Mayday, Mayday. Man Down.

Remember when you used to wake up in the morning full of vim & vigour? Then one day you realised that vigour had buggered off and you were left with just the vim!

Well that day had arrived for Jeremy (Jerry) Cann, He awoke that morning basically feeling like he had been hit by a bus, which on first hearing may seem a little melodramatic, but was something that Jerry was familiar with having been actually hit by a bus aged eight when crossing a road in Foulmouth, the town he was raised in. Four months of painful recuperation followed and this had impressed upon Jerry that this was a feeling best avoided in the future if at all possible and if not, it should be treated by a medical professional with the greatest urgency!

So it was clear to him that this current, very similar feeling when he had avoided all contact with a municipal chariot, needed expert help pronto!

Although he harboured no hope of getting a Dr's appointment at his local surgery within a reasonable time frame he was cheered by the fact that he had enough foresight to arrange  private medical insurance, so he resolved to contact Dupa immediately and get a consultation with a medic organised.

An appointment was arranged speedily for him to see a Dr A'nus, (pronounced a'noose) at a medical clinic in the nearby town of Lostwherewithall. Jerry gave a frown when he read the referral. The clinic it seemed was called the 'Littlehope medical centre' 😧

They were kidding right?

Worse was soon to follow as on checking out the clinic online Jerry discovered the strap-line: 

"Whether it's a heart problem or a fart problem Dr A'nus will get you back in rhythm and complete all the paperwork!"

Omg, he mused, this was getting more and more bizarre but he was feeling so awful he felt he had no choice but keep his appointment with Dr A'nus or very likely have to attend an alternative appointment with a bloke carrying a scythe and a nasty wiff of body odour!

The clinic looked nothing out of the ordinary on first view and Jerry made his way slowly in through the door to the reception inside.

A young lady sat behind a screen which looked somehow out of place and Jerry noticed her name plaque sitting neatly in front of the diary she was writing in. It informed him that her name was 'Miss N Chance' and when she looked up smiling Jerry couldn't help himself:

"Don't tell me you're first names Nora, or Noa" he said with a smirk demonstrating his complete ease with gender neutral persons.

"It's Nicola actually" she said, barely able to disguise her annoyance with him.

"Can i help you"

"Yes I've got an appointment with Dr A'nus" Jerry said, careful to pronounce it correctly so as not to pour more petrol on the raging fire he had inadvertently started.

"Right, take a seat please if you are able to or just stand over by the chairs if not and Dr A'nus will see you shortly"

"Ok, thank you, Jerry said trying not to look confused by the receptionists words, Take a chair if you're able to? What did she think was wrong with him? collapsed arse?

True to her words a nurse appeared promptly from a hallway and called out boldly,

"Jeremy Cann please"

"Yes" said Jerry looking around and realising for the first time that he was the only person in the waiting area.

" Hello, I'm Steffi, she said, follow me please, "I just need to do your blood pressure before you see Dr A'nus if that's alright?"

"Ok fine" Jerry was feeling too rough to offer any resistance. It could rightly be said that the Jerry Cann was running on empty!...

She sat him in a chair in one of the rooms off of the corridor and proceeded to attach a cuff to his arm. As she leant over him he caught sight of the name badge on her bright blue uniform. It proclaimed that she was; Clinical nurse Steffi Scope.

Jerry closed his eyes and began shaking his head gently. This was moving into the realms of fantasy now.

"Keep still please" nurse Scope brought him back into the room. The cuff slackened off.

"168 / 84, a bit on the high side but not surprising if you're feeling  unwell" her voice gentler now, "I'll take you through to Dr A'nus and we'll get you sorted out" she smiled and led the way three doors further down the corridor where a sign on the door proclaimed that this was the professional residence of Dr Titus A'nus MD. She tapped lightly and opened the door leading the way into the clinic room.

"Mr Cann Dr" she announced, turning to leave and closing the door.

The doctor advanced and offered his hand to shake. "Titus A'nus" he said with an accent that was somewhere from eastern Europe. This closely matched his appearance which shouted Bond Villain to Jerry. Slickly combed hair and a black beard which highlighted his impeccable white teeth.

"What seems to be the trouble today" he enquired with a further show of the teeth,

"Well I woke this morning feeling absolutely awful and it hasn't improved much since then" Jerry's voice was soft, almost childlike.

" Ok I need to examine you, can you loosen your shirt please"

There followed much poking and prodding of some very tender areas of his body and Jerry noticed that one of his arms was particularly sensitive. The good doctor gave a few hmm's indicating all was not well. 

"You have several sensory problem areas Mr Cann with your ulnar nerve being by far the worst and is severely affected".

"What's that" Jerry asked,

"It's a nerve that runs down your arm and crosses the elbow, people often refer to it as the funny bone"

" That explains why nobody laughs at my gags i suppose" Jerry said trying to lighten his mood.

" I don't think people should be laughing at you if you are gagging Mr Cann" Dr A'nus said seriously raising his eyebrows. " That would be quite wrong"

" What?"

" Mmm, Hard of hearing as well, this is worse than i thought" Dr A'nus started scribbling on a pad on his desk. 

"What....no I heard what you said, I just...

The doctor ripped the sheet of paper off the pad and handed it to Jerry.

"Take this prescription and Make sure you follow the dosing instructions and i'll see you again in a week. In the meantime if your symptoms get worse you must call an ambulance immediately as it may indicate serious illness"

Jerry looked forlornly at the prescription, Iimproveu 250mg tablets 4 x daily it said.

"Oh FFS" I improve you? Jerry mumbled to himself, stuffing the prescription into his trouser pocket. After thanking the good doctor for his time Jerry moved out of the clinic room and towards the door to leave. Miss Chance was no longer at her station so Jerry pushed at the door to the street,.... it didn't budge.

