George Best

Happy St George's Day to all English folk wherever they may be.

Tuscalosing my marbles?

I hear certain words or names of places and they roll about in my mind like loose marbles.
Some just trip off the tongue. Tuscaloosa, Alabama for instance. Never been there and probably never will but I just like saying it. Don't ask me why, I don't know. Pensacola, Florida is another. Schenectady Noo Yowk. Susquehanna. Inverarie. Bude.
Papa Bouba Diop and Emanuel Pogatetz. Muttiah Muralithiran. Inverarity.
Serendipity.Pulmonary Insufficiency. Piscatorial.
Quetzalcoatl.
Middlesbrough nil, Bolton 1.

Water lot of additives

Someone alerted me to the fact that you could go on the United Utilities website, enter your postcode and find out where your drinking water comes from and what's in it.
If you think that the water you drink is plain old H2O, think again.
There's a list about about 70 things that could be in there including (and I quote from the list) :
Aluminium; Ammonium; Arsenic (yes Arsenic!); Benzene; Bromate; Colour; Cyanide (yes Cyanide!); Dieldrin; Lead; Lindane; Mercury; Nitrate; Radioactivity; Sodium and Sulphate. I know most of these but what the hell are:
Metazalchor; Phenmedipham; Bromoxynil; Carbendazim; Chlortoluron; Dichlorprop; Ioxynil; Ethofumesate; Mecoprop and 2,4,5-T ? They sound like extras from Star Trek.
There's no mention of sheepshit or recycled pee but I think these are enough to be going on with. No wonder people are dropping like flies these days.
We are constantly told drink 97 litres of water (or whatever) a day to be healthy.
Pfffffft! Stuff that.
Where's me shovel - I'm off to dig a well in the back garden.

Hitting the "aye" spots?

Having seen the high life in Dewsbury it was even harder for her to put up with her mundane life in Siberia.
http://tinyurl.com/yqoytu
Funniest quote of the year so far?

Weathering the Idiots

Yeah we WILL be careful on the roads. No we WON'T put to sea in small boats. And yes we KNOW that downstairs possessions should be moved higher because that's the part of a house that fills with flood water first.
And yes we are sick of stupid television news reporters standing knee-deep in flooded suburban streets pointing out to us what water looks like and other pricks reporting from windswept promenades, shouting questions at local councillors about flood barriers and stuff as the wind batters them about and you can hardly hear them speak.
Then the sniggers from the presenters in the studio as they then two-facedly advise "Get out of that frock Carol and go somewhere more sheltered."
And now I've just got that off me chest, I'm off to stand on the end of the North Pier at Blackpool wearing nothing but a thong.

Harryl Flynn

Ok. So he's done his bit in Afghanistan. 10 weeks of guiding planes to drop bombs on people. Machinegunning a bit. Having his pic taken with the lads. Nice one Harry.
But don't make him out to be Errol Flynn as if he's the only one there winning the war against the baddies - whoever they may be.
If I was the parent of a soldier who had done a long stint in the thick of it out there, I would be a bit pissed off that H was getting all the fawning publicity while my lad hardly rated a mention.
It's all a bit sickening the way that privileged people still get treated like some sort of god in this day and age.

Acting my shoesize not my age

When I was the age I am now and I was the age I was then, the age I am now seemed terribly old.
My attitudes don't seem to have changed much: I still reckon I have a young outlook and when I go clothes shopping with Mrs Chaffo and I pick something out which I think would suit me she kindly points out:"That's for a much younger man."
I have a Nintendo Wii; an Ipod Touch and a DSLite and at parties I fling myself about on the dancefloor like Mick Jagger with an electric kettle element up his arse.
I download music and video off Itunes and I got to thinking whether the choice of stuff says anything about the sort of bloke I am.
Here are my last 10 downloads:

