Is it me or is the Whole World Going Mad?

    Do you ever see the news on television, or read the papers and conclude that the whole world's going mad; or is it just me. And you're not supposed to say 'mad' any more, it's not politically correct. Can we say barmy instead, you tell me. It all reminds me of my old favourite,  Arthur English. 'Stop the world' he used to say, 'Open the cage.' Well something like that! I know exactly what he meant.

    Here in dear old Derby they had a Punch and Judy show in a big shopping complex. Great, Punch and Judy has been going for three hundred and fifty years. And a good time was had by all. Except that a lady representing  some society or other complained bitterly about the violence; particularly the domestic violence. Granted Punch was evil personified. He threw the baby around and abused his wife. But surely Punch and Judy shows don't glorify domestic violence; and he was after all arrested by the policeman.

    An audience, including children KNOW Punch is Evil. I would doubt children would be influenced negatively by this type of theatre. I'm not going to labour the point, but there were many letters in the local paper, The Derby Telegraph; very few supported the opinion that Punch and Judy shows should be banned. What do you think?

    Derby has been hit by the recession, times have been hard for many and financial cuts seem never ending. The local council is aware of how bad things are, so they tell us. They have decided to find out what the good people of Derby REALLY need. (Are there elections coming up I wonder.) So in their wisdom they have brought in consultants to find out what we REALLY need or want. And the cost, good people of Derby? £400,000! £400,000 that could have been spent on OAP clubs or homes;  on the young, on our decrepit roads or cutting the long grass at the side of our roads. We don't need highly paid consultants to search out what we REALLY need. Less spending on banal surveys for starters would help.

    Yet our problems are tiny when compared globally. The whole world seems to be at war. Syria, Iran, the Ukraine see violence daily; war brings horrors that are almost beyond belief. Starvation, the loss of home, mass killing, all are present, often in the name of religion. Yet I doubt that we think of the world beyond our little existences for long. Most of us are selfish by nature, mores the pity. So we live almost in a bubble, not necessarily all of our making. And its the little things in OUR lives that mainly catch the eye. Little things that reinforce the idea that the world's going mad. For instance I watch QVC on occasion. What a sad person I have become! On QVC they have make things out of cards. Mindbendingly dull but whatever turns you on and all that. And do you know they were making this week? Christmas cards, for goodness sake! and they've been doing them since June!

    All these 'happenings' in the world were starting to get me down and I didn't know what to do about them. Then I went with Paulette to shop at Lidyl, parked up and realised the answer was staring me in the face. The Lidl where we shop is situated in Normanton, reputedly the roughest part of Derby but we love it. I sit in the car whist Paulette shops, not through idleness, honest, but my mobility is not good. 

    I  tend to 'people watch', always entertaining, often educational. Ten paces from my car stood a young man, around thirty years of age; unexceptional, someone who you would not normally give a second glance. He appeared deep in thought; certainly in a world of his own, oblivious of others. He proceeded to extract a 'spliff' from his pocket, studied it, put it in his mouth and lit it. For the next five minutes he smoked contentedly if somewhat vacantly; he was oblivious to passers by, of my gaze, of the world beyond the pavement on which he stood. He produced a second 'spliff' from his pocket, lighting it with the tiny but still lit end of his first, very thin 'spliff'. Finally finishing his second 'smoke' he smiled to himself and he was gone, perhaps never to be seen again.

    Whist finishing off this post my juke box played loudly in the background. The unforgettable Harry Lauder i think accompanied my efforts. And the words of his immortal song rang out loud and clear; 'Keep Right On to the end of the Road'. Now there's a thought!

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A Bit of This and a Bit of That.

    I walked unaided across the hydro pool this week. I know its only small  and the water supports you but this was the first time  I've walked unaided for many months. Some fool didn't bother to unlock the lift that goes from the underground car park up to the theatre. ( I do theatre review for a free paper when I can.) It made life very difficult indeed. Abled bodied people often don't consider the disabled. I must confess I didn't until my present dilemma. It's survival of the fittest in this world I'm afraid.

    The play I reviewed was The Odyssey; Greek mythology and all that. For the first fifteen minutes I was mystified. Which brought home to me how ignorant we often are. (I didn't do Greek at school, only Latin.) I reckon I have taken in a million trillionth of the worlds knowledge to date. I'd better hurry up with my reading, times running out!

