Its Me

Yes I thought I would pass by and say hello. I am working on a cunning plan, only I am working on it very slowly, as I have never been one for rushing about on the grounds it is not good for you. Now that I am old and battered I can't rush anyway, but the fact I am old and battered does tend to prove not rushing about is not a bad thing. Anyway I am in the process of writing a book, I have so far written two, one of which has been proofread and the other is in the process of being proofread. I am also drawing images for a friend who is writing the second book in a series about a cat. So as you can see I am a busy chap

This is one of the pictures I drew, but it was not suitable, and it does have a few issues so there is a second version of it for the book about the cat which will be tweaked to look posh and hide any mistakes (the images not the book).. I never mind too much. One other interesting thing I have done today is make a tall marble run. I bought the thing to keep my youngest grandson amused ages ago, only he has not seen it yet, however it keeps me amused from time to time, and is an entirely stress free pastime 

 

I'm still doing stuff. . . . But not here

OK I am a terrible blogger these days, but it does not mean I am not quietly working away in the background. One little project has been creating a bit of artwork for a friend who has written a book. It all sort of got delayed somewhat due to life the universe and stuff. This is one of the pictures for that book.

Due to all the delays I then thought  . . . . . . Hang on I reckon I could write a book, it must be easier than drawing pictures for a book, and so as I type I am about half way through it at about 60,000 words. It would help if I could type a little better than I can and also if I knew in a little more detail how it will end. All I know for certain is that Brian, Brenda and their Parrot will be OK and Inspector Clarke will end with a new fancy office and the possibility of a sequel.

Right folk it is time for me to go it is late here in the UK and I was up early this morning delivering things to my daughter.  

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Beatrix and Harry Potter and the strange tale of the missing book

Once upon a time there was a young Wizard called Beatrix she was very keen on writing  her book of spells, she loved to record many spells scribbling little drawings of entrails and stuff in the margins. She was often heard practising them or learning new ones from Professor McGregor in the old potting shed at the end of Hogwarts vegetable garden as they ate Ginger and Pickles and drinking a nice pot of camomile tea with a small tot of rum added.  

Eye of Newt,  Leg of Rabbit, Toe of Mrs Tiggy-Winkle and a nuns old Habit . . . . . . . . .  Liver from Jemima Puddle-Duck. . . .  and a small bit of Squirrel Nutkins, Just for luck . . . .  Yes such spells were often heard coming from the potting shed on the long warm evening of spring. And so it was, and all was well until one day Beatrix’s younger brother Harry lost his faithful owl in the enchanted woods. He searched high and low, but with no luck. Then one evening sat by a tree near the old potting shed Harry heard Beatrix talking to Professor McGregor

Professor I tried that spell and it did not seem to work

Oooooo Miss Beatrix which one was that

Mr Tods big glass eye, Tommy Brock’s boots crisp and dry, Wing of owl and its beak and head Make my hair a nice shade of red.

Ah you forgot the Two bad mice and a Toms severed thumb said the Professor

DAMN said Beatrix, but at that very moment young Harry leapt up and shouted at Beatrix for using his owl in a spell. . . He was not happy and he shouted . . . Bookium avanishioxus inum flashious. . . . And sure enough before you could say hang on I will explain everything the book that Beatrix had been writing with all her spells and drawings in had vanished.

Give me back my book young Harry Potter said his sister Beatrix

Never not until a weird cat wearing an old jacket wearing silly boots and carrying an old flintlock rifle turns up CALLED KITTY CAT. . . HAH AHha ha ha ha ha ha hah a hahah a hah ahaha hah a ha ha ha said Harry in a slightly mad way

And so it was until to everyone's astonishment what should happen to wander into the Victoria and Albert Museum, but none other than Kitty Cat, leading to a long protracted legal dispute with a certain chocolate covered snack

It’s a funny old world said Professor McGregor as he ate yet another Rabbit pie.       

THE END.

How to be a successful writer. . . An Easy to Follow Short Guide.

