Around the age when three and zero sit comfortably together I was introduced to a lovely Irish girl .You know the sort. Keep you awake all night fulfilling fantasies then hit the confessional for her guilt trip. Not that any priest I’ve ever met really listens. If the press is to be believed the majority prefer hairy males to ‘hail Marys’.
She actually was pretty close to the male definition of womanly perfection. You know the script. Cook in the kitchen, lady in the drawing room, whore in the bedroom. Or even on a good day whore in the kitchen and drawing room as well.
She had the most delicious smile, and personality.
Given my background of white gloves, big drums and tin whistles I was taught that the followers of the man on the cross were not on the same spiritual level as those who did protest. And so I let religion get in the way. Not that I knew anything about religion you realize. All I knew was that Catholics were a strange breed and not to be trusted, except of course when they were pretty and opened their legs. Then they were to be whole heartedly encouraged.
I really was a young and stupid buck.
This fresh faced colleen tolerated my prejudice and behavioral deficiencies with a grace only the Virgin Mary herself could display. Without reservation she accepted the nonsense that I threw out as wisdom.
As ever the foolishness of youth got in the way and I beat it out of a fairly healthy situation. Truth is my conscience bothered me enough some years later to find her and tell her so. Even then she listened to what I had to say with a peace and serenity I did not understand.
Little did I know there would be more than one ‘graceful’ lady enter my life.
Later in life the 'white witch' came a calling and donned the mantle of serene womanhood.
As it stands the knuckles of reality are knocking on the door of celibacy and I know they must be answered. It feels stronger than the pull of a celestial black hole. Seems the innermost squirrel who hides his nuts may wish to delve further into the mysteries of lingerie tinged with domesticity.
For my sins I hope I will not burn at the stake.
As to the sofa the 'f' was delivered and now all is built and ready for launch.
Maybe the 'white witch' would like a test drive.
Oh, the musings of masculinity and egotistically folly.
Monday 26 May 2008
Friday 23 May 2008
No 'f' in sofa
I am no longer sofaless. Well almost.
Unfortunately with the typical thoroughness I have come to expect in life there are portions as yet to be fetched to me. So while now part of me can sit I cannot loll. If I accept this situation I will develop lopsided buttock syndrome. So where of an evening to place the gangling torso I inhabit I am still at a loss.
By way of explanation the 'third party' carrriers who delivered said incomplete article employed a driver with a 'third party' brain. The neandrethal impersonator who rode as shotgun had little more to display in terms of cerebral capacity. They doorstepped my future instrument of repose and informed me in true ok coral fashion that they would not be lifting the sofa any further than the roadside.
I informed them I did not live on the roadside. This was beyond their developed comprehension.
And so I had it, two slobbering skullnumbs who with finger pointing consistency referred to their interpretation of the semantics of a delivery ticket in order to not complete their task. The whole deal took a swift change of direction when I introduced a wireless transmission courtesy of Alexander Graham Bell and his forebearers. An irate Managing Director lined up on my side and the shotgun was unloaded.
Without much more exertion than a good squeeze I had four large boxes in which to play filling my living room. Before you could say Robin Jackson the knuckle draggers had their palms open for alms. A fixed stare for their efforts filled their 'sweaties'. I too can stand off with remarkable alacrity.
Alone with my boxes I unpacked with more zest than a ton of oranges.
And so the tale is yet to be comlete. One of the boxes was the wrong package. Threequarters of my sofa was all I had.
There is still no 'f' in sofa.
Keep you posted.
Unfortunately with the typical thoroughness I have come to expect in life there are portions as yet to be fetched to me. So while now part of me can sit I cannot loll. If I accept this situation I will develop lopsided buttock syndrome. So where of an evening to place the gangling torso I inhabit I am still at a loss.
By way of explanation the 'third party' carrriers who delivered said incomplete article employed a driver with a 'third party' brain. The neandrethal impersonator who rode as shotgun had little more to display in terms of cerebral capacity. They doorstepped my future instrument of repose and informed me in true ok coral fashion that they would not be lifting the sofa any further than the roadside.
I informed them I did not live on the roadside. This was beyond their developed comprehension.
And so I had it, two slobbering skullnumbs who with finger pointing consistency referred to their interpretation of the semantics of a delivery ticket in order to not complete their task. The whole deal took a swift change of direction when I introduced a wireless transmission courtesy of Alexander Graham Bell and his forebearers. An irate Managing Director lined up on my side and the shotgun was unloaded.
Without much more exertion than a good squeeze I had four large boxes in which to play filling my living room. Before you could say Robin Jackson the knuckle draggers had their palms open for alms. A fixed stare for their efforts filled their 'sweaties'. I too can stand off with remarkable alacrity.
Alone with my boxes I unpacked with more zest than a ton of oranges.
And so the tale is yet to be comlete. One of the boxes was the wrong package. Threequarters of my sofa was all I had.
There is still no 'f' in sofa.
Keep you posted.
Thursday 22 May 2008
Bill and Ben
When yesteryear was just a word and the rat race had less rats I was privileged enough to have worked amongst some of the most prolific life givers that the world has ever produced.
No, they were not really all that special in terms of world changing events unless you realize of course that most folk’s worlds are very small indeed. They can still part my mandibles in the broadest sense when I think on what they got up to.
I will start with Bill and Ben.
This pair fed off each other and their surroundings in a way that Laurel and Hardy would have found difficult to emulate.
Ben was a plumber. With all the features that a working man manages to acquire by the time he is a journeyman. He owned over developed and knarled hands, a keen sense of the ridiculous, a razor sharp wit and an uncanny ability to find opportunity where little or none existed. He was also a mischief maker extraordinaire. Bill had been his apprentice, which says it all really.