    My mind is so taxed nowadays, what with the lack of mobility and the lack of sleep. I spend hours pondering the daftest of things. Why, for instance does this cat that has adopted us lick my toes and more ominously, bite, yes bite my fingers. Is it affection or is it trying to eat me! I honestly reckon it doesn't know it's a cat. (Called Mo because it runs everywhere, Cat on occasion, and Crackers because everyone says  'That cats Crackers!'  And why are my dreams so repetitive, like a stuck record in a juke box. I think about it on waking. Now of course I dream about dreams repeating themselves and stuck records!

    I\we spend most of our time at doctors, dentists and hospitals. (Physio alone takes up four afternoons (My wife attends a class mainly attended by ageing heart patients. It is not true they study embalming and flower arranging for funerals on alternate weeks. Ah, the joys of getting old!

    I have not forgotten the future post concerning 'A Day in the Life of ' (See last weeks post.) I have a date in mind in the next few days. I was intrigued with the comments made concerning my 'plans'. It is fascinating to read of other peoples lives and how they/we see ourselves. In the last blog I remarked that I am convinced everything we ever do, however small is stored forever in our 'minds.' I am indebted to

Thinking, just Thinking.

    I sat in a wheelchair, alone in the middle of a shop this week whilst my wife shopped. Operation imminent, wheelchair borrowed. A strange, lonely experience until a middle aged man deliberately came over and talked to me. A sociable thing to do from an aware, affable individual. If he did nothing else that day , no matter, his action towards me was positive, meaningful, deliberate. I must have spent too long this summer just sitting, brooding, because, by heck, it didn't half set me thinking.

    Some more 'What are we here for; what's it all about moments.' ( Those of a religious 'bent', please forgive me, but it's not for me. Lovely idea, this afterlife thing, but too many aspects that don't make sense to me. For instance, Saturday you die, Sunday you're sitting alongside God. (Who?) And, is my mum, died in 1953, still my mum? Is she still forty seven. And will I be able to ask Roman soldiers questions. (I was always interested in Roman soldiers at school.) And so on and so on and so on. Please, no more deep questions concerning 'The Meaning of Life'. Instead, lets just 'muse' for a while on life. (What a lovely word is 'muse.)

    What a strange life it must be for Stephen Hawkin. One of the cleverest men in the world, totally paralysed, able to communicate only by using a speech generating device. Presumably in his mind he has physical movement. Having said that, who am I to ''presume' for anyone!

    This week 'they' reckon there will be 7 billion people on earth. 'They' reckon also from the beginning of time there has been 108 billion humans over the past 50 millenium. All beyond me but I was never any good at maths!

    Saw some programme or other on Monaco, noticed some very, very rich people sitting on boats. Some of them will never work in their lives and will never have to. What is the purpose of their lives. Indeed, does life, any life have to have a purpose? A man I know does a mundane job and hates every minute; he has only twenty or so years to go. Another man I know has an equally boring job but doesn't mind doing it. Is that ok; are both men wasting their lives on earth?

    Who is the very cleverest man (or Woman) in the world. Do they sit and ponder (another nice word, ponder) I wonder.

    All brought on by my imminent operation. Time marches on, we are all born, we live and we die. Role on Christmas, and, as Arthur English  used to say, 'Play the music, open the cage.'

Round and Round in my Head

It's been a funny week. And not particularly funny ha-ha. I had a pre-op medical to set getting a new knee in motion. Only a problem came to light. My heart seems to have some sort of murmur, irregularity, not evidently present a couple of years ago. Strangely enough my wife has always maintained I stop breathing in my sleep (sleepacchnia). Scary stuff. So what happens next; You tell me!

This getting old malarky is a bit of a drag at times. You spend most of your time visiting doctors, dentists or hospital.  So much to do, so much to remember. Do you have nights where you lie in bed with a million and one things on your mind; I'm not the only one surely. And that leads to even more things going round and round!