The world of blogging or to be more accurate my world of blogging has hit a brick wall as it appears everyone except the very very hardiest have run off to read the blogs of other folk. I am not sure why this has happened it is all very strange indeed. But I am not downhearted as it gives me an incentive to explore the minds of those folk who have run off elsewhere, in what will probably be a futile effort to make then return and read things again. Well maybe read just the one post and then run off again.

So what is it that will turn the eye of a hardened blogger?  Well as has been mentioned recently by Miss Lily one of the main subjects that bloggers flock to like moths to a lamp post (something I either blogged about or was in my head to write about and I forgot?), is how to write a book. Not just any book though, but a highly successful book that folk will buy in their millions making the writer a wealth person, allowing then to sit in book shops signing books or better still write a blog about how to write a  successful book.

The principles are fundamentally easy so it is possible to miss out the whole write a successful book bit, I mean Einstein’s Physics teacher did not write Einstein’s Principles of Physics but without his teachers he would have become a train driver or something like that. So it is that I can tell you exactly what you need to do to be that successful writer.

Firstly a good book and a successful book may not exactly be the same, sounds odd but sadly very true. Let’s face it Fifty Shades of Grey might have been successful but many have said it written rather badly. . . . I do not know as I have never read it.  It is the sort of book I have no interest in reading, and this is the next rather important point, certain types of book attract more readers that others. Adult romantic fiction is read by huge numbers of women around the world and I guess a percentage of men. Books like Harry Potter appealed too many from teenagers to adults and still does (written rather well), and wizards and Magic are again a subject that is very popular. There is also science fiction, period drama and various mixes of the lot. So pick your target audience with care, appealing to gay unicyclists who love cats if fine and you might write a brilliant book that will be bought by 99% of your target audience, but if that target audience is small then you can kiss success goodbye unless someone thinks HANG ON a film about gay unicyclists who love cats, now that has legs . . . . . . . (and a wheel).

Another important point is editing. You will need a well edited book (I never edit stuff COS), it is not for the readers, but for the publishers. Publishers are a funny lot who will say things like O he wrote there not their or where not we’re or wear or so on and so on. I mean most readers like a good story, and life in reality is not edited and folk write and talk badly in life, but publishers just don’t like it so to get published you need to play the game and write proppper like what I did (sorry doo).

Remember adding some graphic sex and sweaty bodies that heave and have huge yearning swollen parts appears to help loads but not in children’s books, and anyway there are only so many things you can do with a can of squirty cream and a pair of bicycle clips, although it might help if you are appealing to those gay unicyclists who love cats, they are little terrors you know when they are not on their unicycles chasing the cats about with a tin of pilchards.

My final tip is what ever you do, do not write like me or it will all end it a terrible melodrama with Zombies chasing you, and JK Rowling and Steven Spielberg telling you to GO AWAY AND TAKE THOSE PESKY SEAGULLS WITH YOU.

So there you have it everything you ever needed to know about how to write a successful book and all entirely free in one small-ish blog post. . . . 

Yes I'm sorry . . . .  this is a child friendly blog and I have left you having an awkward conversation trying to explain what bicycle clips are for. 

The Quirkiness of the Long Distance Blogger

As a long term slightly quirky blogging diarist, I have to give myself little goals to achieve. Not goals like in the world cup where you have to kick a small round thing into a sort of fruit cage affair.

One of the primary objectives of any blogger is does anyone actually look at your blog, are they friendly, will they send you large sums of money, will the very nice Steven Spielberg make your very very long diary into a block buster film or films, (it is very long).  If the answer to all these is no then you have to find odd little glimmers of hope from other things.

I therefore have achieved something this month that is very positive indeed, this month has seen the best month ever for Page Views with close to seven and a half thousand as we approach the end of June. Now I have no way of knowing if that is good or not and I am aware that certain things can distort those figures, so I do not use those dynamic view design options they add thousands of page views that don’t exist, I learnt that very early on. I also do not count my own views of my blog or that would just get confusing and I do not allow anonymous commenting that just attracts automated web crawlers and they are well annoying beasts.

