The Diary of a Country Bumpkin

Song

There used to be a football song, I assume it still exists which went “you only sing when you’re winning, you only sing when you’re winning,sing when you’re winning, you only sing when you’re winning.” It was sung to a traditional Cuban song and was made famous by the Sandpipers in 1966.

The only other football song I know is “You’ll never walk alone,” which I think is always associated with Liverpool, but actually came from the West End musical Carousel.

This is virtually the sum total of my knowledge of football and yet I have written a children’s book on the subject, I cannot tell you how much messing around it took to get the thing uploaded properly but, I think it is now available at the right size, with the right colour illustrations and all the other paraphernalia correct for printing on Amazon.

I would ask you to follow the link and purchase the book, Nobby Brasso football star, just to make all my hard work worth the effort. Thank you.

PLEASE CLICK ON THE BUY ON AMAZON BOX.

Disrupt

I started this blog about one and a half hours ago but as usual I was disrupted and have only now come back to start the damn thing and with it now being some considerable time since I first set my brain into activation, I can honestly say I’ve completely lost what little train of thought I had at the outset.

Most of the time the things that disrupt the smooth running of my idyllic life are also the most frustrating as generally speaking they have nothing whatsoever to do with logic or common sense in any way shape or form.

Some of you may have noticed that I quite enjoy writing and have written a book of plays, a play about a friendly fire incident on day three of World War Two, a radio play produced by the Wireless Theatre Company and most recently a short children’s story book. Whilst writing is fairly time consuming, it is nothing compared to the utter disruption and confusion caused when I attempt to publish them on kdp publishing.

I have absolutely no idea why the people who run the self publishing companies seem to assume that because you can string a sentence together you are therefore a dab hand at computer stuff, sadly I am not and can get extremely discombobulated whenever I attempt publishing a book.

Just the day before yesterday I thought I had managed to publish the children’s story, having reviewed the document I was delighted with the end result for it looked almost presentable, which for me was a major achievement, I was especially pleased with the rather amusing colour illustrations I had commissioned for the book. I even went as far as having a chap format the book for me so all I had to do, theoretically, was upload the details together with the cover I had and yet another of my publications would be available to purchase.

It is hard to imagine the amount of disruption which can be caused by what should have been such a simple task and the utter surprise to find when I received a copy of the book, that all the illustrations had come out in black and white.

I feel I must try to cut a long story short for otherwise I will have written another book, this one on the horrors of publishing, suffice to say, it is not possible to merely log in and go to the book details and go back and click the box I should have done in the first place, where it says publish in colour. Apparently, once published it is not possible to merely change the colour, one has to start again from the very beginning with a new ISBN number and produce a new version of the book whereupon the clever chaps at kdp publishing will delete the old version and insert the new one…..I think!

My how I laughed when I realised how much disruption was to be caused to do such a simple operation as change the colour, tears were indeed rolling down my cheeks, I seem to spend so much of my time nowadays in a state of hysteria caused by the apparent stupidity of others.

Moving swiftly on I then found out why the pages I was inputting previously were not formatting quite as neatly as I had hoped, for it seems the fellow who formatted it in the first place had sized it for a larger page, so we’re back to square one yet again.

When I wonder will computers ever become as clever as humans, so they can question me when I’m uploading things, “oh, I see you’re uploading stuff too large for the page you have specified, would you like me to configure it to fit.” “Also it came to my attention that you have put in colour illustrations and yet you ticked the box for black and white, can I assist you with anything there?”

I think I’ll call it a day for today and attempt what seems like the impossible again tomorrow, should I live long enough to complete the process I will inform you, in the vain hope that one or two of you may purchase said book to make all this disruption worth the effort.

Froth

I’m normally a very placid man but some things get me frothing at the mouth, one of those which does get me slightly irate is when I order a pint of lager and it comes up with a considerable percentage of the total as froth as is the custom in Europe.

Now I don’t want to suggest this is the main reason for the United Kingdom leaving the European Union but it must have played a contributory part, for we in this country do not like drinking froth, for when froth has finished frothing and gone back to liquid form we find ourselves looking at only three quarters of a pint of beer.

“Three quarters of a pint, at these prices, why that’s daylight robbery,” an expression one doesn’t want to hear in any hostelry, or inn, as the next step will probably be fisticuffs and the whole place erupting into a violent melee.

