DARN,Jem!
Y’all are gonna hafta do TALKING-a lost art since the inception of txt spk,lol.
…or perhaps [perish the thought] spend a few days arguing over a Monopoly board,or maybe,if you’re feeling brave,play Hangman.
[as an alternative,there is an old established institution devoted to the wellbeing of menfolk surrounded by annoying family members…it’s known as the refuge for Pops Under Bombardment…or PUB,for short].
When it comes to the wellbeing of menfolk I am going to have to consult Pink Freud on this .
Just another brick in the unsurmountable wall of life…
So true OldGreyFox. One needs to remain comfortably numb to cope with it…
The internet was supposed to come back on this morning, it didn’t until 5pm.
The art of conversation is still alive Pug, but you have to go to the local to see and hear it in full swing, the other old lads of my generation have plenty in common and never run short of subjects, but I fear when we’re gone so will the old conversations, today everyones talking about money and how they can get more of it for the least amount of effort, as one politician put it “Everyone wants a big slice of the National cake without taking a hand in the baking” himself and his colleagues assured of the lions share of course.
Indeed we once spent a very educational winters afternoon discussing the humble ‘Bucket Handle’, we travelled back to the old tenement days and the shouts of ‘Bring up the bucket Nellie’ and as you well know one handle leads to another and we eventually ended up talking about Handel’s Messiah and classical music in general, that of course left me out, common old git that I am. We had another great discussion about brown paper bags another day, my argument being that when bursted the brown bags make a louder bang than the white ones, incidentally I was proved right when we put it to the test in the pub having borrowed the bags from the sweet shop next door. It was quite a sight, a dozen old men and a few women blowing up paper bags and bursting them, a party of Japanese tourists thought it was an old Irish custom and were taking photo’s all over the place.
On the other hand women can talk for hours on end about the price of eggs or the next door neighbours new hat, fair enough, but that’s not mens stuff, bucket handles, paper bags, and spanners are more like it.;-)
The Naked Gape.
Everyone’s going naked these days and donning their birthday suits
As long as they’re happy and gay I couldn’t give two hoots
Vicars and priests too, all think it’s just fine
But fair is fair and we must draw a line
Lamb is lamb and mutton is mutton
So who want to see a naked glutton
It’s not what the young call eye candy
Looking at someone who’s wrinkled and bandy.
G and T usually does it for me Solo.
Although I am slender, or slim
Depending on the mood I am in
There are a few rimples
but I pretend they are dimples
As for being bandy
My legs are still dandy…
and your poem ticked me pimples (goosebumps)
Well answered Solo!
Some of the joys of Winter.
When Winter comes and covers the land
I think of the good things it brings to hand
Best to me is the open fire
Warming your toes to your hearts desire
A glass of port beside your chair
And my wig because I have no hair
Half a tumbler of water to place my teeth
A file to rasp the scales off my feet
Plenty of beer in a well sealed keg
A sharp chisel to scratch my wooden leg
A cylinder of oxygen to help me breathe
A crutch to lean on when I feel the need
Yes Winter is grand and I don’t mind the cold
But what really kills me is the getting old.
(Mars Barr)
The Kimberley is on the change! - smell of rain in the air – fore-shadowing the cyclone season and the promise of good rain for the land.
Clouds cooling the land – everyone watching the skies! – there is the dry and the wet and now we await the wet!
But it will bring its problems – bogged down 4 wheel drives and cut off communities but that is the norm!
We will all enjoy the wet!
I recently spent a few days with the family at a traditional Kimberley bush resort – full of Asian fruits and veggies and good Thai cooking – a few Cubans [cigars] and bourbons – up at the crack of dawn 5am
Dawn breaks with a hell bent blast [well not really!]
On the Kimberley plains today
But the cold night air, says”bedamned I don’t care
Till the sun gently warms it away”
The guinea fowl peck, and the pigeons still nest
And the wallabies sprint cross the drive
And the dog hangs about, until humans are out
And feed him some bits for the day
Morning chorus begins, a dozen noises and dins
As they all want to say their hellos
And I still cannot believe it will heat and wilt knees
And beat down every furrow and brow
And the cycle repeats, till the Gods say ‘now cease
They sun must now die in the sky
And all this will be lost, until memories frost
And are gone in the blink of an eye”
That’s what you get for being upside down gumbod. The axis the sun spins on points to true magnetic down, the earth spins around the sun on a slant relative to that axis, however relative to the suns axis Australia is the true bottom of the earth and Antarctica and south america are all on the side.
