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Usefulness

Surprised these are not vultures today

It’s been one of those days. You wake up as a zombie with one mission – to create havoc. The alarm went and as I swung out of bed I managed to send a glass of water hurtling towards the wall like an Exocet missile. I dried the wall, picked up the glass pieces and applied the plasters to my fingers. Then it was time for my pre school day workout. For some mad idea I decided to opt for single arm press-ups. Who do I think I am, The Rock. Clearly I forgot I am a middle aged chump. Although I managed a few reps, the problems came later. My arms clearly were not impressed. Now the shakes make drinking from a cup a real challenge. Today I’m just accepting that I have a permanent have you just wet yourself look.

Then as Son was doing his history lesson I decided to garden. First I tried to trim back a tree branch that is growing unerringly towards the overhead telephone cable. I should have been more concerned with the chainsaw power cable. Within seconds I had a power lead in two pieces and a out of action chainsaw. Let’s try something less dangerous. Let’s plant some seeds. Start with the flowers then plant some vegetables. I did a wonderful job with the hanging baskets. Carefully filled with seeds. So I moved onto the soil patch that I had carefully prepared for the vegetables. Why have I still got all the unopened flower seeds and can’t find the carrot seeds. Yep I’m going to have some beautiful hanging baskets with glorious displays of carrots. Well that went well.

Lunch went well. First of all I decided to pour tomato soup onto the carpet. I then tried to grate some cheese, unfortunately the plastic wrapper got involved, so bits of plastic got shredded as well. Wonder if that qualifies me for a Michelin star.

Finally I set the washing machine off on a daily wash cycle without actually loading much in. When I say much that means one pair of socks. All other items remained in the washing basket sat in front of said machine. Deep sigh. So basically today I have been useless. Having said that I have been doing this for years. It’s scary that it’s taken millions of years of evolutionary progress to get to me. Wow.

So now it’s time for some terrible poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly terrible poetry challenge. This week the rules are most appropriately

  1. Let’s Topic on a humorous end to a useful object. Irony is encouraged.
  2. The Length is between 5 and 155 words.
  3. Rhyming is optional, but recommended.
  4. Make it terrible! Make me rue the day I ever started a contest based on bad poetry …until the next week’s prompt.
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner. You can do it.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (April 24) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

Well here goes and I can’t think of a better subject here then ME…..

Face it I am a muppet

As useful as badly worn glove puppet

The youthful sporting body is sadly no more

Now this used body constantly needs to visit the drugstore

I just can’t bend over without making a groan

I can only move thanks to heaps of cortisone

Once brimming with dreams of adventure and success

Now I’m wracked with anxieties and filled with stress

Everyday I deliver mistake after mistake

Always sweeping up the stuff I carelessly brake

Increasingly I’m covered in dust

With a bank balance which has gone bust

These days definitely more rounded in the middle

Watching life fly past featuring only as a second fiddle

No more than a terrible poetry bard

Maybe it’s time for me to visit the knackers yard

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 69 Comments

Hide

These are strange times. Time for drastic action.

Stand by the panic rooms people, it might be time to HIDE – I’ve been baking again.

I had a go at baking some cheese scones last night. Mutant ones. Dairy, Gluten and Egg Free. No baking powder. Luckily I have stumbled on a reasonable plant based cheese. Applewood.

Previous attempts with other vegan cheeses have produced a taste sensation somewhere between soggy paper and wallpaper paste. Even though I was armed with a decent cheese, I was still not taking any chances. Time to through some flavours in with reckless abandon. Chilli, Cayenne, Turmeric and Sugar.

The end results well….. It clearly didn’t matter how long those mutant scones stayed in the oven, they were coming out like an anemic ghost. Remarkably the taste was actually not too bad at all. I will class that as a result. OK, Son was far from impressed

“It looks like something from the XFILES and I dread to think what Gordon Ramsey would call it. I’m now off to use some mouthwash.”

So a few teething issues with the recipe. But I am not deterred. Setbacks make you stronger. So I’m going to return to scones but this time no holding back on the ingredients. I’m thinking Worcester Sauce, ginger, curry, Tabasco……

You have been warned.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 89 Comments

Rolling in

This week along with some more flowers blooming, the school emails have steadily been rolling in. I’ve been lucky with 6 emails. Son not so lucky. So far he has 35 unread teacher emails and another 5 this morning. I thought this was the Easter break.

“Dad I’m not reading these until the weekend. I’m on holiday”

Couldn’t agree more. Can we just let kids have some fun and have a break from all the crap.

“Next holiday I’m putting on out of hours message. Something like – I’m now on holiday which finishes on xxxxxxx if you have any concerns please email my Dad.”