Let It Go by Dirty South and Rudy - a Dance track.
When We Die by Jack Penate - a song about dying.
Thanks for the Memories by Fall Out Boy - because it has monkeys in the video.
Silver Lining by Rilo Kiley - repetitively catchy indie type stuff.
Young Folks by Peter Bjorn and John - with a whistling intro and outro that you find yourself whistling in supermarkets.
This is the Life by Amy MacDonald - Scottish singer with, again, a catchy song which was described by Mrs C as brainwashing.
Rhythm of Life by Sammy Davis Junior - always liked this one.
Handle Me by Robyn - crazy video with lady stuffed into boxes..
Mr Brightside by The Killers - I love the Killers.
Who's David by Busted - a song about infidelity with another catchy thingy.
Pretty eclectic I'd say. I don't have a favourite performer as such although I'd like to see the legend that is Willie Nelson before he (or I) carks it.
What does this lot say about me and what does your choice of downloads say about you?

Archbishoprick

I wouldn't say that the Archbishop of Canterbury is a twat but he obviously is.
Apart from that manky beard which wouldn't look out of place on an old lesbian's bottom, his dress sense leaves a lot to be desired. I mean who in their right mind thinks wearing a crimson frock with a fish's head hat on your bonce and carrying a big shepherd's crook looks anything like sensible?
That look went out in the 80's after Boy George ran it into the ground. I think the Gothic look would suit him more. It would match in with a lot of cathedrals he visits.
Now the insane old twazzock wants Sharia Law to run the country.
Now I haven't a clue who she is - probably a dungaree-wearing lesbo friend of his from his local knitting circle.
You can just imagine him as they sit knitting wigs for Biafrans saying: "Ooo Shazzer, you'd make a better job of running the country than that blob headed Scottish twat"
Come to think of it...he may have a point.
Anyway, this leads me nicely on to one of the funniest laugh-out-loud pieces of writing I have come across for ages.
I wish I could have taken it onto the lavatory with me.

In loo of anything else...

I like to read on the bog. Anything will do. Sauce bottles, French phrasebooks, comics, matchboxes, magazines - whatever comes to hand, as you might say.
It's a compulsion more than anything. I am currently reading back numbers of the Reader's Digest magazine as I find the short articles are sometimes just enough for me to do what I have to do.
What I need to know though is this.
Is it just a man thing or do women do it as well? My missis seems to think it's just us lads that do it. Her dad used to nick the Beano off his son and sit on the lavvy reading it.
I couldn't fancy reading after that, could you?
Anyway, help me out here please. I said I would find out if it's a male predilection or if the ladies indulged too.
Do you read on the bog? And if so, what is your current reading matter?

Very germane

This true story will only work if you know a bit about Dad's Army...

Female friend of mine went with her husband and friends and wives for a 4 nighter in Munich.
Husband speaks a bit of Germanese so he went up to the hotel reception while the friends hung back having a crafty fag.
The guy on reception peered at him closely and asked:
"Voss is your name?"

Colin at the back shouted:"Don't tell him Pike!"

Collapse of husband over reception desk and quick exit of the women with legs crossed.

Grave concerns

While we are on unremitting gloom (it won't last, I promise) I have to tell you about a funeral of a relative I attended a couple of days ago. Went to the service but not to the burial as there were already family in there (if you see what I mean).
After the ceremony at the do in the pub, a relative came up shaking his head.
"I don't believe what just happened" he said.
He had been first on the scene waiting for the other mourners when he asked the grave digger how far down his beloved grandma ( who had died 10 years before) was under the new coffin.
"Oh, about an inch" he replied. "Do you wanna see?" And before he could stop him, he brushed the dirt off his gran's coffin to reveal the brass plate.
He was even more horrified when the gravedigger added "Mind you, there'll not be much left in there".
The gravedigger then sat on a nearby gravestone effing and blinding with his mates while they discussed where they were going for a drink that night.
We all shook our heads and laughed inappropriately.
" I suppose it's just a job to him" said my relative.
I suppose it is.

