Thank you to http://awomyn.wordpress.com/2011/12/12/i-read-liebster-i-see-lobster-either-way-ive-been-nominated/

Your posts are hilarious. And, I've been having a great time reading your blog. So... I would like to nominate you/your blog for a Liebster Blog Award. Linky for what that means = http://awomyn.wordpress.com/2011/12/12/i-read-liebster-i-see-lobster-either-way-ive-been-nominated/

Mr William is 'on form'!

Mr William is ‘on Form’!

Good Morrow, dear (and no doubt ‘snowed under’ by Xmas) Reader,

I’ve been ‘snowed under’ by white stuff from the heavens, but also by white bits of paper with things written on them. Yes, my move to the sheltered apartment for the slightly bewildered has been a logistical mountain, even though my daughter and smarmy son-in-law are looking after the arrangements. My job is to worry, get confused and look at lists and forms till the wee hours of every morning. I have self-appointed yours truly to this task, as I have become an expert at it recently. Wait till you’re 87 and see how you feel!

Anyway, the new flat is making me ‘flat’ broke. (Not really, but I couldn’t resist the pun!) The people are all very nice, the Christmas decos are all up and the warder, sorry lady warden/supervisor is kind and seems to be ‘broad-minded’. Thank goodness for that! We’ll get on just fine and dandy.

Well, let me tell you about some of my adventures leading up to my arrival in my new abode! First off, I told the window-cleaner he would have to hang up his ‘shammy’ at my gaff (His chamois for anyone outside ‘Norn Irn’.) After 30 years of rubbing my bits down with a damp cloth, (It’s all in your mind!), he looked crestfallen; in fact, his crest looked like it had been run over by a herd of charging buffalo! I asked him if he cleaned the doings at the new place and he said it was on 2 floors and that was another ‘storey’. Boom, boom! You see, he said that one day he was washing a ‘windy’ as he called it, at the sheltered place, and an elderly, rather severe lady thought he was a peeping tom. They both shrieked in surprise and he nearly kicked the bucket, literally. That was the end of that ‘story’!

Any road, the silly son-in-law says he wants my hacksaw for some wee job in my place. I could suggest some things he could hack off-he certainly ‘hacks’ me off! The other day he was ‘stripping off’ in my flat. (They can’t touch you for it, thank the Lord!) Anyway, it was wallpaper he was stripping off, but he said it was so hot he had whipped down to his ‘budgie-smugglers’! Have you any idea what he’s on about now? He’s a real twit. Recently he said something was an oxymoron. Well, in his case, the moron bit is right. Pedantic little bleeder! Then I told him I had been to some ‘silver surfer’ classes for the ‘interweb’. He asked if I knew about ‘ID10T’ errors. I got him to write it down. Is there no respect for seniors any more? Also, I got the hearing aid adjusted and asked him to test me. He held a pillow over his face and whispered inaudibly. I know what I wanted to do with the pillow. Any rate, no doubt I will rant more about him again. Pillock!

It’s really windy and rainy here. My daughter let me hear a James Morrison song. I was sure he was crooning, “Don’t stop ‘Lorraine’! “ until she, (My daughter, not the putative Lorraine.) pointed out it was ‘the rain’. Well, the wind is so bad here that 747s, birds and roof tiles hit you if you step outside. Now, however, that I’m ensconced in my ‘sheltered’ pad, I don’t need to put the bins out or slide down the drive when the snow and ice trouble me and the ‘peep mobile’. Also the oilman won’t have to ‘knock me up’ at dawn. (Sounds more rude than it is!) Talking about dawn and my car, I had to get my car in at an unearthly hour for another paint job. Somehow it had scratched itself badly. I was late anyway, because I overslept in my ‘scratcher’!

You may have gathered, dear reader, that my driving has become a little erratic, not to say suicidally dangerous, of late. What’s worse is that I cannot park. Next car I get will either be pre-parked or does its own parking! I suppose at the exalted age of 87 I have become more forgetful and accident-prone. Today, I managed to break the arm off my specs. I could ‘see through that’, but I wasn’t wearing them at the time, or if I was, I don’t recall! Then I tripped when recycling a fish tin and I’m now wearing it. What a cod! I’m becoming like a Z-list celeb and losing all sense of ‘reality’? The worst incident was my abortive attempt to climb up and adjust my clock. Well, I pulled down the curtains and rail. What a kafuffle! That’s me, my specs and my clock all at a jaunty angle. What’s new? The smart-ass son-in-law asked if ‘fire-water’ had been consumed before this incident. Well yes, but I wouldn’t tell him that. I invented a new word and declared the curtains ‘non-uppable’. (Like a few things I could mention, but won’t. It’s not something that troubles me. Honestly!) The ‘smart-ass’ re-erected them and said they were indeed ‘uppable’, but it looked more ‘cock-uppable’ to me!

Any road, re-erecting reminds me of a thought. If you want an erector, do you look for an online cleric? Should I ‘goggle’ it or whatever? Now that I have tried the interweb, with my daughter’s help, I have virtually bought all my pressies virtually! Ha! I’m getting the lingo. Talking about clerics and that, I ‘hit’ the rev with predestination the other day at the Bible study. He said I was predestined to ask that question. I stunned him when I asked why he seemed so surprised in that case! Any rate, he answered brilliantly, as no doubt it was predestined to be.

Well, anyway, talking of things religious, Christmas is heading relentlessly our way. I love every thing about it, except for the pressie hassles. That’s why I opted for online in the end. You see, I tried to go into a toyshop for the grandkids and got to the till and forgot my pin number. Had to put the stuff back and slink out like a damp squib party-pooper. Went to the bank and the young lady cashier asked me to follow her outside. What a great offer, I thought! Well, she sorted out the card at the ATM. I told her I was so grateful I could kiss her. She murmured something about me being a ‘merchant banker’. A new career for me perhaps?

