Elon prefers growing shares to vegetables!

Elon Musk has recently stated his view that work could become optional over the next ten to twenty years due to the development of tech, including AI and robotics etc. In other words if a human does not fancy doing some heavy lifting to earn his pay packet then the advances in technical automation and the odd robot or two will do the job for him while he downs some tasty beers down the pub! 

He likened the situation to be like growing vegetables in your garden. You don't have to do that he states, you could just go to your local store and buy them but some people enjoy the challenge and the sense of purpose of growing their own. He predicts a future where money is less relevant or even totally irrelevant which seems a tad ironic coming so soon after Tesla shareholders approved his potential 1 trillion dollar ten year pay award subject to the company achieving set goals. Nevertheless I was not surprised big numbers were involved in Elon's pay award as he is probably the foremost accomplished business person in the world today but i must admit I did not realise just how big a trillion actually is! Even spread over ten years the numbers are mind boggling. 

Now it has to be acknowledged that i'm not great at maths, that is while I can cope with basic stuff on a day to day basis like how much i'm spending in the supermarket buying vegetables or more likely the pub buying other things essential for life, I cannot with any degree of truth claim to be anything more than average in the bean counting world.

So bearing that in mind you can perhaps understand why when I initially heard about the deal I merely shrugged my shoulders and pulled the old bemused boy gets lost in the number fog look I pulled often in maths classes at school. Then a lady with the number prowess of Rachel Riley pointed out that 1 trillion dollars equates to an average of a 100 billion dollars a year or over 8 billion a month which if you assume he does a five day week equates to about 400 million dollars a day! 

Now of course, it's not just what he does that is being rewarded, it's having the gravitas and worldwide appeal of the Musk name and his contacts, both business and political which are immeasurable and work 24/7 and therefore the sums need to reflect this.

OK then, lets take a more pragmatic view, lets say he works 24/7 receiving no downtime whatsoever but fails to hit some of the targets that make up the contract. Lets say he only actually receives salary, shares and gratuities amounting to a mere half of the trillion. So 500 billion dollars over the ten year period.

So if he works every single day for the ten year period this equates to 3,650 days at roughly 137 million dollars a day!....... I'll say that again, 137 million dollars a day! That my friends is not too shabby a gig for half pay! 5.7 million dollars every hour of every day. 8 hours of sleep means he has accrued over 45 million dollars before finishing cleaning his teeth in the morning, which obviously is a necessity in readiness to smile insanely at all the other vegetable growers at the community gardens and why wouldn't he?  don't forget this is only half of his potential earnings!!!

I don't think i'll see him at the allotments anytime soon do you?

Chirps is in a right Pro state!

Image of the author stood in front of his prostate gland.

 Well there you have it everybody, It is officially confirmed that I am a medical mystery! Doctors are baffled! All bow to the enigma that is chirps. Why? The cry goes up, we've known you were 'on the spectrum' for years. Well first of all, Rude! and secondly bare in mind that I would much rather that I was not the subject of inter doctor nudges and raised eyebrows as this has grown more uncomfortable than the condition itself! Fit as a fiddle to fit as a double bass without a g string in just a few months is disconcerting at best, absolutely terrifying at worst! 

Whatever is the matter? I hear you utter,

Well my friends it would appear that I have a prostate gland the size of the universal globe AND it has an unidentified marking on it which has left the urology boffins scratching their bald patches in bewilderment.

It all kicked off when I went to the doctor complaining of having to get up numerous times a night for a slash, plus the added bonus of it seeming like I would commence urinating before getting anywhere near the bathroom! Well after having the old gloved finger examination, (amazing what they can do in this digital age!) and a Psa blood test I was referred to the urologist at the local hospital.

Following an MRI scan it was decided that I needed some biopsies to check the prostate for any cancerous cells. Well, that was fun let me tell you! Yeah brilliant day out that was. Park up in the multistorey car park of the hospital I worked at for 25 years making sure that I had taken out a small mortgage to pay for the pleasure! Then get myself changed into a sexy hospital gown which refused to close around my butt! so requiring me to walk around with one hand acting as a clothes peg behind me.

Next get my knees up and pretend i'm giving birth to a prehistoric animal as the urologist talks calmly to me about the unseasonable weather while proceeding to insert a needle between my scrotum and Anus! OWWW!!!

Then a feeling that can only be described as someone flicking an elastic band at your balls from close range!

This apparently is the biopsies being taken. The only blessing is it takes very little time before you are dispatched to the changing cubicle where you can sob quietly as you get changed back into your Calvin kleins.

