Archive for ‘Main Theme’

March 17, 2012

Trials of an (almost) Honest Soul

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writing about boats recently (in another forum) brought to mind an incident involving a canal boat some time ago. An incident that was at the time witnessed by the-blonde-with-the-legs. An incident, the memory of which, sent her off into hysterical giggles on the one occasion when she let me get close enough to nibble her ear and harbour thoughts of Percy Filth without her clobbering me and going off home in a huff.

I don’t know if you are aware of it, but here in England we have the same problem with travellers (or tinkers) on the canals as we have on land – fortune telling, scrap metal, etcetera – basically they make a bloody mess where ever they go. Now I know that it was not so long ago that I was singing the praises of ‘Jess Smith’ and her wonderful poem ‘The Scotia Bairn’ and there are, without doubt good and bad in any society – Jess Smith left the travelling life a long time ago.

 It all started in a pub down on the canal, where some of the locals, so called friends of mine, decided that it would be a good idea to put one over on me…

 A guy had been in the pub asking if anybody knew anything about diesels as the engine on his canal boat was running rough and had taken to giving up the ghost at awkward moments. Anyway, to cut to the chase, I ended up one morning bright and early on the canal bank with my toolkit and a look of despair on my face as I realized what they had set me up for. The boat was a seventy-footer, six feet six inches in the beam with a family living onboard that consisted of grandfather, grandmother, father, mother, five kids, a dog and a cat.

The-blonde-with-the-legs, Samantha, had graciously consented to have lunch with me and we were due to meet up at the pub when I had finished.

The problem was that the grandfather and grandmother were the only adults onboard at that moment and unfortunately both of them had dentures. The National Health Service had issued the said dentures back in the days when they were called false teeth, this was about the time when the old king was a lad and in both cases the teeth no longer fitted.

 I tried to ask what was wrong with the engine and all that I got in reply was ‘gumph umph click whistle, click click mumph whistle.’ The kids were also onboard and they ranged in age from about twelve down to about three – so I got the oldest one to translate.

 Now aware of the symptoms, I got to work in the confined space of the companionway to the tiny aft deck and quickly stripped the top off the engine and removed the injectors and the pump. The injectors were send off by fast child to a local garage to be blasted while I cleaned the filters and replaced a couple of seals on the pump. I wanted the job done as quickly as possible as it was abundantly clear that both me and the garage were working for free – and I had a very important date.

 The injectors were back in, the pump fitted and bled in record time and I was ready to begin trials. During the time I had been working the cat had hissed at me, the dog barked at me and the kids had done their very best to get their thievin’ flamin’ hands on me tools.

I finished off putting it all back together and informed Fagin and his gang that I was ready to fire it up – it was 1140 am. The key was turned, the button pressed and the engine coughed, blew out a puff of smoke and started. I got hold of the tiller and shouted for the lines holding the boat alongside to be let go.

 There are no side decks on a canal boat and it is difficult to see over the cabin roof to the small fore deck and that is where grandfather and grandmother where. Four of the kids were in the cabin creating havoc in the living area, the three years-old was standing by me with a comforter in her mouth making sucking noises, the cat was on the cabin roof hissing and spitting at me and the dog was at the bottom of the cabins steps barking its head off after skilfully dodging me boot – it was 1145 and the exact moment when I saw Samantha approaching along the toe path. I cast off the aft line myself, leaned on the tiller, saw a hand raised on the fore deck so opened the throttle. The engine was quite powerful and was singing like a bird and the many tons of steel boat pulled away at a reasonable pace and headed off down the canal.

 Now, what I didn’t know at this stage was that it was the custom for the old boy (grandpa)  to let go the line then push the boat off the bank before jumping onboard. When I opened the throttle he had his feet on the towpath and his hands on the grab rail on the cabin roof – you’ve guessed it. The hand in the air was, in fact, his wife trying to signal me to stop as she held on to her husband with the other, and not as I thought a signal that they had let go the line.

The three years-old was able to see down the length of the boat from where she was standing and could see her grandpa, hanging on for grim death with his lower half in the drink.

‘gluggle, guggle suck suck gubble’ she said, just then the old woman’s head appeared over the cabin roof, ‘mumph, click click mumph grumph whistle click’, she said.

 The kid next to me took the comforter out of her mouth and gesticulating with it said ‘glug guggle guggle goodgy goo goo.’ By now I was convinced that she was trying to sell me the bloody comforter and I wasn’t buying – besides which she looked a bit shifty so I nudged her with me knee and told her to bugger off.

 Somewhere in the next few yards or so the old guy lost his grip and slipped into the canal and his wife stood up on a locker and ‘mumph, whistled and clicked at me at the top of her voice.

The engine was going like a song and I was feeling pleased with myself when I spotted the mother and father stood on the canal bank at a point avout a hundred yards ahead waiting for me.

