Saturday, 28 April 2012

Mr William always 'goes down well'!

Mr William always ‘goes down well’!




Good Morrow, dear & hopefully fully afloat reader,



Yes, it’s been raining a lot round here, so I hope you’re boat (both figurative and financial) has stayed above water. Our millionaire ‘Condemns’ in government love to tell us we’re all in the same boat. Two probs there. Firstly, if we all got in, it would sink without trace (Maybe they’re right then?), but secondly and crucially, the boat our ‘betters and leaders’ are in would be a luxury yacht, unlike the ordinary bod’s leaky dinghy!



Also, in this nautical vein, I should mention the Titanic centenary commemorations, which, in the main, have been tasteful and appropriate. My dad always had a jest that the magazines in his dentist’s waiting room (A certain Dr. Hugh Jars.) were so old that the headlines read, “Fears for the Titanic!” Well, there is no fear that here in Belfast we are not trying to respectfully celebrate the building of an amazing ship and commemorate the sad loss of life. The best example has to be the amazing Titanic Belfast Centre. It’s awesome and a real achievement. It will be a fitting memorial for decades to come. Mind you, on a lighter note, some friends went to the Centre and half way through the visit, a fire alarm sounded (Turned out to be a false alarm.), but they thought it was all part of the experience and wondered why everyone else was heading for the door! Love it.



Titanic, as we know, went down sadly. Yours truly, however, always goes down well, especially with the ladies. Can I share something, dear reader? I was going to save it for posterior, but I can stay ‘in de nile’ no longer. You see, I fancy Nigella Lawson. Well, doesn’t everyone? Due to the Titanic coverage, I have had these daydreams of the luscious one and myself (The sainted Joanna Luvley will have to take a back seat for a while, unless, of course, she starts talking in that husky voice about the Ghurkas again!). Yes, we’re on the prow of the ship like Leonardo Di Craprio and Kate Whimsical (Before it sinks obviously. My front crawl is poor, but I’m not bad at the ‘breaststroke’. What?) Let’s just say that the bow is not the only thing that’s proud! Any way, time for a cold shower and I will tell you about an incident that gave me a sinking feeling.



You see, I had to go through an MOT test, (the car, not me. I’m a man of many parts and some of them even work!) and I had a kafuffle when I realised it was all last minute. I booked the test date asap. (Reminds me. Must check my will is up to date. Don’t want to die ‘intestate’? Get it? Please yourselves!) Problem was repairs were needed to the ‘peepmobile’ to keep it on the road. Parp, parp! The garage blokes wanted to relieve me of a small fortune. I considered asking the chancellor for some of the money he was sending to ‘prop up’ the Eurozone, but I recalled he’s not listening to ‘grannies’ anymore!



Any road, short of robbing a passing ‘merchant banker’ of his bonus, I scraped the dosh together and was about to put the car in for the work. Trouble arrived, though, at 4am on the morning the car was going in, when I remembered the car was full of stuff. I call it necessities for emergencies, the son-in-law calls it ‘random junk’. (Always the charmer! The other day he was painting in a cupboard for me and the only thing I could see was his ass sticking out. Well, I know he’s the butt of my jokes, with good reason, but this was a tempting target. Like Oscar Wilde, “I can resist anything but temptation itself!" He’ll never know how close he came to wearing the paint pot called ‘Midnight in Bognor’!) Anyway, there I was in my kipper at 4am and thought I’d better tidy the car. Well, dear reader, I’d forgotten I now reside in a home for the occasionally bewildered and therefore my nocturnal activities did not go unnoticed. It was like ‘The Great Escape’. I went AWOL into the carpark, opened the car and then suddenly lights came on everywhere. I was waiting for the sirens to wail. Out of the spotlight, I squinted at the ‘warder’, who wondered “What the divil I was up to?” She seemed to accept my explanation gracefully as she wandered back in her nighty. All quietened down, but I’m sure I saw the twitch of a dozen curtains. Aren’t people awfully nosy? You’d think ol’ dears would be asleep at 4am? Hey-ho! Another day, another disaaaster! I think I’ll have to be more circumcised in my activities, ‘cos I really like it here.



