Mr William is 'on the Scent'!

Image by kmiller799 via Flickr

Good Morrow, dear Reader,

I'm really busy today, 'cos I'm on the scent, literally. You see, I have been buying this aftershave, called 'Urban' from a well-known high street department store. Can't tell you the name, in case my lawyer has another 'connery' or buckle in the eye, but let's just say, it rhymes with 'Parks and Benchers'. I could tell this cologne was alluring to the ladies, as they always commented on it and asked for a sniff. Their exact words were, 'What's that strange niff and is it coming from you?' Thing is, I have just been told they have discontinued it.

Well, I can hear you say, 'Mr William, you don't need any help to attract the ladies with your matinee idol looks and peerless charm and wit!' Yes, you are right, but I believe in creating the right atmosphere, literally. As Silvio said to me (That's Senor Berlusconi to you), 'Mr Peeps, we all look to you for inspiration. I am in a 'stable' relationship myself and don't need your help.' Must be quite a large 'stable', if you know what I mean?

You see, I always say that if it's not broke, then don't fix it. Cameron seems to agree. Apparently, he wants us to stick with the 'Status Quo'. Well, they say old rockers never die, they just fall off their rocker! Anyway, I just liked that aftershave. I had got acclimatised to its aroma, a bit like my house. I watch all the housey progs on tv, but I don't change my decor. I am waiting for a revival of 70's chic. I was going to ask Ricky Gervais for his opinion, but I thought he might be brutally frank. He can be 'Frank' and I'll be 'Earnest'. (What did you think of him at the Awards recently? A comedian has to prick pomposity and there were a lot of large balloon-sized egos to prick?)

Any rate, I was leaving the house to get more aftershave, when I lost my keys again. Thank goodness, though, for my unique new system. I lock myself in a room, close my eyes and mentally retrace my steps. Just a couple of hitches with that. Firstly, I can't find the key for the room I want to meditate in; secondly, I have the mind of a butterfly on champagne-so, I tend to wander a bit. Then thirdly, I forget why I went into the room. I did buy a self-help book by an Ima Knowtall (You may be aware of her oeuvre, which includes, 'Perfection and how I attained it in 10 easy Steps', priced very reasonably at £40). It was called 'The Key to Every Door in Life'. What a misunderstanding. I thought it would help me with my housekey issue, but it was just mumbo-jumbo.( Much like Blair at Chilcott).

Before I lose the scent completely, I must tell you what happened at the shopping centre. I asked the assistant about the 'Urban'. Like me, it has street cred, yet is sophisticated. He dropped the bombshell about it's discontinuation and I was shell-shocked. So there I was on the escalator heading home, when I espied one of my lady friends on the escalator heading in the opposite direction. She smiled and asked me how I was. I was so discombobulated, that I simply muttered a reply and we passed like ships in the night!

I was so disappointed, as I love and respect ladies. Unlike those football pundits, I want to woo them, not boo them! The last time I met this lady, she told me her husband was away on a trek up the Amazon. She even gave me a peck on the cheek. Well, actually she accidentally pecked me on the neck. Here, you don't think she's related to Dracula's daughter or something. I'll have to check for fang marks. I have been a little anaemic lately. Only kidding. Thing is, I had worked out a great line to use if I met her again. I would say, 'While he's up the Amazon, I'd be happy to take you up the Kyber Pass.' What? It's in your own minds. I was stationed there during the war! Hey-ho!

Ah well, must dash as I want to write to Customer Services at the store and get my 'Urban' chic back, before the lack of it affects my mojo any more. You know, I may be 86, but I'm not too old for hanky-panky. In fact, hanky-panky and I have been good bed-fellows for decades and always will be, if I can keep up the pace. Talking about keeping up the pace etc; Are Dawn French and Pat Butcher the only celebs who have not brought out a fitness dvd? At least they have not got on the gravy train of going from overly rubenesque to stick-insect!

Well I'm off, in more ways than one,

Yours fragrantly, but with a hint of 'Old Spice',

The blogging Gogfather!

Mr William has a 'screw loose', but 'gets the Picture'?

