Sunday 17 April 2016
Friday 15 April 2016
Wednesday 13 April 2016
Sunday 10 April 2016
Close to the edge
The t-shirt says it all. A proud club ... but no future? A proud fan ... but what more can be said about our worst ever Premiership campaign.
Yes, the Villa are indeed about to go over the edge.
Friday 8 April 2016
Tales from the Brothers Grim and Grimmer - Reclaiming the Lost Gardens of Electrofried
The second in a series of ongoing exchanges between my brother and I. Hope you enjoy, and if you do please leave a comment at the end by clicking on the red high-lighted, 'No comments' link.
Dear Bruce,
it is with aching limbs and stiffened back that I squat uncomfortably beside the family computer tonight, a small tot of something amber and warming close at hand to dull the pain.
The rewards of retirement
Retirement brings many rewards, not least of which is free rein to make good those things long neglected during decades of gainful employment. In my case, top of the list come the grounds that surround the estate. Several years of neglect mean there’s a veritable jungle out there to be tamed, but lurking deep beneath the unchecked trees and matted vegetation lie the legendary, 'Lost gardens of electrofried'.
The first cut is the deepest
A preliminary survey at the start of the year discloses a faint tracery of pathways and secret lichen-encrusted coves just ripe for discovery. I summon up my courage and with loins duly girded for battle …. I get out the telephone directory. It’s time to call in the chainsaw crew.
The Terrible Twins arrive at the end of January. Swarthy and soil-encrusted they brandish aloft ‘the monster’, a truly terrifying instrument garlanded with sharp, pointy teeth that glint menacingly in the early morning sun. It resembles nothing so much as a carelessly discarded out-take from Tobe Hooper’s cult gore-fest, 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre'. Tea is brewed, plans are made.
Three days later the Terrible Twins pack away 'the monster’ and depart, the fruits of their full-frontal assault now languishing in several over-flowing skips at the Green Waste section of our nearby Council recycling centre. Phase One accomplished, the full extent of the work required to restore the grounds to their former glory now becomes apparent.
There’s an ancient wall to be pinned safely upright, clay-baked borders to be dug, woody shrubs to be pruned vigorously, general deep-rooted weedery to be removed and various plants to be lifted, divided and re-sited.
Giant meccano
The builder is next on the scene. Armed with little more than a dog-eared note-pad and a fraying tape-measure he has a faintly disturbing habit of ‘tut-tutting’ beneath his breath each time he surveys the crumbling brickwork. He drives up to the House of electrofried a few weeks later, axles sagging, with an impressive cargo of heavy duty steel-work on board.
Painstakingly the pieces of this giant meccano set are bolted into place, welded together and daubed with a rather fetching red-lead mixture that must surely fall foul of several chapters of EU Health & Safety legislation. Phase Two accomplished - the wall is restored!
The perils of property ownership
It’s at this point my dear wife and I conduct a second survey of the grounds. We glance knowingly at each other then look back to the small green hut adjacent to our newly refurbished wall. It’s the treasured Wendy House of darling teenygoth, sadly but unsurprisingly no longer in use now she's achieved the age of majority. It has to go.
Adverts are placed on Facebook prompting an instant and somewhat vociferous response from our University-dwelling daughter. We are left in no doubt that her last remaining hope of escaping student debt and becoming a proud property owner in her own right has now been dealt a bitter, terminal blow. We remain unconvinced, but deliver the spoils of the sale to her safe-keeping by way of recompense.
Doubtless the three crisp ten pound notes will go some way to securing a deposit on a fresh abode come the end of her studies. Alternatively, they may just be blown on cake and stickily sweet alcoholic beverages of uncertain vintage.
Negotiating the maze
We move on. The replacement for the Wendy House arrives shortly after - a spanking new lead-lighted gazebo constructed on the recently vacated site. Regrettably, its compact but welcoming interior requires furnishing so my dear wife drags me kicking and screaming to the camper-van for a trip to a certain well-known Swedish furniture warehouse.
