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!

Lost.

I wonder if there is a 'lost' gene. I reckon the answer is yes and I've definitely got it, and had it for as long as I can remember. For instance I remember as a schoolboy proudly carrying my football boots wrapped in brown paper onto the bus to school; and not so proudly retrieving them from the lost property at the bus depot next day. No wonder I was never the star player, lack of actual match practice I reckon.

Equally vivid is the time spent trying to remember where I'd parked my far from valuable bicycle; definitely stolen I decided, though why should anyone want my dilapidated bike only the Almighty could surely know. Except that in an illuminated flashback I suddenly remembered going to town on my bike and coming home on the bus. And incidentally returning to town and finding my bike still parked at the curb in the market place three days later. Those were the days, my friend!

Then there's library books. Normal people choose their books, take them home and read them; far too boring! Definitely so when you can choose them, take them to the car, put them on the car roof, open the car door, get in and drive off. More fun, if rather expensive.

I remember searching, in a Spanish town (was it San Sebastian) for my Mini-Cooper S parked that very same day; on a humid summer evening; and returning to no car. Even hiring a taxi to tour the area in the forlorn hope that we (my holiday friend and I) recognise a street, a house, anything. Until, walking, (the taxi had long since gone) we espied under a street lamp, over a bridge on the OTHER side of the river a glorious pale blue Mini Cooper S. Not unlike mine; in fact it was mine. We had unsuccessfully, not surprisingly not previously found my pride and joy having unwittingly, very stupidly crossed the river bridge and had therefore been searching on the wrong riverbank for several hours. (Dementia, don't talk to me about dementia, I invented it!)

Unfortunately this 'lost' thing runs in the family. My wife, Paulette, bless her wore large 'owl like' round glasses when we first met. Probably to please me she graduated to contact lenses, with mixed success. When we travelled on honeymoon in my Mini Cooper she triumphantly sported her newish contact lenses. Only they tended to fall out with regular monotony. You need to search for a contact lens in a car full of confetti to really have fun. (My wife crashed the car on honeymoon in the Lake District and we're still married! Shows what a forgiving sort of chap I am!)

I remember being pulled up a sand dune at Sheringham by our less than well behaved bull terrier Buster, Paulette, the children and myself. And what should 'pop out' but one of my wife's contact lenses. On a sand dune, I ask you! Finding a contact lens amongst hundreds of tons of sand, no chance, surely one of natures most difficult tasks. Mind you, I was more successful when my wife lost a lens in the shower. I went to the drains, patiently emptied out all the filthy stagnant, foul smelling water and patiently sifted the gritty, oozing contents; a labour of love, true love. (Every beetle 'shell' felt just like a lens to the touch.) And surprise, surprise, after around two hours I found it. And do you know what, she refused to wear it again; now there's gratitude for you!

We didn't have much luck with my wife's contact lenses. They were forever falling out. they usually stick to the clothes of the person wearing them. The trick is to undress, pile the clothes in a neat pile on the floor and then go through them very carefully. Now this gets great interest if in, say Marks and Spencer, but at home in the same circumstances interest in the lens diminishes for some considerable time.

Life goes on. I notice much time is spent in our family searching for children's dummies, schoolbags, coats, nintendos, you name it, we apparently lose it. Definitely a family of 'losers'. But I bet we're not on our own. What is the biggest thing you've lost; or the most important. And whose the biggest 'loser' in your family, you or the kids.

Doesn't Time Fly When Your'e Enjoying Yourself.

Once upon a time there were two handsome children. At least their parents thought so! Though not of royal blood, far from it, they were indeed blessed. And if times were sometimes hard, neither particularly noticed, for children are oblivious to such trivialities. Plus life is for living and as Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) suggested, 'You have but a few years to be young and handsome in the eyes of the world.'

Being different of age, both heeded George Bernard Shaw's (1856-1950) words, 'It is a woman's business to get married as soon as possible, and a man's to keep unmarried as long as he can.'

But eventually the inevitable happened. Poor but still handsome the couple decided to live their lives together; definitely a case of 'for richer, for poorer.' On the 4th of April 1970 'the deed was done', 'the knot was tied' at St John the Evangelist Church, Newbold, Chesterfield.
The honeymoon night was spent in Knutsford (No jokes please) and the honeymoon itself in the Lake District. The new wife crashed his beloved Mini Cooper three days into the honeymoon. (Not the last vehicle she ever crashed!) Forty years on they are still together; two children, four grandchildren, many an anxious moment but many, many more laughs.

I've no claim to be clever, but John Webster's (1580?- 1625?) words will do for me.
'And of all axioms this shall win the prize-
Tis better to be fortunate than wise.'
I was indeed fortunate the day I met Paulette. For in the words of John Ford (1586-1640) 'The joys of marriage are the heaven on earth.'

Home Sweet Home Six

1970 marked the end of life as a single man. No longer a totally selfish existence considering no one but myself. What a shock to the system after thirty years! Paulette and I married in April and after a brief honeymoon in the Lake District settled into domesticity with an elderly friend of the family, a Mrs Wilson. Some found our choice of honeymoon night at Knutsford amusing; Knutsford is far from amusing I can assure you. Neither was it funny when Paulette crashed my beloved Mini Cooper two or three days into our honeymoon. I took it remarkably well, I thought, it could have easily been one of the shortest marriages on record.

I remember nothing of living under Mrs Wilsons roof. (Evidently it was always dark and Mrs Wilson was into pot plants.) It was an inauspicious start to marriage, hard though the lady tried to make us comfortable. It was some relief when the council provided us with premises on our own. I would like to say their generosity knew no bounds, alas this would not be true.

The council gave us the tenancy of an upstairs council flat in Newbold, close to the Eagle Youth Club which I ran as warden come dogsbody. But I was naive, we were both young and we enjoyed life in our own innocent way. The flat was tiny, actually only the upper floor of what was originally a semi detatched council house. Again the details are remembered by my wife and not myself, consisting of a through lounge come kitchen, a bedroom and a tiny boxroom.

The estate was noisy, lively with no pretentions whatsoever. It is not true that even dogs roamed in pairs but it was not exactly the best address in town. But we were young, it was our first home together and we were perfectly happy in our own little world. The only problem was, as Paulette came in of an evening from her job as a comptometer operator at the nearby Glass Tubes factory, I would be going out to run the youth club. It was obvious that another more compatible existence was needed. Nevertheless they were happy days and our tiny flat was certainly 'home' in its own way.