Before I go, friends, I just want to share a little thing. Someone tried to break in to my ‘old’ house, but the alarm scared them off. I came back, heard the noise and did my Corporal Jones, “Don’t panic!” thing. It upset me and made me move more quickly to my new abode. There are clearly some nasty people about and so I want to remind you to watch out for all senior citizens at this time. They can be vulnerable and deserve all our support.

So I’m off to fill out the insurance form and all the other forms I have and want to wish you a very happy and safe Christmas and a wonderful 2012! As I always say, live life to the full! My mother used to say that I shouldn’t talk to strangers. Well, I know what she meant, but to me every ‘stranger’ is just a friend I haven’t met yet. Lucky world, here I come. Mind you, I have to avoid a large bloke whose brolly I lifted by mistake in the café. If you see him, head him off with mulled wine and mince pies for me! Thanks!

Yours always in the thick of it, but ‘on form’

The Blogging Gogfather

Image by kevin dooley via Flickr

Mr William feels it's all 'downhill' from here!

Mr William feels it’s all ‘downhill’ from here!

Good morrow, dear and hopefully ‘chilled’ reader,

Yes, I mean chilled as in nicely calm, not nippy round the Trossachs, although that season of things being treacherous round the Khyber Pass is almost upon us. I am feeling the ‘chill’ of advancing years and have decided to go into sheltered accommodation for the slightly bewildered, while I still have some of my marbles and can remember my own name (If you give me a minute to think about it…or better still 24 hours written notice!). At least it will be warm and there’s a good social life. There are so many draughts in my house, it’s like living in a wind tunnel. I get buffeted from every orifice in the building and feel like I’m a mixture of Nanook of the North, Sherpa Tensing and a frozen turkey waiting for Christmas. Yes, I’m stuffed like the Xmas bird, but I’m still keeping my beak up, because, as you know, I have a brass neck and nothing defeats an ol’ Ghurkha!

When I say it’s all downhill, I’m alluring figuratively to my move. (Who says you don’t get Shakespeare here? Mind you, many academics reckon you don’t get Shakespeare in Shakespeare, but I’ll ‘play’ that discussion out at another ‘stage’!) You see, the new gaff is just down the hill from me. I was thinking I could negotiate a deal with the postie as he wouldn’t have to climb the hill to deliver my stuff. Wish me luck with that! The Post Office would take the tooth out of your head, which reminds me about my dental fiasco. More shortly. Wonder if the new place will have satellite TV? I have been showered with ‘Virgins’ recently, I mean offers from Virgins to hook up with them. I’m not making myself clear; unlike the disgraced Bunga-Bunga Berlusconi, what I’m getting is a cable directly from a Mr Richard Branston Pickle so that I can watch ‘Cash in the Attic’ in glorious Technicolor! Have you ever found cash in your attic? I know I haven’t or I’d have gone to Rio with Ronnie Biggs. Nice of him to say he is sorry after 4 decades, I don’t think! I’m sure the Greek and Italian PMs would like to find some cash in the proverbial attic. Maybe they could get a loan from Berlusconi, a Russian billionaire or a couple of UK disgraced peers. The latter want back into the upper chamber. Lord, save us and preserve us!

Anyway, I digress; you do a lot of that at age 87. My smarmy son-in-law says,  “All things must pass”. In his case, he’s probably referring to a dodgy curry. As philosophers go, I think he should stick to the day-job, a hod carrier for an imaginary leprechaun. Any rate, he’s trying to help; maybe taking a vow of silence would be therapeutic, for me anyway?  My daughter is doing a good impression of an Irish female Dalai Lama. She’s so positive and wise, so I’m sure I’ll get there, literally! Talking about draughts, as I was earlier, I think; I certainly felt the winds of change in a new coffee shop recently. I got such a gust from the doorway that it cooled my soup and then deposited it on my shirt. I would have got round to that anyway, but the staff were so kind that I regard it as an elite eat!

Ok, I’m sure you’re aching to hear about my tooth? Well, I sneezed last week and my implant flew into the lav. I couldn’t bring myself to retrieving it. It would have been the same story if I’d swallowed it. Let’s not go there! I didn’t. Well, the hardest thing to swallow was my dentist’s (Phil McAvity) estimate. He wanted to fit a denture and an implant. I told him it was a ‘bridge’ too far! (You see, I haven’t lost my joie de vivre!) He said he would do an impression and go from there. The only impression I saw was of Dick Turpin and he had the decency to wear a mask and operate at night!  Hey-ho! Got to pay up to regain my winning matinee idol smile. Then on the way home, some bloke ‘rammed’ my ‘peep mobile’. I ‘lamb-basted’ him and he went off sheepishly with his tail between his legs, promising to pay up! People like him get on my ‘goat’! Woolly-brained twit!

Did I tell you the ol’ hearing’s still not right? My daughter says that’s because I don’t wear the hearing aids. It’s all so simple when you’re younger, because logic is not a foreign land then. Talking of foreign lands, it occurred to yours truly that if Greece is the ‘epicentre of chaos’, then it’s a good thing they invented the language for us to express their plight and be ‘empathetic’! Mind you, for me at school Latin was all ‘Greek’ and occasionally ‘Double-Dutch’, but piano was my ‘forte’! Boom boom! So anyway, I’ve got to get the hearing sorted out as church is becoming crazy. My deaf friend and I sit together and it’s the ‘deaf leading the deaf’ in a stage whisper. The rev’s voice was so indistinct that it would have put Rip Van Winkle back to sleep. Drone, drone, drone; he must be a part-time bee?