 At this point I caught sight of the old boy in the water and the-blonde-with-the-legs rushing to pull him out.

So, I had: the cat hissing at me, the dog barking at me, granny ‘mumph and whistling at me, the kid bawling and the old boy doing a fair impression of someone drowning while doing the backstroke. On the bank was the mother and father, she looked like a Russian tractor driver on leave from a Siberian collective and he looked like something dark that I had once seen on a dockside in Marseille – smelled much the same too.

 They were not looking pleased with yours truly so I grabbed me tools, closed the throttle, put the boat into the bank and jumped ashore. Being fairly nibble, I had it away on me toes while they were trying to stop the boat drifting back out again.

 It ruined my lunch date, of course, The-blonde-with-the-legs couldn’t look at me without bursting into giggles and spilling her drinks.

Never saw that boat again, never got paid and to top it all they pinched me compression tester!

Soctia Bairn

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March 1, 2012

Had enough, I’m going!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was my birthday today and I do not want congratulations, good wishes or any of that rubbish. The truth is, that I am a year older, broke, no better looking and still sexless. 

The day started and will end like any other. I got up, had a good scratch, wandered down stairs to get a cup of coffee, toyed with the idea of not bothering to shower, then had a good sniff and decided that I had better. 

I ambled into the garden to see what sort of birds the spring had brought to the table, aimed a kick at a passing cat and missed.

I then spilled hot coffee down my front and damn near sterilized my important bits when next doors dog barked at me, tripped over the clothes prop and nearly strangled myself on a slack clothes line, then slipped off the line and got mud all over my dressing gown. 

My son had put a load in the washing machine before he went to work and halfway through my shower the damn washing machine went into a rinse cycle. This caused a drop in pressure in the rising main and a corresponding drop in the shower. In a safety move designed to prevent anyone in the shower from getting scalded when the flow is lessened or interrupted the shower heater turned itself off. 

Suddenly I was doused in freezing-cold water which caused me to utter a sort of strangled scream, the like of which I don’t think I have ever uttered before. 

I decided to have cereal for breakfast then realized that I had no milk left.

I then decided to have bacon and eggs – but I had no eggs and the bacon was a funny green colour. 

I phoned the blonde-with-the-legs to see if she fancied treating me to breakfast. She totally got hold of the wrong end of the stick and told me that the breakfast wasn’t a problem, it was what was expected during the night preceding it that she was having no truck with then put down the phone before I had chance to explain. 

Having breakfasted on toast and black coffee, I threw the dishes in the sink, turned the tap on to fill the sink, added washing-up liquid then muttered ‘to hell with that’ put my coat on and collected the car keys from the hook by the kitchen door. 

I was about to go out of the front door when I realised that I had left the tap running. Keys in hand, I went to turn the tap off and dropped the keys in the sink full of soapy water. I fished around in the water for a few minutes, whilst muttering phrases such as ‘oh gosh’ and ‘drat it’. 

The electronic part of the keys, which operate the central locking system, refused to work so I went back into the house to get the spare set. I emptied a dozen drawers, three cupboards and several boxes in different parts of the house before I found the blasted keys on the same hook where the others are kept. 

I am depressed, bored, fed up and sick to the back teeth, I would end it all but I can’t be bothered.

If the blonde-with-the-legs won’t do it at night, I wonder if she’ll do it during the day…

February 24, 2012

A Brief Encounter, under the bed!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Those of you who are familiar with my posts will know of my devotion to duty in my continuous assaults on the virtue of ‘The Blonde With The Legs’, but more of that later!

I have many things to tell you, there is for example a family trip to the theatre which was, as you may well have expected, a total shambles – but that story is for another day. I must first tell you about today…  No, on second thoughts I will start with last night.

11pm and I am about to get ready for bed – and my well-earned rest. My ankle (operated leg) had been playing up all day and was rather sore, in fact it was quite painful. Now, I put this down to my using it a lot more than it has been used for some time and the joints being a little stiff.

My first indication that all was not well was when I had difficulty getting my shoe off, then I struggled to get the sock off. When I did, I noticed instantly (I’m very quick) that my ankle and lower leg were swollen to the size of a Goodyear Blimp.

A little concerned at the sight of my swollen limb, I looked around for reassurance and heard the television in my son’s room. Knowing, therefore, that he must still be awake, and finding myself in a bit of a panic, I staggered into his room, waving my leg furiously in front of me.

‘Look at the size of that’, I said, making my way to his bedside. It’s okay, dad, I can see it from here, that’s a fair old size!’

‘It’s bloody sore too’, I said, what do you think caused that?’

Bye the way, I was now limping badly on a leg that had, up until I had seen the size of it, been working perfectly!”

