I say, I say, I say...

Hello dear blogger, I hope this Sunday finds you well. I thought it was time for a giggle today to lighten the mood a little. Thanks to Ged for some of these bits of philosophy and stories, and good luck to fellow blogger and friend Middle-aged-gapper who is running his 10k race today in Beverley, East Yorkshire.

The hall is booked; the orchestra's engaged; it's time to exercise those chuckle muscles...

I saw in the papers this morning that a dwarf had had been a victim of pick-pocketing. How could anyone stoop so low?

A woman brings eight year old Johnny home and tells his mother that she caught him playing at doctors and nurses with her eight year old daughter, Mary. Johnny's mother says, "Let's not be too harsh on them, they're bound to be curious about sex at this age."
"Curious about sex?" Mary's mother replied, "He's taken her appendix out!"

I've sure grown old! I've had two bypass surgeries, a hip replacement, new knees, fought prostate cancer and diabetes as well as being half blind. I can't hear anything quieter than a jet engine and I take 40 different medications that make me dizzy, winded, and subject to blackouts.
I occasionally have bouts with dementia and have such poor circulation that I can hardly feel my hands and feet anymore. I can't remember if I'm 89 or 98 and all my friends are dead.
But, thank God, I still have my driver's licence.

A priest was driving into town and got stopped for speeding. The officer smelt alcohol on the priest's breath and then saw an empty wine bottle on the floor of the car.
He said, "Sir, have you been drinking?"
"Just water," said the priest.
The officer said, "Then why do I smell wine?"
The priest looks at the bottle and said, "Good Lord! He 's done it again!"

A male patient is lying in bed in the hospital, wearing an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, still heavily sedated from a difficult four hour surgical procedure. A young student nurse arrived to give him a partial bed bath.
"Nurse," he mumbled from behind the mask, "Are my testicles black?"
Embarrassed, the young nurse replies "I don't know, I'm only here to wash your upper body and feet."
Exhausted, he struggled to ask again, "Nurse, are my testicles black?"
Concerned that he may elevate his vital signs from worry about his testicles, she overcame her embarrassment and sheepishly pulled back the covers. She carefully examined his testicles, lifting and moving them around. Eventually she said, "There's nothing wrong with them."
With some effort, the patient pulled off his oxygen mask, smiled at her and said very slowly, "Thank you very much. That was wonderful, but listen very, very closely...
"Are - my - test - results - back?"

Men & Women

The difference between men and women (not the biological difference necessarily) are some of my favourite opportunities for humour:

ARGUMENTS
A woman has the last word in any argument.
Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument..

CATS
Women love cats.
Men say they love cats, but when women aren't looking, men kick cats.

FUTURE
A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband.
A man never worries about the future until he gets a wife.

SUCCESS
A successful man is one who makes more money than his wife can spend.
A successful woman is one who can find such a man.

MARRIAGE
A woman marries a man expecting he will change, but he doesn't.
A man marries a woman expecting that she won't change, but she does.

OFFSPRING
Ah, children. A woman knows all about her children. She knows about dentist appointments and romances, best friends, favourite foods, secret fears, ilnesses and hopes and dreams.

A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
A married man should forget his mistakes. There's no use in two people remembering the same thing.

And finally...

"My wife is a sex object. Every time I ask her for sex, she objects."
Les Dawson

Chat soon,

Ta-ra.

Dear Mr Onions...

I have many weaknesses (I'm a bloke) and one of them is cricket. It was the only game I played when I was younger that I was any good at in an average sort of way. The weakness lies in not being able to turn away from the television when a test match is on. I can live without television I suspect, but I would miss the sound of leather on willow on the big screen. This opening gambit is just a link to the subject of the day (don't say in four words what you can say in a paragraph) which is surnames. England hero on his debut Graham Onions took five wickets in his maiden innings as a bowler and will have his name written in the Lord's hall of fame for all to see for a very long time.