Yesterday was one of those rare Yorkshire days. A day when you here the little used words

“Dad I think we need sun cream, do we have any”

Mad parenting panic quickly followed by a mad house search. This is Yorkshire. I remember going to a Test Match (cricket) here many moons ago. The helpful announcer kept playing Government warnings about the need to where hats and use sun lotion to avoid the harmful effects of sunburn. It was ironic as it chucked it down all day and we never once had a glimpse of the sun. Everyone was huddled under umbrellas or seeking cover from the torrential rain in the beer tents. Our county is many things but if you had to list the top 1000 things about Yorkshire, the words hot and sunshine are never going to feature.

After a chaotic search a tub of factor 30 was found. Probably last used on a trip to Switzerland.

“Is it still in date Dad?”

I didn’t need to look at the date to confirm the answer. But in the spirit of accuracy I checked. It was only slightly….. 2018.

“Well it will have to do but I will be informing my solicitors”

We needn’t have worried as this is Yorkshire. In the time we had been protection hunting, the dark clouds had rolled in. Now the most appropriate form of protection was a jumper.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 68 Comments

Spring

Spring must have arrived as the Rowan Tree has sprung into life.

My partner loved these plants. She thought every garden should have at least one in a prime location. We had a beautiful one next to the front door. Poignantly it died the winter just before our partner left us. It’s taken a few years to grow a replacement but now she would be pleased again.

These days the replacement is in a large pot in the back garden. Now that’s my running is restricted to endless circuits of our little garden the tree forms a helpful obstacle to run round. On my last epic run I rather sadly counted how many times I passed the little tree. 213 times….. Yes I can count that far.

So according to the Rowan Tree and the daffodils it is Spring. Can someone tell the weather. It’s freezing. Even the bird bath is frozen every morning. This means the path is icy. That explains my latest fashion statement. My son looked at me with one of those Paddington Bear stares, shock his head and sighed.

“Dad in most cases the human species has been evolving for millions of years. Clearly there are one or two exceptions to that.”

I had just finished my early morning workout and has decided to feed the birds. On my way to the bird table I slipped on the icy pavement. When I say slipped I mean a full ‘arse over tit’ moment. Most of the bird seed, bread crumbs, surplus rice and water landed on my very large head. It was a fetching look especially when it was merged with a white T-shirt and pink compression leggings.

Don’t you bloody love Spring.

While on the subject of Spring let’s seamlessly transition into our weekly fix of terrible poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly challenge. This week Chelsea has set the following task

  1. The Topic is Springtime -or Autumntime if you’re South. You can haiku, limerick, free verse, acrostic, tanka, cinquain, sonnet…
  2. Length is wholly dependent on the type of poem you write. If you go with an epic ballad, please cut things off before page 54.
  3. Rhyming also depends on your creation.
  4. The goal is to make it terrible. Mother Earth must rise from her seasonal slumber to smack you with an olive branch of peace.
  5. Keep the Rating at PG or cleaner.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (April 3) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

–

It’s Springtime in Yorkshire

The Sun is still on vacation

Still waiting for it to be a scorcher

Oh the pigging frustration

–

The path is covered in ice

And I’ve just landed on my bum

Now I’m wearing last nights rice

And I feel a right dumb dumb

–

The washing on the line is frozen rock solid

The gale force wind screams over the barren field

The weeds and broken branches makes it look so squalid

The poor garden birds hide in the bushes seeking any decent shield

–

So Springtime is here which means dust down the garden chair

Now I’m off inside to find my extra thick thermal underwear

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 83 Comments

Terrible Poetry

****No actual birthdays here warning****

One of the most memorable tips to come out over the last couple of months has been to wash your hands for 20 seconds. To help work out what 20 seconds is – wash while singing Happy Birthday to You. Never sung so many Happy Birthdays.

On the subject of Happy Birthdays it’s time for a bit of terrible poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly challenge. This week she has set the following guidelines

  1. The Topic is birthdays. You all don’t know this, but March and April are our second Christmas around here. Even my birthday is this time of year.
    So, as a birthday gift to me, write a horrible parody of the classic song you sing for someone’s birthday.
  2. The Length will depend on the length of the song you honor.
  3. Songs usually rhyme, so I expect your poem will most likely rhyme as well.
  4. It’s my party, so make it terrible ’cause I want you to. You would cry, too, if I sang, “Happy Birthday to you.”
  5. I’ve got children listening! Keep the Rating a G.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (March 27) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

Happy Birthday to You

Happy Birthday to You

Happy Birthday Dear

Happy Birthday to You

How many birthdays you have seen

So many decades since you were a teen

Happy Birthday Dear Has Been

Happy Birthday to me, now sod off and pour me a Jim Beam

**** it’s not my birthday for ages, so this is dedicated to all those of you like me who have entered the ‘have you seen my keys’ age.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 72 Comments

Gnomeless

Maybe it’s my dear parents influence but I’ve always liked a garden gnome. But for years we had a problem. My partner hated them. Which is unusual as she was the kindest soul going. Never a bad word about anyone. All except gnomes. She had serious issues with them. When I suggested the garden would benefit from at least one of these sweet little chaps the response was razor sharp

If I find one in the garden then it’s getting smashed with a hammer….

