmys' living room as the sound of various pre-schoolers filled the house.
"Cup of tea?"
World of Chimneys 2007 begins... Groundhog Year.
"Cup of tea?"
World of Chimneys 2007 begins... Groundhog Year.
2nd January. Caponisation.
The current crop of young chickens are now entering the equivalent of puberty with a corresponding loss of innocence. Normal practice amongst poultry keepers is simply to 'dispatch' all the cockerels and make a nice pie. Unfortunately this option isn't available due to a surfeit of sentiment regarding these particular adolescents.
I suggested having the more precocious and unruly males Caponised. "A capon is a rooster (a male chicken) whose testicles were removed at a young age. Typically the castration is performed when the chicken is between 6 and 20 weeks old." A proper caponiser can apparently sort out 200 birds an hour. "...the benefits are a non-aggressive male that can serve as a mother for baby chicks. They also produce ample, tender meat when butchered and as such are a choice poultry meat in some locales. Capons taste great due to the high fat content, they are self-basting..." (this fact can for our purposes be ignored.)
It's possible that the caponising technique could be adapted for other young adults for whom the threat of the 'naughty step' is no longer deterrent enough.
I suggested having the more precocious and unruly males Caponised. "A capon is a rooster (a male chicken) whose testicles were removed at a young age. Typically the castration is performed when the chicken is between 6 and 20 weeks old." A proper caponiser can apparently sort out 200 birds an hour. "...the benefits are a non-aggressive male that can serve as a mother for baby chicks. They also produce ample, tender meat when butchered and as such are a choice poultry meat in some locales. Capons taste great due to the high fat content, they are self-basting..." (this fact can for our purposes be ignored.)
It's possible that the caponising technique could be adapted for other young adults for whom the threat of the 'naughty step' is no longer deterrent enough.
1st January. The Year of the Bore.
2007 will see the start of the Chinese 'Year of The Bore'. The Pig type is usually a montonous, self-obsessed and wearisome person. He/she is an immodest, tedious character who prefers the sound of his/her own voice. When others despair, he/she is invariably around to offer their own lengthy and fixed opinion. This type of person is diffuse and wordy with those they do not know too well, but as time passes and they become even more garrulous and soporific, those around them may discover an extremely dull and unexciting person behind that rambling and roundabout manner. Despite those born in the year of the pig having a wide circle of friends and acquaintances, they have few close friends willing to endure their excessively prosaic and humdrum inner thoughts and feelings. Such people are never afraid to share a trivial, over-long, and labourious anecdote preventing others their freedom of expression.
31st December. More Gas Reserves.
Thunder and lightning played havoc outside as the rain lashed against the skylights here in the room upstairs. The options for Hogmanay had to be considered, these included driving to Edinburgh not being able to park or drink, watching the fireworks in the rain surrounded by tens of thousands of drunks then getting stuck in traffic; enduring the neighbours and having to kiss people who ignore you for the rest of the year or overeating at the Royal George, playing a board game with F & D then having an argument about some aspect of the rules.
I had the Steak Pie but shouldn't have eaten the cream cake part of the High Tea. The flatulence that followed a few hours later gave a slight variation on the traditional 'First Footing' of the New Year at Muirhall Drive... much to everyone elses disgust.
I had the Steak Pie but shouldn't have eaten the cream cake part of the High Tea. The flatulence that followed a few hours later gave a slight variation on the traditional 'First Footing' of the New Year at Muirhall Drive... much to everyone elses disgust.
30th December. Unnatural Gas.
Felt a bit dead this morning. Took the remains of the PC around to Alistair, who took the hard drive thingy out of it. After plugging it into his computer he said it was similarly deceased, that's what I can tell the Inland Revenue if there's any dissecting of last years accounts. Before I left, I managed to stink out the front room, the back room and the kitchen in his house, a consequence of last nights over indulgence, "heavy aromatic compounds" he said.
29th December. Sick Outside The Fishermans.
The annual private function in Broughty Ferry was drawing to a close. I made a bee-line for the swing doors with a growing sense of urgency, politely ignoring any attempts at long-winded farewells from fellow drinkers. Once outside on the pavement the dizzieness heralded an out-of-stomach experience, such as is seen all over Britain amongst binge drinking young people. However any illness was quickly washed away by the rain or carried on the gale which had sprung up from the river.
The doors swung open and Isabelle came out of the bar walking towards me then quickly assessing the situation, "Eeeyuch! I've walked in your vomit."
The doors swung open and Isabelle came out of the bar walking towards me then quickly assessing the situation, "Eeeyuch! I've walked in your vomit."
28th December. That Hen Again.
No sooner was the house heated up again and who should come calling but 'Hettie the Intelligent Hen', who recently has got too clever by far.
"It's practically taken over the kitchen, that bird has" I said.
"You should have seen her face this evening" Isabelle said. "I just looked out of the door and her face was full of purpose, just saying 'Open the door'."
The real purpose is for the hen to wander about the kitchen knocking the cats' water bowl over, perching on my shoulders, pecking at any odd bits of cat litter, then after about 8pm retiring to a cardboard box in the bedroom. Hettie likes to sleep late.
"It's practically taken over the kitchen, that bird has" I said.
"You should have seen her face this evening" Isabelle said. "I just looked out of the door and her face was full of purpose, just saying 'Open the door'."
The real purpose is for the hen to wander about the kitchen knocking the cats' water bowl over, perching on my shoulders, pecking at any odd bits of cat litter, then after about 8pm retiring to a cardboard box in the bedroom. Hettie likes to sleep late.
27th December. Cold Comfort Here.
Arrived back here with the heating off for almost a week, took me right back to the days of going to bed with cold feet.
Back then, when Isabelle first arrived here, we used to sit there in the kitchen with coats on and Isabelle would wear a scarf and gloves, and you could see your breath. A tank of central heating oil lasted three years. Needless to say by the second year an ultimatum was delivered, and a 50:50 compromise worked out; heating on during the day but off at night.
Back then, when Isabelle first arrived here, we used to sit there in the kitchen with coats on and Isabelle would wear a scarf and gloves, and you could see your breath. A tank of central heating oil lasted three years. Needless to say by the second year an ultimatum was delivered, and a 50:50 compromise worked out; heating on during the day but off at night.
26th December. How to Order a Coffee.
Isabelle was surprised then appalled when she discovered the reason the man behind the bar at The London Hotel had served up two black coffees as well as two white coffees. This was clear evidence of another case of 'Are you on drugs?' syndrome; the inability to communicate the simplest of requests by word of mouth.
Isabelle and Junior gave me a thorough grilling on speech habits, not being bothered, and not willing to make any effort regarding enunciation etc. Junior determined to enlighten me further with the use of the newly acquired video technology of his mobile phone, as to just how much of a retard (for want of a better word) I come over as. Some progress has been made on that front I must admit.
Isabelle and Junior gave me a thorough grilling on speech habits, not being bothered, and not willing to make any effort regarding enunciation etc. Junior determined to enlighten me further with the use of the newly acquired video technology of his mobile phone, as to just how much of a retard (for want of a better word) I come over as. Some progress has been made on that front I must admit.
25th December. Xmas Morning Care Home Dialogue.
"Will you be coming tonight?"
"Probably not, but we're all here now."
"NOW's no good is it!! It's Christmas night that matters! They're all going out! It's not much of a prospect is it? It's not very nice being on your own on Christmas night. They're all going out, I'll be on my own."
(Pause) 'Will you be coming tonight?"
"Yes, we'll be coming tonight."
"Oh! please yourselves! Don't come if you don't want to!"
(Pause) "I don't want you here! DON'T come then!"
(Pause) "What are you doing tonight? I'll be on my own", etc...
"Probably not, but we're all here now."
"NOW's no good is it!! It's Christmas night that matters! They're all going out! It's not much of a prospect is it? It's not very nice being on your own on Christmas night. They're all going out, I'll be on my own."
(Pause) 'Will you be coming tonight?"
"Yes, we'll be coming tonight."
"Oh! please yourselves! Don't come if you don't want to!"
(Pause) "I don't want you here! DON'T come then!"
(Pause) "What are you doing tonight? I'll be on my own", etc...
24th December. Christmas Eve Morning Day.
Xmas meal No.1 passed off as planned but only I opted for Turkey. The others wanted to save themselves for tomorrow and the next day. Total cost came out at £47 including drinks for five people, less than a meal for one at last years Xmas Day prices at The Talardy just down the road.
Mother got a bit teary, going on about 'being a burden' etc, when I had to wheel her through to the disabled toilets for another gymnastic session. I made light of the situation commenting that old age was simply a fact of life, before wheeling her back for Xmas Pudding.
The savings made at the Tweedmill Xmas Eve economy dinner have to be offset against the almost inevitable purchase by Isabelle of a coat here at the trade outlet. We must also include in the calculation, the £89 worth of M&S Christmas food we have to consume tomorrow whilst Mother has her own dinner along with the other Care Home inmates.
