Storm Barney Bites and Blows over a Robot

Well as I sit typing away in the security of my little office (well sort of office) the wild winds are now blowing overhead as the second named storm of the year has arrived. It is something of a novelty in Britain to have named storms because in general we don’t get anything bad enough to be worth naming. But I think the National Weather Centre (the Met Office as in Metrological) in a cunning bid to keep their hands on the BBC weather forecast franchise have decided folk like names. And that is indeed true we all like a storm with a cute name, the first one was last week and was called Abigail and now we have Barney, which implies an alphabetical theme going on I suspect. As far as I can tell from here, Barney is blowing harder than Abigail was so I am hoping to see Barney Blow a stone wall over so I can point and say . . . . . Look it’s a pile of Barney Rubble . . . HAH AHAh ah ah a hah ah ahaha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha  . . . . . .  Sadly we do not have any flint stone walls in this part of the world which would make that even better.

The other thing I noticed is that they say there is a small chance of power cuts which means typing away on a device that needs power is like a game of Russian roulette for writers. I was planning on saying failed writers but actually I write loads of stuff it is just that no one actually reads much of it, that is not quite the same thing as being someone who has written stuff read by loads of folk but who no longer writes stuff. A bit like that Shakespeare chap, although to be fair he has quite a good reason for no longer writing much. I mean I would be disheartened if a load of monkeys turned up and we able to write you entire works without ever reading it in the first place,  Its like that chicken and egg problem . . . . . Which can first the Monkey or Shakespeare. . . . Well plainly in that case it’s the monkeys which can only mean Shakespeare copied the complete works of the monkeys

OOOOoooooo I have just lost a paragraph due to a power cut, see I was not kidding it is getting windy out there. So it might well be time to run off and hide for a while . . . . .  OK then chaps head for the fortified bunker, make sure your heads are wrapped in kitchen foil and you have your trusty pointy stick and inflatable Hedgehog (sorry life raft).

I have Just had to go out to save one of the Robots and all I can say is BLOODY HELL. . .

Good Luck Mr H I hope all is well with you

OK that's it powering down and running away. . . .  

An Apology to J K Rowling, A Seagull and no Poetry

Well I have been on Twitter defending my old mate J K Rowling, OK when I say old that is a bit unfair as she is younger than I am, and I am the Slightly Eccentric Child of Cyberspace, so Miss Rowling is well young I guess.  And I say mate well that is not entirely true as I think secretly she is not a great fan of my poetry and thinks of me as one of the Vogons now, and sort of looks the other way going OOOOOOOoooo look a seagull. To tell the truth it is an understandable thing to do as a celeb.  Celebs tend to get followed by all sorts of nutters, I would like to make it clear I am not a nutter. . . . OK a bit mad but actually rather normal even if when I tell my family I'm normal they all laugh and fall about pointing.

Still the point is while doing my bit to defend her (like one of those knights from the old days) because she lives in Scotland and went to the Rugby match where she had a posh seat in a good spot which then upset someone who is a pro-independence supporter. I sort of have run out of time to write stuff so am repeating my own Yes campaign post.

I really cant understand how having a go at J K Rowing helps those who would like to see Scotland become independent. If anything it makes us look like a wild bunch of marauding mad men who are out of control running about in kilts and shouting at anyone who passes . . . . . . . . AH OK   . . . . DAMN


Anyway Sorry about a few of My fellow Scotsmen Miss Rowling 


And here is my old Post showing why Scotland should be Independent


It is rather interesting that in the great debate on Scottish independence, to date no one has asked me my opinion on the Scottish referendum debate. Some of you will be thinking why should Rob Z Tobor get involved in the first place, what can some mad bloke living on the English Welsh border add to the debate that has not been discussed so far.

Well you see as my loyal, slightly quirky, but rather intelligent regular followers will know I often look at things in a slightly different way to the masses and so can help persuade a few people to consider how they finally vote when we get to crunch time on the 18^th September. There are all sorts of issues involved in this, and at present a certain amount of mud slinging and scare tactics being used by both sides. This is not the way forward, although I may add some to my argument in order to liven it up a bit, after all David Cameron and Alex Salmond are not the most inspiring folk to watch or listen too,  although maybe Mr Salmond has the edge slightly on banter.