Well, peeps, before I go downhill to my new pad, I want to leave a couple of thoughts. If 1 in 5 humans are Chinese, then spare a thought for my confused (Maybe Confucius could help him?) friend. He has 4 brothers, Jo, Jack, Sean and Wan Hung Lo. He suspects that Sean must be the Chinese one ‘cos he loves their fast food. It’s all logical! Any road, two good news items for the ladies. Bras now on sale for 99p. That’s got to be ‘uplifting’? Also, the sleazy smile has been wiped off Berlusconi’s mush. What’s that quote about Rome burning while the top geezer was ‘fiddling’? Question to ponder; when Herschel discovered ‘his’ new planet, did he shout (With no sense of irony or innuendo?), “I’ve just seen Uranus?” Well, you’ve got to laugh at my age. I was at a hotel recently and thought that hotels are like life. You’ve got to check in, make the most of all that’s on offer and then check out, when you’re time’s up. I’m living life to the full and will ignore the large lady when she sings her siren song. RIP fellow good livers (Not the organ, obviously! Like Smokin’ Joe Frasier, the heroic and inspiring battler!

Keep your chins, no matter how many you have!

Yours heading downhill at a great rate of knots, yet laughing all the way,

The Blogging Gogfather!

Mr William is right on the 'Button'?

Cover of William Shakespeare

Mr William is Right on the ‘Button’?

Good Morrow long-suffering and highly perceptive Reader,

I have been suffering for a long time with a few things and my ‘perceptive’ senses have been wonky! You might have the perception that I’m totally out of my senses permanently? Well, you’re not entirely wrong. I have the memory of a demented goldfish with early onset Alzheimer’s, who has amnesia after a nasty bump on the noggin and has had a mind wipe by a maniacal scientist! That’s on a good day! I can hear or say something and then it’s gone completely. You know it’s so bad that I can hear or say something and then it’s gone completely! Mind you, ladies say I’ve got a way with words…yes, when I boob, I’ve ‘got away with it’ by using the ol’ Irish gift of the gab!

Trouble with memory, though, is that you don’t know you’ve forgotten. Now my smarmy son-in-law, yes, the smart-ass, who claims to help you read my diary on the ‘World Interweb’ or whatever, has dredged up a recent health warning for citizens of the senior persuasion. Seems, if he is to be believed, (I’ll let you be the judge and jury of that!) that ol’ geezers and gals like me, who want a few snifters, have to knock the alcohol on the head for at least 3 days every week or it will worsen our memory and other nasties that I have blocked out (Due to my dodgy memory! I find sticking my fingers in my ear and screeching loudly also helps.)

Anyway, I told the party-pooper that he was talking ‘poop’, as it hadn’t affected my memory. Well, his eyebrows went up and covered his bald patch! (He can talk anyway; he drinks ‘Canada dry’, if you know what I mean? We are all ‘blind’ to our own faults and he’s made a career out of it!) Any rate, if I have to cut back on one of my only pleasures, I’ll be miserable. I might live longer, but it’ll feel even longer! Is someone out there trying to spoil my fun? I can’t afford to waste days at my age, not having fun. Do I want my liver to outlive me? Sorry if I seem to not be PC, but see how you feel at 87 and come and see me then! I’ll be waiting for your visit in a home for the slightly bewildered, but I’ll remember about this. I’ll write it on the back of my hand and never wash it again! (No comments, please!)

That was when he reminded me I had forgotten to go to the church ‘breakfast’. Well, that was a ‘wake-up call’, ironically and literally. You see, I did forget the  fry-up brekkie in question and that really ‘cooked my bacon’! Two reasons, the shock of forgetting and then the ‘mea culpa’ feeling when the rev rang and asked after me. I must confess, even though I’m not a Catholic, that I wondered what I had done when the vicar rang. I had a guilty conscience, but couldn’t remember why. What had he heard? Did I misrule Libya for the last 42 years and couldn’t remember? I even get worried when a letter arrives from the government in case they are after me for something I haven’t remembered doing.  Any rate, that was all ok, but I reckoned I had to do something about the memory thing and made an appointment with Doc. Ima Gunna-Killyall.  Due to a kafuffle at the clinic, they palmed me off with a locum called Isla Finish-yeoff (Part Russian, I gather.)

Anyway, the doc checked my memory with some asinine questions like what day it was and who the Prime Minister is. When I told her it was Tony Blair and that she should be better informed on matters like this, she said I was a ‘fun guy’. Better than being a ‘fungi’, I thought and tittered to myself. She gave me the benefit of the doubt on the memory thing, but said she thought my hearing did not seem so good. I said that was rubbish after she repeated it until I could make out her gibberish. I thought it would be ear-trumpet territory; turned out it was just old age and a little ‘fungi’! That’s sorted now! Have you ever wondered about the word ‘patient’? I know the Latin root about suffering and all that, but it’s apt at the doc’s. I would put it like this. You patiently wait in the ‘patients’ waiting room’ and begin to lose your patience 45 minutes past your appointment time. It all helps you to be a patient patient!

I do try to be a good patient, but I do put my foot in it sometimes, especially with the podiatrist. She was blonde again and I remarked that I was glad she had gone back to her ‘natural’ colour. She scowled so much, you would have thought I had broken wind!  Reminds me; my pal asked me recently if I had a ‘wind-break’; he was going on a beach staycation. I quipped that I barely get a ‘loo-break’ these days. (What do you want? Shakespeare? Anyway, seems he may not have written all his stuff!) She also told me she does ‘brazilians’. My daughter nearly had a connery for some reason when I told her this, until I explained that she had recently done the feet of the Brazilian football team. No doubt, that helped them score better?

So, any road, my daughter suggested I get a ‘panic’ button in case of falls etc. I panicked when she said it. How doddery am I? Don’t answer that! Suppose I could get one and chat to the nice lady on the help-line. I could kid her on I was ‘falling’ for her? It’s all re-arranging deckchairs on the Titanic, if you ask me. If your ship is going down with all hands, then the only button I want is the James Bond ‘ejector seat’! By the way, I’ve got my parking badge now. It’ll be useful, but I was musing the other day, as is my wont, as to whether I could use it for priority at the ‘Pearly Gates’? Well, there must be a long line at busy times and I might get fast-tracked with my badge to chat with St. Peter. Hoping he’ll let me in, but imagine if Gadaffi was in the queue, trying to sneak in, wearing a false beard! Would they spot him? Well, the Bible says, “Those that live by the sword will die by the sword.”, but did it have to be on widescreen TV on a continuous loop? Leave that with you, dear reader?

