The Traditional Rob Z Tobor End of the Year Post, involving Auld Lang Syne and Foxes

I know this is what I wrote last year(and the year before that and that and so on) but it is now the new, New Years Eve traditional post, until I forget that I have one, which may be next year (NO I remembered) or next week, who can tell......

So here we are at the end  of 2014 (NO 2015) and we all know what that means, it means folk standing out on street corners shouting and letting off fireworks hugging strangers as they pass and singing that old traditional Scottish song that no one knows the words too. But luckily most folk are a bit merry and will not be aware that instead of singing the correct words the Masses are singing . . .  . . . . 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never mmmmm to mmmmm?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And auld lang syne!

Chorus.-

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne.

We'll mmmm  o' mmmm mmmm,

For auld lang syne.

 

which sort of shows that folk don't really know the words

Then everyone will repeat this until they get bored and spot an urban fox chasing a pigeon, where upon the masses will abandon singing Auld Lang Syne staggering about in a mad linked hands sort of dance and chase the fox shouting

I’ll CATCH AN URBAN FOX MY DEAR,

IN A DUSTBIN AT IKEA

I’ll CATCH AN URBAN FOX I BET,

PUT BUTTER IN HIS EAR

BUTTER IN HIS EAR MY DEAR,

PUT BUTTER IN HIS EAR

WE’ll CATCH AN URBAN FOX AND THEN WE’LL GET

SOME BUTTER IN HIS EAR

O yes they all know the words then

So I have left a message with the foxes (again) to avoid large crowds of people who look happy. And not to spend the night raiding the Swedish meat balls in the bins of IKEA. And don’t go anywhere near people with tubs of butter

I would like to wish everyone a jolly happy new year and if you live in the UK I believe New Years Day is due to be stormy/nice or something  (it was last year),  not sunny like this year (the year before last year).  . . . I dont know what will happen this year regarding the weather yet(2015 means rain). 

If you do not plan to sing a fox based song and chase urban foxes then here are the words to Auld Lang Syne, the proper ones which are not as good but which are more traditional unless you live very near IKEA and are pestered by Urban Foxes. . . . . . . . . . .

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And auld lang syne!

Chorus.-For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne.

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint stowp!

And surely I'll be mine!

And we'll tak a cup o'kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

We twa hae run about the braes,

And pou'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary fit,

Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

We twa hae paidl'd in the burn,

Frae morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar'd

Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And there's a hand, my trusty fere!

And gie's a hand o' thine!

And we'll tak a right gude-willie waught,

For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

See it all makes sense once you know all the words . . . . . ? 

2015 was the year of trying to convince that nice Mrs JK Rowling I am an interesting alternative Poet, only it did not go well  . . . I suspect that play . . . The Cursed Child. . . . may be a hint at what see thinks about my words of Rhyme which sneak up on her from time to time 

A Happy New Year to you all 

.

Something of no interest to anyone what so ever

In order to post a little something tonight in order to keep the momentum of the blog going I have randomly selected an old post from the past which is probably complete gibberish. But I am tired and need some sleep and maybe a few days of sunshine, but I may have to depend on the Gods for that one. . . . . . not the sleep I can manage that fine.

So here is an old post and one with a hidden message hidden within it . . . . I know no one paid much attention to the hidden message the first time round either.

     


THERE'RE BACK . . . . . . Well when I say back I’m not entirely sure they have been here before although Mr Jones says they have, and he knows these things even though the general view is he is as mad as a hatter.  Yes last night after going to bed what should start happening but those lights again a rather strange and eerie glow round the house, and despite me getting up to investigate I could not work out what it was. Then as I decided to return to bed who should I spot hiding in the shrubs watching the lights but Mr Jones, it is not like Mr Jones to hide he is usually running about naked with his large sign saying I am your Friend; as I have said many times before.   But it appears that on this occasion the aliens are according Mr Jones seriously unfriendly aliens known as the Rat people (from Eaglefleebite 7) who look like twenty five foot long Rats. Well that sounds unfriendly to me, apparently they eat all your skirting boards at night plus your legs and maybe your nose and will chew the odd finger too. So if you wake up in the morning with no skirting board a chewed nose and the odd limb missing you will know it was the Rat People of Eaglefleebite 7 led by their notorious leader Big Boris.