So guys, I bet I've put the fear of God into you eh? Well here's the thing, the very important message if you like;

Do not be put off or delay seeking investigations if you are advised to have them! I, as you can see in the picture, am no Jack Reacher, in fact I am roughly 154lbs of complete wimp and fully understand that 'real' men will have no problem coping with the small discomfort of the procedures necessary to rule out anything nasty that may be occurring with this troublesome gland. So get yourself sorted if you get any symptoms! If I can do it then any man can do it!

Keep the motto fresh in your mind:  

To take the piss and back!.......No,no,no that's not it, my mistake,

TO UROLOGY AND BEYOND!!!       Yeah that's the one! heh heh just kidding there with the old taking the piss thing.

May your stream never weaken!

Angel of our time.

 

Angel of our time, can you hear me?

Angel of our life, you're very dear to me.

An open book is read from, a story that's well known, and the frown that is on your face the only emotion that is shown.

For deep your illness like the night and surely now this has to be the last fight.

Her grip on my hand is fading fast, as I recall all the many things and places from the past.

We would live, we would love, we would run.

We would walk hand in hand into the setting sun.

I hoped we might run again but I guess we never will, for now her eyelids flicker open once and then they rest quite still.

And so she crept into darkness in a shimmering silver gown and a face of great beauty that had lost its furrowed frown, and my friend, he of sadness did pass the book around, so we clutched it tight between our hands and whispered a prayer our tears did drown.

Perhaps we will meet again someday, perhaps we should not believe. 

For sorrow has filled our minds with haze, sent forward to deceive.

Angel of our time, can you hear me? Angel of our life, you were very dear to me.

Although time has claimed you, live you on always, on that island of sun where we both shall run...called memory.

Lucky in life or How to win a lottery.

Less than three weeks after the Munich air disaster of 6 February 1958 robbed the world of some of the most talented footballers on the planet, a little known Manchester woman, or more accurately Salford woman named Edith Marie Vincent, nee Hayes gave birth to a son in a sleepy Cornish village, ironically named St Germans. 

Now, attempting to link these two events is i'll admit, tenuous and desperate in the extreme but as the aforementioned 'son' who has achieved little in life to trouble any columns of achievement above average and who is best known for a dance move that went horribly wrong, I hope the reader will allow a little poetic licence even if it is accepted that despite being an enthusiastic and committed amateur footballer, a Duncan Edwards I was not! 

As a scrap of a child I did not flourish during my early years suffering in the main from childhood Asthma, a condition not helped by the house occupied also suffering a major malady, namely having no heating system other than a dilapidated rayburn, which when lit in winter would at least partially thaw the kitchen and heat a hot water boiler in the airing cupboard but leave the rest of the house colder than an Eskimos nose drip!

That having been said there follows not a seemingly tireless rant around the 'times were hard' theme. This would serve no useful purpose as every generation feels aggrieved at how easy things seem for their children compared to their own experience. Personally though I consider myself lucky that I did not spend my youth glued to a mobile phone checking my social media for 'likes' of my latest selfie!

For me the only lucky thing about growing up now for most kids is central heating!

So how do we know if we are lucky in life?

Well some might say if you are born into a loving family environment it matters not what else you perceive to be necessary to consider yourself lucky, you have already hit the jackpot.

But that is not the way we are conditioned to think is it?

Why else do we lament not winning a life changing sum of money on the lottery when we play it? considering ourselves to be just not a lucky person as it 'never happens to me' 

So perception of luck is the driving force in how we see what happens to ourselves compared to others who we view as gleefully popping champagne corks and receiving mega sized cheques from Z list TV presenters.

Personally, I have never thought too much about receiving good-luck in my life having always considered it a commodity largely enjoyed by the ultra attractive and insanely rich. As I seem to have avoided enjoying either of those qualities I have paid scant attention to any discussion on the matter always asserting that our lot in life is mostly preordained by;

Where we are born; 

The social standing and nurturing skills of our parents;

How clever we are plus our own drive and determination to achieve.

That having been said good-luck, or conversely the lack of it is one of those ethereal things which routinely plays a role in the everyday lives of all living things. Of course we don't recognize its influence in most of our daily dealings but when things either align or fall nicely into place in a good way, (good luck) or everything seems to go totally against all our hopes and aspirations (bad luck) it takes on an importance that is immeasurable.

Luck in one of its forms can be life inspiring, life changing or in a worst case scenario life ending.

So what about chance? Are luck and chance the same thing?

