The View from the Hill on Saturday 24th October

A quick blog this morning, more of a bloggette I suppose.

Had a bloody awful day yesterday thanks to the drunken incompetence of a Council employee, letter in post to his bosses!

Glad to see Turd of Turd Hall thought he was up against a mob, let's him know how some have felt about his mob in the past. And as for the BBC changing the format of Question Time, wait a minute I think they had people in the audience asking Turd questions, that's what it's all about you knob!

Now having my cuppa before getting ready for the flu jab and then we gather up the crew for the trip to London to see a great show, La Cage Aux Folles.

There is only one thing to say - The Best Of Times Is Now!

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Today in 1991, the Great Bird of the Galaxy died - Gene Roddenberry.

Roddenberry created Star Trek and I have watched every episode and every film enough to be able to recite great sections of text much to the annoyance of Mrs B.

And that's a fact!

(No, it really is!!)

The View from the Hill on Friday 23rd October

A little later than usual thanks to the technical fault at Blogger HQ.

Well like many I watched the oily little man on Question Time last night and he did not fail in making himself and his party seem even more disgusting and unappealing than expected. But enough about Jack Straw, what about that toss-pot Nick Griffin?

I once appeared in a play called Wind in The Willows, if you saw it you will have agreed with the critics who wrote that I stole every scene I was in, but enough modesty, the main role in the play is that of a stupid little amphibian, a cold blooded and sometime cold hearted creature, who is so narrow minded that he blunders from disaster to disaster - he is called Toad of Toad Hall.

I have decided to re-shape the play and give it a new name and allow Nick Griffin to star, what do you think of this - Turd of Turd Hall starring Nick Griffin as Turd.

I'm glad he was on QT, he showed himself to be what we all knew he was, a racist, homophobic ugly fat man. (I don't think I breached Trades Description).

As it's late in the day I must go and do something that pays bills, and tomorrows view might not appear until late evening due to our trip to London to see Barrowman in a frock.

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The View from the Hill on Thursday 22nd October

Somehow I have managed to run out of kindling - and I need the fire!

Having a real fire is great and it reminds me of when I was a boy (here he goes again) and living at Hillgate Farm, North Road, Gedney Hill. Our front room had two fireplaces, one at each end of the room, I suspect it may have been two rooms knocked into one. We didn't often have two fires running but having a real fire meant having a coal shed, and the coal shed was the other side of the yard and there were no lights so if you had to go for coal after dark you ran the risk of being scared to death by rats or cats chasing rats.

We had loads of cats, there was plenty for them to do, like manage the vermin or be dressed in dolls clothes (not by me).

Now my memory may not always be clear in this area but I think we had a cat called Sylv who used to bring and leave dead creatures on the doorstep, or slightly alive ones in the kitchen. We certainly had a cat called Soup and the last and most famous of our cats was Carter who lived to be three thousand years old, shagged teddies and peed in suitcases.

Of the many other cats we had some died suddenly and tragically after the arrival at Hillgate Farm of Sam, a rescue greyhound. I loved that dog, not because he killed cats, but because he loved me. He was so loving and would get in the bed and just let you know in little doggy ways that you were important to him. That makes him sound like a paedophile but he wasn't.

He loved to steal food from the fridge and he loved to kill cats, but he was a lovely dog and although he has been dead for well over thirty years today I miss him, and I feel a bit emotional about remembering him.

Anyway, on with the motley....(sniff)

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On this day in the year 362 a mysterious fire burnt down the Temple of Apollo at Daphne just outside Antioch.

It wasn't me - I don't have any kindling.

And that's a fact!

The View from the Hill on Wednesday 21st October

Two little tales which fit together under the heading Believe It Or Not!

On Monday I was at Lincoln for the funeral of a man who had worked on the land all of his life, he loved the outdoors and he loved his animals, especially his little Jack Russell dogs of which he had many over the years. I was standing outside the front of the chapel as the hearse approached down the drive, his family were stood near by when suddenly out of nowhere a little Jack Russell appeared and followed the hearse - it then came trotting up to me and the family members, was very friendly and greeted everyone enthusiastically before trying to go into the chapel. The chapel attendant refused to let it pass, so it sat near the door and watched as we all went in. At the end of the funeral it had vanished. One or two members of the congregation were convinced that we had been visited by the spirit of one of their loved ones dogs, come to escort him on his final journey - actually it had just escaped from the gypsy camp which is behind the crematorium, but why let the facts get in the way of a good story. That's why we have religion after all!