I have always, always believed that everything that you've always experienced is still in your mind, right until the day you die. The difficulty is in recalling it, in any meaningful way. It took me years to recall my e-book (A Childhood Revisited) and that only covered fifteen years. I reckon I could do another but I haven't the heart. As an experiment last week I lay in bed and recalled anything that came into my head. The following surfaced:

My motorbike TNU137  1957

Derby County playoff versus WBA at Wembley 2007

Ruby Murray, who I reckon sang down her nose. My first love. 1955 (Softly, Softly)

Mundesley school camp in 1953

Little Miss Muffet junkets. Around 1950

Grannies funeral, the snow howled down at the graveside, just like a scene out of Dickens.  1978

A real football, one up on the rich kids, courtesy of an uncle in Derby.   Around 1951

Arriving on Chesterfield station to a new job, very reminiscent of High Noon.  1965

I started to wonder how much could the mind actually store. Stephen Hawkins reckons it can store 10,000 Oxford Dictionaries. Somewhere else I read it can store one trillion gigabytes of memory. I've studied it a bit but it soon loses me when it starts talking about petabytes and synapses. Some clever devils suggest the brain can grow with how much it NEEDS to grow! Thats a bit convenient, surely!

This all gets a bit deep but its partly an age thing I suspect. It all gets a bit personal when you reach seventy!

So many, many things to ponder. I wonder why we have spells of going round and round and spells of comparative 'sanity'. If I was mad, would I know I was mad or would I need someone to tell me? Here we go again. As Arthur English used to say 'Play the music! Open the cage!

Lost..

    I went to Ashover Show on Wednesday. Very good, loads of stalls, and animals, and plants, and people. And I got LOST! Shuffling along in the crowd, (shuffling, its an age thing), 'stalls to the left of me, stalls to the right of me'. And in the blink of an eye, my sister in law, my wife and I became just me and a thousand others; but not me, my wife, my sister in law and a thousand others. As Max Miller would have said, 'Now there's a funny thing'. A funny thing for several reasons I reckon.

   I wrote a short story, once, called Wherefore Art Thou. It's about an old man whose wife vanishes whilst they are both shopping in town. He tries to imagine what it would be like if she never turned up again. (Evidently similar things have happened in real life.) She does eventually turn up, plus my sister in law found me at the show, eventually, because I stayed on the same spot, guessing that she or my wife would look for me. And it's not the first time I've got LOST.

    Will I, or the family for that matter ever forget the 'LOST' episode in Westfield Shopping with my wife, sister in law (again) daughter. and grandchildren. Not wishing to 'traipse along with the whole family, I went to the nearby market to make a purchase and returned shortly. Only my arrangement where to meet in what is a large, two level shopping complex was decidedly naff and completely naively geriatric. Finding someone without specific arrangement was to be obviously, decidedly tricky. I sat on a large sofa amongst a multitude of shoppers and mused on my predicament. From whence events overtook me.

    My daughter, unknown to me in another part of the shopping complex had informed a security 'person' that 'dad' was missing and could an appeal to locate him be put out over loud speakers. Only to be informed that this could only be done if a child was involved. Evidently seventy year old 'children' don't count. But the security 'person' suggested a description of the missing geriatric (me) be circulated so that security 'people' could keep an eye out. To which my daughter suggested that dad looked like Lord Bath. The security 'person' being all of twenty years of age and probably not well read had no idea who the heck was Lord Bath. But in fact speaking to security did the trick. A young chap taking this security alert was in fact looking in my direction (me sitting bemused on the sofa), he came over and confirmed I was the subject of the walkie talkie message he was receiving. He then insisted on delivering me to my waiting family. Great stuff, only he proceeded to do so by talking me by the hand. As I protested, non too politely, that I was LOST, not senile. (You, dear readers, may suggest otherwise!) Family shopping in future, no thanks!

   Some time back I had a rough week incarserated in the Derby Royal Hospital. Dodgy at first but cured by one or two  very uplifting blood transfusions that equalled any of the many draught Bass beers that may well have put me in the Royal in the first place. So much so that round about night five and round about eleven at night I wandered out of the ward and down a corridor. (I was amazed how easy going hospital patient life is nowadays.) My intention was to find a window and look out. I had become disoriented over several days in the place. I did not even know on which floor of the hospital I was situated. The view was great, obviously floor three, or four, or five. Derby at night twinkled in a magical way I had never seen before. Entranced, I turned away from the window and retraced my footsteps. Only the corridor lights were poor, the place had an eerie silence about it and guess what, I hadn't taken note of what ward I was a patient. (I was going to say prisoner, but I was certainly no prisoner!) I wandered about for a while, peered into the gloom of one or two wards. All was quiet, no one was about for most people were fast asleep; at least most patients were! I was unsure what to do next; at least I had the presence of mind not to change floors! My problem was solved, not I hasten to add by my superb directional skills, for out of the gloom appeared security 'people', walkie talkies again at the ready, but not the same 'people' from my Westfield escapade. Presumably I had been reported missing from my temporary home, .Ward Whatever'. I was returned to the ward and so to bed. I received no lecture, though one was perhaps deserved and I returned home several days later, refreshed and happy; I quite enjoyed my stay!

