Is it worth the effort?

Greetings, my ever shrinking band of followers - I am considering whether the end is nigh?

On Tuesday morning I managed to drag my aged bottom into the BBC Radio Nottingham studio, where I sat with local novelist and academic, Nicola Monaghan. We were there to discuss the weekends news stories with our host Mark Dennison, ably supported by his production team of James and Lewis.

We talked about Libya and housing and school uniforms and other more frivolous matters and I think the whole thing went OK, but in an off-air conversation, Nicola told me that she had read my blog...oh dear.

Someone who makes a living writing, someone who has published several novels and has a new one on the way, someone who leads the creative writing BA course at The University of Nottingham...she read my blog.

I only ever expected a few people, close friends and family members, to actually find time in their day to wade through the rubbish I commit to this blog - but there have been times when I have reached a wider audience.

A blog entry about Mrs B making me clean the cupboards out was a smash hit with hundreds of readers from around the world. I still have not worked out why people were so keen to hear about Mrs B's Marmite or my collection of pepper.

As I make an effort to re-read some of my previous outpourings of wisdom, I note how the blog has changed, with many silly attempts at humour and occasionally a very serious and worthy piece about something that has disturbed the aura of the Guru.

Anyway, Nicola said some quite nice things about the blogs, which in itself unsettled the aura...and you are never quite sure if comments are made out of pure politeness.  That is not to say that for a moment my head swelled ever so slightly, but it did make me re-evaluate whether this was something that I should now put away, having reached a possible zenith in my linguistic meanderings.

Perhaps the time has come for the Guru to drift into retirement and solitude, hermit like to live out the remainder of my days in my little office, typing no more than 140 characters to those Twitterers who I have entranced with my false humility?

Rest on my laurels and reflect on a glorious past in the same way that an ageing Bruce Wayne would eventually have to hang up his cape and recall the echoes of past battles with The Joker and his minions.

But then I thought, NO!

I do not write these blogs just so that they will be read, although I will share them and make them available hoping that someone makes the effort!

The fact is that of my 127 Facebook friends only a a small percentage read the blog, that is a choice they make and I have no problems with anyone choosing what they spend their time doing, but you could read this blog and still have time to look at porn before Blue Peter starts!

I write the blogs for me - and for a small but loyal band of feeble minded muppets who have nothing better to do with their time than read the brain snot of a self styled Guru, who conceals behind that facade, the real face of the author.

Oh yes, the real me peeks out occasionally, but in truth the sarcastic,witless, politically incorrect Guru gives me the cover to be a little outrageous.

This blog is heading nowhere fast, so perhaps I should just say that writing this entry has allowed me to clarify in my own mind that I should continue to write when I have something to say, I will also continue to write when I have nothing to say because I say nothing better than anyone I know!

Yes, be not troubled my faithful followers - even if no one hears this tree falling in the forest, I'm going to keep my chopper in my hand.

Enjoy reading the blog, if you don't read it who cares - and if you read it and you do enjoy it, keep it to yourself otherwise men in white coats might be dispatched!


Phone rings...Hello

BBC Nottingham, Sunday morning, newspaper review,7.50am, don't be late!

The Guru is back in business!

Blue Thursday

Nothing saddens me more than conducting funerals for young people - and when I look back over the last few years I seem to have officiated at far too many.

I recall ceremonies for babies who have died after taking a few short breaths of air, and even sadder are the ceremonies for those that didn’t even make it that far - born asleep.

There are young people who are afflicted with illnesses such as melanoma, leukaemia, meningitis and how sad it is to see their potential for a happy life cut short. The way in which some meet death by battling for every last drop of life can be inspiring and sets us all a true example for how we can deal with adversity of this kind.

There are those who have been killed in traffic accidents, and those who have been the victim of crime and I shall always recall the funeral of a little girl, neglected by her family, who died in awful squalor - their presence at her funeral just felt wrong. They were not there for her in life after all.

This week I conducted a funeral for a young man who had taken his own life - a tragic call for help that had gone a little too far and resulted in his life being lost.

The young man was a very private and proud individual, he was battling some deep personal issues and in the end, for similarly personal reasons, he took the course of action that would lead to his death.