Not so happy new year

Tony was a guy I used to see round the pubs whenever I paid a visit to a particular area.
We got on well. He was such a friendly guy.
I last saw him the day before New Year's Eve. Hadn't seen him around for a while so asked him how he was. He said he was going in different pubs to the ones he used to frequent. We had a long amiable chat and he shook hands with me and wished me all the best for the coming year.
The following night - New Year's Eve - he went home slightly the worse for wear, fell down the stairs, broke his neck and died.
You never know when that pint is going to be your last.
Cheers mate.

Happy New Year and all that

You may have noticed I have been a bit lax about updating the blog. To be honest, I kept thinking who wants to listen to the opinionated witterings of a halfwit. I wouldn't.
Then out of the blue today, I got an email from an old friend of the blog (and a former blogger) which I found very moving.
I asked him if I could publish it and he agreed.
I think it goes to show that sometimes, if only slightly, we can make a tiny difference to someone who may live thousands of miles away and who we will probably never meet and it has made me think again.
Here's the email with names edited out. Good luck my friend.

"Birdman,

I know it's been a very long time but I nonetheless have not forgotten about the birdy household on the left side of the country and wonder how things are for you and yours. I just checked your blog and saw that your last post was in November so I just had to enquire. Not looking for any sort of sympathy (more of an excuse for failing with my internet duties) but I have been unwell and hence my many blogs crumbling to dust. Back in 2006, I went to the U.S. to help my Mum (she retired there and my Da died in '98) but instead I became rather ill and lost faith in my kidneys when they began to ignore my body's wishes and began to go on strike. Oddly this was no fault of my own as my drinking has been social for the last fifteen or so years and I am a veggie. Unhelpfully, the doctors were at a loss to explain this upheaval so rather than get angry and set the hospital alight, I decided to go to sleep with the hope that I might just fade away, but eventually and without any care, I woke up. And well... I am still alive. Seems I can't even get that bit right. Oh well. No more blood in the urine so I must be better. But enough of that. Sorry for such down information during such a celebratory time of year.

Hope you and your family are all happy and that life is treating you as well as can be expected. I also want to thank you for your blog and all the amusement it has given me over the years and for supporting mine, even when mine never supplied any usable info other than to confirm my complete and total disrespect for authority and a firm disdain of the music industry. So if you are wondering why this sudden email - besides to thank you for being birdy - I just finished reading X-Ray (I've actually never read it before) and can't think of the Kinks without now thinking of the birdman. Funny things like that.

All the best,


******

Tits galore

I was heartened on this chilliest of chilly mornings to hear the sound of longtailed tits foraging in the tree opposite the house. There were about a dozen or so of them making their distinctive highpitched twitterings (bit like me eh?).
Little balls of fluff on wings that redefine the word cute, they are welcome visitors at the old Chaffnest anytime.
I have a feeling we are in for a bit of a winter. Don't forget to feed the birds.

Sorted

After the debacle just below involving unintelligible foreigners, it is good to report that the reservations were finally made by a very efficient Yorkshire lass at Superbreak who initially had been put through to these jokers and had the same difficulty as I had.
The following day she managed to sort it out when the Indians weren't online.
Moral? Outsourcing doesn't work Mr Branson. It's all about communication.

Virgin on the Ridiculous

I have just spent a wasted 45 minutes of my life trying to reserve a first class seat on Virgin Trains.
I made a booking via Superbreak and was given a number to ring to make the reservation.
This was the wrong number. I phoned the number on the answerphone only to be told that that was the wrong number and given yet another number to ring.
After being passed from pillar to post, I ended up in a call centre in India where the person on the other end was unintelligible and hadn't a clue what he was doing. I asked to speak to a supervisor who had even less of a clue. I could hardly understand what he was saying.
They fed me the wrong information by saying I couldnt reserve a seat over the phone and that I would have to go to the station - which is 20 miles away.
I have left Superbreak to sort it out. The lady there spoke to the same idiots and even she could not get anywhere.
If Virgin Trains are treating their customers like this and outsourcing to Indian call centres that haven't a clue what they are doing, I suggest anyone who has shares in Virgin should sell them immediately.
In the interests of saving a few measly pounds by taking work away from this country, they are putting their interests in the hands of incompetents.
A company like that is doomed to failure.
Sooner the better.