Before I go and have my soup, (Hopefully it has cooled down after I blew on it after eating chilli. It turned into a volcano!) I must tell you the sad story of the demise of my favourite jacket. Yes, it had to be ‘buried’ in the clothes’ recycler. I did the eulogy especially for you Latin scholars, “Hic jacet my jacket! RIP”. Moving on swiftly, I want to warn all you would-be and actual writers out there of the salutary tale of the scribbler who didn’t proof-read his stuff before publication. He meant to write, “He gave his friend a sly wink.” Let’s just say he got his vowels mixed up and the friend got a helping hand he wasn’t expecting! How about that for a ‘happy finish’? That’s what that writer said to cover his tracks!

Well, off I go, swinging low, trying to keep my chin up and live life to the full. I may sway a little and forget stuff; also you’ll have to shout into my good ear, if you want me to hear you, but I remember this; I won’t go quietly or mournfully into the night. I’ll go out with a bang, laughing all the way!

Yours occasionally wavering, yet always ‘on the button’,

The blogging Gogfather!

Mr William wants to give an Estate Agent a 'Brunch of Fives'!

Image via Wikipedia

Mr.William wants to give an Estate Agent a ‘Brunch of Fives’!

Good Morrow, esteemed Reader, who is now full of ‘mellow fruitfulness’!

I like an autumnal feel. Well, let’s face it; I’d like a feel any time of year! Yes, I’m a man, who knows his own mind, but just can’t recall where I left it! Anyway, I’ll bring you up to date, or take you on a date. (Please form a disorderly queue!) Hard to get around here at present as it’s always piddling down. (Nothing to do with yours truly!) Who do you complain to about the weather? Do you have to go right to the top and speak with the Creator and Sustainer himself or do you just grab hold of a passing weather-girl?

 Mind you, last time I tried that, my nervy lawyer, a Mr. Grabby Ambulance-Chaser (Great when names fit the person’s job!), got me off on the grounds of temporary mental instability; mine not his. His is permanent! Ha! Yes, he claimed the weather had given me ‘SAD’ (Seasonal affective disorder) and that together with the fact that I’m a frisky ladysman with delusions of retaining my matinee idol status at age 87, seemed to confuse the magistrate sufficiently to get me a ‘caution’. His exact words were to keep my hands in my pockets at all times, although that has led to several complications in the bathroom and has attracted some funny looks!

Hey-ho! Anyway, I have ventured forth in the ‘peepmobile’, but that has been precarious, especially as I was taking my visually impaired friend out to lunch and the windows steamed up. He was blissfully unaware as we careered along in a ‘fog’ as the location of the demister was a ‘mistery’ to me! He was calling out directions and it occurred to me that the phrase ‘The blind leading the blind’ was scarily apt! I almost pranged the ‘peepmobile’ in a ‘steamy windows’ affair, but sadly not in a Tina Turner fashion! Even the wildlife has turned on me..again. I went for a Sunday tootle to the duck-pond, only to be dive-bombed by the endangered birds. They are definitely endangered now if I have anything to do with it. They showed no respect for the Sabbath. Maybe they were militant atheists?

Thankfully, some animals love me. My daughters’ dogs give me big smackers; mind you, that’s after they sniff my ‘fork’! At least, I scored a hit there. Talking of ‘hits’, I had a ‘great white’ wine the other day. Like the shark, it had great ‘bite’ and packed a punch. By the way, why does every young person want to ‘suck seed’ these days? Are they all parrots or sheep all seeking instant fame, instead of pursuing greatness through talent and hard work, like Steve Jobs RIP? As I said to my daffy son-in-law the other day, when he asked if I was going to join the 21^st century and get an ‘eye-patch’ or a ‘pea-pod’, I said, “You may be the ‘apple’ of my daughter’s ‘eye’, but you can stick an ‘eye-pad’ over each eye and walk off a short pier!”

As we say here, his ‘head’s cut’. You can work that one out for yourselves, I’m sure. It’s also the name of a local hairdresser. Nice one! I’ve also seen “A Cut Above” and my own one, “Curl up and Dye”!(Apparently, they ‘borrowed that from ‘The Blues Brothers’ movie) I think my one is trying to tell me something? I will only let the male barber at my tonsure..thing is they have to get him out of the local retirement home for the slightly bewildered, just for me. He arrives in an oxygen tent with his nurse. What will I do, when he goes? Turn into an even more geriatric version of Brian May from

Queen?

On the subject of age, I myself have had to consider moving to ‘supported’ accommodation. Well, despite my strenuous efforts, I’m not getting any younger. My memory is appalling….what was I saying? My hearing is so bad, I play my TV at stadium volume and I won’t be doing the ‘quick-step’ on Strictly Come Dancing anytime soon! Never mind, I’m keeping my chins up and my best foot forward (It’s my left one, if my memory serves me well, and it doesn’t usually!) I have also applied for a parking ‘badge’, so that I get at the ‘goodies’ in the shops more easily. I also had to get a photo done for it. Used one of those bally auto machines. Well, photos are sometimes called ‘mug-shots’. The machine certainly made a ‘mug’ out of me. Most of the snaps were of my bald patch as I leaned forward to press the buttons! Saw my doc, Ima Gunna-Killyall, for a blood test and she said I was a ‘rare type’. I said, “Rhesus Negative?”. She said she was just commenting that I was a ‘rare’ type. Charming! Everyone’s a critic!

Some things before I go; I forgot to tell you why I entitled this diary entry as I did. Well, I got my house valued by Screwer & Sons and they gave me such an insulting figure, I wanted to give him a ‘bunch of fives’. I didn’t, but later bumped into him having ‘brunch’ in our local restaurant. Well, I kept my cool and contained myself, except for ‘accidentally’ tipping a bowl of ketchup into his lap. He was asking for it; literally, he’d just asked the waitress for it, so I delivered it. Hope he ‘valued’ that ‘highly’?

