Good morning dearly beloved, or good (apply appropriate time reference) if you are reading this at any other time of day than morning.
Morning has become that most fruitful of work times for me, the house is quiet and having briefly watched the news and made a cup of tea, I settle down to write. I have plenty to write this week with five ceremonies to prepare and on top of that, I have a trip to London on Thursday when Mrs B and I will be going to The Barbican to see the 25th anniversary production of Les Miserable.
Mrs B and I fell in love with Les Mis when we saw an excerpt on the Royal Variety show in 1985, we bought the tape and played it endlessly before eventually booking tickets in 1988, or was it 89? Anyway, it was when we moved house from Branston to Lincoln - and the move had not gone as expected and all the furniture was in storage and the tickets where safely locked away in the sideboard which was locked in a container! We explained this to the box office and they re-printed some tickets for us and away we went.
We arrived and found our seats and sat waiting patiently, this was still one of the shows of the day and demand for tickets was high, but as we sat we were approached by another couple, middle aged and middle class in matching his and hers mackintoshes. "You are in our seats!" he said, flashing his tickets in front of my face - sure enough the seats indicated on his tickets were the same as the seats we were occupying.
I showed our tickets and the man called over an usher who took the tickets from the man, his wife standing behind him quietly clutching her handbag, her programme and a bag of wine gums. The usher looked at the tickets, then looked at our tickets, then looked back at the couple and said "yes, you tickets are for these seats but not for today, you are here a week early".
The couple were given what I would now presume to be house seats and we all enjoyed the show.
Now I didn't intend telling that story, anyway, we are off to see Les Mis.
We have been to the theatre a lot lately, well I have. The Country Girl, Sisters - Such Devoted Sisters, Slave to the Wage and now, out of the blue, a call to audition for a new play by a local writer. The play is for three actors, one male, and all play many roles, ages, physicality's. Goodness knows why I'm going, the only age I play is childish, and the only physicality I have is slow and creaky. But if they want to see the old magic, I suppose I could get it out for them to marvel at.
Yes, I have a full week ahead, Mrs B and her group of alcoholic friends require me to make then a vegetable curry on Tuesday evening and I will have visits and other matters to deal with - but I complain not. Life goes on for me quite nicely thank you.
Visiting families who have lost children is a reminder that the freedom to sit and write this rubbish is a blessing (non religious variety of course).
I have increased the Guru's presence on Twitter - please feel free to join me - and have now made contact with my dear friend Christine Hamilton as well as many other people, some more well known than me, some obscure like a nice chap called Rob Lowe.
Nichelle Nichols is there too talking in the wake of the 9-11 Koran burning fracas about the Vulcan philosophy of IDIC. Infinite diversity in infinite combination. In the week that Star Trek celebrated its 44th birthday it was a nice reminder of the future we could and should work for - but religion will divide us well into the future and therefore we can only rely on one thing to keep us together. Take it away Mr Sedaka...
Sunday, 12 September 2010
Sunday, 5 September 2010
Message from the sponsor
I have just been contacted by Tesco, who thanked me for my on-going advertisement of their stores - they then pointed out that they do stock venison, but only in some of their stores in the posh parts of the south.
The reason they don't stock it in Mansfield is that venison has hardly any fat in it, thereby making it inedible to the cave dwellers of the midlands and the north.
Thank you Tesco - every little helps.
The reason they don't stock it in Mansfield is that venison has hardly any fat in it, thereby making it inedible to the cave dwellers of the midlands and the north.
Thank you Tesco - every little helps.
Saturday, 7 August 2010
Saturday Supplement
How wonderful for you all, a gift of genius from your Guru. A blog.
Dreams are an insight into the world we wished we lived, so I would like to be brave this morning and share with you last nights nocturnal visitation from the land beyond beyond. I will expose myself and am prepared for the shock this might cause.
In my dream I was a famous detective, so famous that I didn't have a name, I was simply known as 'the Detective'.