So where do I stand and why, well I am a pro independence person because my family have come from the wilds of Scotland since before Bruce Lee, sorry Robert the Bruce was knee high to a spider. In fact the old ancestral blood goes back to a time when we were wild men in the hills fighting everyone including each other and shouting ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME SONNY dishing out Glasgow kisses before Glasgow was Glasgow, and we all spoke in a strange dialect no one understood.  AH YES I see your point it may still be a bit like that on a Saturday night after a few wee chasers and deep fried haggis, chips and curry sauce. I always remember someone telling me that after a really good night out, he assumed it was good as he did not remember it, he woke up in the door way of R S McColl in Aberdeen in the morning with enough chip suppers to feed about twenty people, although by then they were cold and had sort of congealed into a single lump.  Still it made a hell of a breakfast, sort of the hair of the dog so to speak (I know more silly sayings).

OK back to the point you are keen to hear exactly why folk in Scotland should vote for independence, it is the financial or economic or commercial or political arguments that have made me think AH YES this is what Scotland should do . . . . . . . . Well NO who can really predict what would happen; the truth is no one with any certainty.

You see if Scotland says NO then the status quo will remain as it is now, nothing will change, we will still grumble about the weather, politicians being corrupt, the cost of a cup of tea and next doors Armadillo making holes in the lawn at night. To vote No is the easy safe choice the one to go for if you wish to see everything just carry on as it has for ages, the one that will let the powers that be just smile and be smug. However if Scotland says lets go for it Lets vote Yes, it will be a whole new adventure not just for Scotland but the entire UK, the UK even gets a new flag (WELL COOL). Imagine it . . . . all change for loads of things, flag makers will love it for one and then there will be all sorts of other stuff no one has thought of yet, it will be dead exciting all round, both in England and Scotland and it will be a monumental historical moment in British History something to remember and tell your neighbours cat about in years to come.

This is a one off opportunity something that will never happen again, a NO vote will seal Scotland’s fate forever as the hilly bit on the top of England where folk talk funny. A YES you see; I suspect in the future, if it sort of went wrong, would see the rest of UK saying . . . . . Why not come and join us again we will even let you keep your kilts and bagpipes and talk in a funny way about felling a bit peely-wally and even allow you to sing Flower of Scotland.

So vote YES or  . . . . . .  Ye aff yer heid . . . . ya Bampot Eeejits

I rest my case . . . . . . . .for now. 

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 tale of Badger Hopson. . .The King of the Skies

A short story for Mr Squid McFinnigan

Badger Hopson had always wanted to be a pilot ever since he was knee high to a grasshopper and spent many a happy hour forging his pilots licence and flying history so that he could get a job. He dreamed of flying shiny posh passenger planes across the Atlantic into Europe so that he could chase women, gamble and drink and stub his cigarettes out on the heads of European cats. . . He hated cats.  

Badger even supplied his own outfit and to tell the truth that was his downfall. You see he bought it in an old Army surplus store and although there was no denying it was warm and cosy it was not exactly the image Pan-Am or any of the other airlines were looking for. Poor old Badger hit the bottle hard for a time and threw all the empties at unsuspecting passing cats, who would scurry off and then leave dead mice in his boots for revenge.

Then one day when the winter winds were at there worst, not that it worried Badger Hopson, he was no fool he had bought the flying suit with the heated boots and double knit thermal underwear. (Hang on I got distracted there . . . back to the point). . . Yes one day in the wild winters wind an old mate said he had heard of a flying job going with the US MAIL and it looked just the job.  Well this was exciting news for Badger and he quickly applied and was interviewed and surprisingly got he job. In fact for the first time ever they said they were very impressed with his flying outfit and that it was exactly what they were looking for.

