Writing Gibberish on a Quiet Sunday Afternoon

I am going to conduct an experiment today as part of an ongoing experiment in writing and observation (when I say ongoing I am lying) so I plan to type gibberish. Not gibberish as in. . . . ajdfn;  ;a;n  njdjahuerqwpuqw  hfha jadhajdhjd. . . . . or even Bling bling pop pop splat. . . but gibberish as in . . . . . . free frogs injected with orange holding mugs singing, mugs don’t normally sing or eat cake. . . . . . . .  In fact I am not sure how easy this process will be, but it’s a quiet afternoon so let’s give it a go……

Men tilting on the side of a slope always lean forward, hats fixed firmly to their heads. Dafadils never blow about in the depths of the ocean when whale’s tap dance in a state of hypnotic trance holding ice cream made in a furnace.  Wood screws would be useful to fix such things but not today where there is rain in the bath and people are walking on a sheet of paper. Those people of course are watching the men tilting on the side of the slope, men that always lean forward, hats fixed firmly to their heads.

Why is it legs move forward at different rates, and eating hard boiled eggs will not help as I have noticed many times while in the dark. A deep dark that is the result of no light which is in turn the result of clouds passing the freezer in the hallway which stands alone next to nothing . Standing alone next to nothing always helps when there are things about that folk don’t want to stand next to.  I don’t stand next to the people who of course are watching the men tilting on the side of a slope leaning forward as they always do, hats fixed firmly to their heads.

Well I have had enough of this experiment now because quite frankly it is not easy to write like that. It reminds me of the days when people who thrust a microphone in your face and tell you to say something as they hit record on their tape recorder.  I was never sure whether it was the microphone that was intimidating or the tape machine, but although people often have photos of family and friends it is rare to have old recordings of them speaking.

NO that last bit was not part of this experiment it was actually me typing proper stuff even if it was not entirely clear that it was proper stuff. The same as this, this is not gibberish but sensible text. . . OK sort of sensible. . . . OK YES it is not but it is as good at this blog gets.

I think more folk should type gibberish the world would be a better place for it.

How come it is the end of May already HOW did that happen . . . . . At this rate I will be a year older in no time . . . .Phew.

Pianos, up-cycling, Skip Diving, trendy city folk and Kristy Allsop

OK I can't draw piano players or piano's (its a time thing) 

Today was a quietish day except for one thing. You see here in Britain among the trendy city folk it is very popular to go scurrying off hunting down the rubbish of others and leaping into Skips (Skip Diving) finding old battered stuff.  Then with your pile of old battered stuff you do a bit of rubbing down and painting and a quick change of use such as that old bicycle wheel becomes a useful lamp shade.  You can then set up a stall down the market and sell your up-cycled items for loads of money or show them off at a  posh dinner party as your guests struggle to drink champagne from the modified old Chrome hub caps from a 1953 Morris Minor (Chrome Hub Caps, those were the days).

Even television in recent years has taken to this idea with much gusto with all shorts of shows where folk such as Kristy Allsop (who is OK I think) make sheds,  decorate homes and stuff out of old stuff. Although sometimes on the TV I feel they cheat, when someone says we found this old submarine periscope and grandfather clock in a skip, you just know things are going on that we are not being told about. This is the way of television no one wants to watch a chap make a model seagull out of a broken damp and mouldy chipboard shelf from a 25 year old bookcase that is knackered.

Of course us folk who live in the Country have rather mixed views about all this, some think these city folk are Idiots . . . .  I’ve got a whole barn of old rubbish if the want to buy it. And then there are those of us who have spent most of our lives picking up free stuff and using it for one thing or another and we tend to call it scavenging and folk look at us and say . .  He’s as tight as a ducks ****** . . . .   No one sees it as trendy up-cycling.

Which sort of brings us back to today and the arrival of a Piano from Chris and Chris, which was abandoned in a carport for a short while as the house it has been in is being sold. Luckily the piano is in fairly good condition and it’s main issue is it is a bit sun bleached as it has been in a sunny location for many a happy year.  Anyway it is a C. Bechstein piano (and an old one I think) so it’s one of the better makes, and it almost certainly will need the magic hands of our good friend Mr Ian the Musical Hat Maker to come and tune it at some time.  

Now you may be wondering what we plan to up-cycle this into, well our plan it to turn it into a piano and leave it exactly as it is.  I know us country folk are fools . . . . . 