Well no, it seems to me that chance is the odds of something happening and luck is the event actually happening or not. To put it another way the chance of winning a lottery are pretty remote but as already discussed that doesn't stop folks up all over the world taking a punt in the hope they get 'lucky' and have a life changing sum of money winging its way into their bank account!

So consider this dear reader,

 

You probably stumbled across and read this post by chance, but amazingly it was written by a lovely, stunningly handsome bloke and was very informative!.....................

You lucky thing! 😁

When I happened by the pond.

 Twas twilight when I happened by the pond.

The sun had lost its sheen and the dusk was coming on,

so the bank I sat upon, with my feet suspended close
to still water.

A reflected face stared back at me with the same confusion, casting doubt on reality,

And so I looked away.

Please mister boatman won't you teach me?

to skim cross the surface like a pebble thrown, that I, like it may seek the other bank and all that is beyond.

Please mister Crane fly won't you tell me?

how it is you can duck so low and yet jump so high, for I might high-fly tonight and evermore soar out of sight.

A gentle breeze now caresses my eyes. A playful tease calls from a darkening sky. 

But as I lift my eyes so the day finally dies and the look of this creature says it all, for this is not a hunter after nightfall.

Please mister Kingfisher won't you show me? how to see through this mirror so that I may live, I've got so much to give, much more to learn.

Please mister Bullrush won't you whisper?

how it is you can stand so straight, not yours some others fate in a storm, protected by life's uniform, live you on always!

Twas night when I sat by the pond, Dark had broke lights loving bond,

And so I walked away.

The carrot or the stick? Why we all need some incentive

Incentive is a word not often used when people consider their daily lives and interactions with others but it is safe to say that without incentive the very fabric of our society would break down overnight.

How so? I hear you say, well let us consider the basics of incentive. Imagine I wanted to receive lots of comments on this post, if I were to offer £50 for every comment received I think I would probably receive a fair number and that would be the effect of providing an incentive. Similarly I could announce that failure to comment on this post would result in having your legs broken, that of course is a sanction but it could provide an equally effective incentive to comply with my requests if you believed that;

 a) I was serious in my intention and;
 b) I was capable of carrying out the threat.

So incentives can be in the form of rewards or the threat of sanctions.

Employers have known for a long time that if they want to attract the top people into their organisation, get the very best out of them and just as importantly keep them happy and committed then they have to offer decent rewards and incentives. Retailers too realise that its important to offer incentives in order to attract shoppers through their doors. That's why we are bombarded by things such as buy one get one free and other seemingly fantastic offers such as; Buy the moon, nothing to pay in the first year, then 48 easy payments of a trillion pounds and of course the obligatory 99pence!

 If your incentive is to lose weight then we are helpfully encouraged to eat organic weeds, barley water soup and something that looks straight out of a cats litter tray for breakfast. It doesn't stop there, we are also given an incentive to stay on the right side of the law, with monetary fines and the potential loss of your driving license for any misdemeanors. Even avoidance of having a parking ticket slapped on your windscreen is an incentive to pay the correct fee and park within the bay properly. So it seems wherever we look we see incentives and sanctions being used to encourage us to work harder, buy particular products and even to make us comply with the rules that society dictates. 

On a global scale incentives are routinely used to ensure compliance with international law. They play a huge part in inter-governmental diplomacy and relationships, where so called 'rogue states' are offered lots of financial and technological aid if they give up the policies that worry western governments and have economic and other sanctions imposed if they don't.
So do you always need incentives to achieve what you want or need? Well I think you probably do, most people need a carrot to perform at their best or comply to the rules of society all of the time, albeit the benefit they receive may not be in monetary or goods terms, keeping your liberty and freedoms is a powerful incentive to live within the law. And then there are the likes of Parents,volunteers and carers whose likely incentive is more spiritual, or an emotional attachment and a desire to help loved ones achieve a semblance of well-being. So bearing all this in mind perhaps you'd like to comment on this post........for free of course, ..your incentive? well just remember that legs are important! 😉

Mayday Mayday, Man Down (Chapter 2)

The sound from the alarm clock only ceased when a hairy outstretched arm banged down hard on its snooze button to end its insistent pecking for another day.

Reece turned onto his side to view the dial though he knew he had set the alarm for 5.30am. Some habits were hard to break. He turned it off via the slide switch to ensure it did not reprise its role in 5 minutes time and turned onto his back staring at the ceiling.

These moments were always the same it seemed, wondering what jobs the days work would bring. Ponder by name, Ponder by nature it seemed for Reece Ponder was a paramedic, and he liked to think, a very good one and he reveled in the daily lottery of calls which would invariably see him thrust into the middle of some peoples darkest hours but also have the satisfaction of knowing that on most occasions he played a small part in the process of their recovery, however long that would take.

