Mr.William is for the 'high jump'?! (Olympic Special)

Mr. William is for the ‘High Jump’?! (Olympic Special.)

Dear and possibly ‘staycationed’/ frazzled Reader,

I can’t be sure of my demographic. (That sounded very hip and happening, or am I getting flashbacks to the 60s..again? Contrary to the common view, I was ‘there’ in the 60s and can remember at least 2% of it! Note to self- get out of this parenthetical quagmire before the end of the millennium!) Yes, my demographic? Well, the son-in-law said I needed to appeal to it. So, can you spare me a quid? Ha! No, he says there’s no point me rabbitting on to the unconverted, so to squeak. So please feel free to comment below to give me feedback, but not the sort Paul ‘Macca’ McCartney got during and after the Olympics opening ceremony. You see, he’s quickly catching up on me, age-wise, but instead of being hip like me, he needs to watch he doesn’t break one, jumping off his piano stool! When they shouted before the gig, it wasn’t, “Break a leg!” it was, “Watch you don’t break a leg!” Nah, only kidding. He is an icon, a leg-end in his own lunchtime and all that. Where would we be without the Beatles? Probably back in the ‘Stones’ age, listening to Mick, another well-preserved fossil? At least we’ve maintained the ‘Status Quo’. Yes, they’re still ‘rockin’ all over the world’.

That reminds me of what I wanted to talk to you about. Why didn’t you stop me rambling on? This diary is fully intergalactic, you know. Yeh, it’s really ‘spaced’ out there! You see, dear indulgent reader, when I move from my armchair to my desk to scrawl these timeless words and look at my notes, my eyes almost cross at how complicated life is for an overactive octogenarian, with some of his faculties not yet flat-lining. Any hoo, I want to chat about the Olympics. Isn’t Beijing lovely? No, only kidding. I’m not that far behind. Actually, I reckon Danny Boyle should get a gold medal for the ‘opening’ ceremony. What a tribute to the UK, past and present! Only prob will be kids in school getting their timelines mixed up, as the Beatles came before the First World War in the event. Very psychedelic! (Unless Sgt. Pepper was in the trenches with the rest of the ‘Lions led by donkeys’?)

Any road, I’m enthused by it all, like the quirky London mayor, Boris. (Wonder was he able to swing it to get me those ring side tickets for the ladies’ beach volleyball?) I’ll be lucky to get a back seat at ‘catching the javelin between your teeth…blind-folded’! Suppose he can’t break protocol. Mind you, what is the protocol if you break protocol? So far we have seen ‘Twit’ Romney (Romnians on the starboard bow, Captain Kirk!) being sniffy about the preparations, before getting back on message. Then some ‘enthusiastic’ official put up the South Korean flag for the North Koreans. Whadda mistaka to make-a? Someone should get in the aptly named ‘Standard & Poors’ to downgrade the culprit’s triple A rating? (Well, they have to downgrade something while the Olympics are stealing their thunder from Mount Olympus with Promethean flourish?) Let’s not forget, as if we could, the private ‘security experts’, Group 4S, who brought a new meaning to the term, underachieving! The Latin motto of the Games should now be ‘Citius, Fortius, Altius, …Group 4S-ius’, roughly translated, ‘Faster, stronger, higher…Help, we’re in the doo-doo!’

Things will only get more interesting at the Games with the strict drug testing. Why do so many athletes take the ‘wee’ and chance getting caught? (Reminds me. Must get the plumber to look at my loo. I’ve got ‘wikileaks’. No, the lav, not yours truly! Hope he can stem the flow from my bog or it’s up the creek without a panhandle?) Also, I don’t like to see anyone play badly for advantage, like some of the Chinese badminton women. That’s not cricket, in more ways than one! My last constructive criticism would be the ‘empty seat’ débâcle. No matter what the reason is for the swathes of vacant areas at events, e.g. blocks of seats reserved for the Olympic ‘family’ (Whatever that is, when it’s at home!), it doesn’t look good, especially as tickets could have been sold many times over to the public. Moreover, what more can they do to ‘deploy’ our reducing, respected, armed forces? They do their duty in Afghanistan, for instance, then they are ‘drafted’ in as security at the Games, then, in many cases now, they have to file in to empty seats and watch ‘tumblers’ and the like. (Seems they also didn’t get their first choice of women’s beach volleyball?)

