Mr. William has ‘gone to Blazes’?
Good Morrow dear and no doubt a little heavier Reader,
Happy New Year to you all! Mind you, I think most of us feel we overdid the festivities and want to make good resolutions for 2012. Although I think we find it difficult when the wind-chill in the ‘Trossachs’ would freeze the whatsits off a pawnbroker’s sign and we feel the need (Unless we are celebs, footballers, wags or ‘merchant bankers’) to haggle with the said pawnbroker over the value of our family jewels. With the ‘recession’ etc. it feels like the light at the end of the tunnel has been turned off until further notice. Even yours truly has felt a little down, though my family made the season frolic, rollick, festive and fun-filled. I’m not lonely, just playing solitaire. Even though I’m a ‘gog’ (Grumpy ol’ geezer), I’m not ‘Scroogey’ or curmudgeonly. I have been a bit ‘layery’ though; I’ve taken to wearing about 6 layers of clothes outside, but in some ways I’m blazing.
You see, not only am I still hot stuff for the ladies at 87, (Well, they’re only human!), but I keep starting fires of another sort. It’s probably all a divine punishment for giving the Christmas mince pie ‘soirée’ the 2-finger salute, when my daughter invited me. Trouble was that next day I almost decapitated the said fingers in the ‘swing’ doors of my blazing apartment in my home for the slightly bewildered. Well after the hospital visit for sewing up,the digits have been throbbing and blazing ever since, like some ironic warning to shipping and grumpy ol’ geezers at Christmas! What’s more, my flat is so warm that I regularly have to strip down to my undercrackers. This caused an accidental flashing kafuffle, when the warder, sorry warden, knocked at my cell, sorry apartment door, when the Rolls had glided out of the garage! Did I tell you she had a face that could sink a thousand ships? More Hell than Helen, if you know what I mean!
Any road, back from ‘Hell’ to ‘blazes’. Come to think of it, this reminds me what that snarky gringe of a son-in-law said when I almost had that fatal accident. He took one look at the paramedic stitching me up and said I should have ‘got my finger out’! Now that was a moment where the 2-finger salute would have been compulsory, but I was indisposed. Don’t worry, I’ll ‘stitch him up’ some day! By the way, I’m not being pedantic, but does ‘anal retentive’ have a hyphen? Hey-ho! Sorry, I lost the thread again there. Well, I am ancient. Just you wait and see how you are at 87! My daughter worries about my memory. I forget why. The other day she drew me a picture of a lamp, so that I could buy one. Is it me or does she think I’ve gone daft? Don’t answer that!
Any rate, back to ‘blazes’; well the warder/warden told me always to use the extractor fan when cooking or the smoke alarms would mean an evacuation. She apparently meant all the ‘inmates’ would have to vacate the building, but I had my own thoughts formed and, true to form, I cremated my dinner and the alarms went off. There was a mass evacuation, if you know what I mean, but a quick call from the warden averted a long stand in the snow! You see, what I need to avoid burnt offerings from the kitchen is a gadget that clunks me round the noggin when the nosh is nicely nuked. I could patent something. The son-in-law helpfully suggested he could work on a prototype involving a lump-hammer, an alarm clock and a ball of string. Charming!
Another ‘blazing’ incident almost lead to a ‘blazing’ row. It was a café fiasco. There was I minding my own business, blowing on my volcanically hot soup, when I heard a thunderous cough that seemed to emanate from the bowels of hell and was followed by a sneeze that would have blown your umbrella inside out. I felt that my whole environment had been contaminated and I was not eco-friendly. I gave the offending polluter a withering look. He responded with staring red eyes that were so piercing that I almost gave up the ghost! I was about to give him a piece of the remaining piece of my mind, but I kept my peace. Maybe it was my vague recollection of remonstrating with a bloke who was walking out with my umbrella one day. It was an accident, but he took offence and was going to give me a bunch of fives! That taught me to have prepared excuses and strategies. On that occasion, I apologised and legged it, although with my short steps it took me half an hour to get to the door. What is it with ol’ lads and small steps? I think it’s gravity taking over and dodgy balance. I want to see a ‘Steps’ revival. (No not the pop group, although the blonde one clearly fancies me. I can always tell!)
Anyway, I’m now prepared for any altercation. I had to give up wearing the full body armour from the museum as I couldn’t lift a leg and just fell over. The ‘black belt’ at the self-defence class was useless. He told me if he was in diffs he just ran like hell. (See above re drawbacks to this strategy!) No, it dawned on me that my best defence was always my matinee-idol charm and if that didn’t work with burly blokes, I would feign death, deafness, lunacy, say I didn’t speaky English or that my mummy told me never to speak to strangers. When I ran these past my son-in-law, he said that all these excuses were eminently credible. Git!
Before I go to get the dents fixed on my car, I will just say ‘bollards’! Yes, I keep reversing in to them at my apartment. The ‘warder’ says I’m like a one-man SWAT team. What’s she on about? Firstly, though, I have to dry my trousers-again. No, it’s not leaky ‘waterworks’; it’s a rogue water tap that randomly sprays tsunamis of water round my white trousers. Also there is a splashback from the loo flushing that reminds me of Niagara Falls. Even though they say it’s bad luck, I’m going to have to start putting up my brolly indoors to stay dry, if that guy ever gives me it back! Has fate got it in for me? As Kenneth Williams of ‘Carry On’ fame said, “Infamy, infamy, they’ve all got it ‘infamy’!” but I jest.
As Sir David Attenborough indicated in ‘Frozen Planet’, there’s nothing as frisky as a Caribou buck in the spring and that’s exactly how I feel. Mind you, I’m sure Sir David is ‘wild’ about ‘polarbeargate’- four years of dangerous and awesome work ‘melts’ away over some cub in a Berlin Zoo. Such is life, but I, like Sir David, will keep on striding this beautiful world (In my case, in very short steps.) and making the most of every day. Enjoy your 2012 and enjoy your life to the full!
Yours a little singed, yet always trail’blazing’,