They, like I worked in a hospital. These were the days when hospital smelled of carbolic, nurses looked angelic and porters were helpful. Not that this is not the case today, perhaps it just feels that way.
On one occasion Ben broke his finger and was off work for a couple of days. When an inquisitive nurse asked Bill where the other half of this double act was he proceeded to launch into this story.
According to Bill, Ben’s finger had gone septic. His arm had then become infected. Gangrene had set in. Said arm had been amputated.
The nurse bought the whole ridiculous story. So,Bill being a man of extreme fortitude pushed the boat out further.
He informed the nurse that unbeknown to most Ben was a keen concert pianist in his spare time and now there was no living with him. Given that we are talking of a man with fingers thicker than an oak sapling or two this was the most unlikely tale imaginable. Yet, in no time, the whole hospital was awash with grief at this poor man and his imaginary amputation. There was a collection, condolence card and everything. Quite an extreme amount of sheckels were raised.
Ben returned to work with a full compliment of limbs.
The staff were not amused.
As luck would have it Bill cried off from work sick on the very day of Bens return.
As the firewood was being collected for his pyre some bright spark decided to ask Ben how long he thought his compadre would be away from the workplace. Quick as a flash he retorted that as Bill had been suspended for his inveterate lying he had no idea.
This obviously was not the case; Bill simply had a head cold. Ben then related Bill’s true life story to all and sundry making out that anything he said was a tissue of lies. Needless to say when Bill got back on his feet the whole hospital had him branded.
I miss there two guys they brought a certain finesse to life. Nothing was that sacrosanct that tomfoolery couldn’t improve.
I know your up there, or down there, but wherever you are Ben have a laugh on me you were worth every minute of your time on this earth.
No, they were not really all that special in terms of world changing events unless you realize of course that most folk’s worlds are very small indeed. They can still part my mandibles in the broadest sense when I think on what they got up to.
I will start with Bill and Ben.
This pair fed off each other and their surroundings in a way that Laurel and Hardy would have found difficult to emulate.
Ben was a plumber. With all the features that a working man manages to acquire by the time he is a journeyman. He owned over developed and knarled hands, a keen sense of the ridiculous, a razor sharp wit and an uncanny ability to find opportunity where little or none existed. He was also a mischief maker extraordinaire. Bill had been his apprentice, which says it all really.
They, like I worked in a hospital. These were the days when hospital smelled of carbolic, nurses looked angelic and porters were helpful. Not that this is not the case today, perhaps it just feels that way.
On one occasion Ben broke his finger and was off work for a couple of days. When an inquisitive nurse asked Bill where the other half of this double act was he proceeded to launch into this story.
According to Bill, Ben’s finger had gone septic. His arm had then become infected. Gangrene had set in. Said arm had been amputated.
The nurse bought the whole ridiculous story. So,Bill being a man of extreme fortitude pushed the boat out further.
He informed the nurse that unbeknown to most Ben was a keen concert pianist in his spare time and now there was no living with him. Given that we are talking of a man with fingers thicker than an oak sapling or two this was the most unlikely tale imaginable. Yet, in no time, the whole hospital was awash with grief at this poor man and his imaginary amputation. There was a collection, condolence card and everything. Quite an extreme amount of sheckels were raised.
Ben returned to work with a full compliment of limbs.
The staff were not amused.
As luck would have it Bill cried off from work sick on the very day of Bens return.
As the firewood was being collected for his pyre some bright spark decided to ask Ben how long he thought his compadre would be away from the workplace. Quick as a flash he retorted that as Bill had been suspended for his inveterate lying he had no idea.
This obviously was not the case; Bill simply had a head cold. Ben then related Bill’s true life story to all and sundry making out that anything he said was a tissue of lies. Needless to say when Bill got back on his feet the whole hospital had him branded.
I miss there two guys they brought a certain finesse to life. Nothing was that sacrosanct that tomfoolery couldn’t improve.
I know your up there, or down there, but wherever you are Ben have a laugh on me you were worth every minute of your time on this earth.
Wednesday 21 May 2008
Disconnected travels
The more discerning of you will by now have realized that I have been somewhat disconnected of late.
This is primarily because base camp has been disrupted.
Sofaless is no place for a middle aged man to be. It makes for no option but to pack the picnic hamper and wander the hills and valleys. The broad highway is left far behind with the excitement and dangers of a destination unknown. As the road narrows thickets and thorns are everywhere but the vista broadens into the most amazing view.
It is only a temporary situation. The homing pigeon always finds its way home no matter how far it has flown.
Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.
This is primarily because base camp has been disrupted.
Sofaless is no place for a middle aged man to be. It makes for no option but to pack the picnic hamper and wander the hills and valleys. The broad highway is left far behind with the excitement and dangers of a destination unknown. As the road narrows thickets and thorns are everywhere but the vista broadens into the most amazing view.
It is only a temporary situation. The homing pigeon always finds its way home no matter how far it has flown.
Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.
Tuesday 20 May 2008
Ironmongery in the asylum
Joy upon joy, the asylum newspaper headline reads ‘nut screws washer and bolts’.
But the third estate does not always tell the truth.
This manipulation may not be intentional. It may not simply be to target sales. It may be there is no other agenda than an inability to perform the duties of providing correct information through lack of intelligent resource. It is not that there is lack of intelligence you realize. Nor is there a lack of resource. It may be that the wavelength of the stereo equipment between their ears needs some fine tuning.
