The Eve of the New Year.

No rest for the wicked Modern Cloak-Room Attendant:

Hi Hoooooooo!

(Working on this evening presents no problem for me as, in my belief system, the new year came in on 22nd Dec when the world ended.)

Philosophy 101 with Mystic Rog & OSM: Pt.2

OSM: What did Santa bring you Rog?

Mystic Rog: The New Penguin Book of English Folk Songs, a book on the Gardens of the National Trust, A book on the teachings of Christ, and a book on the teachings of the Desert Fathers.

What did you get?

OSM: A false beard, two polystyrene heads, a pair of cuff-links that look like eyeballs, some origami paper and a whistle that goes:

Pre-New Year Vacuum.

The house guests have gone.
Any food stuff that involved chocolate in its ingredients has been eaten.

There's still some sprouts left if anybody wants any.

The television is full of people from uncanny valley.

I discovered an ongoing tragic drama going on right under my nose.
On the dining table to be exact.

I don't know where these two characters came from:

They stand about on the table waiting to have salt or pepper shaken out of them.

I noticed that, once separated, they looked distressed and seemed to be searching for one another:

Then one of them would see the other:

And everybody lived happily ever after:

I think I may have developed some kind of 'cabin fever'

So That Was Xmas.

Bad light by the bins.

Linda says I have to stop being a Viking now:

My 'Track of the Week': Heavy Cross performed by Gossip

The Boxing Day Ritual Experience.

Pile into the car and drive along side water meadows to Middle Earth:

Don't let the sun go down on you round here peasant

Then this happened:

Then some women did this:

Then there was a play.

Here we see the bit in the play where the German doctor shoved a bomb up the Turkish man's fundament:

 

Transatlantic Tinkling

Thank you, thank you Le Sanglier.

Happy (insert preference) From OSM & Linda.

It's Xmas Eve,,,,,,, (Updated)

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Look @ all d' f@@ks I am not giving.

Update:

My Track of the Week: 'I found A New Baby' performed by Wally's Wheeltappers.

One of the things that makes the Littlehampton Uke Jam an interesting experience it the occasional appearance of Mr. Stanley Tofield and his tuba.
Having a 'bottom end' to the tunes really makes a difference.
He told me about his other musical activities which include playing with this outfit:

What bowls me over about Wally's Wheeltappers is the percussionist.

He truly astounds me.

Why do I hear Vivian Stanshall singing when ever I listen to this lot?

Post Apocalypse Nirvana.

Due to my Modern Cloak-Room Attendant duties I missed the actual moment of the apocalypse, but I seem to have survived it so all is well and it now seems safe to decorate the Xmas tree:

Oooooooo.

She looks pretty chipper to say she's got a tree shoved up her backside.

Back In The Old Routine.

Three days of Modern Cloak-Room Attending coming up:

I was booked for last Saturday, but due to circumstances beyond my control I gave it a miss.

I'm not sure what went on at the event, but these were left behind:

My granny would have called them 'orthopaedic boots'.

There was also an unusual serving tray left in the toilet-roll cupboard: 

Hmmm, The Wife of Bath indeed.

Obviously the situation required a thorough investigation.
Sadly I was unable to pursue the leads as a female guest, somewhat worse for drink, fell down, and required an ambulance for her broken wrist.
It seems part of my duties require me to do the emergency call.

Later on a male guest, somewhat the worse for drink, fell down, and required an ambulance for his head-wound.

My life is just to exciting!

Meanwhile, On The Kübler-Ross Model.

In no particular order:

• Denial: No, it can't be denied.
• Anger: "What d'you mean you're fucking sorry?"
• Bargaining: Can I part-ex my bicycles for a wheelchair?
• Depression: "Dear Doctor, please may I have some of those tablets that stop people throwing themselves off Beachy Head?
• Acceptance: "Ah well, could be worse".

I notice there is no 'Stunned Buffalo' stage in this model.

Uh oh, my right arm's gone 'fizzy'.

l8r:

even l8r stil:

Getting On.

Much as I'd love to sit about bemoaning my fate I can't.
Life goes on and things need to be attended to.

It's Wednesday and so, Madge day:

See the way that chair shines?
I did that.

Be Gone Dull Care!

Begone, dull care!
I prithee, begone from me
Begone dull care!
You and I shall never agree
Long time hast thou been tarrying here
And fain thou wouldst me kill
But in faith, dull care
Thou never shall have thy will

Too much care
Will make a man turn grey
And too much care
Will turn an old man to clay
My wife shall dance and I shall sing
So merrily pass the day
For I hold it one of the wisest things
To drive dull care away.

