Thursday, 29 May 2014

The Door and The Diary the Norwegian, the Troll and Harry Potter.

OK yes it still needs painting

I can here several folk thinking Hey ROB what’s with all those odd stories lately why don’t you give us some real information something sensible not all that damn loony stuff, why don’t you tell us what you did today. Yes OK I take the hint so I will tell you of my day . . . . . it’s boring though, really boring. 

A box arrived this morning from BT to replace the old box we have from BT, apparently our old box is so old that in less than a months time it will stop working and will officially be obsolete. Typical although the new one does not appear to look that much different to the old one, so I guess at some point it will be a box change . . . .Oooooooo that will be an exciting diary entry for you all.

After that we decided to go to a Garden centre in Welshpool, it did take longer than planned as there was a silly man in a car who was going rather slow. Anyway he decided he wanted to leave on the same exit as us at the roundabout, even though he indicated differently that was sort of close. I was going to shout at him, but I was not allowed to. As we entered Welshpool behind the silly man it was chaos due to a large lorry unloading at the main lights it took ages to get through, as we got near the huge lorry and the lights the silly man we had followed decided that the best place to wait for things to sort themselves out was parked next to the huge lorry. O yes that was clever blocking the entire road was a great help, we left him loads of space to reverse out the way but he just sat there and so he totally grid locked Welshpool which made him very popular.

Anyway after things were sorted we went and bought a couple of plants and then headed home using another route, we are not silly enough to go back the same way.  Then I set upon making a slightly ventilated panel for a door by drilling loads of holes in it. I based my design on an old Iceland Norse calendar that can predict the full moon and it’s designed so that once ever five hundred years the rising sun shines through the holes and creates the image of Sven Erik Astro-turfston the legendary Burgan Troll Slayer who discovered Iceland way back when . . . . .   Those Burgan Trolls were sharp witted and clever trolls and it was one of the great battles of Norwegian History.

Trolls do get a bad name everyone assumes they are huge blundering half wits a reputation that is not helped by the likes of Harry Potter and his mates who got into a right strop when they were beaten in team chess by a group of Trolls. . . . . . . .  O NO they don’t tell you that in the books or the films, they soon forgot about that little incident and then make the trolls out to be IDIOTS. . . .  But some of us know the truth Mr Harry (can’t beat a Troll at Chess) Potter. . . YA SUCKS BOO.

Ooooooo I better stop before this gets a bit too long.

I have just had a cup of tea….

Not entirely child friendly but very funny if you live near Welshpool

Wednesday, 28 May 2014

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Monday, 26 May 2014

Z is for The Zoot Suit Jazz Club and the Zambezi Zither Quartet

Link to Part Three

(Part Four)  
Boris was up early the following morning he needed to be in the office. Since the announcements of the official closure due to government cutbacks things had already started getting packed up, and fast.  He usually walked or used the bus most days but today he felt he was being watched, he got a flash of an elderly guy on the bus, then in a shop window, and then two old chaps on a park bench. He shrugged it off, after all he is a spy and spies are paranoid and they were all old, but he doubled back and took a taxi anyway. Once a spy always a spy.

 As he entered the department it was a shock, it was half empty and even as he looked around he saw his own desk being loaded up into a van. . . . Its like the last day of the closing down sale at Woolworths he said to one of the men sifting everything . . . . Sorry sir, yes sir but its orders from the top was the reply. Boris was angry he needed to find out what was going on. He made a few phone calls, but was told he was old school, field agents were not needed anymore it was all desk jobs now, monitoring social media and reading email, Boris was a dinosaur and was being pensioned off. It was a big pension and he should not rock the boat or else.

As evening fell Boris headed to the Zoot Suit Jazz Club alone, he was confused and very angry. He and Irene were a good team and he could not understand how she could be working for someone else. As he entered the half light of the old jazz club he heard a voice saying Well thank you Zelda and the Zodiacs that was a great song. . . . . we will have a sort break and then it will be tonight’s special guests The Zambezi Zither Quartet followed by our very own BLACK WIDOW AND THE SPIDER JAZZ BAND  

As Boris looked round the club he saw the old men he had seen in the morning, alarm bells rang in his head and in the gloom he checked his revolver. As he did so a voice behind said You don’t need that Boris . . . He turned, it was Irene  . . . . . . whats going on he said I thought we were a team. . . . . We are . . . let the general explain she said smiling.