"I became a great runner because if you're a kid in Leeds and your name is Sebastian, you've got to be a great runner." Sebastian Coe, Athlete

Graham doesn't use an alternative of how to say the name of the faithful British favourite vegetable - the onion. He could use the pronunciation 'Oh - nye - ons,' but he is proud of his name. If he was bullied because of it when he was a child, he is surely sticking his tongue out at his detractors now - answering them with his abilities while representing his country at the highest level.

I was trying to think of some good Yorkshire names that I grew up with at a time when the population was less transient - didn't need to move around because jobs were plentiful and local. I can remember that in the early sixties if you didn't stay in your home town, you moved for a better job or stayed in your university town, or joined the armed forces or met a loved one and moved away to marry. Up here we tend to be a bit parochial. How about 'Backhouse' as a good Yorkshire name, and I always imagined 'Arkwright' was local to us - and memories of Ronnie Barker's formidable shopkeeper; sadly such a Yorkshire sounding name hails from our rivals in Lancashire. 'Wasling' was a common one where I came from in East Yorkshire with the top three names: Smith, Green and Roberts. Thwaite is another local to Yorkshire.

I was always told there all surnames derived from four sources: place where you came from; occupation; 'son of'; and nicknames. I used to do loads of family history transcriptions of old parish registers onto computer and I remember some corkers: How about one woman I recorded who was a single mother in the eighteenth century called 'Whalebelly'. 'Smellie' was another common one and 'Death,' often written De'ath and pronounced 'Dee- ath,' was not unusual.

Would you be interested to know that according to one quality daily paper, traditional surnames are disappearing as people change unpopular surnames and some of the most popular in Britain today are Chinese.

Ah well the weekend is upon us dear reader of blogs. Nothing too exciting planned outside because the weather is not forecast to be decent, but I have acquired a second hand treadmill to help with the diet (I could never eat a whole on all at once), so I'll no doubt end up exhausted and something will end up getting sprained no doubt. I'll have to warm up like a premiership footballer; I saw Chelsea's Drogba do something different this week after his team's defeat at Stamford Bridge - I'll go and find a referee and swear at him while waving my hands excitedly - that should do it! If I did, I'd deserve to be locked up - so did Drogba!

Legendary Liverpool FC manager Bill Shankly once said to a player in answer to a question about how to perform in front of goal, "Look, if you're in the penalty area son and aren't quite sure what to do with the ball, just stick it in their net and we'll discuss your options later." Wise man.

Have a great weekend,

Chat Soon,

Ta-ra!

Obituary: Common Sense, R.I.P.

I'm sure most of you at some stage have seen the e-mail obituary of our old friend, 'Common Sense' who died recently. I don't claim anything for the articulately written piece which bemoans the loss of Common Sense but never a truer word was said in jest.

I was reminded today about the obituary by of two pieces of news broadcast today, the first about the police officer in the UK who refused to sit on a bicycle that had been donated to his force by a charity for a picture call with the local media on the grounds that health and safety forbade it until he has passed a cycling proficiency test. Although the force claimed he was following guidelines, he was hardly likely to have been run over by a 38 ton truck on the forecourt of Halfords whilst sat on a bike having his picture taken was he? Risk averse? Of course. Common Sense - none applied.

The second story is about a visit of school children to a small farm who have pigs and the school has apparently demanded that the pigs be removed as a precaution to catching Swine flu before the children arrive - EVEN THOUGH YOU CAN'T CATCH SWINE FLU FROM PIGS! Amazing.

A lot is said belittling health and safety and unfairly in my view most of the time. It is a superb piece of legislation that has undoubtedly saved lives and has all but got rid of the most dangerous of practises in the work place that could cause serious injury and death. But to use health and safety as an excuse not to do something simple, straight forward where the chance of injury is so low, people don't even consider it at all dangerous and it's something that we have done for years is absolutely nonsense. Health and safety does NOT restrict or forbid risky practises. It seems to me that it says you should do a risk assessment, either in your head or on paper and take all reasonable precautions to avoid personal injuries, otherwise we would never step outside our door in a morning to go to work.

