Summer's over. I put a t-shirt on under my top this morning. Yes, the sun might be hot, but we're knocking on August's door and that means the start of Autumn until Mother Nature absent-minded as she is, forgets and we get a nice September. Of course, by then, I'll be back at work and as pleasant to be around as great white shark. Still, mustn't grumble, eh?
We're looking like the medals aren't going to be as easy to come by as we all thought at the moment, but apart from having the GB football match on in the background, I've watched about 4 minutes and most of that was beach volleyball; which reminds me of a joke I made up; it probably needs work, but would beech volleyball players get wood? I've never professed to being able to tell jokes, let alone write them.
Facebook finally stopped toying with me and fucked me royally up the arse this morning when they switched me over to Timeline. I spent an hour being furious and trying frantically to turn it off; then I spent half an hour altering my settings; deleting things and generally making sure my Facebook couldn't be used in any way by those cunts in the USA. Then I discovered that if I use Chrome there's a Timeline Remove app that strips it away from you and any other Chrome user. Yes, it means that all other browsers will see the Timeline shit, but I can live with that.
I'm also hoping to put something to the test. I know a couple of people who have had pictures removed from this banner thing on Timeline; Facebook actually gave them the option to feedback the decision. Now, for those people viewing my page on other browsers, what they'll see is a big blue banner which says FUCK FACEBOOK; this will be deemed offensive by Facebook and they will attempt to remove it; hopefully they'll allow me feedback where I'll explain to them that I use Chrome, Google Chrome, and I have their wonderful Timeline Remove app running; and most of my friends also have the same browser and therefore they do not see my Timeline; as they are the only people I care to connect with and they don't mind what I say, then it's not offending anyone who matters. I will also add that it is only there because I was arbitrarily put on Timeline without any consideration as to whether I want anybody to see the history of my fucking mainly bothered Facebook experience. I might also suggest to them that they probably should ban me from using their fascistic piece of irrelevant social networking software, because I will continue to be extremely negative about them; in fact, I will dedicate more time to that than I would have done adding anything to my fucking stupid, pointless and disliked Timeline piece of shit.
I will of course use my fake ID to keep in touch with people as soon as they throw me off...
Syrian Cities that sound like long-forgotten Marx Brothers
It's been an interesting Monday morning. One of the things that dawned on me was that if ever Fuckwit or Fishwife ever stumble across this blog, it isn't going to take a huge leap of intellect to work out that I'm actually writing about them. Still, I'll napalm that bridge when I come to it.
At about 8.50am, while I was taking the rubbish out, Fuckwit, Fat Bird, the Old Man (who lives next to the Sexually Explicit Family) and some cackling old crone were standing around the front of his drive (Drive! I make it sound like we all live in fucking Cheshire. Drive as in front garden with paving slabs) jabbering away about the events happening just down the road.
Last week the couple who have been renting the house down the road have gone. They moved the last of their things last Thursday and over the weekend someone new moved in. It seems this was the reason for the impromptu mob of halfwits outside the front and, I really have no idea why, they, or specifically Fuckwit, spoke to me!
"Alright Mate," he says. I've only lived here 13 years and the twat never calls me by my name. "Looks like we've got new neighbours."
"That's nice," I said smiling falsely and already feeling the pull of the house.
"I reckon he's wearing his boxers the wrong way round." What?
"He has the flies at the back. He's a shirt lifter."
"So what?" Ignorant chuntering from Fat Bird and the cackling woman. "How do you know, anyhow?" Get this...
"He's on his own."
"'He's. on. his. own'? How does that make him gay?" The cackling woman seemed to think the word 'gay' was a hilarious and rarely used word, a bit like 'perambulate' or 'retarded'.
"He's not married." I couldn't help it. I just started laughing.
"P***, you're not married!"
"Yeah, but I live with J*****!" He said like I'd just suggested he was gay.
"I know, so who's to say this new chap isn't divorced or separated or, I don't know, perhaps he's a bachelor. I know about 8 men over 40 who aren't married and none of them are gay; some of them even live on their own."
"He's a bit camp," chimes in Fat Bird. That was it. I'd heard enough. The new man might be gay; he can camp around the road wearing pink chiffon, mincing to Pet Shop Boy records and sporting a big black moustache for all I care. Actually, I'd take real offence at the Pet Shop Boys records, other than that, he might add some colour and life to this bigoted little corner of Shoesville.