Leaving aside the above, I think the Games are magnificent, the coverage is amazing, the athletes are inspirational and the Olympic spirit is alive and ‘jumping’..very high! What about Michael Phelps? An amazing achievement, well earned! I also wish Team GB, Ireland and everyone involved all success! One other high achiever has shone brightly recently and that is the genial genius, Daniel Barenboim and his astounding West/Eastern Divan Orchestra. Look at their story on your interwebby thing! I think their performances of the 9 Beethoven Symphonies at the BBC Proms were spine-tinglingly great. As I was saying to the lead violinist just before she struck up (Her instrument, not my mush!), my Aunt Gerty was only the daughter of a penniless fiddler, but many a good tune was played on her! Take a bow? (From the sublime to the ridiculous?) Did Beethoven, like myself, first notice his deafness when he couldn’t hear his ‘soaps’ on telly and had to use subtitles? Maybe he invented Opera then…essentially a visual medium with ‘subtitles’? Only kidding. Don’t want any opera buffs chasing me with rolled up programmes and lorgnettes!

Before I go off to see Lord Coe about me entering the ‘high jump’ in the next Games, (Well, you see, everyone’s always saying to me, “Oh, Mister Peeps, you’re really for the ‘high jump’ now!”), I just want to bring you up to date on my non- ‘Olympic’ family. Come to think of it, I could enter my son-in-law in ‘hammer head-butting’ event in 2016. His head’s thick enough! My daughter reckons some of my garments are worn-out. Doesn’t she realise they’re just not fully worn-in? She ironed my shirts and now wants the bunch of hangers back. Is there no such thing as a free ‘bunch’? Clearly not, as ladies that used to lunch are now ladies that ‘teas’! Due to austerity, they now have to settle for a slurp of Earl Grey and a sticky bun! We’re all in it together, eh? Well, tell that to the citizens of Aleppo, Syria or, more locally, the truly disabled being put through the ‘Condemns’ mangle!

How am I in myself, you say? Yes, no? Make up your minds! Well, in some ways I could sit in for the Dalai Lama, suitably cross-legged in my white doti. (Does he ever get a hol or is it like Her Madge, QE2, always on duty?) Otherwise, I have a lot of hassles to get my teeth into. Firstly, my dentist, a Doctor Hugh Jars, (Not in the Béyoncé sense!), has got it in for my choppers. A ‘plaque’ on all his houses! (Hope that wasn’t impenetrably obscure?) Secondly, I’ve had a few falls. I think gravity gets stronger as you age. I’m getting up and getting up a petition! ‘Higher pensions, lower gravity!’ Also the hazard warning light went off in my car and I couldn’t remember how to switch it off. Had to do an emergency drive in the wake of an ambulance to the garage. Very hazardous! Handbook? I tried reading that, but I had to keep braking to avoid the ambulance! Son-in-law wasn’t sympathetic as per. Just kept chasing me for documents for my house sale and an ‘itinerary’ of the contents. He said not to ‘tamper’ with the legal forms, but when I saw the red ink stating I should not amend anything, but just sign, I saw red and started ‘tampering’. Son-in-law seemed to be in a red mist. Just wait till you’re all 88! Yes, at the minute I have piles of files. It’s a pain in the ass!

By the way, did I tell you my eyebrows have grown so bushy they’ve drooped due to my old foe, gravity? Son-in-law has offered to take the garden shears to them, but I’ve put him off by cracking on that the National Truss has ‘protected’ them for posterior as an area of ecological value. Ha! Ya gotta larf! Hope so, anyway. As I said when I got my latest bargain book in the ‘pound’ shop. I’d heard rumours of a naughty tome doing the rounds, so when I saw one called ’50 Shades of Green’, I had to have it. Well, what a let down, literally. It was about Irish grass—the sward, not the other stuff. Tell you what; I know why the grass is greener here. It has been a diet of rain, with rain sauce, served with a side of widdle, together with a large, green, well-drizzled salad! Moreover, the economy is so bad that someone has coined the quip that if you’ve no money, it doesn’t matter where you don’t spend it!