Mother got a bit teary, going on about 'being a burden' etc, when I had to wheel her through to the disabled toilets for another gymnastic session. I made light of the situation commenting that old age was simply a fact of life, before wheeling her back for Xmas Pudding.
The savings made at the Tweedmill Xmas Eve economy dinner have to be offset against the almost inevitable purchase by Isabelle of a coat here at the trade outlet. We must also include in the calculation, the £89 worth of M&S Christmas food we have to consume tomorrow whilst Mother has her own dinner along with the other Care Home inmates.
23rd December. Tony Blair.
Mother failed the Tony Blair Test this morning, the closest answer to who the Prime Minister is? was Tony... Benn, "well I don't like him anyway", she said of the current PM, (Whatever his name is presumably).
Technically getting the first letter of the surname right gives a final score of 5 out of 9 letters. This equates to scraping through with a pass mark of 55.5%.
Technically getting the first letter of the surname right gives a final score of 5 out of 9 letters. This equates to scraping through with a pass mark of 55.5%.
22rd December. Father Ted Meets Google.
My brother (70) has been threatening for a while to enter the digital age but to date still lacks a computer. What do you need a computer for eh? 'Junior' has a computer but no internet connection, honestly in this day and age! How can anyone live without Google? For instance if you'd been watching a xmas episode of Father Ted and wondered what year it was made. but not having received a Classical education how could you find out what the Roman numerals XCVI mean, without leaving your seat? is it 86 or 96?
This is an example of one of many invaluable services the home computer can provide. Does this mean that General Knowledge may go the same way as mental arithmetic since we've all had pocket calculators? Duh... just a minute there... I'll have to google that one...
This is an example of one of many invaluable services the home computer can provide. Does this mean that General Knowledge may go the same way as mental arithmetic since we've all had pocket calculators? Duh... just a minute there... I'll have to google that one...
21st December. Christmas Dinner-Bargain!
Departure for "Sunny" Rhyl is scheduled for tomorrow. It was my idea to have Christmas one day earlier than normally advertised.
Mother is now, to be perfectly frank, at a stage in life where one day is pretty much like any other. It's maybe unfair to go as far as to say she doesn't know what day it is, and also, when I tried her out last visit, she still passed the Tony Blair Test with full marks. Why pay all that money for a meal out on the one day in the year when they bump up the price of Turkey all because of Baby Jesus? You can get a perfectly adequate Christmas dinner at the "Tweedmill" any time up to three weeks before 'His' official birthday, with wheelchair access, disabled toilets and you can pick up a cut price pair of jeans at the same time. Another advantage is that my brother won't have to defy the laws of physics by being in two places at once on the 25th, but will still be able to eat Christmas dinner twice, as we all will, even Mother, who still has a remarkable digestion at 92.
She will probably have forgotten anyway, by the time she's eating turkey with all the trimmings again a day later in the care home.
Mother is now, to be perfectly frank, at a stage in life where one day is pretty much like any other. It's maybe unfair to go as far as to say she doesn't know what day it is, and also, when I tried her out last visit, she still passed the Tony Blair Test with full marks. Why pay all that money for a meal out on the one day in the year when they bump up the price of Turkey all because of Baby Jesus? You can get a perfectly adequate Christmas dinner at the "Tweedmill" any time up to three weeks before 'His' official birthday, with wheelchair access, disabled toilets and you can pick up a cut price pair of jeans at the same time. Another advantage is that my brother won't have to defy the laws of physics by being in two places at once on the 25th, but will still be able to eat Christmas dinner twice, as we all will, even Mother, who still has a remarkable digestion at 92.
She will probably have forgotten anyway, by the time she's eating turkey with all the trimmings again a day later in the care home.
20th December. Interlude At the Health Centre.
Clocked in at Glaver St, first thing but Nurse Grey pulled Isabelle up short on the subject of having a syringe stuck in my arm.
"We can't just take blood willy-nilly you know, we can only do a chloresterol test on the request of a Doctor. Does he have a heart condition? It's only the immediate family history that matters".
"Yes, but he eats a lot of butter and cheese".
"What difference would him knowing his chloresterol level make? We should all try to eat a healthy diet anyway" countered Nurse Grey.
"That's ok" I said, "I don't really mind. Actually, I've got a touch of Trypanophobia" I said looking at a syringe filling up with Isabelle's rare warm blood. Luckily there was no more requirement for additional puncturing in the form of boosters for Typhoid and the like, vis-a-vis the next upcoming tropical soujourn. That was according to the now uploaded medical records.
Just to make sure, Nurse Grey hauled out the original files, I mean can you really trust anything on a computer screen I thought, as she perused an on-line map of Malaria incidence in Vietnam. "I think Trang-Bang's there" I said, pointing to the red shaded area which just about covered the whole country.
"We can't just take blood willy-nilly you know, we can only do a chloresterol test on the request of a Doctor. Does he have a heart condition? It's only the immediate family history that matters".
"Yes, but he eats a lot of butter and cheese".
"What difference would him knowing his chloresterol level make? We should all try to eat a healthy diet anyway" countered Nurse Grey.
"That's ok" I said, "I don't really mind. Actually, I've got a touch of Trypanophobia" I said looking at a syringe filling up with Isabelle's rare warm blood. Luckily there was no more requirement for additional puncturing in the form of boosters for Typhoid and the like, vis-a-vis the next upcoming tropical soujourn. That was according to the now uploaded medical records.
Just to make sure, Nurse Grey hauled out the original files, I mean can you really trust anything on a computer screen I thought, as she perused an on-line map of Malaria incidence in Vietnam. "I think Trang-Bang's there" I said, pointing to the red shaded area which just about covered the whole country.
19th December. Ladderwork- a Proactive Approach
The McBs work on the principle, that as far as the house goes, he makes most of the decisions, Mrs McB only has to decide when to hoover or when to go out to the shops, which are in easy walking distance. Recently bereaved, Mrs McB made a point of mentioning before going out to the shops mid-morning "to be careful on those ladders with the ice and frost", which was nice. I must admit it had already crossed my mind, as a precaution I decided to take my mobile phone with me. The reasoning behind this was; in the event of a fall onto say the conservatory roof if I regained consciousness to find myself half paralysed, or maybe just with a fractured pelvis I might be stuck there and end up suffering from exposure before Mrs McB finally came back from the town. I nipped out into the street as I'd forgotten the name of the house should I need to give directions to the emergency services.
18th December. That Rob Liddle Thing-Ch. 4.
Re: The Trouble With Atheism.
According to Mr Liddle the dangerous vacuum left by the disappearance of Religion would leave us all living in something akin to a Marxist state operating a system of Eugenics. Well to be honest a package tour to the Soviet Union of the mid 1980's left me with the distinct impression they'd just swapped one set of religious icons for another; the same profile of Lenins head everywhere you looked. Can anyone seriously equate so-called Atheist states with a network of Gulags as encouraging the habit of thinking for yourself. As for Hitler, Atheism and whatever, the way I have it, Hitler was latterly off his trolley and a ruthless dictator to boot who used any means possible to achieve some crackpot notion of World domination. Even if Hitler was an Atheist It's tantamount to saying because Hitler was a vegetarian anyone that doesn't eat meat should be watched very carefully indeed.
According to Mr Liddle the dangerous vacuum left by the disappearance of Religion would leave us all living in something akin to a Marxist state operating a system of Eugenics. Well to be honest a package tour to the Soviet Union of the mid 1980's left me with the distinct impression they'd just swapped one set of religious icons for another; the same profile of Lenins head everywhere you looked. Can anyone seriously equate so-called Atheist states with a network of Gulags as encouraging the habit of thinking for yourself. As for Hitler, Atheism and whatever, the way I have it, Hitler was latterly off his trolley and a ruthless dictator to boot who used any means possible to achieve some crackpot notion of World domination. Even if Hitler was an Atheist It's tantamount to saying because Hitler was a vegetarian anyone that doesn't eat meat should be watched very carefully indeed.
17th December. Last Post?
Tomorrow, Monday, facing up to the grim reality of another large house with beige carpeting in the living room. Beige carpet matches well with everything except soot, cement dust or any kind of mud or bootprint. Access to the top of the chimney is compromised by a conservatory which has "a flat bit on top that a ladder could stand on." However Conservatory is just another name for Glasshouse with all its attendant vulnerabilities to 30 feet of chimney liner. Frost is also set to add interest to the proceedings... This may be my last post.
16th December. 'Tiddles'-Your Profile.
In a dramatic turn of events 'Tiddles' became involved in a medical drama which was to ultimately cost, not her life, but £44.75. 'Tiddles' has, for some fourteen years, proved to be a very low maintenance cat and has never been back to the vets since the official hysterectomy. She enjoys the violin and also popular brass band melodies but only when whistled. She has in her time dabbled in soft drugs such as Catmint but her premier addiction remains Tesco Cat Crunchies. 'Tiddles' is a firm believer in a no-exercise approach to life and is very fond of central heating.