Nuts, screws and washers are all forms of fixing, and by definition should stay put.
So there you have it, the truth behind the truth.
Another inmate of the East Wing taught me this, fascinating really.
But the third estate does not always tell the truth.
This manipulation may not be intentional. It may not simply be to target sales. It may be there is no other agenda than an inability to perform the duties of providing correct information through lack of intelligent resource. It is not that there is lack of intelligence you realize. Nor is there a lack of resource. It may be that the wavelength of the stereo equipment between their ears needs some fine tuning.
Nuts, screws and washers are all forms of fixing, and by definition should stay put.
So there you have it, the truth behind the truth.
Another inmate of the East Wing taught me this, fascinating really.
Monday 19 May 2008
The 'petite shufflers'
The ‘petite’ shufflers who refresh my thought processes have taken the evening off. The overnight delivery service which is a normality of my slumbers has left my shelf space devoid of stock. There is a surfeit of emptiness.
And so the gremlins go to work.
Armed with broken bottles, and wind up toy trucks they play at ‘dodgems’. There is a plentiful area in which they can intensify the wreckage. I must find some useful considerations to engage in. The alternatives are signing myself into the madhouse and ranting at the moons which circle my planet.
I say circle. The moons, all seven of them move in a kind of hyperbolic parabolic motion. It’s difficult keeping track of them you know.
I am no Snow White, but with amazing similarity to those who ‘dug’ for her all of the spherical orbits are named after characteristics usually associated with more humanistic experiences. Not that Grumpy and Sleepy have anything to worry about. These moons have more base instincts. Moon-gazing can be a deadly business, sinful in fact.
Break out the champers. This simple recognition makes the gremlins shy away in retreat.
And so we live to fight another day.
And so the gremlins go to work.
Armed with broken bottles, and wind up toy trucks they play at ‘dodgems’. There is a plentiful area in which they can intensify the wreckage. I must find some useful considerations to engage in. The alternatives are signing myself into the madhouse and ranting at the moons which circle my planet.
I say circle. The moons, all seven of them move in a kind of hyperbolic parabolic motion. It’s difficult keeping track of them you know.
I am no Snow White, but with amazing similarity to those who ‘dug’ for her all of the spherical orbits are named after characteristics usually associated with more humanistic experiences. Not that Grumpy and Sleepy have anything to worry about. These moons have more base instincts. Moon-gazing can be a deadly business, sinful in fact.
Break out the champers. This simple recognition makes the gremlins shy away in retreat.
And so we live to fight another day.
Friday 16 May 2008
Uno to Earth
I have decided that I must be the subject of some cunning ploy. It seems the planet Earth is out to upset me. More correctly everyone on it. There are a few exceptions. The deaf, dumb, blind and insane hold sway in my court.
I am constantly amazed at the inability of others to accept critism. I have no option, it happens to me all the time. Others however are less likely to agree with my definition of their behaviour. Particularly when they are obviously at fault and I vocalise such.
Impresssing me is not easy. Previous respondants to my scribblings will already know this.
Relationships do not hit the bullseye in my archery competition. No reference to Cupid is intended. I am talking in general. From shopkeepers to streetwalkers I cannot for the life of me fathom out what makes this whole chaotic society tick. I know I am not alone, but few talk back.
If you are another alien lifeform please get in touch. You do not even need to speak the grammatical form of enlightenment. Brief monosyllabic efforts can be translated without expending unnessecary energy levels. If you are from the planet Uno all the better. Wavelengths will be commensurate with my own abilities.
Replies make the future brighter and convince me there will eventually be a sunrise over the asylum.
I am constantly amazed at the inability of others to accept critism. I have no option, it happens to me all the time. Others however are less likely to agree with my definition of their behaviour. Particularly when they are obviously at fault and I vocalise such.
Impresssing me is not easy. Previous respondants to my scribblings will already know this.
Relationships do not hit the bullseye in my archery competition. No reference to Cupid is intended. I am talking in general. From shopkeepers to streetwalkers I cannot for the life of me fathom out what makes this whole chaotic society tick. I know I am not alone, but few talk back.
If you are another alien lifeform please get in touch. You do not even need to speak the grammatical form of enlightenment. Brief monosyllabic efforts can be translated without expending unnessecary energy levels. If you are from the planet Uno all the better. Wavelengths will be commensurate with my own abilities.
Replies make the future brighter and convince me there will eventually be a sunrise over the asylum.
Thursday 15 May 2008
Sofaless
The winds of change are driving through October. It may well soon be November. Followed by December and all the frivolity that month brings.
A new sofa was ordered.
It arrived. It did not get off the truck. The worthy accompanists to this tale did not deem it a responsible action to try and move my goods from said truck to the sofa's new repose. I suspect they were a tad overtired from have done a day's work earlier. I of course have no evidence to this as I did not actually witness any activity greater than huffing, puffing and head scratching.
To say the least I was not a happy bunny. Would you be when a sofa is the prime consideration to your life.
I quickly e-mailed my disquiet to the supplier who then decided to somehow believe I was at fault. Now I know I live on a different planet. I always believed when you buy something, pay for it's delivery that this is what you will get, goods delivered.
The conversation somehow got into third party politics on the supplier's choice of courier. This is not my problem.
So there it stands the sofa bound middled aged man is now sofaless.
Roll on when this month is over.
May take up jaywalking as a sport. Seems more practical than my living experiences.
A new sofa was ordered.