This causes Australians heads to be slightly swollen with blood and accounts for their generally wet outlook on life. G’Day possum.
Upside down or not you paint a vivid picture Gumbud, you sentimental ol’ soul. Reminds me of that old Jim Reeves song, it’s a bit early I know but you started it.;-):-D.
There’s an Old Christmas Card in an old dusty trunk
And it brings back sweet memories dear to me ’
Though it’s faded and worn, it’s as precious as the morn
When I found it 'neath our first Christmas tree
Chorus: I thrill with every word, every line
Guess I’m always sentimental 'round this time
Pardon me if a tear falls among my Christmas cheer
It’s the memory of an Old Christmas Card
(Recitation) You know, I don’t know why I get to feeling sentimental
About this time, every year
But every time I see a Christmas card, I somehow can’t help reminiscing
About the very first Christmas that you and I spent together
What a beautiful Christmas card you gave me that year
Why I know you must have looked through thousands of cards
To find that wonderful poem that still brings a tear to my eyes.
Now look what you’ve done, I guess I getta little sentimental 'round this time, gee wiz I can’t help it I guess, I’m sobbing like a baby into me glass of port.
well sentimental or not Jem your still a Gem of a man but away with all this back slapping they’ll be tinkin we’ve got sometink goin on 'ere!!!
but is does get me wonderin though - do we all walk around with rose colored glasses or were those past events really the best?
when we really believed in father xmas
when there was no colored TV
no internet
no phones [I do remember feeling very bored at times]
when ma and da were still alive - and others
no cars lining our street
couldn’t afford a turkey for xmas
granny and grandad still alive
or first real magical date [not the eating the clutching]
leaving home [ a bad mistake]
etc etc etc etc
were they really the bestest of times or just mirages of the mind??
12 hrs ago I had three large cuban cigars back to back half a dozen bourbons -pavoroti in the background and then slept for 12 hrs - more expensive than pills but more fun!!
you’ve got me on a roll again gem but this time a croc death roll as we say up here!
Mirages of the Mind
Goin back in time today
When you and I would often play
Mess around and just have fun
Seems these days it can’t be done
Mirages of the mind
All we had were two old bikes
Covered some miles
The wind took flight
We’d shout and laugh and horse about
Mirages of the mind
They said that you were my best mate
I said “he’s OK” compliments I hate
But there was something special there
Mirages of the mind
Then there was a time for different lives
I don’t know why but no surprise
But first ‘black dog’ appeared that year
Mirages of the mind
Then Pa went first, we followed hearse
That was a real sad year
Something good had broken up
Could not be fixed like fallen wood
Mirages of the mind
Poor Ma thought she could hold it all
But we just fell apart that fall
A tight knit family drifted off
Mirages of the mind
We must have felt invincible
Yeh we’ll get it back some day
Just drop a line or make a call
Catch up some Xmas days
Mirages of the mind
The years grew long
A worn out bond
had stretched out and run dry
We couldn’t get it back at all
Mirages of the mind
But I guess we still have memories
Like winter trees without their leaves
Surely all will come back next spring
Mirages of the mind
© gumbud 2015
You’re definitely in top form there Gumbud, credit where it’s due, “Mirages of the mind” is a work of art in reflection, beautifully done.
I’m glad you enjoyed your smoke and the few jars, more luck to you.
talkin of which - drinkin that is my current thirst quencher is a rather dry german beer named Oettinger Pils - sometimes a little too dry so to calm it down I use an old trick I used to use with bitter in my teen years - add a dash of lime cordial.
Back in the 50’s the old country landlords used to look at me with some disdain as I asked for a dash of cordial in the pint of bitter. but bitter never was my favorite tipple:lol:
I penned a diary back in the fifties as a teenager removed from the seaport of Liverpool to the country lanes of Cheshire.
Here is an abridged version to protect the innocent!! and innocence of youth!!
Corner Nostalgioso – Issue 1
Imagine ‘W’ if you can in the mid 50’s. A sleepy village surrounded by old and newer housing estates belonging to that big chemical factory spouting smoke all day called ICI.
For a young 12 year old straight from the back streets of Liverpool this was paradise. Plenty of fresh air (when the ICI smoke was blowing in the right direction) green fields and laid back country folk!
My father worked for ICI, we had a company house and I managed to get into Grammar school after a small fight by my mother with officialdom. After a period of settling in, country orientation and making friends life proceeded at a leisurely, non-city pace.
