The past twenty four hours have been rather strange, not in a bad way I must add. We have all heard about and talked of lines and paths crossing, well, today, everything that is going on in my life seems to have all fallen rather nicely into place, so, to put you into the picture here is a brief synopsis of two very big events that are about to happen to me within the next six weeks.

Firstly, on May 8th I am to be confirmed into the Christian Faith, a path set by my parents nearly sixty years ago, and secondly, as a member of a Friends group of my family church, St Mary’s, we are hosting an open weekend including celebrations for Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth’s 90th Birthday, the event, a brain child of myself and my friend Hilary.

We have banged our heads together and come up with a planned schedule of events, making up a steering committee of six members, we have started to steam steadily ahead, delegating tasks to individuals who have used once and many a tried and tested routine and driven many an unbroken wheel that never appeared to need fixing.

Opening my wooden blinds this morning I am greeted with a beautiful day, tall bright blue skies, the air is clear and I can see many miles toward the horizon, the sea is calm with what I am sure is to be a crisp chilled breeze on my face …. Spring is definitely here …. it IS stunning.

From my wardrobe I pull out a shirt from my corporate days, it is as blue as blue as the sky, a firm favourite of mine and always seemed to give me luck when I used to wear it, how right was I to be today of all days?  All wrapped up, we set out of the door, Chris and I make our way to our Parish church, that is All Saints. I have a letter for the churchwarden, enclosed is a small gesture in appreciation of her spending hours searching through the 1956 records of baptism and eventually unearthing and producing my certificate, that of which I had never ever seen, however, the black, grey and white photographs of myself in christening robes do prove so, not to mention the embarrassment for me.

Tuesday morning hosts Eucharist with blessings, this is a service I enjoy tremendously, a small chapel off the main church offers an intimate and personal gathering, less than a dozen attend, in the background an aged kettle can be heard climbing slowly to its boil ready to provide tea’s and coffee’s for fellowship soon after.

We offer one another a sign of peace, one very elderly lady, who I have never seen before in my whole life makes a bee line toward me, she cups my hands, smiles, and asks if I have arrived by boat. Brixham is a major fishing port and has its own Pilot station, she had assumed I was a mariner, since a child I have always had my feet in the water, being taught to respect its strengths and dangers, playing sports as a teenager and later owning my own vessels as an adult, my grandfather was one of Brixham’s pioneers in the fishing fleet in the early part of the last century. Strangely, her few words of kindness and a chance meeting gave me the feeling what actually confirmed, not that I have ever doubted, but that I now belonged to this community, after all, my grandparents, grandparents parents are buried in our 15th century graveyard.

I receive my blessing, my sins have now been forgiven. I keep myself out of the direct sunlight streaming through the faintly stained glass windows, not in fear of  spontaneously combusting and bursting into flames, but to stop being blinded by the intensity of its strength, well that’s my excuse at least.

Attempting to drown the fly paper and thin pink sandwich wafer biscuits in my coffee, which is so strong in depth, it might be easier to chew instead, as it is far too thick to swallow .. I think to myself.  I stare around and up into the dizzy heights of this ancient building, almost every conceivable surface is dark wood and everything in-between adorns the colour gold. At the opposite of the Altar at the far end of the nave stands the large stone Font, I get strong feelings of de’Javu, a vision of a large family appear, all proud, they are gathered around, can I hear a faint cry from a baby?, suddenly, my bumps goose and the heckles on my neck stand to attention.

Heading down the steep hill toward where two ham and cheese croissants have our names on them in the new retro coffee shop I see my dear cousin, we hug and kiss, its been ages since our last meet. I have been trying to corner her for ages, a very successful business woman and a such a kind kind person. I go straight for the jugular and ask for sponsorship for floral displays at the church open weekend, she is carrying a loaf of freshly baked bread, food is always a good sign. I normally approach people and businesses for any donations just after lunch, everyone has been fed, its a great levering point and as we all know a digesting belly is a happy belly,  a smile brings a yes. We now have a whole weekends worth of flowers, to add to that, looks like her other business partner is prepared to cater certain items free gratis too.

“Hi, Paul here, Advertising banners?” I ask my lifetime friend. We’ve known each other so long, our parents were best friends before we both popped along, he now runs his fathers printing business, ……….You get the drift, two exterior banners displaying the words “Welcome to St Mary’s“ are on the press as I speak.

One more sponsor on the list to go, well, for the time being at least.

Lucky shirt, beautiful day, wouldn’t you say?

