Holiday Memoirs, September, 2010

Dog on the dole subjected to psychological cruelty in West Yorkshire

Frustration in Suffolk. The driver of this `Supermini` left it thus, after 10 attempts to park it close to the kerb. Immediately afterwards, a bloke got in the car behind it and drove off. I thought it was all part of a cruel hoax. Why is there never a double decker bus, to emphasise a point, when you need one?

On this ridge, on the Suffolk coast, there  once stood a hamlet, now washed away into the North Sea. The last house washed away in the 1920's. All that stands there now are people  taking photographs of the village that isn't there any more and a Martello Tower, built to repel a French Invasion that never came, thanks to our dear Lord Nelson and a bloke who had boots named after him (Not Dr Marten)

View from the table in a restaurant..... which is a Yurt.....in Norfolk.......oh to live in a country that embraces diversity

This is an Estate Agent's office in a town in Suffolk. I knew the housing market was slow, but this really did make me realise the seriousness of the current economic state of the bloody country.

Now here, the parking was straight (if half on the pavement),but the house was a tad off centre. You can't win. However, there is a reasonable excuse; this town was built just before the invention of the spirit level. In those days `spirit levelling` involved the burning of witches. I believe the will to perform this barbarous act is still out there amongst some of our population. Thank goodness it is now illegal, I mean, think of the risk to all those wooden buildings.

I've had a few of these over the years, but thankfully only one nasty one.

Peace on Earth - and the final resting place of a Bentley Boy.

Blitz on Britain

On the 70th Anniversary of the start of the Blitz on London, my thoughts turn to my late Father who was a bus driver for London Transport during those awful years. He regaled me with stories of incendiary bombs bursting around him and his double-decker bus as he weaved his way around the Capital. On one occasion he told me that London Bridge was on fire, or at least the wooden sleepers that lined the carriageway in those days. He was caught halfway across and so just `put his foot down` to hammer through the flames. He chanced a glance behind him to see all the passengers doing their best to hide under the seats. He told me that it sounded like a rushing express train as he hit the wall of flames, which opened up and then slapped shut as his bus passed through the inferno. There were many more stories of `dodging around bomb craters and partially collapsed buildings and one occasion where a Heinkel 111 bomber, crippled by the RAF or Anti Aircraft gunners, flew smoking and low along the river, it's crew machine gunning one of his mates who died in the ensuing inferno. When his body was recovered they found a solid lump of coins that had melted in his pockets as he died in the blazing cab. Many more of his colleagues were killed during the Blitz. But London and the rest of the Country kept on going or, `buggering on` as Winston would have said. Dad joined the Home Guard. I think all that must have affected him because post war, and post the arrival of Hogday jnr., he always seemed to drive me around in the family car like he was still dodging craters and German bombs! Or perhaps all bus drivers were trained to drive that way?

So why is it that today, one road traffic accident on the M6 motorway on a Friday afternoon, stops the entire country from moving at more than 3 mph?

A good case for the defence?

I know little about professional footballers and their antics on or off the pitch but I do know a lot about defence solicitors and how they can pull an acquittal seemingly out of thin air. So I have taken my brain down old memory lane and think I've come up with a likely scenario that a certain footballer's brief can put forward in his defence.I definitely think it has legs


"Your Honour, my client was merely mistaken as it was his intention to use a prosthetic, whislt his wife was pregnant.  His demise was due to nothing more than an unfortunate printing error and a mispronunciation, owing to a rather thick scouse accent". 

Over the years I've seen loads of magistrates fall for far less.

My kind of town?

 

This almost seems my kind of place....but something tells me its doomed.Best hope the humans don't breed like the flies.

Guns in our society and guns in other societies - one perspective

In the wake of the Northumbrian and Cumbrian shootings, much blog-debate took place on issues surrounding firearms in society, the general arming of police throughout the UK, the availability of firearms for lawful use by UK citizens and the enforced removal of said firearms from the ownership of certificated, gun owning, UK citizens in the wake of `Dunblane`.  For some reason, it is the United States situation that always seems to be flagged up as a comparison with the UK.

Suzanna Gratia-Hupp, whose parents were killed by an insane gunman is shown, above, in theembedded video, delivering her testimony to a committee discussing further gun control.  She is from the State of Texas. I make no further comment on what she says, other than to say that she said it with remarkably controlled conviction and that it allows us a peek into aspects of life and attitudes to gun control in America, that we might otherwise be unaware of.

Farewell to a Legend of `D-Day` 1944

The legendary Bill Millin has passed away......."Lest we forget"

Princess for a Day

 

Over the years I've seen quite a few weddings, latterly from both sides of these events. As a kid growing up in the fifties I  recall attending family weddings and having a great time running around the reception venue and sliding across dance floors like a sweaty loon. With much pleasure, I can say that the happy couples from those family weddings I remember attending as a small child are still together, a testament to love, affection, courage and patience and doubtless many other virtues, as well as a dollop of good luck.  

I have very recently started to experience  the eye-watering costs that can be expended on the 21st Century version of these  `big days` as well as some very interesting facets of human behavior, that include the following observations: 

• The brides female friend/bridesmaid etc who usually ends up in floods of tears, as other gals gather round to offer support, advice and, in a couple of cases, make snide remarks to each other out of the poor victims earshot. 
• The regular crowds of young women that attend in evening `attire` that always seems to consist of dresses where their arse hangs out below the hemline and their tits are crammed into what remains of the material at the other end. I reckon they must use something called a `boob-horn` to get them in, oh and tottering about in shoes like bricks on stilts - the sort I used to see as I walked past Soho sex shops (bondage section) in my beat-pounding days in central London.
• The sight of `cultured` invited guests and family members turning into horrid, voracious creatures when they suddenly discover that the groom's Dad has stuck £2 grand behind the bar. The mad scramble reminding me of scenes from the film "Zulu" when the warlike hoards, baying for British blood, rush the barricades as the gallant few do and die for Queen and Country. If you want to see how quickly civilisation breaks down, just announce there's a free bar. If you want a generally nice evening, do not make this announcement.
• Seeing the £2 grand behind the aforementioned bar disappear in less than an hour, along with what little decorum was left, when left to the mercy of people who could well have been the Scottish Olympic drinking team..
• The smacked-up female guest, pilfering from the handbags of her other friends because she needs to fund another hit, downtown, later that evening. (FFS, who invited her??)
• A fist fight breaking out between bride and her sister over god knows what.
• And not forgetting the genuinely lovely people who want to see their nearest and dearest have a wonderful day that they can cherish for hopefully more than a couple of years.
• PS: What do you call someone with syphilis, gonorrhea and herpes? An incurable romantic.