   As far as I know I've not got dementia. The technical term is BHS. 'Bloody hopeless syndrome'. How hopeless do I have to be before my wife is appointed my carer and can get paid for looking after me? I'm only joking, or am I? (Retelling these two episodes smacks of Groundhog Days and dementia rolled onto one. What was it another of my favourites, Arthur English used to say, 'Play the music, open the Cage.'  

    Remember, I wrote the old man lost short story BEFORE these episodes ; are they 'lost' episodes or 'losing it' episodes' You tell me! Are you, like me, starting to lose it on occasion. Ladies, have you menfolk showing the signs! I'm not the only one surely who finds modern living very taxing!

A story told me, heaven knows why by an old man at Ashover Show.

Two decidedly drunk old men leave a village pub and realise, very quickly they are lost. They wander down the lane until one spots a post at a junction. 

'I know where we are' says one, peering at the writing on the post, 'we're in the churchyard.' 'And this old devil were one hundred and twenty years old. I wonder who he were.'

'Easy' says his drinking partner, 'It tells you, look, he were Miles from Birmingham.'

  

May, Marvellous, Maybe. Grumpy's Alternative News.

Almost everyone knows if you have problems reading words, you might be dyslexic. But did you know having problems with numbers is referred to as suffering from 'dyscalculia.' (According to Brian Butterworth of University College London.) I'm cynical but not over surprised. Yet another educational label I suspect. No wonder people get mental blockages concerning numbers. Astronomers have created a 3-D map of the universe spanning from the Milky Way to 380.000,000 years away. British scientists in the journal Nature announce that the electron (the smallest of the particles that compose atoms) differs from a perfect sphere by less than 0.000000000000000000000000001cm. Bet you didn't know that! A gold prospector in the Lake District says the biggest 'gold piece' he has ever found after forty years was .001 of a gram. (Less than a grain of sugar.) What was it Arthur English used to say, 'Stop the music, open the cage'. Enough to make anyone 'dyscalculic. Let's get back to the real world.
I see a woman in Wales claiming sickness benefits was filmed skydiving. I was tempted to think, shame the parachute opened but she was doing it for charity! And Wales again. (Its not I hate Wales week, though I've not forgiven you for a parking ticket ON A CAR PARK.) Thirteen workers at Port Talbot sacked for sleeping 'on the job' have complained about Tata Steels M-15 style surveillance and the lack of a warning. Diddums!

Two young ladies who deserve a pat on the back. Princess Beatrice for putting her much derided wedding hat on eBay where it raised £81,100,01 for Unicef and Children in Crisis. And ten year old Emily Lewis-Clarke from Newton Abbott whose petition has persuaded the Football Association to raise the age limit for mixed sex sides from eleven to thirteen.
The animal kingdom is as ever a source of news. I see there is a move in Texas to make 'noodlin', also called 'hillbilly-hand-fishin' legal. And still in the USA, a ten year old fishing in a canal in Rockledge, Florida 'hooked' a four feet long alligator. So he took it home to show his grandfather, as you would. Oh well, whatever turns you on.
The Table Mountain cockroach has been named one of the top ten species discoveries of the year. The list also includes a glow-in-the-dark mushroom and a leech with enormous teeth.

In Bridlington a six year old racing pigeon fetched £16,700 and it can't even fly. Mind you, it has been bought for breeding purposes. Whilst in Hampshire armed officers and a police helicopter were deployed to hunt a white tiger that had been spotted in a field. Only it fell over when the helicopter got too close. Mind you, it would, wouldn't it as it was a life sized cuddly toy. Strange, but not as strange as the revelation that Nazi scientists tried to breed a secret army of 'educated' dogs that could speak, read and write. The dogs were sent for training at the Animal Speech School near Hanover and the stars evidently were an Airedale called Rolf and a German pointer called Don. You couldn't make it up.