I would like to reassure the public that the Rat People of Eaglefleebite 7 are not the same as the members of RATs (the Radical Abstract Thinkers) who do not go about eating the  skirting boards in folks houses so don't start shouting at us and throwing stuff at us like cheese (not unless it is a good strong cheddar). Us members of RATs (the Radical Abstract Thinkers) have enough problems with our own arch enemy the CATs (the Common Average Thinkers) who start terrible rumours that we make stuff up and exaggerate and that my diary is nonsense and that there is a really boring explanation for all the lights at night and that a twenty five foot long Rat Person from Eaglefleebite 7  would not fit through the front door of the average house so it is unlikely to eat skirting boards and that at best it would be a ordinary mouse that say a cat (as in a real fluffy cat) got bored with and gave it a few minutes to try and escape before biting its head off. You see those CATs (the Common Average Thinkers) have no imagination and will never get to meet huge rat based alien life forms with pointy teeth from Eaglefleebite 7 that eat folk, and they will live to regret that one day . . . . . . .  . . . . . I think?

Instant Poetry from the Subconcious

If you start to write a poem

But have no idea

What you plan to say

Will it all go Hunky Dory

Or turn out mad like yesterday

I mean do people want

To hear of the waves

And sea monsters in the ocean

Or algebra and Maths and stuff

Or nudists frolicking

In a suggestive motion

That is before the police . . . . of course

Arrive and chase them away

Or of superheroes with super powers

Or the heroic deeds of fighting men

Or a tiny hobbit eating porridge

In a cave that’s dark and grey

But one thing I know

Of which I am certain

My poetry will never be read

By the likes of Richard Burton

Ooooooo I know people

Will pat me on the back

And say you did your best

for a chap called Rob

But to tell the truth

Being Poet laureate

Is more a vocation than a proper job?

And that poem you wrote about the seagull

Was very popular

Until in verse one hundred and three

Where is was savaged by a Zombie Eagle

Hang on didn’t

Last nights Poem end with a Zombie Hen

I appear to have gone full circle

And arrived back at the start of then

What . . . . . . .  No It Ok this Poem will be Read

Who . . .  . . . . . OK I know Richard Burton’s Dead

The End . . . . . . . or is it

Almost

Poetry for the things folk have not thought of yet

Sorry I have been on the roof clearing gutters and will be drumming tonight so I have written a short little poem again, that sort of went through my mind last night at some point before I fell asleep. OK the first line did and the rest has been done as I type.

There are more things

In heaven and earth,

Horatio,

Than are dreamt of

In your philosophy

But is that right

I ask myself

Because late at night

When there is no light

I dream of many things

I dream of shoes and ships

And sealing-wax

And of cabbages and kings

And a pelican riding a unicycle

Propelled along by, wound up springs

And a pink cat with twenty legs

Standing on a cake

And an octopus dancing with a frog

In a dark blue lake

And carol singers in the bath

Swimming up and down simply for a Laugh

And a five dimensional triangular Pentagon

Which can not be cut in half?

And Albert Einstein

Waving at a crow

Who is writing with his pen

The crow looking up and shaking his head

At the futility of men

And to add insult to injury

The crow shouts abusive language

Every now and then

At a chap called

Horatio.l

Which is rather ironic thought

A huge thirty foot high

Mutant zombie hen 

…………..

THE END

Poetry in the style of Nostradamus, Predicting the Events of 2016

I have decided to predict the future today

Like that Nostradamus

But in a sneaky Poetic way

Which means the year ahead?