Any rate, off to the pound shop now. Hoping to get the latest CD by that Frank Sinatra impersonator, Hairy Chronic Jnr, I think they call him. Sad loss of a fellow matinee idol this week, the great George Baker; old school perhaps, but what a pro and a gent! Mesmeric from ‘The Dambusters’ via the likes of ‘The Prisoner’ to the recent ‘Inspector Wexford’. RIP.  Maybe they’ll have a ‘Masterchef’ book? Did you hear Greg say to a lady the other day to “Hold her Own” during the show? Surely that’s ‘not on’ in a professional kitchen, not without washing your hands after at least? Have to sign off with the big story in ‘Norn Irn’ last week, Rihanna being told to ‘get them on’ by a local farmer during a video shoot. Yes, when you’re a ‘bod outstanding in your field’, you have to watch for irate farmers and the risk of a nasty chill round the Trossachs?

Bye for now, but remember that age is only a number! You have to laugh and live life to the full, whether you’re running round a field in your underwear singing pop or thinking about your declining powers! Using the photo metaphor, I always want to turn my negative into full Technicolor!

Yours gliding gracefully and grinning down life’s magical slippery slope,

The Blogging Gogfather  

Mr William 'saves' World! (All on his own)

Mr William ‘saves’ World! (All on his own)

Good Morrow, dear and no doubt economically pressured Reader,

Forgive me, reader, for I am in turmoil. At age 87, that’s the norm and I don’t mean uncle Norm (Although he’s probably in turmoil too). You see, there are 2 things you should know about me (and don’t be misled-great word that for mispronouniation-by my reputation). Firstly, I care about everyone and everything. For example, I’m recycling like mad. Yes, I’ve got on my ‘Norman Tebbit’ bike! (Sorry, you have to be British and of a certain age to get that reference!) You could say I’m saving the world single-handedly; well, that’s because I only use one hand. Don’t ask, reader! It just gets too complicated! Well, anyway, I recycle everything, except old jokes. Yes, I’m all original, although the boffins say our bods recycle themselves constantly through our lives. It’s something like Doctor Who regenerating, but slower and without the special effects!

The second thing you need to know about me is that I’m basically a troglodyte. Yes, folks, unless you’re Stephen Fry or of that ilk, I’m saying that I’m a cave-man. Now, before you jump in and say you always had me down as one, due to my views on some things, I actually mean that I am a bit of a loner and love to live quietly in my ‘cave’. Two things to clear up there. Firstly, it never stops me getting out and chasing the ladies and secondly, the house is not literally cut into a rock; no, it’s a brick semi on a hillside. Thing is, the rellies that I love dearly (Despite their many obvious faults, particularly the eejit son-in-law, who ‘helps’ produce my diary), want me to move to more ‘supported’ accommodation, in case I go gaga, and I don’t mean Lady Gaga. (I don’t know, though. I can be outrageous and I do like meat, although I don’t normally wear it, not deliberately anyway!) They all mean well, but it’s hard to winkle myself out of my cave at 87! Just think how much the neighbours would miss my singing and accidental appearances at the door with my dressing gown ajar? A wardrobe malfunction, I think they euphemistically call it? Flashing by mistake is what I call it!

Anyway, I know my home is not perfect. Whose is? Although, my smarmy son-in-law reckons his is. I think I’ll let off a stink bomb there next Sunday to wipe the smirk off his face, but he’d probably accuse me of having a tummy malfunction. Mind you, that would not be a surprise as I have succumbed to ‘PC world’ (Not the computer place) and have started eating my greens, beans and wholemeal. It’s like joining the ‘arty farty’ party, if you catch my drift, and you probably will. I reckon 5-a-day helps you fart, rest and play. Advertisers, try that as a catchy slogan! If you manage it all, you’re a better man than I am, ‘Bunged-it-in’, as Kipling might have said if he were writing for the Carry On movies! Mind you, my practical issue with food and ‘saving’ the planet is my memory. I buy my goodies, get mixed up and miss the sell by dates, then pop them into the recycler, when they’re whiffy. Some critics, like the son-in-law, have suggested I cut out the ‘middle-man’ and simply buy the food and put it straight into the bin. Philistine!

Yes, my place is not perfect, although it is for me. My furniture is so old and tatty, I became blue. So, I had it distressed, it made me depressed and that my friends is all true! (That was just my little joke—very little?) Also, my house fell into disrepute, sorry disrepair. I got it fixed, but I only had a red bulb for the porch-light. That raised a few eyebrows! I can’t raise mine; they’re too bushy and heavy. Anyway, I don’t want to disturb the rare nesting birds in them. I’m doing my eco-friendly bit! Did I tell you, I went further on the ‘eco’ thing and set up a bird table? What a ‘Craig ‘Revile’ Horwood’ disaaaster that was! The birds were happy. I’m good, as you know, at making ‘birds’ happy. Thing was, it attracted all the local cats. The moggies used my garden as a ‘convenient’ Commercial Convention Centre; yes, they came from all around to ‘do their business’ in my borders! They also seemed to go for the vegetarian option on the menu and nibbled all my petunias! It’s hard to be an ‘eco-warrior’!

Any rate, got to go shortly (No, not that kind of going!) Firstly, I have to shoo the cats, (Jimmy Shoos, perhaps?), then I have to see my doc, Ima Gunna-Killyall, about my ‘frozen’ shoulder. I went ‘baltic’ with pain, when it happened. Ironically, it’s not cold, just sore, but could freeze up, if I don’t work it. Shooing the cats with manic gestures might help? Seems polar bears originated in Ireland during the Ice Age. That might explain why it’s always ‘freezin’ round here? Just some final thoughts. Bought a CD in the ‘Poundshop’ by a lesser-known French Country & Western star called Patsy de Cline! There’s so much reality TV on, I’m glued to the box. Yes, I’ve stuck a box over my head and switched my hearing aid off! Bad idea that, switching the hearing aid off. Misheard several things in the shops today. Firstly, I thought they said, “Michael Winner finally ‘beds’ his love of 50 years”, (Slow worker, I thought!); secondly, I bought some meat at the ‘deli’ counter and then the assistant proffered ‘cheeses’. I thought he was taking the Lord’s name in vain. Then lastly, the encounter, where I nearly had a connery on the spot. A lady was talking to a friend and said she had ‘acute angina’! Please, never let me go out again without the hearing aid. Life is complicated enough!