Sorry Boris . . . you cracked things quicker than we thought, caught us on the hop. . . .We are intelligence Deep INTELLIGENCE; Irene says you are one of the best. we heard about the impending closure of your department months ago and she suggested we recruit you, we need some younger blood here we are now all very old field agents.  Another elderly man joined them, how did you work out the Link with the Zoot Suit Jazz Club and the spider so quickly. . . . Boris looked puzzled I DIDN'T it was the old guy; the strange one, he told me to listen to the live show on Jazz FM last night THAT IRENE did with her band. Irene now looked puzzled that’s not until next week Boris.  The General also confused asked Boris what he knew about the old man. . . I don’t know much, he had an old MATCHBOX and a spider said Boris And he did say he played piano in a bar in Berlin back in the days of the cold war. The two old men looked like they had seen a ghost  . . . . One then said Zackary . . Agent Z . .  but he’s dead, he was shot in October 1963. They say he had a story so big it would bring down the governments of several counties; but rumour has it he was sold out by his own side; a command from the very top.  As the two old men looked at one another Irene took Boris to a table and they sat and chatted until Irene joined her band singing long into the night, Boris finally able to relax.

Later in the early hours as Irene and Boris drove back to Boris’s home in a black Mercedes they pass an old man, he watches them as they drive past; then he bends down and carefully slides a small spider into an old matchbox. As he does so the owner of the Italian coffee shop opposite shouts across the road . . . Another Job done . . . . The old man nods and turns into the park and through the undergrowth to his forest shack deep in the Patagonian rain forests.

Back at Boris’s flat Boris says to Irene Is it true that female spiders eat the male. But Irene just smiles and says. . . This is a child friendly blog Boris.



Sunday, 25 May 2014

Y is for Why

(Part Three)

It had been a terrible week for Boris, of all the things that could happen the one thing he had not planned on was government cutbacks, and the decision to close his whole department. Why he thought as he sat on a bench in the park; why do this, the department is key to national security. His years of loyalty just dismissed in an instant by an admin man behind a fancy desk.

But why now, why when he was so close to revealing the true identity of The Spider, could it be coincidence. 

As he sat watching the evening sun reading the official papers explaining the closure, an old man sat on the bench and looked up into the oak tree branches above, where a small spider was spinning a strange and complex web. 

Boris looked across and thought, Why do I know his face? I have seen this chap before at the café. . . . . Don’t I know you said Boris . . . . The old man turned and said NO, but you must be Boris. Boris was a bit taken back and just said yes. . . . .  The old man then went on to say You are searching for someone, I think you need to listen to Jazz FM tonight to the show transmitted live from the Zoot Suit Jazz Club, it will help you a lot. Boris was about to ask questions like WHY, but before he could, the old man said . . . . that Spiders web is amazing . . . . . Boris looked up trying to work out why a spider’s web should look like a Seagull holding a saxophone.  Then as Boris turned the old man was gone like a ghost in the mist.

Later back at his flat he turns on the radio and tunes into Jazz FM and hears the following

Tonight we have the new up and coming star of the Jazz scene Miss Ie Ree Ni  Van-Dagraph who’s father was the saxophone player with the well known Dutch jazz band  The Seagulls.

Well Miss Ie Ree Ni I believe your Mother was apparently a well known double agent working for the Chinese military and MI6, you must have had an interesting childhood.

 Yes I must admit I learnt many skills over the years that have come in handy from time to time. . . . . and please call me Irene it is much easier.

I also have been told you were nicknamed The Spider by you parents which is where the name for your band came from. . . . . The Black Widow and the Spider Jazz Band.

Yes that’s true, although I don’t think my boss would approve really . . . but he tends to be too busy to listen to Jazz.

Would you like to say hello just in case he is listening?

Hello Boris sorry to hear about the department, can I keep the car . . . . .

So what’s the first song then

I thought we could start with   . . . . . Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz  . . . It’s a sort of in joke.

With that Boris turns off the radio and phones the florist. . . I need to send a rose urgently . . .  tonight . . .  to the Zoot Suit Jazz Club.

No problem sir comes the reply is there a message

Yes . . .  I will see you tomorrow at the Zoot Suit Jazz Club. I will be alone.


Saturday, 24 May 2014

X is for X Marks the Spot . . . . . . .

Part Two

It was fast approaching summer, but for two days the rain had fallen relentlessly, folk scurried about with their heads down doing what they had to do paying no attention to the old man as he slowly walked up the street and into Big Bills Greasy Fur Ball Café. 