Even when I suggested that a gnome would significantly raise the IQ in the garden when I was gardening alone, the response was similarly brutal

The garden gnome will get it then your next…..

What I will now tell you will probably get a really pissed off spirit coming my way. I might have ignored my partner just a tad. A few gnomes did get sneaked into the garden. To ensure their life expectancy was measured in days rather than seconds they needed to go into deep cover. Very deep cover. The compost heap, under bushes, hid behind plant pots. Unbelievably a few survived the inevitable apocalypse.

One such hardy soul is still with us. Now he is enjoying life in the open. He has long forgotten the long years buried under the hedge. He’s a gnome from my favourite footy team. He’s over 20 years old and is still to see his team win anything. What was I thinking of when as a toddler when I picked Newcastle United as my team. I could have picked a team which won things. No I picked the team which is in a permanent state of chaos, a never ending winless soap story. No wonder the poor gnome looks so washed out. I went through a stage of telling the gnome the teams results. Unfortunately as that usually entailed breaking the bad news of another defeat I changed to just letting him know of good team news. As a result I haven’t spoken to the gnome in years…….

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 96 Comments

Autocorrect

Am I the only person who has been infected with the crazy predictive text virus. The other day I tried to type Shaun the Sheep. Helpfully my predictive text modified that to Shave the Sheep.

Predictive text is brilliant. It usually does a wonderful job of correcting my appalling spelling and grammar. Unfortunately it is still not advanced enough to sort out my Where, were, we’re, there, their, they’re nightmares. It’s wonderful for those with dyslexia – why our son’s current school switches it off is beyond me.

So yes it is one of our great modern inventions. But mine has developed its own personality. Remember Skynet in Terminator. A slightly cunning, playful one. It does like to embarrass me.

  • On an important report which went to Area Commanders it decided to call them Arse Commanders,
  • I have to frequently email someone with the name Dobbs. I don’t know how many times I’ve called them Dons,
  • It has issues with names. It embarrassingly drops the r from my name. A work colleague called Jock is frequently referred to as Joke. And a friend called Jono becomes Bono (wouldn’t wish that on anyone),
  • Turnkey solutions becomes Turkey solutions,
  • Referring to someone as a Pillock morphs into a Pill Keep,
  • I entered a competition to win a big TV. Strangely I didn’t win when it changed my answer Gollum to Volume.
  • Maybe the autocorrect has got used to me drinking coffee but every time I start to type the words expression or express it changes them to espresso,
  • I was typing about a particular politician who I found to be very phoney. Unfortunately this came out as I found him very bony,
  • It’s definitely a little morbid as it loves to change Dear to Dead,
  • It clearly has a low opinion of our PM as his name always comes out as Boring Johnson,
  • And yesterday while responding to a comment about Tom Jones and throwing my underpants at him. I tried to say that my underpants where Locked and loaded ready to the thrown. Oh no my predictive system changed it that to my pants where Licked and loaded. Oh the shame.
Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 146 Comments

Panic buying

Let’s be safe out there people … it’s madness.

The news is either full of stories about virus doom or virus induced panic buying. I kinda miss the ‘Britain has gone brexit bonkers’ stories now. So with the images of empty shop shelves, I ventured out to the supermarket with a certain amount of trepidation. My extensive survival prep shopping list was a loaf of bread, a pack of Curly Wurlies, a bottle of milk and tea. That will surely tide us through the end of days.

I arrived at 8.40am which normally ensures that I have the shop to myself apart from the three shop assistants. Not this morning. The car park was heaving. Is it the day before Christmas? Inside was not much better. Rammed with shoppers. Not seen a crowd like this since the ‘Everything for a Pound’ Store had a sale.