Finally, on a lighter note, is an agricultural chap with dodgy crops in need of ‘farmer’ceuticals? Also, my vicar visited the ‘Eden Project’ in England. Is he trying to get back to basics? Furthermore, NASA say ‘space’ smells of  ‘seared steak’. Could their PR guys not now add a veggie option? Any road, I’m ok. My window cleaner says he wants to emulate me. In fairness, what he actually said was, “Mr. William, you’re like just like Superman, if he was 88!” (Does that mean I can wear my undercrackers on the outside? Do long johns count as a superhero costume?) Clearly he looks up to me, especially as I’m on the 2^nd floor. He admires my social grace and charm. Maybe he wants to rise up a few ‘rungs of the ladder’? Well, he’s only human. I’ll let you in on a little secret. My aftershave was discontinued in 1948 and I’ve been stockpiling it ever since. Yep, I bathe in it nightly, like a modern Cleopatra, although it stings round the asp! Don’t tell anyone or they’ll want to be ‘on the scent’! Whoops, that’s the phone! It’s probably Seb & Co about my 2016 entry. Gotta fly!

Yours, going for gold, yet always for the high jump,

The Blogging Gogfather

Mr. William wants to 'smell the roses'!

Mr William wants to ‘smell the roses’!

Dear and hopefully not sodden Reader,



Have you been deluged by rain, the Diamond Jubilee of the Queen’s ‘reign’, the endless sporting events (Fab if you like sport!) and the demands to ‘rein’ in the excesses of the bankers? Well, moi aussi! So, if you are looking for cohesion, social or otherwise, in this diary entry, then try superglue? If coherence is your thing, then try Paxman on Newsnight. He knows how to stick to the point so rigidly when interviewing, he now virtually skewers his ‘victims’ and roasts them for a BBQ in the pouring rain! By the way, what does this weather presage, the end of the world or just, as per, summer as we used to know it?

In any case, I can’t find the time to figuratively ‘smell the roses’. My daughter gets fed up with this as she buys nice roses each week and invites me to have a sniff after Sunday nosh. Waste of time. My sense of smell went when Noah was a boy. Mind you, his ark would come in handy at the moment. Talking of ships, it was great seeing QE2 herself sailing serenely down the Thames with her flotilla (Mind you, BBC coverage lacked a good ‘anchor’?) and recently she visited Titanic Belfast. Thankfully, unlike the fated liner, her handshake with Martin McGuinness ‘went down’ well.

What about the banks? If PM Cam-moron told us the banks had a hand in global warming, we wouldn’t be surprised. What next? Well, what about sending some of the ‘dodgy’ dealers to jail? I know that’s perhaps pi r squared in the sky, even though the figures don’t add up, but it might lift our spirits. I need that. I want gravitas, not Dignitas! I won’t be browbeaten. Not with my brows. They have their own postcode! Just indulge me and I will let you in on the random, yet infinitely hectic and surprising world of the lively octogenarian. (That’s me I’m alluring to, in case you weren’t sure!) By the way, do you think ‘Jockeyshorts’ or Murray mint will win Wimbledon?

Firstly, did I tell you the family home was sold? Well, the agent, Ima Screwer got me a ‘fair’ price, if fair means rock bottom and not all the fun of the ‘fair’! At least I can liquidise my assets. (Your dosh might get a bit soggy that way, but it makes a great smoothie!) Daughters want me to cling on to my assets. Well, will do my best. I’ve covered my ass with insurance. Is that why they call it assurance? Seems ladies worry if their ‘bum looks big in this’ or anything else. I say, “Leave watching your behind to me.” I will look upon it as a public service. It’s been a lifetime’s hobby anyway. Any rate, got to see my blonde solicitor again, as she wants to ensure all my ‘affairs’ are in order. Has someone been blabbing? Did you? The son-in-law, yes, the dopey one, is helping with the paper chase and insists on coming with me to the lawyer. He mumbled something about making sure I listened and kept my eyes on the documents and not her particulars! Must remind her I’ve not been ‘rewired’, the house I mean! I’m wired up to the moon. Did you see that thing about the transit of Venus? If women are from Venus, I might get a lucky encounter of a cosmic order? Seems also that in 4 million years, our galaxy will smash into Andromeda. What should I do about that? Cancel this year’s hols or what? By the by, did you see the docs were on strike for a day? They had posters, but I couldn’t make out a word of the writing. Boom, boom! My doctor’s reception had a sign last week, “Training in progress. Please be patient!” What else could I be? Unless it was role-play? Could I be the doc for a change? Better not go there?