Thick Britain

From today's Sunday Telegraph. A broadsheet which is obviously now written and edited by illiterates. Check the spelling. Words fail me...

So significant is the find that Help The Aged have awarded a £40,000 grant to the team to investigate how the molusc, born when Queen Elizabeth I was on the thrown and William Shakespeare was writing The Merry Wives of Windsor, has survived over the centuries.

Care home ripoff

We are looking after the affairs of a very close relative who has had to go into a care home.
The local authority provided funding in the early stages. Now his little house has been sold, they recouped that and he becomes privately funded out of the proceeds.
The thing is, the fees charged by the home have now shot up inordinately and the pot of money he has will soon dwindle. It is scandalous that they can do this but there is nothing he can do about it but grit his teeth and pay the extra.
When that's gone, we will have to go through the whole rigmarole of applying for local authority funding all over again.
It's a nightmare.

Sick joke?

The cracks just keep on getting bigger and bigger. Soon, Scotland will be a great place - to be chronically ill.

The public services ''apartheid" between England and Scotland has widened again as Scottish ministers pledged to abolish all prescription charges north of the border.


And if that gets you going, you should have a look at this.

Angle Poise

While I was away, a friend died.
His brother was at his bedside as he was dying. His body was shutting down.
He kept dropping off to sleep and waking up.
Looking round he would say in his lovely warm Lancastrian tones: "Blinkin 'eck...am ah not dead yet?".
He was a keen angler and as the coffin, which bore his favourite angler's hat, rolled away at the crematorium, the vicar said:"Repeat after me. 'Tight lines and wet nets.' They complied.
As Bing Crosby sang:"Gone Fishing" and the curtains closed, he was reeled in.
He left a request for his ashes to be dispersed on his favourite lake.
Groundbait for the fishes.
That's the way to go.

America and Canada

Back from my travels and with a bit of time to reflect, my impressions of the North American people are nothing but favourable.
Everywhere we went, we were met with kindness, politeness, warmth and friendliness.
In some places cars, actually stopped for you when you wanted to cross the road - even if you weren't at a crossing.
We had been told that the American immigration people were humourless and severe and that we would be fingerprinted.
They weren't and we weren't.
As we trepidatiously approached them sitting uniformed at their desks, they piped up:"Welcome to American Idol!" and cracked off laughing.
The Americans love our accent. I was in a cafe and only said: "This coffee's steaming" and a passing cleaning lady went into paroxysms of delight.
A Jehovah's Witness I met on the street told me: "I married an English girl. Fell in love with her accent then didn't listen to a bluddy word she said".
New York was clean and I only saw one crazy person all the time I was there. We came off the docks at Brooklyn and the first clock I saw had the time at 9-11. (Not that I'm superstitious).
But when I was up the top of the Empire State Building and saw a plane heading towards us with a helicopter at the side and a local next to us said:"I don't like the look of this..." I turned to my wife and said: "Well, there's nowt we can do is there?"
Thankfully, it veered away.
At the mindbogglingly wonderful Grand Central Station, I collared a black porter and asked him to show me where Al Pacino got shot in Carlitto's Way. He very kindly took me on a tour:
"Dat's de elevator where de shootout took place and Track 18 is where Al was wid dat broad when he got shot. I was dere."
What a star.

The only danger in New York these days is getting a crick in the neck from admiring the architecture.