For what seems like an eternity we negotiate the endless maze of tastefully restrained Scandinavian interior decor before we emerge, blinking into the light, with two basket chairs and a small table upon which I fully intend to rest my G&T (with strong lager chaser) come the summer. Small recompense I feel.
Dig it baby!
And so to Phase Three, which continues to occupy our attentions.
It is truly amazing just how long it takes to clear naught but a meager square yard of hard baked, weed infested ground, but this is my sad lot until such time as the job is done. The ex-convicts exported in their droves to the land of our Antipodean cousins surely fared better than this!!
Yours in some discomfort,
Simon
Dear Bruce,
it is with aching limbs and stiffened back that I squat uncomfortably beside the family computer tonight, a small tot of something amber and warming close at hand to dull the pain.
The rewards of retirement
Retirement brings many rewards, not least of which is free rein to make good those things long neglected during decades of gainful employment. In my case, top of the list come the grounds that surround the estate. Several years of neglect mean there’s a veritable jungle out there to be tamed, but lurking deep beneath the unchecked trees and matted vegetation lie the legendary, 'Lost gardens of electrofried'.
The first cut is the deepest
A preliminary survey at the start of the year discloses a faint tracery of pathways and secret lichen-encrusted coves just ripe for discovery. I summon up my courage and with loins duly girded for battle …. I get out the telephone directory. It’s time to call in the chainsaw crew.
The Terrible Twins arrive at the end of January. Swarthy and soil-encrusted they brandish aloft ‘the monster’, a truly terrifying instrument garlanded with sharp, pointy teeth that glint menacingly in the early morning sun. It resembles nothing so much as a carelessly discarded out-take from Tobe Hooper’s cult gore-fest, 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre'. Tea is brewed, plans are made.
Three days later the Terrible Twins pack away 'the monster’ and depart, the fruits of their full-frontal assault now languishing in several over-flowing skips at the Green Waste section of our nearby Council recycling centre. Phase One accomplished, the full extent of the work required to restore the grounds to their former glory now becomes apparent.
There’s an ancient wall to be pinned safely upright, clay-baked borders to be dug, woody shrubs to be pruned vigorously, general deep-rooted weedery to be removed and various plants to be lifted, divided and re-sited.
Giant meccano
The builder is next on the scene. Armed with little more than a dog-eared note-pad and a fraying tape-measure he has a faintly disturbing habit of ‘tut-tutting’ beneath his breath each time he surveys the crumbling brickwork. He drives up to the House of electrofried a few weeks later, axles sagging, with an impressive cargo of heavy duty steel-work on board.
Painstakingly the pieces of this giant meccano set are bolted into place, welded together and daubed with a rather fetching red-lead mixture that must surely fall foul of several chapters of EU Health & Safety legislation. Phase Two accomplished - the wall is restored!
The perils of property ownership
It’s at this point my dear wife and I conduct a second survey of the grounds. We glance knowingly at each other then look back to the small green hut adjacent to our newly refurbished wall. It’s the treasured Wendy House of darling teenygoth, sadly but unsurprisingly no longer in use now she's achieved the age of majority. It has to go.
Adverts are placed on Facebook prompting an instant and somewhat vociferous response from our University-dwelling daughter. We are left in no doubt that her last remaining hope of escaping student debt and becoming a proud property owner in her own right has now been dealt a bitter, terminal blow. We remain unconvinced, but deliver the spoils of the sale to her safe-keeping by way of recompense.
Doubtless the three crisp ten pound notes will go some way to securing a deposit on a fresh abode come the end of her studies. Alternatively, they may just be blown on cake and stickily sweet alcoholic beverages of uncertain vintage.
Negotiating the maze
We move on. The replacement for the Wendy House arrives shortly after - a spanking new lead-lighted gazebo constructed on the recently vacated site. Regrettably, its compact but welcoming interior requires furnishing so my dear wife drags me kicking and screaming to the camper-van for a trip to a certain well-known Swedish furniture warehouse.