I reprint the obituary for the benefit of those who once loved and used the services of this great institution all of their lives:

'Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:

'Knowing when to come in out of the rain; why the early bird gets the worm; Life isn't always fair; and maybe it was my fault.

'Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

'His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

'Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.

'Common Sense declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an Aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

'Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.

'Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

'Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents Truth and Trust, his wife Discretion, his daughter Responsibility and his son, Reason.

'He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers;

'I Know My Rights

'I Want It Now

'Someone Else Is To Blame

'I'm A Victim

'Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.'

Chat soon

Ta-ra!

Come up and see us sometime...

I've had a great weekend so far; very busy both in the garden and in the house doing just bits and pieces but achieving a great deal. As Saturday and Sunday has been so productive, and my wife is decorating my son's bedroom on Bank Holiday Monday, I thought I'd just nip onto Google and check 'things to do on a Bank Holiday.' It just took 0.23 seconds to come up with 119,000,000 (one hundred and nineteen million) hits. See the screen grab to prove it.
So, as it's an impossible task, (at an average of 30 seconds scanning the average site to decide whether it's the sort of information you require) it would take me over 113 years without sleep to scan all of them by which time I will no doubt be passed bloody caring what to do on a Bank Holiday weekend. So thanks Google for not helping a great deal. I've read a news article today (and for the life of me I can't find it now) that says there is a new rival to challenge Google who will make searching more relevant to what the searcher wants. It says it will revolutionise searching - hooray, hours of searching saved.

I've decided to go and see my parents and take my son who's learning to drive with me - just going to have a leisurely day. Where I live, in East Yorkshire there's plenty to do generally. We are within easy driving distance of the coast and three towns of Bridlington, Hornsea and Withernsea and if you like it a bit wilder, Spurn Point is isolated but splendid for coastal walks, bird watching and bracing air but dress up because except for high summer, it can be chilly with sea breezes. If the sea is not your gaff, the countryside is beautiful. It's not mountainous or anything, but green, lush and pretty and plenty of it. The iconic Humber Bridge is good to stop off and see and it has some great vistas.

The Humber Bridge south bank tower (click to enlarge)

For non-seaside places, Hull can be a bit disappointing for things to do with a few exceptions. The best attraction is The Deep with its sea life aquariums, that's good for half a day. There are some museums, Wilberforce and the Street Life museums are good and interesting and some of the architecture around the city centre is okay. If you're into ice skating it has an arena as well as a climbing centre. Other than that - it's just like any other city with its 'same-old, same-old' production line standard food outlets, cinemas, City Hall, theatre, bowling alleys and shops, providing of course the recession hasn't hit you in the pocket and you can afford to do these things. Hull is simply in need of regeneration - full stop.

The Deep, looking like a shark peeking through the concrete, (click for larger picture)

Beverley, an ancient market town is cool and great to walk round with nice shopping areas and weekly merkets, plenty to see and you'll have read my blogs about the Minster. Driffield is a lovely wolds country town and good to walk round. Indeed either round Hull or anywhere else, the best plan is to walk. The East Riding of Yorkshire Council has lots of planned walks, long, medium and short, details of which can be obtained and in Hull there is a city centre 'fish trail.' In Pocklington, there are the magnificent Burnby Hall Gardens with extensive lakes, manicured gardens and one of the biggest collections of water lillies in the UK I understand.

Burnby Hall Gardens (click to enlarge although this may be a little pixilated - it was a large file)

So there we have it for now - only a snapshot of the East Riding of Yorkshire, if you're ever thinking of visiting the area, let me know and I'll give you some tips.

Finally, there may be worse off places to visit: "It's a ghastly place. Huge gangs of tough sinewy men roam the valleys terrorising people with their close harmony singing. You need half a bucket of phlegm in your throat to pronounce the placenames. Never ask for directions in Wales Baldrick, you'll be washing spit out of your hair for a fortnight."
Rowan Atkinson on Wales, Blackadder.