Being in New York is like being in a film. Everywhere you look is somewhere.
Central Park, Macy's, the Rockefeller, Statue of Liberty, Trump Towers, the Chrysler building, the mad yellow cab drivers, Times Square. Ya gotta see it!

In Wilmington, I got to have a ride on a yellow School bus to a big shopping mall.


Newport, a millionaire's playground with some of the most expensive yachts I've ever seen, was gorgeous. The multi-coloured old wooden-fronted houses were a delight on the eye and the people were again so friendly.
I spent nearly an hour talking to a wonderful old veteran of the 2nd World War and Korean war. He told me about a hit on the bridge of a destroyer by a Kamikaze pilot. Out of 16 people who died, one survived.
Him.
He still lies awake at night wondering why he had been spared.
I'll remember you for a long long time Vincent...

The patriotism and pride of the American people is in evidence everywhere. Every other house proudly bore the Stars and Stripes. Here's Vince on his porch waving goodbye.
Bar Harbor is another beautiful New England fishing port with its own Acadia National Park on its doorstep - not unlike our own Lake District. The leaves were just turning.
Here we met a delightful lady by the name of June who sold nothing but clocks of the most amazing capabilities. We ended up singing the songs that the clocks were playing on the hour!

June loves her clocks and I think the clocks love June.

In Boston, we walked the Freedom Trail - a well laid out tour of the old part of the city which takes you to the highlights of the War of Independence and where, on an old inn, I spotted the following very precise sign:


I'll remember Boston because Boston was where I bought my incredible gorgeous new iPod Touch!!!! (Is it wrong to be in love with a piece of technical wizardry?) I walked miles in New York to the new Apple Store to get one, only to be told they had sold out the day before.

Anyway, despite the preponderance of lobster along the coast,



I was amazed by the massive amount of vegetarian and even vegan eating places in America and Canada (the exception being Quebec).
In St John's New Brunswick, we went to a vegan cafe where the delicious food was freshly cooked and you could help yourself to a buffet with 2 soups, 6 main meals, a big salad bar and lots of steaming coffee for just under 2 quid!
In Portland, a few quid got you this:

In Halifax, Nova Scotia we walked the magnificent seafront and were just in time to watch a duckrace:


In Quebec, I followed in General Wolfe's footsteps and scaled the Plains of Abraham
where 2 centuries ago, we beat the French and changed the course of Canadian history.
Then to add insult to injury, 2000 of us Brits sailed away at sunset waving Union Flags and singing Land of Hope and Glory!


St. John's in Newfoundland was a little like a Wild West town. The coats on sale were really thick and the local rum is called Screech. I tried that then went for a haircut at an old-fashioned barbers where he shaved my neck and trimmed me with a cut-throat razor.

All in all, it was a magical trip. All I can say is, thank you America and Canada.
God willing, we'll be back.

On the Move

Finally bit the bullet and put the house up for sale today!
We have been thinking about it for a long time but it was precipitated by this bureaucratic bullshit introduced by the bureaucratic-bullshit-loving "government".
We live in a beautiful unspoiled country area but the transport links are non-existant and the nearest Wetherspoon's is about 14 miles away.
We have no house lined up yet so we're taking a bit of a risk but that's what makes it exciting.
We're visiting America and Canada very shortly so I could come back to find some bloke sat in me favourite chair smoking a pipe and drinking my wine.
Big Apple here we come!
Eee isn't life exciting?

Quality of Life

According to a new report, here are the top 20 countries rated for so-called Quality of life. (My comments alongside).

