Thanks to Bill Murray, we know it’s Groundhog Day today. Various Groundhogs seeing or not seeing SHADOWS, Six or NOT Six more weeks of winter. Looking at the various Groundhog Facebook videos emanating from across the States, there isn’t just one Master Hog these days. It’s like Boxing with its multiple champions across multiple sanctioning bodies. So might as well add another weather predicting body.
Unfortunately groundhogs are a bit scarce on the ground in Yorkshire.
So it’s HoundDog Day in Yorkshire.
Ok he isn’t a pure Hound Dog, more an accident between a randy Cocker Spaniel and an unsuspecting fluffy German Spitz. But needs most. Another problem, unlike Batman, this hero hasn’t sussed out the concept of shadows yet. Actually he hasn’t sussed out many concepts. Thankfully he has found the delights of SOCKS. So the 2024 winter forecast is based on will the nutter grab the long or shorter sock. Long winter or shorter winter.
And the results….
It’s a LONGER WINTER forecast.
Actually he then picked up the short sock. So what does a Long and Short sock mean. Where is Bill Murray when you need him.
Definitely frozen and a poor swan forced to go on foot around the lake.
Definitely frozen as today’s morning yoga torture was performed in two pairs of leggings and three layers of fleece. Not really in the mood to ‘enjoy the deep grounding position’.
‘Let the head relax onto the inner thigh’, how can I relax when my thigh is convulsing like it’s been hit with a million volts and my neck sounds like it’s just snapped.
And how can I ‘with a lions breath transition smoothly onto the other side’ when I’m embarrassingly stuck with rigorous mortis rapidly setting in to my increasingly knackered and now badly deformed hip.
Apparently yoga is good for you….
It’s definitely good for letting things go. With me ‘a delicious downward dog’ is ‘my hairy backside ridiculously stuck in the air releasing fart after fart’….
Is it just me that yoga bullies….
At least I won’t need to take an ice bath to cool down.
Quality parking from the farmer, not many cars, or bikes, or dog walkers passing here for a while.
Some times you just need to pass stuff…..
Like a fine wine or malt, they get better with the years. That’s ME…
So NOT the case….
I remember a few decades back and a trip to the cinema was a pleasure and not torture. As many Kia-Ora cartons as my Paperboy job would pay for, not forgetting a small tub of ice cream if the person on the door could find the office keys. Then bring on the movie, short or long. Then bring on hiding under the seats at the end of the movie and then getting to watch the movie all over again. Never a need to bolt to the toilets, which was a good thing as the toilets at our towns beach cinema would often flood at high tide.
Photo from The BBC archives
It’s all changed now.
A brand new cinema has replaced the old battered Picture House.
My bladder has clearly been replaced with a small thimble.
Kia-Ora replaced with seriously overpriced black coffee.
Movies seem very very long and are now absolute torture.
🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽🚽
Today’s Marvel Epic was just 100 minutes long yet to my lower regions it felt like back to back Gone with the Wind’s. The pre movie trailers had just about started to roll when the first pangs of regret started for buying a coffee. As the movie started I was shifting uneasily. Halfway through and I was seriously preoccupied with matters of state. And as the heroic ending played out, I was having an out of body experience. I now know how John Hurt’s character in the Alien felt like just before the pesky alien popped out…..
Talking about talent, I could really do with even just a little bit of that stuff. I was taking the Mad Dog for his walk or more accurately HE was pulling me along for afternoon walk and deep shoulder workout, when a delivery truck pulled up. It was my niece and we had a lovely chat while she got excitedly bounced on by Captain Chaos.
My niece, now covered in dog hair (it’s a sign of affection really) eventually had to head off to make her next grocery delivery. So it was back to being remorselessly pulled while listening to a podcast on my iPhone headphones. But disaster, NO SOUND. Nothing. I stood there for ages messing about with settings, rebooting and generally shouting at the tech.
Then a brief and rare moment of clarity in which the secrets of life and the universe are revealed.
No wonder you can’t hear anything from the iPhone while you still have the earphones shoved deep into your trouser pocket…. What an absolute wazzock, that’s even beyond muppetry.
iPhone should cater for the permanently lost like me and start to make a range of THIGH or HIPphones. Or maybe have the iPhone give the user a short electric shock to warn users that they have started to become completely delusional and falsely claim that technology is in full scale rebellion. Or just maybe a friendly text message reminding the useless user that ‘bizarrely earphones are designed to work best when placed next to the ear, and definitely not in a location around the groinal region….”
The perfect weather for the Farmer to make a fence.
Peaceful and so unlike much of modern life. We spend far too much time in places that vex us. Places like Garages….. No wonder many of us are are so tired.