15th December. Perth Crematorium.
Skirting round the town on the by-pass a little earlier than usual I notice something that isn't usually there; a plume of fairly thick smoke rising straight up above the now leafless trees. For a moment, I thought, in a provincial town nowadays conspicuously lacking in any heavy industry, what enterprise could account for this level of pollution or indeed permit such a spread of contaminants?
Then i realised the factory in question at one time sighted on the outskirts of town and obscured by trees is now actually only separated by the said trees from the main road. We are here speaking of what has become a growth industry of late and a success story that's projected to continue for a number of years. Despite the freeing up of the marketplace the factory still enjoys a local monopoly.
Then i realised the factory in question at one time sighted on the outskirts of town and obscured by trees is now actually only separated by the said trees from the main road. We are here speaking of what has become a growth industry of late and a success story that's projected to continue for a number of years. Despite the freeing up of the marketplace the factory still enjoys a local monopoly.
14th December. 'The Swimming'
Tonight, due to a misapprehension regarding 'Swim Club' I find I'm the only swimmer in the entire Leisure Pool. It's still required that I be watched by two attendants to comply fully with current health & safety. It feels like either this is my own private 25 metre pool with a permanent staff or I'm in an aquatic version of 'The Shining'. One attendant opens the door directly to the rain and wind until a particularly strong gust slams the door shut again... then all of a sudden the pool turns red and I'm swimming in blood.
13th December. 10 Years Older.
Arrived this morning to another closely worded A4 sheet of instructions regarding the eventual appearance of the fireplace for Mrs S. To be fair there was included an apology for this degree of fussiness and a hint that this increases with age, "You must think I'm..."
Yes well, it's a far cry from Mr R for instance who left his front door unlocked having instructed me to do "Whatever you think best". Thereby trusting me to make any decision that came into my head with regard to the aesthetics, which he would then live with presumably for the next ten years or so.
Isabelle relaxes, glued to that formulaic '10 years Younger' thing on Ch 4 where normally some woman agonises over the eventual appearance of something, usually her face...
Yes well, it's a far cry from Mr R for instance who left his front door unlocked having instructed me to do "Whatever you think best". Thereby trusting me to make any decision that came into my head with regard to the aesthetics, which he would then live with presumably for the next ten years or so.
Isabelle relaxes, glued to that formulaic '10 years Younger' thing on Ch 4 where normally some woman agonises over the eventual appearance of something, usually her face...
12th December. Jack Spratts' Chloresterol Level.
For some reason, Isabelle has us booked in at Glaver Street for a Chloresterol Level check, probably sparked by some kind of dietary concern. If I'm anything like my late uncle who took the Coronary Thrombosis route, I've only about five years to go. Whereas Mother seems to have no heart trouble despite a lifetime of eating 'good food', i.e. meat and gravy.
If Jack Spratt (who ate no fat) and his wife (who ate no lean) had their levels checked, the results should correlate well with ours, as well as between them, licking the platter clean.
If Jack Spratt (who ate no fat) and his wife (who ate no lean) had their levels checked, the results should correlate well with ours, as well as between them, licking the platter clean.
11th December. "A Big Dog Has Died."
When I got in the door tonight Pete was sitting there with Callum drinking tea at the kitchen table and Isabelle said straightaway "A big dog has died"
"Who, Max?" I said, referring to a particular long-lived mongrel. "No a big DOVE". Sure enough there was this huge Wood Pigeon in a shoe box, dead as a proverbial Dodo. The bird had been brought over for convalescence but hadn't reacted well to the change of environment, I don't think it was very well in the first place and so when it got a bit worked up it did itself in.
It'll probably just go in the Wheelie bin without any formal ceremony as it's collection day tomorrow, Tuesday. I doubt if they'll be a burial down in the garden since no one really knew the Wood Pigeon, it was a bit of a non-entity. If it had been more of a survivor like those ex-town centre birds 'Donnie' or 'Whistle' they might have interbred and produced a Pove or a Digeon...
"Who, Max?" I said, referring to a particular long-lived mongrel. "No a big DOVE". Sure enough there was this huge Wood Pigeon in a shoe box, dead as a proverbial Dodo. The bird had been brought over for convalescence but hadn't reacted well to the change of environment, I don't think it was very well in the first place and so when it got a bit worked up it did itself in.
It'll probably just go in the Wheelie bin without any formal ceremony as it's collection day tomorrow, Tuesday. I doubt if they'll be a burial down in the garden since no one really knew the Wood Pigeon, it was a bit of a non-entity. If it had been more of a survivor like those ex-town centre birds 'Donnie' or 'Whistle' they might have interbred and produced a Pove or a Digeon...
10th December. News of a Spontaneous Remission in The Comrie Area.
I'll be writing shortly to Pope Benedict XVI to submit a report on the miraculous cure of the horrible noise from the front differential, which has simply vanished in the last couple of days.
"There exists no natural cause capable of producing the cure witnessed, it follows there is neither let nor hindrance to prevent an unbiassed mind from tracing back to the particular agency of God. Those who refuse to believe in this miraculous intervention may seek a scientific interpretation of the occurrence. How do we know that some natural force of which we are still ignorant does not operate this marvellous cure which is attributed directly to God?" How do we know? Why should this law operate for Daihatsu and not for Toyota? Is it because they deny its existence and the others believe in it? Moreover, not only there does not exist, but there cannot exist, and consequently will never exist, a natural law producing instantaneously the regeneration of bearing surfaces."
"There exists no natural cause capable of producing the cure witnessed, it follows there is neither let nor hindrance to prevent an unbiassed mind from tracing back to the particular agency of God. Those who refuse to believe in this miraculous intervention may seek a scientific interpretation of the occurrence. How do we know that some natural force of which we are still ignorant does not operate this marvellous cure which is attributed directly to God?" How do we know? Why should this law operate for Daihatsu and not for Toyota? Is it because they deny its existence and the others believe in it? Moreover, not only there does not exist, but there cannot exist, and consequently will never exist, a natural law producing instantaneously the regeneration of bearing surfaces."
9th December. The Dragons' Cave.
Ronnie tells me there's a cave on Kinnoul Hill called The Dragons' Cave, Apparently St.Serf was up there and did a bit of slaying in the 5th century. He did the same trick at Dunning where the upper part of the village is still referred to as 'The Draygon'.
The obvious question is What exactly did The Saint slay? It's really no different today as far as some of the more wackier reports go, except its more likely to be Alien abductions than Dragons in lairs. Saint Serf could easily have been off his trolley, but there's a simpler explanation, given just how bunged up with belief and superstition the populous must have been if today's anything to go by.
A young woman has gone missing, (who in reality had run off to the bright lights of Perth) a crime where the Dragon is clearly the culprit, the villagers are terrified of the wood, so they call in 'The Saint'. Saint Serf goes off into the wood finds nothing of course - comes back and to shut up the villagers, reassures them that the dragon is dead, (making light of his role in its death). Now they can all get on with daily life as normal, and there won't be any need to bother him again. However St Serf has made a rod for his own back and it's not long before he gets a call about another different Dragon problem... and so the legend grew amongst the people.
The obvious question is What exactly did The Saint slay? It's really no different today as far as some of the more wackier reports go, except its more likely to be Alien abductions than Dragons in lairs. Saint Serf could easily have been off his trolley, but there's a simpler explanation, given just how bunged up with belief and superstition the populous must have been if today's anything to go by.
A young woman has gone missing, (who in reality had run off to the bright lights of Perth) a crime where the Dragon is clearly the culprit, the villagers are terrified of the wood, so they call in 'The Saint'. Saint Serf goes off into the wood finds nothing of course - comes back and to shut up the villagers, reassures them that the dragon is dead, (making light of his role in its death). Now they can all get on with daily life as normal, and there won't be any need to bother him again. However St Serf has made a rod for his own back and it's not long before he gets a call about another different Dragon problem... and so the legend grew amongst the people.
8th December. Dance To The Sound of The Band 'SOUND CHECK' at Ruth's 40th.
The two bands (which later proved to be one band twice over) set up and carry out all the necessary sound checks commensurate with playing Shea Stadium, this takes about 2 to 3 hours - it's going to be a late night. Children carriere around on skate boards in the festively lit steading, adults drift in then out to the fire in the yard, circulating back to the kitchen, becoming progressively inebriated. A rival acoustic set featuring some of the more musical guests plays inside the house, which is warmer. Then music starts issuing from the steading, "The bands started!" No, just another long 2 minute sound check.
At some point the Celtic band which is the warm-up, commences, the adults leap about and twirl around but it's all rather short-lived, as the instruments soon have to be packed up. The 2nd 'heavier' band start adjusting and fiddling about with microphone stands etc... I take the opportunity to join in the fun to be pushed around lying on a skateboard by an eight year old. When the rock band finally gets going they have to stop to retune again, something to do with the low ambient temperature. After a short set there is a 'break for drinks' then not long into the 2nd set there is an interlude when the drummer has to leave to go for a pee...