19th April 2016

 

 

 Sweets! Who can resist them?

I’ve always been a bit of a sucker for candy and anything sticky and sweet, in fact, I had to undergo treatment for continuously eating wine gums, not just any wine gum, not the ones from the pound rack, or the loose ones on a “pick & Mix” stall but, ONLY the best ones available, Those beautiful BEAUTIFUL Maynards!  I would just swallow them instead of chewing, and attempt to break any record I may of held previous of just how many I could get into my greedy gob before starting to make stupid noises and blow snot bubbles out of my nose, I continued to fill my stomach to busting point.

The was a growing and continuous problem, at a tender age nearing my mid-forties, I was a grown man with another bad addiction. So, someone recommended I go and see a Hypnotist …. Gloria answered her own door which opened from Baker Street, W1, she was mature of age, tall and slim, her pink Chanel Suit and the black houndstooth design matched her immaculate suede high heels, I was welcomed into her home, the interior was stunning, I followed her, her manicured hand slid slowly and seductively tight on the hardwood rail on top of the wrought iron bannisters, I watched her arse sashay seductively from side to side as she ascended the winding stairs, a chandelier hung from yet another level and we entered into her studio. I was in awe and totally distracted by the amount of wealth and beauty of this property.

She asked me to sit opposite her, after gently adjusting herself in her chair, she started to play swirly fingers and thumbs with herself, asking my problem, I told her I could not stop eating wine gums, and how ill I had made myself, and asked would she please help me. ……. I closed my eyes, and was asked to concentrate on her voice, not what she was saying, but to tune into her tone. Somewhere in her mellow script she mentioned how hard her upbringing was and that family life to her at an early age was dire, she worked many hours cleaning and achieved nothing because she spent all her spare cash on rubbish and worthless items, and then one day she happened to go and clean for a very very wealthy lady who lived in a very large house ………………… and that sometimes when you feel you deserve a treat, then have one, she clicked her fingers and I awoke, rather stunned.

I have never eaten a wine gum since that session, which by the way was in 2002.

The Turkish Delight is a return holiday gift from Chris, a reward for looking after the house and the dogs, so, this afternoon, I shall enjoy it whilst watching Miss Marple and The Blue Geranium. As I open the mysterious purple foiled wrapper I wonder if the veiled beautiful lady that features in The Frys TV advert is actually Gloria telling me to treat myself for all of the hard work that I do …. I certainly think so!

 

 

 I have such a busy day ahead of me, so, I’m going to have to be really cheeky and pull out one of my “phone a friend” cards, there is so much happening that I didn’t want you to think I would let you down, so, this tiny little blog, is sadly, all the time I can spare today.

I adore Coffee, I adore the aroma, I adore the ritual of preparation and the extra buzz that a really really strong Double Espresso can give, known as many other descriptions, including a “short black”, and such, if you are in Italy, its a “Doppio”, or in Spain or on one of their many beautiful Islands, “Cafe Solo”, which incidentally we will be visiting in September to celebrate my Sixtieth Birthday.

I’m a great believer that coffee shops should be child free including my own flavour’ite, Coffee#1, and just when you think you have found your own very special haven, you find that when you next visit, they have introduced a creche area which angers me immensely, and makes my heart beat rise even higher. Sad now really, because the only reason I visit this establishment is to pick up my freshly ground beans.  I own a couple of their own branded “Clever Drippers”, which are very convenient indeed, and a small “Bodum”Cafietiere, which, today, is loaded with twenty grams of my own personal spiced mix, a pinch of salt and 35omL of hot water and left to infuse for approximately five minutes.

This mornings ritual has been rather unconventional, no fancy cake or any cheese savory to accompany, just a buttered brown roll with a large dollop of Robertsons chunky marmalade to add to my couple of extra double buzzers.

….. Must dash ….

Slowly and steadily I roll into a “get me outta here” momentum, the dogs are settled and I head off on foot, checking the time, and mapping my route in my head, I decide first stop is at the top of town, for a promised mates errand, on the return leg of this days outing, I pop into one of Brixham’s finest Coffee Shops, the other evening I noticed a Twitter announcement that there were fresh Brownies just coming out their oven, so, I had to tweet back “Must tell you a story about some Brownies I encountered in Amsterdam many years ago”

Fortunately, when I arrived to tell the tale to the proprietress, and expressing a big phew, and far too many ears a listening, we briefly exchanged a conversation dictating that I would write about it to save any actual embarrassment, I then greedily tucked into a warm Cheese Scone and sipped some tea gently out of a Ladies cup, my pinkie finger remained quite reserved as I lifted this fine piece of china up to my lips, no brownies for me, and heres the reason why, not even an honest untouched one made by the lovely Sophie.