Chat soon

Ta-ra!

Tale of the unexpected...

I'd been hiking through the hills in the north for most of the Spring day and as evening approached I had still not reached my destination in a village some three miles away. As the mist and heavy drizzle appeared out of nowhere, I spotted an old building through the damp haze and decided I needed some shelter, perhaps someone was there to give me some respite and I could make myself a cup of tea with my portable stove and kettle.

I clambered over a stile in a barbed wire fence and walked briskly across some earthworks that indicated a settlement had been there in medieval times. As I approached the building, to my astonishment, it appeared to be a red brick church and desperately in need of repair.

As I was a fair way from my evening destination and with dirt tracks and old war-time concrete single track roads to navigate, I decided to see if I could get some relief from the penetrating damp by trying the heavy wooden weathered oak door. It swung open with a groan and the sound echoed round the building. A single bird fluttered in the rafters above my head. As the fluttering died away, there was no sound at all; even the ravens and crows outside had stopped their raucous noise. I shivered, probably with the chill damp and set about making a cuppa.

The church just had one main room. The windows had no glass and a few old wooden pews were smashed and piled up in a corner. Roof tiles, debris and signs of vandals were all about. I thought I saw a movement with my peripheral vision in the dark corner near what looked like a small vestibule. I walked over to the six feet by six feet room and being careful against the uneven rubbish strewn stone floor found nothing there except the bell tower above me minus any bell or rope; probably stolen I thought. A noise from behind me I cannot describe accurately made me jump; it was a mixture of a breath of wind or a moan of breeze in the rafters, yet as I looked out of the arched window, the mist shrouded trees outside were still.

I went back to the steaming kettle and poured the water into the mug. My mind was wandering thinking about getting into a nicely made bed after a hot shower when I heard a blood curdling scream followed by a massive chorus of bird calls and flapping in the trees outside. I stood up and my heart was pounding and I struggled to catch my breath. Perhaps it was an owl or other bird calling to a mate. The church grew dim as the evening drew in and the dark mist enveloped the surrounding countryside. I was actually shaking - the noise had unnerved me. Stupid man; I tried to drink the tea but my shaking hand spilt the hot liquid down my front.

What happened then I cannot explain. The sound of a heavy door slamming shut roared round the building and reverberated in an echo for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds. Almost immediately the noise faded, a bell began to ring, quietly at first, growing in intensity and volume until it started to hurt my ears and I shouted out loud - just making a noise, a loud noise, any noise to frighten off whatever was there - I probably screamed as much as a man can scream to be more accurate and I took to my heels. I stumbled though the open doorway and ran blindly across the sodden grass tumbling head over tip into the wetness; I got up with drizzle in my eyes making it difficult for me to see and I scrambled to the fence and cut my leg badly on the barbed wire and ran as if my life depended on it despite the deep bloody wound. I didn't look back even though I'd left all my damn gear in that place.

After a few minutes, I slowed down and a shadow began to emerge from the heavy mist in front of me in the middle of the concrete road. It was an old boy dressed in typical drab country garb with a cap to protect him from the damp and a walking stick. He politely bid me good evening and asked if I was all right. I managed to get my breath back and although my story was laboured through trying to get enough air in my lungs, I told him what had happened at the church. He listened patiently, without interruption.

I finished my tale and felt exhausted. He looked at me askance and smiled. After a while he said thoughtfully, "You must have had too much of the local brew my friend. The church ain't been there some seventy years. It was struck by lightening and caught fire one night. Killed a young woman it did." He paused. "My sister Betty it was. Church were so badly damaged they bulldozed it."

He wiped his damp cheek with his jacket sleeve, tipped his cap to me and walked on. I stood and watched him amble slowly toward the direction of the Church until he disappeared into the swirling dense mist.

Dear reader, that church WAS there. I WAS in it. I DID hear what I heard. I am NOT mad; although strange as it may seem (and I can't explain this either), I can't find the scar that the barbed wire fence made on my leg.