So it was that Badger Hopson became King of Skies and got to fly his faithful but knackered Douglas DAKOTA C-47 / DC-3 transport aircraft delivering mail to Anchorage Alaska three times a week.  He did get to chase women, gamble and drink but there were no cats just Polar Bears and that of course was his final downfall, because you should never stub your cigarette out on the head of a Polar Bear.  Amazingly he survived the attack saved by the padding of his flying suit, and the electric shock the bear got from chewing his battery powered heated boots. But with one arm, one leg and one ear he was classed as unfit for flying and pensioned off.

He was however a content man, not many folk can say they have flown to Alaska in an old Dakota drunk, gambled, chased women and put their cigarettes out on the heads of Polar Bears. So he settled down, got married and told of his many adventures as the King of the Skies. Making a few extras up to impress the kids, his old flying suit now chopped up and turned into a stuffed Python for reasons that are far to complex to explain here.        

A Fairy Tale about Politics and Pointy Sticks

A fairy tale

Once upon a time there was a princess who lived high in the mountains in a posh castle and did many things for the people of the kingdom, she was quite left wing which is rather unusual for a princess and she did many good deeds, like make sure all the children in the kingdom had school books and were looked after. Then one day the King (her father) increased the taxes and there was much grumbling and discontent. The princess was not happy, what with being a bit of a lefty and the like so went off to see the king in his private chambers.

Why have you put up the taxes she asked as she entered adding AND what is that THING?

AH yes its my new 58inch television with a 3d option and cinema quality surround sound . . . its well cool.

Well I hope you have not put up the taxes to pay for that monster of a television said the princess

MMMM well it was very expesive you know replied the king

A few days later when the princess was in town she met Mr Larkin the Butcher and she told him that her father (the King) had spent all the taxes on a huge new television.  Mr Larkin was not happy and shouted leapt about and moaned and said he would lead the masses to form a free independent state. Then when she got home she told the King (her father) that she had told Mr Larkin all about the television and he was talking of forming an independent state. The King was not happy and he shouted leapt about and moaned, but he did then say he would reduce the taxes if it was making life difficult for folk and he was not keen on the idea of a folk forming a new independent state  

The following day the princess went into town to tell Mr Larkin the good news because she was also not keen on the idea of independence either.  Knocking on his door she got no response, but she could hear the voice of a man who sounded just like that Jeremy Clarkson chap from off the tele. Keen to pass on the good news to Mr Larkin she entered the house and found Mr Larkin sat in front of a new 58inch television with a 3D option and cinema quality surround sound.

AH he said I know I said times are hard but it is a very good television and I added a few pence onto the price of sausages so folk never noticed anyway.  

As the princess left she met several of the local villagers and told them all about Mr Larkin (the leader of the Independent Movement) and how he had increased his prices to buy a huge new 58inch television with a 3D option and cinema quality surround sound, and they all shouted and leapt about.

As darkness fell that night there were folk shouting at Mr Larkin and folk shouting at the King and the King was shouting at Mr Larkin who was shouting at him and folk said it was all the princesses fault for being on the political left when she should know her place as one of the well off elite and that no good comes of trying to help folk. Some folk were still demanding independence and some wanted a 58inch television too.

Meanwhile the princess had gone into the forest to stab a pointy stick into a large wasps nest, she did this sometimes because she always said no one is perfect. As the wasps swarmed and flew about manically being grumpy and shouting she headed off home past all the grumpy folk shouting at each other and running about manically. Smiling to herself as she watched the fleeing massed crowds flapping their arms about and running as fast as they could from an angry swarm of wasps. The princess you see was a very good princess but she did have a bit of a devilish streak in her and could never resist prodding things with a pointy stick. Well we all like pointy sticks don’t we.

The End  

More Writers Block, More Gibberish, Another day on King Street. . . . . and a Polar Bear

I have spent the day in a grey office not the sun so Persistent Writers block has become Chronic Writers block. It may be the other way round depending on which you think sounds worse. But I feel I am left with little option but to revisit the good folk of King Street; a street where little happens of interest allowing me to write more gibberish.

Very little of interest happens on King Street so it did not go entirely unnoticed when Mary or Auntie Mary as she was known to all on the street was seen pushing a large fibreglass Polar Bear balanced precariously on an old pram. Do you want a hand Auntie Mary said Mrs Jones her next door Neighbour, the pair of them struggling to get the life size Polar Bear up the stairs and into Mary’s bedroom.

