My Life...A Christmas Wassailing

Apparently, we are buying/sending fewer Christmas cards this year than ever before.
This is partly due to the rise of electronic cards and twitterer's sending just a festive text instead !
Charity shops raise a sizeable amount of monies, from the sale of their respective Christmas cards,
and as a result they are looking at quite a loss of revenue, for the coming year ahead.

So, here is my wassail, on behalf of the less fortunate.


Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat, fat.
Please to put a Euro in the old person's hat.

Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat, fat
Please to put a Euro in the old person's hat, haaaaat.

If you haven't got an old person a homeless man will do.
A homeless man will do,  a homeless man will dooooo.
If you haven't got an homeless man, a big issue vendor will do.
If you haven't got an homeless man, a big issue vendor will dooooo.

But, an old person is better, an old person is better, three or four is better.

Christmas is coming, the charities are getting poorer, poorer
So please be a bloomin' Christmas card buyer !

God bless us everyone !

Merry Christmas 
& A Joyous New Year to you all !

My Life...at the Olde Burley village

As a special birthday - age not included - surprise to me fair lady, I whisked her away for a weekend in the country. I chose the village of Burley - due to it's old Manor house - well it did have a lovely photograph of the exterior and surrounding grounds in the brochure, I'm all about the research, me.
The Manor certainly lived up to it's landscape image, and it soon became apparent why there were no  photographs of the interior included in the magazine. It was like a reversed Tardis - really impressive on the outside, but severely disappointing on the inside. Never mind, a good level of charming, hotel service would soon re-address my concerns. Unfortunately, the staff all seemed to be employed by the Ray Cooney school of farcical hospitality, with an added dash of Fawlty Towers.  The place seemed to be 'manned; by just two members of staff, who were constantly changing their appearance from be-leagued barman and reluctant receptionist to a waste of waiters, rushing out one door only to re-appear - after a considerable amount of time - back in though a different door, in another disguise !
 Anyway, we put all that behind us the following day and left the Manor behind to set off to investigate the quaint old village of Burley. What a surprise it was to discover that this area was rich in mysticism and dark arts. In fact, it wasn't long before we found ourselves involved in an actual witches coven ! Well, o.k. 'Witches Coven' was just the name of the oldie worlde gift/souvenir shoppe. Which sold all manor of witch based merchandise - mainly figurines of cutesy witches displaying a somewhat considerable amount of leg -  and other occult paraphernalia. Apparently, Burley has a long history with the mistresses of darkness, well as far back as the Forties, anyway. Not so much as Salem as 'Sale Them'. Their benefactor was one Hilda Green - artistic licence applied here - high priestess of the occult, writer, presenter of tv and radio renown, astrologer, medium, breeder of boa constrictors, white witch extraordinaire and...mother ! The little village of Burley, was at this time unknown to the general populace, with no visible means of support, import or export. So, instead of following the age old practice of witch taunting, self prophesying trials or encouraging them to follow a career in alternative medicines, the good people of this little hamlet decided to capitalize on their supernatural commodity. Hence, the preponderance of sheds, dangerously constructed conservatories and other outdoor structures, that look as if they wouldn't pass a reasonable building inspection, dedicated to the pursuit of profit from the sale of family friendly otherworldly materials !
 Oh, there was also a preponderance of Lycra bound cyclists free wheeling their way through the area too - I swear they seem to follow us around every where we go....what is the collective noun for a pack of bicyclists anyway ? is it a ..." nuisance of cyclists"

My Life...Halloween 2 - The Repeat

Halloween is a tap tap tapping at my door, so you just might not hear me snore !   

Below, is a TRUE story, of several accounts of accidental arson, darkness and despair. Just another
All Hallows Eve at Burford Heights !! 

Don't try this at home, and try not to have nightmares...whooooahhhh, haaha ! Ha ! Ha ! Ha! whooooah ! ...
...gasp, wheeze !

A Cautionary Halloweeen Tale

Haloween is here again
We're waiting for to greet
The children with their fancy masks
To claim their trick or treat

We're waiting in our entrance hall
With all assorted sweets
No sound of children anywhere
And no-one in the streets

So Debs & I just have to think
Of things that we could do
Lots of things that have been done before
But, we want something new

They're doing things in China
Not rockets on a ramp
They're making things to fly quite high
It's called a flying lamp

It's made of tissue paper
And put all around a frame
A square of cardboard put inside
To this you put a flame

Once it's lit you let it go
At this the thing should fly
We've seen it done so many times
They seem to go quite high

So in the garden we both went
Excitement was INTENSE
The lighted lamp it went up
Against our garden fence

To us it was aMAZING
At least it was skybound
But then a trick of fate took hand
And it came back to the ground

We both were so disappointed
The thing that we then saw
The wind had blown our blazing lamp
To the the house next door

They did have a lovely parasol
With table and a chair
We hoped it wouldn't ALL burn down
With our flying flare

So, Debbie sent me packing
And charged me to the house
To get the pale and water
For the fire to douse

So rushing through the patio
For brownie points to score
I crashed into the window
That's in the sliding door

Then the next door lady came outside
To see what had been done
"Oh yes it's Halloween,"she said
"And I've missed all the FUN !"

