The terrible curse of the selfie

Yesterday or maybe it was the day before I did something terrible, I took a selfie. One of those things that folk do so much that some cunningly clever chap invented a stick so you could take selfies from slightly further away. Now you might be thinking WHY (no not the stick but me taking one of me) and I don’t blame you, but there is a reason. You see what with drawing more pictures and then admittedly tweaking them a bit with some rather basic and very old software, plus writing a bit of dodgy poetry I thought I need a suitable image.  Until recently I have avoided using images of myself as much as possible in cyberspace, but if I plan to be some sort of mad dishevelled cult artist poet, then image is important. So I dug out my Tesco prescription sunglasses pointed my little digital camera at myself and attempted to smile then pressed the button and hey-presto . . . .terrible. Yes no matter how much I try to look slightly cool and moderately chirpy I always end up looking dead grumpy, OK I am grumpy most of the time but not all of it.

Now one of the key things that has brought this to the fore is that my old pal Mr Charlie said I needed a manager so that rather than just drawing stuff and sticking it into the voids of cyberspace to be lost forever, My manager could manage me. Actually I am probably not an ideal candidate for a manager because I am grumpy and a bit maverick (as has been proved by photographic evidence).  So I said to Charlie OK then Charlie you can manage me, and then he went off and told folk I was drawing again and that he was going to organise me and attempt to get me to create enough work for an exhibition. HAHAHAHha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haha haha ha hahah a ha ha I thought; I am far to maverick to be organised into something that organised these days, surely such a thing is impossible. I suspect I am right but in order to help my new manager I have promised to create some hanging on the wall art so it can be hung on a wall and folk can look and say. . . . . . . . O my god that’s terrible, that is the worst art I have ever seen. . . .

I did say too Mr Charlie in a slightly enthusiastic way. . . I could add some of my poetry to the artwork. . . . But he looked panicked and said he thought that was a bad idea . . . that means I almost certainly will.

Now I don’t know if this will happen and if it does when, but if it does I will let you all know. What I will say is it will not be in a leading London gallery, for one thing London scares me to bits, it is full of folk running about and huge as in really huge.

In the meantime here is my selfie. . . . . . . . . . .

     

How I never became a Hero

Today I plan to tell you a true story of a heroic nature, OK I think it was heroic because I did the heroic deed. It is an event that happened many many years ago as in a seriously long time ago when I was about twenty or there about.  At the time I was an Electro-Mechanical engineering apprentice, well either that or I had just finished my apprenticeship and I worked in a lab in a huge engineering business in one of those post war new towns. The fact it was a post war new town is important because this particular one had a network of cycle paths and footpaths that weaved about under the roads with nice wide sloping grass banks to keep the cars and pedestrians apart. All part of the optimistic design ideas for post war towns at the time.

Now living in this environment it was not uncommon when the weather was nice for me to walk home from work even though it was about a mile and a half. It was still quicker than driving due to volume of traffic. Well one particular summers evening as I was wandering under one of the pedestrian/ cycle underpasses which went under a dual carriageway a rather formally dressed chap in front of me who was just emerging out of the subway set off running like a bat out of hell. Not something you see every day and that’s for sure, well as I was a few feet or so behind him as I emerged to my left coming down the hill and bouncing out of control on the grass banks was a large truck with no driver. Luckily as I watched it heading towards me it ran up one of the grass banks stopped and then rolled backwards before starting to continue its trip down the hill. This gave me the opportunity to run up and leap into the cab before it gained too much speed and I was able to hit the foot brake to stop it just before it attempted to go under one of the pedestrian bridges. That was just as well as the truck cab was about three feet higher than the bridge and I might have got a bit squashed. Well as I sat there pondering where the handbrake was the driver turned up, apparently he had got out of his cab to ask directions and his truck set off without him. He was very panicked so I had to sit with him to get him back on the road and to the factory he was delivering too.

Once I got him there I then wandered back home thinking OOOOooo very heroic maybe I will be in the local paper looking heroic. . . Well about half an hour later the police turned up at the scene of the accident as it was visible from where I lived, so I went and said I had stopped the runaway truck and had taken it and the driver to a local factory, they then sped off without even asking my name, and that was that.

I never got to be a hero. . . and although it sounds a bit scary to tell the truth I did much scarier stuff when I worked offshore in the very early 1980’s when it was still a bit gung-ho.

But if that had happened today it would be all over YouTube and social-media and I would be able to look heroic and say . . . No it just all in a day’s work.  Being somewhat old and knackered now I suspect I would never catch a runaway truck these days and folk would point and laugh, But I did have the satisfaction at the time to note that everyone else ran screaming and panicking and I as a stubborn rebellious bloke (always was and always will be) did not.

Now this story is entirely true in every detail it all happened as I have detailed and I never became a hero, which makes you wonder just how many folk do heroic stuff and never get any recognition for it, I bet it happens most days.

