Goodbye Christopher Robin.

My post today will be very short, although I would like to write the entire story it would unfortunately spoil your enjoyment should you follow my suggestion.

I last night watched the film “Goodbye Christopher Robin,” I found it on Sky Cinema but I suspect you can buy the DVD and I can’t recommend it highly enough.

As someone who cries at the drop of a hat this moving film tells the story of A A Milne and his son Christopher and the writing of Winnie the Pooh.

Should you follow my suggestion and watch the film have your handkerchief at the ready, it’s a wonderful story which I’m sure you’ll enjoy.

Image result for Winnie the pooh

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Daily Word Prompt, Hither.

I have had a very busy day today but seeing the selected word for today I thought, “that’s easy I can bash off a quick post on this subject very easily.”

It seemed obvious to start at the beginning so I started typing, “Adolph Hitler invaded Poland on 1st September 1939.” It was at this point that I noticed I had misread the chosen word, well it had been a very busy day.

I don’t have time to write anything else tonight so you’ll just have to make do with this and a very tasteful photograph of Adolph Hither!

Image result for Adolf Hitler

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I may be leaving you.

I may be leaving you, I don’t want to but there is no makeshift way of doing this, I wish to change the website address for this site to be more professional as I’m led to believe the ending is not professional enough.

Those of you who may have read some of my previous posts will know I am a complete Luddite with regard to computer stuff so it rather feels like I am about to whisked off for major surgery uncertain whether I shall see you all on the other side.



There is always a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow so they say and I hope they’re right as I have no wish for the serpent to bite me and cause me to return to the early days of blogging when I had no followers at all, I’ve only recently got used to the idea of having them.

As I’ve said before my knowledge of computer stuff is limited, I have no idea what a cookie does and have only recently got the idea of a ping back.


I don’t have to worry too much as my friend who was going to assist with the changeover is now unavailable but should I suddenly disappear off the radar do try to find me on and to all those who realised I was taking part in the 3TC challenge PL32 and the FOWC with Fandango please enjoy this post, assuming of course that the pingbacks work!

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This is my entry to the Daily Word Prompt; Treasure.

I make no excuses for this being a shameless excuse to promote my latest children’s book, Norman the pirate which is a story of pirates, treasure and oddly enough flower arranging. The book is available on both and


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Word of the day. Fire.

The Word of the day challenge is fire, the subject of which immediately shot into my mind however I must warn readers that the subject matter is a little shocking perhaps.

My post today concerns the work of Archie McIndoe and his work at Queen Victoria Hospital in East Grinstead, Surrey and his amazing and at the time ground breaking experimental reconstructive plastic surgery.

In 1941 The Guinea Pig Club was formed as a social club and mutual support network for British and allied aircrew who were injured by fire during World War Two. The fact that it was a drinking club was somewhat controversial as allowing patients to drink, sing and play the piano was definitely not the conventional route for recuperation at the time.

Image result for the guinea pig club

One of the most important developments was the walking skin graft whereby a pedicle of skin which had a blood supply was kept attached to a graft to keep the supply of blood to the injury and therefore keep the graft alive. The use of salt water baths was also used as they noticed it was beneficial to healing from observations from the airmen who had landed  in the sea.

Image result for the guinea pig club

The Guinea Pig Club had its own anthem which was sung to the tune Aurelia by Samuel Sebastian Wesley also known as the hymn The Church’s One Foundation.

We are McIndoe’s army,
We are his Guinea Pigs.
With dermatomes and pedicles,
Glass eyes, false teeth and wigs.
And when we get our discharge
We’ll shout with all our might:
Per ardua ad astra
We’d rather drink than fight.

John Hunter runs the gas works,
Ross Tilley wields the knife.
And if they are not careful
They’ll have your flaming life.
So, Guinea Pigs, stand ready
For all your surgeon’s calls:
And if their hands aren’t steady
They’ll whip off both your ears.

We’ve had some mad Australians,
Some French, some Czechs, some Poles.
We’ve even had some Yankees,
God bless their precious souls.
While as for the Canadians –
Ah! That’s a different thing.
They couldn’t stand our accent
And built a separate Wing.

We are McIndoe’s army,
(As first verse)


Amazing work by some extremely clever surgeons and some very courageous airmen, well done those men. “Per ardua ad astra.”

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The pitfalls of double kissing.

I went last night to my local Bentley Drivers Club Noggin and Natter and was faced with the usual dilemma, how to greet people correctly especially with regard to kissing.

The meeting is usually a chat and a meal in the evening although sometimes it might be at a different time of day and have brunch.

Most of the members are of a certain age, certainly not millennial’s and from the chart below some would be The Silent Generation, although even the older members can make themselves heard more than adequately when they have to turn up the volume.

Many of the older chaps are a font of knowledge were the old cars are concerned and one can always someone to assist with a problem should you consult the correct oracle.