His family are devastated - and they will have to live with those awful questions - was there something we could have done or said? What signs did we miss that this was going to happen? They will tear themselves to shreds in the days ahead trying to answer these unanswerable questions.

Sometimes, and I do not know the circumstances of this case, but sometimes part of the blame lies in our society and the fact that we will not accept people for who they are - we judge them and label them lesser than ourselves because what they do with their life is not ‘normal’.

This bigotry and hatred is based in ignorance and may be stoked by religious intolerance and I find it the most unchristian aspect of christianity and likewise the most uncaring and inhuman side of other world religions.

If one person takes their life because they feel that their life is not valued, then it lessens the value of all of us…

I don’t want to conduct funerals for young people but sometimes circumstances we cannot change make that necessary - but it makes me sad and angry that I have to conduct funerals for anyone, of any age, who has taken the choice to end their life because no one understands or accepts them for who they are.

Riotous Laughter

Hello, is anyone left out there or are you all in prison for looting Primark and Dorothy Perkins?

I have resisted the urge to offer a view on the recent disturbances, I did not want anyone to feel that I was making light of the situation, especially as people lost their lives, their livelihoods and their homes.

Then it occurred to me, if I don't carry on then I am letting the lawless thugs rule - so I'm here, with brush in hand, and I intend to carry on being insensitive, witless and sarcastic, because you deserve me!

As I write this modern masterpiece in social exploration, the Prime Minister is on his feet in a recalled parliament basically bollocking the Police for not being tough enough on the ruffians, bollocking parents for not being strict enough with their little lambs and bollocking anyone who isn't sat within a few feet of himself, because no matter what caused the riots it's got nothing to do with politics!

What he wants to see, and what the general public want to see is flogging, water cannons, rubber bullets, more flogging and perhaps the odd execution.  That'll learn the little buggers a serious lesson in how to behave. Just think of all the new jobs created in the Department of Public Correction and Humiliation.

The blame game is well advanced on this one, parents are getting it in the neck because the kids should be at school not roaming the streets - talk about MP's being out of touch...it is the school holidays I think!

Parents do have to take their share of the blame, you see it all starts at home when kids are very young. Let me paint you a word picture...

Little Johnny and little Mary are playing with their toys in the playroom of their humble little five bedroomed home in leafy suburbia. Johnny likes his pretend tool kit and Mary likes her fluffy little pussy cat. Suddenly, Mary grabs hold of the tool in Johnny's hand and snatches it away - obviously Johnny cries out and this noise attracts the attentions of the au pair Ingrid. (Mum and Dad are working in the City).

Ingrid, hearing the noise, asks the plumber with the big droopy moustache to pull his trousers up, and she goes to investigate...she discovers little Johnny sobbing and little Mary trying to insert the tool into her lunchbox. (You thought I was going to say fluffy pussy didn't you? - You disgust me!)

Ingrid turns to little Mary and says, 'would you like to give Johnny his toy please Mary?' and Mary says 'No! Mummy told us both that we should share our toys'.

And there we have it - the whole problem of looting, take what you want because mummy said to share and the au pair accepts the situation because she wants to help a plumber loosen his nuts.

We should come down hard on these awful parents who teach children that they can take what they want, we should really teach them all to be selfish and only play with toys that they have purchased themselves from their trust funds.

Let me pose this question...are all looters really bad people?

Of course they are - why are you even thinking about it! You are going on the list my friend...Eric Pickles will have your guts for garters, and your liver for breakfast.

You see, life is really simple - there are the 'haves' and there are the 'have nots' - I am a 'have not' because I don't have a brand new plasma screen, Nike trainers or a Blackberry.

Do you think I can apply for some benefits to help me go on a training course so that I can learn how to get all of those lovely things? If I do, they wont last long...my next door neighbour is called Little Mary, and she believes in sharing.

Well I hope this has helped you all understand the world a little better, I'm off now to brush up on my back hand, fancy applying for the post of chief flogger in residence, Mansfield District Council.


Just an afterthought - If I have offended anyone with this blog I do apologise - but it's not my fault - it was my parents and my lack of education and a job and that I don't believe in god.