"Well, just so long as he doesn't give us all AIDS or turn us gay then everything should be okay, eh?" I said walking back into the house shaking my head. The real pathetic irony of that was they seemed to think I was being serious; I left them nodding their heads and muttering agreement with me. I might have just improved my standing with four people who I would gladly torture.
Last Wednesday, I had, what I thought, was an inspired idea. It was hot, the dogs all looked like they needed cooling down and I couldn't think of a decent pond for them to go for a swim in, without things like sheep, horses, cows or too many people to distract the two eldest and most predatory of the dogs. During the autumn and nice spring days, we used to go to what we call the water skiing lake. We call it that because that is essentially what it is used for. It's a lake situated near Delapre Golf Complex and the massive Brackmills Industrial Estate (should you ever wish to go to this place).
When it isn't warm, it's a lovely place to walk; the lake shimmers and the place is usually inhabited by other dog walkers. Five years ago you could go down there on the hottest day of the year and you would see members of the water skiing club, possibly having a BBQ or mucking around in boats; but as far as Joe Public was concerned, it was an oasis of privacy. After the influx of Eastern Europeans, the place suddenly became the cosmopolitan centre of Northampton. police had to break up impromptu late night parties around the lake; all the swans disappeared and it started, very quickly to look a bit tatty. Going here at weekends during the summer was a no-no; especially with Marley and her love of people and food.
But on Wednesday, I'd forgotten that it was the summer holidays and for some strange reason I got it into my head that the place would be less busy than it usually is. How more wrong could I possibly be? It was like Great Yarmouth beach on the hottest day of the year; it was like everyone was told that Thursday the world would end, so make the most of the good weather. It was like an impromptu party there and this actually played into my hands a little - even Marley was freaked out by the amount of people there.
The first thing of note happened after about five minutes. I was keen to get the dogs round the other side of the lake, where there is always less people and more opportunity for them to have a swim without bothering people; however, to get there, you have to go through the large green pasture that runs down the side of the north edge of the lake and it was here where the, I thought, largest concentration of people appeared to be. There were bloody hundreds of them; all in varying states of undress and sunburn. The dogs were ahead of me, well three of them were, and you have to go through a tunnel of trees and shrubs to get there, so it's like a blind alley. I heard the screams and shouts before I got there and I had this horrid feeling of Marley stealing someone's picnic hamper. I rushed to the clearing but Ness and Lexy were just standing there looking; almost like they were blown away by the amount of people. What the commotion was about was Marley, who was stalking on the periphery, but not going anywhere near the people. A group, probably a family, all stood up and held towels and stuff in front of them like a wild animal had just appeared. I heard exclamations and you could see the atmosphere change there and yet the dogs were doing nothing at all.
I hurried through the bottom of the pasture, calling the dogs, who were not taking any notice of the people. Marley tracked back to me and walked with two feet of a woman with two children; she said to me in a thick accent, "Shouldn't they be on leads?"
"No, they shouldn't," I said, walking on, feeling the anger boiling. Eventually, I chuckled to myself that it might have been me that scared them as I'd just had my head shaved the day before and I'm not renowned for walking the dogs with a huge smile on my face.
Anyhow, we got round the other side of the lake and spent half an hour there; I threw sticks and stones into the water and the dogs all pranced around (well, all except Murray, who stood next to me whining, because that's what he does best). I figured, if we walked the rest of the way round the lake, when I got to the back end of Delapre Abbey, I'd stick Marley back on her lead, because there was sure to be a lot of people there and from where I was sitting with the dogs, it looked like there were as many people there as where there had earlier. Oh how wrong was I?
As you walk down the back end of the lake, the path splits into two; the well used path and the one that edges the lake. The well worn path was still feeling the effects of the rain and was a quagmire of mud, leaves and detritus. So I went round the alternative route and within 5 seconds I heard a scream and some shouts. "Jesus," I said to myself as I hurried round the corner only to be confronted by two girls, one of which was standing with her arms stretched out, completely topless; she was shooing Marley away from her. I bellowed at the dog and she wandered off; she was just trying to say hello. The other girl, also topless, was lying on the ground and she was laughing and saying something to the other girl in what sounded like Russian. The other girl, arms now lowered, was just standing there, like I didn't exist, baps out like a well replenished condiments table at a BBQ, yabbering at the other girl and pointing in Marley's direction. The other three dogs were all around my legs; I think they were slightly concerned.
"I'm ever so sorry, she just likes people, especially if they have food."