Has to rhyme or

The said event will not happen this time

So I predict deep crisp Snow

And lots of wind that will blow

And a plague of Frogs in IKEA

Where stampeding customers

Will run about in great fear

And a man eating tortoise on a bus . . . (not a man eating a tortoise)

With the bus driver shouting

 Please DO not make a fuss

And the Queen will demand that

The Prime Minister David Cameron should go

After his naked romp on the stage

Of the new Harry Potter stage Show. .

And the Olympics should happen but will probably not

When it is discovered

The Rain Forest has been chopped down

When we were told because of global warming, 

It should NOT

And the British Astronaut will return

But will feel rather ill

As an Alien leaps from his stomach

And threatens to kill

And of course the fashion item of taste

Will be the string Vest

So a chap can display

The hairs on his Chest

And America will be shocked by Donold Trumps

Posh new Hair Do

Which he bought from a shop

And stuck on with glue

And President Putin will scare folk

With his latest Pink latex suit

And his high heeled stilettos

Which he will insist, are practical, but cute

And China will build a coal fired power station each day

And then wonder why the fog will not go Away

And a man will stand on a snail

Japan will eat a large whale

And fame and fortune will finally come my way

As I am hailed as the greatest

Internet poet of my day

Although within an hour or two

An infinite number of monkeys

Will be found in my cellar

Writing poetry in exchange for peanuts

And doing it

Remarkably Wel _ la . . .  (I think they are being Ironic there)

And finally a chap might press a large button that’s red

Leading to a distinct possibility

We could all end up

DEAD.

Happy 2016 everyone 

Poetry for the Christmas Turkey

Uncle Fred decided that he wanted

A turkey for Christmas Dinner

That would shock the family, to the core

And leave everyone speechless

And in a state of disbelief, and silent awe

So he bought a monster, a huge organic beast

Genetically modified, to create a monstrous feast

And for several days it defrosted

There on the kitchen table

Which has dodgy legs, and is far from stable

Then on Christmas morning as the family all took Breath

And the huge giblets scared the cat half to death

They discovered it would not fit through the oven door

Even when the turkey’s legs were removed

Using dads chainsaw

So they hatched a plan and attacked the Bird

With hammers and drills; a method of cooking

Which was rather effective but looked quite absurd

And this is why the neighbours called the police

Who thought Uncle Fred was trying to eat his niece

But all was sorted and the police were able

To join the family at the dinning table

Well the bird was huge you see

And not to do so would be rude

Although the police sergeant,

After Auntie Dot did chase

Because Auntie Dot was running

Up the high street naked you see

With much concern  that the family

Would be yet again in disgrace . . .  Maybe?

Well Auntie Dot had been drinking since breakfast time

Russian Vodka watered down with red wine and Gin

Which explained her mad demonic grin

And the police sergeant will get some therapy

I’m sure the police department will make sure of that

As it is difficult to catch auntie Dot

When covered in lots of lots of fresh goose fat

And as always Christmas dinner in the end

Was a great success

Despite the fire

The flooding

And the awful mess

And now the turkey carcass sits like a decomposing dinosaur

Being chewed by the cat on the kitchen floor

But next year Uncle Fred says to avoid all the worry

He plans to order

A takeaway

Curry

The True Sorry of Christmas and its Viking Past . . . A tale for Christmas Eve

Back in the days of the early Vikings when their kingdom was large and they were feared by all across Europe there was a one particularly famous Viking warrior called Sven Antason. He was known to be fearless in battle and would always lead his fighters into every fight from the front because he completely trusted the Great Norse Gods knowing they would protect him.  The Vikings lords of the day would always call Sven for help in their battles and he would always do so, as a loyal and proud Viking warrior. Sven Antason however was a solitary soul and lived in the frozen tundra, north of the Arctic Circle and during the long dark winters Sven and his team of reindeer would often cross the snow covered wastelands as he headed off to yet another battle, observed only by the Great Norse Gods as no one else lived in this hostile environment over winter.