Yesterday I was stood outside Mansfield Crematorium in similar circumstances, the family members were chatting to me when all of a sudden we all stopped talking, our attention drawn to a piece of lawn opposite the entrance - the lawn was moving, the grass rising up and down ever so slightly. It was a fascinating sight and as we watched the movement became more clear until the earth started to be pushed up into a small hill...and then a hand came out!

No it was actually a mole - in the whole of my life I had never seen a mole hill being made.

Both stories are true and leave me now to wonder what will I see today when I go to the cemetery in Sherwood Forest, the ghost of Robin Hood?

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Today is National Day of the Nacho in the USA and Mexico, the day on which they celebrate this ubiquitous food stuff by eating it and drinking lots of alcohol. Not sure how that differs from any other day of the week really. In the UK it is Apple day, the day in which we celebrate...you guessed it, apples. This is a fairly recent event, beginning in the 1990's and was instigated at the behest of some relatives of mine Braeburn Smith and his Grandmother, I don't recall her name so let's just call her Granny Smith.

Braeburn was raised in the orchard area of Kent and so was well used to apples on the menu, and when he left school he got a job with the Apples & Pears Promotion Board aka Stairs. Even though he tried his best he couldn't seem to get people to be interested in English apples though, they liked French apples and New Zealand apples so he went to Downing Street and saw the then PM John Major. Now Braeburn had witnessed Mr Major and Edwina Currie together on a trip to Kent earlier that year and had seen the way they shared a Cox's Orange Pippin and he knew straightaway that something was going on. Armed with this information and brandishing a Pippin in front of the PM he convinced him to hold Apple Day.

That's why we have Apple Day and that's why John Major still can't stand the sight of Cox's.

And that's a fact!

The View from the Hill on Tuesday 20th October

I am not worried about a postal strike, the only thing I get in the post is rubbish and bills and I won't miss either of them.

There are so many conflicting stories about some postmen who can't get their round completed in time and those that always finish early - swings and roundabouts it seems. But if they are delivering to all of you what they deliver to me then perhaps we should have a two tier system, companies should be forced to mark envelopes as junk and that goes in a separate pile so the priority can be given to the letters and cards we actually want.

I think the only thing Mrs B and I use the post for are birthday cards and the like, we never send letters and I even pay my bills at the Post Office where possible, I think we could learn to live without a postal delivery, so be careful postmen!

Parcels are a different kettle of fish, god forbid Parcel Force or TNT go out of business, how will we get our wine delivered from Laithwaites!

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Today is the anniversary of the death of Grace Darling, aged just 26. She died in 1842.

Grace became famous for her exploits in a life boat, rowing out in monster seas to rescue sailors and passengers from various stricken vessels in the area of Seahouses. Her name remains well known as it adorns the modern lifeboat that serves the same area and latter day heroines are often called the Grace Darling of...

My own Great Aunt was known as The Grace Darling of Fleet Coy, she looked out of her bedroom window one stormy night and saw that a man had fallen from his bicycle and was floundering in a little ditch at the side of the road. She rushed outside, ignoring the weather and dragged the man to safety in her bedroom where she tenderly nursed him back to health for several days after which he sadly died from exhaustion. She put him back in the ditch.

And that's a fact!

The View from the Hill on Monday 19th October

It's very dark out there this morning. And it's very dark in here too as the light bulb has blown and I can't be bothered to look for a replacement.

Luckily, I can see the keyboard from the light cascading out of my 20 inch screen. What a relief I hear you sigh, that means he can write another couple of paragraphs of drivel.

I think if you read my little efforts on a regular basis you will be aware that I do write tongue in cheek most of the time, I like being daft as it keeps me sane. There are days when the serious thought creeps onto the electronic page - but this is not one of them.

Why can't we have a pretty gymnast win the World Championship? Whilst I applaud her skill and ability Ms Tweddle is not what you would call pretty in a traditional sense and I just think we should make an effort for the London Olympics to find a pretty girl to win the gymnastics.