I have noticed when travelling abroad that folk on the continent of Europe are far more willing to accept a glass of froth in place of a full measure, which as they have a tendency to drink from small half pint glasses means there is virtually nothing in the glass, which may explain the statistic that Europeans get less drunk than us Brits. I rather suspect they might become as inebriated as us if only they could get a full glass of alcohol in the first place.

The continentals habit of drinking coffee also sways the statistics, for it is dam hard to get drunk when drinking coffee. Strangely, cappuccino, latte etc, are yet more drinks where a considerable proportion of their make up is air, which makes me wonder how on earth it became so popular in Britain, as I mentioned before we are not keen on paying for froth.

I’m not sure which is more expensive, comparatively speaking, frankincense, myrrh, gold, printer ink, or cappuccino, I think they all have enormous profit margins.

Quite odd, this modern trend to want to pay more for something made of froth, rather like the trendy up market restaurants who place foam, as they rather euphemistically describe it on dishes and charge a considerable amount for the pleasure. Personally I shall forego the vastly expensive froth, firstly it is mostly air, secondly it doesn’t make a dish worth another seventeen pounds and lastly it looks like the chef has spat on the plate.

Rush

I never like to rush when I’m blogging, for I have noticed that when my fingers on the keyboard get ahead of my brain, it becomes ever harder to follow the story because what I am typing is absolute gobbledegoop.

Perhaps I should at this stage, slow down and wait for my brain to catch up, this I’m afraid, may take some time as I’m currently suffering from the ill effects of the strange chest infection which is currently going round and am in a minor state of shock as I had to replace my computer, both very traumatic events for any man to have to cope with.

On the subject of the former I was coughing up so much gunge I was forced to inquire from my wife who in her youth was a nurse, whether she thought I was suffering from pneumonia, but she just laughed and left the room, which left me with two possible conclusions. Either she was a hard faced woman who had no feeling for my well-being and I was indeed at death’s door, or there was nothing major wrong with me and I was just being a hypochondriac, I plumped for the more optimistic diagnosis.

However with the scenario of the computer I knew I was definitely in a genuine state of shock, for I had paid for all my files to be retrieved from my old computer and placed on the new one together with new security and other clever stuff and to my utter amazement, having rushed home and set the thing up, it worked. It all worked, straight away, I just had to put in the passwords it didn’t know and away I went without the need for any shouting on my behalf whatsoever, quite extraordinary.

I love to drive fast but I hate to rush, for there is a distinct difference between travelling quickly with plenty of time available for the completion of your journey and rushing like a mad person with no hope whatsoever of meeting your expected time of arrival. I always allow too much time to get anywhere, unlike much of the youth of today who never allow enough time and always seem to have to rush, then when they are late they blame anyone bar themselves for their late arrival.

It’s an age thing, another of which is the realisation that your grandparents have died and your parents have died and when looking round to see, who’s next it is your generations names that are appearing in the frame. I am lucky that I am in good health, contrary to my little jest earlier about pneumonia and am in no way ready to rush to meet my maker, which reminded me of the splendid poem by Dylan Thomas, Do not go gentle into that good night, which I shall leave you with.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Haul

I’m in this for the long haul, at least I am where it comes to publishing books on Amazon, mostly because it takes an age to get the illustrations and the formatting done and even then it takes a considerable amount of time uploading all these details, the long haul is an understatement.

I don’t want to sound overly desperate but as I’ve spent so long getting this latest book done, it would be rather pleasant if you would follow the link I will attempt to put in here and purchase one of the books to make it worth the effort for me. Although it is a short story for children there are little jokes to keep any parent who may be reading amused. I thank you in advance, for I know you to be kind and considerate people.

Moving on now and changing the subject slightly, we are indeed in this nowadays for the long haul, unlike previous generations who had a much shorter innings than we. The question I’m forced to ask with regard to longevity, is quantity what we are aiming for or should we be better concentrating on quality. At the moment I’m reasonably healthy but I see more and more older people who whilst surviving longer don’t necessarily have a worthwhile quality.

I seem to have struck a slightly maudlin note here, probably a by-product of being laid low with early onset hay fever or the chest infection which is apparently going round, either way it seems to be effecting my concentration at the moment.

I may have to take to my bed if these symptoms persist, although my wife keeps insisting I work through the pain, which is quite ridiculous, for if I could do that I would be a woman and would be volunteering to have the babies.

Having been shamed by my wife I have decided to take her advice and work through the pain, although I’m going to need a considerable dose of pain killer and having looked on the side of the side of the packet of lager it seems to prescribe six cans for the initial dose followed by more if the pain persists.