Reflections on a Long Week

Hello my dearly cherished horde, I hope this missive finds you in fine fettle...

It seems just short of forever that last we spoke, and the time has arrived once more for me to reach out through the electronic mist of misery and embrace you all with my big strong masculine arms.

There has been a lot of hugging in my life this week and I must admit I am rather partial - I'm not very good at being standoffish and I leap in for a grapple whenever the opportunity arises.

This week Mrs B and I were blessed with a visit by the whole Amos clan, they had not travelled this far north since before Amy Winehouse was famous...so hugs all around.

Our eldest nephew, Samuel, stayed on for a few days whilst the rest of the clan flew out to Menorca on a well earned, all inclusive holiday. The hotel has already felt the dip in profits, as nephew Max devours all the food and my little sister Alison, devours all the local booze! My brother in law, Simon, is far too restrained to have made such an impact.

As Sam stayed on with us for a few days, we suggested he invite our godson, Liam, to come and stay. So, there we were with two 18 year old lads in the house, the testosterone levels went through the roof and I felt their presence, my own energy levels increased substantially and I found that I could scrape six new potatoes in the time it normally took to scrape three!

The other thing you notice with two extra bodies in the house is that by the time I got to the shower there was no hot water left...and I was amazed at that because I thought teenage boys didn't shower!

Eventually they departed and Mrs B and I headed north, arriving in Lancaster, where I was to conduct a baby naming ceremony.

More hugs followed, reunited after several years with Callum (the dad) and meeting for the first time Rachel (the mum) and then meeting the little angel herself (Elsa). Both families were present and some of them I had not seen for a while so more hugs all round.

I must just say, baby naming ceremonies make such a nice change from funerals - and I have three more to look forward too in the coming weeks. There are bound to be lots of hugs and I imagine that by November my arms will be really tired.

Little Elsa is a very pretty baby and although I only met Rachel for the first time on Saturday I can see that she is well capable of looking after not only her daughter but Callum too!

It makes my old cynical heart soften just a little when I see such contentment and I wish Elsa and her mum and dad lots of happy days.

Now off with you all, I have work to do!

I have to visit the supermarket and liberate a pot of yoghurt and some milk as well as write a funeral before trying to scrape six potatoes - it's going to take a long time as my testosterone levels are back to those normally attributed to a neutered sloth!

Carry on.

Save the Children, Kill the Ants.

I bet you thought I'd gone and forgotten about you all - well I do try but as Miss K Minogue said,  I just can't get you out of my head...you'll be singing that all day now.

I have just returned from having my ears lowered, the conversation in the chair running from transvestites and drag queens to uncomfortable medical conditions.

I was early for my appointment because the roads were empty, as Mrs B points out it's school holidays and that means the all the four wheel drives are at home rather than taking little Jocasta and Basil to school.

In my day, school holidays were times when you would see more children out playing but now we have a fear that behind every bush lurks a predatory paedophile, so we keep our children in a cupboard under the stairs just to be on the safe side.

The fear of crime prevents children from having a childhood, when I think of the hours of endless fun we had as kids, taking a stick and playing cowboys and indians or pirates. How we laughed as we romped through the countryside, carefree, singing songs about deer and tea with jam and bread, hiding from the Nazis...hold on, I think my childhood was turned into a film!

Anyway, I didn't want to talk about these things today, I wanted to ask if anyone else is suffering the curse of the flying ant?

Our rather splendid conservatory is full of dead flying ants, they are dead after I assaulted them with lethal levels of anti-ant spray. I have battled wave after wave of the blighters, but still they come.

Why do we need flying ants anyway, I think the little crawling ones are quite sufficient in the scheme of things - the next thing you know is we will be having flying spiders or flying earwigs and Mrs B will not approve of either of them buzzing round her head as she sits in her rather splendid conservatory sipping her pink.

Anyone with a fool proof way of disposing of flying ants please let me know - perhaps there is someone out there who likes flying ants, in which case let me have your address and I will send them on to you.

Away with you all now, get out into the fresh air and enjoy the summer but a word of warning to parents, when you go out to enjoy the day please leave a bowl of water and a dry biscuit in the cupboard under the stairs - you don't want Jocasta and Basil to feel unwanted do you?