An almost rational reason why I plan to vote to leave the European Union

I thought I would have a quick break from Poetry today and do Politics (sorry about that).

Have you noticed that here in Britain the great debate about should we vote to stay in or leave Europe is starting to look slightly silly as each side raises the stakes like a mad game of Poker. . . . I will match your World War Three and raise you pestilence and Armageddon as a result of aliens from Venus.  It is getting harder to get any real idea about what the best thing to do is. Certainly the stay campaign has the greatest clout because the bulk of the establishment are scared of change and the unknown, so they are doing a great job of ensuring that leaving looks like total madness.

Well it may surprise some, but I plan to vote to leave and there are rational reasons for this and also one very non-rational reason. Firstly I need to say as I have said before I am a bit left wing (not very, just a bit) and unlike a lot of the out voters I would be happy to let more refugees into the UK, particularly from Syria. Ooooo I get annoyed by British politicians and now the EU with feeble excuses not to help people who are fleeing a terrible war, most of whom are just decent ordinary folk.

In theory the principles of the EU should appeal to me, I mean I voted to join in the first place (OK yes I’m a bit old). I believe in equality and a level playing field in life for all, and that we should protect the vulnerable and the weak. All stuff which the EU is meant to stand for. When I voted to join all those years ago I was hoping we would be part of a single currency, and that it would be possible to travel about in Europe as easily as nipping up the road to Scotland. We would be one big happy community, smiling hugging each other and having a good life.

But is that what happened No the EU  has turned into a huge bureaucratic semi opaque monster, I don’t know if money is spent wisely or not and there seem to be more dodgy deals and . . . I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine stuff going on than one can shake a seagull at. The politics of Europe are becoming polarized and based on self interest with the Euro on the brink of yet another crisis. In fact I suspect the Euro crisis may have been delayed a bit until we have our vote, or am I just being a bit cynical. . .maybe.  So my main reason not to remain is that I do not believe that the long term future of the EU is looking good. The stay in campaign say we would enter a recession if we leave, but if the Euro starts to fail and we are part of Europe then that will happen anyway. Right now I just feel Britain may have more control of its economic future and the well being of its population outside the European Union. I am just an ordinary man on the street I may be wrong I don’t know, but I can only do what I feel is right long term.

I did also say I have one very irrational reason why I am voting Leave, it is a very simple one. Both David Cameron and Tony Blair have said they intend to vote to stay in . . . I do not know them personally but Oooooooo they both annoy me with their smug I am better that you attitude

OK there you have it I will vote Leave I don’t know it that is right or not but I suspect Britain will Stay in just on the shear amount of doom stories the government is managing to get into the news. And even I am not of fan of the . . .  . We don’t want all these foreigners over here . . . . attitude of some of the Leave supporters. Why is there a them and us approach to all this; Britain will not sail off into the sunset and we will still be part of Europe come what may.

If we do stay in and the EU economy very quickly starts to go into crisis I promise not to say I told you so. . . . . when I say promise I am in fact lying. . . . I will  

A Jumble Sale, Archie and a Hedgehog called Voldemort

He is now called Voldemort

somebody has too since the Bear became Archie  

Yesterday I learnt several interesting things about human nature and jumble sales. You see a couple of folk in the village decided that they would have a jumble sale to raise money for the local church although I don’t know which church as there are a few scattered about.  It was this jumble sale that we did the name the bear for, which I will return to in a bit. (no I'm not religious but a chap must do his bit) 

Well on Friday afternoon after the market left the village hall, the organizers of the jumble sale moved in. Our little job was to get the tombola sorted, well that is easier said than done as I would not know a tombola if it bite me on the leg. . . . OK I do now, I learnt quickly . . . . very very quickly yesterday.

Anyway the key point was that when we arrived  at the opening time of the village hall on Saturday. There was a bouncer on the door holding back the masses. I really mean it, it was scary. You see opening time was 2.00pm and the whole event was due to finish by 4.30pm and the village hall was heaving with stuff loads and loads of stuff and most of it a bit dodgy, not as in stolen but as in O MY GOD what . . . that is YUCK.

Well as the clock hit 2.00pm the masses were allowed in and it was not a quiet sedate wander in no it was a rush like the Harrods sale at New Year on the TV. They all rushed past the tombola and Name the Bear and the raffle and folk just fought over stuff and I mean fought, I’m sure there must be some sort of reality show in what folk do in jumble sales if this is normal.  I thought it would be quiet and no one would show up but apparently a jumble sale like this will be stripped clean by folk who go to car boot sales where they sell it all again, in fact a lot of them will have been selling it today.