Frigid

I’m not entirely certain that the word suggested for today’s topic is completely suitable, I can only speak for myself where in the South East of England we have enjoyed a very pleasant spring day with quite a lot of sunshine, so I have scrapped my first draught and started again.

I shall keep the first draught for another day, but here’s a taster. We were huddled together for warmth in a small three man tent, the frigid north wind was blowing mercilessly, Scott clutched at Oates in a futile bid to stop him leaving the tent, but to no avail.

Here is an alternative more in keeping with the weather I experienced today. We were huddled together in a small three man tent, there was no frigid north wind blowing, Scott was outside cooking breakfast, we had bacon as oats had run out!

I must say this word frigid is proving harder than expected, I could regale the story of a girlfriend I had who was frigid, but I have had relatively few girlfriends and none of them have been frigid, so we’re back to square one again.

I’m reminded, now a sudden flash of inspiration has hit me, of the tale of the plane crash involving a football team from Chile, a frigid north wind was blowing causing the plane they were travelling in to crash atop some desolate Peruvian mountain, I’m shivering, just thinking about it.

Now one doesn’t want to over egg a story, but I will as this is a true story, suffice to say, the frigid north wind that was blowing was enough to cause the death of some of the team from hyperthermia and those that survived told the morbid tale of cannibalism of their dead team mates.

Obviously it wasn’t like Scott, cooking the dead over a small primus stove, I believe they cut small slivers of muscle and ate that and drunk small amounts of blood to survive, initially quite shocking but when faced with these conditions, I can well understand doing anything to survive.

After all, huddled in a three man tent sheltering from the frigid north wind and finally succumbing to a slow death from hyperthermia is no way for a gentleman to die, without even the luxury of having one’s dinner jacket to wear so that one looks presentable when found some years later, by a future Top Gear presenter in the latest four by four on some ridiculous escapade to the North pole or wherever.

I have nothing further to add on this subject, except to say, if one has the option, I would suggest, one avoids the frigid north wind wherever possible, especially if one has omitted to pack ones dinner jacket.

Churn

Yesterday my stomach was churning as I was waiting for the salesman to give me the final figure for my purchase of a new computer, made necessary by my old one playing up and refusing to work properly no matter how much I shouted at it.

I am a simple man, with simple pleasures, mostly enjoying my classic cars, which although old are also simple and therefore rarely go wrong, contrary to popular misconception, I suspect. Generally speaking, if you have a decent battery for the spark plugs and a tank of fuel, should you combine the two in the combustion chamber you’re pretty much in business where the internal combustion engine is concerned. Unlike the purchase of a new computer.

We were lucky when entering the shop to be accosted by nerdiest salesman I’ve met in a long time, which is always useful where the purchase of any item where you are completely devoid of information concerning the product, for a nerd will be able to bore you to gut wrenching boredom explaining the precise ins and outs of every aspect of the machines performance, including reams of information of which you have no understanding of whatsoever.

It is at this point that it is necessary to apply the, “I’m a complete moron where these things are concerned approach,” to enquire of everything, “but why on earth do I need to purchase all this gubbins, as well as the computer?” With any luck during this process the salesman will take pity on you, especially if he is astute enough to notice your reluctance to spend vast sums of money on needless add on thingamebobs and start knocking off the things you don’t need.

Having finally negotiated to a price just short of the turnover of a small third world country one leaves the shop, in the hope that they will uploaded all the vital things you purchased, I look forward to collection on Saturday and being back to normal without too many gut churning moments. In the mean time I have borrowed my wife’s computer where I find some clever dick has turned off the spellchecker, now I don’t want to fiddle about too much trying to put it back on as it’s a similar problem to this where I messed up my computer. I think the purchase of one is more than enough in a week although I’m tempted to try to fix the problem, I have tons of ideas churning about in my head, and surely one of them must do the job.

Radiant

It has been said that women are radiant but having checked the definition of radiant it seems it is, sending out light; shining or glowing brightly which put me in mind of a lighthouse which also puts out bright light and makes a noise like a fog horn but this was not the picture I wanted to paint.

Further research led me to the definition which included the example to radiate which was to put out heat, my initial thought here also led me up the garden path, for as we all know, when giving out heat, women glow, men perspire, and horses sweat. Not too bad initially but in these days of equal rights etc, I wondered if women would demand we were all the same and therefore all sweated, once again not the picture of delicate radiance I had wished to portray.