As they sat it down looking out of the window Mrs Jones’s curiosity finally got the better of her. . . What exactly do want a life-sized Polar Bear for? she asked.

Well its that Mr Hamilton over the road he keeps peering at me at night through his windows  so I got this, I know he hates Polar Bears. And I have had it modified in the watch repairers in the high street. . . .

Modified ? Replied Mrs Jones looking with interest at the huge beast.

Yes it has lights in its eyes Look. . . Mary turned a switch on the side of the bear and its eyes glowed a sinister red. . . .

Its Winking said Mrs Jones it must have a dodgy connection in the wiring.

AH . . . WELL it growls as well said Mary turning another switch

But as she did so, rather than growl it made the sound of a large cuckoo clock. . .Are you sure that is right asked Mary rather alarmed by the sight of a winking Polar Bear going cuckoo . . . . cuckoo . . . . cuckoo . . . cuckoo . . . cuckoo . . . cuckoo

It was the nearest thing to a growl the watch repairers had in the shop was Mary’s response.

And it appears to be smiling said Mrs Jones   

 I know it a bloody nuisance that, but I could not find one that snarled said Mary

That night as darkness fell and Mr Hamilton wandered up to bed and he went to close his curtains he noticed a face. Well I should point out it is important to know Mr Hamilton has terrible eyesight and hearing so it was hard for him to work out who it was. It was certainly Auntie Mary’s bedroom window he thought and whoever it was, was smiling at him. Waving back he was responded to by winking and a muffled sound of Cooooo . . . . . Coooooo  . . . . well it was a bit of a shock as Mr Hamilton thought Mary had always disliked him.  So it was that the following morning as Mr Hamilton headed off to work and spotting Mary he felt confident enough to give here a cheeky wink and a quick pinch on the bum.  Well Mary was so annoyed that she went up to her bedroom and attempted to kick the Polar Bear down the stairs.

Later as she was approached by the doctor at the hospital he asked her what had happened to which she said. I kicked that bloody Polar Bear of mine and we both fell down the stairs. I broke my leg and all it did was wink at me bloody thing, luckily Mrs Jones heard it shouting cuckoo. . . . cuckoo . . .  cuckoo and she phoned for the ambulance. And then they refused to enter the house because the polar bear was smiling at them. I’m going to demand a refund once I get back home. . . That Bloody polar bear has done nothing but cause trouble.

The doctor smiled and quickly moved to the next patient who had swallowed a goldfish called Derrick. 

And I still cant think of anything to write about yet. . . . .  

Total Gibberish Caused by Persistent Writers Block

George had moved to King Street because of his obsession with all things connected with space and aliens, in fact it was this obsession that led to him painting his wife Mavis green. She did not object too much although she did say later that she would have preferred to have been warned in advance rather than wake up in the morning covered in green paint.  George himself said that he had never entirely understood Mavis and by painting her green she made a very good Martian, and he was working on a Martian Phrase book. Although Mavis was convinced she was speaking English and told George that everyone else understood her perfectly well.

It was rather ironic then that several weeks later George received a text message from Mavis to tell him she had been abducted by humans who were planning to do terrible experiments on her.  In reality she had run off with Mr Clark the librarian to Spain because the stress of being a Martian had become to much and as she told Mr Clark, George was completely mad.

Several houses along King Street at No24 lived Harold Beckman famous as the first British man in space, who spent several weeks on the International Space Station until the accident where he uttered those famed words HOuston we have a problem. . . . Again?  Since then Harold always kept a small can of oil about his person and insisted that his door hinges were oiled once a week.  As he told the postman on many occasions as he oiled the hinges of his front door . . . Nobody wants a squeaky door on the air lock. . .  He often referred to the front porch as the air lock. It was his four days trapped in the airlock of the International Space Station that had brought this way of thinking about, and his early retirement was finally thought for the best after he started to wrap his head in Kitchen foil and was found oiling the wrong end of the cat.