He tried again with the same result so tried pulling it toward him. No good either.

"Jesus" he mumbled trying his shoulder at the door but it still remained steadfastly closed.

"Hello" he called over his shoulder, hoping Miss Chance or perhaps nurse Scope would come to his aid but there was no reply.

He noticed in that glance that things looked different somehow.

The reception desk was there but there was no screen, computer or telephone etc.

Jerry put his hand to his head, what was happening to him? was he hallucinating?

A feeling of panic came over him so he moved into the corridor to look for Dr A'nus or anybody at all who could help him. He tried all the rooms off of the corridor but all were completely empty. He slumped against the wall and slid slowly down into a sitting position with his head in his hands.

This was just a nightmare right? He would wake soon with a start and realise he had been the victim of some night terror, but it all seemed so terribly real. What was happening?

He clambered to his feet and moved back toward the deserted reception area. There was dust and cobwebs everywhere on the desk and the room had a dank musty smell which he had not been aware of before.

The only thing present on the desk was a largish book which looked like the diary that miss chance had been writing in. Jerry opened the book and thumbed through some of the pages noting the appointments and outcomes of some of the patients who had attended the clinic in the past.

He was on a page dated May 1st 2008 and his eyes stopped dead in their tracks.

There it all was, 

Patients name:                      Jeremy Cann

Referred by:                         Dr Cliff Charlatan

Physician:                             Dr Titus A'nus

Presenting symptoms:          Sensory deficit, general malaise.

Outcome:                              R.I.P

To be continued.............

 

If Jane doesn't want me Angela does!

It may come as some surprise that as a general rule I am not known for being particularly outspoken. It's true that through previous scribblings I have expressed some concerns about the antics of various groups and individuals on thorny issues such as houses that never sleep and seem to resemble electrical substations, Lycra clad cyclists who appear to have at least 3 terrifying 'bulges' and men who think they become Michelin star chefs when they have a reasonably sunny day and a bag of charcoal!

All these things are somewhat baffling but I do at least understand them on some level but there is one question in my life that I have struggled to even start to get my head around.

 

To clarify I think it best to provide some background with a fact which those of you who know me as the stunningly good looking hunk and all round international man of mystery may find almost unbelievable!

At the age of  exactly 17 I embarked on my first meaningful relationship with Jane, a beautiful young woman.

At the age of seventeen years and 1 day I suffered my first break up of a meaningful relationship.

I know! said you'd be shocked, dumped in a day, impressive right? 

Why would she do that to me? I was tortured, didn't she like her fish & chips? was her coke flat? didn't she realise I was destined for below average things? or was my witty recounting of being electrocuted while peeing on an electric fence too much, too soon? 

Whatever, I was totally deflated and 2 pounds poorer for the experience! I couldn't see how I could move on from this.

This story I think explains a lot about the fragile state of mind which has afflicted me all my adult life and the infantile buffoonery which has accompanied it.

It also signalled the start of a life-long struggle to make sense of the age old problem which has afflicted men since Adam became aware that Eve had been messing about with his Golden Delicious,

What makes women tick? .....or ....where did I go wrong with Jane?

Now at the risk of ruffling feminist feathers the world over I will attempt to diagnose the issue and provide some much needed and if I may say, valuable insight into this most complex matter.
To date I have read countless theories from relationship councillor's, analysts and psychology guru's on similar thorny issues of rejection but suffice to say I cannot, with any conviction say that I have achieved any greater clarity in my mind regarding the complexities of the underlying problem.

I don't buy the Venus and Mars horse dung, nor do I subscribe to the popular belief that men don't have feelings so therefore could not be expected to properly, truly understand the much more complex female mind. Well listen up, No man is an island!................well apart from the isle of Man obviously!.. .................Whatever moving on,

Coming to terms with the moment your world implodes and your jolly Roger seems to shrink to the size of a new born babies little finger is no easy matter and this is where a support network of family and friends is vital.

Of course when recounting the details of my disaster to the rough assortment of dubious individuals I somewhat over enthusiastically called 'my mates' I pretended that I cared not, easy come, easy go, onwards and upwards, plenty more fish in the sea etc, but deep down of course the blow to my blossoming male ego and self esteem cannot be under-estimated. I was hurting! so I did what any man without a driving license would do in my position, I bought a car!

Not just any car you understand but my very first car! Angela , a Ford Anglia 105E,  823 UAE, my pride and joy, my motor. An MOT failure certainly but still resplendent in its striking blue and rust coloured paint job, the death squeal of her brake shoes (minus linings it seemed) on the wheel drums. Ah haunting!

Now that was 15 quid well spent on that little beauty methinks! ☺

Late nights and creaking gates

Good day all!  I feel that I must share with you that I have suffered recently one of those moments in life when you realise that what you were capable of doing so easily in the past is now only possible by taking a hefty quantity of illicit drugs, none of which can be ordered over the counter at the pharmacy. 

You must understand that when I say that I suffered a sudden realisation, this in fact means that it felt as if someone had violently assaulted me using some form of club to hit me about the head, or to be more precise, right between the eyes!