But as time passed Sven got older and was not seen as the warrior he used to be, and so the Viking lords called on his assistance less and less, trusting the fighting spirit of younger men. But Sven Antason would still go out in the middle of winter and thunder through the frozen snow covered tundra on this sleigh pulled by his trusty reindeer where he would help and save people lost in the bitter dark and unforgiving cold, wind and snow. In fact stories of how Sven Antason would turn up to save travellers started to become common turning Sven into something of a legend among the Vikings. And he would often give strangers food and warm clothing in order that they could continue their journey something that was much appreciated by those he helped; leading to his growing reputation as a kind and wise man.

But as time passed as it does Sven grew older still and it became harder and harder for him to venture out into the wild and eventually he knew the days when he could battle through the worst of the winter weather were numbered. So as another winter reached it coldest and darkest and a bitter blizzard blow through the landscape he decided it was time to take his sleigh and reindeer our for one final run and place his destiny in the hands of the Great Norse Gods as he had always done.  The Gods of course liked Sven Antason and so they told Sven that it was time for him to be at peace, but that once a year on the darkest and wildest day of winter he can travel many journeys on his sleigh pulled by his trusty team of reindeer with all strength he had in his younger days. This was so Sven could show all the wisdom of maintaining faith in the Gods and yourself.

Well as we know Modern religion in not keen on the old Gods of mankind, particularly the Great Norse Gods and so modern Christianity has sneakily changed and adapted the story of Sven Antason to be rather more Christian. Which means that Sven Antason is now known now as Santa and rather than a brave and noble Viking, he is said to be a friendly old chap in a Red Outfit.  This is not something that the Great Norse Gods or Sven worry about because as parents and folk sneak presents under Christmas trees in the warm of the homes;  out in the wilds, North of the Arctic Circle Sven Antason and his reindeer will be speeding through the snow as they do every year.

And so there you have it Santa is entirely real only he is a old Viking warrior called Sven Antason protected by the Great Norse Gods of Old. And that is the true story of Christmas. . . . . . . sort of 

A Poem for the New Hermione Granger . . . (part two sort of) and my last word on the subject.

I have heard there is much disquiet

About a Black Hermione Granger in a play

But as we all know Britain is

A multicultural diverse

Sort of modern place to live in today

And besides there are many things

That would appear to be so much worse

Because it could have been Maria

From the Sound of Music

Which really would be a curse?

Or it could be been a chap pretending to be Hermione

Like in pantomime as chaps do

Shouting at the audience

Who in turn shout back?

It’s behind you

Or a huge mutant giant Squid

Getting her first big break upon the stage

Who on forgetting the lines

At a critical point

Then eats the audience in a rage

So I think we should all cheer and clap

And accept the choice

That has been made

Although I bet I get thrown out (again)

Because I sneaked in and never paid.

A Poem about the Controversy of Assumed Colour

Alice in Wonderland and someone else

also drawn rather badly

Today I have had a quite day pottering about and getting a few things done although I still have only wrapped one small present so far (YICKS PANIC) anyway two things I noticed out in the real world while hiding within the safety of my home environment. It is a nice place home and I will admit I am a lucky chap to be a position to have a nice home and family and few real problems in life at present. Other than finding a way to reveal my many talents to the greater world, while remaining a quiet modest sort of chap who is happier being a bit of a reclusive grumpy bloke.

Anyway the two things that registered in my mind that led to tonight’s Poem. . . . The first was the ISS passing over at quarter to five this evening (I did go and wave to Tim). Then I noticed that there appears to be a bit of controversy about Hermione Granger being Black in the stage play . . . . . I think the main issue is that folk have got so attached to the characters from the  films that quite frankly it has frazzled a few minds that they could be quite so different.

The result of these two events is tonight’s Poem, one that questions our deep routed ideas about colour 

When it’s dark

And you look into Space

The flying saucers you see

Are probably an Alien race

And if they point

A ray-gun at your head

Blame the cat

Or Uncle Fred

I mean no one

Likes to be incinerated

By a beast with three eyes

And if you ask a policeman for help

He will just say you’re telling lies

And Uncle Fred will wave his stick

And the cat will meow

And then be sick

On the flying saucers clean doormat

Which is typical

Of the average cat

And the alien will bleep

And maybe shout

As both the cat and Uncle Fred

Run about

As we all stick kitchen foil

On our head

In case the alien

Tries to read our minds instead

And as the cat leaps out the door

And Uncle Fred hides on the floor

We remember the wise words

That granny once said

“Why are aliens always Green and never Red”?