It arrived. It did not get off the truck. The worthy accompanists to this tale did not deem it a responsible action to try and move my goods from said truck to the sofa's new repose. I suspect they were a tad overtired from have done a day's work earlier. I of course have no evidence to this as I did not actually witness any activity greater than huffing, puffing and head scratching.
To say the least I was not a happy bunny. Would you be when a sofa is the prime consideration to your life.
I quickly e-mailed my disquiet to the supplier who then decided to somehow believe I was at fault. Now I know I live on a different planet. I always believed when you buy something, pay for it's delivery that this is what you will get, goods delivered.
The conversation somehow got into third party politics on the supplier's choice of courier. This is not my problem.
So there it stands the sofa bound middled aged man is now sofaless.
Roll on when this month is over.
May take up jaywalking as a sport. Seems more practical than my living experiences.
Wednesday 14 May 2008
Big Chief Broken Tooth
I have been in sunnier climes. Visiting 'old' friends, and some not so old such
is the way of my world.
Continent skipping is something more akin to 'gap' students. The only 'gap' I developed was a broken front tooth. Vanity, I tried to hide you know. Dental treatment if foreign parts is not to be recommended.
I have in the past bared my posterior in a hotel lobby while someone who said he was a doctor inserted a needle into my fleshier parts. What this had to do with toothache I really have no idea, but it did take my mind off of the pain. In fact it took my mind off to somewhere only a man with toothache and a needle inserted into his fleshier parts can understand.
Seems every time I travel there is a price to pay in the molar department.
I think it all happened when I was eating barbequed co-co. This is Croatian for chicken. At least that is what my imbibing hosts imparted to me. Maybe the imbibing could cause a pause for thought. Lost in translation could be meaningful in this instance. Not sure I'll ever drink coco-cola again. Could be made from rooster gizzards you know.
Anyway 'Big Chief Broken Tooth' has already been attended to. In the land of piped music, fear and drills I made my appearance.
Nice to be wholesome child once more.
is the way of my world.
Continent skipping is something more akin to 'gap' students. The only 'gap' I developed was a broken front tooth. Vanity, I tried to hide you know. Dental treatment if foreign parts is not to be recommended.
I have in the past bared my posterior in a hotel lobby while someone who said he was a doctor inserted a needle into my fleshier parts. What this had to do with toothache I really have no idea, but it did take my mind off of the pain. In fact it took my mind off to somewhere only a man with toothache and a needle inserted into his fleshier parts can understand.
Seems every time I travel there is a price to pay in the molar department.
I think it all happened when I was eating barbequed co-co. This is Croatian for chicken. At least that is what my imbibing hosts imparted to me. Maybe the imbibing could cause a pause for thought. Lost in translation could be meaningful in this instance. Not sure I'll ever drink coco-cola again. Could be made from rooster gizzards you know.
Anyway 'Big Chief Broken Tooth' has already been attended to. In the land of piped music, fear and drills I made my appearance.
Nice to be wholesome child once more.
Friday 9 May 2008
Uno weather forecast
On the planet of Uno it is midway through the month. October has been stormy, but also here has been some very sunny moments amidst the squalls.
As planetary motion dictates the sysmic events it is no wonder that when a comet or two lands there will be some upheaval. Minimising the unrest is not a feat yet mastered by the meteorologists. As acting Direstor of the weather department I have given specific instructins not to idle until all has been put to right.
Difficult job this you know, mastering the weather.
It is said the eye of the cyclone is the calmest place to be. Unfortunately I haven't a clue how to get in there. Where is Dorothy and Toto when you need them most?
Not sure yet whether the tinman, lion and scarecrow have yet joined this adventure. We are after all on Uno not Oz, but the script seems mighty similar.
Of to see some munchkins now.
As planetary motion dictates the sysmic events it is no wonder that when a comet or two lands there will be some upheaval. Minimising the unrest is not a feat yet mastered by the meteorologists. As acting Direstor of the weather department I have given specific instructins not to idle until all has been put to right.
Difficult job this you know, mastering the weather.
It is said the eye of the cyclone is the calmest place to be. Unfortunately I haven't a clue how to get in there. Where is Dorothy and Toto when you need them most?
Not sure yet whether the tinman, lion and scarecrow have yet joined this adventure. We are after all on Uno not Oz, but the script seems mighty similar.
Of to see some munchkins now.
Wednesday 7 May 2008
Duck Billed Platypus
During a recent brow furrowing experience I got to wondering about the duck billed platypus. Now you know I’m nuts!
Anyway, front and centre students, how do you expect to qualify if you don’t pay attention?
Does the platypus know of it’s likening to a duck? Is it happy about such a reference? Does it find it insulting in any way?
For that matter how do the ducks feel about this? Will Teals and Mallards join forces and march on Government buildings the world over? Will there be protests, or even riots at such a blatant misinterpretation of their physical appearance?
Probably not; they will all just quietly swim along in their own ponds getting on with the daily chore of feeding themselves and their offspring.
So why can’t man be as sensible as the ducks, or for that matter the platypus? Have we not yet evolved to their dizzy heights?
Such questions indeed. Questions only the lunatic who resides in Room 48 of the East Wing has the ability to answer. Think I’ll ask him quietly before lights out tonight.
Anyway, front and centre students, how do you expect to qualify if you don’t pay attention?
Does the platypus know of it’s likening to a duck? Is it happy about such a reference? Does it find it insulting in any way?
For that matter how do the ducks feel about this? Will Teals and Mallards join forces and march on Government buildings the world over? Will there be protests, or even riots at such a blatant misinterpretation of their physical appearance?
Probably not; they will all just quietly swim along in their own ponds getting on with the daily chore of feeding themselves and their offspring.