Long arms and Geckos

We are lucky here in that life is still fairly chilled and in Christmas holiday mode, yes we are very lucky indeed what with a myriad of jolly presents and lots of food and everything going sort of to plan I am pleased to say all is well. Well I say all is well as it appears the rather interesting Steam Powered Gecko has been a bit of a pest having run about on the PC monitor for a while and has taken to eating Santa pictures. However many in the UK have been having a tricky time over Christmas with a complete lack of power so that in order to eat their Christmas dinner it needed to be wrapped in clay and cooked in a bonfire like they use to do in the old days with hedgehogs. This was in the old days when there were loads of hedgehogs and it was not regarded as bad form to eat them; things changed once the hedgehog became a cute beast in children’s books although it has not stopped their decline in numbers. Anyway to get back to the point you can’t cook a turkey in a bonfire when there is a flood, but there does seem to be a modern trend to build houses on flood plains in Britain which ruins the habit of hedgehogs and makes it impossible to cook a turkey in a bonfire (or an oven) during a flood.

The only thing useful I have done today is try old clothes on to see what can go to the charity shop, run my Mrs E in Newtown. This however has revealed that something strange is happening because I have noticed a lot of my old clothes appear to have shrunk by just sitting there in a cupboard for a long period of time. I know for sure that it is the clothes shrinking rather than me growing because of my arms; you see arms get to a certain length and then stop getting any longer, but clothes that had arms that were the right length once, now have arms that are to short. I pointed out to the others here that my arms are not growing, but everyone insisted that my arms are getting longer and I may be turning into a large ape. In fact there is a so called scientific theory that says if a man writes an infinitely number of words he eventually write the complete works of a large number of monkeys.  It also appears that arm length is directly proportional to the distance you sit from the keyboard while typing.  I have been told that one of the reasons the iphone and tablet style devices are so popular is the fact they do not have keyboards and folk believe this will avoid the risk of their arms growing in length.

I do have one question though I can’t answer and that is . . . . . If my arms are getting longer as I get older why is it getting harder to reach my feet. . . . . . This is a paradox and that is for sure…..

You will notice most of what I have written tonight is rubbish; however I am not going to let writing rubbish get in the way of completing my best selling Blockbuster Diary. 

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I SPY with my Little Eye

As tonight I have a frazzled Brain I have decided to play I SPY with an Invisible Makey-Up Person who for the rest of this diary entry will be Known as IMP

Me . . . . .   I Spy with my little eye something beginning with R

IMP . . . . A ravenous rampant Zombie

Me . . . . . No

IMP . . . . .A revolting rotten Zombie

Me . . . . . NO it is not a Zombie

IMP  . . . . Not even a rare midget Zombie

Me . . . . . . NO

IMP . . . . . .A Pirate

Me . . . . . . What?

IMP . . . . . . Pirates go Rrrrrrrrr HAR HAR HAR RRRRRRR a lot

Me . . . . . .  NO

IMP . . . . . . A Rhino

Me . . . . . . No

IMP . . . . . . A Rattlesnake

Me . . . . . . No

IMP . . . . . OK I give up I can’t see anything

Me . . . . .  LOOK it is over there it is furry, has long eyes (sorry ears) and pointy teeth and it hopping about it that field

IMP . . . . A Zombie

Me  . . . . . Look what are those small furry things

IMP . . . . .Gloves?

Me . .. . . . . . NO NO NO its RABBITS, a whole load of ******* ***** RABBITS

IMP . . . . .  O yes, so it is

You see never play I SPY with Invisible Makey-Up People they are rubbish at it.

Ooooo mum just said IDIOT . . . . I think she means IMP?

The loss of Wit, and tales of unimportance

As the slightly eccentric child of cyberspace, writing a theme based diary everyday has its ups and downs, not helped by the Ghost Writer being tired and messing about in the sun shouting Ya Sucks Bo at me.  I try to keep things witty and amusing and vaguely factual but I may be running out of wit, and I am still not  half way through my diary yet as the plan was to reach one million words and here I am floundering at a mere 400 thousand, this is terrible.

On top of this I have responsibilities as head boy at our rather trendy Academy, I say trendy but for new followers the school is actually the old concrete block grey school from the good old days when it was a comprehensive school but it has a new fancy aluminium facade., and the headmaster bought a new suit to replace his trusty early 1962 Harris tweed which is guaranteed for at least 60 years of hard use. 

And I have had issues to resolve today as Esmeralda, and for new readers Esmeralda is part bionic these days when the school mascot, the school goat ate bits of her when she fell. It’s all a long story much like my diary. . . . . . Ok yes Esmeralda and the goat have fallen out again, it appears she has decided that it is easier to catapult the goat into the large DIY store as it causes less agro, apparently the manager has had words with her parents. The goat on the other hand is having a sit down protest as it wants to be catapulted into the out of town supermarket where it can find a large array of fresh vegetables and fruit including things that are out of season. Talking of which, why is it that out of season Strawberries look good but taste rubbish, I have no plans to linger on this point it is merely observation.

I did solve the Esmeralda, goat issue by suggesting that on days with a P in the goat can be catapulted into the supermarket and on non P days it’s the hardware store. Luckily the goat is rubbish at spelling so it will take him time to work out something is wrong.

