Category: Terminally boring

Chibber at the Art Gallery

It was more a case of save your money for God’s sake than art for arts sake that I suggested to my good friend, Chibber, we explore an art gallery rather than paint the town red, white and blue in a drinking establishment. This was, of course, pre-covid days.

At first hesitant by my complicated and sophisticated reasoning, rolling my Rs and elongating my Es, I could see my brainwashing was working and he agreed to enter the Chamber of Magical Dreams. Think he thought he was going to Disneyland.
Continue reading “Chibber at the Art Gallery”

There goes your weekend

Not being much of a political animal I steer clear of the circus that is British politics. However, a comment by the current PM, Boris Johnson, comparing Jeremy Corbyn with Stalin made me pause for thought.

Labour propose to introduce a 4 day working week in the next ten years. All good and well but are they imitatating one of the Soviet Dictator’s doctrines.

In 1929 Stalin had a calendar moment and eradicated Saturdays and Sundays from a normal week. And then there were five, as it were. Workers worked four days a week on different rotas and got one day off. That’s one way to boost productivity.

Labour aren’t saying but does this mean, in the near future we must proclaim…
Saturdays no more.
Sundays no more.

The Chariot is now an EV

Huh?

Well, not the Chariot precisely, but the conveyance used by our Boadicea to travel from place to place. We’ve put our ICE-powered companion out to grass- she was getting a little frail and battered around the edges – and purchased a bright-eyed, lecky-driven, millennium replacement.

Well, not quite, but the warrants have been signed, the executioner booked and the changeover set for the end of the month. Our extended test drive convinced us both that the future is already here, even for a pair of seniors like us.

Once we have our new chariot we’ll bore you with the details of our experiences, no doubt. 😎

EV = Electric Vehicle.
ICE = Internal Combustion Engine (petrol/gas or diesel)

Shrugus Shoulderus (Sean Connery)

Lost a fiver today.

 

It’s alright, don’t feel sorry for me. It was my own fault. Fell out my pocket. Not got a Clouseau where it went. Like Cato the Younger I took this hit with a resigned Hardy look at the fourth wall and remembered the famous Roman quote by Marcus Porcius Cato Uticensis “What’s for you will never go by you.” Though I’m sure it was originally in Latin,

Quid Leatherus testamus numquam Cheerioyou.

 

You need hands

I was heel-clicked incarnate. Honestly, the cliché police, if they existed, would have thrown the book at me or locked me up and thrown away the key. Nothing could stop me in this mood. I was on top of the world, soaring like a cold blister and full of beans that could make a new forest. As I walked down the street I was the shiniest on show by a city mile (not in the country and anyway, a mile’s a mile for all that). I couldn’t resist singing my favourite Scorpions song “Here I am, Rock you like a Harry Kane.”

Then Destiny called. “Hello, you,” she said.

A driver had lost control of his Ford F650 pick up truck and had driven it onto the pavement. Careering at speed it was almost upon a young boy who was walking in front of me. I had a split second to make a decision.  Continue reading “You need hands”