waas it was all bowled out? oozat!
Did you Googly that?
no just fished it out of de bottom
I was feeling in a bit of an attention seeking mood yesterday, so I went to the High Street and faked a Heart Attack, the Paramedics duly attended but, after a few quick questions, they became a bit suspicious, then the point came when I had to admit my little white lie, that was when they got out the De Fib Rillator.
De Fib Rillator indeed where do you get them from man.
Fishy indeed, but a fact non the less, there are still some daft oul buggers left up in that old boozer, including meself of course.
I wasn’t going to ask the poor fellow what was the name of the fish Spitty, Christ knows he was upset enough as it was. I did however ask another old geezer and he told me the fish was called ‘Finn”, I didn’t even know folks had names for their goldfishes, bit stupid really when you think of it, sure he’d never hear you calling him to his dinner through all that water.
Yes called after Finn McCool the great historical super hero of Irish folklore, they don’t come any cooler than our Finn, he’s the original “Cool Kid” It’s said there was a huge stone on the site when he wanted to build a fort, he lifted up the stone above his head and flung it into the Irish sea where it later became known as the Isle of Man, now you ask Batman, Spiderman, or the Green Lantern to have a go at that trick, no way Danno.
Jem, I know you like your facts, so what about this one, we know this fair isle was referred to (supposedly by Napoleon) as “A Nation of Shopkeepers”, well it is now officially “A Nation of Fishmongers”.
According to HMRC data, there are now 4.2 Million “Sole Traders”, operating within these shores.
I joined the local Water Skiing club recently, and at my first monthly meeting, I suggested that a good slalom course would make proceedings more fun, but due to the cost of the floating markers, it made sense to buy one each, which we did. Well, it did not take long before the arguments began, whose turn it was to ski, who would pilot the Speed Boat etc, as a result I resigned. at the next monthly meeting I turned up, the Chair Person said “What are you doing here Spitty, we don’t want no trouble!”, I said there ain’t gonna be no trouble “I’ve come for my Buoy”.
People say things like “She has a very bubbly personality” What does that mean? I have me own visions of bubbly.
I knew a very bubbly girl, Olive was her name. she was a fortune teller, one day when we were out walking on the beach as the Sunlight was fading, the Tide was in and the Surf was at our feet, I had my transistor radio on and the Ariel was tuned to radio caroline. I turned to her and asked ”Will you take a look at my Palmolive?" You’d want to see the lux she gave me “Not on your Lifebuoy” We ate some Pears and the conversation just bubbled out.
I forgot to mention that she had a Camay leg. 
Without googling, what comic British film has a smooth talking conman in it called “Soapy Stevens”, and who played the role?
Something came up today in the local about tolerance, a very good subject in my opinion.
The thing about tolerance is that it has to be learned, we are not born with it like we are with emotions. when we were kids we hadn’t a tolerant bone in our little bodies, it was gimme gimme gimme that’s mine all the time, putting up with boring old uncle Henry and his sour faced wife every Sunday afternoon was strictly the adults problem, us kids were in our own magical world and just ignored them completely.
Then you have to go to school and sit beside a young fella who picks his nose and scratches his arse all day, you are powerless to move away, and that’s when the first lesson in tolerance begins. You slowly realise certain situations are beyond your control, the childhood magic doesn’t work anymore and you can’t wish him away, this is for real and your stuck with him, so you begin to accept what’s happening all around you more and more, all part of life and the ones who will not accept that they have to tolerate situations and people they don’t like, will carry this attitude into adulthood and become very dangerous people, I have witnessed this first hand living in a close community.
I have learned to be very tolerant thank God, although some people annoy me I realise that I annoy them too so it pans out even. I would imagine someone who is low on tolerance is damaging their health without knowing it, all that fretting and turning blue in the face stating their case over something they can do nothing about.
Tolerating pain is another story altogether, I’m very low on that count.
Relax and be tolerant, and you’ll live longer is the message for 2017 
SEE THAT??? THAT’S the lift-gear on the vehicle what I does drive being ‘perfectly in line’ according to the uni-cellular ‘brain’ that powers the yeti-like body of the money-hungry prat I deliver/collect.exchange [delete as appropriate] skips of all sizes/weights,for. Ohhhhh,yes…DEFINITELY perfect alignment,don’tcha think?
THEN the muppet wonders why I have difficulty loading 12-ton skips onto the platform straight fore-and-aft.
One is a tad miffed. As was forcibly explained to him last night. Indeed,violence VERY nearly ensued,such was the vehemence…three people intervened,which was a good thing,as sweet,mild,unintelligent-but-aware Pug [c’est moi] would be in custody this fine morning…#le sigh#…
That’s a fine piece of machinery there Pug.
A thought just crossed me mind, have you ever found a body in a skip? :shock:
As he sets out on a trip to collect a full skip
He’s happy and not a bit grim
As he backs up the lane he sings a happy refrain
Knowing his troubles are all behind him. ;-)
Human no,but animal & avian,all types and variations thereof,Jem-with amazing frequency.