Now I do realise new followers to my diary may be thinking Goats ?????? Esmeralda ?????????  Seagulls ?????????  . . . . . . But they are all well documented so I would advice waiting until that nice Steven Spielberg makes the first movie of the series and then all will be revealed. Meanwhile I need to go and hunt wits to replace my lost wit. I am a chap of No wit or as mum insist on describing it an IDIOT.

Have you ever wondered why sand is attracted to sandwiches, I wonder if the gravitational pull of a sandwich is greater than that of the Earth on sand particles of a certain size.     

Scrambled Brains, Gibberish and Nonsense

Right onwards with my diary  I have been writing it some  time now and most nights, except when I am not near my large and lumpy desk top PC, which is not often and tells you I do not travel long distances much.  And I am always keen to ensure it is exciting (OK a bit exciting OK it’s not exciting), I mentioned lately that its quality is directly proportional to the weather and it is now getting boring (the weather and my diary) I need some sun, heat and a non white environment with green plants and birds singing. It is very unnerving to be stalked by a gang of birds who have been watching that Alfred Hitchcock film of the same name (as in The Birds).

Sadly we saw a hawk on the road today which had become road kill, I guess it is tough out there being a hawk at present or anything, there are a lot of things struggling with their own diaries not just me.

I think the snow has also scrambled my brain I now am not only misspelling words, but I am also typing completely different words to the one I meant to type and misspelling them so the auto spell checker is correcting them but they were the wrong word in the first place. How can I write when my computer corrects the wrong word so it is right but still the wrong word?   The result is gibberish and nonsense, how will I keep my followers if all I type is nonsense . . . . . . . . . . . . . AH

Yesterday I told you that Miss Tiggy and Mr Chris visited and we all chatted and had a good time, well it appears they had somewhat of an epic trip home. You see they live at the end of a little lane in the hills and while they where out the wind had blown the snow across the road so on there return they found themselves trapped in a six foot snow drift. They were then saved by a man in a tractor who could only get to them by crossing fields and was able to tow them to a place to leave their car safely. They then had to walk the last bit in a re-enactment of Scott of the Antarctic, or as they made it a re-enactment of the Norwegian chap who beat Scott of the Antarctic who no one remembers unless they are Norwegian. Luckily the snow plough arrived this morning so they are free again.

I’m sure other stuff happened like Miss Fionaski the famous Russian spy was testing her skills in water supply sabotage  as part of an NVQ qualification in  spying, as you need to keep up to date with new techniques and skills, and I was removing snow from a roof in order to catapult a goat at a supermarket or a snow drift to hunt for sheep, there are a lot of lost sheep at present too.

OOOoooooo yes mum and dad have ordered a new oven to replace the strange Victorian affair that came with the house, and which is very good at all sorts of things except reliably cooking food.

     

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A year in the life of a house

At 4.00pm this afternoon we had lived in this house for exactly one year, one year ago when we moved into our classic seventies bungalow it looked a bit like the sort of house that a little old lady might have been living in for over twenty years. There was good reason for that because it had been lived in for more than twenty years by a little old lady. One year later and after doing various things it no longer looks like that and slowly but surely it is starting to have the slightly quirky image we are famous for in the circles of quirkiness.

Strangely however despite all the work on the house, painting walls moving stuff about, solar panels and various other things there is still loads more to be done. I did wonder about a large medieval tower with a cantilevered stone spiral staircase and an option to pour boiling oil and tar on the masses below as they attempt to scale the also new portcullis. With its protective moat and steel spikes. I have just been informed that we will not be having a medieval tower, moat or portcullis and that this is why I will never make it as a town planner, that seems a little hard I think towns need some town planners with a bit of imagination.

After school we went off to Potters the great recycling dump at Welshpool, it has always been a place of wonder, a place where people take things that no one wants. Well when I say no one wants what I mean is loads of people want, it is very interesting to see one person put something down only to then see five people having a fight over who can get the item in their car first. Of course I was dumping a printer that had accidently fallen into a hundred pieces so no one wanted that. But to my horror the whole place was clean and tidy and stripped of everything not a single little thing left for the punters to fight over, that is terrible what kind of public recycling place has nothing for the public to pick through. If that carries on the public will stop going, after all what is the point of taking your old rubbish if there is no one else’s old rubbish you can rifle through to fill up your car to take it home to put it in the space vacated by the stuff you took in the first place. Surely that is the entire point of recycling or it would not be called recycling. I am just glad our house is full of loads of strange stuff that nobody wants . . . . . PHEW

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The curse of Granny and Knitted Jumpers in a post apocalyptic world, and a chicken

After all that politics yesterday things have returned to normal today, Esmeralda  was complaining that it is rather cold; which, when most of you is made of stainless steel is hardly surprising. And although she has an array of nano-electronics and miniature steam powered parts, it does not help that these are kept cool by fans (the rotating ones not the screaming ones). Her mum has made her a silly woolly hat with ears so she looks like a Dalek with a rabbit’s head something that you would think would make most of the class snigger at.