In the end folk settled down and decided to try the tombola and the Name the Bear and in the end the whole event raised about £850 so not bad for a tiny village. As for the Bear it turned out he was called Archie. . . It just so happens that at the weekly market there is a small person of about 18 months who sells rather good organic meat with his mum and he is called Archie, maybe it’s a coincidence but if so it’s a big one. I did not guess the name correctly by the way as Voldemort was not on the list. . . DAMN

OOOoooooo one final little thing we have what seems to be a fairly chilled sort of half tame young hedgehog in the garden who is eating the birds peanuts so I took a picture of him early. A cool little beast he/she is too and he is now called Voldemort 

I could say so much more about that jumble sale but I don’t have time which is a shame,  it seems they bring out the worst in folk and that’s for sure and I may never go to one ever again. 

A story about a Bear in a Chair

The Bear is only about 10 inches in height by the way

Not a huge Monster Bear

But his chair is finished and he is a Happy Bear.

Once upon a time there was a Bear in a Chair

He/she was not just any Bear in a Chair

He/she was the ruler of the world

And a jolly good ruler he/she was too

The Bear in the Chair said that everyone must be nice to bears

And all the folk in the world cheered and were nice to bears

And then he/she said everyone in the world must be nice to everyone

And everyone in the World cheered and was nice to everyone

(This is quite obviously a fairy tale)

Then someone asked the wise bear what his/her name is

And the Bear in the Chair said. . . AH I can’t remember

Someone shouted Grizzly and the bear said. . . . No

Someone else shouted Vladimir and the Bear said. . . . No

Someone else said Aristotle and the bear said . . . . . No

Someone shouted Matilda and the bear said I can’t remember

Then the bear said

Hang on I have my name written on a piece of paper

Safely hidden away so that I cannot forget it

And the people of the world cheered and shouted

But what is it we need to know the name of the Bear in the Chair

And the bear said

Well this is answer to the Guess the Name of the Bear Competition

So I will not be allowed to tell anyone until after Saturday

When it will be revealed to the entire world

After the local village jumble sale

And the people of the world said

Well that’s not fair and spent the rest of time fighting and being rotten

You see folk are like that, the slightest thing and before you know it we are all at war

Well everyone except the Bear in the Chair

Who remains poised and dignified wondering who will guess the correct name?

And wondering why he/she has a slightly wonky chair.

Another day in the life of an ordinary old battered chap

It has been a busy-ish day I say ish because my old battered body just cant do the stuff it used to in the old days when I was a devil may care North Sea Tiger leaping from platform to ship to barge to rig and an assortment of things in-between. Right now I am waiting for some glue to harden up so I can carry on making a chair of a teddy bear to sit on that will be in pride of place on Saturday afternoon in the village hall as folk try the Guess the Name of the Bear competition. I am making Him/her a tall chair (comparatively) as this a village jumble sale so the poor little bear needs to be at a height where he will be seem and not lost in the chaos of Jumble. I am not sure what sort of jumble will be there but having volunteered to help I am somewhat apprehensive having seen previous jumble sales.  I don’t know about other places but round here the same stuff appears to go round in circles until folk get frightened to even turn up.

We have also managed to get to the Garden Centre in Shrewsbury where I bought two small Japanese Acer’s for £22.00 which I thought seemed a good deal. I have also managed to cut some of the grass in the back garden. . . OK it’s more a wild space than garden, but we have just over half an acre and I have never yet managed to get it all looking good at the same time. We also have a pair of pheasants nesting somewhere known to all here as Mr and Mrs Gandhi, we call all our pheasants Gandhi

OK I ran off there for a bit but I am back now

AH NO sorry I am off again I will be back in a bit.

OK back but much later

I have got a bit more done on the chair for the bear, eaten food, chilled a bi in front of the TV (as sitting behind it is silly) and I have shouted at the cats. I don’t know what they are on but the pair of them are driving me had (sorry mad, see what I mean) with their tactical battle over who can corner who in the corner.

OK that’s it that is a typical day in the life of me yet again. Exciting it is not, but on the bright side is was a lovely sunny day and I have seen more swallows and more Red Kites, we get a lot of Red Kites around here (the birds not the fabric flying device with string attached), 

The Strange case of Dr Bumble Beaman and Mr Hive

We all know the plight of the humble Bumble Bee as its numbers continue to drop across the Country due to changing climate and environmental pressures, and this is the background to the rather strange tale of Dr Bumble Beaman and Mr Hive. You see Dr Beaman was a keen bee keeper and decided that he would do experiments to develop a new super nectar so that his honey bees would be strong and flourish. He was an odd character and liked nothing more than to dress up as a bee and would often be (no pun intended) seen out among his hives talking to his honey bees. Dr Bumble Beaman was a quiet reclusive man and locked himself away for hours on end in his laboratory (the shed at the end of the garden) where we would mix and stir various flowers and sugars and ferment strange substances in order to produce his new super-food for bees.

