There will come a time.
The mourning nation will throw off the disbelief of misery; the wailing and gnashing of teeth will suddenly stop, on the streets of our great nation’s cities, towns, villages and sleepy hamlets; time will heal all.
Yet before the hammer rings have of the sculptor crafting the sinews of muscle have died away, and the glorious statue of the man – some would say demi-God – is still years away, someone will ask, ‘What was the mystery of his mind? Why was he such a pointless and incessant liar?’
Yes, I really have to stop it. This week I am on important and top secret government business, and within half a day of meeting a group of new people, I had for some reason made out that my job was that of trapeze artist in a travelling circus.
Now I doubt they all believed me but one must have despite my ample poundage. Reminds me of the first time I met Mrs Bob’s Aunt, who we shall call ‘Aunt’ for the sake of this piece. We had gone on an extended family trip to the Royal Tournament at Earls Court. As the brave lads and lasses did lots of impressive things involving being more fit and less scaredy cat than me, Aunt asked me what I did as a job. Without blinking I informed her that I used to be in the Paras. Months later when we saw her again she was proud to tell others about my service to the nation.
To be fair, I look well hard and dead fit. Like a fat butcher’s dog with asthma and a limp.
My common ‘error’ is telling people on a daily basis that it is my birthday. I tried this with my Stockport Sippers pals last weekend in the pub and was aided by my mate Muttley when he came in with some home brewed beer for me and jokingly said ‘happy birthday’ to unwittingly assist my pointless deception.
Talking about imaginary events, I do of course dream a lot and remember many of them. I had three consecutive nights of that this week. In the first dream I dreamt that my mates small one bedroom flat had become huge with lots of extra rooms we had never noticed, opening out onto a huge shared roof terrace with view of the sea (he lives in Leytonstone) but the added frisson of roof snakes which were poisonous.
In the second dream I was on hols with the Carey Family and was unimpressed that Mrs Bob could not name the capital city we were actually staying in. Annoyingly, I have forgotten too now. Mrs Bob and Miss Bob went to a cookery course and made what looked like ridiculously large meat-filled tortillas. I joined at the end of the class to stuff my face. This leads neatly into dream 3 where I was back at my job from 1988 trying to stop my boss stealing things of my enormous cooked breakfast. In doing so I struck out at Mrs Bob who was asleep next to me and she walloped me in return leading me to get up at 5am.
Dreams. Huh. Yeah. What are they good for? Absolutely nothing.
I did actually start a blog posting two months ago. I can see why I didn’t finish it;
“Is it just me or has Easter changed? I have such happy memories of skipping through the corn fields laughing and singing ‘Fat Piggy Oink Oink’ with my friend Andrew the Apple, before going home to paint live prawns and then eat them with bags of lettuce for our Easter tea. I bet that stirs a few memories of your own.
Why do traditions have to change so much? The world was great but now it all has to bigger, better and beefier. Only last week I went to walk my hell hounds and instead of children on bicycles, I was greeted by kids on hoverboards wearing aluminium tin foil outfits”.
I am off to a groovy mod / ska-fest in just over a week with my mate Steptoe. No rough camping for us. No glamping. Pub B&B all the way. Just doing the first night and the next full day but hope to miss Cast who are well crap. From the Jam should be the highlight and a DJ set from Shawn and Milky from This is England.
I have been mainly singing along this week to ‘Missing’ by Everything but the Girl’. I had not realised just how tragic a song it was. Get over him / her FFS and move on with your life!
I have rejoined Slimming World albeit on line. I have only managed two weigh-ins so far as the app is ‘broken’ and I can’t find the weighing scales. I have made some SW chilli, a fab Nasei Goreng with fried egg on the top, and a simple prawn and tomato curry. Mrs Bob has finally believed me about avocados and hard boiled egg. I have blown her mind.
Mrs Bob has been enjoying lots of absences on my part. As friends will know I have had a lot of trips up north in the last few months to support the Bob Parents. Not an easy job as many of you in similar predicaments will appreciate. What with my new job too (5 months in) blogging and other important life stuff have fallen to the wayside.
Still I made the all important Stockport County final game away at Nuneaton Borough which saw us promoted a champions and back to National League (and non-regional) football next season. What a day with best mate Grizzly and all my Stockport pals (The Cap’n was missed though). Last weekend I met with them again for beers down The Brook. Started at 12.30pm and left them about 6.30pm. Started with a diet coke but must have moved to beer as I don’t remember eating my tea that night. Dozy Dee kindly called me at 1.30am the next morning on his way home having had 12 hours drinking and being chucked out of an Uber when it was discovered his name wasn’t in fact Gary, and this wasn’t his cab. Ha ha!
Friends. Now I am blessed to have some truly wonderful friends. Some I see rarely but when we meet we pick up conversations as if it was just earlier in the day we had seen each other. Recently I needed help with my parents and being 3 hours away put out an SOS and three mates who had never even met them responded immediately. I know I can call and share woes and joy with my friends.
What I have also begun to notice though is the number of times I am getting contacted by friends I have given up trying to maintain contact with. I think ‘great, how nice to hear from you at last!’ until I read on and find that after ‘how are you?!’ they quickly go on to the real reason for the contact, that they need something. You help them out and they vanish again. Just disappointing, that’s all – happened far too much in recent months.
By the way I am v happy to do favours so do ask! No piss takers though!
Lots of dog walking in the sunshine this week. Reminds me that. I bought Mrs Bob an adult colouring book for her birthday last month of dog butts. That is not a good description as in each pic you had a very pronounced dog bumhole to colour in. If I was doing it, I would leave the odd one as white for a 70s feel.
Game of Thrones is back. Good to see the detective from Line of Duty who Kate called a tit the other day, being burnt alive by a dragon. That will teach her.
Miss Bob is now doing her GCSEs. Don’t envy her. I dreamt the other week that I had a German exam within the week but had not yet learnt to speak or write any German whatsoever. Master Bob is home from uni and has already hammered me at pool and staying up late. Oo hold that though! I was out until after 3am a few weeks ago after a night out with The Zoo Twins, Pepsi and Mel Gibson. We went to a private bar near King’s Cross with expensive and v v alcoholic cocktails. I was like a cross between Alan Carr and an incontinent Bernard Manning with my wit and macho elegance. I think I dropped off in the toilet. Mel remembers waking up on the tube at some point using my belly as a pillow.
I had tuna and mayo and cucumber rolls today with baby plum tomatoes.
Right. Time to play pool with the boy. Remember to give it an extra 15 seconds after a wee before returning tinkywinky to your pants and doing your flies up. Unplanned seepage is increasingly an issue post-50. So I am told. Oo that reminds me about the gusset debate – have to wait until next time for that……