‘Don’t worry too much about it, dad, it’s probably just a clot or something,’ he said very thoughtfully – and seriously.

‘Oh, goody, I thought, It’s only thrombosis, what the hell am I worrying about.’

I immediately went back to my room, lay on my bed and waited for death. At 7am I woke myself up with my snoring and realized that, not only was I still alive but the swelling had gone down.

Which brings me back to my original and favourite theme, The Blonde With The Legs.

Sometime after lunch, in bright, warm sunshine, I meandered out into the front garden to lean on the gate, gaze at the Rowan tree and make a daily wish.

Two seconds later my wish was answered at what can only be described as high speed because the ‘The Blonde With The Legs’ came flying at me, pushed me out of the way, ran into the house and shot up the stairs.

Bye God, I thought, the old girl’s keen, that’s what I call wish fulfilment and I took off after her!

I tell you, folks, I was like a sixteen year old who thought the chance to lose his virginity had finally arrived – I went up those damn stairs two at a time WHILST TRYING TO GET ME SWEATER  OFF!

I saw her disappear into the spare bedroom and in my haste to follow, tripped over the final stair, staggered two steps across the carpet and went head-first into the linen cupboard door. Aware that a chance like this, provided by the gods, may never come again, I quickly recovered and dived into the spare room in time to see a pair of nylon-clad and very shapely legs sticking out from under the bed.

A tad kinky, I though, but ‘what the hell’ whatever floats her boat is okay by me! I was about to dive into action when the siren voice of my beloved arose from the dust-laden, stygian blackness under the bed.

‘KEEP YOUR DISTANCE! Put your grubby paws anywhere near me and I will wring your neck.’ The lady has a way with words – pure poetry…

A few seconds later, a tousled, blonde head appeared from beneath the bed along with two arms that held, lovingly, her flamin’ cat!

‘There, mummy, saved you from the nasty man,’ she said, tickling the thing under the chin.

Turns out, that she had seen her cat take a fledgling blackbird chick from the garden and suspecting that, if I saw it first, I would be less than kind, she rushed to get to it before I did. The cat had bolted into our house and she had followed in hot pursuit.

So, there was a moment in that bedroom when me and that moggy stared at each other and I could see that the cat understood that its one-eyed rear end is well overdue an appointment with a large boot!

But, ‘The Blonde With The Legs… She has the poise, the speed and the grace of a dancer, and a heart of pure granite – what a woman!

 

 

 

January 29, 2012

Unrequited Thingy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I discovered my sexual category last evening while watching TV. You will no doubt have heard the terms heterosexual and homosexual – I am a Retrosexual.

Apparently this is someone who has had sex but it was so damn long ago that they can’t remember how it went. It fits perfectly and I have had trouble with this condition for years.

I have been thinking about sex a lot lately as there seems to be an awful lot of it about, with all age groups, everybody is at it – except for me. You would think, wouldn’t you, that with so much of it about someone could shove a bit my way – I need to get my share soon before something bursts!

It’s not as if I haven’t tried, I even thought of turning gay. Trouble with that, is that every gay I have seen, usually on TV or movies is young, rich and good looking…

I am not rich or good looking and as for young, well…  The only thing that I might be able to do something about is the rich bit. I thought of a bank loan – – – all I have to do is work out how I am going to explain it to the bank…

All my troubles would end, of course, if the blonde with the legs would stop playing hard to get. I have heard, via my personal grapevine, that with the slightly better weather we have had over the last couple of days, she has taken to walking her dog in the local fields and woods.

Now, the last time she did this was when she first got the dog, a poodle, and I came up with a cunning plan. I watched her for a couple of days then decided that it was an opportunity too good to miss, so, I would take to walking my dog – at the same time in the same fields.

I had a plan, what I didn’t have was a dog!

I had no intention of buying one so the only alternative was to borrow one. The only person who was evil enough to help me with this was a guy called Ron who has a dirty disgusting, flea-bitten, mangy old mongrel called ‘Jip’.

I obtained the dog and took it home in a trailer, as I had no intention of allowing it in the car. This horrible slobbering lump of useless canine carcass is fed on untreated, green tripe and the rest is up to your imagination.

We set off on a beautiful, Autumn Sunday morning on a walk across the fields that was calculated to take me to exactly the right spot, at the right time, where I would bump into her in a copse where a wild rose grows.

I had been practicing for hours in front of the mirror the night before, so, that morning, when my moment came, and we finally met in that copse by the wild rose – I was word and pose perfect.

The copse was dappled with golden sunlight, the rose looked and smelled divine, she was flushed, flustered and beautiful – everything was going as planned.

I started in on the smooth talk while admiring the poodle – in case the flamin’ mongrel decided to shame me by making a play for it. It didn’t – oh, no, nothing that simple!

