The Great Gazebo Grab and a Pair of Partridge

It appears the weather has gone mad again in the UK, sunny one minute and pouring with rain the next and on a couple of occasion’s heavy hail so it has been very confusing indeed. It also made our raid to dismantle a gazebo in a garden rather a mixed affair. When we got there to do the deed it was lovely and sunny, but once I removed a few screws committing me to dismantling the entire thing I was attacked by rain and then hail. It appears I was the main man to dismantle the gazebo and the others said they would act as lookouts to ensure the gazebo grab was a success. Unfortunately due to the weather I had to abandon the last two posts and they are still in the ground, I then loaded up the getaway car while the others maintained a lookout for passers by, aliens, possible zombies and maybe the odd gorilla. We were after all in the garden of the gorilla gardening trip. It appears that it has been deemed by the powers that be that the gazebo was in fact the wrong sort of gazebo and had to go.

I have to say it can be quite a squeeze getting 28 people and a gazebo in a car and not appear suspicious but as the weather at that point was rubbish no one noticed legs arms and heads hanging out of windows and doors except a couple of partridges who were chasing food as we arrived home. So we did have a successful gazebo grab and as long as I don’t write about it we will have committed the perfect crime. . . . . . . . AH DAMN.

Apparently there is a master plan afoot to get the remaining two posts which right now appear to look like goal posts so no one will notice that a huge wooden Trojan Gerbil has vanished, (how can a plan be afoot anyway? . . . . .  silly saying).

The plan (the other bit of the plan) is to turn the Trojan Gerbil into something more useful, mum has suggested a packing case for dads weather machine which dad insists has only gone wrong because a new cat up the road has taken to sleeping in the micro condensing filament tube aligner and so every time it rolls over the degaussing flux coils deactivate. I can see how that might happen; it would be very annoying if the world’s weather was destroyed by a sleeping cat. Although cats are a bit like that.

Madras Fudge and Three Fish

There I was this morning listening to Radio Four as I do in order to know what events have been happening in the world overnight that may require me to hide under a table or run screaming to my nuclear bunker as I fight off Zombies and other monsters that have invaded the area under the cover of darkness. Since we moved to our present home in the quiet (very quiet) rolling hills of the English Welsh borders I have thought it would be the perfect place to invade planet Earth. What with plenty of open fields but with enough cover to avoid to much interest, and a local population who will tolerate aliens as long s they are not noisy or start messing with local events.

Hang on what was I talking about; AH yes, Radio Four and the today program. As I lay in bed thinking I might get up as all is OK in the world a news story suddenly started talking of extinction, one of those news stories that might be important after all I am not expecting to become extinct for ages yet. But it tuned out to be a fish that is due to become extinct (from Africa) and all that remained of the species are three fish in London Zoo (I think) who are all male, what rather amused me though (I know I should not be amused by demise of a fish) was that the last known female of the species had been eaten by one of the males in a breading accident. I felt I was allowed to snigger at the plight of this fish as eating your last breading partner is to put it bluntly stupid and I can imagine the other two males looking at the third one and shouting IDIOT rather a lot.

It was also the local market day today and so I have bought Marmite Fudge and Madras Fudge from the Chocolate Man (yes I explained last week he is not made of chocolate (I assume), so I now have photographic evidence of the reality of these products. Although I thought the Marmite fudge tasted OK so I plan to eat all of that at some point so as the Ghost Writer would say if you ask me nicely to try some Ya Sucks Boo . . . . . Its my Fudge and I’m not playing.  Sometimes I think I need a better Ghost Writer I an starting to get as bad as he is.

I did other things today but they were not interesting and the weather was rubbish most of the time with sudden appearances of the sun, which would then vanish in seconds. I think we have a faulty Weather machine again . . . . . . . . . DAMN.

Madras Fudge

The IT Guru and the Office Chair

The Ghost Writer has been in his office all day doing what he does with computers; last time he was there, the office had a slight crisis when the accountant invested all the money on Lottery tickets before running off to a tropical tax haven. So he thought he might find an empty office with dust and tumble weed blowing about, but everyone was there and they were all fairly chirpy.  He thought it best no to ask about the accountant and the lottery tickets just in case, but every three months or so there is a big meeting where everyone gets together and tells everyone else what they have been doing. The Ghost Writer says he hates these because at some point they will all look at him and then he is expected to tell them all what he has done.

It is very difficult to tell a whole room (hall) full of expectant folk that he has been hiding for three months since the last meeting and that if he could remember a whole three months worth of stuff he would probably be off making his fortune in the IT business rather that pretending that he knows all about IT and hoping for the best. Still he is very honest and always tells everyone he does not have a clue what he is doing, but they all laugh and say “of course you do, your our IT chap”. I think the Ghost Writer has mastered Sarcasm better than I have.

He does however have one very important question for his big meeting (in about 2 weeks) and that is . . . . Why do all the bolts and screws keep falling out of office chairs, an important question as, it happens to all of us (well me)

He has told me not to worry about my loss of Wit in cyberspace as there is a special area where everyone who has lost their Wit can go and practice until it comes back called T-WIT-ter. It appears it is good because no one pays any attention to a single thing you say (tweet, so called because most folk feel they are right tweets after a bit).

The Art of Sarcasm, Loosing Ones Mojo . . . . . And Wasps

As I said yesterday I have lost my wit and humour, folk have tried to reassure me that I am still witty and write in a way that only I can write (well me and the Ghost Writer) due to a unique skill in being able to string total rubbish together in such a way that as a whole it is total rubbish (the whole greater that the parts so to speak). I know that’s true,, that very nice Steven Spielberg has told me many times that he finds it hard to believe anyone could write such total rubbish. It is words like that that make me realize I am indeed unique and thanks to such encouragement I will persevere with my tale (not tail as I don’t have one of those).

It was a strange morning because I woke up to grey skies and the wind blowing all the blossom off the tree in the front garden, that and the as yet still small young leaves on the trees made it look and feel just like autumn. I told everyone in school it was autumn and that summer is now over, and one or two folk thought this was slightly amusing, this I put down to the possible sarcasm of the remark, so I pursued  this idea further as a way of recovering my mojo (wit). So I explained that summer really was over (enforcing the sarcasm) and that their lives were entirely futile and that in the great scheme of things they are meanly ants, small insignificant ants. I appeared to get a bit of nervous laughter from one or two pupils so thought I would push the point a bit further, so having told most of the girls they were merely girls destined for a life of drudgery, babies and fighting in the aisles of the supermarket, while there partners get drunk in the pub and fight and get locked in a cell for the evening. I thought I would go for the jugular and told the headmaster he was rubbish and that his sense of dress was worse that that of a Japanese Elvis impersonator wearing a giraffe outfit and a straw hat.

It appears sarcasm is trickier that I thought as I spent much of the day tied to a tree covered in honey below a wasps nest with a tub of itching power poured on my head. It is a difficult decision between staying perfectly still and not being stung or having a good scratch and getting attacked by wasps. I don’t think telling the wasps they were rubbish and had a pathetic buzz that was not worthy of grannies door bell with flat batteries fitted helped much,  apparently wasps don’t do sarcasm and have no sense of humour what so ever.

I noticed that on my return home Sooty the Cat was practising sarcasm by lying perfectly still on the bed and not being stung by wasps.

Mum said I am an IDIOT, but agreed about the headmasters dress sense.

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