Scotland, a Goat, a Greek Restaurant and some very expensive Fuel

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Hello  . . . . . Yes I have returned after a short-ish break. You see I was in Scotland having a holiday in Dumfries and Galloway near Kirkcudbright. My timing was rather good because back here at home it turned out to be one of the wettest places in Britain and where I was, was one of the driest. In fact except for one very wild thunderstorm with huge hail stones it was dry during the day, every day we were there

Now I did not do a great deal, but I did make a Goat. It was not one of my own creations but one of Paul Spooner’s from his book Spooner’s Moving Animals. I have had this book since about 1989 and thought I really need to make some of these things. So I made the Goat ... I should have done more but I was on Holiday and our lodge was surrounded by hares, seagulls, a deer and men on golf buggies. So I was regularly distracted and also spent a lot of time on a nearby beach picking up tiny bits of driftwood to make something with when the workshop gets finished. There is nothing worse than an active mind full of more ideas than a body can shake a stick at.

There is a great Greek restaurant in Castle Douglas and I stuffed myself silly a couple of times during our week away . . . . . . Yum. It is worth a visit although he does not accept plastic and is a cash only sort of chap. So be prepared but it is worth every penny and more. I also bought some bowls, I would have bought more artwork but we have more art than wall space these days so a couple of really nice bowls to eat breakfast or ice cream in was a good option.

OOoooooo finally I drove up and back in the big beast that likes fuel but Tebay services must be one of the most expensive places to buy fuel in Britain. Actually the trip up was terrible it rained until we got 10 mile from our destination and we saw 2-3 crashes on route so it took much longer than normal and I was knackered when we got there.

And yes the Chicken did come with us.

As he is inclined to do at times 

The large metal post, a man, a one legged blackbird and two supermarkets.

This morning while at Tough Harry’s  Supermarket where we were purchasing stuff such as milk and fruit and veg (yuck) we arrived in the car-park to see an elderly chap in a shiny car pondering along with a couple of members of the staff a large yellow and black stripy post which he had attacked with his car.  It was one of a long line of yellow and black stripped posts that can be seen from a long way off, the particular post (a big metal post) in question was sort of tucked out the way making it hard to hit without going entirely the wrong way.

Interestingly it reminded me of shopping in both the Tesco at Inverness and M&S in Perth. Now folk in Scotland are well friendly, but for reasons I don’t know things have changed in supermarkets from the last time I was in a Scottish supermarket . . . . WOW it’s scary, a true dog eat dog affair like some sort of terrible computer game where only the death of innocent customers stupid enough to get in the way of your trolley will do.  No one smiles and although the staff are a chirpy bunch if you ask them stuff like where is the milk, AND can I get deep fried mars bars in the ready meals, the customers are demonic zombie killer beasts who hate everyone. 

Yet once they enter the street they cheer up and wave at strangers and tell you there were loads of dolphins in the bay last week . . . . . . . honest, and then tell you how to make spicy banana soup (AAAAAAaaaaaaauuuggghhhhh no YUCK YUCK YUCK).

One draw back in being of Scottish blood but having an English accent is that when you see a passing Scottish pirate ship and you wave and shout hello sailor at them they ignore you. Offering them deep fried dolphin on a stick does not help much either, even our tame one legged Blackbird did not impress them much, but he did tend to fall over quite a lot. 

Sunsets in Scotland

As many of you will know because I did say I was going to be away along with the fact I have not been in the grand world of cyberspace in over a week . . . . Thus indicating that I have in fact not been here, but have been away. In fact I have been living in a wooden shed just a few feet from the sea about ten miles from the great metropolis of Inverness.  OK in world terms Inverness is not a great metropolis, but in terms of the North of Scotland it is.  Now many things happened (OK I lie) which I will tell of in the next couple of days assuming not much happens to interrupt the flow, such as the internet playing up seriously badly which it appears to have done since our return yesterday. I was told there was a huge storm locally and much lightning and huge bangs, so maybe that has caused the problems.

While away we obtained a treasure chest saw a pirate ship, fed a one legged Blackbird, found much sea-glass, went Ooooooooo at one of the most stunning sunsets I have ever seen. Did not see the famous dolphins of Inverness. Had a great meal in a place while driving. Went back and had another great meal later in the week. Bought a head from a man. Drew some pictures.  Pointed at snow on the mountains. Saw an oilrig and a jack-up. Went to a cheese shop that only sold Norwegian Cheese and was run by a Norwegian. Saw a huge cat called Ben who was huge. Tied a chair to a post as well as many other things along the way.

Of course how much of this adventure I tell will depend on whether I remember stuff, have time to write it all and the key factor, how much money Steven Spielberg will pay for the film rights to the story.