At some point the Celtic band which is the warm-up, commences, the adults leap about and twirl around but it's all rather short-lived, as the instruments soon have to be packed up. The 2nd 'heavier' band start adjusting and fiddling about with microphone stands etc... I take the opportunity to join in the fun to be pushed around lying on a skateboard by an eight year old. When the rock band finally gets going they have to stop to retune again, something to do with the low ambient temperature. After a short set there is a 'break for drinks' then not long into the 2nd set there is an interlude when the drummer has to leave to go for a pee...
7th December.The Knackered Front Prop Shaft.
Just a nonsense, rolling about in the rain, water dripping down the neck, everything siezed or rusted solid and now I'm so blind I can't read the sizes on the spanners. This is what always happens, you find something wrong, something satisfying, something that fits all the symptoms of 'the Noise' or whatever the problem happens to be, "Ah that's it! definitely found it, I'm absolutely certain of that" You remove or replace the offending article. In this case, well I won't bore you with the details, but what was a 4WD vehicle is now a 2WD. So everything's sorted out and makes perfect sense until you jump in and drive away and discover that the time and energy spent has made precisely no difference whatsoever.
The moral is that just about everything that hasn't actually been demonstrated or tested is wishful thinking.
The moral is that just about everything that hasn't actually been demonstrated or tested is wishful thinking.
6th December. I See My Future.
I was only saying the other day how reliable the Daihatsu has been, virtually no involvement rolling around underneath a vehicle for two years. I was congratulating myself on not having anything to do with Land Rover which although offering easily available spares has the disadvantage of always needing them.
However on the return journey tonight there was the beginings of a noise. A noise that sounds like a bearing in distress, an intermittent growling. I engaged four wheel drive to see what would happen, the result was much worse, it felt like the transfer box was filled with gravel rather than oil, that's assuming it ever had oil in it. I can see a spell of rolling around outside looming. The rain is on again and that will ensure that the drive is thoroughly wetted by tomorrow. As luck would have it, these problems nearly always crop up in winter, but then thanks to global warming it is mild for December. ("It's an ill wind that blows no good")
However on the return journey tonight there was the beginings of a noise. A noise that sounds like a bearing in distress, an intermittent growling. I engaged four wheel drive to see what would happen, the result was much worse, it felt like the transfer box was filled with gravel rather than oil, that's assuming it ever had oil in it. I can see a spell of rolling around outside looming. The rain is on again and that will ensure that the drive is thoroughly wetted by tomorrow. As luck would have it, these problems nearly always crop up in winter, but then thanks to global warming it is mild for December. ("It's an ill wind that blows no good")
5th December. An Open Door.
Things took rather a sinister turn tonight after repeated phone calls from one of the two single mum tenants, it was the one that had her arm in plaster when she moved in. Anyway, she had returned home to find the door to the flat unlocked, the hall light on, and a piece of paper with Isabelle's contact details on the mat outside. "Had Isabelle been in the flat today?" Well no, not unless there is an Etheric double in existence.
The prime suspect of course in these cases has to be the estranged husband. A changing of the doorlock seemed to be the obvious course and was duly authorised. 'Hell hath no fury like, errr... a person scorned'.
The prime suspect of course in these cases has to be the estranged husband. A changing of the doorlock seemed to be the obvious course and was duly authorised. 'Hell hath no fury like, errr... a person scorned'.
4th December. Formulating a General Rule From Flat Renovation.
It was said right at the begining, even before an offer had been made, that the flat in question "just needs a shower." I said that "maybe i didn't need to be involved at all, you could just get a plumber, I wouldn't even need to see the flat". Six months later a shower is half-installed, one of the last things in what has proved to be a long on-going list. As a general rule its safe to say that if anything "just needs.." you may find yourself straying into a fictional world where the Lion may as well lie down with the Lamb.
This also applies to "All you need is..." Such things as 'love', ' to be able to recognise a good compromise', ' a sense of humour', 'faith in yourself'. These are all certainly handy things to have but no closer to reality than "Just needs a shower."
This also applies to "All you need is..." Such things as 'love', ' to be able to recognise a good compromise', ' a sense of humour', 'faith in yourself'. These are all certainly handy things to have but no closer to reality than "Just needs a shower."
3rd December. Leisure Pool Soundtrack.
They certainly play all the hits at the Leisure Pool... of the 1980's. When the place opened in about 1986, it was the hits of the 1960's. I distinctly remember weekday pensioners bobbing around to the sound of 'My Generation' which seemed wildly incongruous at the time but not so much now, if we're talkin' 'bout that particular generation. 'Just because we g-get around' must refer to getting around with a zimmer frame or battery powered trike and they'll be little hope of 'dying before I get old', or indeed causing much of a s-s-senation for that g-g-generation, baby.
I'd like to propose another verse:
It's all just a chemical process (Talkin' 'bout my generation)
And when I die no one 'll notice (Talkin' 'bout my generation)
I'd like to propose another verse:
It's all just a chemical process (Talkin' 'bout my generation)
And when I die no one 'll notice (Talkin' 'bout my generation)
2nd December. Audio Phases.
Haven't been to the library for over a year now, it's another phase that comes and goes, taking out cd's that I've never heard of. There's a point when I'd heard of most of them and you have to wait another couple of years until there's some new stock come in. Isabelle stopped the strumming-at-a-guitar-with-a-delay-pedal phase as it was 'repetitive' but the trance-like state that the very repetition and echo provided was the main attraction. Then there was the violin, remarkable progress was made in a short time during that particular era but once enrolled at Perth College something about being 'taught' killed it dead. The same thing happened with the speech therapy phase when the speech therapy woman asked me if I could move a radiator in their house. I bought this pipe freezing kit which worked quite well, sawed through the frozen central heating pipe, then there was some problem with the size of pipe olives or something. Time slipped by, during which the frozen pipe melted and a fountain of hot water started to play on the floorboards. The speech therapist was moving house the next day and a bit uptight, I folded the pipe over with pliers several times which never quite staunched the flow, then made my excuses,,, and that was the end of that particular phase.
1st December. A TARDIS* in The Garden.
The Hen House is scheduled, not for demolition, but conversion into a studio/summerhouse/TARDIS. There's even talk of a kitchen sink (as in everything and...), a three seater setee, a french style glass fronted armoire, an HD ready flat screen TV, shelves carrying every Vogue back to the mid 90's, a fridge, a microwave, and reputedly, enough cushions to soften any reality, including the interior dimensions. "Have you ever tried swinging a cat in there? I'm not sure it's possible" was my comment.
*Time And Relative Dimension (or Dimensions) In Space.
*Time And Relative Dimension (or Dimensions) In Space.
30th November. A Very Merry Cluttermas.
When I came back I first of all banged into the wreath on the porch door and then the glass of the inner door was adorned with stick on snowflakes. It's that festive time of year again, Cluttermas. It didn't take long to decorate the tree this year, Isabelle tells me, since it was pre-decorated from last year and only had to be moved inside from the 30ft container. In fact it was July before it moved out of the lounge room to the container in the first place, so Cluttermas 2005 lasted, by that reckoning, over six months. There were attenuating circumstances involving an intervertebral disc, it has to be admitted; Cluttermas normally only lasts from about November to February. I go to make a cup of tea and the noise of putting the caddy on the shelf sets off the sound activated singing robin (made in china) which is now stationed in the vicinity, presumably for the duration?
29th November. "Are You on Drugs?"
Well I offered a hand to move the piano over the back doorstep, it had arrived in the back of the local builders Transit. I said something about the sound being not bad despite the fact it was a bit out of tune. It was then that 'John the builder' said "Are you on drugs?" which almost didn't register but then I thought what is he on about?
It was only afterwards I realised that J the builder, lacking or unwilling to play within the accepted boundaries of social decorum, was probably only voicing what the majority think but keep to themselves. To be honest I'd practically forgotten that I sound like I'm recovering from a stroke, (which was someone else's interpretation). Personally I think its all down to falling off a bicycle at age 8. Was the builders interpretation based on real life experience or was it just the idea of what 'being on drugs' is like in the public imagination?
It was only afterwards I realised that J the builder, lacking or unwilling to play within the accepted boundaries of social decorum, was probably only voicing what the majority think but keep to themselves. To be honest I'd practically forgotten that I sound like I'm recovering from a stroke, (which was someone else's interpretation). Personally I think its all down to falling off a bicycle at age 8. Was the builders interpretation based on real life experience or was it just the idea of what 'being on drugs' is like in the public imagination?
28th November. Death of a PC
Isabelle phoned the clinic first thing for a progress report, then relayed the news to me; it was dead, 'nothing recoverable'. A lifeless corpse, still intact, but with all the memories and skills gone forever together with the accounts for the year ending 4th April 2006. 'Did we want to come in and pick up the body or would they dispose of it?' We could take it to the 'recycling', then it'll end up in Nigeria where any financial information can somehow be retrieved by a crime syndicate or anyone else creating a false identity. Would you really want to be me though? I'm not too sure myself?