For the record I was in the lovely city of Liverpool, at a professional seminar, taking time out to use the conference centre internet connection to impart my somewhat folded view of life and my complete inability to deal with it. For those of you who know the city, the conference centre is right next to the Echo arena as was, on the Kings dock, overshadowed by a huge Ferris wheel thing, a kind of Liverpool eye if you will.
Now it is accepted at these events for delegates to be afforded a few evening 'perks' in the form of food and drink and generally be allowed to relax and be merry at somebody else's expense. Yes! Just like an MP! There is only one drawback and that is it is all too easy to over indulge if who pays is not an issue, a bit like your buffet breakfast when your on your all inclusive holidays. You know croissants, toast, followed by a full english, cold meats, waffles and lastly a little slice of melon to make you feel better about it! Well the same can happen in the evening in the bar where a plethora of different exotic sounding drinks are freely available and you feel this is too good an opportunity to miss! Hence yours truly is slumped on a rather uncomfortable stool in the 'delegate lounge' and I am aware that my body has a ridiculous slope as I cannot retain any form of decent posture due to alcohol fatigue and a curvature of the spine which appears to have been acquired overnight despite my very comfortable queen size bed. My legs have suffered a temporary (I hope) amnesia, completely forgetting their role in supporting me, so much so my knees seem to no longer act as effective hinges so I have to crouch part way to the floor and then fall the rest of the way while pretending that this is some form of cunning master plan to get to the floor quicker and therefore recover the pen that I am unable to grasp properly more nimbly.

This of course has led me to question what in royal Scally city is going on? This morning, in a brief window of clarity I was shattered to have some very grave thoughts pop into my mind. I suddenly realised here, in this great place that I have now lived far longer than I am yet to live and slowly pieces of me will very likely start failing to work properly or more unsettling start dropping off completely!

So it was I carried this heavy burden into the conference pretending all the while that my odd body shape was in fact some hereditary disease and hoping against hope that I didn't bump into anybody who knew me!

I realise that some of you may well have suffered similar unsettling experiences and you may be able to extend to me some sympathy and understanding and feel charitable enough to offer up some suggestions as to how to cope with being the wrong side of sixty and not make a complete chisel of myself at every turn.You see I  know of only one cure for a creaking gate that doesn't involve radical surgery or a mobile pharmacy to follow me around and that of course is oil, alcohoil in copious quantity. Groundhog day tomorrow then! ☺

The Alternative to Intelligence. A loving wife!

AI image of a complete idiot. copyright planks R us.

I was more than a little made up recently when I discovered via my ever attentive wife that a solution to an issue which has beset me for my entire life could actually be provided by a new phenomenon which apparently has become available to us all. 

The 'problem' for want of a better word is that when I was born I somehow managed to get stuck at the back of the intelligence queue and apparently they had run out of that commodity a good while before I reached the front of it!

As a result of my misfortune I have had to suffer numerous cruel taunts and put downs throughout my life. These have varied in acidity and spite, ranging from a fairly soft 'you dozy bugger' for thinking that the Moody Blues was a medical condition suffered by my sister, stepping up in venom to a much more fierce 'what a dinosaur' from a seventeen year old work colleague when I mistook tik tok for small mints! before finally suffering the indignation of receiving the slant 'If brains were dominoes you'd be a double blank! from my brother when he convinced me that winning the challenge of keeping your pee directed onto the electric fence wire made you pretty special indeed.

https://blunderousstories.blogspot.com/2015/01/the-gamble-of-life.html?m=1

Yeah, thanks bro!!

Not even my Do/1 degree in tomfoolery from Horrabridge university or my subsequent appearance on Universally challenged made any difference to my brain function or how people interact with me. This of course has resulted in my attempts to inform and guide through written articles to fail at the first hurdle on a frequent basis. These include 'driving made easy, a crash course ' and 'drug dealing, a pharmacists guide'

Lucky for me, the 'cure' is now really easy. I can now obtain artificial intelligence or AI as its known. This of course has been the moment that I have waited my entire life for as with a little help from 'Gemini' I can write a snappy and thought provoking post with little or no thought on my behalf and banish to history the curse of criticism and people poking fun at me!

Praise be! I hear you shout, No more aimless ramblings about my utter pointless existence or my inability to cope with even the mildest of life challenges. 

Posts from now on should be informative, without being boring, humorous without being crass and although still short of anything even a little bit useful they will at least be well written!

So you can all look forward to my next AI inspired offering; 'How to tie your shoelace while balancing on one leg'

(Spoiler alert, its all to do with having a good centre of gravity and being under 65! So no and no for me then!)

C'est la Vie! The intelligent thing to do apparently is ask the wife to do it for me as she has access to a spine that bends without pain and the need for a loud aaaagh! as she performs the task, plus the added bonus that it returns to a normal shape when she stands up!

Oh well, lets hope I've mastered the old intelligence thing before too long because if not I may have to try and blag my way through the pearly gates at this rate!

See ya ☺

The Thrill Of the Mundane

 

 

I suppose that it's a rite of passage that as we get older we hanker after days gone by, when life seemed less complicated and it was easy to navigate your way through it without making a complete plank of yourself with seemingly monotonous regularity. 

You could buy a kid a present safe in the knowledge that the lack of 100 million terabytes of memory would not pose any serious problems.

You could also walk down the street without being baulked by someone wearing headphones, grinning like a potty professor at their Y-phone as they watch a clip of a dog chasing its tail while plastering a ceiling on facebook.

Those of you not part of the social media society may struggle to understand why this side splitting sight requires viewing at 7 O'clock in the morning on the journey into work, or why there is a need for others to 'like' it so that the poster gets the impression that the more of this dross they can upload the more they will be appreciated and 'liked'. 

Some people it seems now live out their entire lives on social media, never pausing to reflect on how the countless postings of trivia from their world are really viewed by their luckless 'friends'.
Of course we are very social animals, we want and need to belong, to feel we are part of the crowd, someone worth knowing. loneliness is a life block to be avoided at all costs so I suppose ticking up Jenny's cup cakes is a small price to pay for social acceptance. 

In the not so distant past people would talk with each other in that good old fashioned way of face to face conversation or perhaps a quick call on the landline.