After Mavis was abducted (ran off) George spent many hours discussing this with Harold who said the Aliens were everywhere sabotaging all the critical doors around the world so that one day when they invaded folk would find they were immobilized by jammed doors making mankind useless and unable to defend themselves.

Their friendship however came to an abrupt halt when a young assistant at Boots the Chemist handed over some photographs he had developed for Mr Harold Beckman of them (George and Harold) both dressed as Penguins in a state of arousal. It was a great scoop for the local press but not so good for Harold, George or the assistant at Boots the Chemist who was sacked for breach of confidentiality.  Harold kept his front door locked after that and George ran off to Spain to escape from sniggering neighbours, where he found Mavis working in a tapas bar. She told George that her mind had been wiped by men in white coats so she had forgotten about him. They got back together after a bit and are now often seen scampering along the Spanish beaches wearing Penguin suits and giggling.

I hate Writers Block. . . When will it finally go. . . .AAAAuuuuuggghhhhh.

The rambling words of a Newt Keeper

It has been a couple of days since the last post posted on this blog which was about hard working families and the reason I have not posted a post is because I have been working hard on you know what. Yes the Kitchen, you see I discovered that a couple of pipes from the range cooker sort of went where I did not want them too, so I have been sorting it out (sort of). Anyway it means that the problem will now look like it was all planned and when folk look I will say. . . . . . . . Oooooooo it was all quite easy really and everything went as expected. . . . Which will be a lie as houses do like to fight change, as do people generally.

It has rained today which is not nice but I guess it does keep all the plants (and us) alive and the ponds filled up and the newts and toads happy. I had to move four toads and a couple of Great Crested Newts yesterday that were living in a tarpaulin in the part of the garden that has the apple trees in. They did not have it propped up like a tent and were not huddled round a fire to keep warm toasting the odd fly on a skewer complaining about hard times. The tarpaulin was lying on the ground and rotting and needed to be moved and the little critters were making the most of the perfect conditions to chill among the fruit trees.

 I saw a huge hornet at the same time . . . it was huge and I mean really giant sized huge,  in fact it was run away screaming huge shouting what the hell is that thing. . . .  It was the largest hornet I have ever seen outside of a scary sci-fi movie about man eating hornets.

OK back to the newts, because while at the Friday market in the village I was informed that it is illegal to handle a newt in the UK without a licence. What was particularly odd about finding this out was it happened before I found the newts under the tarpaulin. As the subject of newts had arisen in connection with another unrelated issue to do with other folk in the village, who as it happens would like a couple of our newts.  But we do have loads of them and a bloody huge Hornet. . . AAAAAauuuuuuuuGGGgggggHHHHHH.  

By now you might be thinking what the hell is he rambling on about why has he told us about newts well the fact is I have reached one of those moments known as writers block and no one likes writers block when you spend hours looking at a blank sheet of paper.  Well with all this kitchen building I don’t have time for writers block so I writing freestyle with no idea of where it is all going to end, which ironically is NOW.

OOOOOOooo just to say the picture has no bearing on the words but she might be shouting . . .  AAAUUUUGGGGGHHHHH A HORNET. . .

Harry Potter meets the Three Witches of Macbeth . . .Who said culture was dead

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and caldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,

 In Hogwarts caldron boil and bake;

Eye of Potter, and toe of frog,

Wizard’s hat, and tongue of dog,

Ron Weasley’s hair, and blind-worm's sting,

A wizards leg, and owlet's wing,—

For a charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

"Mad-Eye" Moody’s hat; tooth of wolf;

Witches' mummy; maw and gulf

Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark;

Boot of Malfoy digg'd i the dark;

Liver of Mister Sirius Black;

Gall of goat, and horns of yak

Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse;

Nose of Turk, and Miss Grangers lips;

Finger of Albus Percival Brian Dumbledore

deliver'd by post, from the Argos Store

Make the gruel thick and slab:

Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,

For the ingrediants of Hogworts caldron.

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and caldron bubble.

Cool it with Harry Potter’s blood,

Then the charm is firm and as much use as mud. 