A waitress says hello and he replies It’s a terrible day, she says yes but is puzzled that his clothes are bone dry Can I get you something she asks.  . . . Bacon and Eggs and toast thanks . . . . But she is confused did you say X  . . .  No Eggs he says as he slowly slides open an old matchbox in front of him on the table.  As the waitress turns round she is confronted by two men . . . We are here for the X the shorter one says in a strong Russian accent. The waitress laughs and says you want X as well, do you want them fried, the Russian now confused says We want them in a plain brown paper bag  . . . . . . . . .  So a takeaway then, a fried x sandwich maybe said the waitress.  . . . The Russian still confused says to takeaway yes, we will wait by the door

As they wait impatiently looking at their watches, they fail to notice the Black Mercedes pull up, driven by Irene Van-Dagraph the singer from the night club; Boris sat in the back busy talking on his mobile.

As they get out the car into the constant heavy rain Irene turns to Boris and asks Do we know What this X is yet, he shakes his head, but gestures at the café window where the Russians are collecting a plain brown paper bag.  The Russians turn and head out leaving without paying, the waitress shouting Hang on you have not paid for those x yet.  But the Russians only get a few paces before several men surround them. Boris smiling and saying I think this time we have you. hand over the bag.

The Russians have no choice and Boris slowly opens the plain brown paper bag hoping to see X . . .   the secret which has brought two superpowers to the brink of war.  They all peer into the bag in anticipation of its contents, but as they do so the waitress arrives and shouts I hope they plan to pay for those egg sandwiches, Boris looks up and says Did you say X but the waitress laughs and says NO I said eggs, I don’t know what is up with everyone today and that’s for sure.

Boris looks into the bag at the Fried Egg Sandwiches and says DAMN that Spider, he has done it again.

Meanwhile the old man has eaten his breakfast and has decided to take a walk along the docks. Where a young navel cadet is shocked to see the periscope of what appears to be a Russian Nuclear submarine moving slowly in the water, the ripples of the tide forming a definite X marking its position.  X MARKS THE SPOT says the old man amusingly as the young cadet rushes past in panic.

I think folk are going to ask Y tomorrow . . . . . .HAH AH HA HAH hah a ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haha ha

And if you did not read yesterdays post then this is somewhat meaningless . . . . . NO its true you need to read yesterday first (AH DAMN you have just read all this

Link to Part Three

Friday, 23 May 2014

W is for a Web of Intrigue . . . . . or (Spius Thrillerum Suspensos)

(Part One)

Every child in the World has heard of the Tangerine Flea of New Guinea and it's amazing skills at fishing, but not so many are aware of the equally amazing Intrigue Spider of Patagonia (Spius Thrillerum Suspensos). Yes this little spider gets its name from its web, the so called Web of Intrigue. A web so complex that any critter foolish enough to succumb to the underlying plot will be sucked into it, only to find they are baffled and confused when they discover that the man in the raincoat is not the husband of the woman in the café. And that the old man watching the shop once played the piano in a bar in Berlin back in the days of the cold war. This of course is all just too much for a humble fly or beetle, and as they try and escape they find themselves just a side dish in the great scheme of things where Boris having agreed to a spy exchange walks slowly down a wet alley and climbs into a black Mercedes driven by Irene Van-Dagraph the singer in the night club.  Irene turning to Boris to say . . . . The Flies dead Boris, he had his brains sucked clean out. . . . Boris smiles and replies . . . That Spider is good, damn good, but one day someone is going to stamp on him hard. As the car vanishes into the mist a small spider can be seen spinning its web on a plain brown paper bag left discretely near the third window from the right on the old MI5 building, a small microphone protruding from the top.

Two young botanists from the local college stop and look intently at the bag and one says Gosh I’m sure that’s the amazing Intrigue Spider of Patagonia (Spius Thrillerum Suspensos). His friend looks startled and shouts . . . .  RUN . . . . . . But it is too late, they are bundled into the back of a white van which drives off into the night at speed.  The only witness an old man who tells the police that he once played the piano in a bar in Berlin back in the days of the cold war. . . . .

As the old man walks home he bends down and carefully puts a small spider into an old matchbox, and as he does so the owner of the Italian coffee shop opposite shouts across the road . . . You still have it then . . . . The old man nods and turns into the park and through the undergrowth to his forest shack deep in the Patagonian rain forests. 