Hence, dull care,
I'll non of thy company;
Hence, dull care,
Thou art no pair for me.
We'll hunt the wild boar through the wold,
So merrily pass the day;
And then at night, o'er a cheerful bowl
We'll drive dull care away.

Feral Shoe 52

Let Me Hear It Just One More Time.

Upload MP3 and download MP3 using free MP3 hosting from Tindeck.

Wukulele Xmas Jamboree! (Updated)

Update:
I realised that this posting may seem somewhat 'bleak' and in no way represent the wonderful party atmosphere at Wukulele.
If it wasn't for gatherings like Wukulele, Luke, and Uke at the Duke my life would have been unbearable over the last few weeks.
For a more balanced report, and colour pictures, visit Ivy Arch's blog here: Wukulele Christmas.

To Worthing:

With Linda:

To the jam:

Get down.

Multiple Sclerosis.

Here I am again in yet another waiting room.
Linda's with me so I don't have to be a brave soldier on my own:

The waiting room of the Munro Unit at St. Richard's Hospital is empty except for Linda and myself.

Feels like some kind of portent.

I am amused by a sign on one of the doors:

Linda finds a copy of George Orwell's '1984' on a book shelf and sits reading quietly.

I wander around poking my nose into any door I find open.

Eventually we are asked to go and sit in a different waiting room.

I am invited into another room with a neurologist in it.

The neurologist asks lots of questions and carries out several tests on me.

Cut to the chase:

So what?
What difference does that make to me in this moment?
The future?
Who can tell?

I have to have several blood tests to rule out some decoy conditions.
I have to have a chest XRay for the same reason.
I have to have another MRI scan, on my spine this time (how much am I looking forward to that?).

Once again:
It's not the hand you're dealt, it's the way you play the hand you're dealt.

So That's What It Is.

I think I'll use it to store old newspapers in

Beeswax Polishing.

Compulsive obsession seems to be a recent theme in my life whether it be collecting vintage crockery or beautifying rubbish.
I've now got a new one to add to the list, polishing wooden things with this stuff:

It's expensive, but well worth the outlay as it transforms lacklustre bits of timber into silky smooth objects of beauty.

The first items to get the treatment were the wooden box files I've begun staining and decorating:

The picture doesn't do them justice really.

They actually seem to glow.

Sat here looking at them I realise something.

I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to store in them when they're finished.

All seven of them.

I'll consider that while I'm polishing the rest of the wooden things in the room.

Beautiful Rubbish.

Linda came back from a shopping trip carrying everything she'd purchased in the type of flimsy wooden crate used for transporting soft fruit from Spain to our muddy little island.

Under normal circumstances I'd have broken it up as it would've made perfect fire-lighting kindling in these dark winter days.
I hate doing that though.
I decided to 'work' on it instead.

Needs a bit of tea staining to beef up the colour perhaps:

After which it looked like this:

That's to say, somewhat disappointing.

If in doubt paint it with white emulsion:

Hmmmm.

I have no idea why I've gone to all this trouble, but feel I may be developing some kind of compulsive disorder.

I've decided to store all the old baked bean tins and glass jars I've collected in it for now.

So Long Ravi Shankar.

Imagine My Disappointment.

I thought the world was supposed to end today.

Damn!

This means I'll have to go out and buy milk.

The Appointment to Discuss My Condition Arrives.

It's official.
I have the piece of paper in my hand.
I have read it carefully.
It's quite boring really, except for this bit:

If you have been referred to Neurology for diagnosis of blackouts or funny turns, it would be very helpful if you could bring along an eye witness to the appointment or if not possible a written account of the attacks from an eye witness.

I hadn't realised that "funny turns" qualified as a bone-fide medical condition.
I have 'views' on stand-up comedians and am all in favour of many of them receiving some form of medical attention, possibly long-term, preferably residential.

And now, a prediction.

I predict that no concrete diagnosis relating to my condition will be made at this appointment.

LUke Jam Xmas Special.

Report is a day late owing to the loss of The King of Selsey.

I don't drink much alcohol nowadays mainly because most of the activities I get involved with require a degree of mental or physical dexterity, but today's uke jam is in the bar of the Dolphin pub in Littlehampton so I, sort of, felt obliged to 'pay-the-rent' and bought a pint of a seasonal brew the name of which, over 24 hours later, escapes me though I think it had something to do with snowmen and balls.

"Do you think we'll be able to recognise any of the songs?" said a woman to her companion as they prevented the bar from collapsing.
'Bloody cheek' I caught myself thinking.