Yours always caring, yet showing you the ‘cold shoulder’,

The Blogging Gogfather!

Mr William 'goes with the flow'!

Mr William ‘goes with the flow’!

Good morrow, dear and ‘time-poor’ Reader,

Thank you so much for spending a little of your precious time on an ol’ codger’s ramblings! I hope the reward will be happy smiles. You see, right now, I’m in ‘full flow’ and as the Bard said something about taking things ‘at the flood’, I will endeavour to pour out my soul to you. Can we talk in confidence? I will whisper the next bit; I have had a few ‘plumbing’ problems and not house-related! Well, I may have allured to this last time, but imagine my frustration, reader, to find that every loo-seat recently seems to have a will of its own and begins to descend, when I eventually reach the state of Nirvana i.e. full flow. The bally things fall before my eyes. If the descent is slow, I panic and don’t know whether to continue or attempt the impossible and stop mid-flow! If the seat suddenly falls, well, it’s curtains for the rug. What a kafuffle! Just wait until you’re 87 and you’ll see! It’s not easy to maintain my matinee idol status after a ‘Niagara Falls’ incident! My daughter says I should sit down, but I’ve decided to stand my ground!

Yes, old age is cruel. People ask me the secret of long life. I say, “Keep breathing!” I know it sounds facetious, but you have to be philosophical, like the man who could always see both sides of an argument. Said he was a ‘lateral’ thinker! Heard some quotes about longevity; Sir Malcolm Sargent, the music conductor etc was asked to what he attributed his long life. (This was clearly before he died; he would have been a little taciturn after!) He said, “To the fact that I haven’t died yet!” Nice and pithy, eh? I try to hold back Father Time (Why can’t it be ‘Mother’ Time? Who decides these things?). Yes, I got a new mobile phone and it has an ‘abort’ option to end a call. I like that. It makes me feel like James Bond aborting a mission and then running off with an impossibly beautiful lady, normally in a speedboat or Lamborghini. Mind you, I accidentally left the blasted thing at my son-in-law’s and the smarmy git rang me on it and deigned to say he would return it. What a plonker! I wish I could ‘abort’ him sometimes!

Anyway, I still have my two abiding interests; ladies and model trains. My doc, Ima Gunna-Killyall said I should maybe slow down a little and so the trains have been shunted into the sidings. I just chase the ladies at a sedate pace and then chat. Mind you, they are queuing up for my attention, like bees round a honey-pot or flies around a cowpat. I’ll let you decide, but be kind to an ol’ war hero with a dodgy bladder! I hear today about ‘cuts’ in the Ghurkas and not with their kukris. No, it’s the unkindest cut of all. The UK government are asking Ghurkas to take ‘voluntary’ redundancy. They would rather commit hare Kari. Shame on the government!

Talking about age and stuff, I need a haircut. (It’s the grey one over my left ear!) Trouble is, I will only let a bloke into my tonsorial regions. Ladies make me nervous, when I chat to them and they’re holding scissors! Well, the bloke in question is on his last legs, but I’ve told him he can’t shuffle off this mortal boil until I go first. Let’s hope ‘Mother Nature’ helps me out there! (There we are again, randomly anthropomorphising, and so early in the day!) Let’s face it, I do have a few miles on my clock and my ticker is a bit dodgy. For most of my life, I didn’t even know that garlic existed, and, when I did, I didn’t want it. My wife and now my daughter manage to successfully hide it in food and I don’t notice, but I’ll never be a Frenchman! Anyway, I couldn’t drink wine that slowly and pretend it wasn’t just a fruit drink with firewater included!

Any road, there seem to be experts for everything now and they all want to spout on TV. I could be one. You only have to state the obvious and look earnest and confident. It helps apparently if you raise your intonation at the end of every sentence and say things like, “Your glass should be half-full and not half-empty!” followed by a lingering stare down the camera. Let’s hope Dave ‘camera on’ Cameron can sort out the UK’s ‘ills’, now that we are officially a ‘sick’ society, or else the prognosis is not good! Mind you, the sickest in society are the shameless looters, who go in and take all they can get their greedy hands on. Yes, I mean the dodgy MPs, bankers, tax dodgers, as well as the rioters and benefit cheats! Also I thought the PCs were too ‘pc’, but that’s Britain for you. Anyway, rant over for today.

Speaking of the goggle box, have you noticed that BBC types often say, “We have news from home and ‘a broad’.”? Not very pc way to talk about a lady. Wonder if she is an expert on foreign ‘affairs’? I see also that the ‘Speaker’s’ wife, Sally Bercow had no ‘Commons’ sense and did her own thing in the public gaze. Now that she is ‘out’, perhaps ‘Order, order’ can be restored!

Hey ho, got to go. Going to my daughter’s for dinner. Hope it’s not like last time. I brought 3 desserts, 2 healthy jelly wobblers and a pud they know I like. Well, I politely offered them first choice and the son-in-law snaffled mine. That’ll teach me, but I’ll fix him. Next time I’ll lace it with a laxative, but knowing my luck, he’ll twig and leave it for me!

Before I go, a word to the wise. Live your life to the full! I went to a house clearance auction recently. People picked over the contents of someone’s life and paid peanuts. Put people before things and live and love to the max!

Yours slightly strained, but in full flow,

The blogging Gogfather

Mr. William reckons the 'Shirt' has hit the fan!