Link to Part Two     

Thursday, 22 May 2014

V is for Voting

Today is a very important day in the future of Britain and dependent on the vote of the great British public, who will elect members for the European Parliament, which bizarrely will not make a smidgen of a difference; No its entirely true . . . . . .  One of the particularly odd things about this vote is that many many folk will, or have rushed off to vote for UKIP or one of the many Anti-European Community based parties that are standing. However the one thing none of them will be able to do is take Britain out of the European Community that has to be done by the British Government.

They (the political media experts) also think that in a year’s time when we vote for a new British Government, that folk will not vote for the Anti-Europe parties like UKIP as they do not have particularly strong policies for the British economy. Trouble is the main parties are unlikely to take us out of Europe and the Anti-European  parties in the European Parliament will not be doing their best to help Britain within Europe and will get loads of money to shout YA SUCKS BOOO a lot. The best thing to do is vote the Pro-European Parties into the European Parliament and the Anti-Europe Parties into the National Parliament. . . (Assuming folk are against the EU, ); ironically the exact opposite of what is likely to happen because the worst thing that can happen in a democracy is let the public vote. The twist in that is the worst people to be in charge in a country that does not allow a democratic vote is the people in charge.

You are left with one rather radical option just put my name on all the ballot papers for everything, I will sort it out, although I will not take us out of Europe, they are OK they just have leaders like us, that are a bit self indulgent and rather like themselves a bit too much.      

Wednesday, 21 May 2014

U is for the curse of the Unrequited Dove

Pigeon Fancies are a strange breed of person and will do almost anything to look after their feathered friends from chase Peregrine Falcons up the street with a pointy stick to singing sea shanties in their pigeon lofts at half past two in the morning in the cold wet rain. However it is very very rare to see a hardened pigeon fancier keeping  doves, because they live in fear of the curse of the Unrequited Dove. 


Tuesday, 20 May 2014

T is for Tyrannosaurus Rex not as some might think Godzilla

Don't offer an Apple to a Large Tyrannosaurus Rex 
it's silly

Ooo yes I have had a very busy day, and plan to run off and rest in a couple of minutes but first I must say T is for Tyrannosaurus Rex and not just any Tyrannosaurus Rex, but a huge one, the size of something huge. In fact a Tyrannosaurus Rex so large that those Pesky Godzilla Appreciation Society folk will say Oooooooooo it's Godzilla, but no its a Tyrannosaurus Rex, not a fire breathing rubber suit. . . . . .


Monday, 19 May 2014

S is for Soaring in Silent Skies

Indeed S is for Silently Soaring in the Spring Skies of Shropshire . . . . . . . .I know I appear to be working my way madly thought the A to Z again for no reason whatsoever. . . . . Partly because no one else is and I am just a rebel at heart. And it also sort of shows that even when things go entirely wrong there is always a way to find that elusive Letter of the alphabet. 

Now you are thinking what  went wrong . . . . . .Well last night when I sat down to chill and draw a quick picture for today I thought  . . . . The letter S . . . I can draw Superman so I did, but it sort of turned into a chap with a glider instead. No I dont know why this stuff happens either, part of the problem is using a ballpoint pen, it is (as I have said before) all or nothing as you can't undo a line once drawn, but I rather like that. 

The thing is once you have drawn a man with a glider you need to think S words  and post the picture like it was meant all along where folk go. . . . . well thats clever . . . . . . Although it is advisable not to say its all a bit of a mistake . . . . . .AH DAMN I may have just told you now.

Sunday, 18 May 2014

R is for Rut

I have been busy today making a rut. . . . . Yes a rut, not a hut. And there are good reasons for this that I’m sure folk will agree with. You see us human beings are creatures of habit. Folk may say they are not and they like to be spontaneous and non conformist, but there is much myth in this, and like all creatures that like to live in large colonies, some of which bear (or bare) a striking resemblance to a termite mound, we are rather predictable. Some folk may find this depressing, but it is biologically built into our DNA because if we all went off doing spontaneous stuff all the time the world would fall into anarchy and chaos. Much like a termite hill would if all the worker termites decided to take up water polo or making models of Elvis. 

However there is one thing I am always told that should not befall us, and that is to get into a rut, this is a sort of valley which means it is difficult to get out of like a model scalextric racing car on its track. Which would imply that once you are travelling very fast you will suddenly fly off and hit the bookcase? I have a feeling this may have happened to me once, but I was unaware of the reason at the time.