"Ve haf no fud. Your dog made me all vet." I really didn't know what to say; she's never had that affect on anyone before. I just apologised and moved on, being eternally grateful I was wearing my sunglasses; neither girl seemed bothered about their attire. I didn't see her friends attributes, but had I been the girl with her tits out, I think I would have worn a bra or a bikini top - let's just say her nipples haven't seen the horizon for a long time...
Anyhow; my next pair of tits were considerably more interesting and they were to appear less than a minute later. We got round the corner and I had Marley with me; I think she was slightly freaked out by the girls. This part of the lake is arguably the most secluded, despite it being closest to a main road; it is here where the parties started and the clearing, which is also a sun trap, has more scorched earth than an apocalyptic novel. Laying on the floor, on a towel, were a group of people, three blokes and four girls; all Eastern European. and one of the girls, was sitting up and was also topless. They had a disposable BBQ and were cooking so foul smelling meat, which Marley seemed very attracted to, so she went over to them and I gritted my teeth for the inevitable problems. But this time the group of people were very welcoming and Marley made 7 new friends almost instantly; the topless girl was fussing her and she was really happy; the other three, who are becoming more and more like our old dogs, just walked with me. We exchanged some pleasantries; talked about the dogs, the weather and we moved on.
I put Marley and Lexy on their leads. I knew Ness and Murray would stick to me like Velcro so I wasn't worried about them. We went through the trees into the next clearing and were greeted by a wall of people. It was like the main stage at Glastonbury. I could barely make a path out through them and the only other option was to walk all the way back and I wasn't going to do that. Keeping Marley on a short lead, we made our way through the miasma of people; I didn't notice any of them; couldn't tell you a thing about any of them, apart from the pack of loose dogs they had with them who decided they didn't like being invaded. Ness had strayed from the path...
This big dog that looked like a cross between a Rottweiller and a German Shepherd decided to stamp on the little pseudo-dog. That was a very, very, silly move on its part. Ness might be scared of a gnat's fart (last night's thunderstorm was a nightmare), but we've also come to the conclusion she isn't a dog, possibly a mad scientist's gene-splicing experiment between a chinchilla, a wolverine and Hitler. She doesn't really fight, but squeals like a banshee and becomes a bit like a small version of the neat aliens in Attack the Block. The big dog didn't stand a chance. Our own little Tasmanian Devil just wheeled round on the big dog and went straight for him, all snapping of teeth and squeaking. The big dog took off like Ness does when the fridge's thermostat clicks. I couldn't help but smile as Ness, puffed up and full of herself, joined me. "Good girl," I said, ruffling her bouffant hair style.
Then, I discovered I was male and human after all and it wasn't even on the same scale as the two topless women I'd already seen. In the water about thirty feet from where I was standing in the shade with the dogs, was a group of girls, all in their late teens and early twenties, playing in waist deep water with a ball. One of them was wearing, quite amazingly, one of those Wham baggy singlets from the 80s. It was wet and she had nothing on underneath it. I stood there for what seemed like ages, but was probably about 15 seconds and realised that this was one of the main reasons why we really should get more hot weather in this country.
The rest of the walk was uneventful.
- I am listening to the Mamas & the Papas; it just seemed fitting for what is probably a nice summer's day somewhere. Yesterday I had a day listening to Deep Purple. Just how disparate/eclectic is that?
- Still working my way through the Game of Incestuous and Questionable Morals, or whatever it's called. It's filled in gaps I've either developed from watching the series or were never explained.
- You know those really annoying little spots, almost microscopic, that feel as though they should be the size of a cricket ball? I have one on the rim of my nostril and it hurts like a bastard every time I rub my large proboscis - still, that's nothing to really complain about is it?
- I picked 7lb of rhubarb this morning; it would appear that One El and Roger will be eating some rhubarb medley by the week's end; we have about 40lbs of the stuff in the freezer - In fact, I'm considering buying one of those big chest freezers just to store the fruit from our garden.
- I think today will be a curry day; made with spinach (and possibly rhubarb) from my garden. Mmm, spinach and rhubarb curry...
- I am going to go out in a minute. New week, new goals and all that bollocks. I need to refill a prescription and go to the bank; you can't say that my life isn't rock and roll. Well, you can and you'd be right, but say it out of earshot of me, please.
- Andromeda and the Milky Way are having a game of tennis and there's a disputed line call. Andromeda turns to the Milky Way after being awarded the point and says, "If you say, 'you can't be Sirius' I will punch you in the face."