27th November. Struggling For Consciousness
Tammy Wynette blasts out above the clatter of dishes here at the Motor Grill. In the U.S. the Motor Grill would be, I suppose, a Truck Stop. For some reason Lorries, high chloresterol and country & western seem to hang together on both sides of the Atlantic, is it because C&W is the only musical genre to encompass songs about truck driving? I order "Double egg, chips & beans with bread & butter and a cup of tea", quickly I find that I've over eaten, then before I can stagger outside I have to buy a Mars bar in addition because they don't take debit cards for anything less than a fiver.
As I progress down the A9 I can feel all available oxygen in the blood being diverted away from the brain to digestive duties, so the food at the Motor Grill does pose something of a health risk.
As I progress down the A9 I can feel all available oxygen in the blood being diverted away from the brain to digestive duties, so the food at the Motor Grill does pose something of a health risk.
26th November. The Moon and Jimmy Hill.
I veered about a bit on the road trying to get the number on the mobile, I wanted to tell Isabelle that tonight the moon was like one out of a story book, and to take a look outside. The crescent had the familar profile of Jimmy Hill; long chin, nose, mouth, even an eye. I phoned Fergus so as wee Whats-her-name could take a look at the Man in The Moon too. However there was no answer, and really in all fairness they should be telling that child that the moon is a lifeless ball of rock in orbit around the Earth. However without it life on earth would be pretty freaky if there was any life at all. As I understand it, the Earth would be kind of like an overloaded washing machine on the spin cycle. That is, minus the block of concrete bolted inside that smooths out most of the wobble and judder...
25th November. The Vanishing.
Course I know what it's like, being a fully trained Bereavement Counsellor, that's why I was able to give Isabelle the space required for the grieving process. I had to take my tea downstairs as I was in too bouyant a mood and not downcast enough after recent events. A young chicklet has disappeared without trace somewhere in the Bermudan triangle area of the Beech hedge, scene of another mysterious vanishing a while back. An elderly hen had been a bit too casual in its habit of roosting in the top of the hedge.
The death of a younger individual on the threshold of lifes potential is always hard to come to terms with. The lack of a body and an unsolved crime leave questions forever unanswered, this can weigh heavily on the mind of the bereaved. I don't think any of the nine siblings or the Mother have actually noticed though.
The death of a younger individual on the threshold of lifes potential is always hard to come to terms with. The lack of a body and an unsolved crime leave questions forever unanswered, this can weigh heavily on the mind of the bereaved. I don't think any of the nine siblings or the Mother have actually noticed though.
24th November. A Third of a Fish Supper.
I'd only had a ham salad roll from that shop recently reopened as 'The EarlyBird' a change from 'Cammys' Bellybusters', (obviously moving more upmarket with the addition of net curtains). So by the time I was on the return journey in the dark and wet, I thought I'd pull over at the Fish & Chip shop, (under new management). Under new management is a euphemism for now offering a chinese menu in addition to the traditional fried fare. This brings the total of Chinese Takeaways in what is basically a provincial backwater to something approaching double figures. I could tell by the extreme weight of the box I was handed that something had gone far wrong in the cooking process...
Chip shops staffed by young girls may be pleasant enough but the results invariably take some beating in terms of cooking oil absorption. More often than not I usually think I'll never stomach another fish supper or in this case only a third of a fish supper.
Chip shops staffed by young girls may be pleasant enough but the results invariably take some beating in terms of cooking oil absorption. More often than not I usually think I'll never stomach another fish supper or in this case only a third of a fish supper.
23rd November. Cumberland Sausage with Chlorine.
I'd picked up two packs of Tescos' Finest, both with yellow labels. I've been eating my way through them the last couple of days. The last of them were a wee bit past the date but these dates are for guidance only? They say don't eat an hour before swimming but there's no variance in that formula to allow for what exactly you've eaten. Well an hour's not nearly enough in the case of the cumberland sausage.
Mr Whatsisname certainly was putting us through our paces, imagine trying to swim front crawl lying sideways one hand outstretched and the other creating a wave of chlorinated pool water directly into your open gullet. Goggles misting over as you alternate between burping up sausage and gulping in Cryptosporidium. The result had me reaching for the Bisodol as soon as I was driving out of the car park, to at least neutralise the sausage, if nothing else.
Mr Whatsisname certainly was putting us through our paces, imagine trying to swim front crawl lying sideways one hand outstretched and the other creating a wave of chlorinated pool water directly into your open gullet. Goggles misting over as you alternate between burping up sausage and gulping in Cryptosporidium. The result had me reaching for the Bisodol as soon as I was driving out of the car park, to at least neutralise the sausage, if nothing else.
22nd November. Teaching Chickens.
The Hypothermic Hen is still 'staying over' at night and with the recent wet weather has come to prefer indoors to outdoors during daylight hours too. There is really only one drawback with this arrangement and this centres on the learning abilities of birds in general. Although by poultry standards 'Hettie' has a remarkably high IQ, all the resident cats here are intellectual giants in comparison. To be able to grasp the concept of a litter tray takes even the averagely developing Hominid a couple of years to come to terms with. What chance is there of training up a chicken? Even an egghead like Harold the budgie (now sadly deceased) who might have been on the threshold of mimicry would never have 'understood', just merely repeated parrot fashion.
Rebuking the Hen for its inability to handle a concept as abstract as pooing in one place would be like belting a Dyslexic pupil for putting his letter y the wrong way round and we've all moved on a long way since those days.
Rebuking the Hen for its inability to handle a concept as abstract as pooing in one place would be like belting a Dyslexic pupil for putting his letter y the wrong way round and we've all moved on a long way since those days.
21st November. Everyday Electronics Revisited.
The PC was on the blink, well it kept cutting out when I was halfway through doing peoples invoices, causing a deal of frustration. A small squirt of WD 40 into the end of the power supply lead did little to improve matters and shortly after, all vital signs had flatlined. I started pulling the various leads out of the back, "You'll need to make a note of those" chimed Isabelle. I carted the grey box downstairs to the kitchen table and set about it with a phillips screwdriver.
Another grey box within the grey box said power supply on it so I removed that with its entrails attached and took the electric soldering iron to it. Having isolated the problem to complicated things I know nothing about, it was simply a matter of ordering a replacement small grey box from e-bay. That's the beauty of the PC format-cheap easily fitted spare parts.
When I came home tonight I said "Is there any post for me?"
"No but there's a parcel outside". This was the new small grey box. It looked the same but had a few more wires than the original, still the wires had the same sort of colours. It all plugged in easily enough, so I was ready to get down to the overdue quotations. I switched on, the drawer you put CDs in opened ominously and the screen didn't get beyond that first bit with all that guff about megatrends. Now what?
This is just like those projects that never worked out of Everyday Electronics circa 1973. I can't very well chuck the thing under the bench this time, we'll starve within a fortnight.
Another grey box within the grey box said power supply on it so I removed that with its entrails attached and took the electric soldering iron to it. Having isolated the problem to complicated things I know nothing about, it was simply a matter of ordering a replacement small grey box from e-bay. That's the beauty of the PC format-cheap easily fitted spare parts.
When I came home tonight I said "Is there any post for me?"
"No but there's a parcel outside". This was the new small grey box. It looked the same but had a few more wires than the original, still the wires had the same sort of colours. It all plugged in easily enough, so I was ready to get down to the overdue quotations. I switched on, the drawer you put CDs in opened ominously and the screen didn't get beyond that first bit with all that guff about megatrends. Now what?
This is just like those projects that never worked out of Everyday Electronics circa 1973. I can't very well chuck the thing under the bench this time, we'll starve within a fortnight.
20th November. Another Enid.
I don't think I've actually met an Enid before, only as the author of approximately 800 childrens books. A name slightly dated today, perhaps like the attitudes in 'The Famous Five' but not quite as passe as say, Dick and Fanny.
Anyway they said there was no progression for a child fed exclusively on a diet of Enid Blyton. That young mind could be trapped for life on a veritable hamster wheel of Noddy and Big Ears. I remember pleading with the Old Man when he came in from work to buy me a copy of 'Shadow The Sheepdog' because the one from the library was due back. Somehow that particular volume had been accorded the status of a holy book. Which only goes to show how susceptible the nascent intellect can be.
Anyway they said there was no progression for a child fed exclusively on a diet of Enid Blyton. That young mind could be trapped for life on a veritable hamster wheel of Noddy and Big Ears. I remember pleading with the Old Man when he came in from work to buy me a copy of 'Shadow The Sheepdog' because the one from the library was due back. Somehow that particular volume had been accorded the status of a holy book. Which only goes to show how susceptible the nascent intellect can be.
19th November. Cold Chicken.