Image via Wikipedia

Good Morrow, patient and understanding Reader,

You at least realise that I’m 87 and a little forgetful; so I’m going to bring my diary up to date, but I can’t guarantee any sense or logic…not after losing my car keys and then searching the driveway and garden with a torch at midnight only to discover I had left them in my winter coat! It’s a good thing no-one saw me skulking about in my dressing gown or my reputation as a matinee idol might have been tarnished! It gave the cheeky son-in-law more room for mockery, especially as my mobile died due to lack of use and he muttered something about it being as decrepit as me. Well, I got him back. I got it fixed and rang the wally and he didn’t ‘make the connection’ and asked why I was bothering him! There’s a word for him, but I’m too polite to use it. Mind you, he did help me fix my TV and satellite thingy. Now, according to smart Alec, all I have to do is press button no.1 and no.2.

That reminds me. I’ve had a little problem with number ones, if you catch my flow. (Trouble is, my flow has been intermittent, non-existent or omnipresent!) I started by trying ‘decapitated’ coffee, as some ‘hexpert’ said that would help. Caffeine had been doing my head in. That didn’t help and so I decided to insult, sorry consult my doc, Ima Gunna-Killyall. I told her about my dodgy plumbing and how many trips I made to the loo in the night. She smirked and said, “Your prostate clearly doesn’t like being prostrate!” Don’t you just hate it, when people laugh at their own jokes? At least she didn’t get the rubber gloves out. She’s already a pain in the derrière without that indignity. We have to wait for the blood tests, but you may have to excuse me in a minute! The son-in-law thought it was hilarious and said I was just like my TV and had a ‘wobbly wire’! I wish I could fix things myself, without getting a ‘wee’ man in. Then I could be properly ‘left to my own devices’? Boom, boom! (Sorry, had to do that one!) I’m just glad the doc didn’t ask about my alcohol intake, ‘cos I hate to lie to a lady.

Anyway, I’m sure you’re wondering about the title and if not, why not? I’m alluring to the fact that I carry round the story of my day on my shirts. You see, soupspoons leak as you get older-might as well be a fork! I can’t lean forward due to my rotundity (My jelly-wobbler as I call it!) and I might lose balance and fall into my ‘Brown Windsor’! I’m never done wiping stuff off my shirts. How can I keep up my rep as a sex symbol with strange brown marks all over my front? Never mind that, I’ve just discovered that my white linen trousers are see-through when the sun shines. I wondered about the raised eyebrows. Now I realise it was a ‘Lady Di’ fashion faux pas and my ‘crown jewels’ were on display.

Did I tell you I visited the rellies recently? Well, it was very pleasant, except that I always eat at a table and I was often obliged while there to eat on the armchair. Well, let’s just say that cottage pie and chicken tikka massala are hard to get out of white linen! I made my return home yesterday, my big comeback, like Frank Sinatra or Elvis. Mind you, if they make a comeback now, I would be more frightened than entertained?! Talking of the ol’ black humour, they say that 12 people are struck by lightning every year, mostly golfers. That dozen must be rightly ‘teed’ off by now! By the way, do you know a lady called ‘Val Yum’? It’s just my lawyer says he can’t keep away from someone called ‘Val Yum’ since he started checking my diary entries. She sounds very exotic!

Did I tell you I had to put the son-in-law right the other day? He insisted his property faced southwest like my gorgeous chateau. I bought him a compass and asked him to check. He says he’s correct. The compass must be duff. I’ll have to get another one! Never mind that! I forgot about my clutch. Yes, I was driving along in the ‘peepmobile’ and something went “bedoing” and no, it wasn’t me. Then I had to phone the rescue service. At least I had my darn mobile. With car repairs, you’re always ‘in the hands of the Philistines’, aren’t you? You just never know when they are ‘booting you in the clutch’ over the price. The emergency man brought me to a local dealer (Sounds like drugs, but no, nothing that off the Richter scale!) and after a wallet-lightening experience, I was on the road again.

I wasted no time in going to the ‘Pound shop’ and bought Rod Stewart’s Greatest Tits, sorry Hits and an Irish ‘diddlydee’ album, as we call them here. Well, Irish music is super in a pub with a few pints, but in the clear light of day, it’s all ‘diddlydee’ and the same tune with slightly different words!

Talking about words, have you been to ‘Ikea’? The daughter dragged me round there the other day. Said the change of scenery would do me good. Well, I might as well have climbed Annapurna (No innuendo intended, but please yourselves!) without an oxygen pack. My little Irish ‘diddly-dee’ legs were not meant to yomp for hundreds of leagues past false room layouts and products with ridiculous names. There was even a ‘Billy’ (No doubt, in my honour!). Half way round, I refused to move without a gallon of free coffee and some balls- Swedish meatballs. Nothing, however, could prepare me for the ‘Market hall’, like ’Supermarket Sweep’ without Dale Winton and no sign of anyone with a tan. Everyone was pasty from shopping inside on Northern Ireland’s only sunny day! My job was to push the trolley while my daughter loaded it up with ‘essentials’ and then to the auto checkout, where I had my usual argument with the machine. Yes, they are out to get me!

Yes, those Ikea things have funny names, but what’s in a name? Well, Shakespeare may have had a point, but it’s hard to be philosophical if you’re called Euripides Knickersoff or something! Anyway, have to run, now that Ireland’s economy has been downgraded to ‘junk’ status and everywhere else, even the USA is going ‘down the Swanee’, I’m off to the ‘pound’ shop to stock up with emergency essentials, like a dvd on how to repair your own clutch in an emergency. That could come in handy?!

Yours sailing down the Swanee, though still have my shirt, although it’s a little stained,

The blogging Gogfather

Mr William is 'Sitting on the fence'!

Cover of Frank Sinatra

Good Morrow, dear Reader from yours truly,



Yes, believe it or not, everything I tell you is true, with no embellishment. Just like Rupert Murdoch and James, I have had it all verified in advance by my ‘bank’ of lawyers, well, in my case, one very twitchy lawyer. I tell him to relax, as my ‘poetic license’ is fully up to date!