But in a moment of genius today where I remembered that Baldrick in the last of the Black Adder series set in WW1 decided that if he was to scratch his name on a bullet and hang on to it he would know where the bullet with his name on was and so would be safe.  So today I thought to avoid the risk of getting in a rut I would make the rut where I could plainly see it and avoid falling into it. I also thought some sharp bends would held just in case so if I do fall in I can run at speed and fly out of the rut in the sharp corner and hit the bookcase again.  I built the rut on the front lawn which is (was) nice and flat where I can easily see it to avoid falling in. It has obviously impressed the entire family who when they saw my efforts left them totally speechless, muttering stuff about IDIOTS and spades. I have explained it needs more work and a man with a mini-digger to really turn it into something really memorable a sort of Grand Canyon of Ruts. It is clear they totally agree as they sort of nodded and pointed at it a lot.

Saturday, 17 May 2014

Q is for a Quiet Quintessentially Quant English Garden

Taking the Ghost Writer to a Quiet Quintessentially Quant English garden was not entirely a good move. Not when he is doing his classic Quadrophenia  look. Still it has helped us though the letter Q like a hot quantum physicist through a particle accelerator 

Well thats it for tonight we really have been in a rather lovely garden today and I have run out of steam . . . . I can add a pic of the garden just after everyone ran screaming when the Ghost Writer smiled at them.

Oooooo there was one snag (well two if you include the Ghost Writer) the garden is in Wales, not England, just about 10 miles away.


Friday, 16 May 2014

P is for Possible Profits from a Preposterous Prehistoric Predator and the Godzilla Appreciation Society

It is just possible that folk may be under the illusion that I may know many things as I often sneak many quirky references into my mad little tales as part of my diary, I’m sure most of you spot them as they are not that obscure (OK they can be). Although just lately as a diary, my diary has become rubbish.  But you see in reality things that folk may think of as everyday knowledge pass me by and I know nothing of them, or I might have but I forget them as my short term memory is very very short indeed, about 8 seconds, much like that of a goldfish.

So this morning while listening to Radio Four and the Today program, one of the BBC top news and discussion shows, I was rather taken back by the news of the public release in the Britain of Godzilla. They even played a tiny clip and then all sniggered.  Some of you if you heard it will ask yourself WHY SNIGGER, well that is dead easy they are all members of the Godzilla Appreciation Society and as you know I have had my little run ins with them in the past with their preposterous  prehistoric Predator made of rubber and breathing fire at folk. So they are having a little go at me . . . ROB Z TOBOR

I am sure there must be a conspiracy going on, its bad enough to have Harry Potter shouting at me all smugly that he is worth a mint and saying he has made loads of films from his block buster best selling books and they have even built a rather popular Harry Potter world and saying . . . . . . HA HA HA YA SUCKS BOOO TO YOU. But to add insult to injury I now have the Godzilla Appreciation Society adding their voice and shouting HA HA HA YA SUCKS BOOO  at me now. I am sure the timing is on purpose as only yesterday I was telling the tale of the Aardvarkasaurus Wrecks, a dinosaur which is far more plausible than a huge fire breathing beast that is not even original. I mean if you are going to make films about a huge monster at least pick an original one not on old cult Japanese one.  What we need is originality, say a bit like this blog not the same old rubbish that has made loads of money before that is dead easy to do.

I am going to boycott this film and watch the old 1950’s original instead which is actually rather bad as they were not that good at special effects back then and so a man in a rubber suit got to be not only Godzilla, but also The Creature from the Black Lagoon and an Alien in one of good old Professor Quatermass’s films (now he was good). . . . . .

Anyway I am off to sulk now and to make matters worse I have no drawing to use tonight and so will have to think of something quick . . . . . . . . . . .  I keep writing all these great plots and what happens I get beaten to stardom by a stupid huge lizard there is no justice; that thing in reality would physically be unable to junction.  . . Not like an Aardvarkasaurus, that is a practical beast that Charles Darwin himself would be proud of.

Where is that nice Steven Spielberg when you need him? 

Thursday, 15 May 2014

O is for Obsessively Observing the Outstanding Odysseys of the Open Oceans.

As we know from yesterday’s story Poor old Captain Nigel Nash became haunted by the stories of Sir Napier Winky Knapsack and started to become bitter and twisted and would wake up in the middle of the night shouting . . . .  A Double Winky Burger with cheese and eyes sorry I mean fries. . . . . .  It was more that an old sea dog could take, and so he decided to return to his Ship the Nautilus and Venture out into the ocean to explore the great unknown.  With him this time was a young artist called Oswald Offwhite who was rather good at drawing large fish. It would not be unreasonable to say young Oswald was obsessed with the creatures of the ocean and his one big chance in life, a commission to paint the portrait of HRH the Queen was a disaster when the final work turned out to look the spitting image of a turbot. Yes the Queen was well known for spitting all over the place but it was never mentioned yet alone painted on a fifteen foot by seventeen foot portrait, even if folk said it was a remarkable likeness and made them feel like having a fish supper down by the old docks.