So why can’t man be as sensible as the ducks, or for that matter the platypus? Have we not yet evolved to their dizzy heights?
Such questions indeed. Questions only the lunatic who resides in Room 48 of the East Wing has the ability to answer. Think I’ll ask him quietly before lights out tonight.
Tuesday 6 May 2008
All around my hat
Being at peace once in a while it a wonderful experience. It doesn’t come naturally to me. In fact, it doesn’t come naturally to most people I know.
When you hear it said that everyone is searching for something or someone, I am now of the belief that’s not entirely accurate.
The essence of peace is an absolute. It is an acceptance of yourself and your lot warts and all. Society today offers that we have a fix for anything and everything. From children to grown ups everybody plays the game that all of life’s ills do not start at their doorstep. No sir, no one but the collective is at fault, every individual believes they are blameless. It is what we are conditioned to believe. It makes for a lot of huffing and puffing and defensive posturing from politicians, and any other body that thinks it has a right to a voice. What happened to the quiet man? is he not allowed a voice also?
Going placidly amidst noise and haste is quite an achievement in this day and age. It is won only on the battleground of broken dreams and denied expectations. It’s about time society accepted failure as it’s right and take it’s collective hat off to the individual who says ‘you know what, stuff the lot of you, I’m off for a trek round my head. By the time I return I hope you’ve sorted your own mess out because that’s what I intend to do’.
Am I the voice of one, maybe so but we’re growing. Come the revolution brother all the square pegs and round holes will link arms and laugh at how ludicrous it is to make everything so prescriptive that we are destroying the essence of life itself.
Is this a philosophical answer? Put me in a box, I don’t care, I’ll be in one soon enough anyway.
Make way for the meek, they shall inherit the earth. However who ever suggested that the meek will be human must be as mad as the mercurial hat I inhabit.
When you hear it said that everyone is searching for something or someone, I am now of the belief that’s not entirely accurate.
The essence of peace is an absolute. It is an acceptance of yourself and your lot warts and all. Society today offers that we have a fix for anything and everything. From children to grown ups everybody plays the game that all of life’s ills do not start at their doorstep. No sir, no one but the collective is at fault, every individual believes they are blameless. It is what we are conditioned to believe. It makes for a lot of huffing and puffing and defensive posturing from politicians, and any other body that thinks it has a right to a voice. What happened to the quiet man? is he not allowed a voice also?
Going placidly amidst noise and haste is quite an achievement in this day and age. It is won only on the battleground of broken dreams and denied expectations. It’s about time society accepted failure as it’s right and take it’s collective hat off to the individual who says ‘you know what, stuff the lot of you, I’m off for a trek round my head. By the time I return I hope you’ve sorted your own mess out because that’s what I intend to do’.
Am I the voice of one, maybe so but we’re growing. Come the revolution brother all the square pegs and round holes will link arms and laugh at how ludicrous it is to make everything so prescriptive that we are destroying the essence of life itself.
Is this a philosophical answer? Put me in a box, I don’t care, I’ll be in one soon enough anyway.
Make way for the meek, they shall inherit the earth. However who ever suggested that the meek will be human must be as mad as the mercurial hat I inhabit.
Monday 5 May 2008
The return of the Messiah
Perception is a wonderful gift.
On a trip out from the NATO stronghold I worked in to see the little girl I was helping with her eyesight I was accompanied by a translator. In those days I did not speak Bosnian. I still don’t speak Bosnian. But with the arrogance of the western world spreading as is does everyone you met spoke English, or more correctly American. Or even more correctly American sit-comesse. Satellite dishes come before schools and hospitals when a country has been decimated. Or more correctly before food and chimneys and roads and well, everything you can think of really.
In the town there was one set of traffic lights. I think they were there simply as a guide to whether electricity was available or not. Guess what though, as we stopped to let the mafia take right of way as if by magic a gypsy appeared. Instead of a fiddle he had a ‘squeegee’ in his hand. This enterprising fellow was washing windshields. As I thought on how in Britain drivers complain at being harassed by such a noble form of begging I asked the translator on her views. She was delighted this guy was here. Her attitude was if the itinerants were hanging around then there was little likelihood that any serious gunfire would be nearby. Smart chaps these gypsy types, they bugger off at the first sign of trouble you see. Interesting theory, except it’s no theory.
On the way back from doing our good deed for the day I saw the largest convoy of military hardware I have ever seen assembled on a public highway. There were transporters with tanks, personnel carriers, armory trucks, jeeps, hummers, you name it if it was khaki or camouflaged it was in this line up. If I were to guess this mobile militia was at least over a couple of kilometres long. It moved slowly, very, very slowly. And then I saw why. A Bosnian worthy with not a care in the world was heading the whole show on a donkey. The full might of the combined forces of the ‘free’ world held to ransom by a man on an ass.
It made me wonder if Jesus had come back amongst us without letting on. Judging by the haggard appearance there would have to be an awful lot of iconography binned across the Christian side of the planet if it was him. I took a photograph. I need to get it out. It’s time the sofa had a laugh.
On a trip out from the NATO stronghold I worked in to see the little girl I was helping with her eyesight I was accompanied by a translator. In those days I did not speak Bosnian. I still don’t speak Bosnian. But with the arrogance of the western world spreading as is does everyone you met spoke English, or more correctly American. Or even more correctly American sit-comesse. Satellite dishes come before schools and hospitals when a country has been decimated. Or more correctly before food and chimneys and roads and well, everything you can think of really.