So on to Canada and Kathy Witterick, David Stocker and their four month old offspring, Storm. Funny name for a boy, or is she a girl. You see, the couple refuse to divulge the sex of the child, as they say it will give Storm the right to live as a boy or a girl when he or she grows up. I'm glad all the crackpots in the world don't live over here, and I always thought Canadians were such sensible people.

Nearly there, just a note to say that the Californian preacher who decided the world was going to end in May has decided he miscalculated. Evidently the end of the world is now going to be October the 21st. Now Britain evidently has a shortage of burial spaces. The London Borough of Southwark has only 155 spaces left. And its not long to October! 155 spaces and they reckon that's three months supply. July, August, September. Oh dear, if you live in Southwark I suggest you get in quick!

That's about it. It really is a strange world. But whilst still alive, you can always escape to a quiet 'sit' on a bench in the countryside. Though not on National Trust property you can't! They now have 'talking benches' that comment on the surroundings. Oh for peace and quiet in this mad, mad world!

Mad March, Grumpy's Alternative News.

Lets get rid of good old USA for starters. Where else would two idiots shoot each other over dog mess on a lawn (Mississippi). And where else would would you get a live sex act with a mechanised phallus as part of your university course. (North-western University, Illinois.) Or a man drive 40 miles with his wife on the bonnet of his car. She was trying to stop him from driving. She fell off when he stopped (Los Angeles). The whole place strikes me as mad. It loses £262 million when a Nasa satellite finishes in the Pacific instead of orbit, (it was intended to study the impact of aerosols on the Earth's climate) and spends another £276 million on a small satellite, Messenger that hopefully will orbit Mercury. If it works they probably think it's money well spent. Presumably you have to be an 'Ivy Leaguer' not to see that in a troubled world there are better priorities. Talking of The Ivy League, one question in the entrance exam (SAT) concerned reality television; which explains a lot. Not that Nicole Impresia is impressed. She is suing an academy for placing her daughter with children of lesser academic ability. Mother claims it is affecting her chances of Ivy League entry. By the way, daughter is in a nursery in Manhattan being only four years of age! Before we move on, an American who is worth saluting. Kelly Gneiting, a sumo wrestler from Arizona became the heaviest person to complete a marathon. He weighs 400 lbs but completed the Los Angeles Marathon, (time 9 hours, 48 minutes). Well done, son! The animal kingdom is always interesting. I thought that the rescue of a porpoise three quarters of a mile inland after the Japanese tsunami was heartening. And the mysterious death of the famous polar bear, Knut was sad. Plus the severed thumb, probably from a crow that fell from the sky in Ilford was weird. (It led to a killer's conviction.) Talking of crows, Percy, a one-legged crow has turned up in Felixstowe again after almost four years. Perhaps things are looking up for animals in general. A man in Beijing has adopted more than 140 stray dogs since 2009. He spends around £500 a month on dog food and rent. And a plan to move stray dogs to a site outside the city of Moscow has been dropped. (There are around 26,000 stray dogs in Moscow.) In Holland a crime force has been set up dedicated to fighting crimes against animals. Plus a business man has set up a pet first-aid course in Essex to teach cardiopulmonary resuscitation on dogs, cats, hamsters, rabbits etc (using dummy animals). Adders are under threat in Britain. So they are rounding some up and moving them. This entails trapping them and collecting DNA samples before release; any takers? Finally, the Queen is being replaced on Fijian currency by geckos, snakes or parrots. I'm not sure how she'll take that!