Perhaps the image of woman, radiating delicate beauty and softness is perhaps a little old fashioned and one I should steer away from and look more in the direction of the superwoman type of character, luminous and flashing through the sky radiant with super human powers.

I know very little of the sort of film I have just described which means the next sentence will not contain much information of any practical use to anyone who may wish to embark on a new career as a superwoman or superman for that matter, the only snippet I do have is, should you find yourself in close proximity to kryptonite which is radiating an eerie green light remove yourself from the situation as fast as you can, preferable without coming into contact with the substance.

Well, I have to leave now as my wife has just entered the room looking radiant in her new frock, we are off to visit friends and shall be travelling in one of my motorcars as neither of us possess the superhuman ability to fly.

Warning

I am hoping that the choice of todays word for the daily prompt will prove useful as there seem quite a few options for related topics, but I give you fair warning that I cannot guarantee the outcome of this blog will be amusing as I never plan what I shall write, I just throw myself at the subject with reckless abandonment and hope for the best.

How different things might have been in Arizona last week where sadly a woman was killed by an autonomous Uber car, had someone had the foresight to call a warning to the poor soul. “Stop, for God sake don’t walk across the road with your bicycle in front of that computer driven car, the driver is not looking where they are going and the computer is not going to stop the dam thing!” The other warning which prior to this case might have helped would have been to point out to the designers, it’s all well and good using this technology to steer space craft, for although there are quite a number of objects to crash into in space, the fact that they are placed in infinity which is a very large area the odds of hitting something are fairly slim. Perhaps attempting the same trick on crowded roads is one step too far.

Here is a warning from history, do not take part in war, considerable numbers of the population may loose their lives.

Having had World War One where millions died let this be a warning to you should you be thinking of starting number two.

I know that nice Adolf Hitler fellow seems fairly innocuous but I’m warning you he has an ulterior motive, he’s not just going to stop with Poland.

Do not insert that firework up your rectum and film it for YouTube, I’m warning you, it will end in tears.

I have to warn you, it may seem funny, especially when under the influence of alcohol and will surely amuse your friends during the event but jumping from the top of your house with nothing more than an umbrella to slow your decent is not a clever idea.

My last warning for this blog may seem a little controversial, but here goes, if you are not the brightest spark and you wish to breed, do not choose a partner who is one sandwich short of a picnic, for surely your offspring will end up starring on YouTube.

Don’t say you haven’t been warned.

Betrayed

I have never consciously betrayed anybody, although it may have been a close run thing due to the fact that I have memory somewhat like a goldfish, oh look castle, oh look diver, oh look castle and round and round I go. Do not at any costs tell me your most private and intimate secrets unless you have no objections to them being revealed at some point in time.

I wouldn’t betray anyone with any malice, it’s just that during conversation all one needs is for someone to admit to having an embarrassing pustulous boil on their posterior and I would immediately feel the urge to join the conversation with,”oh, how awful for you, I know someone who had a similar complaint.” With any luck I would stop myself before revealing intimate details of a friend, told on the understanding that they would not be revealed, unless after hours of severe torture and in an effort to avoid being waterboarded.

The divorce rate in Great Britain is falling, due mainly to the fact that more people are choosing to cohabit but it still stands at 42% which means a considerable number of people may have been betrayed during the course of their marriage. There is always the chicken and egg argument here, for did the marriage fail due to the adultery of one of the partners, or had the marriage failed before the betrayal. Strange to think that a considerable number of people may have been betrayed due to a chaps inability to wash on a regular basis or change his undergarments frequently enough, although having thought about it I think the lack of washing etc would be grounds for divorce long before one got to the stage of adultery.

Schooldays for me were spent with too much time devoted to drawing motorcars on the covers of my rough books and looking out of the window, daydreaming, I do however have a vague recollection of a considerable number of things, although not always the complete facts of the matter. Which brings me to religious education and the tale of the betrayal of Jesus by Judas Iscariot for thirty pieces of silver and the last supper held with the twelve disciples.

Quite a significant betrayal in the course of history which also led to the superstition of thirteen being an unlucky number, as those attending the last supper were Jesus and his twelve disciples, I imagine it may also have led to the idea that it is fairly unlucky to be nailed to a cross, as the chances of survival are virtually negligible.

I have never been in a situation where I have had to betray anyone, be they a person guilty of some heinous crime or an innocent person I might have had to betray after being tortured mercilessly for days and I am very glad for that. However if I had an option to take part in the act of betrayal the incentive of thirty pieces of silver would obviously be an encouragement.