El Tercer Dia …. ‘imagines’

13913742_1411198365562160_8586392182491217869_oLess than a month to go and I shall be in Mallorca with Super-Dude celebrating my birthday in style.

You may have noticed that I have been incorporating a few words ‘Español’ in recent titles, todays title translates to “On the third day”*

Imagines …. So, the heat is absolutely stifling, 29C, however, just being able to sit under the awning with a gentle breeze compensates. The Serra de Tramuntana mountain range stand high and way back in the far distance behind the town, its cold wind collects the heat off the land en-route before it eventually spreads its veil of warmth over the resort including myself and everyone else praying homage to the golden sun high above ….

With with an old Polaroid camera, a sketch pad, some colouring pens and a notebook, I sit quietly taking in all the surroundings, ideas for a best seller or a TV series is hard work. However, I might add, I am not too far away from sight or earshot of the busy camarero and of course my dear companion who will accompany me shortly with a swim in the pool, followed by a Xocolata frió i Tia Maria.


Adios mi amigos.


Dia Dos …. “Magic Sausages”

What on earth …. six-forty-five a.m. and I’m letting the water out of the bath. I have already been wallowing for fifteen minutes up to my neck in Tea-Tree bubbles, today as I was feeling generous, I added a little something extra, a small teardrop of Dettol. I shouldn’t knock it folks, it certainly hasn’t done me any harm at all and is an often addition to my personal cleansing routine.

Head-boy and two of the three prefects are still snoozing, Willow is laid out on the floor by the side of the bath, she too has had her bubbles, a game we often play, I cup a handful of soapy bubbles and blow them at her, she then does her crocodile impressions, it never fails to make me laugh and a routine she adores. Her eyes glisten as she intently stares at me just incase another cloud of these scented orbs head toward her. Enough of the sleep, with her desire for food the hungry hound trots off to the kitchen entrance, perfectly sat to attention midway in the door,  her routine as always ….. *my breakfast before daddy* she sings to herself.

The early morning sun is now pouring into the courtyard, the bathroom is already sucking in the warmth and being able to dry oneself with a soft towel in a warm environment is always a luxury, whereas this room, which is situated at the far end of the south wing tucked into the cliff will be as cold as a mortuary freezer in just a few months time.

The hounds have now been hungered and having over shadowed them whilst they exercise their essential bimble ensuring that their security perimeter checks have been completed, its indoors now for the crew of four and the obligatory postbrek-sleep

The desire to obliterate my pangs lead me straight to the Bearded Baker and his coffee shop for breakfast. I order my toasted sandwich, managing to hoist myself upon a bar stool I notice the headline on todays toe-rag, it reads “Bronze for Daley and Goodfellow”

From photograph printed, it looks like its “Magic sausages” all round ….. Perfect !




Dia Uno …. Licensed To Drill

P1010853.jpgAnd here we go again, early start, Super-dude and Mrs Sally Sat-Nav have left us all behind here at the happy ranch out on the isthmus and are heading back to their Motherland.

(Without Prejudice) 

Destination home of the original Dagenham dustbin, the Ford Escort. Where sun-bed tanning salons have more hours clocked up than Marbella has actual sun. The white sock is de-rigueur and there are more pupils in a classroom named after a grape variety than any wine region in the Southern Hemisphere. This Motherland in question of course happens to be Essex, that’s if you hadn’t already sussed that bit out.

(I jest of course) 

In a way I envy the Super-dude, off to see his dear Mum, in another I know how hard it is when a parent gets older. And as a loving child, one does what one has to. Now matter what a four-day visit will put her to ease and her world to rights. I sure wish I could see my Mother again.

Anyway, that’s enough of the maudlin stuff …. back to the day ahead.

The slightest of noise and the four mutts ears fire up, ‘Head-boy’ leads his little rejects straight into choir practice, whooping and Aroo-ing [1] in unison, this has to stop, and stop it does RIGHT NOW. In my big daddy P voice I point at them and shout out ‘I WILL NOT HAVE THIS BEHAVIOUR’ as each one scuttle off to their individual stations, indiscrete grumbles and profanities can be heard as they mutter under their breaths.

The front gate opens, it’s the delivery man, he arrives juggling a large box of doggy dietary goodness for the unruly bunch and his “gizmo signing thingy”. We briefly exchange a few loud nice words over the noise of the frothing mass, the scoundrels are kicking off yet again. Already this early in the morning and I am exhausted, a promise to finish this damned kitchen alteration is paramount, it has to be. After nine weeks of on-off, on-off, and passing crates of dirty dishes over the fence to a neighbourly dishwasher the final hurdle is in sight. I shall certainly breathe a sigh of relief as soon as complete, talk about everything but, and a kitchen sink!

Day of all days, an email pops up, item I listed on an internet auction site reads ‘SOLD’.   So its tools down, a definite change of priorities, time to pack same said item, and get into town to post as promised, quick payers always get priority treatment, as is right and polite.

The BIG rigid book of ultimatum is read aloud to the mutineers “I will NOT be held to ransom AND do NOT even start to think about it.”  Flames shoot out from behind my flip-flops like a hot-rod at a drag race doing the quarter-mile as I head toward Brixham. Small talk from my once school friend now the Post Mistress puts our world to rights too. The ever favoured routine of popping into see the *me* from “and Millie” with my usual very sugary Double Espresso ensures my battery is recharged for the return leg.

Four very happy wagging tails greet me back at the institution.  No guilty faces. No mess. No upturned waste basket. Not a single peak ….. Surprising just what the threat of being recorded can do eh!  … ChewStix all round me thinks.