HAH AH HA HAHah ha hahah ha ha h ha h hah hah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah hah ah ahah aha hahahahha ha ha hah ah  HAH AHAH AHAHAH AH AHAHAH HA HA HA AH AH AHA HA HA H AHA HA H AH AA  

Diaries and other words

So about this so called diary that you have not been writing lately, I can hear you all think. What sort of feeble excuse are you planning to palm us all off with this time with your rubbish pictures and so called paradoxes.  Which looking from our point of view just looked like an excuse not to write anything?

Well I can tell you are not happy since I have stopped writing reams of total rubbish that makes little sense I have noticed that the page views on the blog have plummeted like the Great Mechanical Zombie Bird itself. There I was boasting to the cats that the blog was just a tad fewer than 10,000 pageviews for the month of July and at the present rate it will be back down to a couple of thousand at best in August.  Of course I did mention my concern about the fact I would no longer be covering major world sporting events as my Football  World Cup coverage was very popular (particularly with folk who don't like sport).

Anyway back to the point excuses, I have been busy and I think I have reached that point where I am suffering from writer's block again. I have a feeling this is because I have written loads, 560,000 words not including comments and drawn loads of pictures. In fact last nights picture drawn last night was a right old game and I was far from happy with the result so I am worried I have Artists block now as well. Even the poetry was a bit iffy and bad nonsense poetry is normally dead easy.

So I need a plan something to revamp things in a good way but not an exhausting gosh this is hard work sort of way, something that will make people think Oooooo this is an interesting diary this chap should get that very nice Steven Spielberg to turn this into a film.  Luckily I do think I have a plan one that I hope people will approve of, one which will keep the basic structure of my diary intact so I don’t lose my loyal followers (you know who you are).

So what is this plan I hear you now thinking in a slightly excited way. . . . . . .Well I thought I might introduce more Zombies, Aliens,  Mechanical things, Goats, ferrets, Lemmings, Pointy Sticks and ice cream and do some drawings………

WHAT DID YOU SAY

What you are fed up with    Zombies, Aliens, Mechanical things, Goats, ferrets, Lemmings, Pointy Sticks and ice cream and rubbish drawings done with a ballpoint pen. . . . . . . . .

AH DAMN. . . .

What about a nude alien hunter and a Grumpy Ghost Writer.

O God you lot are hard to please, OK I will add some science and stuff from time to time if you insist and maybe some real news. . . . . . But that’s it. 

1000 blog posts, Blogger and the Diary of Rob Z Tobor . . . . .PHEW

As many of you know partly because I told you all yesterday I write my diary in many places, like on the side of trains, in tunnels, carved into old oak trees, and cyberspace, and one of those cyberspace locations is a blog. There are millions of blogs in the world which is a lot and I am sure I heard or read that the average blog has something like 10 posts or the like. I may be entirely wrong about that, but it is not a high figure and you need to work away at them in order to keep them going. My blog was a little late in starting as my diary in fact started in cyberspace elsewhere, but I like blogs and as a long term way to keep my diary going it is perfect. It was started on the 15^th Feb 2011 and many things have happened since then although if you are a regular reader of my diary you will know by now things are not always as they appear and I can’t spell or type and in general forget loads of stuff and spend a lot of time defending myself against Zombies and almost communicating with Aliens.  It has also changed a bit over time which is probably all for the better, partly because the very nice Steven Spielberg is not getting any younger and my diary gets heavier by the day so his ability to pick it up and say WOW this would make a cool movie is becoming less likely. I may have to resort to using thinner paper to write it on……..

OK yes to get straight to the point today is a special day for my blog as this is post one thousand, yes the 1000^th blog post and one of the first goals I set myself back in the early days. I am rather pleased I have reached it because I said once I did, I would stop posting my diary on a daily basis as it hard work and a little difficult to always find the time to do it,  I am after all only Super Human with X ray eyes and the power to leap over speeding cats.

Since I started the blog the pageview counter tells me I have reached just over 72,000 views which is an average of 7 views per post of which at least six and three quarters are spam auto robots. So I wish to thank my reader and say next time you eat a Jammie Dodger or Custard Cream or poke at the iphone with a pointy stick, attempt to stop a small child taking over the world, or paws for thought or are even quietly writing away at your own blog why not pause for a moment and say that blog is rubbish he’s an IDIOT.