I was called in by a wealthy lady to investigate the crippling of her favourite horse - the lady was large bosomed and spoke with a plum in her mouth. I asked her to remove the plum and it soon became clear that this made her easier to understand.
She explained that she had left the horse watching television (re-runs of Steptoe and Son as the horse was a distant relative of Old Ned) but upon her return from Waitrose, she found the horse in agony on the floor clutching one of his ankles. The horse had told her that "he did it" before slipping into a coma.
Sadly he couldn't point out the culprit as he was holding his ankles with all his free hooves and it took all his energy to speak.
So, there was I, the Detective, with my faithful sidekick called Marianne.
On investigating the scene, I noticed that near the chair where the horse had been sitting was a small table on which was a hay sandwich and a bottle of chablis, cold and running with condensation. The sandwich had not been touched and the bottle was full - there was no sign of a glass. Then I spotted a broken glass laying just inside the door of the rather spacious lounge.
Near the broken glass, looking like it had been casually discarded, was a large silk cushion on which was stitched a scene of pheasants fleeing a gun dog.
I then returned to the chair and noticed a few dog hairs on a cushion.
I said to the lady - "where is your dog?"
"How do you know I have a dog?" she replied.
"Elementary my dear lady - I saw it when we came in earlier".
The dog was summoned, it entered very sheepishly, making little baa-ing noises. He also had a black eye.
I then gathered everyone around and explained what had happened.
The horse, left watching television, had decided to have a snack and so went to the kitchen to make a hay sandwich and get the chablis from the fridge. Upon returning to the lounge he had found the dog sat in his chair and had given him a good telling off and a punch in the eye for good measure. The horse had settled down and then realised he had left his glass in the kitchen.
The horse left to fetch the glass and the wounded dog seized his chance. He carefully positioned the cushion just inside the door and when the horse returned he slipped on the cushion and injured his ankle. It was all so clear - mystery solved.
The lady rewarded me with £1 million Euros, the dog went to prison, Marianne released a record and the horse sadly died and was turned into dog food, which was then sent to the prison where his attacker was detained.
The dream closes with the dog laughing uncontrollably and pointing at the dinner plate.
This dream is very telling, it shows the great intellect and insight that I possess as well as showing that I have a way with animals.
I think it also shows that cauliflower cheese and prosecco before bed is a bad idea.
Have a nice day and sweet dreams for tonight.
Dreams are an insight into the world we wished we lived, so I would like to be brave this morning and share with you last nights nocturnal visitation from the land beyond beyond. I will expose myself and am prepared for the shock this might cause.
In my dream I was a famous detective, so famous that I didn't have a name, I was simply known as 'the Detective'.
I was called in by a wealthy lady to investigate the crippling of her favourite horse - the lady was large bosomed and spoke with a plum in her mouth. I asked her to remove the plum and it soon became clear that this made her easier to understand.
She explained that she had left the horse watching television (re-runs of Steptoe and Son as the horse was a distant relative of Old Ned) but upon her return from Waitrose, she found the horse in agony on the floor clutching one of his ankles. The horse had told her that "he did it" before slipping into a coma.
Sadly he couldn't point out the culprit as he was holding his ankles with all his free hooves and it took all his energy to speak.
So, there was I, the Detective, with my faithful sidekick called Marianne.
On investigating the scene, I noticed that near the chair where the horse had been sitting was a small table on which was a hay sandwich and a bottle of chablis, cold and running with condensation. The sandwich had not been touched and the bottle was full - there was no sign of a glass. Then I spotted a broken glass laying just inside the door of the rather spacious lounge.
Near the broken glass, looking like it had been casually discarded, was a large silk cushion on which was stitched a scene of pheasants fleeing a gun dog.
I then returned to the chair and noticed a few dog hairs on a cushion.
I said to the lady - "where is your dog?"
"How do you know I have a dog?" she replied.