Well time passed and folk sort of forgot about Dr Bumble Beaman’s experiments until one night when the full moon was at its height a group of local villagers saw a terrible apparition. It was a huge Vampire Bumble Bee that was running up and down the street buzzing loudly and biting the heads of flowers in the villager’s front gardens. Well at another time of year that might have been overlooked, but it was only a few days until the Britain in Bloom competition, and the Small village of Upper Dilly-Pickford (where they all lived) had won the best village prize for the last four years. And if it won this year it would receive a large silver cup and appear on Gardeners World and that nice Mr Monty Don would visit to present the cup.  

Well the very next morning the village Britain in Bloom committee met and thought they must do something in case the terrible monster bee returned. It was at this point that they all thought of Dr Bumble Beaman, after all if anyone knew what to do it would be him. So the mayor and the chairman of the village Britain in Bloom committee went to see him, but when they arrived at the house a dishevelled and sick looking Dr Beaman open the door refusing to let them in. He did however say he would look into it and investigate, although he kept twitching and making slight buzzing sounds which the mayor and the chairman of the village Britain in Bloom committee put down to a bit too much gin.

That night yet again the terrible huge Vampire Frankenstein Monster bee was seen attacking the roses of Mrs White at No 22 and then eating water lilies in the village pond before pushing Mr Brown’s prized pumpkin into the old horse trough. Enough is enough thought the village, and the next evening they lay in wait near the villages centre piece, a seagull and a goat made out of geraniums and sweet peas next to the village car park where it cleverly hid the recycling bins from view. Then just before midnight running up the road buzzing came the sight and sound of the terrible monster bee. As it got close, the villagers leap out and chased it with pitch folks and extra strong fly spray. Panicked the huge mutant vampire Bumble Bee ran back to Dr Bumble Beaman’s shed and locked itself in.

A terrible unspeakable thing happened that night and neither Dr Bumble Beaman nor Mr Hive (the Monster Bee) were ever seen again, and the village of Upper Dilly-Pickford received its big silver cup from Monty Don. Sadly though just a few years later all the bees died out or vanished and there were never any flowers in  Upper Dilly-Pickford after that and it never won the Britain in Bloom competition ever again and there was a strange lingering feeling of guilt among the villagers that eventually drove several of them mad. The large silver cup they won hidden away in a locked cupboard in the village hall.          

The A to Z Challenge 2016 Reflections Post

We have reached the ever popular A to Z Challenge reflections post again  and as you know each year I like to take a different approach and write something new. Only this year there is a problem because I can’t remember what I have written in previous years DAMN. Well no matter, I do know that those of us who write a reflections post have successfully negotiated all the letters from A to Z even those tricky ones like P or F; Phew they can be stubborn like critters hiding in the undergrowth squeaking and nibbling at the edges of our trusty QWERTY keyboards, cant they.

I did take a slightly different approach to commenting this year and only commented on blogs in response to a comment on my own blog and there is no denying this had a profound effect indeed. You see it meant that except for the trusty regulars who visit me all year round only one person came and visited on a regular basis, which meant I commented on their blog on a regular basis. And so this year I would like to thank Tamara Narayan for her persistence in visiting a blog that is generally shunned and looked upon with much horror and disdain by many, particularly when I write poetry. But as I am sure she can tell you herself I do leave some interesting comments at times.

I do like the A to Z and each year despite the cries of O NO GO AWAY I sneak back and hide at the back of the queue and try to do something different, but very much within the underlying principles of the A to Z. Only in a grumpy and maverick way because that is the sort of annoying chap I am, and it is why I am often told to stand on the naughty step. Luckily I always hire a stunt double and they have to stand on the naughty step while I sit at home drinking tea and plotting my next plan and wondering who I can annoy in cyberspace. Well I say annoy, but I fear due to my polite and middle class upbringing, the lack of sex, violence or rude words or swear words rather than annoy I may just slightly confuse folk.

If you have been confused or annoyed by my Poetic A to Z then all I have to say is HAH AHAhahah ahah ah ha haha ha ha ha ha  ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hahah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha   ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Finally I would like to say thanks to Mr B for a grand idea, thanks to all those who work in the background who make it all work and quietly tell folk to avoid a mad bloke called Rob Z Tobor, and not forgetting Miss lily who continues to follow this blog even when I write poetry or alternative Harry Potter stories which Miss JK Rowling shakes her head at muttering about a deranged mind who cannot type or spell . . . . .  

And thanks Mr H and Mr ESB and the Japanese for your continued support.

Well that has just about thanked everyone, but without you all and the continued support of my family and the cats, although the cats are a bit rubbish in truth, I would never have won this Oscar for the best. . . . . . . . . HANG ON . . . . . . . DAMN

    

So see you all next year then . . . . . . Maybe?