But due to the cold, Freddie is wearing a ferret hat, Freddie’s ferret is wearing a Freddie hat. Henry is wearing a knitted giraffe hat although it keeps hitting the teacher when Henry turns round, and the teacher is wearing a Panda hat. I arrived wearing a mutant zombie hat but because it is a knitted mutant zombie hat with a smiley face it is not quite as scary as it should be.  In fact modern knitting is not as scary in general as it use to be, once upon a time if granny said she was knitting you a jumper for Christmas it would instil fear and anxiety as you worried about how many arms it would have or where the hole for your head might end up. And if you were really unlucky it would have a huge snarling stag or reindeer on the front with pink antlers surrounded by snow flakes.

I have been wearing the ghost writers old coat that was half eaten by a mouse so it is full of holes; granny said she plans to knit a selection of small shrews which she will sew into all the holes to keep the draft out. I have told granny that it will make me look like some sort of mouse toy that you buy from the pet shop, but granny says I need to wrap up warm and remain cosy and that drafts course all sorts of sickness like plague and flu. I did say to granny that she does not always wear twenty layers of clothes and a bobble hat but she told me that is because she has a bottle of gin each day to keep of the cold.

We are off for a meal tonight at Big Bill's Greasy Fur Ball Café where I hope to have the worlds greatest fish and chips, it is to celebrate the fact we have lived in our new house for one year, well it will be one year tomorrow at 4.00pm because we had to wait for ages for the little old lady to get her bits out. This was due to the fact her removal men were total rubbish.

The Ghost Writer has said I can take the printer I helped him fix to the recycling dump tomorrow because I ruined it totally, luckily however he has another one to look at now so I have promised him I will help. After all it is not easy to fix a printer with a  thick indigo knitted polo jumper with a Viking on the front holding an Osprey and  SupperMan in large sparkly green letters embossed across the middle. He has to wear it from time to time or his granny gets upset and hits him with an umbrella until he puts it on.

     

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The Last Tsar, the Mattress and the Sandwich

The Ghost Writer has just called by for a chill and is drinking tea saying Naaaa Ugggggg Bling Bleep Bleep Bleep. So I think we can assume he has been in the grey office trying to fix computers. I think some of the operators get him down slightly as he says solving the problems relating to the speed of electrons in a Quasar is one thing. But when you get asked if it is possible to get the PC to make a nice cheese and pickle sandwich, well? Things can get very difficult for Computer IT gurus who can’t use a George Formby (sorry Foreman) grill toaster gadget thing. The Ghost Writer has said that several of the staff have tried to use PC’s to warm their coffee up, but so far with little success, even when pored directly onto a hot processor.

Still that is enough of the Ghost Writers problems. Last night we ended up waiting for the ASDA online shopping home delivery van to arrive., who was running rather late due to a technical problem (one of the vans broke down), although he made it in the end still chirpy and full of beans (I think there might be a joke there somewhere). And now we are waiting for a mattress delivery man who said he is running a little late due to technical problems. I feel the urge to suggest we hope he will arrive with a spring in his step, but I think I might leave that out……….AH, I didn’t.  

It is one of the problems mum and dad have with their bed; it is all well and good getting a gift from the Kremlin of a four poster bed from the Russian Imperial Palace for all that stuff building steam powered spy bots or what ever it was, I’m not allowed to mention in the diary……..AH. But the thing is, beds made for the Russian royal family never had standard sized mattresses, so you can’t just nip down to Beds-R- Zzzzzz and say what’s the biggest mattresses you do.  The normal response is “King Size sir/madam” which is fine until you then mention the king was the last Emperor of Russia, Tsar Nicholas the second and he had a big bed, then they mumble and suggest IKEA.

We are waiting now, and I must go and make cardboard bits for an Alternative Olympian Robot Poet.

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RUMPELSTILTSKIN and the Pirate ROOK

RRRrrrrr Har Har Har Hardy Harrr RRRRRRRrrrrr It be R and R stands for Pirates.

Mum said I had my chance; P stands for Pirates…….  NOT R

But me and the dog disagreed and said “RRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrr Harrrrrrr Harrrrdy Harrrr”.

Captain Flint the Parrot said “Pieces of Eight who’s a pretty Polly then” and Mum pointed out they were P words a bit like Pirate; but I told her that today I was not having a Parrot sat on my shoulder, but the Steam Powered Duck from yesterday and I planned training him to be a Rook……. Quack. Well he is trying to be a Rook Quack, Ok not a very good ROOK…..Quack

The English Teacher at school was helping, she said “A Round the Ragged Rocks the Ragged rascal ran” and the duck said QUACK., QUACK QUARK QUARRRRRK QUACK. It was a start, the Steam powered Duck will be a Rook in no time……... Maybe?