For what seems like an eternity we negotiate the endless maze of tastefully restrained Scandinavian interior decor before we emerge, blinking into the light, with two basket chairs and a small table upon which I fully intend to rest my G&T (with strong lager chaser) come the summer. Small recompense I feel.
Dig it baby!
And so to Phase Three, which continues to occupy our attentions.
It is truly amazing just how long it takes to clear naught but a meager square yard of hard baked, weed infested ground, but this is my sad lot until such time as the job is done. The ex-convicts exported in their droves to the land of our Antipodean cousins surely fared better than this!!
Yours in some discomfort,
Simon
Tales from the Brothers Grim and Grimmer - Legs Akimbo
This is the first in a new series of email exchanges between me and my eldest brother. Hope you enjoy, and if you do please leave a comment at the end by clicking on the red high-lighted, 'No comments' link.
Dear Simon,
as swimming has been put on hold today after having had a prior appointment at the hospital, I am currently facing the unusual situation of having some free time on my hands. Finding myself on the computer chair contemplating what was, until a few moments ago, a virgin screen, I started pecking away at the keyboard and this is the final result.
Inspired by days gone bye, when we we used to exchange e-mails about events and happenings in general, I thought that now you have joined the ranks of the newly retired, it may be an opportunity to renew the exchange of some our reflections on life.
Two elderly ladies
Since my retirement I have acquired a busy calendar which includes weekly visits to the supermarket and hairdressers with my elderly ladies. Both are friends and neighbours, who perhaps do not see 'eye to eye', but never the less, form part of the weekly routine and perhaps epitomise the concept of 'glass half full' and 'glass half empty'.
I have taken as my 'Sermon for the Day' a short description of the shopping trips I have with our neighbour 'Glass half empty', a name which, if you meet her in the future, may help you to pick her out in a crowd.
My allotted role
'Glass half empty', lives across the road and has become part of a regular shopping routine, accompanying me to the numerous supermarkets in Gloucester to carry out her weekly shop. As a pensioner, surviving on a state pension and a small occupational pension left by her late husband, I have also donned the mantle of 'financial advisor' and 'man of all trades' when there is a domestic emergency.
The sight of her 'hoving up on the horizon' clutching a plastic bag full of letters and files is akin to a merchant ship in the Second World War watching a torpedo heading towards it and wondering if it is going to pass under the bows, or whether there will there be a loud explosion as the doorbell is struck amidships.
Despite her reduced financial state 'Glass half empty' has allowed herself to retain one vice in life. This takes the form of a lifetime addiction to cigarettes as the brown halo on the lounge ceiling above her armchair and the staining on her middle and index finger bear testimony. Under current Health and Safety regulations it is surprising that she has not had to erect a warning sign at the front of the house warning 'Opening this Door may, may affect your Health'.
Let battle commence
Shopping day normally commences with the ritual of getting into the car, which although not normally an hazardous enterprise, is best carried out with with eyes averted to prevent the possibility of recurring nightmares. Although 'legs akimbo', is a term often used in comedy sketches to describe young Essex girls, you really don't want to go to bed with the image of a wide legged octogenarian etched indelibly in your memory. It is a sobering thought that this process may well be captured on the CCTV cameras at the supermarket as the process is reversed with her struggling to get out of the car. It could well be going viral on 'YouTube' as we speak....
Fleetness of foot has never been a factor on these weekly jaunts and I fear that if pitched in a 'head to head' against a Galapagos tortoise she would be left trailing in the slipstream. The provision of Supermarket trolleys have however, provided her with a handy walking aid to lean on and like Boadicea's Chariot a handy method of clearing the aisles in her quest for any seasonal bargains. Despite not being the most fleet of foot, there is certainly nothing wrong with her eyesight, which enables her to locate a 'price reduction sticker' from a considerable distance and home in on them like an Exocet missile on its target.
Purchasing decisions
Over a period of time certain discernible shopping patterns have emerged - on entering the shop the first call is always the cigarette counter in case there is a sudden World shortage with the accompanying horror of having to go 'Cold Turkey' for the forthcoming week.