In the town there was one set of traffic lights. I think they were there simply as a guide to whether electricity was available or not. Guess what though, as we stopped to let the mafia take right of way as if by magic a gypsy appeared. Instead of a fiddle he had a ‘squeegee’ in his hand. This enterprising fellow was washing windshields. As I thought on how in Britain drivers complain at being harassed by such a noble form of begging I asked the translator on her views. She was delighted this guy was here. Her attitude was if the itinerants were hanging around then there was little likelihood that any serious gunfire would be nearby. Smart chaps these gypsy types, they bugger off at the first sign of trouble you see. Interesting theory, except it’s no theory.
On the way back from doing our good deed for the day I saw the largest convoy of military hardware I have ever seen assembled on a public highway. There were transporters with tanks, personnel carriers, armory trucks, jeeps, hummers, you name it if it was khaki or camouflaged it was in this line up. If I were to guess this mobile militia was at least over a couple of kilometres long. It moved slowly, very, very slowly. And then I saw why. A Bosnian worthy with not a care in the world was heading the whole show on a donkey. The full might of the combined forces of the ‘free’ world held to ransom by a man on an ass.
It made me wonder if Jesus had come back amongst us without letting on. Judging by the haggard appearance there would have to be an awful lot of iconography binned across the Christian side of the planet if it was him. I took a photograph. I need to get it out. It’s time the sofa had a laugh.
Sunday 4 May 2008
Tales from the cryptic Coptic
Sretan Put!
This sign is everywhere in Bosnia. It means good journey. When I was there some years ago the war had just finished. The aftermath was a surreal event. A country without banks, financial infrastructure and any sense of normal living is quite a place to expand your mind.
I worked mostly on NATO peacekeeping camps. As a civilian employee I had the right to mingle with the populous. I could come and go to the camp whenever I pleased, within reason, of course. If an alert went up then tin hats and flak jackets were the fashion statement for the day, no matter how civil a civilian you were. Luckily this was not a regular occurrence.
I left camp one sunny day to play at crater dodging on the tarmac. The sad truth was that anywhere green could not be trusted underfoot due to a liberal sprinkling of uncharted mines. I was approached by an elderly gentleman who was begging in the politest of ways. He had a command of English grammar that is beyond most native English speakers these days. I offered him a small token for his efforts which he received with humble gratitude.
On return to my base within the camp I related this story. The person who was my boss listened intently then chastised me in more expletive terms than the elderly gentleman for encouraging him. As he saw it no one would get any peace now if for any reason they had to venture beyond the camp gates. I think he kind of missed the whole point of why we were there.
On the very next day bold fellow that I am I decided to wander into the land of Nod once more. Elderly gentleman and outstretched hand appeared once again. This time I said there would be nothing on offer without at least an introduction as to how and why he found himself posted on the wrong side of the barbed wired free world. He didn’t say much. With sadness in his eyes he showed me a tattoo on his forearm, a number from a bygone conflict. As if this was not enough merit for the price of a meal he then showed me a scar from head to toe and said one word. ‘Mengele’. Even today I cannot express how I felt. Hard to imagine that one human being could survive what he had to be left begging at the gates of insanity.
I re-entered the camp and punched the primordial sludge that oversaw my work.
This sign is everywhere in Bosnia. It means good journey. When I was there some years ago the war had just finished. The aftermath was a surreal event. A country without banks, financial infrastructure and any sense of normal living is quite a place to expand your mind.
I worked mostly on NATO peacekeeping camps. As a civilian employee I had the right to mingle with the populous. I could come and go to the camp whenever I pleased, within reason, of course. If an alert went up then tin hats and flak jackets were the fashion statement for the day, no matter how civil a civilian you were. Luckily this was not a regular occurrence.
I left camp one sunny day to play at crater dodging on the tarmac. The sad truth was that anywhere green could not be trusted underfoot due to a liberal sprinkling of uncharted mines. I was approached by an elderly gentleman who was begging in the politest of ways. He had a command of English grammar that is beyond most native English speakers these days. I offered him a small token for his efforts which he received with humble gratitude.
On return to my base within the camp I related this story. The person who was my boss listened intently then chastised me in more expletive terms than the elderly gentleman for encouraging him. As he saw it no one would get any peace now if for any reason they had to venture beyond the camp gates. I think he kind of missed the whole point of why we were there.
On the very next day bold fellow that I am I decided to wander into the land of Nod once more. Elderly gentleman and outstretched hand appeared once again. This time I said there would be nothing on offer without at least an introduction as to how and why he found himself posted on the wrong side of the barbed wired free world. He didn’t say much. With sadness in his eyes he showed me a tattoo on his forearm, a number from a bygone conflict. As if this was not enough merit for the price of a meal he then showed me a scar from head to toe and said one word. ‘Mengele’. Even today I cannot express how I felt. Hard to imagine that one human being could survive what he had to be left begging at the gates of insanity.
I re-entered the camp and punched the primordial sludge that oversaw my work.
Saturday 3 May 2008
Celibacy
Is this enforced I hear you ask? Am I licking my wounds? If I were a dog I could lick everywhere you know. Some may even hint that I am a dog. They may be right.
Given the disaster I can be in relationships I have two courses of action. Both are celibacy.
I can give my poor sofa a hard time, tossing and turning, feeling dejected, rejected and resentful or I can still in quite peace with myself and debate the fortitude of the Universe.
Having a lunatic around to talk to at times comes in handy. Who else would be interested in my universe? Anyway on my planet there is only room for me and the asylum.
