And may long it persists.
Too true spitty. Spotified, persistance and strange words… plenty there to get your teeth into.
J K Rowlands has to be at the top of my list to have covered all those and more. Almost broke, severely depressed, divorced, and a single mother who went to school whilst writing Harry Potter, Rowling went from needing government handouts to being one of the richest women in the world in a 5 year span through her hard work and persiitance.
Her brilliant inventive wordsmithing came up with Mudblood, Animagus,Pensieve ,Apparate, Thestral, Lumos, Horcrux, Squib, Quiditch and best of all… Dementor which I now apply to some that I know but could never quite find a word to describe. That one fits perfectly thanks to J K 
The moral of the story is you just never know where those leisurely scribbling will take you 
Right I am now orf down the shops on my Nimbus 2000 
Phyllis has a couple of dementor sisters who would take to a Nimbus 2000 quite naturally, no tuition needed, actually I’m flying out with three of them tonight, and the wife makes four, they like their sup and fair play to them they never miss their round, but all the moaning I do about them is only in jest, behind it all I love the lot of them.
Yes isn’t it great to hear of an ordinary person being rewarded for their perseverance and skill (JK Rowlands). I’m sure she must have felt like throwing in the towel when under all that pressure, the best of luck to her and to hell with the begrudgers.
I’ll leave you with this before I go out granny sitting.
I discovered something all by myself recently, not a major breakthrough in the field of medicine but it will bring relief to millions, and all for free with my compliments, tis an honour to give something free to a long suffering public.
It’s about scratching an itch.
Sometimes I get an itch on the calf of my right leg, it can be unbearable and heavy scratching can break the skin, it’s one of those itches that makes you want to scratch right into the bone to relieve it, now it’s not a rash or a skin disease, it just comes and lasts for a day or so then goes away again, there are no spots, sores or dots on the leg, just the itch and the only damage done is the red marks from severe scratching and they soon fade away.
I tried all sorts of creams and lotions and while they gave some relief for an hour or so they were otherwise useless.
Then I began to give it some deep thought, what if the actual SCRATCHING of the itch is all wrong? Why do people always scratch with and up and down motion, or side to side on the itch? What if I only scratched in a downward motion in line with the Earths magnetic field? (I got this line of thought from the dog crap thread)
So I did just that, scratched using only downward strokes, down, then hand off and down again and praise the lord it worked!, 18 strokes are sufficient, administer the first six then stop and wait one minute, then six more, wait and then the final six to gain full relief. Simple and quick and it costs not a penny.
Seems like folks have been scratching the wrong way for far too long, who knows maybe in earlier times they knew this method but it got lost along the way, so many natural remedies have been lost to us through the ages.
So throw out all yer creams and powders and go along with natures way of easing the itch.
Actually the relief is so good you’ll yearn for the itch to come back so you can enjoy the relief all over again. yeh won’t see that promise on a tin of Vaseline.
Next week I’ll be posting some findings on my research into snoring, I’m on the verge of a spectacular breakthrough, hold your breath.
With all this toilet humour, it is easy to get Bogged Down, isn’t it.
Bugger reasearch into snoring. A snorer is a snorer and like an itch should be eliminated tout de suite.
Being a relative placid soul for most of the time and usually tolerant of most things that would drive others to distraction I gambol through life happily that is till I hear snoring…cos for me snoring is a whole new ball game. It bothers me. No I mean it really bothers me. It bothers me so much that I could cheerfully murder the snorer.The fact that there is a human attached to that snoring sound is totally irrelevant.
It doesn’t matter if it’s a gentle snore. a rumbling or a roaring snore… it’s a snore and it bothers me. Like an alarm clock I want to switch it off immediately it starts and quicker if possible. My mind goes into murder mode and with eyes tight shut I am fumbling round for potential murder weapons…anything that will silence the snoring. Pillows are the obvious choice, but bedside lamps or clock will do and the he heavier the better. I could describe worse ways but this is before the watershed so will desist
Mentally I commit the deed and silence prevails and all is well again in my world, however …life isn’t like that so it has to be a less gratifying jab with an elbow or heel to the perpetrator but oh I do so wish you could get away with legally murdering a snorer.
Don’t get me started on toilet noises or habits .
My missus is notorious for snoring, I’m sure if there was such a thing as a snorograph you’d find that she is capable of hauling in three cubic feet of air per snore and blasting it out at 90 decibels, (bearing in mind at 100 decibels, ear damage can occur with 15 minutes of exposure) if it was an Olympic event she would take the gold no problem.
However I’ve got used to it now so it doesn’t really bother me any more, but I’ll admit it wasn’t easy. Why do all bad snorers stubbornly deny that they snore?