I was asked by a friend to accompany him, who was freelancing for Radio Five Live, to attend the 1998 Gay Games in Amsterdam, and of course, anything for a freebie, I accepted. Eight days of events, mayhem and parties happened, on the last evening we were both coerced to go to a closing ceremony, the only pre-condition to gain entry was that we had to be in “fancy dress”[1]. Are you sure he said “fancy dress?” Yes, replied Keith, at least thats what i thought he said. Now, I’ve only ever been to one fancy dress party before, and that was me dressed as “Andy Pandy”, a courtesy taxi ride in a cop car, high jinks put the end of that evenings events right down the pan.  So, after much contemplation we tried to hire something, of course, all of Amsterdam was in a party mood, this proved fruitless, however, Keith had an idea, we purchased these items, and we got ourselves ready and headed off to this prestigious event, entry was gained and the drinks were flowing, it was an absolutely outrageous evening, conversation came round that brownies were being passed around, believe it or not folks, at this moment in my life  I had NO idea what a brownie was, the first one tasted lovely, slightly earthy, but, definitely chocolatey, the atmosphere became jolly, and loads of luvvies were expressing their happiness with cheeky kisses, I was offered a second, apparantly I remember wondering what all the fuss was about and started giggling.

I was jigging about, doing my “big box, little box’ and enjoying the music, the lights were playing tricks in my head, at that particular time it was wonderful, my mate was laughing at me uncontrollably and said he was enjoying the moment, after eating the third piece of “chunky candy”[2], someone came over and suggested we shouldn’t attempt to eat anymore as it was strong, strong? STRONG !!… Yes, you guessed it, we were both absolutely obliterated, (Id use the words “twatted, munted or even bolloxed”, but, I don’t know whether I can say that on here) we were aware we had to get back to pack our cases to catch the early departure of “the train of the damned”[3] heading back toward Lyon via Rotterdam to connect with the Eurostar, I have terrible vivid memories of wobbling and sweating like a pig to its own slaughter as we headed back to the sanctuary that was our hotel, worse was to come, the street cleaners were out and about tidying up the detritus from the many revellers, talk about humiliation, goodness knows how we got back to the U.K.  Lyon Station was an absolute nightmare, and once onboard the tunnel express, I realised just exactly what we had actually been wearing at the party, we must have looked a sight, …… wet suits, snorkels, masks, and of course, not forgetting the flippers! ….

 

[1] Fetish Wear                                                                                                                                                [2] Chunky Candy (Frasier 2002)                                                                                                                 [3] Train of the Damned (2&HalfMen)

*Todays* blog is a little laid back, infant, its as it happened yesterday! …. please enjoy!  ……

Not late, or even in the allocated time slot, the delivery gentleman from Sainsbury’s doth arrive, he is fifteen minutes early, and guess what?  …. he apologised ! It is such a pity that his in-house colleagues did not attend the same finishing school as he.

We exchange delivery crates, mine empty, for his full ones, and both of us pass the time of day, the sun is shining, it makes good conversation, …. and in a space of a few minutes we have now become ‘friends of an ephemeral kind’ ….  surprisingly just what a difference a small amount of time given to a person makes … I have gone all fluffy and fuzzy inside, thinking that he may be just as nice to other elder folk as he was to me. (Somewhere deep down inside Im quite an old soft sod really)

Theres is a special treat for Spike steadily puttering away on the hob, a mixture of fresh Lambs kidney and the best diced beef that only our local butcher Wayne, dare to display. Spike, or ‘little man’ as he is known is such a delicate soul where his diet is concerned, well, to be honest, he’s got me tight and wrapped around his little dew claws, and I love it, isn’t that what we as loving and caring people do for our furbabies?  I have none of my own family at home now, apart from my dearest dearest Chris, three of my four children have gone and the fourth has moved on, she has her own man now to care for her, but, me, as a Father, as we as Fathers always do, are watching.