A tale of Santa which has been proved to be slightly wrong

This is yet another repeat but it is OK because I bet none of you read it the first time. Now I do need to apologise at this point because it has become clear in the last 2-3 days that this story is in fact not entirely true. I know folk trust me to be truthful but when a large man in a red coat tells you a story he says is entirely true I for one believe him. But is seems that the chap was a fake Father Christmas or so I have been informed by the real Father Christmas a few days ago.  Luckily the true Father Christmas has talk me the truth about Santa and in the next couple of days I will be able to reveal all. . . . When I say reveal all I do not mean take all my clothes off and run about I am not that mad. No I will tell you all the truth about the origins of Santa way back when.



So here we have it the Story of Santa (only its a bit wrong)  


One upon a time a very long time ago living in the wild snows in or around the proximity of Lapland lived a mad grumpy old man who for reasons only known to himself and a gang of Elves wore a false beard. He had locked them (the Elves not the false beards) in a large workshop making novelty logs for his fire in the shape of trains, cars, rockets, dogs, cats, rabbits, in fact almost anything you could think of. He then threw them on his fire (not the elves but the logs) going HA HAHH HA HHAH ahha ha ha ha ha hah ha ha ha because he disliked them all, but had been warned by the police about throwing small cute furry things and trains onto fires so had to make do with wooden lookalikes.

Once a year however he would venture out in the middle of winter and steal mince pies, and glasses of mulled wine from folk in the middle of the night (I did say he was mad). It was something of a mystery for the people of Lapland who just could not work out who was stealing all the mince pies and drinking their mulled wine or getting into their houses.  Then the king decided to reward who ever caught the thief with a fir tree full of sparkly things, a foolish idea after all folk in Lapland need another fir tree like a hedgehog needs one more flea.

But as it happens one small child, a little girl decided she would like her very own fir tree full of sparkly things so hid in a large box which she disguised with wrapping paper and a large bow. It is after all the sort of thing little girls do, they are not going to be happy hiding in a plain old cardboard box.  Then at the stroke of midnight the mad old man arrived down the chimney grumbling about soot and stuff.  As he drank the little girl’s parents mulled wine and raided the larder for mince pies the little girl sneaked up behind him and said I ARREST YOU FOR STEALING WINE AND MINCE PIES AND YOU MUST COME WITH ME TO THE POLICE STATION.

The grumpy old man was a bit startled but thinking fast he said HO HO HO LITTLE GIRL, IF YOU LET ME GO I WILL GIVE YOU A SACK OF NOVELTY LOGS (SORRY I MEAN TOYS) TO BURN (SORRY I MEAN PLAY WITH) AND BESIDES I HAVE A MAGIC REINDEER WAITING FOR ME ON YOUR ROOF AND IF YOU ARREST ME HE WILL STARVE TO DEATH. AND HE HAS A RED NOSE AND A MAGIC SLEIGH AND ANTLERS AND STUFF.  The little girl pondered and looked at the logs (sorry toys) and said OK THEN BUT THAT BIG FALSE BEARD IS RUBBISH AND WOULD YOU LIKE A CARROT FOR THE REINDEER.  Nodding and taking the carrot the mad grumpy man made his escape up the chimney as fast as possible, but as he did the little girl shouted to him BY THE WAY WHAT IS YOU NAME and as he reached the top he shouted back SATAN HA HAHH HAH HA HAH HHAH ha ha ha HO HO HO . . . .