Once this primary objective is achieved the vegetable counter is the next to come under the microscope as any reductions gained by bulk buying are calculated and then offset against potential wastage caused by early 'sell by dates'.
Being a person with a pronounced weakness for anything sweet, the highlight of the visit is the confectionary aisle where there is much agonizing over which cakes/biscuits provide the best value for money and as a discriminating shopper any size reduction in confectionary products (and I must admit the size of Mars Bars have waned considerably since our youth) is instantly picked up on.
Confusion reigns
Changes of mind regarding her purchases are frequent and instead of returning them to the appropriate shelf they are abandoned in the nearest available space. There must be many confused customers following in her wake as they discover packets of economy kippers amongst the female sanitary products and washing up liquid nestling 'cheek by jowl' with the cream cakes on the chiller aisle.
One thing I have never established is the reason behind her regular bulk purchases of bleach - from the quantity purchased she must the largest stockpile in the Western World and the mind runs riot, trying to work out what it is purchased for. Perhaps it is the new narcotic of choice for the pensioner population, with 'the old and the bold' holding 'bleach parties' behind closed doors with the bleach being mixed with Sanatogen to provide a hallucinogenic high for 'spaced out' wrinklies....
Time to checkout
With the day dragging on it's finally time to round up 'Glass half empty' and escort her to the checkout and it is precisely at this moment that she dons her 'Mantle of Invisibility' and appears to vanish completely. The next ten minutes are then devoted to going up and down every aisle to locate her in the store - considering her top speed would hardly register a reading on a speed gun, this is not a simple task. The search is normally completed at her favourite aisle as she makes a final scan of the cakes and confectionery for any items that escaped her attention on the first sweep.
With the shopping complete the last ritual to be conducted is the 'checking out' proceedure, with each item being checked as it goes through the scanner. Nothing gets past her eagle eye and if she had been in charge of the Government department responsible for MP's expenses, the newspapers would be missing out on one of the longest running scandals in current history.
Her checkout counter can always be spotted by the large queue behind her as they wait for her to go through each item on the till receipt to check for any overcharging, or price reductions that have been missed. This is always a nervous period as any errors can add another 10 minutes to the expedition, waiting at the Customer Services desk while she goes through each line of the till receipt with the bewildered Assistant.
Finally the day is over and all remains is to drive her back home and remembering to avert the eyes as she clambers out - it then back home to crack open the whiskey bottle to calm the shattered nerves.
Yours as ever,
Bruce
Dear Simon,
as swimming has been put on hold today after having had a prior appointment at the hospital, I am currently facing the unusual situation of having some free time on my hands. Finding myself on the computer chair contemplating what was, until a few moments ago, a virgin screen, I started pecking away at the keyboard and this is the final result.
Inspired by days gone bye, when we we used to exchange e-mails about events and happenings in general, I thought that now you have joined the ranks of the newly retired, it may be an opportunity to renew the exchange of some our reflections on life.
Two elderly ladies
Since my retirement I have acquired a busy calendar which includes weekly visits to the supermarket and hairdressers with my elderly ladies. Both are friends and neighbours, who perhaps do not see 'eye to eye', but never the less, form part of the weekly routine and perhaps epitomise the concept of 'glass half full' and 'glass half empty'.
I have taken as my 'Sermon for the Day' a short description of the shopping trips I have with our neighbour 'Glass half empty', a name which, if you meet her in the future, may help you to pick her out in a crowd.
My allotted role
'Glass half empty', lives across the road and has become part of a regular shopping routine, accompanying me to the numerous supermarkets in Gloucester to carry out her weekly shop. As a pensioner, surviving on a state pension and a small occupational pension left by her late husband, I have also donned the mantle of 'financial advisor' and 'man of all trades' when there is a domestic emergency.
The sight of her 'hoving up on the horizon' clutching a plastic bag full of letters and files is akin to a merchant ship in the Second World War watching a torpedo heading towards it and wondering if it is going to pass under the bows, or whether there will there be a loud explosion as the doorbell is struck amidships.