The asylum, a wondrous place, I can even chose the lunatic I wish to converse with. I am after all ‘the doctor’. I decide on the treatment plan you know. As I start my rounds I call on the locked wards first. Here only the most case hardened ‘nuts’ can be found. But where did they come from? The circus may have left town a long time ago but they left behind a couple of clowns and an endangered species or two for me to play with. I put them in the East Wing until Mr. Chipperwhatsit returns. Squirreled away in my asylum I only visit when I need to medicate them. I only let them out once they have been sedated. It’s dangerous to be abroad on such a foul night with this kind of company lurking behind every tree, particularly if they have not been ‘attended’ to first.
Now there is a thought. I could attend to them with some cheese wire and a pair of pliers. Take the knackers away. I think I might even have met one or two in the past who would volunteer to make this dubious pleasure a reality, saving me the bother.
Alternatively I could purchase some more Kleenex and ‘make out’ with the fantasy girls of the internet.
I think it may be prudent for a while to down the grooming brush and leave Crufts along for a while. Maybe even retire.
Who knows? The sofa owns many of my secrets.
Given the disaster I can be in relationships I have two courses of action. Both are celibacy.
I can give my poor sofa a hard time, tossing and turning, feeling dejected, rejected and resentful or I can still in quite peace with myself and debate the fortitude of the Universe.
Having a lunatic around to talk to at times comes in handy. Who else would be interested in my universe? Anyway on my planet there is only room for me and the asylum.
The asylum, a wondrous place, I can even chose the lunatic I wish to converse with. I am after all ‘the doctor’. I decide on the treatment plan you know. As I start my rounds I call on the locked wards first. Here only the most case hardened ‘nuts’ can be found. But where did they come from? The circus may have left town a long time ago but they left behind a couple of clowns and an endangered species or two for me to play with. I put them in the East Wing until Mr. Chipperwhatsit returns. Squirreled away in my asylum I only visit when I need to medicate them. I only let them out once they have been sedated. It’s dangerous to be abroad on such a foul night with this kind of company lurking behind every tree, particularly if they have not been ‘attended’ to first.
Now there is a thought. I could attend to them with some cheese wire and a pair of pliers. Take the knackers away. I think I might even have met one or two in the past who would volunteer to make this dubious pleasure a reality, saving me the bother.
Alternatively I could purchase some more Kleenex and ‘make out’ with the fantasy girls of the internet.
I think it may be prudent for a while to down the grooming brush and leave Crufts along for a while. Maybe even retire.
Who knows? The sofa owns many of my secrets.
Friday 2 May 2008
Mature Secretary seeks w/e male
As Nelson Mandela once said ‘stuff this, I’m off to the pub!’ Do you doubt me? Go ahead ask him. I’m pretty sure he didn’t dream and scheme some of the things he got up to without a quaff or two of John Barleycorn’s finest for company.
Escape. Release from mental turmoil. I found it you know, all alone, unaided, on my sofa.
Is it so hard to imagine that imagination can fire the engine of desire, delusion and misrepresentation? Surely not! The goodly folk that drive the wheels of the internet have taken this specialty to a new level. They know where to strike.
A computer is not an extension to enhance life skills. Don’t be silly, whoever told you that! It is the means to an end to communicate with that which is not real. It’s fascinating to think that the ‘civilized’ world supports this. Of course they do. Keeps the masses at bay, doesn’t it. It’s cheaper than alcohol or fags. If you literate your offspring, keep them indoors and away from street corners, you can drive down the crime rate and make sure the local bobby has time for his tea break. Let’s politicians feel proud of their achievements, and what’s more they will tell you so, in great percentage details. You know it must be fact because the other family member, the television told you so.
As a master of Illusion I know of such folly. Let me explain.
Not so far in the distant past I made an effort to contact earth via the internet. I was looking for a female member of the species to tarry with a while. I was bored and lonely. This is the first step to destruction.
I answered an advertisement to meet a ‘Mature’ secretary. Said ‘Mature’ secretary only visited the area every two or three months. She sounded delightful. Just what the doctor ordered. We arranged to meet at a hotel many weeks down the line.
I must now confess to being somewhat naive. I did not understand the shorthand of the gutter. I thought W/E meant well educated. Hard to believe I know but there you are. I had no idea it was a reference to personal gymnastic equipment. Fairly obvious dear reader well educated I am not. The other aspect concerning my anatomical possession has been very specifically documented elsewhere, much to my chagrin and necessary downfall.
Although when I made the arrangements I had no one else in my life something about this whole episode did not sit well with me. Firstly I was out of my territory and secondly I have a conscience.
A whole series of events made me stop and think. I’m glad I did.
On the appointed day I received an e-mail from the ‘mature’ secretary offering a mobile contact. There was also an instruction that when I reached the hotel I should call said mobile and she would furnish me with a room number. Simply somewhere away from prying eyes where we could become better acquainted you realize.
First rule in any situation concerning the internet, don’t believe a bloody word.
My ‘mature’ secretary had a name. The hotel had a register. The two did not tie up. I did not attend. I had no intention anyway, but I wanted to find out to satisfy my curiosity.
The hotel receptionist however could tell me that three’ burly’ men with accents James Bond would have been suspicious of occasioned their premises from time to time, every two or three months to be precise.
Fascinating animal the pig you know. Very singular vision and it’s only got that when it takes its nose from the trough.
Escape. Release from mental turmoil. I found it you know, all alone, unaided, on my sofa.
Is it so hard to imagine that imagination can fire the engine of desire, delusion and misrepresentation? Surely not! The goodly folk that drive the wheels of the internet have taken this specialty to a new level. They know where to strike.