Nowadays of course this has been made redundant by our total reliance on smartphones and social media. Everyone it seems, over the age of six has a 'device', worried parents pressured into action in case their little cherubs encounter emergencies or they get lost.

How times have changed, I hail from a time when parents routinely told their offspring to GET lost and if they could possibly get themselves adopted by the neighbours while they were at it that would be great!

Seriously though, it's a sign of how totally dependent we are becoming on these devices, that it seems unlikely that most people would be able to go a day without access to a smartphone. If it were heroin we would be known as total smackheads! 

Texting has of course taken over as the main form of communication in life, where a strange cyber language, or text speak is used which invariably leads to short, clipped messages, heavy on slang and emojis where the absence of facial expression and tone can ironically lead the reader not receiving the senders real thoughts and emotions. 

This often causes the very thing that sending the message sought to head off by creating misunderstanding and annoyance!

What's the solution to all of this? Well, after messaging my adopted parents and Face Timing my social worker, I have resolved to purchase a new ifad quif, join tik tok and upload a video of me cleaning my teeth with an angle grinder!

You gotta see it! It is hilarious!.. smiley face...@#plankchirping

C U l8r .........lol.....😜

Coming To America!

Very occasionally I am pleased to say that I am able to spend some time far away from Vincent Towers and indeed the fair shores of blighty, yep I get to put on some shades, get me some local currency and strut my stuff in a different land. One of my favourite countries to visit is America where I've been a couple of times and I may well get to return there quite soon.

Now before all my Yankee buddies start high fiving in joyful celebration I should point out that many people on this side of the pond consider that having me turn up on their doorstep is as enjoyable as sharing a bath with an alligator who's last meal was a week ago and consisted of a small minnow!

However be that as it may there is a small, albeit dwindling group of cheery souls who take a diametric view and invite me to all their parties and gatherings in the almost certain knowledge that the former lord of the dance, once suitably lubricated by alcohol, may well attempt the step over pirouette on one leg. However I digress, back to the point. On my previous visits to the states I was able to spend time in Charlottesville and Washington and on another visit some time enjoying the Florida sunshine in Kissimmee which I loved.

It will be no surprise to readers however that while in Washington I was able to get myself on the wrong side of the law without any effort whatsoever. That it took me just a few days to fall foul of the DC police department is all the more impressive as it took fully ten years to achieve the same feat with the 'Rossers' of the local village constabulary where I grew up. 

Both heinous crimes were dealt with by a stern telling off and an undertaking by me to keep the right side of the law in future and each taught a salutary lesson to yours truly that in future I should always; 

a) Know the law, 

b) Not get caught if intending to break it.

 

Being chased by the village bobby on his bike at age ten for scrumping apples, is equally as daunting as facing a DC cop staring down from a huge horse complete with an impressive hand gun 30 years later for crossing the road at the wrong place. Suffice to say both lawmen were firm but fair and the DC cop was particularly polite and chatty, especially after recognising the dulcet tone of unmistakable Anglo Saxon English.

 I'm really looking forward to going back, especially if we can arrange a trip to New York or perhaps even the west coast, where I'm sure a warm welcome awaits and I'm sure we'll have a great time. 

I have to say that overall I find Americans in general more outgoing and a whole lot more optimistic than us Brits and can say 'have a nice day' with genuine enthusiasm which conveys a sense that they actually mean it!
Well enough for now, I'm off to catch up on some old episodes of Miami Vice and learn my Miranda rights.
I have the right to remain silent, its just a pity I find that so difficult!

A Jaywalker rests after making it across the road safely to 1600  Pennsylvania Avenue

I Think I Need To Recharge My Batteries

Modern life is proving anything but easy in Vincent towers despite the reckless purchase of an array of devices designed to put me on easy street and make my life virtually stress free. The flaw you see is the fact that all of these aids are either powered by mains electricity or they are battery operated and require frequent charging. Now as well as consuming half the power available from the national grid on a regular basis and the subsequent energy bills received matching the national debt of Botswana, I am becoming more and more concerned that my home is never allowed to sleep, there being too many LED charging lights illuminating every room at all hours, making the hallway seem more akin to an airport runway and the other living areas overrun by a hoard of 4 gang extension sockets.

This has led on to a feeling that my little house may not be the castle I once considered it to be, to put it bluntly I have become acutely aware that this house, my home, is no longer fit for purpose. That is to say 21st century living cannot be effectively maintained in this 1960's ex council house as amended by a 1990's re-wiring job.

Just a few short years ago all was well, we lived in relative harmony with our surroundings. We worried not that we didn't have the latest trappings of affluent consumerism, there was no home cinema system requiring a television the size of a garage door to appreciate the luxury of wide screen, nor did we see the need to be permanently hooked up to the world wide web like some Hammer Horror human spiders. Life was slower and uncomplicated, though gradually we began calling our friends and family less on land lines and started texting instead on our new Nokia androids, at least when the variable or completely absent signal strength would allow.

Suddenly it now seems that there are not enough electrical sockets in the walls to allow the charging of the myriad of communication gadgets which have become central to living in modern times. Smart phones, tablets and laptops adorn nearly every bit of table and worktop space, giving it the appearance of the bridge of the star trek enterprise. There is always something on charge, with a lead stretching out in readiness to snare the leg of any unwary passer by and send them crashing to the ground, with a charger so hot I need oven gloves to remove it from the wall lest I receive third degree burns. If its not a charger plugged in its a docking station for some other gizmo which apparently we cannot do without, and all of these things seem to consume battery power at an incredible rate and require charging far sooner than the manufacturer led us to believe.
It gets no better upstairs, where electric toothbrushes, hair straighteners, razors, epilators and hair dryers all vie for a spare socket.
No, there's nothing for it, I'll have to move. I'm going online at once and view the available houses!