So that’s it I am off now having told you all very little indeed, but then my diary is a bit like that really in general, full of words which somehow avoid issues like England losing to Italy at football. I have added this because I only recently found out. Although I suspected as much as no one has mentioned it today

No it really looked like this at 11.00pm

The Machines of the Fields and the Monty Cardboard Robot Club

We are rapidly reaching the end of another years diary (book three) as the school holidays are almost over and the notorious end of holiday machines are starting to clear the fields of crops in order to locate any escaped children who were hoping to hide amongst the wheat and barley.  I am resorting to plan B now and growing a large handle bar moustache, OK I am making one out of cardboard and plan to stand about in a masterly way looking important and giving instructions and telling small children to go to bed with no supper, which is what most adults do.

The Ghost Writer is now an official member of the Monty Cardboard Robot Club so that he can use my expertise as a producer of cardboard sculpture to create a cardboard masterpiece. Which the Ghost Writer is planning to give as a present, which is just as well because the one disadvantage to creating great masterpieces in cardboard is that folk will not buy cardboard art. Well they will not buy cardboard art from the Monty Cardboard Robot Club, but then it is a cult organisation and in years to come folk will tell of the legends of its strange and eccentric members who skulked in the shadows of recycling skips discussing the quality of cardboard.

Today by the way has been relatively peaceful; if you ignore the fact huge machines have removed the planned hiding places of small children and Zombies (that’s small Zombies not large Zombies).  I have had a chat with Mrs E, the person formally known as Miss I who is planning to sign her name with a squiggly symbol until she has mastered writing her surname quickly.   And I have taught the Ghost Writer to paint the sea blue (actually he is rubbish at it) and I have looked for bats.   

The probability of rain at the wrong time, buttered toast and the calculation of the hypothetical average.

It is Wednesday today about half way through a school holiday in late May and we all know what that means, yes the weather has taken a turn for the worse. It is strange because statistically I have now worked out that school holidays are mainly wet regardless of the time of year. It is possible to work out the probability using hot buttered slices of toast dropped onto the floor as the hypothetical average of the chances of rain.

If you then use a large steam catapult to fire small school children into random passing clouds at a fixed regular interval, by taking note of the state of them as they return to the ground it is possible to see that in most cases they are cold wet and suffering from shock, a clear sign they have passed though a thunder storm. Hot buttered toast never suffers from shock and sixty three percent of it lands happily butter side up allowing me to eat two thirds of all the toast (OK a few slices have a bit of fluff on but that’s fine). In contrast to only five percent of children who on landing will eat a slice of hot buttered toast. Eighty one percent of them will go and lie down, face down with there head hiding under the pillow and say get him away from me Mummy, I don’t like the clouds a clear sign that for reasons unknown to man as yet I really should be allowed to have my holidays outside the normal holidays. And if you do have children ensure you leave them in school when you go on holiday, I think you will find you are much happier (with the improved weather).

I spent a little more time sorting the garage today it is rather full as it was the overflow for stuff when we moved here 18 months ago or so. The garage at the time was the overflow and folk would look at things and say Ooooooooo I don’t know where that is going? ? ? . . . . stick it in the garage, it is a common moving house problem, and seventy two percent of houses have boxes of prized items in garages, cellars and attics doomed to a life in a box as a result of a house move.  Did you know that even in the bank vaults of the world there are items worth millions that have been stashed away by people moving and they will never see them again. 

Oooooooo yes Harry the Cat is wagging his tale at God. 

A pheasant called Long John Silver and 30 million pounds worth of diamonds

I have just been watching Long John Silver limp across the grass at the front of the house going HAR HAR HAR pieces of grape HAR HAR. Yes you are thinking grape WHAT? Long John Silver was not really the sort of character to eat grapes he was more a red meat and mushy pea’s man, and you are right, however in this case Long John Silver is a Pheasant who has gained the name as a result of his limp, the patch over his eye and his handy skills with a cutlass. Skills well needed when you are dealing with two cats who have taken on the roll of the British fleet hell bent on eating Long John Silver, I cant remember if they managed to eat Long John Silver in the book or not but I noticed on the news that the British have managed to eat Silver the horse used by The Lone Ranger.

One of the fundamental problems horses have is unlike the pheasant they do not have the same skills in swordsmanship, in fact the very act of holding a sword is tricky for a horse. In my own case I prefer pheasants in the garden to horses and a horse would almost certainly break the bird table, as it is it is not really designed for Pheasants and a limping Pheasant is right at the limits of its design parameters.

