Archive for April 2015

All the Whizz from the Gym

April 25, 2015

The boy went and done it. He’d been threatening it for ages. “Dare Me,”  he’d say “Go on, dare me. I dare you.” He dared me. I dared him. He done it. My younger son joined a gym. This was one of those unforgettable days that happen in your life. It’s right up there with the fake moon landings and when Geri left the Spice Girls.

The only three words that came to mind were the same as Tom Jones’ plea to Delilah’s faithlessness. Why? Why? Why?

Who needs to pay exorbitant gym fees when you can run up and down the steps? You can do sit-ups/press-ups/throw-ups in the privacy of your own room. Weight lifting? There’s a perfectly good couch that can be clean and jerked over your head. Cleaned twice because while the settee is hoisted over and above the undiscovered part of the carpet, from the wings can come the hoover operator (MrsW) to vacuum under it. Proverbially, two birds have been killed with the one stone.

You can shadow box with your other self. Shadow boxing is all about punching fresh air and there’s plenty of that in the house. The only thing to watch out for is mistiming your reach and hitting your silhouette shadow that blackens the wall. It’s a sore hand for you and a slide to the floor for the knocked out shadow. 1 ah 2 ah 3 ah…

Keeping in trim is simply a matter of regular exercise. A couple of games of 5-a-side football every week will keep you fit as a Bette Midler. That’s what I do anyway. I used to play tennis but my reputation as school champion goes against me and no one will take me on…not even Andy Murray. Can you imagine how torn-faced he’d be when I slap a top spin backhand cross court volley against him?

Putting all these get yourself fit by yourself points to the boy, and of the folly of spending so much money on a wasted adventure he used the Bruce Forsyth defence and said it’s a generation game. He Ciceroed on the benefits of his newly acquired association with a membered club.

New treadmills and rowing machines have been installed.
Free coaching is available on request.
Unlimited usage of the premises. You could be there all day.
There are hot women that train there. It’s a unisexual gym.

Now I must admit the last “benefit” almost changed my thinking until I remembered I’ve got the hoover woman and she is a pretty penny. I stuck to my Luddite guns until the boy said that entering the gym is easy. He inserts his card and membership number in the turnstile and, Gringo he’s in. All you need is the card and the number. I said, are you telling me there’s no stewarding, no fingerprinting, no face recognition, no eye iris identification, no biometric profiling, no what’s your mother’s maiden name question just a simple four digit number. He said, yeah, that’s about right.

Right on! Two members for the price of one. When he’s not using the card I’ll go in his place. We are almost lookalikes. I have to admit though, that possibly other members, could think to themselves that the boy has put a bit of weight on since his last visit.


Don and the runaway Tractor

April 23, 2015

A few months ago I mentioned an old Enid Blyton book that I had read called Shadow the Sheepdog. Well, now it seems there is a real life sheepdog hero having fun adventures. There was a lovely human interest story that happened in Glasgow a couple of days ago. A quick disclaimer: no animals or humans were harmed in this story.

Read all about it in this link.

Basically Don, the collie, felt the urge to drive a tractor. And who can blame him? Tractors are a thing of beauty as this blog has highlighted many times. Don saw an opportunity to ride those wheels of steel and took his chance at letting the wind blow back his hair/fur. Social media has been going into overdrive about the unlikely tractor driver. Commentators have made some suggestions as to what Don (as opposed to Katy) will do next: Don on a powerboat, The dog that can hand glide, the mountain biking collie, Don at the demolition derby. It’s odds on that Don will be the next James Bond. Hackney for Idris Elba.

That well-known poet of traction engines, the current tractor laureate,
T.R. Actor composed a song in honour of the Mighty Don. With a decent singer and enough downloads it might get to number one.

Canine on the Freeway


His master’s voice was quiet and was not in sight

The dog sat on a ridge relaxing in the sunlight

Its name was Don and he was dapper and bright

The tractor’s door was open and it felt just right

So he jumped into that cabin and took flight


Woof, Woof, Woof

Woof, Woof, Woof

Canine on a tractor

As fast as a velociraptor


The other vehicles were afraid of him, they pulled to the side

They could tell that the dog was on one mean Knievel of a ride

No more a-dog’s life for me, collies have got more pride

His foot on Top Gear he was wasn’t stopping till he hit the Clyde

And the cops couldn’t catch him as his fame grew nationwide


Woof, Woof, Woof

Woof, Woof, Woof

Canine on a tractor

As fast as a nuclear reactor

There’s a canine on a tractore

And its paw is flat to the floor

Woof  x 500

Outer space ain’t all its cracked up to be

April 18, 2015

“I am prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.”
Winston Churchill.