Image by TOONMAN_blchin via Flickr

Good Morrow, Blessed Reader,

You are 'blessed' for at least 2 reasons; firstly, you are alive and able to appreciate God's providence and secondly, you know how to have a good laugh. According to my newspaper, if you are breathing and can have a laugh, together with a moderate dose of wine, garlic and fresh produce, you are half way there to attaining membership of the ever-growing band of centenarians. Apparently, the quickest way is just to go and live in France, but we can't all do that. Seems the oldest ever lady (officially wise, like Guinness Book of Records type criteria) was French and lived to the ripe old age of 122.  

Well, you will see from my pics that I am a pilgrim on that road; I am long in the tooth, vertically challenged, getting all I can out of life and hoping the Queen will be well enough to hand-deliver my congrats on my 100th! Just hope I don't resemble the guy in the 1st pic too much by then-no offence if he is a fan of my diary. I admire the post-modern fashion statement!

Problem arose recently, though. I was 'up the walls', had ' a screw loose', 'got the picture' and couldn't 'see the light'--all figuratively and literally.(If you reckon that was easy to construct, then you have not yet caught the bug of literary creation. Mind you, just about every other bug seems to be doing the rounds. Anyway, I had better extract my self from parenthetical hell or the impatient among you will complain that I don't get to the point. The very idea!)

You see, being a little on the short but perfectly formed side, has meant that I couldn't reach the bulb on my stair-landing light. The bulb went pop, I rang my know-all son-in-law ( Yes, the one who reckons this diary is his baby, just 'cos he conceived it and  inseminated it onto the world wide 'Spider's web or whatever it is). Well, he smugly asked if it was 'screw in' or 'bayonet'? I thought I would give him a bit of my peerless wit and told him the last time I fixed a bayonet, I intended to shove it where the 'sun don't shine'! Not even a titter. He just muttered something about me 'having a screw loose'. I really will have to wear those bally hearing aids. People could be saying anything. My daughter keeps going on about having to repeat everything to me. Well, if she will mumble.....

Well, the son-in-law deigned to screw the bulb back in. Thank goodness, because, at last, I could see the new wall painting on the stairwell in all its glory. Did I not tell you? I love buying pictures--no Rembrandts or such like, just pretty daubs from the stores. Talking of pretty daubs, the picture subjects are normally lovely ladies and nature or, ideally, a combination of the two. Nothing smutty, just on the saucy side of tasteful. I buy them at bargain prices. I start with the 'Pound' Shop and work up. I am very astute like that! ( The 'Pound' shop has been a real find. I have 3000 torch batteries, a plastic 'white elephant' and a book called 'Salmon Fishing in the Yemen'. I think it's great for those everyday necessities!).

Thing is, I am beginning to run out of wall space. I have 3 pictures, waiting to be hung up, under my bed, and I can't stop buying the next picture that catches my eye. I may have to start sticking them on the ceilings or build an extension. Must say, though, the idea of a voluptuous maiden staring down at me from the ceiling over my bed, does have its attractions! By the way, my grand-daughter is an art auctioneer, and as such knows her daubs from her Dalis, her arts from the ones she would elbow ( You get 'the picture'. Well, she certainly does!) I asked her to professionally appraise my art collection when she was last over on hols.

Well, she said she would be honest, but after one look, she seemed to take some sort of a fit. After some smelling salts, her remarks that she whispered before the doctor arrived included, 'Beauty is definitely in the eye of the beholder. Your paintings are definitely 'priceless'. In fact, I just couldn't put a value on them. Don't worry about insuring them (and most encouragingly, I thought,), I haven't felt quite this way since I saw Tracy Emin's Unmade bed and Damien Hurst's dead animals!' Well, It looks like I'm moving in the right direction then. I will only be a matter of time before my collection achieves the recognition it deserves!

Anyway, 2 quickies before I go and admire my artwork. I had a 'wikileak' moment the other day. I left the bath running again and I nearly flooded the floor, so did the bath-water, if you catch my drift. Also, a lady I met on my travels was chatting me up, as they do, and I said I would like to run my fingers through her hair. She said, 'Hold on and I'll throw it over to you!' Hey-ho. It's all in the day of a GOG (Grumpy 'ol geezer/git!)

Yours footloose, well screwed up on occasions, but always jolly,

The blogging Gogfather!