Well, at least I’ve paid my taxes in full (Unlike Jimmy Carr and some dodgy ‘Condemns’—comedians all!) and moved into my home for the occasionally bewildered. Nearly sorted now, but the cleaner keeps ‘tidying up’ all my correspondence and it goes into an intergalactic black hole along with my memory! Every time I cancel a direct debit on the ‘old’ house, the company charges me for their ‘inconvenience’. I nearly went sky high when a satellite insurance company billed me for another year for the ‘bin lid’ on the roof! Blue sky thinking on their part. Seems everything’s in the small print, but I stopped being able to read that after a very overactive adolescence! Anyway, it’s so warm and dry in the ‘home’, I’ve shredded my souwester and can now concentrate on settling down and ‘smelling the roses’, so to speak.

Mind you, a few things to attend to. I can’t find shoes to fit me. Shops seem biased against the small-footed. Might start a campaign? I can’t do up the laces anyway. Daughter suggested slip-ons. In my case, they would slip off and I’d be on my ass. Recipe for disaster? Bit like my cooking. At least wine in moderation is good for you again! Before this, you couldn’t take enough to get a tiddler tiddley. I use lots of wine when cooking. I even put some in the food! Ha! Due to my dodgy memory, I now resort to the sniff test on food, rather than the dates. No ill effects so far, although the lack of a sense of smell now is a hindrance! Wish me luck! Sense of taste going too. I need spicy food that blows your behind off just to get some flavour. Also eating spicy crisps, but I think they’ve made my neck so thick I can’t button up my shirts for church. At least I leave most of my nosh on my shirt anyway. It’s a novel slimming regime! Tell you what’s really novel- one of our local, popular chefs only cooks on the radio! A real feast for the senses? One thing I love is crackers. Yes, the bikkies. It’s not just the taste, but also the wordplay. You can eat them, be them or pull them. You can ponder on that at your own convenience. (In the loo, if you wish?)



By the way, got that cheque for my steering column coming off in my hand. Yes, now holding a piece of paper that allows me ‘Peace in my time’! Not much peace in Greece. What’s a Grecian urn? 2 drachmas an hour! Old joke, but will it come back into fashion? Unlike Syria, where the regime is so beyond the pale, I may have to get out of my armchair & do something, unlike the UN! Politicians are useless ‘weak’ in and ‘weak’ out? If they want wind farms, there’s plenty of hot air in parliament! Is it only me that chuckles when they say at Westminster that ‘Black Rod’ will announce the Queen? Is he steely?



By the by, did you notice the ‘Wags’ were not wagging their tails any more during Euro2012? Times of austerity not so much fun. TV ads everywhere offering loans. Lines like, “My credit history was a bit ‘tricky, so now I’m delighted etc.” Expensive loans for folks in debt? Friend or enema, as my dad used to say? Little thought occurred to me, is an undertaker, who is into reincarnation looking for repeat business and where does he leave his card? Saw a sign outside a beauty salon near here. “Mancure and pedicure, while you wait.” I’m keeping clear of there. I love little ironic faux pas, don’t you? French is a foreign language here. In Norn Irn, when I was young, nothing was chic. A ‘Bureau de Change’ sounded scary. It was called a ‘Boo dee change’. The dole office was the ‘brew’ (Bureau again.) I thought the unemployed were given tea and sympathy to tide them over till they surfaced! Hey-ho! Now we’re getting hi-fi or wi-fi in Belfast. (Will they be appearing with Westlife?) Son-in-law says that will be great. He’s always saying, “There’s a ‘nap’ for that!” Dozy twonk! He said I would be a ‘You Tube’ sensation. I just quipped, “You tube!” He was talking about my trip on the stairs at the home. No, drink had not been taken. Well, not much. I hope it wasn’t on the CCTV! I was stocked and shunned after my fall. Yes, I received dirty looks and tuts. Am I getting a reputation? Don’t answer that! Everyone’s a critic! Since I fell on my nose, I thought it might spoil my matinee idol looks, but all’s fine. It must be ok ‘cos the lady optician stared dreamily into my eyes for ages during my check up today. Also all the ladies in the shops and cafés vow their undying love, if not in words, then in their demeanour. They’re all married, but they would dump them for me if I asked, (Especially the one whose husband is up the Amazon!), but I’ve too much on! My cleaner surprised me from behind at the shopping centre. Made me jump on many levels! I went to ‘snog’ her in my serendipitous delight, when she pointed at the cctv as a way of cooling my ardour. Harder than she thinks. A bucket of water would have been better!