Right I must Return to the Reason, the Rationale for Relating all this Rubbish, the letter R. The teachers were Right behind me they love Pirates and RECKON we could turn this into a Right Rollicking Read. So everyone cheered and shouted  “RRRRRrrrrrrr Harrrrr Harrrrrdy Harrrrrrrr Rooks be in ye Rigging HARRR hardy  HARRRR RRRR”. Roger added “and Ye Rhino’s and Rattlesnakes” (Miss Stephanie hated RATTLESNAKES as you will see from the link) but I think he is being ridiculously silly. So after a good old sing song in assembly Reciting, Row Row Row your Boat, we went off to be Ruthlessly Rebellious Renegade REVOLUTIONARIES otherwise known as Pirates HARRRRR Harrr Harrrrrrrr HARrrrrrDY rrrrrrrr

Esmeralda knobbled Roger with some dodgy Narcotics so that he was giggling a lot, which meant we were able to run him up the flagpole so we has a Jolly Roger HARRRRRA rararr rarar rar HARRRR HARRRRDY HARRRRRR rrrrrrr, very Resourceful although Roger seemed a  bit Resonant or Reluctant but we promised to Retrieve him later. We then spend the day doing the three R’s READING Writing and Piracy (P is nearer to R than A so Yarrrr sucks boo).

Quack …. Yes sorry Duck, I mean ROOK, have you considered sitting in the crows nest  

 Esmeralda was dressed up in her Regal Regalia and a Ra Ra skirt and brandishing an assortment of Revolvers.  And Rick dressed up as Rumpelstiltskin Restlessly chasing Rusty needles all day and Repeating I bet you don’t know who I am to which everyone would return the comment “ You’re Rumpelstiltskin Rick” and he would reply “I Repudiate that and Refuse to Respond”, and the Steam powered Duck sorry ROOK would shout Quackers . I think in its own way the Duck sorry ROOK was calling Rick and IDIOT.

OK I must Run this has got repugnantly random and the a lack of responses means I am reluctant to write more

QUACK…….

I quite agree duck………..sorry ROOK)

Rough

Yes dog sorry it needs a rewrite but I am in a RUSH.

No really I am sorry about tonight it did not work out as planned, but then that can happen, I sit down and write. Never quite sure where it will go and every now and again it does not work; tonight I feel is one of those nights maybe trying to do the A to Z twice back to back is just more than my poor old brain can cope with…… and I would like to add that although we forgot to get Roger down I spoke to him on his mobile phone a few minutes ago and he said he was OK

Quack

SHUT UP Duck…….Sorry ROOK. 

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David Attenborough and the Mountain Gorillas + Eskimos and white snow

I went and waited for the school bus this morning as you do, only after a while of it not turning up, I returned home to be told it was the half term holiday. I do wish everyone would tell me before I go and wait for the bus, and Mum always says IDIOT when I get home. We also had to play scissors, paper, stone again to see who was going to paint the kitchen unit doors. And as most will know by now I lost (again). The plan was to paint them all raspberry coloured but we are on plan B now which is to paint the wall units white and the base unit’s raspberry.

So I have been painting wall units white.  We never really do white in our house because it is too white (just to clarify that white is too white, the house is not white), and we don’t really do nearly white or the so called shades of white that paint companies say are very exciting. Normally I would say that paint companies are IDIOTS to say there are shades of white but Eskimos have loads of words for white as they do for snow, so they would know about stuff like that. What does go through my mind though is if they do have loads of words for snow and white a translation of a long Eskimo conversation into English might end up as White white white white snow white snow snow snow white white white white snow snow snow seal snow snow white white  white white white snow white snow snow snow white white snow snow snow snow white and the seven dwarf seals AH HA ahh ah hahah ahhah hah hahha hahh hahhha ha ha ha ha hah hah hahahh hah ……….. WHITE MAN PAINTS all rooms in his house white …. IDIOT.

I have stopped painting now, to tell the truth logically that is rather simple to deduce because I am writing my diary. I had planned to go and explore with the dog along the side of the fabled Minor Stream of In-consequence but it is rather cold and drizzly so I haven’t.

I am being watched as I am writing this but this time I can prove it as luckily I have the camera to hand although I do need to take the picture through the double glazing. Something most wildlife photographers don’t have a problem with. You seldom see that David Attenborough whispering next to a UPVC double glazing unit discussing the Mountain Gorillas squeegee technique (YUK).

Luckily he is safe now as shooting season is over. 

