A Greek Tale of Gandhi and the Men with Guns

It is Monday today and although I started to write a diary entry for yesterday it did not make it to cyberspace, well things like this happen to the best of us. Today started as a lovely sunny day but by about three in the afternoon it was like yesterday so it makes some sense to blend the two days together . . . .  Anyway to save me a little work I will sneak in what I wrote yesterday in a sort of seamless join of text so that it will be impossible too tell where one day starts and one day ends.

Its Sunday again Phew . . . . . They seem to turn up rather quickly these days, and in a traditional, going back to the point Sunday was first called Sunday it was damp, grey, cold and generally not all that great outside.  It has now gone dark too, so all in all as classic a Sunday as one could ever get in Britain in the winter.  However all is not as gloomy as it could be because Gandhi was out on the drive eating most of the day, and because the local shoot have been out shooting at Gandhi and his mates in the last few days we thought he must have been a goner, but NO.

Ok yes I have used an old drawing tonight but I am rather limited for time

I guess two things may cross your mind here, the first being I thought Gandhi was dead, has dad been doing his Frankincense (sorry that was yesterday),I mean Frankenstein experiment again. Well no he has not, not after the rumours that he had created a Zombie Mrs Thatcher I don’t think he could cope with all the stone throwing again by the Godzilla Appreciation Society who as we know are a bit left wing.

The second thing that may come into your mind if you were unaware that Gandhi had died being  . . . . WHAT? who the hell is going to shoot at Gandhi (OK us Brits did a bit once), but you see Gandhi is in fact our friendly pet Pheasant and round these parts of the rural community folk make loads of money by letting city folk shout (sorry shoot or both) all the pheasants. They are stupid birds and because they are farm reared birds sort of see humans as friendly folk that give them food, rather than a nasty bunch with guns intend on using them as target practice.  Ironically they thought much the same in India when the Brits turned up there first.

OK back to Monday, I have seen Gandhi again today he appears to have two young female admirers, I just hope this does not distract him from his bid to avoid the men with guns who were still shooting everything today, It is turning into a classic tale of the Greek Gods, our young hero using his wit and guile to avoid the giant monsters with guns who have sent two young females to lure our unsuspecting hero onto the rocks, or as they would say within range of the guns.  

OK that’s it I must go now I just hope you can untangle the two days which have been cunningly entwined in a complicated story of subterfuge (I don’t think that is like Fudge, much?) and international scandal . . . .

Oooooo I will be drumming later . . . . . (that’s Monday Evening)

One further thing if there is anyone out there thinking. . .  WHO IS GANHDI, well  he is the chap who made My Hat . . . . . . .HA HAH HAH HA HAH ha hah ah ah ha hah ah ah ha h ha ha ha hah ah ah ah ah ha hah ahah ah hahahahah ha ha hahah hah aha ha ha ha ha…..

The Guitar and the Sunset

I am in a bit of a rush tonight I have been searching the wondrous world of cyberspace for information on Mr M’s old Guild guitar a single pick up CE 100 which seems to date from 1960 although the tail piece seems to be from an earlier time and looks classic 1956.  Old guitars to some folk are like steam trains or old motorbikes or rare books or stamps, mind you most of the folk such things appeal too are in general men and quite often men of a certain age who like to potter about with other men of the same age looking at these things and going OOOOOOOo that is a humbucking pickup from the old New York workshop made by Mr Smith or even his dad . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Or OOOOOooo look a condensing double level braking cylinder screw mechanism.

Anyway we popped up to Mr M’s house to ensure all is OK which it is or at least we think it is as far as we can tell considering there is piles of stuff and several rusting dead cars and large holes in the ground.  It would be an ideal place for a classic Zombie movie although getting a film crew and a load of Zombies up the hill would be far from easy……….

Right I must go as it is getting later than I planned to be writing my diary, but before I go I must say WOW that was some sunset tonight I went out to take a picture and there were other folk doing the same, a clear sign that it must have been jolly good, normally it is just me pointing camera’s at the sky (and pointy sticks). 

Steven Spielberg, the Watkins Rapier 44 and the Password

The Ghost Writer spent the day in the grey office looking at computers and fixing the odd network problem and getting confused by people using the computers, who he says can be a bit stressful. After all the easy bit is pressing the on off button then OK yes remembering a password can have its moments. Someone telling you that they were sure that their password was some man that once played tennis at Wimbledon (or was it a woman), Ooooo no hang on it might have been that golf player, the one who used to play golf . . . . . might be vaguely useful as a way of passing the time but it will not get them onto the network. And then once on the network an array of icons apparently for some of the users is like a rabbit being caught in the headlights of a huge truck, but then as he says they are novices and have only been using the network for several years now, and it will be fine once they get the hang of it…. 

Unlike the Ghost Writer who has the mind of a bitter and twisted grumpy and cynical old cowboy IT Guru I have the mind of a young nimble, (the worlds my oyster) enthusiastic young nimble person still convinced the very nice Steven Spielberg will be on the phone any day saying things like I read that manuscript your agent super glued to my dog and my lawyer will be suing in the morning, no hang on that was my last agent I had to find another after his methods got a bit extreme. Esmeralda says she is happy to act as my agent but I feel that would only end in tears and it would be a shame to see the very nice Mr Spielberg crying.

It has been a quite day well up to about 5.30pm when the weather changed and winter has arrived again and is snapping at our toes with wind and rain. I should not discuss weather but really this is getting silly…….

I think I will go and get my old Watkins Rapier 44 out, and cheer up the cats with some feedback. By the way that saying The Worlds My Oyster is that because we are all in a squidgy mass trapped in a shell and will all be boiled in a big pan. 

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The Builder the Cat and the Watkins Rapier

Here I am sat in a car with the laptop, I am not a fan of using the laptop for my diary because it does not sort stuff out in the same way as the old XP desktop which happily will correct the worst of my spelling regardless of which program or application I am using. So I can mess about in cyberspace and everyone still understands me (almost).

Anyway as I said I am in a car waiting and typing as I type, we have nipped off to Shrewsbury hospital, something we do from time to time although not a story for the diary.

It was rather strange getting here as back home it was sunny if a little overcast, but not a bad day all in all, then about half a mile down the road the weather was rubbish and was like that almost the entire trip then the last half a mile was OK again. I am getting irritated at present by builders with a loud radio listing to rubbish. Why do they do that…

My Watkins Rapier 44 and a cheapo Encore Les Paul copy

OK that was all some time ago as I am now back home away from the tinny thud thud thud of noise pollution. I know what you are thinking, I am a young hip slightly eccentric chap who should be dead keen on the thud thud thud of music, particularly as I play djembe and a rather cool left handed Red Watkins Rapier 44 guitar. And I do like music but not in a car park when it is being played on a cheap radio on a half built roof with a man joining in with the nail gun but out of time and singing like a cat that has just been nail gunned to a roof.

I have started making a log shed out of wood, it seems odd to make a log shed out of the material that will go in it so that we can take the wood out of it to burn on the log fire in the winter, and summer sometimes, but I will not talk about the weather …….Ah I already have DAM.

OK that is it for tonight because …….. Well, I can’t be bothered…….. No only kidding HAH HAHAH HAH HHA HAH HAH hah ah ha hahahah hah hah hah hahahah hhah hahhah hah ha.

No sorry I’m only kidding that I’m kidding it’s a double bluff so I’m off

No I’m not tricked you

OK there are some pics for a man from Chicago of the wiring inside a Watkins Rapier 44. It looks a bit wild but it works and it might be a bit frail to mess with.  

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