The little girl mishearing him said SANTA? WELL THAT’S A FUNNY NAME. However at school the following day she told her friends about SANTA and showed them her wooden novelty logs (sorry I mean toys) and then every small child started demanding they wanted SANTA to leave them things and the whole thing just got entirely out of control.  But the mad grumpy old man found that his new fancy toys (sorry novelty logs) were selling like hot cakes (or logs) and he made loads of money allowing him to buy a big flash fur lined red coat. Although the Elves demanded a pay rise and with advances in technology got their revenge by not supplying batteries.

Of course over the long years the whole story has become a bit mixed up and  fact and folk tale have blended together so that almost no one believes Santa is a mad grumpy old man in a false beard complaining about an itchy fur lined coat and drinking mulled wine in the middle of the night and nibbling a carrot………………

A Christmas Poem and a fat Squirrel

Yes its time for another repeated old poem from the past because Christmas is all about repeats and if you dont believe me just go and look and see what is on the television over the Christmas period. Just so you all know it has been raining again here today . . . . It is starting to turn me a little mad. Yes it is mild, in fact I think the temp outside is about the same as it was in the summer only it is much darker and WET . . . . And I notice that the Boxing Day sales have started in some of the shops . . . . . WHAT I am confused even more now.

Oooooooo we have a rather aggressive grey squirrel at present who is not only chasing the birds off but is now fighting us and making rude gestures as he escapes with all the peanuts. I am not entirely sure the laws of nature are meant to include an overweight greedy Squirrel 

Santa is a Zombie

Or so it has been said

He went to bed for a nap

And woke up a bit Un-Dead

So when he sneaks down your chimney

Or through your sewage drains

He will not want mulled wine or pies

He wants to eat your Brains

And when you wake up on Christmas Day

As one of the Un-Dead

You will find your wearing stockings

And a pointy hat that’s RED……..

AH HAH HA Hahah ah ah ah ha hahah hahah ha hah ah ah ahha hah ha ha ha ha hah ah ah ahh ha ha ha ha ha hah

Harry Houdini, Harry Potter and a question. . . Is JK Rowling an Alien

It is clear that folk do like a bit of escapism, not as in Harry Houdini the escapologist but as in Harry Potter and his ordeal with the forces of evil.  I mean if you think the big two films of the moment appear to be Star Wars and Star Trek and there is much excitement at the short taster of Strange Beasts and where to find them . . . the next almost Harry Potter film. I say almost because I don’t think he is in it, it is not like the Hitchcock films where he sneaks in as a bit part and maybe says Expelium acrowfly at a passing crow turning it into a cheesecake. (WHAT?)

Anyway the point I am getting too in my long winded way (a cunning plan to make my diary look dead interesting) is that magic and sci-fi, aliens and ghosties and other strange beasts have a massive following among the masses in their various formats. And the reason for this is the desire we all have to think there is more to life the universe and stuff than just poking at wasp’s nests with a pointy stick and smiling at cats. In case you are worried there may not be, its OK there is; I know for certain but it’s too long a story to explain why.  But as I say folk need interesting tales and have done for thousands of years, and this sort of led me to a thought, one that those of you of a strong religious belief in any particular faith may disapprove of. I will not be religion specific because different faiths have different beliefs and different holy books.

And here we are getting to the point of all this; could it be that books like the bible are in fact the ancient equivalent of Star Wars or Harry Potter. . . . OK I can see that at least one person is not happy, but it could be there are loads of dodgy holy books that have caused all sorts of issues over time because of mankind’s desire to belief in alien’s magic and strange beasts and the like. And they all do that good fighting evil stuff, I mean who is the most likely chap to see a strange light (or alien Spacecraft) to follow in the sky . . . a shepherd. . .  

And if Aliens beasts and Magic were in the mind of man a few thousand years ago man needs to ask why, could it be that aliens arrived thousands of years earlier and have assimilated themselves into the very fabric of mankind. Is it possible that I am the last real human. . . . . Look I know I’m a human because aliens would not type as badly as I do and come up with preposterously loony ideas that are not only very plausible but probably right. Maybe all the Magic and monsters are red herrings so to speak (If you don’t understand what a red herring is and think it’s a fish then you are an alien for sure), or maybe these are skills from those early aliens which are now lost. 