After time travelling through most of yesterday after prodding a prototype unpredictability machine I am rather annoyed as it appears yesterday was a lovely day full of warmth and sun and today where I have taken the more conventional method of getting through the day it is grey and very cold, all I can say is typical. Luckily this did save me from the fate of the muddy hole but not from the final bits of the tongue and groove panelling, it is the really annoying tiny fiddly bits and odd bits of filler and rubbing down, Sometimes there are times when being good at something is not good. Talking of which dads old friend Benny Neckbender called by and said hello and has left a package with dad for safe keeping, apparently it has 30 million pounds worth of diamonds in it that Benny says was lying about on the runway of some airport and that no one seemed to want them. Dad has said that it is probably best not to mention the 30 million pounds worth of diamonds as mum will not be happy and it is just possible others may be wondering where they are . . . . . . . . . . . .AH DAMN 

Oooo yes my little YouTube clip tonight is from the secret life of Miss Fionaski the Famous Russian Spy who I said I will help to go global so if you wish to share it would be much appreciated; it is all in a good cause. . . . . . AH well it’s a good jolly anyway and Miss Fionaski does like to leap about a lot…..

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Muddy Holes, Roots and Chainsaws

Today was the start of half term,  I know I sort of vary between the Welsh holidays and the English ones but I do live right on the border and after all the school is now an academy and as head boy I guess I can have holidays when ever I like. Yes I am still head boy despite several votes to remove me, but since dad has been bribing the selection committee with plain brown envelopes full of money the headmaster cant get rid of me. Apparently dad says its what parents do because the alternative is going to parents evening which is full of parents and depressed teachers which would be awful. 

So, here we are the at the end of the first day of the holiday, which was dry and even sunny at times and so I was sent down the large muddy cold wet dark hole in the garden again. It seemed a bit unfair to me but dad explained that as I have done most of the work in the muddy cold wet dark hole it would be terrible if he ruined all my effort and toil and got onto it. I did say I didn't mind but he said he knew I was just saying that to make him feel better about it. 

I did finally manage to get the large bit of root out of the muddy cold wet dark hole by using the chainsaw which was super sharp but which is now blunt wet and muddy, you see chainsaws hate water and mud, both of which are in abundance in the muddy cold wet dark hole. This now means I have finally sorted half of the muddy cold wet dark hole and once I have managed to remove a huge half ton concrete slab from the other half I can start all over again . . . .  O GOODY such fun . . . . . . .

  

I also got to do a bit of tongue and groove panelling which is almost finished for the moment; I have a small fiddly bit by the door to the utility room to do. I think I have one more strip to do and then it is done until a new hob and oven is fitted, luckily I don’t have to do that . . . . . . . . .AH DAMN.

One other thing I have noticed is that we have a mole in the garden; I am not sure if this is a classic case of if someone digs a hole then all the other hole diggers think oooooooo that must be a good place to dig holes I will go over there. 

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Avoiding the cracks in the paving and a huge spider

So here we are the end of another day and the day before the start of the Paralympics, I am rather looking forward to seeing some of these. Because they are being held in the UK it means I will get the opportunity to watch some on a television. Tomorrow is also the birthday of the Grumpy Ghost Writer and we are all off to have a meal with relatives and chat and sort of party. Although it is not easy to party with a grumpy Ghost Writer who will shout and tell everyone HUMBUG.  What he needs is a twenty five foot long sausage roll covered in a million candles; that will cheer him up. He is getting very old now so a million candles is about right because after a certain age the trick is to cram as many candles as possible on things, resulting in the person not being able to blow them all out without a need to have a little lie down afterwards.

It appears today was another quiet day, I say appears because there I was pondering the universe and not walking on the cracks on the patio paving because it would result in a huge hairy 15 ft high spider leaping out from behind the hedge. The dog went to look for the spider but said he could not find one. I had to explain it was a pretend spider not a real one as I needed an excuse not to stand on the cracks on the patio paving and a 15 ft spider seemed like a jolly good one.

Of course the dog kept watching me then and every time I stood on a crack on the patio paving the dog would shout at me, I did explain I was pretending that I had not stood on the cracks because it is difficult to ponder the universe and avoid them at the same time. In the end the dog dressed up as a 15 ft spider and when I accidently stood on the crack leapt on me stabbed me with a hypodermic needle wrapped me up in silk rope and hung me in a tree. By the time I came round it was tea time and I had to shout for ages to get someone to cut me free, I did explain to mum and dad that the dog did it, but he said it was a very large spider that had emerged from a crack in the patio paving.  Mum then asked me if I had not been stepping on the cracks in the patio paving to avoid the huge spider, well I said YES BUT…… Then the dog said he had spent the day fighting the huge beast to protect me, at which point mum said WELL DONE and gave him a large bone, I did say that’s NOT FAIR so mum gave me a large bone too?