Talking of money (currency, please keep up!) Spanish police are investigating the theft of £1.2

in cash from a convent north of Zaragoza. Evidently the nuns kept it in plastic bags. Oops! A thief stole £172,ooo by sneaking into the cargo hold through the toilet on an Air Antilles aircraft bound for Saint Martin. A computer hacker in Devon stole £7.4 million in 'virtual' poker chips from Zynco. Strangely enough, you can't cash them in, only spend them on poker games! Footballer Stuart Downing realised there was £700, 000 in real money missing from his bank account when he checked. His agent denies fraud! Luckier was Steve Whiteley, who won £1,445,671.71 for a £2 stake at Exeter Racecourse. Very similar (£1.6 million) to the amount the head of Copland Community School in Wembley is accused of defrauding. And again similar (£1 million) the speed cameras cost on the A537 in the Peak District. Sadly they never led to a single conviction. Cash is king some say. Not in Mr Kevin Cash's case. The property developer, worth £500 million, flew into a temper tantrum when his roast chicken dinner was served at the wrong time according to a housekeeper at a tribunal in Reading. Finally 'Psst, wanna buy a Stradivarius?' Thief John Maughan asked just that in an internet cafe when he tried to sell a Stradivarius violin (value £1.2 million) he had stolen. He wanted £100 but the buyer turned it down because his daughter already had a recorder!

Now for some final titbits that caught my eye. A woman in Southwark has failed her theory driving test 90 times. And a man in the West Midlands has failed the practical test 36 times. Mind you, I think a Halifax burglar is a bigger failure. He fell down a 30 foot well whilst escaping on a job. He had to use his mobile phone to summon help. A feminist group in the Ukraine has protested against a New Zealand radio station' competition to win a wife. A new Radio 3 adaptation of Wuthering Heights contains the f-word several times. (evidently to give it a grittier feel.) Budapest is naming a square after Elvis Presley because of his support for the 1956 Hungarian Uprising. Essex police and council chiefs have been using 'Sniffer wardens' to catch employees smoking in company cars. A new cycle bridge in Cambridge was found to be two feet too big when they lowered it into place. Whoever made it would do well at a concert in Manchester in July. It's to be held in complete darkness; Amadou and Mariam, both blind will star.

Another mad month. As Arthur English used to say, 'Play the music and open the cage.'

'Five Things That Did My Head In.'

Am I the only one that gets things in my head; silly, irrelevant things and they won't go away. Plus they implant themselves so firmly that I lie in bed with them going round and round and round. Take last month for instance. I collected items for my 'Alternative News' slot and some items refused to go away.
British Rail are introducing trains with no toilets on South Coast rail routes for journeys of less than ninety minutes. Not funny for the elderly in particular and official comments take the proverbial biscuit. You are advised if 'caught short' from December to get off at the next station, use the station toilet and catch the next train. (At the moment the train stops in the station and waits for you to use the lavatory. Which inevitably makes it late!) By the way, they are also disposing with the drinks trolley! Now I've been on a train once in the last twenty years, so why should this silliness stay in my mind?
Christine O'Donnell is running for the US Senate. Besides once dabbling in witchcraft she has a most impressive CV. Unfortunately a large proportion of it is lies. She claims to have studied at Claremont Graduate University, not true and that she also studied at Oxford University again a 'porky'. She is in good company. Jeffrey Archer talks of his time at Oxford University, but omits to say he only did a diploma course. Just another 'fibster' who claims to be a graduate when he or she isn't. What is it about famous or rich people that they need to fantasise about their lives or their importance. Presumably they are inadequates who need to booster their egos. Pathetic, but why should I care?
A man in a trailer park in Breathitt County, USA shot dead five people. And the reason for his insane behaviour? A relation of two victims said simply. 'He just got mad at his wife for not making his breakfast right, and he shot her.' Now, irrespective of the American attitude to guns and gun ownership, and irrespective as to how he liked his eggs cooked, what an amazing occurrence. I think the reason it stayed in my mind was that it is yet another example of a total lack of self control in some people. Is it something in the water, in the upbringing, the lifestyle, pressure of modern living in the so called civilised world that takes people 'over the top', causing totally unreasonable, unacceptable behaviour? Remember the 'Moat' saga that dominated British headlines not so long ago. But why should I worry. Such people are not part of my life. Or are they lurking round the corner?