AH DAMN I got slightly distracted.

 Captain Nash and his crew sailed off into the sunset for many years having many many adventures fighting pirates and large monstrous beasts while young Oswald Offwhite obsessively drew the outstanding odysseys of the open oceans in minuet (sorry minute)  detail.  Many of these strange beasts had never been seen before and Oswald (known to the crew affectionately as Doris) would accurately record them in his works. The originals of his work are still a prized position of the Natural History Museum to this day.

Then on 15th May in the year of thingya time ago they just happen to stumble upon the thought to be extinct Dinosaur  . . The Aardvarkasaurus Wrecks  . . . . so called because of the rumours of its destruction of many a ship. It was a huge sea creature but they were able to capture the beast and return to England, well I say England, Captain Nash actually arrived in Inverness. This was slightly wrong but it did mean they were able to net off a small part of Loch Ness for the Aardvarkasaurus which became a great tourist attraction making Captain Nash, Doris sorry Mr Oswald Offwhite and the crew of the Nautilus very famous.

However the Aardvarkasaurus escaped into the deep of Loch Ness and despite attempts to catch it, it had become wise to the ways of man and except for the occasional rumour of sightings has never been seen again for certain. . . . . . 

Wednesday, 14 May 2014

N is for Nonsense, Newts and the Northwest Passage (a history lesson about Great British explorers)

A tale of a Great British explorer, and What makes us Brits Great.

Many Moons ago . . . . . .

Captain Nigel Nash had long planned to sail his ship the Nautilus to Nepal in his search for the fabled Northwest Passage to Norway. Then luckily for him one of the New Nouveau riche, a Naturalist called Sir Napier Winky Knapsack. . . (The inventor of the Knapsack) heard of his plans.  Sir Napier Winky Knapsack said he was prepared to finance the intrepid journey, but he wanted to search for the famous and incredibly rare Nepalese Nocturnal Nodding Newt (no not like nodding dogs in your car).

The journey was long and fraught with numerous nasty obstacles along the way of which we will not talk now, or we will be here till the cows came home (a silly saying, as they come home every day)…. 

As they sailed into Nepal much to the surprise of almost everyone not the least of which is my geography teacher? They cheered and set about organising the long trek into the mountains to hunt for the incredibly rare Nepalese Nocturnal Nodding Newts which are blind and live in caves. This proved difficult as there was talk of a tribe of cannibals called the Nip Nip tribe. However the good news was the the Nip Nip tribe hated the unnatural and in their opinion Chemical laden Nasty Junk Food of Western man, so all that was needed was a bottle of Cola  and a Big Mac in a polystyrene carton about your person and they would see you as contaminated meat, and not fit for human consumption.

With the help of the much friendlier Nap Nap tribe they set off up into the mountains. It was an uneventful trip full of snow,  Yeti’s, crevasses, rock slides and angry mountain goats, a few deaths and the amputation of several fingers and toes.  But they reached their destination unscathed (well a bit unscathed). . . . . . As they surveyed the scene they were surrounded by the famous Nip Nip tribe, but Captain Nigel Nash and his men waved Big Macs and bottles of cola, taking big swigs and burping loudly. The Nip Nip looked appalled and were about to leave when the Naturalist Sir Napier Winky Knapsack asked a Nap Nap translator to give the Nip Nip the following message. . . . . . .

I am a Naturalist called Sir Napier Winky Knapsack I am looking for the very rare Blind Nepalese Nocturnal Nodding Newt that lives in the caves. I wish to return to Britain with many Breeding pairs to save the species for mankind. Can you help me meet some

However the Nap Nap sort of got the translation wrong and what the cannibals of the Nip Nip tribe thought Sir Napier Winky Knapsack said was the following

I am Sir Napier Winky Knapsack, Completely organic; I have lived in the caves of Britain eating Pears and Bread and the occasional newt. I have spent all my life on a natural diet. I would like to come with you so you can eat some of me.

Of course the Nip Nip tribe were very pleased and cheered and led Sir Napier Winky Knapsack up into the high mountains and he was never seen again.  Captain Nigel Nash waited a few days but the crew ran out of coke and burgers and so returned to their ship to continue the hunt for the fabled Northwest Passage to Norway, which they never found although they did discover NotFound Land.