Awoke this Sunday to a medical emergency. Hettie the Intelligent Hen seemed to be suffering from hypothermia, so I suggested that the chicken could be placed in the oven with the door open to restore its circulation, Isabelle readily assented and soon had the bird installed in the Esse cooker. I made some comment about long slow cooking, but Isabelle was in medical emergency mode. An out of hours call to the vet revealed that Hettie most likely had a chill, the treatment comme d'habitude was a dose of the universal antibiotic (see previous).
The next time I went in the kitchen the hen had been repositioned in front of the grill and was receiving the benefit of a more radiant heat. The Universal antbiotic from the vet had a more or less miraculous effect and Hettie was able to continue on in the Daihatsu out to Crieff. She seemed un-phased by the movement of the windscreen wipers and showed a keen interest in the passing scenery as any intelligent creature would.
The next time I went in the kitchen the hen had been repositioned in front of the grill and was receiving the benefit of a more radiant heat. The Universal antbiotic from the vet had a more or less miraculous effect and Hettie was able to continue on in the Daihatsu out to Crieff. She seemed un-phased by the movement of the windscreen wipers and showed a keen interest in the passing scenery as any intelligent creature would.
18th November. 007 Risk Averse
Rendez-voused with Stuart at 'The Foundry'. I had a pint of Guinness which I was to regret later. About halfway through the film I thought I'll just hang on now, it's too much hassle to go out to the toilets, besides something else is bound to happen soon? . That is something else after the opening chase we've all come to expect. This free running scene represented part of the continuing update of the Bond genre.
However Bond and MI6 studiously avoided any contact with characters that could be mistaken for being Arabic. Bond also stayed well clear of any of the worlds hot spots, sub-saharan Africa being a safer bet. There was one chap who unwittingly became a suicide bomber but that wasn't his intention, although to be fair he did press a button and blow himself up. Overall there just wasn't enough explosions for my money, of any description. Bond is supposed to be more real as a character but ends up on another planet as far as present day international terrorism goes.
However Bond and MI6 studiously avoided any contact with characters that could be mistaken for being Arabic. Bond also stayed well clear of any of the worlds hot spots, sub-saharan Africa being a safer bet. There was one chap who unwittingly became a suicide bomber but that wasn't his intention, although to be fair he did press a button and blow himself up. Overall there just wasn't enough explosions for my money, of any description. Bond is supposed to be more real as a character but ends up on another planet as far as present day international terrorism goes.
17th November. Pigeon Round-Up
Isabelle informed me that I had drawn the short straw with regard to pigeon duty tonight. The round up takes place after any flying day as the pair like to roost in the hen house. However the coming daylight would leave them vulnerable to predation by the likes of Tigger or Jiminy. Night vision of the pigeon is mildly more limited than a Human but their capture still provides a degree of challenge, I find.
I drag myself from Alien 3 to face the onerous task (not that I was really watching it). I find myself staring up with a torch at a mixture of various sizes of hens bottoms. 'Whistle' the smaller pigeon, sitting above the door, coos with an annoyed tone but is trapped first time with a tea towel over the head and returned safely. 'Donnie' the larger and more wily senses the impending capture, orange eyes glinting at the far wall on top of an old wardrobe. The torch is balanced on top of a bag of open cement which is balanced on top of a non-working clothes dryer (another task that's waiting). Too much light and the game will go on for long enough, patience will be lost; too little and although he can't see me, I can't see him either.
The pigeon shifts position, I miss, he's flapping about and thinking about taking off but then thinks better of it due to the lighting levels. I've half grabbed him now, one wing is out and flapping, I knock the torch over, the bulb goes out. I slide about on layers of chicken poo stumbling into the clothes dryer before making it to the outside. Donnie is not happy and makes a strenuous effort with the one free wing to resist being put back in his own house. There! Godammit! Game Over!
I drag myself from Alien 3 to face the onerous task (not that I was really watching it). I find myself staring up with a torch at a mixture of various sizes of hens bottoms. 'Whistle' the smaller pigeon, sitting above the door, coos with an annoyed tone but is trapped first time with a tea towel over the head and returned safely. 'Donnie' the larger and more wily senses the impending capture, orange eyes glinting at the far wall on top of an old wardrobe. The torch is balanced on top of a bag of open cement which is balanced on top of a non-working clothes dryer (another task that's waiting). Too much light and the game will go on for long enough, patience will be lost; too little and although he can't see me, I can't see him either.
The pigeon shifts position, I miss, he's flapping about and thinking about taking off but then thinks better of it due to the lighting levels. I've half grabbed him now, one wing is out and flapping, I knock the torch over, the bulb goes out. I slide about on layers of chicken poo stumbling into the clothes dryer before making it to the outside. Donnie is not happy and makes a strenuous effort with the one free wing to resist being put back in his own house. There! Godammit! Game Over!
16th November. Belief/Doubt...Whatever.
I was absent from this armchair for two hours to undergo another round of Thursday night swim club (£1.00). Frequency of going to the leisure pool has increased to three times a week, (as if there weren't more important things to do). Mr Whatsisname the trainer has promised me that three sessions a week for two months should result in the ability to swim 1.5 km and not be the last. Tonight though he was bandying around a figure of four months.
On other nights, members of the public adopt a far more relaxed attitude to lane swimming compared with the punishing regime imposed by Mr Whatsisname on the club members. Wednesdays, for instance, sees the same three middle-aged men spending most of the time taking up the shallow end of lane one discussing things like interest rates for deposit accounts at the Alliance & Leicester, before putting in a few more leisurely lengths. They are never going to manage 1.5km in a river. Unlike me, I tell myself. According to some schools of Psychological thought whether or not one believes what one tells oneself doesn't actually matter... I tell myself.
On other nights, members of the public adopt a far more relaxed attitude to lane swimming compared with the punishing regime imposed by Mr Whatsisname on the club members. Wednesdays, for instance, sees the same three middle-aged men spending most of the time taking up the shallow end of lane one discussing things like interest rates for deposit accounts at the Alliance & Leicester, before putting in a few more leisurely lengths. They are never going to manage 1.5km in a river. Unlike me, I tell myself. According to some schools of Psychological thought whether or not one believes what one tells oneself doesn't actually matter... I tell myself.
15th November. Drilling Through to Next Door.
You've got to be very careful when drilling through a kitchen wall that's only one brick thick when there's a flat on the other side containing a middle-aged woman.
Can you imagine the abuse? I had no desire to witness such a reaction first hand, but at the same time the plastic rawlplugs needed a sufficient depth of hole. Unfortunately half the wall thickness had already been lost to the cooker outlet box. The delicate procedure was not unlike trepanning through a patients skull, the surgeon must keep a careful watch on the colour of the brick dust coming out of the hole. As soon as the bit breaks through to the grey matter of the plaster on the other side he must pull up short before there is irreparable damage with a strong possiblity of some kind of fit or seizure.
Can you imagine the abuse? I had no desire to witness such a reaction first hand, but at the same time the plastic rawlplugs needed a sufficient depth of hole. Unfortunately half the wall thickness had already been lost to the cooker outlet box. The delicate procedure was not unlike trepanning through a patients skull, the surgeon must keep a careful watch on the colour of the brick dust coming out of the hole. As soon as the bit breaks through to the grey matter of the plaster on the other side he must pull up short before there is irreparable damage with a strong possiblity of some kind of fit or seizure.
14th November. IKEA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
By about 3pm I've worked myself up to the point of cursing the worlds richest man or 4th richest man depending on what you consider a controlling interest in your own company. That's because the centre panel of the wardrobe is in upside down and with all those 47, or whatever, panel pins nailed in the back of it, well it's there for good. Yes old Ingvar Kamprad backed a loser when he gave money to the Swedish Nazi party but then he came good with the flatpack furniture thing (net worth $28 Billion.)
There must be people scratching their heads and muttering expletives in every native tongue of Europe not to mention the Far-East. So if Hitler had triumphed in Europe the only possible difference is the cursing of IK this afternoon might have been in German instead of English.
There must be people scratching their heads and muttering expletives in every native tongue of Europe not to mention the Far-East. So if Hitler had triumphed in Europe the only possible difference is the cursing of IK this afternoon might have been in German instead of English.
13th November. Slime Fish.
"Do you want to grab a fish?" asked Isabelle whilst I was busy on my appointed task of de-sliming the aquarium filter. These two monsters of the deep are now nine years old and started off as fairground-sized goldfish. Originally there were three others, these have succumbed to various diseases, some probably stress related. The end game of which usually left the poor creature spending its last days swimming upside down.
The fish don't complain much but it's not everyone that can spend almost a decade with the same limited outlook. After de-sliming, the pair are definitely happier about having the view of the bedroom restored. In the morning when the alarm goes off, if I open one eye, there will be a fish in the corner of the tank mouthing stones and waiting for Goldfish food.
Tonight was pretty much a slime-fest, as the job had been put off and put off. I mean, if you were going to wait till you actually felt like a bit of slime removal work, the water would end up like Knorr Country Chicken and Leek.