They say that if you get poo’d on by a seagull its good luck, well, heaven help the one that might possibly crap on my now freshly laundered towels airing in the warmth of the April sun, and as for the bloody neighbour who insists on feeding them, I steadily bite my own tongue, but, it so so winds me up, and there is sod all I can do about it, one can but hope that something might happen to the “Captain of the Flying Monkeys”[1]. (Did i really say that?). I remember as a child, my dear Mother proudly hanging her whites as they dried on the clothes line, and fretting, as they, the “monkeys” circled high above, nowadays you tend not to see those beautiful white artistic displays due to ridiculous covenants insisted upon by local councillors, they, who know much about nothing, but tend to make up and enable enforcement of their ridiculous by-laws.

As this day gently progresses and my choice of music “mellows my harshness”[2]. I kick back with a couple of Triple Sec’s, quite a complacent thing to do especially at this time of day, don’t you think?, but what the hell!, Its a Tuesday, a Tuesday with that old familiar Sunday feeling that I used to remember.

A Trance compilation by Dave Pierce gently warbles courtesy of my first generation iPad gifted to me by Chris and a Bluetooth devise, warmth and comforted memories flit through my head just as if I were recovering from the drug fucked sessions I attended  many years ago, it never made sense then, I have to wonder, does it make any sense now? I ask myself?.  Twenty years ago I would have been pushing myself both physically and mentally to an extreme, and way way beyond. Now I watch, in a similar scenario the tradesmen and builders on the site across the road busting their guts with ridiculous deadlines, building with out a plan and techniques approved by apprenticed architects, and as the their chaos doth enthuse, and oblivious to them, gently in the silhouette of their background, the passenger ferry serenely cruises past, almost at an extended arms length, but many a fing-longers grasp away not giving a toss about the diabolical new carbuncle they are building that clings precariously onto the cliff face.

I check my email, and other social networks before I decide whether its time for my afternoon grampy nap, and I read from others’ events, that my day hasn’t been quite as taxing as I thought, it would appear that my dear friend Rosiewries2.wordpress.com has though,  ….. Flat packs are such a nightmare, sorry I cannot help you dear friend …. get your hammer out, you go gurl xxx

[1] S1, Ep6, (2&Half Men)

[2] Frasier to Niles

 

…. *phone rings* …

“Of course I will” said the loving son, “I’l see you on Monday afternoon, dont you worry, I love you, bye Mum”

Instinctively, one immediately knows when something is wrong, the week ahead that was planned was now about to change, “not a problem” I say, “take the car, do what you have to do and stay as long as it takes”

Sunday, mid afternoon, and here I am busy packing my suitcase ready to move into Chris’ home at a moments notice and dog sit for a week, this is the perfect start subject for my seven day blog challenge, but, what exactly do you pack when you are only heading next door?, everything but the kitchen sink and more thats what …… panic ye not !

Music and its associated partners such as dancing and singing, (well, lip syncing actually) play such an enormous part in my life, happiness, sadness, love, and every mood that becomes me, when driving, completing tasks, writing, events, etc, infact, I don’t really need an excuse to crank up the soundz and get Rockleigh and Parker a rocking, I’ve chosen this particular piece, which was composed by JS Bach, the energy of Myleene Klass’ performance epitomises exactly the madness I am experiencing at this particular moment in time, nothing quite like running around as a freshly beheaded chicken, or in my case, an old rooster.

Mmmm, *thinks* , as my head rotates on top of my shoulders like Linda Blair in the 1973 film The Exorcist. My bathing routine, and my many potions, lotions  and ointments have to remain here in-house, I cannot bear to move my well tried and routined layout of L’Oreal for Men and my supersoft fluffy non monogrammed towels, apart from that, and thinking ahead it will also give me an excuse to return each day to check up on the idiot builders renovating the apartment upstairs, Yes, STILL ! So far so good, but, exposed water pipes are as susceptible to fracture as is a team of hairy ass builder’s size 12 plus feet coming through my exposed ceiling as most of the floorboards are lifted.

I realise that after opening the fridge door, and inspecting the contents, there appears to be more fresh air than anything else, and guessing that one cannot survive on “tossed salad and scrambled eggs”[1] alone, I have to consider now that I’m almost totally off grid, it looks like my only form of human contact is going to have to be the delivery driver from Sainsburys, so, armed with my money off online shopping voucher I slip out of my LBN, kick my heels off, let my hair down and go wild in the virtual aisle. Many add to carts later, and im able to checkout without having to confront the usual surly bitches who insist on throwing my items down the packaging area as hard and as fast as possible. With a nice sigh I logout of my account and whisper sarcastically “Phase one, Complete”[2]

[1] Title song to Frasier.                                                                                                                              [2] Title to S1, Episode 9 (2&Half Men)