Quote Spitfire “With all this toilet humour, it is easy to get Bogged Down, isn’t it”
There have been some very interesting historical finds in bogs Spitty, we have a little shrivelled up chap in the national museum here, he’s lying in the foetal position and still has a head of hair and all his teeth, his skin is like boot leather and he’s simply called ’The bog Man’ (maybe he suffered from severe diarrhoea, hence the name and the doubled up position).
They reckon he’s 6,000 years old, older than the Pyramids, well it says so on the ’showcase’, I’m afraid they are wrong, he was 6,000 years old when I first saw him 60 years ago, that makes him 6,060, but they haven’t changed the age on the case, just goes to prove the older you are the less anybody gives a damn. It’s very misleading to the public don’t you think?, good job there is no admission charge otherwise a lot of folks would be entitled to their money back.
That reminds me of the time they used to show films every Saturday in the school hall, threepence in to sit on hard wooden chairs and endure inaudible sound and endless breakdowns, and the loud shouts of the kids “We want out money back, we want our money back”
But nobody ever got their money back, it would be easier to get blood from a turnip than get threepence back from Fr. Moore, “All that money is gone to help the poor souls in purgatory” he used to say, beats me how he managed to get all that coin to them and when they got it what did they spend it on, maybe they tried to bribe the angels to let them into heaven before their time was up, ah the things that go through the mind of a child.
No one cares about facts anymore, except the guys and gals ferreting about in Peats Bog.
Always get a sense of unease when I see these poor old naked bog men dug up out of some peat then displayed for all to see in their not so wrinkly flattened glory. Same with those poor souls who have rotted together for donkeys years then suddenly torn apart ,laid out on a table bit by bit like a jigsaw …all in the name of " I wonder what they died of or I wonder what they ate " Does it matter what they died of. They ate, they died, there dead so let them stay where they are… dead, cos you can’t get deader than dead can you no matter how you snuffed it.
On my rambles yesterday being a tad warm I went into a local to buy an Ice. Now back in the sensible days you only had a couple of things to choose from at Sivoris, a cone, a wafer or a lolly. We still bickered about what to choose but the bickering didn’t last too long as it was usually a case of “take that or go without”
Well let me tell you what with the multitude of tourists that have descended on us along with their multitude of hot kiddies plus the multitide of choices of ices, lollies etc it was not a cooling move on my part. The days of kiddies being told " take that or go without" are long gone because screaming, yelling and throwing oneself down on the floor in spectacular tantrums are the way to get the ice of your choice now. Doesn’t matter if it’s sold out it’s "I want that one in the picture or I will just die"cos if it’s on the picture it exists. Still it amuses our unfussy seagulls as they will eat anything.
Can’t be done with all that so I left, still hot and wondering like the seagulls where all this freedom of choice is actually leading to .
Yes I believe in letting the dead rest wherever they are laid to rest, ferreting around in graveyards should be left to the ferrets, digging up old graveyards seems to be on the increase, maybe a sign might help “Visit don’t Ferret”
It used to be nigh on impossible to get an exhumation order, and that was when foul play as suspected, now there digging ‘em up willy nilly, maybe there’s a time limit for how long they let you rest in peace.:shock:
There used to be something very eerie about an exhumation and it was always done in the small hours of the morning.
Glasnevin Cemetery is the largest graveyard in Ireland, opened in 1883, and all my folks are buried there, I’ll be cremated in the crematorium and so will the wife.
I live quite near there and when we were kids the brother and me used to ramble through the old part of the cemetery after school, in those days they had the old family vaunts, the wooden doors would be half rotted and you could just push them in and go inside to see the coffins piled on top of one another, they are all gone now, levelled to make way for more customers.
Just as you enter the main gate and turn left there are huge monuments to bishops and city dignitaries, some arch bishops resting places are more like like mini churches than big headstones, it’s amazing what some people will do to try to be remembered forever.
Later in life I used to visit Glasnevin to make sketches of the many Celtic crosses there to make up in gold and silver, there are hundreds of different Celtic cross designs there.
Many famous Irish people are buried there and I believe they do guided tours of the place now, it’s well worth a visit if you like history.
https://i.postimg.cc/3Np5KrMY/OConnell-Tower-Glasnevin-Cemetery-1068x623.jpg
I remember the Celtic Warrior, he put an end to the English monopoly, it grieved me but you can’t “Knock” it, he was good.
That Glasnevin looks a fascinating place where it looks as though you could easily get lost Jem and I didn’t realise there were so many variations on the celtic cross. Can see why you took inspiration for your jewellery.
We also lived near a very old disused cemetery where we often played and even pretended to die draped over collapsed graves in our cops and robbers/cowboys and Indian games. It turned out in later years when the ground was bought for developement that plaque victims were buried there so bodies had to be exhumed. Lord did we ever live precariously in our younger days. :shock:
I hadn’t seen Glasnevin from the air before, nice to see it that way for a change, thanks Solo.