Reece was not to know that today would not be most occasions.

He threw the duvet off his body and lurched out onto his feet, before gingerly loping across the landing to the bathroom. In the shower Reece thought about his upcoming shift and chuckled as he realized the date. May 1st. That always got the crews laughing. Mayday Mayday, man down!

He finished in the shower and got dressed into his work gear before gulping down two weetabix and slurping down a cup of strong tea. It was always a last minute rush to get in the car and drive the 5 miles to the ambulance station but Reece didn't feel minded to change his routine to allow a more sedate start to his day. Rushing was part of his day and he liked it that way.

He drove through the gates of the ambulance station and parked around the back of the building in the space allotted for staff parking. Lostwherewithall was a smallish town in size but was just big enough to prevent everyone knowing each other or some other member of their family, so prevented lots of gossip when fate or just bad luck intervened in someones day. Grabbing his shoulder bag he locked his car and turned to walk into the building noticing at once Sharon Marshall or 'Shaz' as she was known by the team also walking in.

Sharon was his work partner today and she was always brilliant to work alongside. Not only was she a damn good ambulance technician she was also an unrivaled ambulance driver. When the blues and twos were in operation she went into a kind of intense concentration that Reece had never seen before. 

Many a time while travelling at speed she had anticipated the ill judged manoeuvres of other drivers or pedestrians and avoided calamities untold with just the slightest mutter to herself and her eyes never straying from the road ahead. This helped to keep Reece calm and able to gather his thoughts about the upcoming job.

Their shift started slowly, it seemed the town was having a good health and accident free day, which was great unless you were tired of checking the equipment and expiry dates of consumables in an ambulance! Reece had to admit he was a bit bored. He wasn't happy having a 'relaxing' day no matter if the company was amiable. Time was dragging and Reece was beginning to wish he was on a leave day.

The call when it came was something of a shock. Reports of a man collapsed at the Littlehope health centre. Details were sketchy, which was not unusual but it seemed the patient had attended a booked appointment and had suffered a medical event while there. Sharon soon had her foot hard on the accelerator pedal. The center was less than 10 minutes from the ambulance station and they were soon drawing up outside. Reece jumped down and grabbing his medical bag moved quickly in through the doors where he was immediately shown into one of the consultation rooms by the receptionist.

Doctor Anzus who had been reviewing the patient filled them in on the actions taken since the patient had collapsed. Reece checked for vital signs as Sharon wound a blood pressure cuff around his arm. The receptionist Nicola had informed them that the patient was named Jeremy Cann, a local man in his late fifties who had made a private appointment complaining of general malaise.

"Is the cuff fully inflated?" he asked Sharon,

" Yes, it's as tight as a noose" she replied.

"His blood pressure has dropped and I think he is slipping into cardiac arrest"

They worked quickly to initiate CPR. Dr Anzus assisted Reece with this as Sharon left to update control and request further assistance. 30 chest compression's, 2 breaths, rinse and repeat endlessly it seemed until they would stop to check output. Shocks were administered, more in hope than expectation but nothing stirred on the screen.

How long? asked reece,

15 minutes and counting.

Back on the chest and cycle after cycle of CPR continued for 10 more minutes until doctor and paramedic were agreed that continuing was futile, Mr Jeremy Cann was sadly deceased.

Dr Anzus dabbed at his sweating brow with a handkerchief and Reece took a couple of deep breaths to gather himself after all the physical exertion. Despite his better judgment of how he should be thinking at this time he couldn't help the thought from coming into his mind. 

Mayday Mayday Man Down!

Is Everybody Psychic?

Have you ever experienced something that you had dreamt or imagined experiencing previously? The French have a quaint saying for this, Déjà vu or ‘already seen’. Déjà vu experiences happen more frequently and to more people than you may think with some reports saying that as many as 70% of the population may have had some form of Déjà vu experience.

 Our reaction to these events can vary enormously with the majority reporting feeling just a little disconcerted by the event, others feel a mild sense of bewilderment and a few can become so affected they feel temporarily overwhelmed. These people often report becoming light headed and nauseous. Why these events happen is the focus of intense debate. Some psychiatrists feel that there is a brain anomaly which tricks us to believe that the present is in fact the past so has already happened, while many parapsychologists believe the events are related to past life experiences.

They argue that to have these experiences a person has to possess some form of Extra Sensory Perception (ESP) or sixth sense.