Sleep well.

Chat soon

Ta-ra
(pictures and words intellectual property of Rarelesserspotted - click on the pictures to make them larger)

White Rabbit, White Rabbit, White Rabbit

As usual this morning I said my traditional 'White Rabbit, White Rabbit, White Rabbit,' to bring me luck for the month. I've done this for as long as I can remember and try to make it the first thing I say on the first day of the new month. I get my superstitious bent from my mother and her family who were cockney's and my father's parents who came from a fishing community in Hull at a time when it was the premier fishing port in the UK before its decline.

"Never trust a man who, when left in a room with a tea-cosy, doesn't try it on."
Billy Connolly, comedian

Why 'White Rabbit?' Well its simply supposed to bring you luck and was first mentioned as folklore in an article in 1919 in the Westminster Gazette and there are many variants such as saying 'Black Cat' on the last night of the month and 'White Rabbit' on the first day of the month. Its origin is sadly unknown. I had to be aware that when I was a child because when something happened, my mother or grandmother would have a superstition to fit the bill, typically:

• Right palm itches = you will receive;
• Left palm itches = you will give;
• Nose itches = you will get angry;
• Ear itches = someone's talking about you;
• Shiver = someone's walking on your grave (good to tell a young child - NOT);
• Never walk on the cracks on the pavement or the devil will get you (this refers to the old flag stone paths of course and for years I avoided the cracks like the plague).

If I spill salt, I still throw a bit over my left shoulder for luck and this of course comes from the days when salt was so scarce and expensive, you had to ward off the devil on your shoulder who would scold you for spilling it. I NEVER walk under a ladder and that's for the very sensible precaution of preventing the person at the top of the ladder dropping something on my bonce! Very pragmatic approach, but again, the origin goes back to the ancients believing that the ladder against a wall represents the Holy Trinity (floor, ladder and wall,) and that you should never disturb the Trinity. Others believed that if you were single and walked under one, you wouldn't get married for a year.

The one my mother used to get really irate about was if anyone put their shoes on the table. I can understand of course it is unhygienic but the reality is that they represented the boots of a hanged man (off the floor where they belong!) Only this month, I was walking down the corridor at work and one of my shoes squeaked because it was about worn out and someone said to me, "Haven't you paid for the shoes yet?" I thought they were cracking up - but when I looked it up - that's what they used to say - if they squeaked, you hadn't paid the boot maker and it was his way of cursing you. From the fishing fraternity point of view, if one of the fisherman's boots had fallen over on a night time, he was unlikely to go out fishing the next day for fear of a disaster happening.

Now this is the strange thing, I really don't like Friday the thirteenth - but for a reason. Some horrible things have happened to me, like my car was written off by a bus (while it was parked) and my garage fell down in a storm and all on Friday the thirteenth. I once took the day off and spent it in bed just to make sure nothing would happen. Fortunately the house didn't burn down or something equally as nasty while I was in my jim-jams. I suppose the origins, although somewhat obscure have their history with Judas Iscariot being the thirteenth person present at Lord's table at the last supper.

There are so many others that still affect me: I'm still uncomfortable with a black cat crossing in front of me (bad omen); I NEVER knowingly step on a grave; I ALWAYS say 'bless you' to someone who sneezes be they friend or stranger (expelling the devil); I genuinely hate passing someone on any stairs, no matter how long or how wide (don't know why although I once heard that if the other person you were passing was female, she would become pregnant!); I ALWAYS leave a house by the same door by which I entered (whether I sit down or not); and scissors must always be left closed but probably more for the practical reason that if you don't, you might cut or stab yourself.

Well there we are, daft old bat that I am - still superstitious, but it's in the bones now.

"My aunt died at precisely 10:47 a.m., and the old grandfather clock stopped at precisely the same moment in time - it fell on her."
Paul Merton, comedian

Have a great long weekend (Bank Holiday in the UK)!

Chat soon

Ta-ra!