I still remember a scene from the film “The Flesh and the Fiends” (1960) where Burke and Hare chase Daft Jamie into the pig sty before they strangle him, me being 14 at the time and a bit of a daft Jamie meself I kept feeling me neck for reassurance every night going to bed for weeks afterwards.
I’ve often said that I know nothing about gardening or growing stuff, but some months ago Lidl had a cheap plastic greenhouse on offer, it consisted of a lot of steel poles, spikes, gridded shelves, and a huge heavy plastic covering, all in a flat packed box, 40 euros I think it was, so I got one for the wife to do her seeds and stuff but also out of curiosity to see if I could put it together, if it all went wrong there would be no great loss. It’s only 4’x4’ and about 7’ high, but big enough for a beginner.
Well I got the thing up in a corner of the side garden, wedged up against the old shed wall and the dividing wall of my neighbour, well staked down and sheltered so it won’t blow away in a storm, I even managed to put in a solid floor with remnants of wood and floor boards I had lying about.
Phyllis is as happy as Laura fixing her seeds and flowers in there and her tomatoes are coming along fine, she has cucumbers there and some other queer named vegetables. She enjoys pottering around there so much that I think I’ll buy her a real greenhouse for her birthday next year, well she always says she’d like something useful whenever I ask her, so over the years I’ve bought her several hoovers, three gas cookers, four washing machines, lots of pots and pans, and half a dozen electric kettles, sure what more could a happily married woman want for her birthday?
How I remember her beaming face all those years ago when I bought her an electric iron as an engagement present, she wept with joy, what a steamy night that was, she was laid out flat.
Been there Jem, sorted out some creases, then went on to the next pressing engagement.
Nice little starter greenhouse there for someone who is going onto bigger and better things by the looks of it.
Those toms look like they have been lovingly talked to and pampered by Phyllis which is supposedly how you keep em happy.
Whilst I can grow any shrub, tree or flower, veg have always put 2 fingers up at my efforts and not the green type either. You would think I am the mafia the way they die at any attempts I have made…and that’s just the seeds.
My last effort was spuds. Did all that Percy Thrower stuff and the results for months of tender loving care was one spud no bigger than my thumb nail. I wasn’t going to let size spoil my moment…as size doesn’t really matter (who is kidding who on that) I gently boiled it whilst savouring the thought of smothering that lil tater in glorious best butter and actually tasting home grown.
Fat chance of that…that lil spud must have thought it was being babtised Mafia style,so panicked and disolved into a puff of nothing. I still hear that lil taters ghost laughing at me. 
Phyllis I salute your veggie skill
and it must give you quite a thrill
To see those toms proudly grow
and put on such a terrific show. :-D:-D
Oh she loves her plants Solo, she’s ever so gentle and caring when she’s attending them, she has green fingers as they say, probably from all the brass rings I made her over the years, had to keep the good stuff for the paying customers.;-)
So you made the spuds an offer and they flatly refused, said it was only small potatoes.
Yes I read somewhere that talking and singing to tomatoes works wonders for them, it also makes your ears grow, just look a prince Charlie’s, he talks to plants.
One day I’ll pop into the potting shed and find her stretched out like the picture below taken from that film “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes”?
That may not be so unbelievable now with all the messin about they do with them, haven’t they mixed parts of Fish DNA with them already? I can see the headlines now “Mafia Scientist makes Tomatoes sleep with the Fishes” A fish having it off with a tomato, wonder what you’d call the outcome, a Tom Cod? actually there is a jump jockey called Tom Codd.
https://i.postimg.cc/t4SJwk70/attack-of-the-killer-tomatoes.png
What with me being haunted by a ghostly mini spud, visions of folk being flattened by genetically wonky toms and charles talking to his plants… or was that his ears… it has reminded me of this clip I saw sometime ago.
Nan is trying to read The Wonky Donkey book to her grandchild…with hilarious results… The demand for the book and sales went ballistic after this was shown. Hee Haw :-D:-D
You do wonder what happened to Once upon a time 
I love how us humans are so inventive when push comes to shove and being a good old northerner I was chuffed to bits when I read of a lassie from Lancashire who when faced with what to wear to a fancy bash came up with a cracking solution.
Her dilema was that she could not find a fascinator to match her dress and her lighbulb moment came in her bathroom where she saw that a bath puff ( those things you wash your body with) matched her dress perfectly. Clipped the bath puff to her hair and Voila…job done.
Don’t you just love these lightbulb moments.
I come from a generation who thought Basil Brush was the greatest entertainer ever, I was a Baby Boom-Boomer.
Good old Basil much more down to earth than that simpering squeeky Sooty
My generation were completely fooled by Muffin the Mule. We believed in anything in those days even a talking horse and it didn’t matter who was pulling the strings ,:-D:-D
Nowt changes with tv does it