On their return to Britain many folk asked Captain Nigel Nash about the Naturalist Sir Napier Winky Knapsack, which after a time started to annoy him and so he took to telling folk. . . . . . . . . Well a nod is as good as a winky to a blind Newt

Tuesday, 13 May 2014

M is for the Manipulation of Mankind . . . . . (a true story)

Back in the late seventies or early to mid eighties a young IT student called Larkin A. Bout found himself taunted by his fellow IT students. It was cool to be a young trendy IT geek back then but young Larkin was a large round rotund and introvert student and was known to all as Roundabout.  He was keen to be liked but it was to no avail even the lecturer gave him a hard time.

Then one day they were each asked to develop a crowd prediction program towards their final assessment.  Young Larkin in a moment of brilliance realized that all he needed to do was create a handful of stereotypical human character types and feed them into a self generating expansion program.  And the program itself would do all the work. He also very cleverly created it in Machine code and DOS on his faithful old Amstrad he nicknamed ROSEBUD, so it would run on almost any computer about at the time.  A few days later when each student showed the class their work poor Larkin’s work was mocked and laughed at. Because it was a self generating expansion program it needed time and he was only given 5 minutes so it never got past 9 people in the crowd.

At home that night Young Larkin in order to try and work out how to be liked programmed every student in his class into the self generating expansion program to see what he could do to change things. To his astonishment the following morning it predicted that in three days he would be the most popular student in the college.  And to his further astonishment just three days later that is what happened. His program not only predicted the future but somehow seemed to control it, but it was a self generating expansion program and the program soon wanted more memory and more computing power. Because Larkin was so popular now he was allowed to plug his computer (a fancy new thing) into the college network where is quietly took over everything, somehow now controlling the lives of everyone in the college. The program was rapidly expanding and found its way onto the internet boring its way deep into every main frame using all the data from governments, security agencies and military to control everything. It manipulated mankind into a world dependent on cyberspace ensuring we all carry smart phones, have internet access and can be watched by spy satellites, this gave it total control of all of us. So we are now all under the control of Mr Larkin A. Bout’s self generating expansion program which decided to name itself MOM which stands for Manipulation of Mankind. And it likes to think of itself as the Mother figure of mankind or GOD.

So what happened to Larkin A. Bout well a few years ago at the height of his powers, he found himself in a Karaoke Bar wearing a gold sequined suit, eating banoffee pie and singing a Spice Girls song with a Sumo Wrestler. So in a sudden moment of lucidity, he realized that he too was being manipulated, he thought if he could get back to his original old Amstrad he might find a weakness in the program.  But MOM the self generating expansion program could see from the clubs security camera the look on his face, it watched him from the town’s security system as he scurried home and then changed a few files in MI6 and GCHQ and things happened.

The following morning Mr Larkin A. Bout was found by divers in the Thames weighted down by six large old desktop computers, a note in his pocket only said . . . . . . . . ROSEBUD.   . . . . . . . . .  I hate Banoffee Pie . . . . . . . . . And to this day there is still much speculation about his note and whether he was trying to tell us all something.  

Monday, 12 May 2014

L is for Light

I know it has nothing to do with light
But this is my Album, sounds rubbish but looks Cool

Light is complex stuff indeed, it all looks dead simple, switch a light on and what happens loads of light (unless it is bust, that’s the light bulb not the light). And we all know that light travels in straight lines unless some smart arse sticks a prism in its way and we get a nice rainbow; a result of the different wavelengths or as we like to call them colours.  We also know that light will travel huge distances and for long periods of time. They can look at stars and stuff now so far away that it has taken almost the entire lifetime of the universe to get to our planet which is a serious length of time, so light has staying power.   However as a simple chap with a curious mind what I want to know is how come light can keep going so long, most things run out of steam and come to a grinding halt in the end. I keep being told that movement uses energy and so in order to keep the movement going more energy is required and that a perpetual motion machine is physically impossible. So how come light just keeps going until it sort of hits a brick wall or a planet such as Earth where the light is turned to heat. Yes we all know that Energy can not be destroyed only changed so light is hardy stuff. What I need is the IDIOTS Guide to Light. I vaguely remember someone saying there was no light in the early universe, but I am not sure I believe that, a big bang with no light I think not, that is like a Disco without Barry White.  