Kind words are like a spring day

This is the first night I've had to myself (and the family) for a while and having spent nearly half an hour changing a headlamp bulb in my car and ripping my hands to shreds in the process, I am just about to go and watch the European Cup semi-final between Manchester United and Arsenal. I love football but I'm strictly a neutral, normally favouring the underdog. I'm not going to rush this blog and I suspect it may take a couple of hours at least to finish because I want to mention two things:

The first is another trip down Memory Lane to my childhood in the sixties and the old house and television and the second is to think about an extraordinary act of kindness shown by a particular work colleague and some other colleagues who were party to a real surprise for me yesterday; so much so I was lost for words.

Boris Johnson, Mayor of London once said, "I don't see why people are so snooty about Channel 5. It has some respectable documentaries about the Second World War. It also devotes considerable airtime to investigations about lap dancing and other related and vital subjects."

Although my parents were not well off, far from it, they moved, after they were married and had me, into a Victorian house owned I think by my aunt and uncle and my grandparents lived with us too. I was prompted to think about the return trip to test the memory by a picture of an old fashioned television the other day and I began to think about ours. Black and white of course with a twelve inch screen and rented from Rediffusion. It was cable then and there was a switch on the wall through which you could tune in the radio - the light programme and one or two others, or one of the two television channels (BBC and ITV). The TV had to warm up because it had valves in the inside which you could see through the back panel, glowing in some cases. The entertainment I do recall was watching the little white dot slowly disappear over a number of minutes when the TV was switched off and the end of the day and programming finished around 10 pm-ish in those days.

Then of course revolution came and the move to colour and BBC 2 came about, but our black and white television had some difficulties in coping viewing the colour channel in black and white. So, for BBC 1 and ITV, they were still on the old 425 lines, a very grainy picture, badly defined. If you wanted to watch BBC 2, you had to press a huge button on the side of the television which converted the picture to 625 lines, clearer and for the day, pin sharp (but not against today's High Definition standards) albeit still black and white. I can recall kids coming to school and claiming to have seen colour on their black and white televisions!

The stupid thing is I can hardly remember any programmes from that early time and I'm not sure I understand why; since I have started to meditate some six years ago, my memory recall has been much better. I have a faint recollection of watching Perry Mason or something similar and perhaps even Tales from the Riverbank. The industrial strife of the early seventies meant that the big old house was devoid of electricity often as power strikes went on then and we couldn't watch the TV or listen to radio until my mother bought a battery operated radio and my parents listened to pirate radio - Radio Caroline. I've heard snippets from it since and it was hip for the day I suppose.


And this leads very nicely to another positive experience and that was the kindness of a colleague and all-round good man Bryan who, on his own initiative and without my knowledge decided to write something very positive about me to the management team. Other colleagues who he consulted, in private of course, gave their experiences of working with me and the outcome was that my work was recognised. Unusually, I was gobsmacked at the time I found out and I never thanked him other than jibbering some rubbish - I wrote an e-mail to him to thank him properly. This is a second and public thank-you.

Acts of kindness, they can be described as nothing else as this one was, is a clear recognition that there is much respect for our fellow human in our society today. The unselfish attitude, both caring and thoughtful takes such a small amount of our time and it generally gets repaid a thousand times in my belief system. Stopping to let a disabled person cross the crossing in front of us which we know will take more time than usual; holding the door for someone who is struggling with their shopping and the pram; saying 'thank-you' - all those things and believing that there is good in people is such a small price to pay for making others feel valued and not ignored. When that kindness is repaid, doesn't it make you feel good?

"A good character is the best tombstone. Those who loved you and were helped by you will remember you when forget-me-nots have withered. Carve your name on hearts, not on marble." Charles H. Spurgeon

Chat soon

Ta-ra.

Reformed Crispaholic

It's that time again, the second month anniversary since I started my diet. In the first four weeks I lost 19.8 pounds (9kg). In the second four weeks I lost... wait for it... 14 pounds (6.5kg) - just a stone. Boy do I feel slightly better for it and although I haven't started an exercise regime in earnest yet (walking) I am moving around quicker and I am starting to get some energy back.