  

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Can a cat catcher catch a cat and Maggie Thatcher the Moggie (Movie, film)

I have just returned from chopping some wood the reason being that the loser of a game of Scissors Paper Stone had to go and chop the wood and as you all know by now I always loose at Scissors Paper Stone. I am still convinced that somehow everyone else is cheating even Captain Flint the Parrot beats me although he would not have been able to chop the wood that well. So once it was down to us two it was all fairly academic really.

But I have to say on returning back inside it is very cold tonight in our part of the UK and the sky is very clear so it is likely to get even colder, which is why we (I) have been sent out for wood. It will be a good night for Banshee watchers and even the Dark Creature of the Undergrowth I suspect might be out and about in the woods tonight. I think it is going to be that sort of night tonight. Even the multitudes of cats are on the prowl.

Which is why I have just set our cat flap to cat catcher setting to catch cats? That sounds like one of those things you are told to say very fast which then turns into total rubbish. Can a cat catcher catch cats or can a cat catch out a cat catcher …….. or something like that. The dog says he is happy to eat all the cats and solve the issue in one go; deep fried in batter with a nice chilled wine but I don’t think we want that really, well not yet. Captain Flint the Parrot is shouting can a cat catcher’s cat catcher catch a cat or can a cat caught in a cat catchers cat catcher scratch a cat catcher ………….. Pieces of Eight and yo ho ho and a bottle of Rum. We have told Captain Flint the Parrot many times not to mention rum in front of the dog because the dog is saying Yum Rum, Is there rum in the room, I have room for rum Yum in My tum and Captain Flint is still talking about the cat Is there a cat the cat catcher could catch or cant the cat catcher catch the cat.

I have asked mum if a cat catcher catching cats sounds like rubbish and she has said IDIOT  and what ever I do, do not mention Maggie Thatcher the Moggie, sorry I mean Moggie Thatcher the Movie ……………AH I think I did.  Still there are loads of cats to do a really good re-enactment of that film although I cant recall anyone mentioning cats and I haven't seen it yet.

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The famous Hilbert's paradox of the Grand Hotel and the best selling book "How to disguise yourself as a traffic cone"

We had a lovely meal last night which was a nice distraction from today’s Double Maths, English, Fluid Mechanics,  Micro Entomology, Latin, History (the Etruscan alphabet), Welding and finally Organic Gardening and our gardening teachers pet subject (Eating for Free on the central reservation of the M6). He only makes us do this because he wrote the book he also wrote “A life of freedom on the grass verges of Motorways”, and the best selling “How to disguise yourself as a traffic cone”. Mums views are very clear as every parent evening she calls him an IDIOT.   

Starting the day with double maths and the famous Hilbert's paradox of the Grand Hotel was a great way to scramble the best of minds but as the dog points out at least we never did The Grand Hotel Cigar Mystery calculations so PHEW.

The Ghost Writer who is here at present says he had to deal with the Infinite config error code on his managers network computer and was given at least no time at all to fix it and then had to spend all day ensuring that the network was capable of withstanding a brutal cyber attack from a large man with a sledge hammer who thought Bill Gates was the man who charged him a small fortune to repair his gate which fell off again only two days later. As he says (the Ghost Writer not the man with the sledge hammer) give a infinite number of human beings an infinite number of computers, the complete works of Shakespeare and a copy of The Idiots Guide to Word Processing; lock them all in Hilbert's infinite Grand Hotel and within a infinite time none of them will be able to produce anything written by a chimpanzee. Mum has called the Ghost Writer an IDIOT as well now.

Interesting enough someone only the other day was saying they thought a chimpanzee could write my diary, but as I pointed out I hate banana’s and don’t don’t go Ooooo Oooooo Ooooooo a lot …………. AH maybe I do go Oooooo a lot

Ooooo by the way, No only kidding HA HAH HAHAhha ha ha hah ah ahhah hahah hahhahahhahhah hah hh haha hhahhah hahahaha  

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Miss Fionaski the Famous Russian Spy, the fridge and the bugging of the Kremlin

I saw Miss Fionaski the Famous Russian Spy today we were discussing important things Miss Fionaski said that from fingertip to fingertip she was the same length as she was high (if you can understand that). So we had to measure her to prove this. As it turned out she was right, she also said the twice round her neck was the same as her waist and that part of her arm was her foot. And that she reads huge scientific periodicals about science.

She was saying that the Russians have developed a new super fridge that can spy on people and makes them so depended on the fridge that in years come we will all be forced into eating borsch, pelmeni, pirozhki, Shchi, Ukha, Kholodets, Vatrushka and all washed down with a glass of Medovukha or kvass. And will start to sing Russian songs taught to us by the fridges while waving red flags and training pet foxes to sit on our heads. The Russian fridges are particularly superior because they are filled with ice cold Siberian winds allowing the food to be kept for long periods.