It was bizarre watching the frantic shopping. Trolleys rammed full. So many seemingly sensible people falling into the panic buying madness. But this was a very Yorkshire panic. People still had time amongst the panic to stop and talk about the weather. In other parts of the country items like toilet paper, hand gel and paracetamol tablets have been stripped as if consumed by a plague of locusts. Here those items were still well stocked. In fact I didn’t see anyone buying them. No the items of panic choice here were different

  • The saver pack of soap bars (4 for a £1)
  • Cadbury’s Chocolate
  • Tins of mushy peas (one chap had a basket filled with just these)
  • Custard powder
  • Cheese
  • Beer, lager and wine.

I have to say that if I was going to panic buy I would rather stock up on £100 worth of beer and chocolate rather than 50 rolls of bog paper.

My hand basket was easily filled with my items until I arrived at the tea section. No Yorkshire Tea. No pigging Yorkshire Tea. Stripped bare. Oh the humanity. I had to buy another brand. Bloody philistines. The virus crisis is so much worse than I ever imagined. Stand by your pitchforks people.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 33 Comments

Terrible Poetry

It’s terrible poetry time again curtesy of Chelsea Owens. This week the impeachment case rules are as follows

  1. Anyone who knows me knows I love Half-Priced Chocolate Day (February 15th) more than the holiday the day before -BUT, this is the Terrible Poetry Contest! Nothing gets poemed to death more than the topic of ❤LOVE!❤
    So, the Topic is LOVE LOVE LOVE! Write me a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad sonnet. Give me alliterations, adjectives, allegories, and aneurysms.
  2. Keep the Length long enough to capture your love’s interest without putting her to sleep.
  3. Rhyming? Up to you, but I recommend you do.
  4. Make it terrible! Cupid needs to pull out the real arrows after catching wind of your attempts.
  5. Keep the rating PGish.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 7) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

*************

Bearing in mind I’m about to publish a post basically venting my spleen on the horrors of Valentines Day – keeping to PGish may prove beyond me. But he goes let’s see if I can find my inner terribleness.

Missing the warmth of your dear sweet love

Valentines goes on which annoys me, kind of

Feeling unloved as our romance is no more

Will get as many cards as a grumpy Wild Boar

No red roses for me sat on my sofa for one

No lovers wine to drink as I’m suffering a dry run

Can’t even have chocolate as I’m currently dairy free

So sat here writing of love with a bloody black tea

Trying to find ways to avoid pigging Valentines Day

Maybe games of solitaire and a stinging nettle bouquet

Mr Grouchy sat here with love sadly deserting me

Nursing a snotty nose and an annoying sore old knee

So Valentines is coming and I’m enduring all those red rose adverts

Well excuse me if I say to me it’s all a huge pile of steaming turds.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 66 Comments

New New Year Tradition

We brought in the New Year by watching End Game.

Dad got to end the decade with the highest grossing movie. Wonder what movie will be watched in 10 years time. Please don’t let it be Avatar 2.

The movie was paused at midnight so we could see how many fireworks were let off in the distance. Living on a hill we often get a wide range of free displays to view. In the end a few but not as many as usual. Then it was time to go back into the house. As a kid this was a big deal. LETTING IN THE NEW YEAR. The youngest in the house would be thrown out of the house a few minutes before midnight. Thrown at without a coat regardless of the weather. Bit of a bugger when I was always the youngest. My job would be to stand outside and basically freeze my nuts off. Then at midnight I would be allowed back in carrying a piece of coke (coal) and a new coin. I would then have to go round every room in the house wishing happy new year. I always found the tradition thoroughly cold and most definitely bizarre.

A couple of hours before this midnight our son had asked about traditions. When he heard about our old bizarre ritual he decided to start his own.

Dad let’s restart your old family one.

“Ok I’ve got some coins but I definitely don’t have any coal. Suppose we can see what stones we can find in the garden. Probably got some black paint somewhere,”

No Dad got a better idea. Much simpler and definitely more tasty.

So a few hours later son welcomed in the new year. Visiting each room carrying one pound coin and a bottle of Coca-cola. A New coke tradition started.

After a couple of hours sleep it was then an early drive to the Zoo. We have done this for the last four January 1sts. One of the first traditions started after his mum died.

Arrive when the zoo opens and try to get round before the crowds start to arrive. Basically we need to be back in the car by no later than midday.

Some traditions never die out. Dad being a plonker.

“Son looking at the map the zoo has a bug zone. Not seen that before.”

Dad the zoo doesn’t have any spiders or bugs.

“The map says bug zone. So which bug do you hope they have”

Well I wouldn’t mind seeing a Tarantula. Maybe a Goliath Birdeater. Bullet Ants. A Tarantula Hawk would be cool. Quite excited now.

“It’s just round this corner”

Dad you complete muppet.

“Erm. Not quite what I expected but you don’t see many 4ft ladybirds……”