"Elementary my dear lady - I saw it when we came in earlier".
The dog was summoned, it entered very sheepishly, making little baa-ing noises. He also had a black eye.
I then gathered everyone around and explained what had happened.
The horse, left watching television, had decided to have a snack and so went to the kitchen to make a hay sandwich and get the chablis from the fridge. Upon returning to the lounge he had found the dog sat in his chair and had given him a good telling off and a punch in the eye for good measure. The horse had settled down and then realised he had left his glass in the kitchen.
The horse left to fetch the glass and the wounded dog seized his chance. He carefully positioned the cushion just inside the door and when the horse returned he slipped on the cushion and injured his ankle. It was all so clear - mystery solved.
The lady rewarded me with £1 million Euros, the dog went to prison, Marianne released a record and the horse sadly died and was turned into dog food, which was then sent to the prison where his attacker was detained.
The dream closes with the dog laughing uncontrollably and pointing at the dinner plate.
This dream is very telling, it shows the great intellect and insight that I possess as well as showing that I have a way with animals.
I think it also shows that cauliflower cheese and prosecco before bed is a bad idea.
Have a nice day and sweet dreams for tonight.
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Saturday Supplement
Well here we are again, a week has flown by and I have been prodded and poked by the JP to give unto you a little extra - the main course arrives tomorrow, a perfectly harmless dissertation on the state of Special Educational Needs. Mrs B is worried I might upset someone but I told her to rest easy, people know that the Guru speaks only the truth and if the truth hurts then that shows some fault in the recipient of my wisdom and insight.
As if to prove a point, I awoke on Friday and found myself full of joie de vivre, or whatever the English equivalent is. I sat and ate my temporary breakfast cereal - temporary because when the box is empty I’m going back to granola - and watched the news and was saddened to see events in Pakistan. Terrible scenes of flooding and devastation, old men clinging to wire fences whilst the torrent of water threatened to tear them away from their loved ones and their lives.
And then a scene showing two buffalo being swept along by the cataract, terrified creatures who had no doubt shared a muddy field together, now facing their bovine fate side by side. Then,heartbreakingly, I spotted a poor little donkey, also being carried away to perish in the flood.
I tried to remain upbeat, I went out to work determined to be positive and enjoy the freedom of my life, the freedom from poverty and the devastating weather, in fact freedom from fear.
I drove to Lincoln and conducted a funeral and then on the way home I called at Tesco.
Even as I pulled into the car park, the cold hand of dread seized my heart, but I knew I had to face my fear and enter the palace of retail hell. Mrs B needed Pinot and so in I went.
I imagined myself in the role of Anna (minus the King) and I whistled a happy tune as I grasped my basket and set off in search of a few tidbits and as I passed the coleslaw section I heard some smelly oaf complaining very loudly, VERY loudly, about the cost of said cabbage based accompaniment.
The smelly rude man was being obnoxious to staff members and at that point the image of that drowning donkey flashed into my head and I was forced to speak, nay - to act!
So with basket in hand and smile firmly affixed I walked across and told him that the cost of a pot of coleslaw was nothing at the side of the cost of losing your home, your livelihood or your life. I then raised my own voice, slightly and said “Get a grip you moron, coleslaw is a luxury!”
I walked away feeling full of joy, the rude man stood, stunned by my outburst - I then stopped dead in my tracks, turned and walked back to the display where I selected the most expensive coleslaw I could find and placed it in my basket. If I had long hair, this is when I would have tossed it in a disdainful manner. I now made my exit, via the pizza aisle - well I needed something for the coleslaw to go on. Farewell fish finger sandwiches which had been my choice for the evening repast.
In hindsight speaking in this way to a total stranger was a dangerous course of action as he looked the type who might carry some sort of offensive weapon, which would have neatly matched his offensive demeanour, appearance and smell.
Sometimes we have to speak up, we have to point out the absurdity of a situation, we have to open our hearts and act, otherwise all the little donkeys in the world might die in vain.