Well I will as soon as the laptops  charged up!

The Former Lord Of The Dance

Readers of the chronicles may be a little surprised to discover that I have always considered myself a bit of a mover and groover. Suffice to say as a young man, when co-ordination could mostly be relied upon and I could move my legs for more than a few minutes without pulling a muscle I would often be found prowling the dance floors and disco's in and around my home town, 'presenting my moves' or 'throwing some shapes' as we used to say.

 Although vaguely reminiscent of an extra from the set of footloose, I considered myself to be more akin to a strutting peacock doing a little bit of showboating. Indeed I considered I had a collection of moves that even the great Michael Jackson himself would have been envious of! I was especially proud of my step over pirouette on one leg which is still remembered fondly by myself and.....well just me really.

This rhythmic cavorting had only one purpose, which was to present my 'talent' and associated wares to the assembled ladies and hope that they were slightly the worse for wear due to copious consumption of alcohol and had sufficient strength beer goggles on to appreciate the finer aspects of the good ship chirps. They would then form an orderly queue in the hope to be the girl chosen to accompany me home. 

It seems however that a queue is not a queue unless there are people in it, and I am left totally baffled as to why I would invariably end the night eating a kebab while waiting in line for a taxi with my mates. This was even more galling when the aforementioned 'mates' would all be literally crying with laughter at the apparent failure of the step over pirouette on one leg resulting in my discovering break dancing years before it ever became popular culture as I crashed to the floor with one leg still turning like a helicopter rotor blade!

So fast forward 30 years to Heebie jeebies nightclub in Liverpool at three o'clock on a Friday morning. Needless to say our group of shall we say 'mature' years must have looked like the cast of cocoon on a night out when we walked in to a heaving mass of mostly student revellers, most of whom looked to have had more sambuca's than was clinically safe.

To my, and likely everybody else's relief the place is packed so there is no chance of the step over pirouette on one leg, thus saving the likely embarrassment and general mayhem that would surely have followed, plus the money the NHS would have had to shell out to put me back together again afterwards!

Nevertheless I am strangely caught up in the modern club music sound which I can only describe as Zombie house garage thump, everything seems to pulsate and oscillate and there is a strobe light which seems capable of performing laser eye surgery at 50 feet thus nullifying the need to ever go to spec savers again.

I soon realise that my companions have all started to move their bodies in a strange and somewhat amusing way and before long I can feel that I too have started an alcohol induced rhythmic swaying which if left unchecked will likely degenerate into middle aged man twerking, which some of you will know is somewhat unsightly and frankly disturbing!

Despite this obvious danger I begin to move my arms in a way which I am convinced demonstrates my superb body popping ability, sadly it only served to demonstrate my undeniable drink spilling ability and alerted a young lady nearby who had clearly recently completed a first aid course and is convinced I am having a seizure.

Fortunately our group contained two consultant physicians so I was able to elicit a second opinion which was rather fortunate because though it did not provide me with a totally clean bill of health, it was enough to make my young saviour desist from wrestling me to the ground to place me in the recovery position!

So it was at 3.23am on that Friday morning that I had the latest in a long series of light bulb moments. I realised that I was no longer king of clubs, no longer the Lord of the dance, there was to be no more step over pirouettes on one leg. With a heavy heart and an equally heavy head I filed quietly to the entrance, said goodnight to the doormen and disappeared into the night,... to queue for a cab.

True Love

Two things happen whenever I attempt to tell porkies to my better half, The first is I develop a slight ssstammer which of course underlines an anxiety caused by the certain knowledge that I will  inevitably be rumbled and the second is my good lady adopts a condescending 'don't lie to me' tone of voice similar to that of a primary school teacher who has recently won the smug teacher of the year award from the University of Smug, which confirms that I have indeed been found out.

 Bearing this in mind it is all the more incredible that I try it on in the first place as any attempted deceit is almost certainly doomed to failure and I must suffer the excruciating embarrassment of having my story picked apart and exposed for the flimsy fabrication that an eight year old would find wholly unsuitable as excuse fodder to run past their mother.

"Why do you lie?" the smug primary teacher asks;
"BBBBecause I'm good at it" I lie,
"Why are you stammering?"
"BBecause I'm stressed, anyway you shouldn't mock the affected!"
"It's afflicted"
"What?"
"Afflicted, The phrase is you shouldn't mock the afflicted"
"Since when have you become a primary school teacher?, that's your sister"
"It's in the genes"
"Oh really"
"No I'm lying"
"You're not stammering"
"No, I'm not stressed"
"You're smug though"
"No I'm not"
"You are!, You're like a squirrel who's just received the nut collector of the year award from 'Bushy tail magazine'"
She laughs in the old infectious way that attracted me in the first place.
"Give me a hug you silly old fool"
"Loves you" I say, without a hint of a stammer.

No Dope! Chirps Is Going for Gold

As this is an Olympic year and the prospect of a parisian summer spectacle gets ever closer, I think the time is right to bring to your attention my own recent attempt to climb to the top of the podium in my chosen sport and at the same time become a local sporting legend.
Following about 6 minutes training and preparation before lunch one day I was ready to participate in the infamous Janner game, held over twenty minutes in Tesco's car park.

 All the big names in alternative sports were there including Charlie 'chippie' Buttey, who along with being a respected Welly boot thrower, also claimed his day job to be a proficient carpenter & joiner but sadly he couldn't even join up his writing. 

Mickey Taker, a prolific moaner and benefits claimer was also present along with Flatiree gimmepinumba, the current worlds top e-mailer scammer who flew in from the back of a Vespa scooter when his front wheel hit a very nasty rut and catapulted him out over the handlebars. 