Did I tell you about my super idea that I may pitch to Simon Cowell to replace that Pop Idol / X Factor jobbie? Yes, it’s called ‘Matinée Idol’. Yep, handsome, irresistible blokes like me go through a series of tests. For example, round 1 could be the killer ‘stare’ which makes the ladies fall at your feet, then the hair test to see if your coiffure can remain at a jaunty angle in an open top sports car travelling in the Riviera. If all else fails and there is a tiebreaker, you could have the one to one, no holes barred combat round, where one swift kick to the King Creoles (You know, the coconuts –crutch, especially if they’re leaning on it at the time) could win the contest. Do you think it’s a runner?



Anyway, daughter sticking to traditional crafts and has made patchwork cushions. I told her they looked very ‘rustic’. She said something about getting ‘stuffed’; must be alluring to the cushions? My other daughter sent me a local W.I. ‘Calendar Girls’ charity calendar. Should I tell her that Miss July’s cupcakes have slipped revealingly? Do you think the ladies in my ‘home’ here would consider doing one of these? It is for charity and I could do the auditions. Shall I approach the warder? Sorry, I can’t quite hear you?



Anyway, in case you were waiting to hear, the Queen didn’t have time to call in for tea and crumpet, when she was over. She knows she’s welcome to inspect my ‘common’ quarters anytime. I just wanted to remind her about my 100th. Not that long now. Any hoo, must hurry along as I have to pay my car insurance; just the price of a small house this year. It’s my miles on the clock, not the car’s! Yes, at my age you sometimes feel like Sisyphus, the mythic character, who was doomed to push a boulder up a slope for eternity, only to see it roll down again every time. They say that youth is wasted on the young. Well, I think everyone has a duty to fight against the dimming of the light and keep the flame burning bright.

Randomly and amazingly, I got to hold the Olympic torch recently. You mightn’t believe me, but this is true. Normally I admit that my poetic licence is fully operational. You see, one of the charity runners locally was leaving his proud mum back to our ‘home’ and we all happened to be in the lift. Well, what a lift I got when he let me carry ‘the’ torch for 2 floors! I’m blessed!



I told my daughter I chat so much ‘cos I’m on my own and I can only talk to myself. At least there are no arguments that way. Also, I have wisely decided only to tell myself good news! My daughter says that she finds the darkness quite comforting, like Simon & Garfunkel’s, “Hello, darkness, my old friend!” For me, it’s illumination every time. I shared some of these thoughts, when I had to do an impromptu speech of thanks at a church dinner recently. I think I was the most senior, but it did seem to ‘light the room up’! 2 people have inspired me this month. Jack Osbourne with his MS diagnosis and his ‘adapt and overcome’ attitude. What a guy! Also Michele Obama ‘skipping’ the light fantastic on a TV show. What a gal!



Yes, I’m for saying ‘Yes’ to life and living it to the full!



Yours, ‘smelling the roses’, yet always self ‘ass’ured,



The Blogging Gogfather

Mr Will-I-am-not visits his Granddaughter in France

Cover of will.i.am

Mr Will-I-Am-Not  visits his Granddaughter in France




Good Morrow, financially buffeted but hopefully not bust Reader,



By the by, I take it you’ve ‘checked out’ my ‘dope’ moniker in the title. Yes, I’ve been watching too much of ‘The Voice’. I’d get dizzy if my armchair spun round every time I heard a nice voice. I think that’s why Will-I-Am talks all that dopey dope stuff, Jessie (She knows the words to every song!) J sounds like an American hip-hop black, sassy lady, Danny O’Leprachaun is just dizzy and Tom (I’m still a love god in my head) Jones looks like he’s waiting for nurse to collect him for beddie-byes! Mind you, Tom still is ‘The Voice’. The competition only proved it, at great expense, unlike Engelbert, who proved that ageing werewolves should not be seen in spotlights, especially Eurovision sized ones! He was ‘cracked’ to think he could crack it. It was won by a slightly wacky Swedish lady, with a load of ol’ cute Russian dolls as back up! Maybe next year I should give it a go; I’m wacky, ancient, not afraid to be dressed up in a sci-fi suit, but I won’t do the sex change. That would be the unkindest cut of all! It’s not compulsory, is it? My stage name would be Will-I-Eck-as-like. What do you think? I could become an icon? Can I say icon, nurse? (I’ll check with my lawyer when he get’s out of the sanatorium after my last diary entry.)