There can’t be many more inspiring settings to spend a couple of your precious hours than a GARAGE WAITING area 🤯😳. In this case a GARAGE kinda feeling like it’s perpetually stuck in a Downton Abbey Filming Set – that’s the lower class pleb part of the story line. This Garage feels like it hasn’t changed in decades, will never change. A waiting room definitely stuck in time. I dread to think just how many countless cigarettes and coffees been waiting for a re . Filled with ancient sofas that consume you, you instantly sink to the ground, while at the same time, rather unnervingly you start to stick to the fake once black leather covering.
So last week I found myself in this strand old place, the poorly Mercedes Sprinter Van was in need of some seriously expensive fixing. All beyond me, so I just said ‘I’m not paying, WORK is, just do it, I’ll wait’
So that’s what I did, WAITED. The unfortunate mechanic assigned to repair our rusting heap of metal said that you can get WiFi in the waiting room but you’re much better off going outside and sitting on the wooden fence. There you can use the neighbouring furniture store’s WIFI which actually works. Apparently all you need to do is to remember the Store’s wifi password. Brilliantly that password is PASSWORD.
It was far too cold to sit outside, so I opted for the waiting area.
A few moments in the waiting area suddenly made that cold wooden fence look rather appealing. Here I was surrounded by Giant Posters of Red Italian Sport Cars, all driven by what appeared to be genetically perfect models. This all helped to creat an interesting aesthetic mood, lavish car culture stuck onto a grimy yellow wall covering that might well have been white once, probably way before I was born. AND in the corner a Coffee Vending Machine, another item that looked way older than me. It wouldn’t have looked out of place in Dr Who’s Tardis. The hot drink names lovingly hand scrawled on bits of moth eaten card, randomly attached with cellotape to layers of dust. But it’s FREE. Try the Continental Dark Roast then. The machine slowly whirled into action, then the noise. It sounded like that terrifying basement boiler in Home Alone. Better stand back. That drink is not very black or coffee like. It’s RED. It’s tomato soup… Having tasted it, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe.
Few moments later I was joined by another customer who I noticed went for the milky tea option on the Vending Machine. Same noise. And the culinary result was confirmed by the confused chap saying “bloody thing has given me tomato soup”. Next customer (victim) opted for the Hot Chocolate and yes got the inevitable SOUP result.
It had to be done, I braved the vending machine in the interests of science. What happens when you press the Tomato Soup option. Yes more soup. All roads lead to SOUP.
As I was flicking through a luxury super car magazine (while struggling to finish two plastic cups of soup), I was joined on this particular sofa by another confused soup drinking customer. After a nervous soup related conversation she informed me that her ‘JAGUAR’ was getting a headlight fixed, what was I in for.
“One of the three Mercedes is playing up…”
She seemed strangely fascinated by a banged up van.
‘What’s it like to drive, is it fast, I’ve always wanted to drive a Mercedes’
Why would you want to drive a white van 🙄🙄 “it’s not great, really slow, dreadful handling, like driving a super tanker, always breaking down. In fact the Ford is better.“
She looked seriously disappointed.
‘Oh really, I thought they would be fantastic, I was thinking about getting one but I think I will stick with Jaguar then or look at BMW.”
It was only after she had driven away in her newly fixed Jaguar Sports Car that it dawned on me. Mercedes… OH. She thinks I was talking about a Mercedes high performance sports car, not our 10 year old completely driven into the ground Mercedes Sprinter Van. A van that might have sprinted once but those days had well since gone. Even Lewis Hamilton isn’t going to get that thing sprinting.
Opps sorry Mercedes, I think I might have cost you a customer.
Time to don your aprons, time to get passionately whisking, time to tend your cobblers. The Great Bloggers Bake-off is coming back on the 15th and 16th of October. You know it makes sense.
So in the buildup to the big weekend I will be donning the full HazMat protective gear and baking an item a week. This weekend Frankenstein’s Monster will be a Sponge Cake, sounds simple. However let’s remember some of the high end cuisine this kitchen has yielded in the past.
It was time to live life on the edge. We finally charged up one of Hawklad’s birthday presents, a remote control helicopter. Not one of the professional ones, this one was surprisingly tiny made out of what appeared to be the thinnest of plastics and the most brittle of metals. It was one of those Amazon ‘80% off’ deals that entices you in for that one extra present, yet never quite explains to you that basically there is a really good reason this thing is so CHEAP.
Anyway after a few months it was time to give this helicopter its inaugural and probably only flight. The instructions talked optimistically of 15 minutes battery flying time, yet it gave off the impression of a single use item. As Hawklad said
“Well if it’s going to crash and burn on its first flight, let’s make it spectacular and film it”.
He remembers….
This is not our first dabble into the world of remote control, cheap toys.