Despite her reduced financial state 'Glass half empty' has allowed herself to retain one vice in life. This takes the form of a lifetime addiction to cigarettes as the brown halo on the lounge ceiling above her armchair and the staining on her middle and index finger bear testimony. Under current Health and Safety regulations it is surprising that she has not had to erect a warning sign at the front of the house warning 'Opening this Door may, may affect your Health'.
Let battle commence
Shopping day normally commences with the ritual of getting into the car, which although not normally an hazardous enterprise, is best carried out with with eyes averted to prevent the possibility of recurring nightmares. Although 'legs akimbo', is a term often used in comedy sketches to describe young Essex girls, you really don't want to go to bed with the image of a wide legged octogenarian etched indelibly in your memory. It is a sobering thought that this process may well be captured on the CCTV cameras at the supermarket as the process is reversed with her struggling to get out of the car. It could well be going viral on 'YouTube' as we speak....
Fleetness of foot has never been a factor on these weekly jaunts and I fear that if pitched in a 'head to head' against a Galapagos tortoise she would be left trailing in the slipstream. The provision of Supermarket trolleys have however, provided her with a handy walking aid to lean on and like Boadicea's Chariot a handy method of clearing the aisles in her quest for any seasonal bargains. Despite not being the most fleet of foot, there is certainly nothing wrong with her eyesight, which enables her to locate a 'price reduction sticker' from a considerable distance and home in on them like an Exocet missile on its target.
Purchasing decisions
Over a period of time certain discernible shopping patterns have emerged - on entering the shop the first call is always the cigarette counter in case there is a sudden World shortage with the accompanying horror of having to go 'Cold Turkey' for the forthcoming week.
Once this primary objective is achieved the vegetable counter is the next to come under the microscope as any reductions gained by bulk buying are calculated and then offset against potential wastage caused by early 'sell by dates'.
Being a person with a pronounced weakness for anything sweet, the highlight of the visit is the confectionary aisle where there is much agonizing over which cakes/biscuits provide the best value for money and as a discriminating shopper any size reduction in confectionary products (and I must admit the size of Mars Bars have waned considerably since our youth) is instantly picked up on.
Confusion reigns
Changes of mind regarding her purchases are frequent and instead of returning them to the appropriate shelf they are abandoned in the nearest available space. There must be many confused customers following in her wake as they discover packets of economy kippers amongst the female sanitary products and washing up liquid nestling 'cheek by jowl' with the cream cakes on the chiller aisle.
One thing I have never established is the reason behind her regular bulk purchases of bleach - from the quantity purchased she must the largest stockpile in the Western World and the mind runs riot, trying to work out what it is purchased for. Perhaps it is the new narcotic of choice for the pensioner population, with 'the old and the bold' holding 'bleach parties' behind closed doors with the bleach being mixed with Sanatogen to provide a hallucinogenic high for 'spaced out' wrinklies....
Time to checkout
With the day dragging on it's finally time to round up 'Glass half empty' and escort her to the checkout and it is precisely at this moment that she dons her 'Mantle of Invisibility' and appears to vanish completely. The next ten minutes are then devoted to going up and down every aisle to locate her in the store - considering her top speed would hardly register a reading on a speed gun, this is not a simple task. The search is normally completed at her favourite aisle as she makes a final scan of the cakes and confectionery for any items that escaped her attention on the first sweep.
With the shopping complete the last ritual to be conducted is the 'checking out' proceedure, with each item being checked as it goes through the scanner. Nothing gets past her eagle eye and if she had been in charge of the Government department responsible for MP's expenses, the newspapers would be missing out on one of the longest running scandals in current history.
Her checkout counter can always be spotted by the large queue behind her as they wait for her to go through each item on the till receipt to check for any overcharging, or price reductions that have been missed. This is always a nervous period as any errors can add another 10 minutes to the expedition, waiting at the Customer Services desk while she goes through each line of the till receipt with the bewildered Assistant.
Finally the day is over and all remains is to drive her back home and remembering to avert the eyes as she clambers out - it then back home to crack open the whiskey bottle to calm the shattered nerves.
Yours as ever,
Bruce
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