82. 31.03.2012 after a dip in the sea.

82. 31.03.2012 after a dip in the sea.

A dip in the sea in March. Not everyone’s idea of pleasure, but if you’re a fearless three year old boy, swollen feet, throbbing arthritis, rheumatism, blue legs,  poor circulation, chilled kidneys, frost bite and plaid blankets across the knees are the last thing on your mind.

However the chills from the thrills and spills of ten minutes in the Irish Sea in March culminating in  wet  underpants, chapped legs and sand between flesh and t-shirt are not things that should be mocked or made light of. Especially when one is  in a cafe trying to enjoy a well deserved ice-lolly and orange juice . Unfortunately, grown ups don’t always understand this and expect a three year old to be smiling and happy all the time.

I’m sure every person with memories of being a three year old will recall the intense annoyance having a grown up grab hold of your hand and slap you around the face whilst repeatedly warning you not to slap yourself because it will hurt.  And then there’s that thing that grown-ups do when they force your face to smile.
Most adults hate it when it’s done to them, and John is no exception. Some of our classic rows with the exception of the all time hum-dinger that revolved around a bottle of red wine, most, if not all have had their roots in me holding him down and slapping him with his own palm. Other notable rows ballooned when I tried moving his mouth to look like he was smiling when he was in a thrashingly atrocious mood. And yet, here he is, doing it to a defenceless 3 year old.

The three year old by the way is stopping with us this weekend along with his brother, his  mum, and their grandmother, who to be brutally frank all have miserable looking faces and thrashingly bad moods.

It looks like being a long, long long weekend.

82. 30.03.2012 Wood fire

Just another sunset, just the same sun, just the same woods and just the same branches. Yet it looks different every time. 

The good thing about the clocks changing is that the sun is still awake when the boss at the office has released the shackles for the day. My boss is notoriously bad and not only shackles me to my desk but whips me senseless several times during the day as well. She’s also rigged up a system that gives me an electric shock whenever my hands leave the keyboard.   She seems to enjoy it though and with appraisals coming up, it’s probably best not to complain.  

The evenings may be longer but on  the downside it’s dark in the morning again, not that the birds or  the gulls give a hoot, but there again they wouldn’t  and if they did they would be known as owls.  At the moment they start  chorusing long before it gets light.

Another sunset on another spring evening on the Little Orme.

 
Now then, there it was, a picture and a post without offence.  Now there’s a first.  Wonder which pillock with a puckered mouth like a cat’s arse or fat arsed yank   is going to report me today?

81. 29.03.2012 Last year's corn

81. 29.03.2012 Last year’s corn.

Corn on the cob. What’s the point of it? Unless you are eight feet tall, have a fetish for   leotards made from  generic leaves and stand around with your hands on your hips laughing hysterically at bugger only knows, you probably can’t see the point in it either.
Now, without been too crass, we all know what happens when you eat  corn whether it’s buttered, barbequed, grilled or popped, the results are always the same.   Yes, you get bits stuck under your plates.  That’s why old people want to see it made illegal. The other thing that happens is... well... they just shoot straight through you with alarming speed and come out at the other end looking not much dissimilar than when they went in.   Just like something that Jeremy Clarkson might rave on about, just like the latest Hyunshitsi  whatever,  they can get up to   0 to 50 in ten seconds. To put that into digestive terms, you could have a nicely roasted corn on the cob for your main course and by the time you’re pointing at the cake of your choice on the sweet trolley, they’ll be all lined up  ready and waiting in the departure lounge. A bit like packed suitcases in a hallway just before the taxi comes to take you to the airport. And they’ll be raring to go. As will you.

A lot of corn is grown for cows to eat, and having an inquiring mind, I’ve been probing cow pats of recent times to find out whether our bovine friends have the same issues as we do. I’m dropping my findings  into a spreadsheet and  shall keep you all posted.
In the meantime, today’s picture was taken on the top of Bryn Pydew where the remains of last year’s corn harvest can still be seen on the heavy red clay soil.

80. 28.03.2012 Now in blog form

Well I’ve resisted for long enough, but now here it is the Picture of the day as a blog. I’ve no idea how it works or how people read it, but people have been whining on at me to do it for years. Perhaps this is the beginning of the end of my unhealthy obsession with Facebook.

Today was the umpteenth nice day in a row, unheard of for this little island, but just as we get to think it’s normal the weather experts are telling us it’s about to change. There again, they told us we were in for a long hard, ball freezing  winter  but with the exception of a cold snap at the start of the year and some well recorded  wet snow in London,  that didn’t happen. Neither did last year’s BBQ summer. So perhaps it won’t be too bad this weekend after all. 

However, the government issued sound and sensible advice this afternoon. Mr Cameron soundly and sensibly advised us to  “make sure that you have enough petrol in your tank if you are planning to go somewhere in your car.”   Sound and sensible advise indeed another clear signal that we are all in this together. Just make sure you panic buy and think of yourself.

So as another petrol crisis looms and that trip to the beach looks like it won’t be happening, prepare yourself for widespread coverage and panic mongering on all the news channels.  Wall to wall library pictures and stock footage of queues at petrol stations on a constant loop.  I’m sure some of the footage was filmed during the three day week in the 70s. All your favourite local news reporters reporting live from forecourts with the the generic array of youths on bikes gesturing in the background. A  map of the worst affected areas in the country, but only if it happens to be London and the South East.  Clever graphics will be used to show the problem, a jerry can for example in varying degrees of emptiness.  And don’t forget the token  double-barrelled mother complaining that she  can’t do the ½ mile school run each day  as a river of petrol dribbles out of the overfull  4x4 petrol tank. “Just how am I going to get  Farquar and Clamidia to school?” she will bemoan, with a botoxed look of horror on the end of her nose.
  So if you’re planning a weekend at the beach, make sure you top up with petrol  at every station you  pas, and make sure you have several jerry cans in the boot, along with your shovels and warm blankets as the weathermen have predicted the weather is going to take a turn for the worse.

Anyhow, for those of you who can’t get to the beach this weekend, here’s a picture of some people enjoying a lovely spring day on the beach at Dwygyfylchi.

my first blog

My first blog. Ever. Not sure how to do it, or who will read it.