Of course the Russians would say that the fridges are merely a counter espionage defence operation in response the famous (now maybe infamous) Western Spy, Big Mac, who infiltrated the very core of Moscow and the Kremlin with the Bug in a Burger in a Bun. This of course was the down fall of President Putin himself who having eaten the bug washed down with a Diet Coke was forced into temporary retirement while the bug in a burger in a bun was digested and passed through his system. The Big Mac as it was called specially designed to take ages to digest so that the bugging device would stay in the body for years.

Ooooooo while on the subject of spies I noted that this morning on the news it was announced that MI5 and M!6 will not be prosecuted for torture because of a lack of evidence. I only mention this fact because only last night we had a lovely bonfire full of spy papers …………… And people think I make things up.

I also believe that MI6 are introducing new fridges into there posh headquarters by the Thames in the heart of the great Metropolis in order to reduce canteen staff members, apparently there is also a whole new Eastern European menu and new little red flags in the jelly to brighten the place up…………..Mum just said IDIOT….

The Health and Safety man, the bonfire and the victims of the Ginger Phantom

We are back to normal now just? Me and the dog have been out having a bonfire, burning stuff. There were several bonfires around us today as we have seen plumes of smoke drifting across the valley. Dad says it is parents burning children after the Christmas break. I think he probably means that the parents are letting the children burn the Christmas rubbish.

Ah apparently not dad says No it is parents burning the children after Christmas, luckily mum said IDIOT so PHEW. The Health and Safety man has shouted from off screen (Page) now, saying that children are not allowed to play with cans of petrol, matches, piles of Christmas paper and bonfires.  Dad entirely disagrees, he thinks it is important for children to assess risk; it is why if you throw a small child down a ravine they tend to bounce rather than break bones. If you throw an old man down a ravine they break loads of bones, dad apparently has done loads of experiments on this and has proved it many times. I always wondered why he threw me down ravines when I was small but I have assessed the risk and now don’t leap down ravines (unless thrown by dad).

The result of all this is that all the children having bonfires today and throwing cans of petrol on them have assessed the risk and are all perfectly OK ………….. AH well MMMMM, still me and the dog are fine and Sooty the Cat was black anyway so a little charring will not be noticed.

Poor old Sooty and Heavy Harry the Cat are victims of the Ginger Phantom, a scary gingerish thing that moves at speed and with stealth and has long pointy claws and teeth and is a thing. I say thing because so far it has moved so fast know one has worked out what it is yet. The dog is convinced it has six legs and is muttering HA HA HA HARDY HAR CAT YUM. We will reserve judgement on that because I know what he is thinking; he is thinking Rusty the Steam Powered Robot Dog and it might be, but could Rusty the Steam Powered Robot Dog make it through a cat flap, even if it is quite a big cat flap. Bearing in mind Heavy Harry the Cat is not a small cat and has to fit through the cat flap.

OK that’s it I’m off now (as in going elsewhere not smelly ……….well not very smelly)

The Goat, the Prime Minister, the teachers pension, the automated banking and a haircut

This week last year was National Sausage Week, one of the great advantages of a diary is that as time passes it becomes more interesting to look back on events from previous times. In celebration of the fact it is a year since National Sausage Week, we are having sausages tonight. It is also a year ago yesterday that Auntie Karen was playing Smoke on the Water to the Penguins at the Zoo. It is amazing how time flies.  

Can time fly I’m not sure about that, I do know that a fly can time things, they have a very good sense of timing and this makes them incredibly good at synchronised line dancing which they love. It is all the legs that do it, there is nothing quite like a large swarm of flies line dancing to some bad ass country blues music late at night at the Grotty Shack Disco Shed. It is not a popular venue with people but the flies love it, they also say it has a great BUZZZZZZzzzzzzzz HA HAH HAH HAH HAhah hah hah hah hh hahh ha…… Yes mum has said IDIOT again now; still this is all a great distraction from the day.

Esmeralda was catapulting the schools lucky goat over the cricket pitch today. I am not sure why it’s called the lucky goat because that is not lucky even if Esmeralda insists it likes it, and the headmaster appears not to be fussed because its not cricket season.

I am working on a Christmas list along with some other pupils to come up with ideas to improve the lot of the teachers next year.  The first one we had was to reduce the teachers pension make them pay loads for it and not allow them to retire until they were seventy five. This idea was the direct result of getting extra homework last weekend so we thought we might get our own back; that Mr Cameron said he thought is was a great idea, he likes it so much some of his mates thought they might try it out.  William whose dad works at the local bank once had this idea that instead of people phoning up his dad and getting him all annoyed; they could be given automated options to choose from and then more options and then more options, plus inputting all their account details off the key pad.  Williams dad thought it was a great idea, which is why mum and dad got well frustrated today and dad chain sawed the phone in half (again).  They also bought paint and other things some of which are of absolute no interest to anyone. Ooooooo and dad had his haircut again he does this once or twice a year, he says he has a budget of £15:00 a year for hair so two cuts is all it will buy, he thinks hair is nature's way of telling us we should be shamblely. 