The fish don't complain much but it's not everyone that can spend almost a decade with the same limited outlook. After de-sliming, the pair are definitely happier about having the view of the bedroom restored. In the morning when the alarm goes off, if I open one eye, there will be a fish in the corner of the tank mouthing stones and waiting for Goldfish food.
Tonight was pretty much a slime-fest, as the job had been put off and put off. I mean, if you were going to wait till you actually felt like a bit of slime removal work, the water would end up like Knorr Country Chicken and Leek.
12th November. Aspelund World.
An excellent time for once again assembling IKEA furniture now the weather's begining to turn disagreeable. The afternoon began cold with a certain moodiness but Isabelle took two Ibuprofens for her headache so we didn't, in the end, have any argument about curtain rail fitments. The bed ends had been propped against the bedroom wall so long that they were now slightly convex, but nonetheless I soon warmed to the task of following the Ikean hieroglyphs.
How long will it be before the local populace is turfing IKEA bedroom furniture into the skips at the 'recycling' centre with the same gay abandon currently reserved for pine furniture of the 80's? In any case we'll be able to watch and say "Oh look there goes a complete Aspelund and a Hensvik."
How long will it be before the local populace is turfing IKEA bedroom furniture into the skips at the 'recycling' centre with the same gay abandon currently reserved for pine furniture of the 80's? In any case we'll be able to watch and say "Oh look there goes a complete Aspelund and a Hensvik."
11th November.'Puffson' Blows a Gasket.
'Puffson' the masturbating chicken appears to have suffered some kind of stroke. At least that was the conclusion of the vet this morning - another morning wasted, not to mention the consulting fee.
The treatment consisted of the universal antibiotic shot which, from past experience, seems to cover everything from a Gerbil to a Labrador; there was also a very general steroid based anti-inflammatory. It's a wonder that such a dim-witted bird could actually have a big enough brain to get a clot in at all. Still, having been squeezed into a cat box during the hours of darkness the creature seemed happy enough on the trip into town. However Puffson's gait had possibly suffered from being rather cramped in the said cat box, and following a short hobble round the consulting room the prognosis was 'not good'.
This physical deterioration has not gone unoticed by 'Mr Evil II', and on returning to the community 'Puffson' was subject to the laws of the playground just like any kid with a caliper or such like. Continuing and increased frustration is the most likely outcome of this debilitating health problem as it has done nothing to increase his chances with the ladies.
The treatment consisted of the universal antibiotic shot which, from past experience, seems to cover everything from a Gerbil to a Labrador; there was also a very general steroid based anti-inflammatory. It's a wonder that such a dim-witted bird could actually have a big enough brain to get a clot in at all. Still, having been squeezed into a cat box during the hours of darkness the creature seemed happy enough on the trip into town. However Puffson's gait had possibly suffered from being rather cramped in the said cat box, and following a short hobble round the consulting room the prognosis was 'not good'.
This physical deterioration has not gone unoticed by 'Mr Evil II', and on returning to the community 'Puffson' was subject to the laws of the playground just like any kid with a caliper or such like. Continuing and increased frustration is the most likely outcome of this debilitating health problem as it has done nothing to increase his chances with the ladies.
10th November. O.C.D. / C.C.A.
Contracted by a Mr R. to redo someone elses work. In other words sort out someone elses mistakes. (Yawn). The R's are a little bit OCD.* non stop hoovering on Mrs Rs' day off and a special request ftom Mr R. This involved dressing up with those elasticated blue bags on your boots following every re-entry into the living room "we only discovered how easily the floor is scratched after it was fitted" admitted Mr R. and by way of explanation volunteered "She does her f***ing nut!".
Tucking into my peanut butter sandwiches I noticed firewood stacked outside consisting of tell-tale green CCA treated fence posts (Copper, Chrome & Arsenic). The main health hazard from this is from burning it. If I mentioned anything it would only be cause for more worry, I thought,... Wait a minute though, aren't my hands black with condensed combustion products including vapourised heavy metals? Oh no!.. but I can use a Tesco carrier bag as a glove to hold my sliced bread, so long as no one sees me.
* Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Tucking into my peanut butter sandwiches I noticed firewood stacked outside consisting of tell-tale green CCA treated fence posts (Copper, Chrome & Arsenic). The main health hazard from this is from burning it. If I mentioned anything it would only be cause for more worry, I thought,... Wait a minute though, aren't my hands black with condensed combustion products including vapourised heavy metals? Oh no!.. but I can use a Tesco carrier bag as a glove to hold my sliced bread, so long as no one sees me.
* Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
9th November. The Dead Hand of Bureaucracy.
I'd not long left the ground on the 'cherry picker' this morning when a Green Meanie (parking attendant) appeared around the corner and started harrassing Mr B. who was trapped defenceless at ground level. Apparently the machine was about to be issued with two parking penalties, not only that I'd have to move the Daihatsu and the trailer off the pavement as this was a severe transgression. When the Meanie had wandered off, Mr B. telephoned me, as I was now out of earshot, to relay the news that we were in 'deep shit' with the council. The machine required a permit based on a full risk assessment and traffic management analysis. I had been ordered to stop work immediately until the paperwork was in order.
It was on another sickeningly wobbly descent that the battery which powered the hydraulics decided to go flat. Yesterday I remembered discussing whether the auxiliary diesel engine relied on this same battery to start itself? It didn't make any sense, so we happily concluded it must have a separate battery otherwise you'd just end up stuck in the air. Stuck in the air was exactly right, the starter for the diesel engine was dependent on the very same battery. It just made a few growling noises, and there was little sign of any starting. I then spent a few anxious minutes waiting for the battery to recover a bit for one last try. Luckily on this occasion the thing roared to life, thus avoiding any embarrassed calls to Martin Plant Hire.
Mr B. disappeared to the council offices and eventually came back clutching the requisite permit. This together with my operators course certificate issued yesterday by the man from Martin Plant Hire meant that we were now 'fully legal', as Mr B. put it. Perhaps this was just as well; now that the morning had been wasted, the proceedings were bedevilled by lunchtime pupils from the local school ducking by on the pavement so far below.
It was on another sickeningly wobbly descent that the battery which powered the hydraulics decided to go flat. Yesterday I remembered discussing whether the auxiliary diesel engine relied on this same battery to start itself? It didn't make any sense, so we happily concluded it must have a separate battery otherwise you'd just end up stuck in the air. Stuck in the air was exactly right, the starter for the diesel engine was dependent on the very same battery. It just made a few growling noises, and there was little sign of any starting. I then spent a few anxious minutes waiting for the battery to recover a bit for one last try. Luckily on this occasion the thing roared to life, thus avoiding any embarrassed calls to Martin Plant Hire.
Mr B. disappeared to the council offices and eventually came back clutching the requisite permit. This together with my operators course certificate issued yesterday by the man from Martin Plant Hire meant that we were now 'fully legal', as Mr B. put it. Perhaps this was just as well; now that the morning had been wasted, the proceedings were bedevilled by lunchtime pupils from the local school ducking by on the pavement so far below.
8th November. Pure Fear.
Today was to provide perfect conditions for examining the nature of pure fear.
The man from Martin Plant Hire arrived first thing with the 'Cherry Picker' (mobile access platform), then immediately had to go away again. The machine was completely inadequate for the job as far as a height requirement of about 60 feet was concerned. Half-an-hour later another machine arrived. The man from Martin Plant gave me a briefing on the controls as we went up in the air, but only to the extent that his own personal comfort zone allowed, this was still well within mine, "Ha, I can see my house from here!" he quipped, nervously. The chimney stack only seemed marginally closer from this vantage point...
Once alone with the contraption I found that Pure Fear began at about the level of the 2nd storey, I kept the control lever up as the platform wobbled its way further from the ground. Looking down, the trailer unit with its hydraulic supports jutting into the morning traffic in Rose Terrace, looked about the size of a 50 pence piece. Mr B, down in the street, was now out of earshot and only contactable by mobile phone. This wasn't like abseiling or parachuting with one simple surrender and no further say in the matter. Fear increased in direct proportion to the height from the ground as did the sickening wobble caused by the play in the various moving parts. I could maintain complete control over the height but not my heart rate. This resulted in an interesting battle between rational thoughts and irrational ones.
"We've never had one topple over" had been the last words of the man from Martin Plant.
The man from Martin Plant Hire arrived first thing with the 'Cherry Picker' (mobile access platform), then immediately had to go away again. The machine was completely inadequate for the job as far as a height requirement of about 60 feet was concerned. Half-an-hour later another machine arrived. The man from Martin Plant gave me a briefing on the controls as we went up in the air, but only to the extent that his own personal comfort zone allowed, this was still well within mine, "Ha, I can see my house from here!" he quipped, nervously. The chimney stack only seemed marginally closer from this vantage point...