I like to think that the little donkey in Pakistan, the poor terrified creature, died to give me the courage to put that imbecile in his place.
Thank you little donkey.
And so my day continued and I enjoyed my pizza and coleslaw - bloody expensive middle class coleslaw, but every mouthful was sweeter as I thought of that rank odorous troglodyte eating his value coleslaw and wondering who they hell was that man in the suit and lovely silk tie who harangued me in Tesco? (Of course he wouldn’t have said harangued, he was too thick).
Thank you for reading the Saturday Supplement, now go on line and support the Disasters Emergency Committee or the Donkey Sanctuary...please.
See you tomorrow.
http://drupal.thedonkeysanctuary.org.uk/
http://www.dec.org.uk/
As if to prove a point, I awoke on Friday and found myself full of joie de vivre, or whatever the English equivalent is. I sat and ate my temporary breakfast cereal - temporary because when the box is empty I’m going back to granola - and watched the news and was saddened to see events in Pakistan. Terrible scenes of flooding and devastation, old men clinging to wire fences whilst the torrent of water threatened to tear them away from their loved ones and their lives.
And then a scene showing two buffalo being swept along by the cataract, terrified creatures who had no doubt shared a muddy field together, now facing their bovine fate side by side. Then,heartbreakingly, I spotted a poor little donkey, also being carried away to perish in the flood.
I tried to remain upbeat, I went out to work determined to be positive and enjoy the freedom of my life, the freedom from poverty and the devastating weather, in fact freedom from fear.
I drove to Lincoln and conducted a funeral and then on the way home I called at Tesco.
Even as I pulled into the car park, the cold hand of dread seized my heart, but I knew I had to face my fear and enter the palace of retail hell. Mrs B needed Pinot and so in I went.
I imagined myself in the role of Anna (minus the King) and I whistled a happy tune as I grasped my basket and set off in search of a few tidbits and as I passed the coleslaw section I heard some smelly oaf complaining very loudly, VERY loudly, about the cost of said cabbage based accompaniment.
The smelly rude man was being obnoxious to staff members and at that point the image of that drowning donkey flashed into my head and I was forced to speak, nay - to act!
So with basket in hand and smile firmly affixed I walked across and told him that the cost of a pot of coleslaw was nothing at the side of the cost of losing your home, your livelihood or your life. I then raised my own voice, slightly and said “Get a grip you moron, coleslaw is a luxury!”
I walked away feeling full of joy, the rude man stood, stunned by my outburst - I then stopped dead in my tracks, turned and walked back to the display where I selected the most expensive coleslaw I could find and placed it in my basket. If I had long hair, this is when I would have tossed it in a disdainful manner. I now made my exit, via the pizza aisle - well I needed something for the coleslaw to go on. Farewell fish finger sandwiches which had been my choice for the evening repast.
In hindsight speaking in this way to a total stranger was a dangerous course of action as he looked the type who might carry some sort of offensive weapon, which would have neatly matched his offensive demeanour, appearance and smell.
Sometimes we have to speak up, we have to point out the absurdity of a situation, we have to open our hearts and act, otherwise all the little donkeys in the world might die in vain.
I like to think that the little donkey in Pakistan, the poor terrified creature, died to give me the courage to put that imbecile in his place.
Thank you little donkey.
And so my day continued and I enjoyed my pizza and coleslaw - bloody expensive middle class coleslaw, but every mouthful was sweeter as I thought of that rank odorous troglodyte eating his value coleslaw and wondering who they hell was that man in the suit and lovely silk tie who harangued me in Tesco? (Of course he wouldn’t have said harangued, he was too thick).
Thank you for reading the Saturday Supplement, now go on line and support the Disasters Emergency Committee or the Donkey Sanctuary...please.
See you tomorrow.
http://drupal.thedonkeysanctuary.org.uk/
http://www.dec.org.uk/
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