We have found a personable and handsome little lad to jump into the pool from silly heights, Tom Daly, so where are all the pretty young girls?

But of course I know where they are, they are all at home with their babies.

We not only have the World Champion on the Floor Exercises in Beth Tweddle, we have a whole raft of young women who are expert on the floor, on the bed, on the kitchen table, in the garden etc etc.

There seems to be a whole generation of young women who want babies desperately and then they still want their life to go on as before, parties and shopping and the like...no wonder their sons and daughters grow up without standards and morals.

Now will you look at that, a serious thought did creep out after all, I should be more careful and take precautions in the future, pity some of those teenage 'parents' didn't do the same!

I'm writing to the Daily Mail now, perhaps I could get a job with them.

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On this day in 1216 King John dies whilst visiting Newark on Trent, and is succeeded by his nine year old son Henry. I shall be visiting Newark later today and will pass the scene of that death which is still being investigated by Notts Police. They do have a suspect, Croxton, a local Monk. They say enquiries are continuing and they hope to make an arrest sometime in the next three of four hundred years. Not bad for Notts Police!

It is thought the Monk slipped the King a piece of peach pie laced with poison. The headlines read in the local paper, 'Former Prince Perishes after Picking Poison Peach Pie Piece'.

The pie was baked following a recipe by a distant relative of mine, he wasn't a Monk, he was a Drewid. He wrote a cook book called Ye Olde Poisoners Cooke Booke & How to Strangle a Chicken In Three Easy Lessons. He was a big star locally but after his recipe was used to kill the King he went into hiding and spent his final days strangling chickens under an assumed name.

And that's a fact!

The View from the Hill on Sunday 18th October

Driven from bed at 5.50am by the gurgling of a dogs innards, not the best way to start a Sunday especially after taking to bed early on Saturday feeling under the weather. With Mrs B at my side and a hot water bottle plus a small bar of fruit and nut to try and ease the discomfort, we settled in and snuggled down to try and find some warmth and comfort under the summer weight duvet - which today is getting changed for the winter weight duvet!

Please don't tell me we are the only household that has two different duvets!

Duvets are great though, I always struggle with sheets and blankets now although some duvets are a little awkward too. I remember a time as we were driving back from a camping trip in Italy and we were stranded at the Swiss border due to snow. We had to find a place to stay overnight and found the last room in a small hotel. It was a cold water room and it had a big bed but made up Swiss style - that's two single quilts on top of a double sheet.

The quilts were about 1 inch thick but somehow they weighed a quarter of a tonne and once you were under them you couldn't move! It was bloody cold and you couldn't even run the hot tap for warmth.

Have you also noticed the European custom of throwing your quilts and bedding out of the window to air? Couldn't do that here, two many dishonest idiots would be having it away with your expensive quilt covers from Matalan.

Anyway, now I've done a little blogging I'm going to make a cup of tea and slide back into bed for a while, perhaps watch some breakfast news and hear the latest furore over Strictly being pushed back so three men could stand in the rain in Brazil and talk bollocks.

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On this day in 1851, Herman Melville published his story The Whale, which later became known the world over as Moby Dick. The story was a big hit perhaps because it was based on true events surrounding the hunting and killing of a whale called Mocha Dick. Dick was a popular name for whales in the 1800's, a trend to name whales however goes back further in time to 1688 and distant relative Captain Jabez Behab. Jabez was a bit of a character but a brain injury caused by a mistimed billy club during a press gang expedition, left him unable to recall the names of things so he called them the first thing that popped into his head - the sound of him calling out orders on board was amazing, "splice the main street", "climb that yard of ale" "fetch me another cabin boy".

Anyway, as they sailed the the seas of Tortuga, they spotted a large whale, it was coffee coloured and Captain Behab looking through his testicle (that's what he called it) shouted to his seamen, "quick, all hands on dick, it's a big one!"

The men all raced to the side of the ship and were surprised to see the huge brown sperm whale heading straight for them. They tossed themselves overboard and left poor Captain Behab almost on his own, just Behab and his cabin boy Winehouse. Behab could see they were doomed and so he suggested a quick fumble behind the sextant but the boy wouldn't have it, and that's where we get the famous saying - they tried to make my go with Behab but I said NO NO NOOOO!

And that's a fact!