So does having a Déjà vu experience mean some form of psychic ability? If it did of course this would seem to suggest a large portion of the population have some psychic ability, albeit they may not realise it.

While accepting that I can offer little in the way of hard evidence and not wishing to ride rough shod over the reader’s beliefs I would have to contend that this may be a simplistic and unlikely scenario, however it is not a complete leap of faith to suspect that people who have had a Déjà vu experience could perhaps be able to process information, at times, from a deeper part of the consciousness and possess some ability to use the mind to see and feel more of what’s going on around them. It follows that these people may be more open and intuitive, which allow them to be more aware of their surroundings and bring to the fore a part of the sub-conscious area of their brain. 

Of course there are always people ready to offer up their ‘psychic’ ability to the needy and unwary for the appropriate fee. There’s no doubt that some people purchase an extremely useful and some would argue necessary benefit, that is they feel comfort and attain an inner peace from being told that grandad is pain free and still watches over them but is it someone with genuine psychic ability imparting this message or a skilled cold reader, able to pick up on any visual or verbal clues?
Hmm, Please comment and let me know what you think.

“So what of me?” I hear you say, can I claim any psychic abilities? Unfortunately there is a world of difference between seeing the future and making educated guesses as to where life is leading. I’ll give you an example;

If I were to state that I have had a Déjà vu experience and England will win the world cup in 2026, beating Argentina in the final 2-0 with Eze and Watkins scoring the goals and this were to happen, I would rightly claim guru status and a psychic ability so brilliant that you should all bow down in awe of nostrachirpus. On the other hand if I were to say that England scrape through the group stages before losing to Germany in a penalty shoot-out, this would be an entirely reasonable assumption to make on previous history and limited expectations so not difficult to imagine this scenario coming to pass even though it would seem that I had somehow seen into the future.

So there it is, I am psychic and I see another disappointing world cup or have I?? mmm, we'll have to wait until the summer of next year to find out!

Nostrachirpus hopes to rival the predictive feats of Psychic Paul the octopus in 2010.

Executive orders can mean harsh cutbacks!

Well it has to be said that as life has gone along I have become more and more proficient in taking onboard other peoples radical ideas and trying to use them in an attempt to improve my everyday comfort. Everybody does that don't they? I hear you mutter under your breath. Well no, It seems to me that the vast majority just trundle on doing things the same way they've always done them as they grow comfortable with the structure this provides and never wonder if there is a better way, or how things could improve and life change for the better if done differently.

With this in mind I spent a very long time considering my current situation, most of Tuesday lunchtime in fact weighing up all the pros and cons and running various plans and theories over in my mind. I knew that whatever I decided it would have to be bold, radical, with cutting edge thinking designed to put me a little closer to easy street where all the movers, shakers, and politicians live. And then while watching Donald Trump on the news it came to me!

So, I have decided to make an executive order and impose a tariff on any labour that I expend on household related chores, payable by my wife on a regular basis. This would consist of some little luxury for me depending on the chore and the length of time and energy required to do it. I was thinking along the lines of a couple of cans of beer for doing the vacuuming, some popcorn for doing the washing up, that kind of thing.

Now tariffs can divide opinion of course, needless to say my wife, when briefed on my plan was somewhat less than overjoyed and provided quite cool feedback.......Actually it would more accurately be described as frosty, ......no no, arctic would be more appropriate I think.

Her response to my plan consisted of exactly two words and the second word was Off! Yes she's a class act is my wife.

Now obviously I realised that first responses to such a bold and innovative idea were likely to be less than 100% well received and that some further negotiation may be needed but it is fair to say that the gulf in distance between us has never been larger, far bigger I fear than the gulf of Mexico! or is that America now? I'm having trouble keeping up with DJT. 

Anyway she has responded in the worst possible way and informed me that there will be some retaliatory measures including some tariffs of her own with a cutting of some food preparation and cleaning services and it seems the possible removal of some of my essential body parts, some of which having happily dangled in my Calvin Klein's for a considerable length of time!

It is fair to say that these are cutbacks that I was not expecting so in light of this fact I have decided to pause indefinitely my executive order and return to my usual routine until further notice!

So what have I learned from this? Well executive orders and tariffs are headline grabbing and easy to make, but often lead to unforseen consequences that involve retaliatory measures, including cutbacks, resulting in reduced quality (and in the most severe cases, quantity) of life and the male voice becoming much higher pitched and harder to understand!

So I'm off now to start the vacuuming! And no, I don't expect anything for it other than keeping the status quo and all my body appendages in their appropriate positions!  😁

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!