According to dad once children start avoiding the cracks in the paving it must be almost time to go back to school after the long summer holiday (summer?)....

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The great tradition of British Inventors in the technological development of wheelbarrows

The summer Holiday officially started today so Mmmmmmmm Loads to do? Why is it you think you have loads to do; you will be really really busy this summer holiday and have no spare time to do the dull things then after a short time you think……. AH what will I do? I will admit I usually last longer than three hours though before this happens but I blame the weather, not that the weather is bad, in fact it has been rather nice today but I am mentally adjusted now to dull and wet…..

As it happened Mr Charlie and Miss Jane came to see us for lunch so that was cool, lunch even lasted until early evening so we had a six hour lunchtime which is very cool. Mr Charlie is a great inventor of inventions, not those boring mass production useful inventions but inventions that are interesting and quirky in the true tradition of mad British inventors, like dad so they get on very well.

He (Mr Charlie) is in the process on making a special self propelled, gyroscopically balanced auto-tipping wheelbarrow using parts from a BSA Bantam, 15 bicycles, a U2 spy plane and a wheelbarrow. It will enable Miss Jane to shift huge amounts of stuff in their garden and put it into a precise location, accurate to within a millimetre of any latitude, longitude co-ordinate on Earth. So they will have the most accurate wheelbarrow on the planet. If it all goes to plan he thinks demand for this will be enormous because at present most gardeners just dump things at the bottom of the garden without a thought about coordinates which is just sloppy gardening. Miss Jane says she does not want a high tech wheelbarrow just one where the wheel does not fall off or go flat. Both Miss Jane and Mum have said IDIOT but they don’t understand the great advances in the technological development of wheelbarrows that Mr Charlie’s invention will bring to the world.

I bet when George Stevenson first invented the train and laid the track down his garden to the potting shed so Mrs Stevenson did not have to walk so far; Mrs Stevenson probably said “I just wanted so crazy paving dear not that monstrosity”.  But look where it led we can now wait on long concrete platforms in the cool and wet for hours before squeezing into an overcrowded train at a huge cost to ourselves to arrive somewhere late and miss an appointment.

You see without great minds like dad or Mr Charlie we would all still spend all day laying about chilled drinking beer outside a cave waiting for dinner to walk past, then sleep it off and do the same tomorrow. No work to do or tax to pay.

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The curse of the Bank Holiday traffic

As many of you know Mr Napoleon Beelzebub closed his shop, Napoleon Beelzebub’s Very Strange Victorian Curiosity Shop about six or seven weeks ago. And although many of his treasures have been returned to the bowels of the earth and are now locked away in the vaults for eternity; several items had to be returned to artists. It is the SOR (sale or return) items that he had in his shop; mum said at the time that we would do this for him as a favour, after all Mr Beelzebub does get a hard time from folk.

So today we arranged to go on a little trip delivering items at two secret locations (its mums spy background coming out). The first location was a garden centre where we were delivering ceramics, small bottles designed to house genies, to a person in a car park with dark glasses on and a rolled up copy of The Times newspaper (that’s the person not the car park). Having first said “The begonias are looking remarkably well for this time of year” and getting the reply “Yes I have one in the potting shed that likes to sing songs by Elvis”.

The second location was in a quiet street near a ‘house for sale’ sign and this time we had to say “the rain is falling on your house” and the person this time (a different person) would say “Ah yes, so you like the water feature, I can leave it for you if you wish”. We were delivering painting of tempestuous weather in the wild hills of Wales to the second location.

Now as far as the deliveries went all was well and it was mission accomplished, however there was one thing overlooked in all the planning that only came to light when we stopped at the local garage for petrol before we set off on the mission.  Having been cut up and forced to wait by angry aggressive drivers determined to be first at the fuel pumps at all costs, it suddenly dawned on us it was in fact the bank holiday weekend. OH NO Bank holiday weekends on the roads in Britain are not good and today was a classic example of the bank holiday effect. People are very aggressive and everyone is determined they are going to be first to get to where they wish to get to. So drivers are hunched over the steering wheel faces pressed against the windscreen and snarling, grinding their teeth and driving like it’s the end of the world. And all so that they can go somewhere to relax (?) and enjoy the extra day off work. It’s a strange way to relax fighting on the central reservation of the bypass and jammed for hours waving your fists at other motorists or driving down the wrong side of the road because someone has the audacity to drive at the speed limit.

Anyway as I’m the eccentric child of cyberspace me and the dog were in the back of the car shouting BOO and LOOK OUT THERE’S A WHITE LION ON THE ROAD at other motorists and the dog would bite the odd wing mirror off cars towing caravans (they have those extended ones, ideal for a dog to bite off). And Mum would shout IDIOT at us.  

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