The Association of Aesthetic Plastic Surgeons recently met in London. They announced that the latest part of the body to benefit from their undoubted skills is the backside. Evidently the Miami Thong Lift is the in thing for those who have already benefited from liposuction, face lifts and breast implants. American surgeon Dr Constantino Mendieta suggests the buttock is the next big thing in cosmetic enhancement. (Note the Freudian slip.) 'It was always a dirty word, but in reality it's instinctively attractive to men' he pontificates. The 'bottom' line is, it no doubt pays very well. Now why should I be remotely interested? Is it that such skilled physicians could put their undoubted skills to better use, or are there deeper deeper psychological implications in my psyche?
Tesco are to sell viagra, and at a price cheaper than Boots! (there's a juvenile joke there somewhere.) What's their motto, 'Every little helps'. Is there no end to Tesco's endeavours. I get the impression they won't stop until they rule the world. (My local pub closed recently and is now a Tesco Express.) But it's not just their avaricious side that won't go away. Viagra for goodness sake. Evidently you have to have blood pressure and cholesterol tests plus a diabetic screening. And as a Tesco high flyer states, if men pass the tests OK, 'Then we will discuss their options.' Now the queues at the check-outs are bad enough. And don't the little check out girls have enough on, so to speak without extra tasks, or have I got it wrong as usual. Plus it's only available to those between forty and sixty five. Lots of room there for schoolboys, and indeed extreme geriatrics to provide forged documents. But why should I worry. (And of any case I don't shop at Tesco!)

Remember the comedian Arthur English. He used to end his act with the words, 'Play the music, open the cage'. I felt like that on occasions. That is, until I read a recent report. The work of Relate and Talk Talk, it states that the 35 to 44 age group are the loneliest, most dissatisfied with their marriage and unhappiest at work. Anxiety over money, mortgages, pensions, ageing parents, all give them grief. Everything from their sex lives to their work experiences seem to give many of them more problems than people of more mature years. In other words, 'mid life' crisis are not so 'mid life' any more. So what am I worrying about! I might be an argumentative, cantankerous old has been. An arthritic, forgetful dinosaur, yes. But still here, yes, just. So no more laying in bed with a head full of irrelevancies. I'll go back to counting sheep. Better still I'll lull myself to sleep with a bit of Dire Straits, for as they so succinctly put it, 'Why Worry'.

One Man's Meat. What makes You Laugh?

Having done a couple of rather heavy blogs I decided to lighten the mood. And I got to thinking, what makes me laugh.

I looked up the word laughter in the dictionary. 'The experience or appearance of joy, merriment, amusement, or the like.' (Something amusing, improbable or ridiculous; a joke or absurdity.) Plenty of scope there, then.

In a way its a personal thing, also an age thing. I was brought up in the heyday of the radio. (wireless to us geriatrics.) Loved to hear Arthur English, Vic Oliver, Rob Wilton, yet seldom personally found ITMA funny, very highly rated by a humour starved population after the war.

The word ridiculous figures in the definitions. What could be more ridiculous than a ventriloquist on the wireless. (Educating Archie) But the fifties and to a lesser extent the sixties tended to be unsophisticated times and boy, did it show. I suspect Mr Pastry (Richard Hearn) would not be highly rated today, Harry Worth I could take or leave, Benny Hill is now decidedly non PC.

Life has become far more complex, sophisticated and modern humour reflects these trends. The Ben Eltons of this world are clever but not to everyones taste. I recently attended a live performance of Al Murray, the Pub Landlord.' Brilliant but I can well appreciate not everyone would find him funny. But he's not compulsory either. Whatever turns you on, so to speak, enjoy, but enjoy being different without necessarily being critical of the choice of others. For no one loves a clever clogs, we all have different tastes in all things.

Times inevitably change, new trends appear, old ideas are discarded. But not everything that we laughed at all those years ago has been confined to the scrap heap. How many remember Freddie Frinton, who amused mainly in the forties and fifties but never really reached the heights. And how many realise that his masterpiece, 'Dinner for One' (recorded in 1963 with May Warden) is still played on television all over Germany on New Years Eve, on some channels five separate times. (Norddeutscher Rundfuuk NDR) Plus the habit of 'Freddie at New Years Eve' has evidently now spread to Estonia, and has been popular in Norway, Sweden, Finland, the Faroes and Austria for many years. (The New Year connection is misleading, it was never intended as a New Year offering.) Go on, treat yourself, make a cup of tea and watch a master at work. And if Freddie doesn't make you smile, I'd love to know who does.