A computer is not an extension to enhance life skills. Don’t be silly, whoever told you that! It is the means to an end to communicate with that which is not real. It’s fascinating to think that the ‘civilized’ world supports this. Of course they do. Keeps the masses at bay, doesn’t it. It’s cheaper than alcohol or fags. If you literate your offspring, keep them indoors and away from street corners, you can drive down the crime rate and make sure the local bobby has time for his tea break. Let’s politicians feel proud of their achievements, and what’s more they will tell you so, in great percentage details. You know it must be fact because the other family member, the television told you so.
As a master of Illusion I know of such folly. Let me explain.
Not so far in the distant past I made an effort to contact earth via the internet. I was looking for a female member of the species to tarry with a while. I was bored and lonely. This is the first step to destruction.
I answered an advertisement to meet a ‘Mature’ secretary. Said ‘Mature’ secretary only visited the area every two or three months. She sounded delightful. Just what the doctor ordered. We arranged to meet at a hotel many weeks down the line.
I must now confess to being somewhat naive. I did not understand the shorthand of the gutter. I thought W/E meant well educated. Hard to believe I know but there you are. I had no idea it was a reference to personal gymnastic equipment. Fairly obvious dear reader well educated I am not. The other aspect concerning my anatomical possession has been very specifically documented elsewhere, much to my chagrin and necessary downfall.
Although when I made the arrangements I had no one else in my life something about this whole episode did not sit well with me. Firstly I was out of my territory and secondly I have a conscience.
A whole series of events made me stop and think. I’m glad I did.
On the appointed day I received an e-mail from the ‘mature’ secretary offering a mobile contact. There was also an instruction that when I reached the hotel I should call said mobile and she would furnish me with a room number. Simply somewhere away from prying eyes where we could become better acquainted you realize.
First rule in any situation concerning the internet, don’t believe a bloody word.
My ‘mature’ secretary had a name. The hotel had a register. The two did not tie up. I did not attend. I had no intention anyway, but I wanted to find out to satisfy my curiosity.
The hotel receptionist however could tell me that three’ burly’ men with accents James Bond would have been suspicious of occasioned their premises from time to time, every two or three months to be precise.
Fascinating animal the pig you know. Very singular vision and it’s only got that when it takes its nose from the trough.
Thursday 1 May 2008
The White Knight Rides Again
Something happened today to remind me of what use I have on this earth. It's about time I brought it all back into being.
After helping young Brana I reckoned being greedily excessive in everything I do if I could feel good helping one little girl and her family then if I could multiply the ‘odds’ I’d be in seventh heaven.
I heard of a home for children and adolescents with soma mental disorders almost utterly destroyed during the Balkan conflict. I decided that my ego and I could do a job for them.
Armed with a delusional misrepresentation of my abilities and a saddlebag full of dreams I mounted my charger and galloped to their rescue. What I met beggared belief.
If you have an imagination take five, let it run riot, times it by ten and that’s approximately half the destruction I was witnessing. But within this utter carnage a clamour of smiling faces with nothing to smile about made everything alright. Strange as it may sound I felt at home.
Week after week I made a journey on God’s designated day of rest to visit my new friends.
Without trying to draw attention to myself I was drawing attention to myself. Pretty soon to increase my ‘posse’ some ‘soldiers’ who were in need of moral guidance were volunteered by those who inhabit the land of epaulets and pips.
Momentum takes time, unless you’re an army. Pretty soon every child had their own personal visitor. Over the ensuing two years a whole heap of wonderful times were had. For your consumption I may in future revisit these tales.
While the unknowing were quick to misunderstand the powers that drive the decency of human spirit were quietly beavering away in the background. Suffice to say that the home is now rebuilt at a cost of a million units in any financial denomination worthy of mentioning. In this even the albatross had her uses.
This is the stuff of myth and legend, and it’s nice to feel part of, honest.
I'm going to head back there in a week or so to say hello. I might even get a touch of the humility and gratitude I heard displayed today. Best reality check I've had for a while.
Goodnight pussycats.
After helping young Brana I reckoned being greedily excessive in everything I do if I could feel good helping one little girl and her family then if I could multiply the ‘odds’ I’d be in seventh heaven.
I heard of a home for children and adolescents with soma mental disorders almost utterly destroyed during the Balkan conflict. I decided that my ego and I could do a job for them.
Armed with a delusional misrepresentation of my abilities and a saddlebag full of dreams I mounted my charger and galloped to their rescue. What I met beggared belief.
If you have an imagination take five, let it run riot, times it by ten and that’s approximately half the destruction I was witnessing. But within this utter carnage a clamour of smiling faces with nothing to smile about made everything alright. Strange as it may sound I felt at home.
Week after week I made a journey on God’s designated day of rest to visit my new friends.
Without trying to draw attention to myself I was drawing attention to myself. Pretty soon to increase my ‘posse’ some ‘soldiers’ who were in need of moral guidance were volunteered by those who inhabit the land of epaulets and pips.
Momentum takes time, unless you’re an army. Pretty soon every child had their own personal visitor. Over the ensuing two years a whole heap of wonderful times were had. For your consumption I may in future revisit these tales.
While the unknowing were quick to misunderstand the powers that drive the decency of human spirit were quietly beavering away in the background. Suffice to say that the home is now rebuilt at a cost of a million units in any financial denomination worthy of mentioning. In this even the albatross had her uses.
This is the stuff of myth and legend, and it’s nice to feel part of, honest.
I'm going to head back there in a week or so to say hello. I might even get a touch of the humility and gratitude I heard displayed today. Best reality check I've had for a while.
Goodnight pussycats.
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