You see, my problem is that I’m an open book. The only thing is, my frontispiece is permanently covered in coffee and soup stains, but I’m worth reading, a bestseller even? Anyway, I can safely report that the ‘peepmobile’ is legal for another year. Yippee! I’ll go out for a spin shortly. Mind you, it’s tipping it down and the windows are misted up. I think Tina Turner got it wrong. Windows are better dry. When they’re ‘steamy’, I can’t see out and I would be a danger on the roads. (What was that you said?) Yes, you’re right. I might ‘bump into’ some friends. I’m very sociable. Talking about seeing clearly, I was in a clothes shop last week and saw an assistant, a male much like myself in appearance. Thinking he could help, as he had a debonair, intelligent look, I asked for advice on trousers for a man of shorter inside leg. Well, he just stared right back and said nowt. I was affronted and said I would report him for insolence. My blushes were spared by a passing floorwalker, who whispered that I was talking to a mirror and could he help at all. That was certainly a road to ‘Domestos’ moment. Should have gone to Specsavers, then I could say, “I was blind, but now I can see!”



By the way, they also tell me that if I want to see TV soon, I will have to be digitalised. Will it be painful? Will I be a cyborg like Arnie and say, “I’ll be back!” in a menacing manner? Son-in-law has offered to carry out the operation for me. He’ll probably enjoy inflicting that on me. As the pop singer said, “I prefer number 1s. Number 2s are painful and a real bummer!” Indeed, I empathize fully! Do you notice that peeps say the ‘punniest’ things? A bloke said he put a grand on a horse in the ‘National’. “Yeah!” he said, “I have a lot riding on it!” Also the door store was innuendo city. They said, without a smirk, “Your knob is too big and your slot is too small…for your letterbox.” Is it just me?



Afore I go to paint the town red in my ‘Toad of Toad Hall’ flying machine, I must tell you about my great idea for going round shops and exhibitions, when you’re 87 with dodgy legs. Yes, some big lads meet you at the door with a sedan chair and they carry you round in state. My daughter mumbled something about me being ‘in a state alright’. Her idea was to stick me on a conveyor belt, no doubt clutching a cuddly toy. “Good game, good game!” as Sir Brucie would say. Any rate, in closing this missive, I want to wax lyrical and say that life is a puzzle. You don’t see the solution until the game is over. You simply make your moves and pray!



Yours with an occasional sinking feeling, yet always going down well,



The blogging Gogfather







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Wednesday, 4 April 2012

Mr William needs his 'Head felt'?



Mr William needs his ‘head felt’?




Good Morrow, dear and hopefully fully ‘fuelled’ Reader,



Do you have a water butt and a ‘jerrycan’? Well, if not and you’re in the UK, you haven’t been ‘pumped’ up enough by the Coalition and their politically ‘fuelled’ comments to prepare for the ‘Armageddon’ of water and possible fuel shortages. Some say if this goes on, “Armageddon outta here!” Others have the arcane idea that the ‘oily’ government are trying to distract the electorate off the so-called ‘Granny bashing’, millionaires’ paradise Budget? At least Dick Turpin had the decency to wear a mask and work at night! Perish the cynical thought! They need their heads felt, or is it all how you look on it? Firstly, as an octogenarian (I’m 87), could they stop referring to me as a ‘granny’? That’s just wrong on so many levels, one of which being the indisputable fact that one or two vital objects get in the way of that moniker! Anyway, rant over for now, but I do want to talk to you about the life and ‘deaf’ struggle I have to survive and understand this crazy world and maybe I do need my head felt.



Yes, I refer to the rather zany sphere, popular with shrinks and quacks in the 19th century, where you could tell virtually everything by the bumps on a person’s scone. (Their head, for the uninitiated in ‘Norn Irn’ jargon.) I’ve lots of interesting bumps on my cranium and I think I need my head tested. My daughter and son-in-law enthusiastically agree with this for some reason. So it was, that I decided to do some DIY research. (No, not down at B&Q!) No, you see, I thought I would start by looking at other people’s heads in the supermarket. I had my marker pen and a diagram from a book bought from the Pound shop called, “Phrenology for Dummies! (Check out your nobbly bits scientifically!) Thing was, the only scones I could examine belonged to large young men with DIY bald pates, tattoos and dogs that had large teeth and were called Gnasher! They also snarled and slobbered a lot and so did the dogs! Well, the survey didn’t last long. I approached one chap and asked him if I could mark out a phrenology map on his head with my thick marker. Well, call me na├»ve if you will, but the nurse in the Emergency department told me the bite marks and bruises should heal up eventually, but I should perhaps consider another hobby. Hey-ho!