While I was admiring the poodle and smooth talking the blonde, the stupid-born, mangy, bloody mongrel mounted me leg…

Sometimes I think I should just end it all.  David

January 22, 2012

That woman has gone AGAIN!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Blonde-With-The-Legs has gone again!!!!!

I’m heartbroken; she’s gone, gone to that den of debauchery ‘New York’ for three days supposed shopping with her aged mother – a likely story!

I know what happens there, she’ll meet some rich yank and it’ll be breakfast at Tiffany’s after a night of passion at some swanky hotel (I watch a lot of old movies).

I begged and pleaded with her not to go. I sat in her house watching her getting ready, begging her, my voice breaking…

‘It’s no good sitting on my suitcase,’ She said ‘I’m going and I’ve got to pack. I’m just going shopping, it’s always been something my mother has wanted to do and I’m going…

It’s not as if we’re married, we’re not even an item (that really hurt) and we are never going to be if you don’t start behaving – now give me my tickets and passport back!’

‘You’ll forget about me, I know you will,’ I said.

‘I’m going to have a bloody good try,’ she muttered.

‘Doesn’t the four years I have been devoted to you mean anything?’ I asked.

‘Four years? You were with that Monette woman for three and a half of them.’ She barked at me.

‘That was only part time,’ I said.

‘Yes, and for the rest of the time you were either chasing me or leering at barmaids you have no morals.’

‘I have always been faithful to you in my mind.’

‘What mind? Now let go of my leg and get off the floor, it’s embarrassing!’

Just then I happened to notice the rather elaborate wall clock (very poor taste) and reluctantly got up off the floor and headed for the door.

‘Oh, seeing sense at last, are we. It’s not like you to give up so easy.’

‘I know,’ I said, ‘but it’s lunch time and the pub’s open.’

She threw a bottle of channel, something or other, very thick glass that actually dented the doorframe! Just imagine what it would have done to my skull! ! !

As any reader of my little tales will know, I have devoted a lot of time to that woman. I have been totally deprived of any sort of love life, It’s so long since I had sex I’ve forgotten who gets tied up.

I had to bare my soul to the barmaid, a woman who does not tell me to get my grubby little eyes out of her cleavage, in fact I have dipped my tie in my drink on more than one occasion while leaning over the bar to get a better look, doesn’t make me clean up every time she visits (she’s never visited but that’s bye the bye) a woman who thoroughly understands me!

Anyway, if she does come back from New York, I certainly won’t be speaking to her!

January 20, 2012

The Blonde with the legs has deserted me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I might as well begin this blog as I mean to go on, detailing my love life – err lack of it – as it lurches from disaster to abject failure and back again. Four years I have devoted to the pursuit of one woman and neither of us is getting any younger. At the moment, well…

I am having a really bad time. I have been driving my daughter around the country in her quest for a job and in the past couple of weeks the ’miles travelled score’ is well into four figures. I get up, have a shower and start driving, I go to bed driving – two o’clock this morning I carried out an emergency braking manoeuvre and fell out of bed.

I have cats in the garden, blue-tits in the wall, mice in the shed and my son has fleas – everything is going wrong. The bread has gone mouldy, milk’s off, we’ve run out of sugar and tea and I had to have sausages for my breakfast, I am going to bed with heartburn.

Which brings me to the blonde-with-the-legs who is being even less co-operative than normal. She saw me yesterday in the road for the first time in weeks and what did she say?

‘Thought, we’d got rid of you – I haven’t had a bruise for ages.’ The years I have dedicated to the pursuit of that woman…

I let her unfortunate remark go by me, flung my head high and ignored her.

‘Something wrong with your neck she asked?’ Again I ignored her, gave her the cold shoulder.

I decided to be haughty, treat her with distain, cold and proud – after a week I realised it wasn’t working. I went around to her house to give her a piece of my mind!

‘I have come to give you a piece of my mind,’ I said.

‘Sure you can spare it,’ She said

‘I have a damn-good mind to dump you and go back to my ex-wife,’ I said.

‘Give her my sympathy,’ She said

‘You have broken my heart,’ I said.

‘I was tryin’ f’ yer neck,’ she said.

‘You have broken my heart. You are the only woman I have ever really loved and you have thrown that love back in my face and left me desolate and alone.’

‘That’s another thing,’ She said. ‘I am never going to the theatre with you again. You’ve been hamming it up ever since we saw Les Mis’ – you’ve been unbearable.’

‘You’re terrified of real emotion,’ I said

‘Rats,’ She said.

‘I’m going and I won’t be back,’ I said. ‘Don’t come looking for me, as far as you are concerned, I won’t be there,’

It was no good, though. You just can’t get real feeling into it when you’re shouting through a letter box.

first posted on the ON/AVN SGIA, Inc. site