Anyway tempus fugit and sometimes flare and fall into a black hole. I must try to stick to the point. Talking of sticking, when I told my daughter I had a sore tongue, she offered to stick a plaster across my mouth for a week. Is she trying to drop a hint? My car idles noiselessly, unlike me, according to her. Reminds me, viz-a-viz TV performances, could someone politely ask Prince Charles and Cruella to stop their roadshow now. The noble prince has been a weather ‘girl’ and a DJ. What will he do next to convince us he’s the serious heir to the throne? Go in for Eurovision next year singing the Johnny Logan classic, “What’s another year”? Anyway, I’ll put myself back in ‘prose’ control. It’s not easy at age 88. I have to write a note down about everything, even loo visits! Although, in the immortal words of Bacharach and David, “There’s always something there to remind me!” Mind you, I’ll never be lonely. If I were dropped into the Sahara desert today, I would be ok. I’d chat up a passing Bedouin (Maybe the one that ‘found’ my camera in Morocco?) and get him to take me up the Kasbah. Then I could have tiffin with a belly dancer. You see, I’d never be in the s**t, just the Souk! For me, life is like a Forrest Gump ‘box of chocolates’-some bits are hard and bitter. I want the soft centres ‘cos they’re squidgey and exciting! Reminds me, did you see Nicole Kidman and Kylie at Cannes? If anyone can, they ‘Cannes’! (Please yourselves! I do!)

Suppose you’re wondering when I’m getting to the visit to France? Well, I wondered that too. It was magical. Yes, I’ve been away, but not with faeries, as we say here. I mingled in a totally platonic way with the rich and famous. They couldn’t take their eyes off me. It’s my matinee idol looks, repartee, charm and highly developed sense of modesty and self-awareness! In fact, I’m so good with people and animals, I think I could be a successor to Saint Francis of Assisi. Yes, any time I see a bird, I get a funny feeling. You’ll probably know ‘our’ poem, “Where there is discord etc..” Mrs Thatcher tried to hijack it. Mind you, there’s still plenty of discord about. Maybe that nice Lord Levinson could winkle something out of the very forgetful media dudes and politicians. Then, when he’s solved that he could have a stern word with that Syrian regime. What? You don’t think that would be enough? Thank goodness satire, irony and sarcasm are not dead, unlike the thousands of innocent civilians. Can the so-called ‘powers that be’ not get their act together and put aside self-interest? Rant over!

Any road, I nearly missed my plane to France. My daughter forgot to remind me to bring my passport. Basic error, that? Anyways, we were in the airport coach with our suitcases in the hold, when I asked her if she had my passport. Well, you would have thought I had let one go in front of the Queen (Again, but that’s another story, as the architect said!). She went a funny colour, murmured something about ‘cupid hit’ and we had to get a taxi back and forth for the next coach. If only she could be as organised as I am. For instance, I knew I had a funeral to go to (Not my own, you might be disappointed to know?), I just couldn’t remember whether yesterday was a Wednesday or what. (I can’t be expected to remember everything. Who am I? Carol Vorderman? I might be, but I don’t think so. My memory’s more like the Murdochs, patchy. It’s not easy being a media typhoon, I’m sure!)

Any rate, I rang the son-in-law and asked him what day it was. He seemed to be choking and stifling something. I’d like to …No, I’ll say no more as I want him to fix my TV. The other day I pressed for the rugby and got ‘Loose Women’. Normally that would be ok, but listening to Janet Street Porter going on about the menopause made me search in vain for the ‘off’ button! I bought him a box of crackers for fixing it; very appropriate I thought! I always said he was a cowboy. He used to be a ‘Loan Arranger’! (You know, Lone Ranger? Hey-ho!) Did I tell you I got another book from the ‘pound’ shop? Yes, it’s the ‘Karma Sutra’-a bit naughty, but very laid back, if you know what I mean! By the way, the lady from the perfume shop is after me and with my gammy legs, I can’t run for it. Yes, I’m nomadic and pneumatic. I’m full of hot air and I get about a bit. Anyway, she’s sniffing after my sponduliks and I wouldn’t come up smelling of roses!