I suspect folk are going to say . . .  is that all HEY I get that a day . . .  but I just don’t know what is good or bad in the world of blogging, it is full of smoke and mirrors and a lot of hype so I just keep to my own goals.  Strangely if there is one thing the football teams in the world cup hate it is own goals, but as a blogger it is what keeps me striving to bigger and better things, well that and the dream that the very nice Steven Spielberg will stop burning the manuscript to the film of the diary of the book of the blog

The world of blogging is a fickle world but there are some good folk out there, Mr ESB, Miss Laura, Mr Addman, Mr H, Miss Lily and Master Meglos, Miss Hannah,  Mr Flip, Mr B, P Von P, Mr G to name but a few. And so you may ask yourself why do we do this, what drives us in our guest for fame fortune and celebrity without moving from the comfort of our armchairs. The answer is simple we are all IDIOTS……….

Storms, Books, Old Masters and a Morris Minor

Mr M continues to get weaker and the nurses suspect he has less than twenty four hours left to live, so it is all a little sad, but he had a jolly good run. And although he has struggled with one thing and another the last couple of years, he has done loads of things and been to loads of places in his lifetime. We did not stay too long today as his son is stopping at the hospital and other folk are popping in to see him. I have taken to drawing pictures of stuff while I am there now as Mr M was amused by them when he could see what I was up too; he was rather a good artist himself and once painted a tiny Micro Morris Minor on an old master so well that no one has ever noticed.  He always used to think of John Constable saying to the young Morris Minor driver  . . . . . HELLO sonny would you mind blowing into this Goats bladder.

I noticed on the news first thing that a huge storm has hit the Philippines with winds up to 199 miles an hour although as yet there is little news of how much destruction it has caused, but it does go to show that the big storm that the BBC were talking about that attacked the South coast of Britain was in reality merely a flesh wound. One of the perks of living in the UK is our weather may be wet, windy, cold, and sometimes a bit warm, but mainly not with grey skies and the odd bit of snow and more rain and even more rain; however our storms are fairly tame compared to other places and we tend not to get seriously extreme weather. It is strange then that I reckon us Brits complain about the weather more than anyone else, maybe knowing it can’t come back and bite us quite so badly means we can complain more.  It is like poking a kitten and a Lion with a pointy stick, OK the one is just not nice but the other is extremely silly or so I was told by the Zoo Keeper.

You may look at my little drawing (doodle) tonight and think WHAT? But I tend not to think too much about what I draw while visiting Mr M, so it may appear a little unrelated. If (as I have said many times now) you are reading the cheap paperback Diary of Rob Z Tobor bought at Kings Cross station in the three for a pound bargain basket, you will not get to see my drawings, so best to buy the illuminated limited edition with the gold leaf embossed cover sold for a modest one thousand five hundred and twenty three pounds and fifteen pence plus postage.  

A picture tells a thousand words

I have drawn a quick picture which I think basically explains itself, you know the old saying. .. . . A picture tells a thousand words . . . . So I don’t really think I need to say much more about today except to add that Esmeralda will certainly take more care near ferrets, and George will be fine once he gets his hand out of the thermos flask.  Yes he could break it, but that might kill the stick insects inside and that is the last thing we need after today’s events.

Of course those of you reading the cheap paperback diary of Rob Z Tobor bought at Kings Cross station will not get to see my drawing, so I will just say it involves an angry swan and a plate of ice cream.   

Three and Three Quarter Minutes to Midnight and the Doomsday Book

 Today is the continuing saga of volume three and three quarters, which is the cyber-diary equivalent of one minute to midnight. As it happens I am not sure what the official minutes to midnight state is at present, so I will check . . . . . .

OK it is five minutes to midnight so it appears my diary is closer to becoming doomed that the world is. This is good for almost everyone except possibly me, as I am rather dependent on my diary in order to continue to exist, yes life is all a bit complex as the slightly eccentric child of cyberspace.

Anyway today I went on a long journey to the south, much like the swallows and then I went on long journey back to the point I started, unlike the swallows, but in doing so all is hopefully better than it was before I went on long journeys. The Ghost Writer did a grand selection of IT things today although he did spend much of his time in a state of confusion talking to clever people on a phone (they were not standing on the phone)…..