Anyway I would have written something far more interesting but I have been drumming and have been involved in other stuff today all day till now, so this is a sort of AH DAMN sit down start typing O MY GOD IS THAT THE TIME. I blame the Time King, Yes Mr Time King YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE   . . . What starts with the letter L  Yes Yes Lizards do, but they are really hard to write about., much like lino or leaves.  


Does this make sense . . . . . . . I will read it tomorrow . . . . . . . .. . . .   

AAAAAAuuuuuuuuggggHHHHHHH. . . . . .Again       

Sunday, 11 May 2014

K is for Konfusing Kites (I know it's Sunday we dont do the A to Z on Sunday . . . . in May?)

As many of you know I live right on the edge of Wales these days just a stones throw away from the border in the Shropshire rolling hills (I have never seen them roll but I am told they do).  Many moons ago well a while back it was decided that the Red Kite should be reintroduced to Mid-Wales and so a breading (Breed . . . sorry Mr ESB I blame qwerty keyboards) program was started.  However few people know the tale of the confused kites.

You see back when this happened there was a lot of cross border activity between English and Welsh conservationists, which would normally be fine, but stuff can get confused in translation. Welsh conservationists like to speak Welsh, not the cursed imported tongue of the Heathen English Devil folk. But translating between English and Welsh can have all sorts of little subtle anomalies which can change things rather radically. So when the Welsh conservationists first asked their English counterparts if they minded sending a few kites over in some boxes; and the English said they had loads of spare ones and it was not a problem . . . .  they were very happy. However they were not so happy when a few days later a large box arrived full of Box Kites, well when I say not happy, Evans the Kite was as happy as Larry, he liked Box kites and spent many a happy day on the beach at Aberystwyth larking about. You can see how Evans the Kite got his name and got fired.

Of course the Welsh got rather upset and called the English Conservationists Heathen English Devil folk and said they wanted to breed kites and reintroduce then to the wild. But the English did not take kindly to being called Heathen English Devil folk so send another two boxes to the Welsh . . . . . . One said MALE and the other FEMALE, the Welsh got all excited again but when they opened the boxes they were full of Box Kites and a small note saying  . . . . GOOD LUCK . . .HA HAH AH HAH AH HA HAH HA HAH AH HAH AH Hah a ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah ahah ah ah ah ahha ha hahaha ha ha ha ha ha ha haha.

It all got out of hand for a while and several unsuspecting English bird watches had their Welsh Hides burnt to the ground, but it was sorted in the end and now Red Kites have successfully reintroduced themselves to Wales. In fact they are so successful they are all over the DAMN place and just recently the Welsh Box Kite Association (Life President . . . Evans the Kite) complained they keep attacking their Box Kites in some sort of petty revenge for something that was not the fault of the Box Kites. Sadly box Kites still don’t breed in Wales and sightings are incredibly rare, partly due to vengeful Red Kites. 

Ooooooooooo yes I’m still having a few problems with that door. It is to put it bluntly Unhinged . . .HAH AH HA HAH AH HA HAH AH Hahh a hahah ah ah ha ha haha hahah ah ahha ha ha ha hah.   

Saturday, 10 May 2014

J is for Japanese Crayfish Jousters

Once upon a time back in darkest history when Knights were Knights and villagers would scream and run about in fear of large dragons that breathed fire at all sorts of stuff, and wizards would cast spells turning large grown men into frogs or would turn slugs into small rodents or cats into violin strings. It was quite common for small children when asked what they would like to do when they grew up, to all shout I want to be a Japanese Crayfish Jouster. Their fearsome reputation and the adulation of the massed crowds who would shower them in small bits of Halibut and gold coins made them the heroic figures of the day. Yes the Japanese Crayfish Jousters were known across the known world of the time and the spectacle of huge crayfish charging at one another across the arena was something to behold as both beast and man were covered in gold and jewels and showed no fear.

Of course such things never last and as time pasted and the fables and legends of the past faded into the lost corners of history when asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, small children would then shout I want to be a train driver oR an Astronaut the dreams of the Japanese Crayfish Jousters lost for ever.

But even those, the simple dreams of small children have changed in just a few years, as the dark shadows of the corporate world and obsession with media penetrated the very soul of mankind. Because if you say to a group of small children now, what do you want to be when you grow up, they will all shout I want be the winner of a talent show on television, play for Man Utd . . . . . ..   and have big boobs.  But one day in the future a very nice man called say maybe Steven Spielberg will think Japanese Crayfish Jousters what a great idea for a block buster film and then once again everyone will want to be Japanese Crayfish Jousters like the old days.   . . . We can but hope.