There was the rally car that split in two when it hit the apple tree.
There was the toy drone that launched itself over the house and imbedded itself in the neighbour’s drive. It ended up as flat as a pancake.
There was the first helicopter then smashed into the house at a Warp Speed 10 and smashed into a thousand pieces.
And there was the so called unbreakable hovering glowing ball that had one uncontrolled hop before it smashed into the fence. It was then definitely anything other than unbroken.
So we were understandably not very hopeful. But you know what. The helicopter actually flew. It hovered. It landed. Yes it had a few heavy landings but it SURVIVED.
It was unmarked when the batteries ran out. Here is the really cool bit that made me smile. Hawklad took the remote control and flew it himself. Normally he backs away and watches others take control. He often just watches me do it. But on this day he had confidence in himself. Yes I had to check that we were fully alone first but he did it. He enjoyed it.
Yes that lawn has taken a hit from a family of moles, a badger and an excavating pup…
And here is what I figured out. Actually this was the first time that he took the controls, the first time I could convince him to have more fun doing than just watching. The first time he could overcome his fears of failure. So what did I figure out then…..
I’ve had the controls every single time one of the toys has crashed and burned. Muppet Dad is a liability. Toys last when I watch and don’t play. OH PANTS.
So my job is now paying for things and then most definitely just filming when they are enjoyed…….
And WOW am I going to have a WHINGE. A RIGHT WHINGE. A Guinness Book of Records size WHINGE. Yes a REALLY REALLY REALLY big WHINGE. But this time it’s not about School. It’s not about my so called Football Team. It’s not about the rising price of everything. It’s not about clothes manufacturers making the size of clothes I normally buy, smaller so I don’t fit in them anymore….. It’s not about U2. Its nit about Alvin and The Chipmunks. It’s not even about the incompetent, corrupt Government.
It’s July. I will say it again. It’s Pigging JULY ……
So how come someone sent a CHRISTMAS related email this morning. Castle Howard you have officially made the NAUGHTY LIST.
NO I do not want to buy tickets today for Christmas.
The Elf’s are hibernating. Santa and Mrs Santa are on the beach somewhere in the Caribbean. Rudolf and buddies are busily making little reindeers in a field somewhere hot and steamy. It’s not Christmas for another 156 days, SO WHY have I got a Christmas Email in JULY.
The village went all Downton Abbey like last weekend. Can’t think why 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔
Bizarrely we watched Downton the other night. Hawklad is rather taken by the whole thing. It’s fictionally set somewhere round here but filmed mostly outside of Yorkshire. Just like the cool start to an American Werewolf in London, that spooky Yorkshire Pub and foggy Moor was randomly filmed in Wales – clearly real Yorkshire is even TOO scary for a Horror Movie. The Earl, his family and servants keep visiting places right around us. It is most unsettling when they look nothing like the real place. They went riding just a few miles from us and I had a thought, I hope I remembered to pick up the mad dog’s morning constitutional poo. Would hate for the good noble family horse shoes to step in that.
It’s been one of those few days. Actually it’s been one of those few weeks. Not enough sleep, school issues, work issues, life issues, just ISSUES. Never stopping, running around in ever decreasing circles and actually achieving absolutely nothing. Where do those 24 hours go…..
So I walked through the village looking at the bunting while thinking, odds on that our mad dog will at some stage try to pull all that lot down and then bury it in our front lawn. Out of nowhere a villager stuck his head out of the village hall and shouted, “When are you bringing the cucumbers for the sandwiches”. This villager could have well been a head butler in a past life. A head butler with remarkably bad eyesight as his next words demonstrated. “Oh I’m sorry, you are not Margaret…”. Never been mistaken for a Margaret before. Never even mistaken for a woman. Even when I dressed in a full on and very well ventilated French Can Can costume and ended up walking through a town centre searching for the Uni Party, I was DEFINITELY NOT ladylike MOST DEFINITELY not mistaken for a woman.
It’s been far too dry for Yorkshire. Coming back from the dog walk it was clear that was all about to change. The question would be, do we get back home in time.
No.
Proper weather.
I’m not sure that crazy old tree house would offer much protection these days. Must admit I can’t remember seeing anyone up there since I moved into the village. That’s two decades ago. WOW, two decades. Where did that time go. Anyway just a few pigeons and occasionally the farmer’s cockerel are the only life that makes it up there. The cockerel and hens are clearly very talented.
The farm birds now have branched out into money laundering, honey and eye products.
I could talk about school at home but I would only moan about a day spent revising executions and serial killers. So let’s focus on the farm birds. That’s an egg-cellent choice. Plus if I do moan anymore I run the risk of getting us egg-pelled..
A Dad trying to cope with the loss of his Partner and becoming a single parent. 