Unfortunately his scooter was rendered totally useless as the front wheel had a puncture, you could say Flatiree had a Flatiree.............,

Luckily there was a break in the weather, which allowed us to safely remove our waterproof shell-suits and undertake 30 seconds of warming up, which consisted mainly of taking long drags on some West Indian Woodbine's and a few swigs from a bottle of Gunge home brew, which despite having a taste similar to turps mixed with battery acid, proved surprisingly popular! Saying this of course may lead you to believe that the event was not being taken seriously but nothing could be closer to the truth...

There followed a very stringent dope test, which I am proud to say I passed, (apparently A1, right up there with the best of the best!) It must have been a very good result as the examiner couldn't contain his delight when telling me the good news!

"Oh yes" he said barely able to keep a straight face,
"You passed the dope test alright, don't worry about that son!"

In the event itself sadly it was a case of what might have been..Representing my native Kernowstan in the A4 paper aeroplane hurling competition I made a very promising start, hurling an impressive 4 metres and 20 centimetres with my first attempt. 

Better was to follow when having 'fouled' with my second round hurl I threw a massive 4 metres 95 centimetres (a personal best!) in the third round. Unfortunately for me, before this monster throw could be verified by the Marshall, Mr Richard Monitor, affectionately known as 'Dick Measure' by the competitors, a Highland Terrier called 'Plops' rushed from the crowd /trio  (delete as appropriate) picked up my slightly crumpled origami and rushed off with it teaching it a damn good lesson, furiously shaking it's head from side to side before dropping and peeing on it.

Of course it goes without saying that having been on an incredible 'journey' to get in the peak of physical out of condition for this event 'Plops' became an even less popular dog than that other hound that roamed just up the road at Baskerville Hall.

I suddenly felt the need for some lighter liquid refreshment than the effluent on offer at the event and so I trudged rather unsteadily off in the direction of the pub, (the effects of Gunge beginning to take a firm hold), to reflect on my day. My misery was now complete as it had begun to rain steadily, so I turned back in the hope I could rescue my waterproofs but to my horror I caught sight of plops furiously humping them while proceeding to drag them through a large muddy puddle.
That was the moment I realised that my chances of ever winning gold at paper plane hurling were roughly the same as Plops becoming best in breed at Crufts, not a barking dogs chance. 

Ah well there's still time to find another sport to try, I've heard intermediate bullshitting is fairly easy to learn, I might give that a go, Bring on Paris!!

Authors note: All characters are completely fictional and are used only with humorous intent and any similarity between them and any living people is completely incidental.

The Importance Of Being Cutest

How come whenever I am under the weather and generally feeling like I'm top of the grim reapers 'to do' list, I am invariably diagnosed as having man flu, which as all men will know is a potentially life threatening condition but bizarrely seems to have a medical seriousness classification from women roughly similar to hiccups! 

The considered opinion from these female 'medics' is that the ailing patient would be best advised to take 2 paracetamol and 'grow a pair'. 

A pair of what? New lungs?

This of course contrasts sharply to when the pet dog is off his food for a day.

He is whisked off to see the modern day equivalent of Dick Turpin, i.e the Vet and has a blood and urine test and later an ultrasound scan. After all this there follows the earnest enquiry, 'Is there anymore you can do for him?' 

WHAAAAT!!!

I am therefore left in little doubt just who is considered to be irreplaceable in our household and who is likely to be put out with the recycling!

I realise that the dog has such a hold on the affections of my beloved due in no small measure to his 'cuteness'  that equitable treatment in the malady department will be forever denied unless I am able to reproduce this appeal myself, in which case my life would become exponentially easier and more comfortable, so I hatched a devious plan.

I always try to learn from others who seem to be able to influence people, feel happy in their own skin and live the life that they desire with little or no effort!

With this in mind I have taken this past week to curling up on the sofa and snoring loudly, waking only to receive nourishment and copious amounts of affection.This strategy seems to work very well indeed for our Cocky Spaniel so I figured I would give it a try.

As experiments go it could not in any way be deemed a success, indeed it would seem that there is the very real danger that trying to 'be more dog' can have serious repercussions on the harmonious house front and put certain baggy parts of my anatomy in grave danger! 

I found out to my cost that no amount of my trying to give it the old puppy dog eyes can in any way replicate the real thing, which is a tad annoying when 'he' makes no effort to be cute and alluring but nevertheless succeeds on all levels while I retain all the allure of a sumo wrestlers mawashi after a particularly long and arduous bout!

This being the case I have decided to rouse myself from the couch and attend to some jobs around the house. As long as I don't make a complete dogs dinner of these chores, I feel sure that enough brownie points will be accrued such that I return to my rightful place as Mr cutie Luvva man, as past failings will inevitably fade from the memory.

Now I should point out to any aspiring house husbands three very important points that should be considered prior to tackling any household works:

1) Pick a chore that is obvious to see has made a difference. An outdoor example here would be mowing the grass.

2) Always check for time saving hacks and pitfalls to avoid on youtube before commencing if not completely sure of how to achieve your goals and then decide whether you have either the nous or inclination to take on the task.

3) Ensure you have an excuse clear in your mind for using when the wife gets home if you have failed to at least start something!

Hopefully, if you follow these guidelines you will always have things under control, at least in your own mind!

Wait a minute, I haven't done any chores around the house today and the wife's due home in ten minutes!

Horse dung! I can't think of a good excuse as now I'm annoyed and confused, which before anyone else says it, is not an entirely unique situation. Recently lycra clad pedal pushers, outdoor masterchefs and birds with flash waistcoats tweeting too much have all either annoyed or confused me! Oh dear it's all too much for me, I feel ill, the man flu's back.I think I'll just curl up on the sofa again and go to sleep. I bet when my girl gets home she'll think: "Aw, he must be feeling rough again but doesn't he look cute"

A creature with puppy dog eyes and a dog trying to look cute!