A spirited bunch of ukulele enthusiasts launched into a selection of Xmas tunes.
We were joined by tubarist extraordinaire Mr. Stanley Tofield.
It's amazing the difference having a 'bass end' to the music makes and somehow the tuba blends perfectly with the massed flailing of ukuleles.

About two songs in and I really began to enjoy myself, but couldn't help wondering what 'The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down' had to do with Christmas in a decaying south of England seaside town.

And the band played on.

By half-time I'd managed to drink two pints of (what I now recall to be) Frosty Bells and the world looked like this:

After each song a healthy round of applause rang around the pub, but for the life of me I couldn't tell where it was coming from as us uke jammers seemed to be the only people in the place.

Anyway two hours passed like two minutes and just as I was really getting into it the end arrived. 

Then the difficulty began.

Linda had insisted on delivering me to the pub and I had insisted that I would walk along the seashore back home, I think it's about four miles in total.

I'd managed to squeeze another pint of Frosty Bells into myself and the consequences were beginning to make themselves felt.

The first section of the walk home is an easy stroll through the town, cross the river Arun via the footbridge then...

Here's where I made a poor decision.

I decided to walk along a path by the golf course instead of heading for the beach because I thought it would be a short-cut.

It would have been a short-cut had it not been a quagmire between two rows of hawthorn bushes:

I got covered in mud and my Christmas jumper got snagged on the thorns.

On a more positive note I was pleased with the way I executed several astonishingly balletic moves to avoid falling over.

I should have paid heed to the warning signs:

But, if I hadn't have taken the path less travelled I wouldn't have seen this:

So Long To The King of Selsey.

Sir Patrick Moore (1923 - 2012).

Seasonal Indicators No. 01: The Christmas Jumper.

I always make an effort to enjoy:

Yule-tide
Christmas
Xmas
Noddy Holder's Pension Day.

(take y'pick).

One way to enjoy the season to be jolly is to wear a Christmas Jumper:

It will be worn to all the local Uke Jam Xmas celebrations beginning tomorrow's Littlehampton Uke Jam held in the bar area of the Dolphin Pub (rather than the function room above the pub).

There's a special song-book:  Ukulele Christmas Song Book

(Frosty The Snowman is incomplete BTW)

This is probably more of a public information message rather than a blog post.

I'm off to put the sprouts on.

4 Weeks After 3 Heavy Old Whacks An Invitation Appears.

Dear Mr. SpaceMan,

Following your referral to be seen in Neurology, I am writing to invite you to telephone our Appointments Office as soon as possible to agree a convenient appointment date for your appointment with one of their team.

please telephone 1xxxx 4xxxxx between 8.30 and 6.00 pm, Monday to Thursday, 8.30 am to 5.00 pm Friday, or you can email on "wxx-xx.XxXXXxxxx.nhs.net".
to arrange an appointment, when telephoning please quote the hospital number shown at the top of this letter.

In order for us to offer you the earliest appointment available, we may ask you to attend an appointment at any of our hospital sites.

If you do not contact us within 2 weeks from the date of this letter we will assume that you no longer require an appointment and will inform the person who referred you that you have not contacted us to make an appointment.

Yours sincerely

(unsigned)

Appointments Officer, Neurology

Ring, ring,
You're  5th in a queue
You're  4th in a queue
You're 3rd in a queue
You're 2nd in a queue
You're next in a queue...

The day appointed is the 15th of December.

The Return Of The Advent Stick.

Bit slow off the mark this year and nearly 3 days had passed before the advent stick was officially declared functional:

This year things have changed though.

Since my home-dentistry adventure the organisation of my mouth has changed and the delicious cow product related jelly sweets are not longer much fun to eat as various uneven surfaces grind against one another in my gob.

So, next year it'll probably have to be some form of liquid based daily treat, the upside of which will be that I won't have to think about where gelatine comes from.

Midwinter 'Sienna' Design (I feel an obsessive collecting phase coming on).

I was in my current favourite charity shop The Cat & Rabbit Rescue:

I wonder if they'd get more customers if it was called The Kitty & Bunny Rescue?

There didn't seem to be much of interest in the store, I turned to leave and, under a shelving unit, spotted these:

Oranges may not be the only fruit, but they're the only ones available for photographic purposes today.

That's Midwinter 'Sienna' design that is.

Designed by Jessie Tait.

These tureens are minus their lids but will still make great bowls.

One of them has a small chip and so was marked at 50p rather than the £1 I paid for the unmarked one.