Village life in those days was much quieter. There was only one cluster of shops in those days and single resident ones [a house and adjoining shop] dotted about the village which was incidentally 6000 souls large. The current village shopping precinct was a field with a few cows wandering around it, and a public foot path which allowed you to take a short cut. It could be a romantic walk at times too!
The village did have a range of pubs, which I discovered later catered for the new working class Liverpool immigrants to the original farming people through to landed gentry. I didn’t use the pubs at 12yrs old.
I secured two part times jobs as a teenager which made me rich and independent! One was the ubiquitous ‘paper round’, which of course meant getting up at an ungodly hour in rain, hail, sleet or snow (does anyone do that any more?). This job was connected with the newsagents who again was situated on a corner – thus the term the ‘corner shop’ . I think I scored ten shilling and sixpence per week for seven days a week paper delivery!
The second job was less of a regular one. It was odd job work at one of the local farms. The farm of course now is long gone. Some weekends – usually Saturdays we would get some farm jobs – other Saturdays none. I think we used to earn a pound for a full day, which was great in 1955. The work could be anything on the farm.
I remember quiet distinctly cleaning out chicken coups and then creosoting them inside and out to prevent diseases attacking the chicken. General painting jobs, and herding the remaining two cows in for milking at the end of the day.
I don’t think we ever aspired to actually milking the cows. But I do remember having to assist the farmer to tie down the legs of a rather belligerent cow before milking. There were usually two of us teenagers who worked on a Saturday. The hard working lads stuck it out long term ( including me) the rest gave it away!
But I suppose in those days you could say it was a good spirited public gesture on the part of the farmer to give young teenagers a leg up so to speak. Well that was my introduction to English country village life, more in the next installment.
Isn’t it great to be able to look back at those blissful years, before the world and it’s troubles suddenly landed on our shoulders, problems were for the adults to sort out and no concern of ours, we just wanted to get along with what we did best-- enjoying ourselves.
I kept a diary for a year (aged 12) but I lost it in school, some joker found it and gave me hell for a while until my big brother sorted him out and got it back, never kept another diary again.
“Corner Nostalgioso” – Issue 2
School Life in the 50’s – Having secured a place at county Grammar school, I now had to get there! Discovered there was a special school bus that left my own small village Monday to Friday for the larger grammar school town via the back lanes and villages. So for a weekly fee of probably 10 shillings I sat in the chauffeur driven limousine with 35 other raving lunatics. There was always a full bus load and a daily scramble to get a seat or stand all the way. So for us each day we lived in our small village but traveled to ‘work’ at the grammar school. We had learned the skill of ‘commuting’ in the 50’s!
The highlights of school had nothing to do with learning and everything to do with socializing and ‘wagging’. The forbidden ‘fag’ was shared with mates at the back of some purpose built wall on the outskirts of the playground. Unfortunately for the ‘smokers’ we hadn’t worked out that smoke rises and as soon as the ‘Indian smoke signals’ appeared the teacher on patrol would head for the wall. The alarm was sounded and bodies would fly in all directions! Another favorite site was the bicycle shed, which afforded less cover but an alternative diversion from the prying teachers.
School lunch was a hoot, and conducted in two sittings. The masters sat on one central table and seemed to eat the same food as we did, but we suspected the quality was different! All pupils sat on tables of eight, I think with a two designated senior pupils, who were responsible for dividing the food amongst the eight. In some cases the ‘dishing out’ process was not scrupulously fair, and without the prowling attention of a ‘master on patrol’ some younger pupils would miss out on a complete meal. Talk about ‘Lord of the Rings’!
Physical activities were an interesting event. They took place each week and you could either elect to play the main sport, football in winter, cricket in summer, or choose cross country running. Those who were not football or cricket mad, selected cross country running, including myself. The great advantage of latter choice was that it was unsupervised! This meant that we could walk, jog, or run and best of all stop for a ‘smoko’ I can still vividly recall running in the midst of winter, with snow and ice on the ground in white shorts and singlet (designed to prevent masters from spotting erring students), and stopping for a quick ‘smoko’ with chattering teeth and blue lips. The only thing that kept us warm was the matches and fags! Summer was more leisurely and we could lie on grass hilltops under blue skies and intermittent sunshine!
Did I mention that the school was co-ed? Well that was not particularly significant for the first two or three years but as the hormonal system kicked into place all hell broke loose! But, more about that in the next instalment. Some of the ensuing romances are still active!