So, what did I learn? Well, firstly I should have used a thinner marker as the thick one was hard to extricate. Secondly, it’s not only my bins that are black and blue now. That reminds me! I’ve been ‘bruised’ by events also. I’m selling my house after moving to my home for the slightly bewildered and the Estate Agent, a Mr. Willy Fixit, keeps coming to my door with insulting offers and bemoaning the housing market. It’s a low blow when peeps try to screw you over, just to get a bargain. When I think of my family coming over from Europe, like Dick Whittington without the cat, I weep! Yes, I’m of a continental bent. My folks were ‘Hugenuts’ or something, fleeing persecution. What would they say, if they could see my plight? Yes, “Get a life!” That’s right, and I will! I’ve decided on my new full-time hobby or purpose, if you want to jazz it up, although Albert Schweizer won’t have anything to worry about, mostly because he’s dead! Yes, now that my brain’s smaller, I’m going to devote myself to what I do best, being a matinee idol charmer. I want to make ladies smile and see them trot off with a spring in their step after an encounter with yours truly. (At my age, the encounters are ‘Trevor Howerd’ ie brief and words only, no hanky-panky!)



Anyway, I ran my logic past my daughter and she said she knew a good vet and mumbled something about ‘meutering’ or something. Didn’t sound like a happy finish? My son-in-law, the one who thinks this diary would be nothing without his flair, (He still wears flairs, but doesn’t have any! Know what I mean?) he thinks I could start up the ‘Randy Over 80’s Club’, but he has little confidence in my persuasive abilities, as he reckons there’d be a membership of one. I told him he was just jealous he wasn’t senior enough to join this exclusive club. That shut him up, but I kind of lost momentum when I spilt my soup over my lap and had to leave the room! Yep, I’ve reached the ‘bib’ stage, but I’ll only start to worry when I reach the ‘googoo-gaga’ and nappy stage! Yes, and could I mention at this juncture, that despite rumours to the contrary, I do change my undercrackers every day of the week, even if I don’t need to, but by Friday I can’t get them over my trousers! Boom, boom! Any road, I do love my food. When din-dins arrives, I cry, “Let battle commence!” Sadly, it’s the collateral damage you have to watch for! Also, I like After Eight mints, but I can’t wait till then to scoff them. So they’re out! By the way, does a dodgy salmon roll give you salmonella or am I being ‘listerical’? Any rate, my sell-by date is up again! No, not mine. It was a choc/cream meringue thing. What would Sartre say about my existential state? I feel like a chocolate teapot today- a bit leaky and redundant, but Edwina Currie, the former MP with ‘egg on her face’ assures me that we pensioners have never had it so good! Anyone got any rotten eggs handy?



Yes, it’s all clear now. I have to get my chakras and my yin and yang in balance. If I have naughty thoughts, I will balance it with a good deed. For instance, I thought about going to the doc, Ima Gunna-Getya, but I didn’t, ‘cos she’s a babe and I never hear a word she says. It’s the blessing or curse of my good health and Italian ‘jeans’. So, to redress the balance, I confessed in church. The rev. was surprised that I claimed to have killed Frank Foster from Corrie, but I couldn’t remember where I was on the night in question. I also tried to give money to charity. Problem was that by the time the guy had gone on about gift aid, I had seen myself grow more grey hairs and all the phases of the moon had passed. Is anything easy when your 87? Well, I’ve worked the ways of the world out now and intend to start a fund to raise the alleged £250,000 needed to chat with Cameron over a cuppa to get him to sort the country out and stop calling me a ‘granny’ and helping richies. (My nervy lawyer with the stammer and tick, which he claims he only gets when I’m around, says I must liberally use the word ‘allegedly’, when mentioning our beloved ‘betters’, as they now want to read every word we say or write! So, here goes ************, allegedly! Seems ‘spinning’ makes you dizzy? The ‘nanny’ state wants grandparents to teach children about the ‘great outdoors’? You couldn’t write it, but I just did!)





Anyway, dear reader, I’ve to go and buy a ‘butt’, some petrol, a few books of stamps and a ‘hot potato’ pie. Who says satire is dead? I don’t know, I didn’t even know he was sick! Before I go, could I ‘big up’ Northern Ireland, “Our place, our time!”? Be like Amelia Earhart and drop in and see us and all we have to offer-Titanic Quarter, golf heaven (Go Rory, Graeme, Darren!). Also support the National ‘Truss’ in its upkeep of our ‘assets’. Spare a thought for Aung San Suu Kyi and other democratic freedom heroes? Finally, spare a thought for Madonna’s ‘hotpants’ as they seek to keep up her assets! Well, as I always say, if you’ve got it, don’t flaunt it, or everyone will want some!



Yours with a fevered brow, yet with all my bumps in the right place,



The blogging Gogfather!


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