T’is not a great leap of intellectual performance to see those arms are just the merest tad out of alignment,which makes loading larger skips,[ie 14/16-yard versions],just a teeeeensy bit difficile to get into correct positioning for either lifting off,or tipping. BUT-apparently it’s my inefficiency and innate amateurism that is the problem,according to Captain Tightwad. Ohhhh,well…I suppose I’ll just have to study my Euclidean geometry more intensely,bro…
Amateurism! Pug oul son, with all your experience of huge vehicles navigating them all over Europe he’s got a hard neck saying that. If it was me I’d tell him to stick his skips where the monkey stuck his nuts.
The two teenage grandkids had their girl friends in last night, the wife and me were going out, the four of them were sitting on the long sofa, as we were leaving I popped me head back in the door and warned them “If any of you lot smoke weed when we’re out there will be reefer cushions when we get back”
Pathetic ain’t it, after that I give up, anyway you youngsters wouldn’t know what a reefer was.
You seem to have a bad case of exuberant hydraulics Pug, one leg looks over erect, I know a guy who can sort that out, Hybollock Jack, he’ll pump some liquid magic in, and soon have you pulling straight again.
Appreciate the offer,spitfire-but I have already removed all four bolts [BIIIIG buggers,so they be,took every miniscule muscle I own to get the buggers to move],then re-aligned the arms,reset aforementioned bolts…then borrowed Hugh’s welding gear and,first,soft-welded the spindle grips on both arms,then hard-welded over,to give the security of grip on the barrel I require when lifting skips of 10/12 tons [usually rubble/soil or a mixture of both,ergo the weight]. So far,it’s been a DAMNED fine machine-t’is a pity Ford/Iveco didn’t bother to perfect their offering,as I can state with expostulative affirmation that NO make of vehicle has ever come close to matching this make/model,regardless of price,standard equipment etc,with regard to security of stance and grip upon a plethora of various surfaces in a massive of temperatures…but,profits weren’t large enough;so utter crap such as Daf,Merc,Renault et-al took prominence. Yes,they have ‘presence’…but when one is about to start the dicey return journey from Perm,fully freighted,in sub-zero temperatures on questionable surfaces covered in several inches of ice,one really,REALLY appreciates having a vehicle beneath one’s arse which responds instantly to input-control,rather than one that’s total crap on ice,often slides,has turbo lag…but has nice curtains.
Meh…ergo,I took the time to fix this particular machine,MY way,in MY time,for free [as in not being paid for doing it] as I wanted it done properly,safely,securely…and NOW. The company owner is away this weekend,at a fair…BETCHA he’s not chuffed when he returns to discover he owes a few shekels to Hugh for use of the welding equipment. It won’t be “Wow,you’ve done a bloody good job there Pug”…more a case of “Oi,vey,I’m broke already! I can’t afford to pay for two hours use of welding equipment,my life! Anyway,there was nothing wrong with it-you just don’t have any knowledge,oi vey!” Which is true,I know NUFFINK! [wait 'til he finds I also emptied the grease gun cartridge!]
can we get back to more docile tales of Uncle Vivian - where’s RJ??
Rumour has it he ran off with the barmaid from The Plough and the Garter, that Uncle Vivian was a bad influence on him as a lad, he has a lot to answer for that sea faring scoundrel. ;-)
come back quick RJ there’s a man here talking about big screwing and torgues and brute force - thought you might be interested?
Wrecker,
That reminds me of a 6 month period of my life way back in 1967 and after I was in the employ of “Grace Brothers”.
51 years ago now I remember vividly working in a commercial vehicle garage owned by a vast man who had made his fortune in buying and selling government surplus heavy vehicles.
In recent years he had become bored, tetchy and ill, something he used to great effect when blackmailing emotionally his family and other vultures all eager for a piece of his estate.
In the event he left all his worldly goods to a military charity. Nice touch eh?
Anyway.
I expect dear reader, that you are thinking this is going to be another yarn from the annals of my uncle Vivian. Hold fast. Vivian wasn’t the only larger than life character featured in the tome that is my life and work.
Ron, little Ron turned up one day, not a special day, poking his scrawny shriveled, wrinkled bald head around the door of the service manager. Ron drove the wrecker and whatever emergency call out reared its ugly head, little Ron was on it, rearing his ugly head.
“Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs and peep about “
So much like Julius Caesar, as described in the bard’s Cassius.
Back to the “Vast man”, name of George actually, one of four brothers & possessing the greatest ego of them all, insisting that his four daughter’s bridegrooms change their surnames to his. In the event they all added the two names together, becoming hyphenated.
My grammar checker can’t cope pals …more tomorrow…
Predisposition to predilections , perversely portrayed in part & presently postponed I predict probably portending potential promise,
howzat gummy