Shabby Chic For Miss Minogue!

Some people consider me to be one of life's eternal optimists, Strangely I'm at a loss to know why, although I do admit to being one of the 18 people who voted for the Liberal democrats in the UK general election of 2015 having fallen for Nick Cleggs 'Coalition has been good' mantra and I also remain oddly convinced that it is only a matter of time before Kylie accepts my earnest, and if I may say so, rather generous offer of a couple of Fosters down my local before walking with me hand in hand round to the chippie for cod, chips and mushy peas,.... Yeah I know I should be so lucky...lucky lucky lucky...

 Be that as it may my own (fairly) positive attitude pales into insignificance when compared to some others. You know the type, they remain annoyingly upbeat in the face of overwhelming odds against them and genuinely expectant that 'something will turn up' to justify this stance, despite nothing ever having turned up in their entire lives before and no evidence that anything is likely to change in this position in the foreseeable future.They of course see the best in everyone and indeed everything, constantly reminding you that if you can't say something nice, then you shouldn't say anything at all. That you should strive to live every day as if it's your last and generally being a right royal pain in the backside. This Ned Flanders 'niceness' only serves to make them seem faintly false, patronising and inevitably susceptible to bouts of outrageous smugness.

So imagine my horror when one of the aforementioned annoyingly bobbish folk referred to me in general conversation as a little bit 'Shabby Chic'. Now style guru's will know that the term 'Shabby Chic' consists of one word too many and indeed the vast majority of items offered for sale described as such are found lacking in the 'chic' department roughly in the order of 100%.

Also consider this,'Shabby Chic' usually refers to an old worn out chest of drawers with scratch marks on the top of a dodgy greenish grey paint job with its look finished off by having some of its drawer pulls forlornly hanging out of worn out holes or worse completely missing! Furthermore these items can also be described, (more appropriately perhaps) as  'distressed' which of course usually means exactly the same thing, only with more scratches and knobs missing for about 20 quid more!

So there you have it, Nick Clegg has seen the light, annoyingly optimistic folk think I've seen better days and Kylie isn't a lady to be seen at all.................................yet.

Distressed? You got that right at least.

A Shabby Chic clock face next to a fine timepiece

Authors footnote;
Other Lagers and lovely lady mega star's are available.

Chirps Keep Up With The Foodie Blogs...... Blog

It would seem that I have been labouring under the flawed perception that to secure and nurture a bigger audience for my various scattered scribblings all I needed to do was document my thoughts and observations on 'life' as I know it, lay it bare for the great general public, warts and all in bite size portions in the form of a blog and they would flock to be a part of the greater Chirps community.

 Now this has in part become a reality with an encouragingly healthy readership and page views numbering several thousand prompting me to go about my business displaying a serene smugness that only Jacob Rees-Mogg could ever hope to match.

 So imagine if you will my angst when on listening to the radio the other day, a young lady was interviewed who apparently writes a 'foodie' blog and has her own you tube site where she demonstrates how to prepare various' dishes' and has collective page views/watches of her sites numbering some 2million odd!   What the Spag Bol is that all about?  

Some Delia wannabee with an 'A' level in home economics wiping the floor with chirps! but then I quickly began to wonder whether this demonstrates the obsession the populace seem to have with anything food related, from Masterchef to Come dine with me and the almost 'cult' followings for celebrity' chefs.

 Perhaps then I thought, the way to capture more readers is to incorporate food related stuff and features such as a 'recipe of the month' to 'wow' my audience and encourage their participation.

 The obvious problem with this approach is that I know next to nothing about food preparation, nor do I claim any skills on its presentation thus ensuring that a 'recipe of the month' feature would extend to roughly 3 months max before exhausting my total recall of culinary delights that I have prepared and not had to call the fire brigade out afterwards to extinguish the inferno thus created! 

I fear I am not alone in this dearth of knowledge surrounding all things gastronomic, frequent readers may remember a post from last year, The Outdoor Masterchef which adequately sums up the cooking abilities of the common man!


http://clivevincent00.blogspot.co.uk/2014/06/the-outdoor-masterchef.html

Notwithstanding this, some might say obvious drawback, I'm going to give it a go, I mean how hard can it be? Just need to think up some tasty dishes, give them the requisite flourish of Frenchness to effectively demonstrate how removed they are from ordinary everyday dishes you may have heard of and Blanc's your uncle as they say in Provence!. .

So here goes, for my first recipe I give you something I've called 'Beanzez a la top of de tost'

mmmm it's making me salivate all ready!

First open a tin of Stewed Haricot beans in a rich Tomato sauce and place them in a saucepan on top of a gentle heat on your hob. allow them to come to the boil before reducing the heat and allowing them to simmer for a couple of minutes.

Whilst they are warming put two pieces of sliced bread or ' du pain' in the slots on an electric toaster and liberally butter when they 'pop out',
Next spoon the warm beans over the buttered 'Tost' apply a little black pepper and brown sauce to your own taste and serve with a fine glass of Adams ale and a winning smile. A Voila!

Now I'll admit that this recipe may at first sight seem a little similar to another rather well known one but I would point out the cunning addition of brown sauce which of course makes it totally unique.

So there you have it, my new food themed blog is up and running! can't wait for next months feature and second 'Recipe of the month' which I'm calling 'Frommages a la top of de tost'
.............................................What?

Top Chefs are excited by Vino's latest sensational recipe 'Beanzez a la top of de tost'

*Photo courtesy bbc

The Outdoor Masterchef

Ah summer will soon be here, with its long hot sticky days and still sultry evenings which of course means its the time of year when men get out a ludicrous pair of Bermuda shorts, slip on the apron with the ladies boobies on it and don an ill fitting pair of flip flops before announcing that they are inviting a few friends round and having a barbecue. 