1. Norway (You're joking. Last time I was there a pint or a whisky was about £5!)

2. Iceland (They top themselves because it's dark for 6 months).

3. Australia (Who'd want to live there when they're beating us at cricket?)

4. Ireland (If it's so good, why are most of them over here singing about it?)

5. Sweden (Possibly the world's most beautiful women. But the beer's dear)

6. Canada (Nowt happens there and part of it's French)

7. Japan (You'd get the latest mobile phone but they're all insane).

8. USA (You might get called up to serve abroad or you could end up obese.)

9.= Finland, Netherlands, Switzerland (High crime. Drugs and prostitution. Dull but nice)

12. Belgium, Luxembourg (They put mayonnaise on chips! Boring)

14. Austria (Has lovely scenery but breeds dictators).

15. Denmark (Too expensive.)

16. France (Only one in front of us and they pretend not to speak English so why bother? )

17.= Italy, United Kingdom* (Full of loonies on scooters. * We have JD Wetherspoons. What more could you want?))

19. Spain (Two behind us, so must be crap. Plus they let you build your house then nick it from you.)

20. New Zealand (High crime rate. Wales wannabee).

I'll stick with Lancs, thanks.

Supermarket Tweet

I talk a lot to strange women in supermarkets.
By strange I don't mean peculiar, I mean they are strangers to me, although they may be peculiar as well for all I know. A lot of women are you know.
It happens like this.
I am standing next to Mrs Birdypoos and I pick up a tub of lowfat vanilla yogurt or summat and turn to her and say: "Do you fancy some of this?"
Only trouble is, Mrs Birdypoos has somehow managed to instantaneously teleport herself to t'other of the supermarket in a nanosecond leaving me in close conversation with some bleached blonde or other who finds herself surprised to be apparently being chatted up by a sexy gentleman of a certain age brandishing a tub of lowfat vanilla yogurt.
Sickly smile followed by sicklier laugh and mumbled apology along the lines of "Oooops, thought you were my wife..." usually ensures a hasty retreat from said bleached blonde leaving me to furiously stalk the supermarket in search of missing missis closely followed by disguised store detective convinced he's got the phantom yogurt-knicker in his sights.
One of these days I'll get whisked away either by him or the bleached blonde and she'll never see me again. She'll probably never notice anyway.
We men have a lot to put up with, don't we..?

Nearly dead.

I nearly killed myself today.
Okay, I'm being a bit melodramatic but it could have been nasty (not could of been as today's illiterate numpties usually say, but I digress).
I was slicing a sweet potato with a sharp knife and as anyone who knows their sweet potatoes can vouch, they can be a bit fibrous.
"Slice it away from you" said my wife. (Which any normal person would be doing but I'm not normal, obviously.)
No sooner had the words died on her lips than the knife came skidding towards my left hand, sliced into it (well, grazed it actually) and just missed a vein.
It's left a deep scar (well a nasty mark). Like I say: it could have been fatal (had it actually sliced into a vein, which it didn't). I count myself lucky.
Anyway, it's a delicious soup recipe given to me by a dear friend in California. Try it and let me know what you think.

Curried Sweet Potato and Lentil Stew*

Ingredients:

2 tablespoons margarine or butter
1 large onion
1 tablespoon curry powder
2 tablespoons all purpose flour
1 can (14 1/2 ounces) ready to serve vegetable broth
3/4 cup dried lentils (6 ounces), sorted and rinsed
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup apple juice
3 cups 1-inch pieces peeled sweet potatoes (I leave mine unpeeled ;)
1 cup frozen cut green beans
sour cream or plain yogurt, if desired
Chutney, if desired

Prep: 10 min; Cook: 45 min = 4 servings

1. Melt butter in 3 quart saucepan over medium-high heat. Cook onion and cury powder in butter 2 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Stir in flour; gradually add broth, stirring constantly, until thickened.

2. Stir in lentils and salt; reduce heat to low. Cover and simmmer 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.

3. Stir in apple juice, sweet potatoes and green beans. Heat to boiling; reduce heat to low. Cover and simmer 15-20 minutes,stirring occasionally, until vegetables are tender. (test sweet potato to be sure) Top each serving with sour cream and chutney. (Optional).

I have also added two apples roughly chopped into 1 inch cubes.

Do try it. But be careful with that knife or you could end up nearly dead like me.