Thus Gary Sprake the great man. WC is often thought of in interstellar terms. As names go I have no problem with the Churchill surname. It sounds grandiose and full of insurance, it’s the Winston I’m not convinced of. Winnie the Pooh comes to mind. Anyway, let’s leave old water closet behind and come to the point.

An acquaintance of sorts claims to have been abducted by aliens. An old trilby, that one. This is quite an everyday occurrence that many hostages and subsequently (or they couldn’t retell the tale) releasees of ETs have said happened. Pooh Poohing these types of story are easy yet the acquaintance is Adam Ant, charmer that he is, that he was whisked through the galaxy and then returned to Earth. His story never changes, word for word, and is so convincing in its conviction that believers have taken his words as gospel. A religion has spouted up about him.

Where’s the great debunker, Houdini, when you need him? My flabber was ghasted like a punch in the stomach. As the mightiest whopper teller of them all I was deflated to have been overshadowed by this scam that soared the heavens and hell and even farther. I wish I had thought of it. I can do aliens and abductions like the next man. Leaving aside the non-politically correct Dan Dare joke I am the man on the planet that most deserves to be taken captive by outer spacers. Of that, there is no question. But I didn’t get in there first. This joker had stolen my thunder.

So I had to improvise. When the subject sprang up again I said aliens have also been in my presence before but the great ordeal when meeting me was too much for the extraterrestrials that they skedaddled abductionless. Everybody bought it. One-nil to the humans and stuff that in your pipe, you, the weak that were taken.

* * * * *

UFO have their diehards just like any other rock group yet they have never had the lasting appeal or kudos (I like that word) of the likes of AC/DC, for instance. Beginning as a space rock outfit the band slowly became more mainstream. Love the electricity  bolts in their logo. Still treading the boards with new material this track is from the glorious days of the NWOBHM. Play it Loud.

It’s only use is as a door stopper

April 11, 2015

Well the questionnaires have been sent out for next year’s edition and yet again I have been overlooked by the publishers of that esteeming reference rag, Who’s Who. A few Goodfella colleagues in the trade that are made men in the pages of the book received their yearly package asking them of any amendments or additions they would like to make of their entries. Yours truly won’t be in there sandwiched between, in the whose whoosers opinion, more notable JWs and yours truly is unperturbed. Do I really want to be in a tome that includes my old nemesisters Louise Doughty and Ceri Radford? That would be a sorry state of affairs so I’m glad to be uninvited to the WW party.

There are a few issues that I have against Who’s Who. The first thing is the title. Shouldn’t there be a question mark at the end? I wasn’t grammar school educated but come on, who’s zoomin’ who here? We won’t complicate matters by mentioning the word whom. But whom is the invisible elephant in the room. Then there’s the boring entries themselves. Too many figures just list their achievements and are devoid of personality by not listing hobbies under the recreation section.

So let’s be recreational. As dear old Bob Ross would say before planting a huge tree on his canvas “Shoot”.

The football magazine Shoot which I read religiously in the 70s and 80s, sadly now only available online, used to have a feature where it interviewed the footballers of the day using a simple formatted question and answer style. The questions remained the same throughout. After the customary personal details of height/weight/colour of eyes/ it got recreational with subjective questions.

Favourite Bird? A raven.

Favourite Police song? Do,do,do,da,da,da, de,de,de.

Favourite electrical appliance? Curling tongs.

Favourite episode of Magnum pi? The one where Big Tam has to prove Rick isn’t seeing a ghost.

Favourite item in a joke shop? The telescope that leaves a black eye.

These and other questions of the same elk (sic) give some indication of the character and life of the individual. The Who’s Who gang that simply log their achievements lack the warmth and charm of those vintage Shooters. With an allegedly 33,000 people featured in the current Who’s Who there will be quite a lot of mundane reading in it and obscure bodies. A veritable roll call that will have you thinking to yourself- Who’s that?