The vast majority are Baby Boomers, including myself with a smattering of Generation X which makes greeting the male half of the members very easy as there is a certain empathy between fellow Bentley drivers.

  • The Silent Generation: Born 1928-1945 (73-90 years old)
  • Baby Boomers: Born 1946-1964 (54-72 years old)
  • Generation X: Born 1965-1980 (38-53 years old)
  • Millennials: Born 1981-1996 (22-37 years old)

The usual greeting for any of the chaps is a firm handshake, unlike the youth of today who seem to wish to enter into some sort of arm wrestling contest followed by dragging the poor unsuspecting victim to their chest and patting them firmly on the back, which to us older chaps is a little over the top to say the least.

The problem I find most perplexing is that of kissing the ladies when greeting, especially as we now have the more modern way with the double kiss, I am always lost as to which side to start first, one doesn’t want the temperature to rise too much with this act for heaven fore-fend that these actions might be confused with passion.

Having consulted Debrett’s who have been in the business of etiquette for over 250 years I can see from the guidelines below that I should start kissing the right cheek first, which may go some way to explain my confusion as I have a natural urge to start with the left.

Kissing Guidelines
Social kissing varies according to the age of the people involved. Older people may not want to be kissed at all and even if they do not mind they often only expect one kiss. The double kiss, which is usually the man kissing the woman’s right cheek first, is the norm among younger people.

An air kiss, with no contact at all, may seem rude or impersonal, but at least it is not intrusive – it is simply a social kiss, not a sign of affection to a loved one. A very slight contact is best, and no sound effects are needed.

Having read learned and inwardly digested the above information I look forward with gusto to our next meeting where I shall put the information into practice.

I am delighted to have finished this post, especially as I have completed the Word of the day Challenge, Passion. The Ragtag Daily Promt, Temperature and the FOWC Challenge, Empathy. The writing of the above post took some considerable time most of which was placing the pingbacks in the text and if all goes well and it actually works I have to thank The Ragtag Daily Prompt for being the first person who has actually written a description which seems to make sense of how to do the damn things!

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I went into my local Indian restaurant.

Many years ago I used an Indian restaurant and mentioned it in a post yesterday, this was in response to a post by Bryan Fagan on his blog A Crack in the Pavement which was about writing long hand.

I mentioned that many years ago I used my local Indian restaurant and used to write in long hand having eaten and then drunk a few pints of lager, to which he responded that he’d like to see what I wrote at the end of the night.

When you drink on a regular basis you tend to stay fairly sober, however some nights when I had consumed  a few more pints I would need to translate the scribble I had written at the end of the evening.

Over the course of years some strange and interesting things happened in my local Indian some of which I had made a note of and always thought I would write a book containing these anecdotes, I never wrote the book!

I moved away some years ago now and the place closed down which I thought was a shame as it never gained Listed building status, you don’t see flock wallpaper any more.

However it just occurred to me it might be fun as a blog post so anyone can add comments as I’m sure I’m not the only one to have experienced strange events when eating out.

Please enjoy reading and if you have a funny or interesting story about eating out please add them to the comments.




Thirty years ago I went to my local Indian restaurant, it was the opening night.

At the time I didn’t live locally nor did I expect to still be using the same restaurant

some thirty years later.



I went to my local Indian restaurant, there was a group of deaf people frantically talking together using sign language. The room was full of conversation, but no sound.




When I first went into my local Indian restaurant I was the only bloke who would go there and eat alone. Over the years others have followed my example. I felt I made a mark for single mans lib. I still await the women to follow suit




An elderly man who I thought was a school teacher always came with his wife and preceded to verbally brow beat her all evening. She never fought back. I always wondered why not?




Two elderly ladies came into my local Indian restaurant, they looked as if they might have been gay. I hope they were lovers, to be friends would be too dull.




A group of musicians from Albania came into my local Indian restaurant, how interesting was that. They didn’t come back. They were on a world tour.




A very large man came into my local Indian restaurant with his girl friend. They proceeded to have a row, whereupon she exclaimed.

“I’m pregnant with his child and normally he’s a very nice man.”

Sadly he started to eat the wine glasses and was eventually evicted by nine police officers. I found out the next day that he beat up his girlfriend and the taxi driver who was unlucky enough to take them home.




I used to go into my local Indian restaurant many years ago with my then girlfriend. She was slightly taller than me, slightly younger than me, and much more attractive than me. She was also black and at the time very much in love with me. So, why was everyone looking at us.




I’ve been going into my local Indian restaurant for over thirty years. I should have started taking notes years ago.




The first time I went to my local Indian restaurant and needed a wee and the mens loo was engaged, I sneaked into the ladies. What a revelation, it was immaculate. I had become used to the gents which were frequently like a pig sty.




I went into my local Indian restaurant having just seen the film Oscar, based on the life of Oscar Wilde. Tragic how they destroyed such a talented man and his only crime as they saw it. “The love that dare not speak it’s name.”

Although perhaps they really punished him for his arrogance rather than his sexual persuasion.