The Christmas Fair and Badger Wine

We have been to the Lydham Christmas fair today. Now Lydham is small, very small, where we lived previously was not big but Montgomery has a square a town hall, shops and stuff and by its very design when you go out you bump  into folk chat and in general takes two hours to get a pint of milk. Lydham does have a shop it sells healthy vegetarian stuff which mum says is great but me dad and the dog prefer a big bacon roll with cheese and marsh mallows. You cant get one here.

OK the Christmas fair was in the church, and we were at first greeted with a suspicious if friendly smile, after all this is not the sort of place or event that vast numbers of strangers turn up at. But then they realized we were in fact the new folk at the classic 70’s bungalow on the edge of the village. I say edge of the village, but really everyone is on the edge here. It appears that everyone that lives here knows our house well, and have been to it many times over the years to see the nice little old lady who used to live here.

It also appears that one of the ladies of the village knows mum because she regularly visits Napoleon Beelzebub’s Very Strange Victorian Curiosity Shop back in the hidden crevasses of Montgomery. Where as you all know mum regularly helps out.  We think that we have now been accepted into the community as we were good enough to go to the local little Christmas fair. Mum did think there was maybe a little to much Badger in the mulled wine but the dog likes Badger and after a while told everyone they were his best mates in all the world this included Heavy Harry the Cat and Sooty the Cat, so we decided he must be drunk.

We have been unpacking stuff from boxes, WOW there is a lot of stuff in some of these boxes and we are running out of bookcases so there are plans for another expedition to explore the wonders of IKEA once more next week for more bookcases. The dog told the bookcases they were the best bookcases in all the world and that he would read all the books so they are happy. Mum said IDIOT but the dog said you’re my best mate you are before going out to search for more Badger wine in the woods.

Mum and dad have pointed out that by starting in a new house with this much stuff means there is no need to buy more stuff; although we are having to buy things to put the stuff in. Apparently according to dad all these strange little quirky things of no monetary value will in a thousand years time be worthless strange little quirky things and therefore are worth having as no one else will look after them. He has a point, although it is a rusty blunt one of no value H HA HAH HAH HAH hah hah ha ha hah hah ha ha ha ha ………… Mum said IDIOT again.

Vanishing into a paradox induced blackhole and having blood sucked out of me

I have never been a fan of having blood sucked out of me, but the nurse who did it was very good in fact it was probably the best bit of blood sucking I have come across in the surgery in Montgomery. In school I was telling them about the blood sucking and Esmeralda thought this would be an ideal experiment for the Biology lesson. Although I am not sure where she got the hypodermic needle from, it was huge.

Esmeralda did have to tie the teacher down to the desk to take a blood sample and I am sure they don’t take a pint and a half normally for a few tests but Esmeralda thought it was best to be safe and make sure there was enough blood for everyone to do tests on.

The teacher (Mr Jones) seemed a bit subdued after that, so we were a bit unsure about what tests we needed to do. Freddie insisted that his blood test proved the teacher was pregnant but as some of the class pointed out Mr Jones the Biology teacher was a man. This did not deter Freddie who also insisted that Mr Jones was in fact a Giraffe; well it is true that Mr Jones has a long neck but none of us were convinced. Then Esmeralda said that according to her sample Mr Jones was her identical twin brother, so she then hit Freddie for calling Mr Jones a Giraffe, because if she and he are twins, then by implication Freddie was saying she was a Giraffe too, not a good move.

There was a lot of blood flying about by the end of the lesson, so the sale of black pudding at the school canteen during lunchtime was according to one of the dinner ladies was an all time low, for some reason most people just didn’t fancy any. And it took some persuasion by the headmaster to convince Esmeralda that liquidising the left over’s and feeding it back into the Biology teacher was a bad move. Sometimes I get the feeling Biology is not one of Esmeralda’s stronger subjects.

Back at home I have been assembling another IKEA bookcase for more books. Someone has suggested too mum and dad that they could get one of those kindle gadget things. But as mum pointed out we could either have a room full of interesting old books, filling all the shelves or a kindle and no books just walls.  Well I think we all know which is the more preferable, as the man in the garage said WHY reinvent the wheel, as it happens in his case it might help as they keep falling off his car.

It is surprising how much time writing diaries takes up but if I start writing about the fact I am writing my diary, then according to the dog, I will vanish into a paradox induced blackhole where thoughts are unable to escape and twist back on themselves increasing the paradox and in turn the power of thought required to deal with it, and so on and so on, until the gravitation force of the thoughts is so heavy that your body is unable to support the weight and you will find your self pinned to the floor by your head. Me and the dog thought you needed to know that but mum said IDIOT