Note
Freddie Frinton, born Frederick Bittiner Coo, illegitimate son of a seamstress, born in Grimsby in 1909. Worked in a fish processing plant but sacked for telling jokes and performing paradies instead of working. Worked as a comedian on the Music Hall stage in England for many years with only moderate success. His 'Dinner for One' (recorded in 1963 but first performed by Freddie in 1945) is the most frequently recorded TV programme ever. Freddie died in 1968.

It's All in There Somewhere

Probably the main joy of blogging is the contact with others. Ideas and experiences are exchanged which means you never stop learning. I happened to be reading the blogs of Violet Sky, a Canadian lady who never ceases to interest. The particular blog in question talked of writing on five unconnected words chosen by the good lady herself. An idea that grew on me so here goes. The five words chosen for myself were:

Railroads Smoke Pillars Phobias Fish

Railroads.

As children many of us were avid trainspotters. Plus Derby was very much a railway town. Its all a long time ago but some of it is still there in the mind. The engine classifications, Jubilee and Patriot classes; the wheel formations, 4-6-0 and was it 4-4-2 and the names, Leander and Bahamas.

But more memorable was cycling to a lonely spot away from adult examination. Then placing pennies on the track and hiding behind bushes as an express train roared past. And retrieving the now much larger pennies, hot to the touch, trophies to be secretly admired at home, but unseen by prying grown ups eyes. Stupidly dangerous, unforgivable but never to be forgotten.

Smoke

The joys of learning to smoke, walnut leaves in home made pipes and nub ends collected in the streets. A dirty, dangerous secretive past time. How did we ever reach adulthood when we could earn money to smoke Woodbines, Park Drives and, when we wished to show off, Passing Clouds.

Plus memories of granny trailing a plastic bucket, bottomless through the house, leaving behind a line of smouldering 'peg rugs' set alight by the hot ashes she had deposited in the bucket to take to the dustbin.

'This modern stuff, rubbish' was her dismissive appraisal of the problem.

Pillars

A baffling choice, well done Sanna. I seem to remember a dream, or was it just a story from childhood. This chap (was it my dream?) has this enormous Turkish Delight which he devoured with great difficulty but which was tremendously enjoyable. Then he woke up and the pillar was missing.

Intrigued I looked up pillar jokes on the Internet.

What pillar can't hold up a building.

Answer, a caterpillar!

And who spotted the 'deliberate' mistake! The word is of course pillars, totally different. Yet another sign of my declining powers! On a serious note such an error could have major consequences, for instance if the mistake was made whilst dispensing medicines. But what the hell, no need for seriousness today. Remember the girl who wrote 'a pessimist was something her mother bought from the chemist'. And the boy who thought an enigma was 'something you put up your bottom'.
(Both from pupils in my English teaching days) And I had the nerve to be critical of such efforts. Oh how is the biter bit!

PhobiasI don't personally have any phobias that I know of. But I remember as a child a man putting his arm down a rat hole. No way would I do that, but that's pure common sense! My youngest daughter is sensible, mature, level headed and has the most awful phobia imaginable concerning mice. I wonder where such severe phobias come from. Any experts out there?

Fish

Again stories of childhood danger. Being orphaned at thirteen I had an upbringing often lacking adult supervision . In my early teens I had a very near miss in the River Derwent, falling into ten feet of water whilst trying to retrieve dead fish from a tree stump with the aid of a stick. (I was a non swimmer at the time, the spot was a favourite for swimmers due to the close proximity of the power station. The water was warm, hence the dead fish.)

I also remember as a young child shopping on dark autumn nights with my mother and taking home her favourite, yellow fish. Never my favourite but I am reminded every time I see it.

I remember too of fishing in the local brook with home made nets, catching Sticklebacks and Bullyheads, otherwise known as Millers Thumb. I wonder if the children of today still do the same.

And there you have it. I believe everything we ever experience is still in the brain, waiting to be retrieved. The real clever amongst you might suggest where all these thoughts and experiences go after we are no longer 'earthlings'. Nowhere I suppose. But what was it we were taught at school 'Energy can be neither created nor destroyed.'. What the hell was that all about! Deep thoughts, and all from five random words. (Which amazingly reminds me of Arthur English's stage act as a spiv. He sometimes ended 'raving' and uttering the words 'open the cage.') Thank you Sanna. If any of my readers out there are interested, the following five words of my choice might stimulate those grey cells.

punctures embarrassing coincidence feet poems