Have you ever written what you thought was your best paragraph ever and then totally deleted it on purpose?

Yeah, right!

Good afternoon,

What a beautiful day, and realised perhaps its time to purchase some decent garden furniture, so its time to use the trusty old internet it is, what a marvelous invention it is, pity really, because I would have prefered visiting a garden centre to actually wiggle my back side in the seat or check the table is at the right height for dining, I can be such a pain in the butt, but, needs must, however, it’s going to be pot luck this time.

This time last year, I was watching another of my favourite shows from Frasier, the one where ….. Ros Doyle sets the Cherries Jubilee alight, just makes me giggle, which at the moment isn’t as much as I should, but, with co-ordination from my G.P. today he finally got my prescription correct for my Class ! Controlled drugs, he’s such a sweet man. 🙂

Finally ordered the dogs monthly food for delivery, sadly, the proprietor miscalculated the order and had to squeeze another £24 out of me, it’s for the “children” so what can you do, bless ’em.

Date 21 May 2002

Fourth week into Covid 19 lockdown.

All going stir crazy here although scooped a social distancing network for food and bits and pieces, milk delivers at 02:55am, Thursday Fruit and Veg box, Friday Artisan bread, butter, savouries etc and a few freebies from Dan the propritor, he’s a lovely young man with a penchant for finding a spare 94 seconds, personally, i think he needs a little snip of his vas deferens or a quick surprise visit in the night to his testicles by two red bricks.

Awaiting a phone call from my GP surgery, my prescription of morphine based tablets has been messed about with, and somebody, goodness knows who has taken it upon themselves to lower the dosage, and without consultation to me either. The only way i can get relief is to top it up with ibuprofen, which isnt safe as i already take blood thinners …. anyway, a head chewing awaits an incompetant buffoon.

Watching Two and half men last eve, “Charlies Journal” is that it reads similar to mine, everything appears anything and negative and always written through a deceased mind. I’l try to update mine to the positive so you can all laugh “Monday 20 April, 2020. Wet my fresh new pants whilst on toilet, seems im not as well built as i use to be, be good at getting into small spaces now especially between the rim and toilet seat”

Hope that made you laugh?

Over & Out!

The idea of a vanity card is to share whats happened in the past 24 hours, its like a diary insert, or something silly, or even sad, todays is taken from the U.S.Sitcom “Frasier S3,Ep1

If you are a Frasierite then you will understand, if not ‘google’ it

Dark are the lights

Switches turned to off

Talks of ghosts & frights

Torches down to not on

Shadows creep behind ones own deep thoughts

Who cares he shouts …. I’ve had enough

Of this malarkey of ghouls and empty souls

Buckets of misery and empty bowls

Spines a tingle, fingers they do roam

Up behind ones neck and many more erogenous zones <grins>

Modern Technology Sucks

I’m laid out prostate on my bed and i cannot move for my back has seized, so I thought I’d make my fiancé’s day by surprising him with a FaceTime session, he answers my request with a Victorian attitutude of obnoxiousness and tells me to ring back later as he’s watching the television …

How fucking rude is that!

What comes immediately to mind?

The futility of love,

the disappointment of family

or the inevability of death ?

The bats in my head flutter about as i try to establish how to publish my recent deep and sad dark thoughts. For every downside there is an up, and so as the balance of nature and its equilibrium and every hope of reality being restored, a decision to portray my rollercoaster ride will hopefully make you cry tears, or roll about with extreme laughter, exactly in which order I have no idea.

One of the many things that plague me are the dark matters that follow me with the passing of time during the festival of the decade change.

Sleeping most of the first day of 2020 isn’t good unless you are mentally and physically eradicating demons from years previous, nineteen hours of the first day is more than three quarters of the travelling year,

2019, has been the worst year ever for both our troubled souls, negativity swirls around like two silk scarf spinning opposingly  creating a vortex as it gets bigger.

My medication really is for mad men and monsters, my head spins like Kylie, around and around. Physical twitches and involuntary limb reactions never fail to move me.

Kirsty Allsop gave me this inspiration, she mentioned on one of her inaign property programmes that to get a different perspective of the size of a room, was to lay on ones back on the floor of same room and stare up at the ceiling.

I went one better, it works amazingly if one is sufficiently fuelled with alcohol.

(Lays on floor and looks around, clockwise, or is it anti-clockwise)

“Looking upside down from under the stars. A Wolf howls up at the moon. Goldfish live forever in glass bowls and candles burn light many years from Mars. Cactus and wash buckets each side of the mantle and Dilbert stares out further than he can handle.

Digital clock & temperature rise, humidity stays stable and the wren and shell and mouse stare hypnotised with stupidity, Silver birch & floral trees, (honey) bees with hairy knees transferring pollen, golden oaks, fine hunny trees and sunshine a golden.

Crystal glaze & Doulton Blue, figures of porcelain and pots, held by glue, ceramics, old and new, ancient, dug up, repaired, cared for. Shells full of badness and worries, others empty full of sadness, a hymn framed upon eye level, synonymous of town and much drivel.

Dogs ears broken, pup faces smiling, thirty individual perforations framed infinity delivers great Cathedral cobwebs, party fairies, wooden poles and wafer thin glass, radiators bursting with joy, their heat and job, deployed.

Log burner burns, insignificant electric logs, rotations on a cycle, heat it does not! Second hand mirror, baroque and pale, displays the future, of those who ail and deep down behind in the silver, images of those dead it can deliver.

Italian marble all carved to perfection, grimy with years of lives imperfections, it stand almost as high as my clavicle, a true debate of minuscule debacle.

Wood toothpicks await their fate, of digging out detritus of plaque and hate, and when its time to switch the lights off, press a remote button, the night darkness is high, doff your hat and say goodnigh goodnigh.

Black, brown or candle stick grey, Imagine structures both thick and tall, clay moulders hands and delicate actions, eyes closed”

Crazy huh?