A A Milne once said, "The proof that God had a weird sense of humour is that, having invented the sublime mystery of haute cuisine, He went and gave it to the French!"

What's just as amazing is that the taste buds seem to have come back - I hear the same story from reformed smokers. I've found food again and haven't had one single packet of crisps or a glass of milk or biscuits - all my favourites. 'Hi I'm Rarelesserspotted and I'm a crispaholic, milkaholic and biscuitaholic,' - applause and shouts of 'yeah... ride on... go for it." I never much liked a lot of chocolate so it hasn't been too difficult but thanks go to my wife for making sure that we stay in the routine of counting what we have at the end of the day in a little book and for planning better for the following days in so far as shopping and meals is concerned. She doesn't need to lose weight but as a benefit of us both following the diet, she's lost 5 pounds (2.25kg) although it helps her that she uses the 'Wii fit'.

So, here's a recipe for roast vegetables, just a little sweet tasting which has been the plank of all our roast and meat meals rather than having a load of roast potatoes.

Roast Vegetables (serves 4)

One sweet potato (peeled and diced into cubes);
One small butternut squash (peeled de-seeded and diced into cubes);
One large parsnip (scraped and diced into cubes);
Half a turnip or swede (diced into cubes);
One large red onion (quartered) or substitute an ordinary onion if preferred;
Two Courgettes (sliced);
Mushrooms (peeled and quartered);
Clove of garlic (crushed) - optional.

Ground pepper for seasoning.
2 tablespoons of olive oil.

Put aside:

8 cherry tomatoes left whole.

Method:

Prepare all your vegetables as described and except the tomatoes, place them in an ovenproof dish. Season with ground pepper and drizzle on the olive oil.

Place at the top of a preheated oven, uncovered at 220 degrees or a high gas setting and roast for around 45 minutes. Take out of the oven and stir and then add the cherry tomatoes. Put back in the oven for another 15 minutes. Serve piping hot and enjoy!

"I'm already two years ahead on my daily fat allowance. I'm looking for skinny people to see if I can borrow theirs."
Jo Brand, comedienne

Having rain here today for the first time in a long time, and just after I spend two days over the weekend with the sprinkler on the grass to water in the weed & feed!

Chat soon

Ta-ra!

Twelve things you'd like to say but can't...

I discussed being politically correct the other day and whether it's right or wrong - I'm not convinced beyond some certain rules about sexism and racism, but doesn't it drive you crazy when you can't say what you really feel like saying to those around you who, frankly, are a sandwich short of a picnic.

So here's a list of things I'd love to say, but can't:

1. I can see your point, but I still think you're full of sh*t.
2. It sounds like English, but I can't understand a word you're saying.
3. I see you've set aside this special time to humiliate yourself in public.
4. Ah, I see the f*ck-up fairy has visited us again.
5. I don't know what you're problem is, but I bet it's hard to pronounce.
6. Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental.
7. I like you. You remind me of me when I was young and stupid.
8. What am I? Flypaper for freaks?
9. Thank you. We're all refreshed and challenged by your point of view.
10. Yes, I am an agent of Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial.
11. You sound entirely reasonable... time to up my medication.
12. Some day, we'll look back at this, laugh nervously and change the subject.

Other famous insults are not so subtle; here are some of my favourites:

"You're about as much use as as a one-legged man at an arse-kicking competition."
Rowan Atkinson as Blackadder

"It's like being savaged by a dead sheep."
Dennis Healey on Geoffrey Howe's debating skill, 1978.

"Her face could launch a thousand dredgers."
Jack de Manio, radio broadcaster about Glenda Jackson.

Lord Sandwich, "Sir, you will either die of the pox or upon the gallows."
John Wilkes, "Depending on whether or not I embrace your mistress or your principles."

Nancy Astor addressing Winston Churchill in Parliament, "Winston, you're drunk!"
Churchill, "I am madam, and you are ugly, but in the morning, I will be sober."