I hope to start the Official Slightly Eccentric Diary of Rob Z Tobor volume four in the next few days all being well, but time and the arrival of autumn are not helping matters…….    

Oooooo the Daddy Long Legs seem to be reducing in numbers now so that is good, they are remarkably silly beasts.....

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The END of The Slightly Eccentric Diary of Rob Z Tobor . . . . . . (volume three)

Today was the last day of my book, The Slightly Eccentric Diary of Rob Z Tobor (volume three) as tomorrow is the first day of school after the holidays, or maybe today was, but I guess I will find out tomorrow. I know the holidays have ended because the Swallows are starting to mass before their long trip to Africa. There were at least a hundred here today circling and chasing insects and chattering all day on the power lines. They did do something however I did not know swallows did, about mid-day they mobbed a buzzard which in the end gave up and flew off although it did not seem too bothered. But later in the afternoon they mobbed a sparrow hawk who was really unhappy and flew off at speed  and panicking to escape from them, lets face it even a sparrow hawk cant out manoeuvre or out run a swallow so being chased by a hundred must have been a shock.

Anyway as I have said already this is the END of The Slightly Eccentric Diary of Rob Z Tobor (volume three) and so I thought I should go and hunt for the ant that brought about the end of volume one and volume two however I did not find it so I am now sat on the patio pondering the grand finale . . . .  Ooooooo guess what a small ant has wandered across the patio and it appears to have found a small red button saying DO NOT PRESS. This sounds very familiar, ants are curious creatures so I think he is going to press the button, he has . . . . . . . . . Mum just said, HERE WE GO AGAIN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  AH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

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Immortality, Franciscan Monks a Steam powered, electro-mechanical person called Igor and a Rabbit

In a battle to become immortal , I have offered my blog (of my daily diary) to the British Library for posterity, I would prefer to offer them the hardback edition with the all its medieval illuminated lettering and the like, but as I am still working on volume three (that’s year three) of what is a long term project the producers of the  hardback edition with all its medieval illuminated lettering, a group of free lance Franciscan Monks living on an isolated rock in the local lake told me to go away. When I say they said go away they shouted stuff in Latin and threw seagulls at me.  However I mentioned that the very nice Steven Spielberg is a regular visitor to my diary, (well OK I regularly mention him from time to time in my diary) and this did make them reconsider things and they have implied that as long as they get to do a song and dance routine in the musical and, can have Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers autographs then they will do a quick write up, I say quick it appears it may take up to fifteen years and I have to supply my own gold leaf.

So in the meantime I have been left with leaving the blog to the nation as a record of life as it is here in the wild (OK not very wild) hills on the borders of England and Wales, a place full of dragons and monsters and Zombies and Strange old men in flat caps who drive in mysterious ways on the open highway in old 4X4’s once owned by Franciscan Monks back in the Bronze age.

I am very optimistic that they will be keen to lock my diary away in the darkest vault for ever so that it will be safe from the ravishes of being read (Hang on that sounds wrong).

It appears dad is also keen to create something that will last for posterity so he is working on Igor a Steam powered, electro-mechanical person that will be controlled by a suitable human brain and triple A batteries.  All he needs is the correct sized brain, which apparently is exactly the same size as my own one, that’s a bit of a coincidence. . . . . . AH DAMN.      

Oooooooooooooooo yes I saved a bunny from under one of the sofa’s this morning that Sotty the cat was considering having for breakfast.

Mad Axe-Men, chainsaws, trees, Samuel Pepys and Uncle Toms Cabin

There is one thing I have found out about writing an internet based Diary in the mould of Samuel Pepys who as we know also had a Ghost Writer called Tom or Peeping Tom as he was known to his pals. And after several incidents in which he claimed he was only looking for aliens poor old Peeping Tom was locked away in a cabin by his relatives where poor old Uncle Tom wrote his own book complaining he was sold down the river by Samuel Pepys who said he was a rubbish Ghost Writer.