It was difficult to choose a title for these diary meanderings, as so much has happened, but I came down on the ‘fence’ in the end. (Very painful! I needed anti-inflammatory pills. Very appropriate! Better get out of parenthetical hell..). You see, as you may recall, the neighbour threw up a fence and I nearly ‘threw up’! It’s all wonky and it’s so big it can be seen from space, like the Great Wall of China, only next-door’s is wooden (Just like his brain!). I feel like he’s put up a second ‘Berlin Wall’! A cold war is developing in my backyard. I sounded just like JFK there, didn’t I? I might have to get David ‘The Hoff’ Hasselhoff in to sing or something and sort out my ‘Bay of Pigs’ fiasco!



Anyway, until ‘The Hoff’ gets here, I tried my diplomacy skills. I told my neighbour that the fence was awful, that he was blockading me out and asked if he had employed cowboys. I gave him my sketch of what it should look like. He calmly said he would look into it. I think I’m a loss to the Diplomatic Service. Clearly that calmed things down and no shots were fired. Mind you, I’m sure I heard the sound of tearing paper, followed by muted shrieking, but my hearing, like the handwritten plan, is a little ‘sketchy’!



What can I tell you next? Oh yes, it’s good to say you’re from ‘Norn Irn’ (Northern Ireland to the uninitiated.), after Darren Clarke became the third Ulsterman to win a major in short order. These guys have ‘putt’ us in the limelight for the right reasons for a change recently. By the way, do you notice the way they warn you about ‘flash’ photography coming up on TV? Well, I know some have to take care, but I think the photographers are just showing off! ‘Flash’? Please yourselves, as Frankie Howerd used to say. I’m a bit of a photographer and bird-watcher. You’ll often find me behind a bush with my ‘box-brownie’ and a cloak over my head, trying to get the perfect shot of a rare ‘Greater-Crested’ tit! (It’s all in your own minds and anyway that misunderstanding has all been cleared up!) Yes, I like birds of all sorts. They even call me ‘The Cock of the North’, which reminds me that my favourite soup is Cock-a-Leekie. Yes, it really is called that. (You’re writing your own script again, reader?) Thing is, sometimes I ‘cry into my soup’, because they rarely serve it piping hot in restaurants. I’ve had the hottest stuff India can provide (Stop that!) and my mouth is made of asbestos!

Talking about birds and cocks (I’ve warned you about this!), my daft son-in-law had to look after the vicar’s chickens for a few days. Firstly, the dolt got a jolt off the electric fence. I hoped it might shock some sense into him, but alas… Then he brings me an egg as a show off trophy and it turns out to be the ‘china’ egg for the clocking hen. I could have ‘clocked’ him after I cooked it and it exploded all over my kitchen! He tried to say it was it was free range. What a twit!



Did I tell you my feet were hurting again? Went to the podiatrist after she got over her bout of flu. Just politely asked her if she was still infectious. You should have seen the glare. She needs to work on her ‘bedside’ manner! Took the feet to my doc, Ima Gunna-Killya, she said it was probably stress, then the nurse took more blood than Dracula after 5 days in the Sahara! Mind you, stress has been my daily bread for a while. There was the saga of the Saga car insurance. When the renewal didn’t arrive I feared that the misunderstandings about lampposts and minor collisions had blotted my copybook. Turned out to be an oversight, but I still have paid the price of a small house each year, just to stay on the road! I was so financially fraught that I allowed the son-in-law to buy my lunch. That will cost me dear down the line!



Next thing was the ‘oilman’ arrived just after dawn for my delivery. He said he waited till I opened my blinds so as not to disturb me and asked if I had enjoyed my lie-in! I thought if he didn’t want to disturb me, he could fax the oil or talk to me through a medium! Everyone’s a critic! Then there was the stress of a family funeral. The daffy son-in-law was doing the eulogy and guess what he did? Firstly, he accidentally e-mailed the rev my last diary entry, where I slagged him off for texting while ‘meeting and greeting’. Then he only goes and delivers the eulogy with his mobile switched on. Yes, it rang and he made light by saying it was the deceased asking him to get on with it. What a wally! Never mind the deceased, we all nearly died when the phone went off! It was a lovely service. They played the deceased’s favourite and most appropriate song at the end, Frank Sinatra, singing ‘My Way’. The church was packed. It was empty at the start, then ‘The Word’ got out! (Just my little pun). By the way, flowers intrigue me. They are like life. beautiful, but inevitably wilt and die; they bring joy and colour, but fade…many meanings…all good in the end?



Back from the maudlin and sublime to the ridiculous. A lady asked me if I had a ‘bob or two’. I said I was well endowed. She raised an eyebrow, but seemed impressed! I mentioned to my daughter that a 30 something had caught my eye (No, I hadn’t dropped my glass eye!) She hissed between clenched teeth that the young lady was younger than my granddaughter. I had to do some serious back-pedalling! Did I ever tell you about the nurse in a Dublin hospital when I was 18. I got my tonsils out, but she got more than that out for the bloke in the next bed. Now that is personal care. The good news for me was she sent me a saucy pic of herself, yes; she was in the ‘nuddy’. I kept it with me in the army in India. I was very popular with the guys when I passed that round, for a small fee! What a goer! Not Goa, although that was close by, I think.



Any road, got to fly, literally. Going with my daughter to my younger daughter’s and other ‘rellies’. My lady ‘what does’ did my suitcase packing and I’m waiting for the son-in-law to collect me. Hope it’s not like last time, when he forgot to remind me to lift my ticket and passport and we had to zoom back here and get it. We were virtually on 2 wheels at times and I had to close my eyes. He drove like a madman. Well, if the cap fits… Unlike me, he’s not a good driver. Wish me luck! I’m sure there was something I had to remember to bring with me…..!



Yours sitting ‘on the fence’, yet always ready for lift-off,



The blogging Gogfather