Once alone with the contraption I found that Pure Fear began at about the level of the 2nd storey, I kept the control lever up as the platform wobbled its way further from the ground. Looking down, the trailer unit with its hydraulic supports jutting into the morning traffic in Rose Terrace, looked about the size of a 50 pence piece. Mr B, down in the street, was now out of earshot and only contactable by mobile phone. This wasn't like abseiling or parachuting with one simple surrender and no further say in the matter. Fear increased in direct proportion to the height from the ground as did the sickening wobble caused by the play in the various moving parts. I could maintain complete control over the height but not my heart rate. This resulted in an interesting battle between rational thoughts and irrational ones.
"We've never had one topple over" had been the last words of the man from Martin Plant.
7th November. Extreme Right.
Mr B. hadn't actually noticed the discrepancy which came to light whilst being frisked before a recent flight departure. The airport secutity man was moved to pass comment whilst checking the lower half of Mr B's body. "Do you know your right leg is much wider than your left, sir?" "No" replied Mr B "No I didn't, actually."
This increase of right leg musculature is a long term result of not being much good at kicking a football with his left leg in earlier life. Similarly Mr B's passion for squash has ended up with the right forearm massively developed compared with the left and this has exacerbated the entire right handedness. A continuing imbalance hasn't been the best thing for back pain though and a physiiotherapist recommended some sort of activity with an equal use of both sides.
Mr B went out and bought a kayak. The initial paddling trials on Loch Alsh found Mr B's efforts to go straight ahead more or less describing a circle.
This increase of right leg musculature is a long term result of not being much good at kicking a football with his left leg in earlier life. Similarly Mr B's passion for squash has ended up with the right forearm massively developed compared with the left and this has exacerbated the entire right handedness. A continuing imbalance hasn't been the best thing for back pain though and a physiiotherapist recommended some sort of activity with an equal use of both sides.
Mr B went out and bought a kayak. The initial paddling trials on Loch Alsh found Mr B's efforts to go straight ahead more or less describing a circle.
6th November. Fantasy Exercise.
This morning there was rather a strange smell like the drains when I arrived at the G.D.s', both indoors and outdoors. Not exactly a stench, but not evocative of health and vitality either. I didn't feel it was really my place to raise the subject. Mr G.D. slept on through the odour and likewise the tennis on Sky Sports.
When I arrived home Isabelle was clutching the laptop and lying prone on the sofa bed, having folded it back into a sofa. Notification by e-mail had arrived confirming that her mother (60) had reached the roof of Africa yesterday (5895metres).
I finished the day half watching some fly-on-the-wall thing about fat people trying to walk from one end of the country to the other.
When I arrived home Isabelle was clutching the laptop and lying prone on the sofa bed, having folded it back into a sofa. Notification by e-mail had arrived confirming that her mother (60) had reached the roof of Africa yesterday (5895metres).
I finished the day half watching some fly-on-the-wall thing about fat people trying to walk from one end of the country to the other.
5th November. High (Calorie) Tea.
Clocked in at the local restaurant for the peculiarly Scottish phenomenon known as 'High Tea'. This traditional fare seems to be unique to Sundays. The event kicks off around 4pm, contestants are advised to bring an empty stomach. The first appearance on the table is about a gallon of tea, for everything else that follows to swim around in. Next up a rack of toast with jam like you're about to breakfast. Then the dinner arrives, usually good old-fashioned standards, I opted for close-to-extinction breaded haddock, 'Mrs Junior to be' had Growth hormone chicken curry with GM rice, Isabelle and Junior had steak and mushrooms with Creutzfeldt-Jakob fears and everyone must have chips. Then the tiered cake stand arrives with the ubiquitous selection of high calorie delicacies for the sweet tooth. These are all part of the set price, but what kind of constitution can stomach a fruit scone then maybe a meringue after a chicken curry?
4th November. Gar's Generous Big Bang.
In the end Fergus's dad was rescheduled for the Tour of Ostentation later in the week. That meant there was only four of us plus Pete the nominated driver that made the journey to the invite-only firework fest with free burger van and bar. The bonfire was a splendid affair of straw bails, old tyres,10 gallons of diesel and a mountain of pallets. Then John the ex-fireman and Ross, replete in fireproof suits, just ran around setting light to as many fireworks as possible in the shortest time. These had been lined up previous to the event. The effect of the 'display' was, I imagine, a bit like what would happen if a spark had jumped into a £3000 selection box. We all stood watching money burn at the rate of £400-a-minute.
3rd November. Review of the film Borat...Not!
Life goes on. During the afternoon Mr G.D. slumbered through the snooker on Sky Sports, which made a change from the cricket of the previous two days. It's a shame that this is all that happens when there's so little time left.
Tonight there was no fight at the cinema between young people similarly wasting their lives, which also represented a departure from any set pattern for fridays. This weekend we have visitors; 'Junior' and 'Mrs Junior to be', squashed into the back of the Daihatsu on top of various power tools "My leg has gone dead" (moan).
It's the first visit for exactly a year, it could be a mutual love of explosion? The main reason being the prospect of 'Gar's several thousand £'s of fireworks going off tomorrow night with a bang. Of course Father and son have a lot more in common; an over riding sense of futility, preoccupation with the shortness of life, that sort of thing. At this precise time, like two orbiting planets our transits cross at a unique point where I am exactly twice his age. I said, "I don't feel like you've already lived half my life. it doesn't seem that long since you came out in the labour suite."
Tonight there was no fight at the cinema between young people similarly wasting their lives, which also represented a departure from any set pattern for fridays. This weekend we have visitors; 'Junior' and 'Mrs Junior to be', squashed into the back of the Daihatsu on top of various power tools "My leg has gone dead" (moan).
It's the first visit for exactly a year, it could be a mutual love of explosion? The main reason being the prospect of 'Gar's several thousand £'s of fireworks going off tomorrow night with a bang. Of course Father and son have a lot more in common; an over riding sense of futility, preoccupation with the shortness of life, that sort of thing. At this precise time, like two orbiting planets our transits cross at a unique point where I am exactly twice his age. I said, "I don't feel like you've already lived half my life. it doesn't seem that long since you came out in the labour suite."
2nd November. Swim Club.
The first rule of Swim Club is, you do not talk about Swim Club...?
I wondered if I'd be the worst because some of the older men and women weren't exactly streamlined, although certainly buoyant. Once in the water, I was confirmed as the most inefficient swimmer, even though I was already relegated to the lane for the most in need of coaching. The training programme consisted of alternately gulping air or water and getting progressively more knackered as the hour went on; I was given special dispensation to rest up from the full quota of lengths.
Kicking legs only, stretched out with a float held in front, I found that the other end of the pool didn't seem to be getting any closer. I'm tempted to say "this is hopeless", but then it would certainly never get any better. Seems like I have to learn to "feel the water moving past me" amongst other things, more than enough to occupy the mind in between fighting for breath. I leave the inappropriately named "Leisure Pool" at 10.30pm. feeling like I may not wake up tomorrow.
I wondered if I'd be the worst because some of the older men and women weren't exactly streamlined, although certainly buoyant. Once in the water, I was confirmed as the most inefficient swimmer, even though I was already relegated to the lane for the most in need of coaching. The training programme consisted of alternately gulping air or water and getting progressively more knackered as the hour went on; I was given special dispensation to rest up from the full quota of lengths.
Kicking legs only, stretched out with a float held in front, I found that the other end of the pool didn't seem to be getting any closer. I'm tempted to say "this is hopeless", but then it would certainly never get any better. Seems like I have to learn to "feel the water moving past me" amongst other things, more than enough to occupy the mind in between fighting for breath. I leave the inappropriately named "Leisure Pool" at 10.30pm. feeling like I may not wake up tomorrow.
1st November. Maturity Plus.
Mr G.D. sat slumbering in front of the cricket on Sky Sports, next to the motorised wheelchair and surrounded by various medications. This was a remarkable feat considering I was bashing away with a hammer and bolster not six feet from his ear drums. Admittedly his hearing is a little impaired, as is mine, but I have the benefit of ear defenders.
Mrs G.D. is out visiting, an afternoons light relief from the duty of caring for an older husband. Marrying a younger woman possibly keeps a man younger but there comes a time, it's inevitable, when things take a... downturn. Quite a recent state of affairs judging by the numbers of retrievers and gun dogs all desperate for exercise and the plethora of fly fishing rods and waders.
The downstairs toilet interior charts past visits to both the Arctic and Antarctic, the Polar Bear and the Adelie Penguin; ironic now that the desired effect of fitting this multi-fuel stove is to more or less create a permanent equatorial heat.
Mrs G.D. is out visiting, an afternoons light relief from the duty of caring for an older husband. Marrying a younger woman possibly keeps a man younger but there comes a time, it's inevitable, when things take a... downturn. Quite a recent state of affairs judging by the numbers of retrievers and gun dogs all desperate for exercise and the plethora of fly fishing rods and waders.
The downstairs toilet interior charts past visits to both the Arctic and Antarctic, the Polar Bear and the Adelie Penguin; ironic now that the desired effect of fitting this multi-fuel stove is to more or less create a permanent equatorial heat.
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