Hang on what was I talking about  . . . . . . . . . . AH yes internet diaries (also available as a large pile of paper in three volumes), yes I was going to say one of the things that can get a little disheartening is when suddenly the masses vanish off in a sort of vanishing way, in the same way indeed as  Pepys’s (peeping) Tom insisted the aliens did when he was looking through the windows of his neighbour as 2.00am, Tom like Mr Jones was also  convinced that the best way you hunt aliens was naked….  Of course back then Aliens from space were a minority interest and all showing any sort of interest were treated as witches and followers of the dark arts.

OK yes sorry again it appears everyone has vanished at a time when I am suffering writers block, I think the dog threw it at me through the window a few days ago and I can’t get rid of it now.

 Anyway today saw the return of the mad Axe-Men with chainsaws who finally removed the last of the big tree that was sort of tangled up in all the power lines a bit. Which has now ruined the vicars budding tourist attraction,  the burning bush or burning tree. When folk asked him about the fact it was a huge tree that was burning rather than a bush he would explain that after two thousand years of only modest pruning most bushes become huge monster trees. It is also not a good move to hug a tree in contact with 11000 volts either as many a pilgrim found out although the tea and cake at the vicarage was always a good seller after to settle them down a bit. As the dogs says Nuns are creatures of Habit AHH HAH Hah ah ahahaha h ahah hah aha haha haha ha hah ahhaha hahaha hah ah ah hah ah ha

Sorry distracted again, we now have a big pile of logs for the fire, although they will need to be cut up and stacked until next year. But it has forced dad into buying a proper chainsaw as recommended by mad Axe-Men with chainsaws, so I now have a new toy to play with; I’m sure I once watched a TV show about magic where a man cut a cat in half with a chainsaw, although the programme was abruptly ended mid-show due to some screaming and blood stains on the camera lens.         

I guess I should tell you all what I did today but I have written enough for a person with writers block, although it was nice and sunny today  but for reasons I don’t understand it is now raining, still it is dark and I cant see it so . . . . . . . Ya Sucks Boo rain…….. 

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Floods and a house in harmony with its Environment. . . J K Rowling, Harry Potter and The Casual Vacancy.

Britain is in something of a mixed situation at present because there are many who have had to abandon there homes as great volumes of water cascade down streets and taking interesting little short cuts through houses. It is not nice but luckily for us our classic seventies bungalow was build by a man who knew exactly where to put a bungalow when there has always been an outside risk of zombies (sorry flooding) not too far away. 

So we are lucky and our little house is in harmony with is environment unlike many of the recent speculative building schemes of recent years where houses have been built on flood plains or next to rivers. There is nothing quite like having your own fishing rights in the kitchen. You see mankind is no longer in harmony with nature in the same way as it used to be which brings me back to today and my sort of friend, I say sort of because Esmeralda is like a pet Puff Adder; you don’t get in its tank and play chess with it, or say whose a pretty boy then with it perched on your shoulder. I did warn George it was not a good move and he proved my point very succinctly.

So all the rain meant Esmeralda was going in circles again and so was placed back into the wheelie bin; she was far from happy and was screaming  exterminate exterminate exterminnnnaaaaaaaaaaate much like yesterday.  Trevor has learnt his lesson and did not snigger this time, not after being pummelled half to death by beetroot yesterday afternoon. And the day sort of settled down and was OK, although who ever put L plates on the wheelie bin is in for it once Esmeralda finds out who it was, apparently it was Dave but I promised I would not tell . . . . . . . . . . . AH Sorry Dave.

I was listening to the wireless this morning and that J K Rowling was talking about her new book called ‘The Casual Vacancy’ I assume about a part time B & B, anyway I took note because as we all know J K Rowling is responsible for Harry Potter who I fell out with ages ago because of all that stick waving and shouting Hystoriously Thrumpostious scaring all the banshees and most of the wildlife in the woods. Anyway Harry Potter is not in this book so HAH HAHAHH HAHHAH hahahah hah hah hah hahh ahah ah hahh hah hahha  sorry Harry only kidding . . . . . . . . . . . .HAH HA HA HAH HAH AHHAh hah hahah ahh hahah hhaha ha.