Kitchen? … pfft, there’s always tomorrow. I know, I know, a day less to complete, but do we have the technology? … Yes we can!

[1] Whooping and Aroo-ing = Howling their tits off.

See you all tomorrow.




Retro Day 7 …. all day I dream about sex



I hope you look after your footwear as well as I do. These Adidas trainers, pictured, and to my understanding, are now at least fifteen years old,  I bought them then, second-hand, on an internet auction site, for less than ten pounds. Not bad eh!

Unfortunately, these trainers were not handcrafted by a blind man who sat in the shade under a tree on the edge of a road in a Tuscan village, but by many individuals sitting or kneeling at a production line sweating profusely. So, there was never likely to be any Cathedral bells rung in celebration each time a pair of these were completed, just another output number displayed in a packaging and dispatch area.

Adidas, to my knowledge were one of the original Retro sportswear manufacturers, then along popped Kappa and Nike and many others, but the Samba has always remained a firm classic.

At one point this original design was taken out of production and an eventual reinstatement realised just how popular original demand was. None of this ‘glow in the sole insanity or multi coloured uppers’ ever worked for me. All I need is just the three stripes to make a statement, a clear indicator these were made by Adidas. Every time I see the same said word, I tend to repeat the mantra which takes each individual alpha that makes the word up and chant “All Day I Dream About Sex”, of course, that stems back to my teenage years and many long ones ago. Dream about sex all day? …. I probably once did!

Sadly now, these trusty blue samba’s are a little like myself and are getting rather frayed around the edges, and its now time to replace these once fine pieces of workmanship with another pair.

Have you noticed the immense choice of these sporty accoutrements in the sport chain and department stores, its ridiculous. However I am easily pleased, nope, none of that torment, staring at huge walls, all lined up, hundreds of them, touching the shape and being told,”don’t get much call for a size seven these days” Instead, I will be scouring the internet again for a second-hand pair, although with my tiny hoofs, it will be like finding a needle in a haystack, but that’s all part of the chase. No doubt if you are anything like me and you see something you like or are familiar with, no doubt you would normally goes to the ends of the earth to try to find it.

So folks, you will have to excuse me now, as i’m about to fire up my rocket with the retro blasters on. Off in search of the elusive Blue Samba, a rare species in decline and not that far away from extinction.

Fortunately us old poachers know how to keep an old relic or two alive, and make good use of them. Will I be hanging these old ones up as a trophy on display?  No, instead I shall just give them a decent send off and remember them with great fondness.

Retro day 6 …. Help!


This L.P. “Help” by the Beatles was released in the U.K.on August 6th 1965, I can honestly say this is my favourite all time album ever, I adore the film as well.

Fifty years has almost passed, and the construction of some of these tracks is brilliant, and as far as im concerned cannot be beaten.

Enjoy …… and as Cher once said, “follow that you biatches” !

Retro Day 5 …. Levi 501’s


One of the biggest decisions I had to make as a teenager was to which brand of Denim jeans would I wear. Ultimately, once a decision has been made on the make and style, usually one carries on wearing that same brand.

At the age of seventeen, with an uncontrollable amount of testosterone raging through my veins and at a time when most of us lads were learning how to drive, or were hopelessly trying to get it off with the girls and also getting jiggy with it. If you knew what that meant and were able to, you were lucky, and especially if your hips where lose enough on the disco-dance floor.

A big factor concerned then, was as in fashion now. Who did one actually wear? And not what one was actually wearing! I’m sure you probably have all heard that statement by now.

The three main contenders available were Wrangler, Lee Cooper and Levi Strauss,  and with a trim twenty-eight inch waist and a decent amount of Gluteus Maximus, that criteria certainly annihilated the Wranglers as they pushed my buns flat. The Lee’s were a definite no-no, they just didn’t cut the mustard for me, I think it was the stitching!!  But the Levis, just had the finishing touch which kind of gently rounded up the produce and pushed the junk in the trunk nicely forward.

Of course, at the time, Levis were far pricier than the other two contenders. Only the best for me I thought and then the conclusion of deciding what style to choose. Somewhere in my travels I had noticed a role model wearing the 501’s, thin leg, slightly stone washed, bottom fly button undone. Yes, it was a guy from my home town, absolutely stunning he was, I should have realised then that something was up, as I was soon to learn the reason why the lower button was left unattended.

It would seem I had already made my lifetime choice and that being many years previous. Sadly the only problem I encounter every time I purchase same, is the leg length, and being vertically challenged the minimum available is a 32 inch inside leg, my crotch to hem measures only twenty-seven and one half inches. At least now you realise just how I managed to be honoured with the nick name of ‘Stumpy’. Once my dear ageing seamstress has done her magic, there is always enough remaining to possibly make a scarf !

The television adverts for Levi Strauss have been running for many years, scenes including Drug Stores, Prison, Elevators, Oil rigs, washroom, both Gay & lesbians have been featured, even the cuddly toy Flat Eric, Mermaids, Kung Fu scenes and an original made in 1970 with Hippy cartoon characters as if on a psychedelic trip.

Of all the commercials made for Levis, my favourite has to be the classic Launderette scene with Nick Kamen and I certainly wouldn’t believe you if you told me it wasnt yours and I am aiming this statement to both man and woman.

So, even now at my age, I can still manage to squeeze into what I consider the best brand name for Denim, however, you wouldn’t have ever caught me in double denim, that has never been my style.