You see one thing I have discovered is that if you tell it like it is, as I do in my blog then no one will read it. This can only be because there is a conspiracy by alien wizards and space bears to suppress the truth as told my me. . . . .  it would also explain the popularity of Star Wars and Harry Potter. I know it means JK Rowling might be an alien, she does have very high hedges around her garden that could hide a spacecraft and I have never been invited to visit. 

So if you are an alien and would like to explain what your plans are then I suggest that you. . . . . . . . . . Take Me to Your Leader. . . .

And I know the Royal Family are all aliens with their secret hand signs as they pretend to wave at the public. 

How to avoid writers block . . . GO 3D instead

I was planning to write stuff tonight, in fact just a short time ago, but instead I made Flash Gordon (sort of) out of card. Well as they say a picture tells a thousand words, although making 3D spacemen from a few thoughts in your head with some card and a sharp knife and no idea where its heading is a right old game.

I did have to use a tiny bit of glue so sorry about that, space helmets need to be airtight or it will end in tears.  I think my blog is not going well at present

One small Step for Man, One Giant Leap for Christmas

Yesterday I started to write my post for the day letting the world know what I was up too, only before I finished it I sort of came to a grinding halt. Life is like that ups and downs and stuff to do and then sometimes as happened yesterday you have a little break and that’s it you never get back to the task you started. I am a bit like that at times and easily distracted, although last night I was just tired. . . . I think it’s this bug that is still lurking about inside me and messing with my mind. . . . . . .

Anyway here is what I wrote

 Well the chap who I was making the Top Hat and Skull Mask for was unable to get home in time for us to meet up last night. It appears he was trapped on a motorway near Leeds for about six hours so was rather tired when he finally got home. But he popped round to see me this morning as I needed to check the hat fitted before I continued it. Well it was a perfect fit, now how cool is that, and it meant I was able to finish making it today which is very hunky dory indeed  and I will be delivering it to him on Thursday.  One thing that I noticed though is that the skull sits perfectly on the front of the hat which in turn has given me an idea to make something rather special for myself. I don’t often make anything for me, but if I get my act together I reckon this will be an awesome little bit of hat come mask and a must for scaring little old ladies in the middle of the night or folk on the train. . . . . OK I don’t go on the train any more but that is a minor issue. . . .

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OK that was yesterday and today is today, so far I have moved a table pulled out a few dead plants that needed pulling out of the garden, (it is NOT RAINING) had a bit of a battle with a huge flock of maggots in the green waste bin. This is what happens when it has not been put out for a few weeks, I normally hose it out after but these small beasts have taken it over and so I need to evict them to avoid screaming bin men in the morning at the top of the drive. They may not be quite as hardy as myself (the bin men not the maggots) as I will fight most beasts from maggots, slugs, snails, banshees and werewolves and the odd passing possessed vampire goat.

I also have Christmas things to do before Christmas as well as lights and decs to put up and turn things sparkly so that small children and adults all go OOOOOoooooooooo and leap about among the holly. In fact holly is my next task, but what I want to know is why did we pick on a plant that was so damn spiky, it attacks me every year going up and then does the same coming down. Even my faithful cactus’szszsssssszzzzzz don’t do that although I don’t try and hang them in the corners of rooms or over picture frames. . . I am not entirely mad.

OK that’s it Off I go . . .  I will be jolly and say Ho Ho Ho a lot to confuse the bird population who are trying to bankrupt us by eating huge amounts of nuts and seeds, I think nuts are seeds but I guess you know what I mean.

 OK its much later now and I am finishing the post and will be eating shortly, I am doing the man thing of doing something which may not entirely appear productive (this Blog) while my evening meal is being cooked for me. Us chaps can be a bit like that but I am better at putting fairy lights up that cooking. (honest) . . . No its true and my veggie cooking skills are rubbish . . . . . apparently deep fried Mars Bars don’t count.