Did I ever explain that I expire or whatever it is to be the Samuel Pepys diarist/chronicler of our times and mine. I observe the so-called ‘good and great (Who say’s I don’t do irony? Bronzy and Goldy probably; very much in the Olympic spirit) Yes, I will come back to the ‘Games’ again, but, in the meantime, do I hear correctly that a pint at the Olympics will cost £7? Blimey, someone’s taking the widdle. Maybe it’s from the competitor drug testing bottles? Never mind that, I want to pay my respects to our ‘Diamond’ QE2. I met her once, shook her hand and considered having it embalmed. I thought better of that. It would have interfered with my hobbies. Anyway, I’ll see her when I reach my century and she hand-delivers the card as pre-ordained. After all, I’m a proto-saint? Did I tell you I tried to get into the ‘Old Boy Network’, but they wouldn’t have me for some spurious reason? Ageism is rife! I also report on the word on the street. A lady the other day, here in Norn Irn, said her daughter wanted a baby and was having ‘UVF’ treatment. Just a bit drastic, I thought?



Before I go, I’ll leave you with a couple of thoughts. Firstly, if ‘we’re all in it together’, as the ‘Condemns’ say, then most of us are in a leaky dinghy and they’re in a luxury liner, now renamed, Titanic 2! Can you tell me what a ‘Grexit’ is? Is it a refurb of Aristotle Onassis’ yacht? Secondly, I’ve got to get the car into the repair shop-just minor things-scratches when I reversed into a bollard and, oh yes, the steering wheel came off in my hand! (It’s all in your own minds!) Yes, as sure as I’m riding this camel across the Atlantic! Yep, I rang a customer insultant, who turned out to be kind and French. (Think her name was Marie Mee?) It was a bit ‘ooh la la’ when she said she would ‘take me in hand’. My mind went blank and I almost forgot why I’d rung until I noticed the steering wheel on the sideboard! Anyway, she says she’ll sort me out, so I’m walking on air, at least until the car’s fixed.



Well, I’ll keep soldiering on. Before WW2, I worked in a linen mill making parachutes. Yes, I landed on my feet? Strange then that I lose my thread so often? Ironically, I was recruited by a guy called Soldier Dunn. So, for a year, I rhetted, scutched and hoed-all above board, then into the army, where of course I was a model of decorum at all times, and anyone who says different is probably a jealous rival with too good a memory. Hey-ho, off I go. Got to call in at the bank and warn them about my holiday spending. They’ll think my middle name is Rockerfeller, when it’s actually ‘Stoney-broke’!



Just remember why I write this diary! I want the world to know that you can live life to the full, even at my great vintage. I don’t whinge, but I do ‘wine’. I take off for hols, love my family, make people smile, live every day like it’s my last, but always keep my feet on the ground! Wish me luck with the ‘peepmobile’! I wonder if Marie Mee will give me the necessary for the car in person?



Yours, with my ear to the ground yet permanently on holiday,



The Blogging Gogfather (Grumpy ol’ geezer!)

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

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 naïve 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!

Mr William is a Man on a Mission!

Mr William is a Man on a Mission!

Good morrow to you, serendipitous and sentient reader,



As you can detect, I am in good form. Spring is springing and my sap, not to mention my gander, is up! You could say I’m a man on a mission. Mind you, here in Norn Irn (Northern Ireland for English speakers amongst you), we have a saying that some twit ‘hasn’t a mission’, when we think he’s clueless. That is not I, as I occasionally do have a clue as to what’s going on, but I’m more Inspector Cluseau than Poirot! You might say, “Mr William, you’ve told us before that you were on missions, but things went belly up!” Well, cheers for that vote of confidence, but I hear lots of flattering comments everywhere I go. I hear them cry, “You’re an asset,Mr. Peeps!” and “You’re a real Count”. At least I think that’s what they said. Peeps do tend to whisper. By the way, have you seen my hearing aid? Anyway it is true that I’ve seen it all before, like déja vu, but I’ve got to make a mark before I shuffle off this moral curl, hopefully it won’t be a strange, blotchy smudge like I get on my shirts when slurping the ol’ soupe du jour!



You see, that Steve Jobs chap talked about death helping us to make the most of life and Dr. Desmond Morris (The ‘Naked Ape’ man, if you catch my drift) says he makes the most of every day and never wants to waste a precious moment. Also Ghandi talked of living every day like it was your last, while learning as if you were going to live forever! All great stuff and very inspiring. So, my mission starts today! After all, if Engelbert Humperdinck (You couldn’t make it up, but he did. At least it apparently belonged to a 19th century composer. No doubt it looks amazing on a billboard, but how did we ever take him seriously with that moniker?) Anyway, the amazing septagenerian crooner is singing for the UK in Eurovision, so there’s hope for us all! Let’s hope it’s not a ‘tour de farce’?