A group of very odd looking people came into my local Indian restaurant. They looked like a sad dating agency group. Whatever they were, they were perfectly behaved and left.



I went into my local Indian restaurant prior to the Iraq war. The waiters asked me if I thought the Americans would bomb Iraq. I said “yes they would bomb the shit out of the place.” They didn’t believe me and seemed to have some miss guided belief that Saddam Hussein was some how invincible. I wondered why.




I went to my local Indian restaurant, I’d just finished playing the butler in The Importance of Being Earnest at Wimbledon Theatre. Although the run had finished I was still on a high, it was a good evening. That’s why we are prepared to work for nothing. Who else would do that.




The dullest man in the world came into my local Indian restaurant. I believe he was an accountant, which perhaps explained it. He later came in with an even duller friend. What had I done to deserve that.




I went into my local Indian restaurant, two young people were sharing an ice cream. They were feeding each other. How romantic.




I went into my local Indian restaurant and two men came in discussing their children and school. They discussed a school play where one of the boys had performed an amazing dance number and how brilliant it was. What progress, not that many years ago he would have been called a bloody poof.




I went into my local Indian restaurant and while I was there I wrote another children’s story, it didn’t get published. It made some children who read it happy and kept me fairly sane while I was writing it. Everything in life has a purpose.




I went into my local Indian restaurant with my mother who had come to stay with me for a year after my father’s death. She was well into her seventies and this was the first time she’d been in an Indian restaurant, Sad what a sheltered life my mum and dad had led.




I went into my local Indian restaurant, it was busy and as usual I used the loo. The seat was covered in piss splashes. How come most men can find a vagina and insert their penis in this comparatively small orifice. Yet with a target as large as a toilet bowl they miss every time. After using the loo I took some toilet paper and carefully wiped the seat. I hate doing this but don’t want the next person in to think it was me who made the mess. Why am I the only person who ever does this.




I went into my local Indian restaurant after watching a television programme about Muslim women complaining that they were not allowed to prey in the Mosque with the men. I was going to ask the Muslim waiters why this was but I knew all they would come up with would be a load of bollocks. Sometimes I haven’t the energy to try to have a sensible discussion with them.




Many years ago I went into my local Indian restaurant and sat and chain smoked all night, I was a nicotine addict. I believe in freedom so don’t feel the need to apologise.




Recently I went into my local Indian restaurant having given up smoking for five years. The couple on the table next to me smoked all night. As an ex eighty Marlboro a day man I felt it would be a little hypocritical to complain.




I went into my local Indian restaurant, sometimes I get depressed, I’m sure I’m affected by the moon. It’s like I’m on the verge of tears, but being alone with my thoughts for the evening sometimes pulls me out of it. Sometimes it doesn’t.




Two older men came into my local Indian restaurant. One dressed in a very expensive and smart suit, the other in scruffy trousers and a jumper. One had a full curry with all the trimmings and the other had an omelette and asked for brown sauce. Oddly the sophisticated looking one in the smart suit had the omelette with brown sauce.




A girl and two boys came into my local Indian restaurant. They moaned during the course of the meal and refused to pay at the end. They became somewhat aggressive and as the only customer left I tried to assist the waiters in getting payment, only for the two boys to pick on me. My bravado was backed up by the fact that one of the waiters had called the police in a voice loud enough for them to hear. Eventually they got bored made the girl pay and left. I was a little upset that the police hadn’t arrived sooner. I was even more upset when the waiter informed me he hadn’t really called the police he was just pretending. I was somewhat lost for words.




I don’t think the décor in my local Indian restaurant has changed since opening night.

It won’t take many more years for it to become a listed building.




A large group of men, about twenty or more came into my local Indian restaurant. How strange to see such a large group of men with no women with them. The first time they came in they told my friend they were a religious group and later a rugby team. Although to look at them they looked a little old for rugby. Perhaps they were vicars who played in a seniors rugby team. I suppose they would always win having God on their side.




I have been using my local Indian restaurant for over thirty years. The food is excellent but the service is abysmal especially for those of us who have been going in for some years. Sadly familiarity breeds contempt.




I went into my local Indian and had my usual meal and went rather reluctantly down the road to a pub I don’t usually use but an acquaintance was having her birthday party there. Two chaps were in the bar, one with a Staffordshire Bull Terrier  and the other with a Bullmastif  were goading each other all night. Finally the one with the Bull Terrier went over to the other chap whereupon his dog leapt at the neck of the Bullmastif, unfortunately I had chosen this moment to go to the bar and was trapped between the bar and the dogs. The owner of the Bull Terrier then pulled hard on his dogs lead, I don’t know if this was to get his dog to release or what but the end result was that his dog would not let go and was therefore left swinging in the air somewhere about my lower chest area. “This is fun,” I thought, “I’m so glad we came in here!” Eventually the dogs separated and the fellows made up. Just another example of what happens when you go into your local Indian.



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