E.W Burford

My Life, living with the Welsh

Personal Diary:
Day One

 After arriving safely at our luxury holiday cottage - home for the next week - situated in the 'village' of Bosherston, down in deepest West Wales, we immediately commenced a rudimentary unpacking - pants in drawer and wash-bag perched precariously on the side of the bath. as a result of usual space constraints with girlfriends toiletries, which have a tendency to expand on contact with bathroom surfaces - before setting out to explore our new surroundings, the local amenities and the indigenous flora and fauna, whilst there was still some remaining daylight...pub located, job done !
 To be fair, we saw all that Bosherston had to offer any passing, uninformed, unsuspecting or just plain LOST traveller, whilst on our way to the local watering-hole. There was the smattering of domesciles, a small chapel, a rustic - sorry that's rusty - public payphone and the essential bus shelter, which ran a regular service ( twice a day,except on Saturdays, "Well, Gareth has to play for the local footie ball team, you see !" insert Welsh accent here ).

Day Two

Bosherston has one other 'treasure' to be experienced...Aunty Scarlett's cream tea room, the home - and as it happens, also hers - of locally imported, semi-fresh cream scones and tannine infused teas. Our Scarlett has been serving her brand of comestibles for over half a century. Photographs adorn the walls, of what is essential her front room, of her days in the war - the second one I think, though there again, it could easily have been the first one. Doing her bit for the war effort, flying secret sorties, dropping her creamed buns to
our brave lads beyond enemy lines. But, it was for her serving of Prince William, and his school chums, one fateful day when their chauffeur driven coach had broken down, that Aunty Scarlett finally received recognition and subsequently an MBE
 Unfortunately, due to a successful, disintegrating slipper removal operation, she was not able to see anybody
on the day that we went. So all we managed to see of her were the over socked feet, twitching, spasmodically on her pouffe, every time her living room door was swung open.

Day Three

With expectations running high - we are eternal optimists - we look forward to visiting the much mentioned ' Walled gardens of Stackpoole.' What can I say about this agricultural tourist trap, well, if you are a fan of
grass surrounded by rather high walls, then boy, are you in for a treat ! If ever there was a place named after exactly what it is - and nothing else -then this place surely, wins first prize.

Now, I can't help but wonder....just what there really was, at the ' Hanging gardens of Babylon ?'

Day Four

Rain stopped excursions....... end of play !

In conclusion, Wales is only about 4 hours away by car, and yet it might as well be another country. Very similar and yet....it's just not quite right...not quite like home.

Life as a Movie Horror Star - Repeat

My Life As A Horror Movie Star

Coming Attractions

Sunday, 1 September 2013

Life as a Movie Horror Star

Once upon a time, there was a young lad, who along with his even younger brother, shared the wonder and sheer fear on a regular Saturday night. It was here, during the witching hour  - for a short while- that BBC 2 decided to run, a double bill of classic 1930's horror films. Anybody, who was somebody ( or even something ) in the supernatural sphere were to be found, in this home of terror !
 Now, many, many years later, one of those brothers has come to the realisation, that there is a moment in everyday, when his life is like a movie horror star.
 It begins in the early hours, between the fading darkness and the first rays of the rising sun. This half dead being stirs itself into some level of consciousness. He starts by sliding his still, sleep paralysed legs across the mattress and letting them simply drop to the floor, this action of gravity produces enough momentum to catapult the upper part of his still slumbering form into a vertical position !
 Then he STANDS ! Like Dr Frankenstein's creation, with arms outstretched before him - for essential balance - he staggers forward, groping the darkness for anything to aid his domestic geography, like a light switch or better still, a door ! Then he utters a low mono-syllabic moan, as one of his small toes of his foot make contact with the brass bed post ( why is it always the little ones that suffer ? ).

 At last,SUCCESS, the bathroom has been located, the one without sense, tugging on the light cord -click - with this automatic action , the darkness is dispelled immediately and the all too blinding light seems as bright as looking into the sun itself ! The being stumbles towards the sink, shielding his recently dilated pupils from the overhead spotlights, and then hisses - it's always a case of hiss or miss for men first thing in the morning - as it stares at an all too familiar vision, in the bathroom cabinet, blood shot eyes - with supporting bags - added facial hair, but still none on my head,and a pallid complexion - due to lack of sun, throughout the summer months -  o.k. at this point the vampire lore section is weakened, as they have NO REFLECTION, but this is nothing compared to the carnage done by that damned Twilight Trilogy.

 Finally, our former creature of the night, is now like his old self, ready to face another working day.....as a living Zombie ! I know because....I am that movie horror star ( all right it's no 'Tales of the Unexpected'...or maybe..... it was ? )

Actually, talking about the supernatural, I see dead people on a regular basis...have you seen the Saturday night television line-up ?.It's not so much resurrected more simply rescheduled. Television entertainment is truly dead and buried in the vault of Saturday night... their last sad viewers being the only mourners.