The first thing I did on returning home was to find out how much these bowls go for on eBay, or ebay as it now seems to be called.

The answer is a surprising amount, even more if they had the lids.

Then I caught myself thinking "I wonder how much the whole service would cost bought piece by piece over a period of time?"

This is dangerous thinking as it leads to obsessive collecting disorder and, eventually, poverty.

Of course the contemporary way of completing the set would be to mix and match all the various Midwinter designs for that eclectic shabby chic feel which in my youth was known as being to poor to afford matching crockery.

Still, at this stage in my life, I feel it would be quite nice to have a matching dinner service of some kind.

I also bought a Gaydon Melmex butter dish:

Yes, there was butter in the space-age.

Tea-Stained Box Files.

I have no idea how I've managed to accumulate 9 wooden box files.
I think I may have bought them in Ikea.
I'm usually pretty good at not buying things in Ikea until I get to the market-place bit then it's "Oh look, several items for less than £5!"
By the time that's happened a few times I end up having spent more than I can sensibly afford on superficially useful crap I don't really need.

Which is how I probably ended up with 9 wooden box files.
I suppose they may have more cachet now that the secrets out about Ikea "inadvertently" allowing East German political prisoners to manufacture their exciting modern life-style products.

I have already had a go at decorating two of these redundant box files with varying degrees of success (one 'worked' the other didn't) so I thought it was about time I finished the job.
Nothing elaborate, just a tea-stain and a bit of stencilling perhaps.

This is what they look like before and after treatment:

That's after two coats of tea stain and two coats of wire wool/vinegar stain.

I'm not sure what to stencil on them but here's what it may end up looking like:

This of course is all very well, but a problem remains.

What on earth am I going to put in them when the job's done?

The winter evenings will just fly by.

Discovering The Intrinsic Musical Qualities Of Everyday Items 01: The Baked Bean Tin.

Funny how somethings spend a lifetime right under your nose without you ever noticing them.
I was washing up.
This includes (within reason of course) washing whatever items are to be put in the recycling bin.
I removed the label from a tin of baked beans and noticed something:

The crinkly bit looks very much like a washboard.

Hmmm...

I gave it to a man with a spoon and a hat pulled down over his face:

Oh yes, pleasing indeed.

Essential Modern Cloak-Room Attendant Skills: 01 Cobbling.

It is essential for prospective Modern Cloak-Room Attendants to develop a skill set appropriate to the many and varied challenges of todays modern cloak-room environment.

For example yesterday a guest, slightly 'worse for wear', caught and snapped the heel of her shoe in a heating grate.
Oh calamity!
The disco dancing had yet to begin and the forlorn guest stood at my window and wailed,
"'av just caught mi fackin' 'eel in your poxy fackin' grate and look at my fackin' shoe nary!"

"Fear not madam for I am a Modern Cloak-Room Attendant and have developed an appropriate skill set."
"Wot yew fackin' on abart?"
"Cobblers madam."
"You watch y'friggin' marf you, donncha know oo I yam pal? Me an' Charles paid good money to come up dis gaff an' I don't need no smart-gobbed git tellin' me it's cobblers."
"Cobblers mend shoes madam"
"Oh yeah arseole? Where y'gonna get a bleedin' cobbler this time o'night then?"

I digress...

So, in this circumstance an application of "Super Glue" saved the day:

And so Cinderella had the shoe she had so carelessly broken mended by a Modern Cloak-Room Attendant masquerading as a cobbler and went to the ball after all.

My God! donncha jus 'ate bleedin' riff-raff?

View From The Scaffold: Second Sitting.

The scaffold.
It draws me to it.
It calls me.
Sings me its siren song by moonlight.

I've been twitching ever since the scaffold was completed.
Linda does not want me to climb the scaffold.
I point out that there's a good reason for me to climb the scaffold.
I want to remove all the redundant television aerials and associated cabling.
This may be the last chance.

Linda's still not happy.

Climb The Ladder To The Roof.

Look over there:

Butlins! The Shining City In The West

Now look over there:

Toward Franceland

Now look over there:

Somewhere in that distance is the North

I discover something new on the chimney:

I don't like that jubilee clip at all.

I removed two old aerials and lots of cables.

Then started down.

I prefer climbing ladders to descending ladders, but I will never allow fear to become my master because I've laid in an MRI scanner for 45 minutes without squeezing the panic button.

There's just one teensy weensy problemette.

I think I cut the aerial cable to our downstairs neighbour's T.V.

Y'know,  the neighbour who had all that vermiculite and soot coming out or her chimney.

Ooops.