Any road, you may ask what my mission is. Well, it’s quite modest really. I just want to de-clutter my life of irritating details like selling my house and sorting out my apartment for the occasionally bewildered. You see, I want to get on to more important life-affirming stuff like chatting up ladies. I know the universe is astronomically enormous and everyone has their purpose. Well, as a part Italian, full time matinee idol, my purpose is to charm ladies and have a chuckle. What? We can’t all be Mother Theresa or Nelson Mandela! You have to find your niche.

Thing is, some things have caused mission ‘creep’ and some ‘collateral damage’ recently. Firstly, my memory’s got worse. When my daughter asks me what I did on any day, I tell her I need written notice on questions like that! Also, I needed my mobile phone topped up and the shop assistant asked which network I’m on. After I got over the implied suggestion I was some sort of space cadet, I asked him if he thought I was Professor Stephen Hawking or some other cosmological genius. Thankfully he smiled and checked the phone himself. Maybe he could see I was harassed. After all, I’m just getting over ‘man flu’, which, as you know, is nearly terminal. My daughter seemed to think it was a head cold. What she actually said was, “It’s all in your head!” Some sympathy there at least. Didn’t get much sympathy from the ‘prostrate’ doctor recently, a certain Dr. Isla Getya (Unsure of her nationality). Let’s just say that Corporal Jones from Dads’ Army had it summed up when he said, “They don’t like the cold steel up ‘em!”

I’ll tell who else has no sympathy- that numpty son-in-law who reckons this diary would be nothing without his ‘input’. He’s clearing out my house for sale, or so he says, and next thing he breaks my pole! (Don’t panic! I don’t mean some Polish bloke-although I wouldn’t put it past him. He was furious when I suggested he should go to ‘anger management’ classes!) No, I used a wooden pole to check the oil level in my tank. Well, in his feeble attempt to ‘tidy’ my garage, he only went and broke the end of my pole, which had been carefully calibrated. I try to stay ‘measured’ in my dealings with him, but if he’s not careful, I’ll break the end off his! Take that whatever way you like! Sorry, I’m getting carried away. Not literally, but I was relieved when he found and disposed of the rat poison. Thankfully, he didn’t fall for my ‘trap’! After all, I don’t want anything untoward to happen to him until the house is cleared.



Never mind all that! Some collateral damage to report. My tooth implant has gone again! That’s another trip to my dentist, Phil McAvity- a man who makes Dick Turpin look positively saintly. At least Dick wore a mask and worked at night! Then the ‘sell by date’ issue. No, not mine! I cannot get it right. I think it’s because I’m on a ‘see food’ diet. I see it, I like it, I buy it. (Julius Caesar can’t have all the pithy phrases!) In other words, if I see a better offer, I take it. That’s always been my way, but it caused a little ‘mission creep’ recently. You see, my lawyer at Screwer, Screwer and Screwer solicited my presence to sign some forms. Trouble was, with her being a ‘natural’ blonde and all that, I went without my daughter and I was looking at her so intently I can’t remember a bally thing she said. I would have signed anything and probably did. No doubt I’ll pay dearly when I get her bill, with a surcharge for time-wasting! Hey ho, got to go!



Before I go and check my oil and buy more nosh,(Probably pasta based, as I have a little Italian in me, if you’ll pardon the expression. Mind you, I hate macaroni cheese ‘cos it’s like worms and I’ve hated it since childhood. Anyway I’m ‘pasta’ all of that now!), I just want to celebrate the late, great ‘Norn Irn’ comedian, Frank Carson, by passing on one of his quips. He said, “Private Carson, I didn’t see you at camouflage practice today! --- “Thank you, sir!” It’s the way he told them! Also well done to Rory McIlroy for playing a round so well,unlike Tiger’s infamous playing ‘around’.

Anyway, I’m not really a space cadet, just a little ‘radio gaga’ with a series of little blips. Space-wise, it seems that the USA has to watch out for an invasion of ‘Romnians’ on the starboard bow. They apparently want to take over the helm of the US Enterprise. It’s life, Jim, but not as we know it? Any hoo hah, make sure and live every day as if it’s your last and have a chuckle as you go!



Yours always on a mission, but with occasional collateral damage,



The blogging Gogfather!