If you are new to blogging and all keen and thinking OOOOooooooo I will have loads of followers and all will be hunky dory, that can happen but you will have to work at it much like most things in life really which as we all know is a bit of a nuisance, no one likes work.

Mr M by the way is still fighting off the gods, I think if he had a decent liver he would live to be at least 110 or more, sadly though he really cant have long until he goes off to see his maker and have a jolly good complain about being given a faulty part and will demand another go, but with more sparkly bits.

Hospitals, Waiting and the Famous Writers Loop Syndrome

It has been a long day of waiting and some travelling for various reasons that would take a long time to explain and which would not help the script of the blockbuster movie that everyone is hoping that the very nice Mr Steven Spielberg is going to make once enough folk have signed the partition and jabbed at him a with pointy sticks. . . .  The Eccentric Diary of Rob Z Tobor (The return of the curse). I have added the return of the curse because I have reason to believe that when my man phones his man, his man turns to Mr S and says it’s the return of the curse again…..  I don’t mind if he wants to call it that but it would make more sense to have a quick read of the half a million words or there abouts already written. And it is a lot chirpier than that Harry Potter bloke who got right moody as time passed, ungrateful chap that he is. There he is in all these films and what does he do whinge a lot, some folk are just plain grumpy even when fame and fortune is staring them square in the eye. That’s one those saying again, fame is not square and does not stare at people.

Sorry I got side tracked as I do, as I said the day involved travelling and waiting at hospitals, two of them as it happens. The first was the hospital with the peacock that wanders about outside the main entrance. It is a male peacock and looks a bit dishevelled, but I think this may be due to the time of year as it no long needs the fancy tail to display. We spent a long time waiting about in this hospital but the good news is we will not be back to it for about a year.

The second hospital was to see Mr M as he was on route to home, but we arrived a little early so had to wait to see him. He is OK but has to drink horrible looking coffee although he says the food is much better that the last hospital. His last hospital was not the one with the peacock.

It is odd how spending the day travelling waiting then travelling and waiting and then travelling can sap all your energy.   As it happens so can a Ghost Writer who has to go into his office in the morning and do stuff, he is complaining and muttering away about it when he should be pleased he missed the big meeting today for reasons that would also not help the script of the blockbuster movie that everyone is hoping that the very nice Mr Steven Spielberg is going to make once enough folk have signed the partition and jabbed at him a with pointy sticks.

AAAAAuuuuuugghhhhHHHH NO I am suffering from the famous writers loop syndrome now…….. I better go and lie down.  

Sorry about the picture I don’t have a peacock to hand in the house and this was the next best thing…….

Rotation biased management in the working environment and the life story of a chicken

I have spent the day doing practical things such as drilling holes with a drill screwing screws in with a screw driver and sawing stuff to the right size, when I say the right size I really mean it is righter than it was before I attacked it with a saw but it is not exactly accurate. You see accurate is an abstract concept, as different things need a different degree of accuracy and I in general try to stick with things where I can go OOOOOOooooo that’s about right, after a wave of a finger and making a few Guesstimates with a pencil. Do you know that in nearly half a millions words of writing my diary that is the first time I have used the word Guesstimate (OK twice now).

While doing all this stuff with Esmeralda and Freddie and his ferret and various other pupils from our posh (well the facade at the front is posh) Academy (school to us normal chaps),   I noticed that most folk are right handed and a small percentage such as myself left handed, but I also noticed something else a result of using power tools with long cables, there is another factor it appears we are also either clockwise biased or anticlockwise biased. If two clockwise biased people use the same power tool the power cable will get all twisted up which is dead annoying but if an anticlockwise person works with a clockwise person the cable will not get twisted because there is no overall rotation of the tool or the cable. So the perfect working relationship for doing DIY would be left and a right handed people, who are also clockwise and anticlockwise biased. I think this discovery is highly important to the workplace; and my observation of rotation biased management in the working environment should win me a Nobel Prize for sure, well it better or someone will not be happy.