"A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle."
Feminist slogan 1970.

"I wouldn't say my mother in law was ugly, but when she went to the cinema to see a monster movie, the monsters picketed the cinema."
Les Dawson

Hope you are enjoying the weekend.

Chat soon

Ta-ra.

Have you heard the one about...

Dear friends, the weekend is here again and most of us in central and Eastern England will see a little more sun before showers arrive during Saturday. What a fabulous week only spoiled perhaps as it often is in the Eastern fringes of England by a breeze from the still chilly North Sea.

Yorkshireman One meets his friend one autumn day, "Did thee have a good summer Amos?"
Yorkshireman Two, "Aye lad, we had a picnic that afternoon."
Trad.

The picture above is the spectacular Dicentra Spectabilis, or 'bleeding heart' (click on the picture to enlarge it). I planted this about twelve years ago just after we moved to this house and it was a sickly little thing and in September in the first year it looked as if it died completely. But year after year with no care other than a bit of weeding around the base, it starts to shoot in March with tiny weak leaves from the ground and by mid April, it is a magnificent bush of tender red hearts with tiny white tips which indeed looks like a bleeding heart. Even before the first frost in Autumn, it is a shadow of its former self and it dies back to ground level to snooze and slumber until spring arrives once more.

I was told a non-PC (politically correct) joke today which was neither sexist nor racist, but not for polite conversation and frankly it was funny and tickled my sense of humour. We are frightened aren't we of being risque these days because no-one, certainly in the work place, knows where the boundaries truly are. Sexism and racism are clearly unacceptable in any form during our daily lives so those boundaries are straight forward. Other jokes that are cruel about individuals or a disability for example are cringing and to be avoided as being nasty and wholly unnecessary.

But we do laugh at the banana skin joke don't we, someone falls and hurts themselves and we have the urge to laugh out loud. Someone makes a fool of themselves and we giggle don't we and perhaps it's because it's relief it wasn't us; the TV programme You've Been Framed is a good example. Situational comedy - the ridiculous situation someone finds theselves in or the clever shaggy dog stories are what makes great jokes. Yet the late, great Dave Allen, born in Dublin before the second world war was a comedian who was able to laugh at his own race and its foibles and today we still laugh at the man's story-telling genius and his ability to spot the absurdities of his own religion (in his eyes) and weaknesses in his fellow man. But even he ironically was being PC when he always finished his shows with the phrase, "Goodnight, and may your God go with you." Did we laugh and was it acceptable because he was laughing at himself?



Why then when we see tapes of Charlie Williams, a mixed race Yorkshire comedian who died in 2006 telling jokes about his race and origins are we now uncomfortable even though the public at the time found it hilarious judging by the audience reaction? And yet when Bernard Manning told racist jokes we were and are rightly outraged. Difficult one to answer and if anyone can enlighten me, please feel free. I am offended by racist jokes in particular but perhaps audiences of the 1960s and 1970s were simply laughing because making fun of the colour of one's skin was part of ordinary life then and now we understand how hurtful, harmful and destructive it is.

I was driving to a garden centre recently with my parents looking for early bedding plants. As I drove along an isolated country road I spotted someone lying on the grass verge by the side of the road. I immediately stopped the car and not without a little trepidation approached the individual who I saw was shabbily dressed and clearly down on his luck.

However to my astonishment, I saw he was eating the grass on the verge. I asked if he was okay thinking he might be mentally ill and he looked at me mournfully and told me that he was destitute and had no money and hadn't eaten for some time and that he was hungry and saw no alternative but to eat the grass as a last resort. I went back to the car and got one of my cards out of the glove box and gave it to him and told him if he was so desperate he could come to my home and I would see him okay.

He was almost in tears, obviously very moved and clutched the card to his heart. He asked if he could bring his wife and family and I said, "Hang on pal, my lawn isn't that big!"

Have a great weekend! "May your God go with you."

Chat soon

Ta-ra.