Now quite what gives guys the mistaken belief that they have the necessary skills to essentially light a fire outdoors and cook a tasty meal on it I cannot quite work out. It is especially baffling when you consider the complete lack of ability displayed in the kitchen at all other times, despite being presented with a machine which can be pre-programmed to the correct temperature and time required to cook dishes precisely. Somehow an oven is considered to be a woman's tool and the kitchen very much their domain but outdoors? well that's a different matter.Men it seems find the urge to revert to their old hunter gatherer roots which means they pick up a box of matches, tuck a  'Ray Mears goes wild' pocket book into their shorts and head out to 'light up'.
This of course should be relatively straightforward but the handy book only covers lighting a fire using two sticks and a piece of vine used as string so it's quickly discarded and lighting cubes are deployed and lit and our outdoor hero stands back and awaits the fire to take hold and grow. However he has reckoned without the toll a miserable damp winter has had on the briquettes which having resided in the far from watertight shed have absorbed enough moisture to make them resemble small black water melons and make lighting them an act of the purest optimism as they steadfastly refuse to burn. Various accelerants are then poured on in an effort to speed up the lighting process which only results in three guests needing checking over at the local emergency department suffering the effects of smoke inhalation.

"What do you mean 3 people have collapsed?"

Eventually though because of all the flammable liquids administered an inferno develops and cooking commences but this serves to incinerate the outside of the burgers while leaving the inside rawer than an egg just leaving a chickens bottom so the 'chef de partie' leaves the meat on the fire until resembling charcoal. Those guests still remaining relatively well perfused with oxygen then tuck in, nodding their heads appreciatively and various murmurings can be heard complimenting the salad and the bread rolls;
"Oh" says the wife playing coyly with a tousel of hair, "Its just something I knocked up quick with some bits from Waitrose"
A loud tut is heard from our man but despite his best efforts the only feedback the Barbie Meister gets is 'You don't half look funny without eyebrows'
This of course rankles him immensely, so he does what all self respecting Alpha males would do in such a situation;
He removes his apron, opens another can of extra strong lager and gently lobs 'Ray Mears goes wild' on to the now dying embers. The outdoor Masterchef hereby resigns!

A bird in the hand or rather the gutter

With spring now on the near horizon I am mentally preparing myself for the annual battle with a very noisy bird who seems to get up and start chirping at ridiculous o'clock while rifling through the contents of the gutter which runs just above my bedroom window.  I am no ornithologist but I am certain the culprit is one of those fawny birds with a flash waistcoat, we'll call him Robin flash waistcoat. 

While I am not insensitive to the needs of this creature to advertise and display his melodic prowess to the rest of the garden inhabitants I am now preparing for the certain sleep deprivation that weeks of early morning calls will undoubtedly cause.  

You may argue that I shouldn't be surprised that anything that starts life in a shell suit becomes a noisy neighbour, nor bear them any ill will but the more I think about the perks of being a bird the harder it is for me not to feel a sense of injustice with it all.
For instance birds can dump on you from a great height with no comeback;
They never have to queue at the supermarket till to get their food:
They can build a place to live without requiring planning permission and even better only need some twigs and moss to do it and best of all be jobless and not have any desire to watch daytime TV!

Hmmmm I can see why Robin flash waistcoat feels he has something to sing about!.

Perhaps i'll tweet him to see if he'll stop. ☺

Wise Men Say Only Tools Rush In

It would seem that as I get older, I shall be getting wiser, which is great! Nothing, it appears, is required of me to acquire this wondrous ability as I am led to believe by various family, friends and assorted sages that as long as I stay alive, it is a rite of passage. Apparently I can sit back and await wisdom and the associated prestige that 'guru' status allows.

 I have little reason to doubt this will be the case and consequently I look forward to shortly being able to tie my own shoe laces and perhaps even understand why the bloke who lives down the road shouts at the pigeons for no apparent reason every morning. 

However all this newly acquired wisdom may not I fear be enough to answer some fundamental questions on everyday life that have been bothering the chirps out of me for some considerable time.

For instance;
Why do first things always have to come first? Bit selfish.

Secondly,why did I ask the above question first?

Also, if it rains 'cats and dogs' why have I never been struck over the head  by a medium sized domestic animal?

Plus why do all female violinists appear absolutely stunning while their male counterparts seem to be fifty something balding guys with dubious moustaches?

And why do I insist on writing this crap when the readership consists of me, my auntie Betty, her budgie 'Pete' and a selection of robots in Google town, USA?

Yes many mysterious things it seems are designed to irritate me and remain steadfastly unanswered.

Despite this I remain on the whole quite positive, as it seems even when the dark clouds of complete foolhardiness surround me there always appears a bright light, a shining beacon that lifts the gloom and allows an uplift in my spirits. For proof of this I'd like to share something with you;

A few years ago I was heard to say rather belligerently that there was more chance of me having a hot date with Kylie than Donald Trump ever becoming president of the U.S! So after the election and my initial reaction of 'WHY AMERICA? I was much more upbeat as I looked again at my initial statement and saw the odds of a good night out with pop royalty tumbling in my favour!

Fast forward and now we move into another election year across the pond and its looking like he could just do it again and become a square man in an oval office for a second time!

So C'mon, surely now is my moment?? I am convinced that something more than just my tummy burp residue is in the air! I am happily reading my copy of 'I should be so lucky', A dummies guide, and looking forward to Kylie's imminent friend request on facepull. A necessary first step I'm sure you will agree? after all, first things first, I don't want to rush in, you know what wise men say!........................

A very happy and peaceful election year to you all!