 The book we are told is for adults not children because it is full of naughty words and rude stuff (OK not sure if there is rude stuff). But surely Harry could have told Miss Rowling that most school playgrounds are full of much worse words, I have told the teachers loads of times it is not good to swear but no no they don’t listen, hiding behind the bike sheds so the headmaster cant see them before sneaking back into school to teach English and Maths again all innocent like.

Ooooo Yes, Miss Rowling also said she had not thought of another interest story line for Harry so he probably will not be in any more books, HAH HAHAHH HAH HAHha hah ah hahah ahah hahh ahha ahhhah hah ha  . . . . . . . Poor old Harry

Gosh I have written more than planned, and I missed the exciting bits too but I better go.

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The Final Diary Entry of The Eccentric Diary of Rob Z Tobor ... .... .... .... Year Two

Do you remember what I wrote at the end of book one a whole year ago. Well I have copied and pasted it here because today is the end of book two and guess what; it just goes to show you really do need to read my blog every day. A COOL SKY TONIGHT THOUGH….

It is the final day of the school holiday in Wales and the final day in my diary for year one (TWO). We have all had a long think about what we should do or say as this is an important moment in time, but in the end we are chilling out with a cup of tea. Helping others with DIY still, and things like that (…..AH NO). It is a rather perverse thing writing a diary because the more you do the less time you have to write about what you have done.

As my world is linked to yours through the mind of “Old Grumpy” known as the Ghost Writer it is even more complicated to write up the events of the day. And it is getting late again and I have stuff to do and the general things of life like putting stuff away cleaning teeth moving about clearing things away from the day folding clothes or as mum describes it throwing everything in a heap in the middle of the floor.

Anyway this is not want you want to hear is it, that nice Mr Steven Spielberg is hardly likely to make the movie of the book, if as the credits slowly roll down or up the screen the last image is that of a pile of clothes being sniffed at by a huge dog muttering in Latin.

Still it could be worse it could be like one of the Lord of the Rings movies where they suddenly end with three odd looking people wondering over a hill saying PHEW THAT WAS CLOSE. Do you think there is anymore popcorn down in the foyer? Mum just said IDIOT and has told me to get on with it

You will notice that I have changed since I started (I don’t mean clothes although I have I think) it is time and getting older and getting more ambitious, and early on many of our international readers did say WHAT a lot (OK THEY ARE SAYING WHAT AGAIN A LOT). So I am more articulate and easier to understand now (……AH) so maybe by the end of the next book (BOOK THREE) I might even make sense, although that may not be a good move. I will be adding a thank you to all soon (…….AH), and tomorrow I will be back in Cyberspace as normal, but readers of the book (BOOK ONE & TWO) will now have to go out and buy volume two (THREE) so that I can continue living a life of abject luxury and decadence OK start living a life of abject luxury and decadence, Mum said IDIOT again.

(luckily Mr Bond has stopped the bomb with three seconds to go….. PHEW…… however)

We are all now watching a small ant (IT’S THE SAME ONE) wander across the patio and it appears to have found a small red button saying do not press. This sounds very familiar, ants are curious creatures so we all think he is going to press the button. The dog thinks it will all end it tears but I am not sure the ant has heard or understands the dog because it just pressed the small red button

 . . . . . . . . Mum just said IDIOT I think she means the ant this time … . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... AH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

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THE END

A jet wash, a cat, an RSPCA man and the best selling book on farming..... and a blog award

I was jet washing the path at the back of the house as it getting a bit slippery with mould and the like, as it is to the North side of the house. Apparently I was told that it was possible that I personally would be sued if someone fell as it is my responsibility to jet-wash it. This came about after a game of Paper Scissors Stone where as you will have guessed I lost again….. I don’t mind using the jet wash although the bottom two feet of me, not my two feet although the bottom two feet of me includes my two feet, got rather wet. As most of you will not know I only wear Converse trainers and have done so for a long time (it is a long story), they are usually rather battered so I ended up with very wet feet (two feet).