One small thing has come to mind over the 500,000 words or so I have so far written in my diary, I am not including comments and my responses to comments that would be just scary, is I have used loads of different words.  You see yet another one used tonight (Guesstimate) and I have used loads over time, much more than that William Shakespeare chap who surprisingly used fewer than most people suspect,  and he made a few up. I believe it is said he used 31 and a half words in total and wrote a total of just under 900,000  in total, so I have used loads more words than he did and done it all in just one diary…..   

If anyone is wondering why the picture is of the chicken tonight he has also written his whole life story in 31 and a half words……. When asked how he felt about his publication he said . . . . . . . He was just a self of his former shell . . . . . . HAH HAHAHHAH HAHAHH Hah hah ah hahah hahah ah hahah ha hah ahhaha hah ha hah ah ahhah hahah ha hah ah hah ha hah ahahah a  

Zombie Defence Ditches and sewage . . . . . . .YUCK

Today did not start that great weather wise, but it got better as the day progressed, it was felt therefore by the dog and dad that I should work on the Zombie Defence Ditch because it is the time of year apparently when Zombies Breed (no I didn't know that either). So there I was digging away in the bottom of the ditch when I came across a pipe attached to a large concrete tank, dad in particular seemed very pleased and told me to break through the pipe with a chisel and lump hammer, which I did. Well it was a bit of a shock because the ditch started to fill rapidly with decomposing sewage, not the ideal situation when you are standing in the ditch. Dad and the dog however did say it could be much worse and that it might have been fresh raw sewage, but they were standing a long way off and wearing masks at the time.

This is the reason my diary entry is a bit late today because I was not allowed in the house for ages and then was chained into the shower for ages too, until I smelt normal. The only good thing is no Zombie is going to get past that Zombie Defence Ditch now that is a integral part of the soak away system……. YUCK

It also appears that something strange happened last night, firstly the hedgehog was about again but then suddenly vanished, I don’t know how it did that. Then this morning two fat balls put out for the birds hanging on the bird table vanished, Either the work of the hedgehog, but then it would either need to be able to climb a post or make use of tools such as pointy sticks or zip wires. Or it was aliens which is what Mr Jones says is very likely if not a dead certainty, because aliens have little knowledge of food on Earth and might see the fat balls as a gift of friendship only to come to the conclusion that humans eat rubbish.

All this drawing pictures in a rush is terrible too but not as terrible as standing in a Zombie Defence Ditch. . . . . . . . 

It is a nice evening for Bats . . . and Aliens 

   

The lost Penguins, more trenches and a possible yeti

OK I appear to have done something terrible tonight I have deleted my first draft of my diary entry for the day. I never rewrite my diary entry normally, I usually switch on the PC close my eyes and start typing then look and see what has happened. Only tonight I was not happy so I have started again and I am not writing all that again PHEW and the worse bit is all the correcting, I have said many times I am the worst speller and typist in the world and I mean it, so now you know that everything up to here is a rewrite and everything after here is not (yes yes there are two here’s or maybe three now).

Sorry about all that gore and the penguins what I was planning to say is the school said I have a skill that needs to be nurtured and developed and honed to perfection, so in order to develop this skill to its very best, they sent me outside to dig a trench. Well that’s not fair, but the headmaster says I dig better trenches than children three times my age; I did point out this meant they were not children but teachers. But he just said “exactly” and told me that even teachers can’t dig as good a trench as me. Of course its dads fault sending me out digging trenches everywhere, it is not normal for a young eccentric chap like myself to be out with a pickaxe, fork and a spade in deep muddy holes, it like being back in the eighteenth century again.

OK enough of this because it appears I may be saved from trenches in the next few days by a classic re-enactment of the film The Abominable Snowman just in case that nice Steven Spielberg fancies a bit of snow ice and more monsters and Zombies (sorry I mean yeti’s)  . . . . . . . . . . . Hang on Yeti that’s a Y word that could be useful.

Ooooo yes Miss I visited with Mr S, and then Miss I told her friend that Mr S was not well so she would not have to go out with X an Y and although Mr S was off work not well; was he that not well that Miss I had to stay at home . . . . . . . . this is a clear case of pink eyes and we all know what that means.

  

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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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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