While I was doing the path the dog suggested that I could wash the cats at the same time, they are sulking now and both mum and the RSPCA man have said IDIOT. I did explain it was the dogs idea but when the RSPCA man went to see the dog he just sat there wagged his tail and picked up a piece of wood. When I tried to explain to him that the dog talks Latin and does my maths homework the RSPCA man said IDIOT again to me, and the dog dropped the piece of wood on his foot (one foot). He limped off then muttering (the Man not the dog or piece of wood) and the dog fell about in hysterics and was whispering something in Latin to mum. It appears it is best that the RSPCA don’t know that the dog speaks Latin as it would only cause problems, although it appears to be causing a few for me today.

Someone was telling me today about some best selling book all about crop farming, that is rather annoying, here am I on book two of my life and still no luck with that nice Steven Spielberg yet apparently he says he is waiting to see how it pans out as a series and is waiting for book four, and yet a book on farming I am told is selling like hot cakes. Well I guess cakes tend to be made of wheat so there is a sort of link but it is very annoying indeed.  I was planning to get a copy via the internet but mum said IDIOT again too, I guess she is right I have no interest in farming and a best selling book on farming is not going to change that.

OK that’s it I must away now and go and do other things before it gets dark and try and convince the cats that bold patches are trendy for cats this year……. Ooooo yes before I forget that book is called ‘Fifty Grades of Hay’ ……. No sorry but that sounds very boring? 

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I was awarded an award yesterday, and as you know I am not good with awards I have a few lost in the system somewhere. Anyway it was given by someone new to me so I have investigated their blog and it reminded me of Miss Lily. I like Miss Lily’s Blog so that is a good sign.  I think they really wanted to give the award to Miss Lily and not me but well Miss Lily has a shed full of awards so after many attempts to give the award to all the deserving Blogs who also have shed’s full of awards I got it. Apparently a friend of a friend said “Hay that Rob has a cool dog that speaks Latin and stuff like that, and it has rained in the UK since, well forever so give it to him he will never notice” that is not entirely true. They also said (the friend of a friend) “oooooo he will be a grumpy *********** ******* so just keep you head down and ignore anything he says he will whinge like hell”.  Now that is true …. Anyway here is said award  

 

This Award was awarded by Crazy Mama at (see link below) so have a look 

Cant keep it in no More

Many thanks 

There were questions and stuff but it is late so I will not do that now but all my favourite blogs will be found below the posts 

The Air from the Earth, Blue Sky Thinking and keeping ones feet firmly on the ground

There was something strange this morning in the sky in fact it was so strange that I took a photograph of it. Yes yes I have been taking photographs of the sky again, but that is now my back up book, if those fools who should be publishing my book don’t. I am sure you will all have heard of the book THE EARTH FROM THE AIR full of photo’s of the ground from a hot air balloon well my back up book is called THE SKY FROM THE GROUND and will be full of photos of the sky from the ground.

So I can hear you all thinking do we care about this, just tell us what the thing in the sky was and we will make up our own minds how strange it was. It was (and I hope you are now poised on the edge of your seats) Blue Sky, is that a groan I hear from those of you who have been seeing blue skies for ages now. Some of us have lived with grey for what seems like for ever (several days anyway), it was still dam windy and that did not calm down until tonight

I told the Art teacher of my photographic project and my back up book concept and he said I was living in cloud cuckoo land and that i need to keep my feet firmly on the ground and then fell about laughing, still it was better than the dog who thought I need to do some more Blue Sky Thinking and reconsider it saying the book has no PLOT ………… OF LAND he then fell about laughing. Really I thought it was quite a good idea, even dad said it’s a good down too earth, solid as a rock idea although mum did shout IDIOT at him while he was rolling about laughing in the kitchen with the dog and Captain Flint the Parrot.

Still as I told the headmaster at the end of the school day they laughed at Christopher Columbus until he invented the spinning Jenny or was it the deep fat fryer. 

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