Netball Goal Attack Death Stare.

Last night was very cold and the moon was one sunrise past fat.
Linda wanted to get the extra blankets from the box under the telly so there'd be a reduced risk of waking up to find out we'd become frozen corpses.

There was an accident:

Linda's favourite vase (which qualifies as a "collectable") was broken.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

(No, I'm not suggesting Linda is in any way, shape, or form as unto a camel).

Linda is very cross.

The kind of cross that is evident only in the eyes of an otherwise outwardly calm and still person.

Bit like a coiled spring perhaps?

I imagine the chimney companies representatives sat in their respective homes, watching T.V. or maybe  having a spot of dinner, relaxed, comfortable, and completely unaware that someone with a chainsaw handling certificate was thinking very dark thoughts about them.

Thankfully the drama didn't unfold into a bloodstained crisis 

(again).

Linda spoke quietly to the chimney companies representatives explaining to them that she considered their surveyor to be at fault for not noticing the two chimneys were connected:

I haven't seen the chimney companies representatives for sometime now.

I can hear something that sounds like "FOR GOD"S SAKE HELP US!!!" coming over from Longbrook Park.

Last time I saw Linda she said she was taking a friend out to lunch:

Chimney Lining Day (an episodic event)

I arrived home form my shift in the Modern Cloak-Room Environment to find we'd be scaffolded in preparation for having a chimney lining fitted:

I immediately noticed, much to my disappointment, there was no ladder access to the platform which meant I couldn't climb up and look off.

I also noticed there didn't seem to be an access ramp to the chimney breast.

Linda said the scaffolder men had forgotten to bring their ladder and had built the scaffold up without using one.

This is at once impressive. they can build a scaffold without a ladder, and unimpressive, they forgot their ladder in the first place.

It was bloody cold last night BTW. 

09:00 a.m.

The chimney companies representatives arrive and do that 'sharp intake of breath' thing.

"Nar, y'see we can't get access mate".

They look at the burner.

"See now, we in't got the inside bits, 'day bee ear 'bout 'nover two weeks, or so".

The senior chimney man goes away to phone 'duh office' while his assistant, let's call him 'Mr. Buttocks' starts to remove the chimney access plate.

Some short time later.

"Now, what it is, is we going rawnd to 'nover job rawn duh corner and be back when the scaffolders done what 'day supposed to 'av done."

10:15 a.m.
Telephone call from a female chimney company representative:
'O'hi-sorry-bout-the-mix-up-scaffolder-be-there-next-two-hours-or-so-K-BYE!"
I think it might have been that Bridget Jones woman.

11:00 a.m.
Scaffolders arrive:

I call 'smile!" to the cherry scaffolder men and take the above picture.

On noticing one of scaffolder men has a Liverpudlian accent, I feel deeply ashamed that I thought about    the lead-flashing on the roof.
I go inside and ruminate on regional stereotyping.

01:00 p.m.
Scaffolder men gone away, now chimney men are here:

I step outside to have a bit of jolly banter with the chaps.

I speak loudly and show exaggerated interest in everything they do.

They look at me with a special look.

I go back inside.

Work continued till:

05:00 p.m.

The chimney companies representatives left promising to return in the morning to finish off the work and no, we can't light the fire yet.

06:00 p.m.

Our downstairs neighbour phones in some confusion.
We go downstairs and find:

That's vermiculite insulation that is.
It's the type of insulation put round a chimney lining that is.
Oh, there's also a thin layer of soot all over the room.

This situation is not good.
I am quite angry in fact.
Not because the chimney companies representatives didn't realise this was happening.
No, the reason I'm quite angry is because I spent 2 hours this morning cleaning our downstairs neighbour's flat in fact I've been cleaning this flat for months now and had made it sparkle.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee.....
All the way back down the snake.

Linda is taking tomorrow morning off from work tomorrow to sort this out.

To be continued....

Open Mic.

I prefer ukulele jams to any other type of 'social' music event.
There, I've said it.
At uke jams you turn up, you play for around an hour, you socialise, you play for around another hour, you go home happy.

At open mic nights you basically sit quietly in a queue until its your turn to play.
Then you will be invited to perform up to 2 songs then, when it comes back to your turn again, you can sing and play 2 more songs or just 1 more if time is tight then you go home and agonise over missing a D7 in the last chorus of what ever it was you were playing and begin to weep.

So, why am I in the Bognor Regis branch of the RAFA for their open mic night?
Well, I need to practice my 'Popular Melodies of Days Gone By' in public to make sure I'm getting the performance right and I think it's important to support this type of evening.

I differ from the majority of the attendees in that I've learnt, by practicing & practicing & practicing the songs I intend to play.
I think it's about having respect for the song.

I play:
01) Memphis Tennessee.
02) I Want a Hippopotamus For Christmas.
03) We'll Meet Again.

Here are two of my favourite episodes from the evening:
'Day by Day' Performed by the Jam House Band:

The University of the Third Age John Gradwell Guitar Group perform "Singing In The Rain":

(Ahhh, bless).

There's another reason for putting myself through the Open Mic experience.
Just every once in a while I can almost imagine I'm in some kind of David Lynch movie.

A Sundry Mortification, An Artifact, A Log Burner, And A Hair Cut.

A while ago I waffled on about, what I considered to be, the Perfect Drum Machine.
I suggested that there was an iPod/Phone/Pad app called Funk Box that now fit the 'Perfect Drum Machine' bill after I found out I was able to load samples of my personal favourite drum machine (The Soundmaster SR-88) into it.

Ah, the memories come flooding back, pool at my feet, and drown me...

During the writing of that blog posting I happened to tippy-tap-tap 'Soundmaster SR-88 into eBay.
Just looking, mind you, I had absolutely no intention whatsoever, at all, in the slightest of perhaps, considering, maybe actually bidding on that particular item, no way.

It cost me £55 and, when it finally arrived, didn't work.

Stern Voice of Reason: "Let be a lesson you profligate foolish person!"

I was so disappointed.
I put the box of useless electronic folly on the corner of my desk where I could see it and be reminded of how easily desire can lead to unhappiness, especially when buying it on eBay.

And that's how things might have stayed until my old friend (and electronics genius) Mr. Beresford 'Berry' Greene contacted me.
Me: "Berry, mate, please can you make this drum machine work for me?"
Berry: "I'll see what I can do."

Two days later:

Unassuming Genius Beresford 'Berry' Greene.

HE FIXED IT!!!
The only problem now being, the memory of the sounds this machine made are better than today's stark reality.
I've put the SR-88 back on the corner of my desk once more.
Just to remind me about letting that desire thing get out of hand again.

Linda brought an artefact home:

Not Steam Punk.

Linda: "It's an old paraffin fuelled greenhouse heater.  I like it".

Me: "We don't have an old paraffin fuelled greenhouse to heat".

Linda: "I'll just plant things in it instead then".

Our only heating is provided by a multi-fuel burner which we had fitted..

Well, it didn't seem that long ago.

It really needs a service and some internal bits and bobs replacing.

On digging out the info and related paper-work I find out 9 years have gone by.

That hurt my mind.

We didn't have the chimney lined at the time of the original fitting but Linda has decided it would be a good idea to have it done now which means removing the VERY HEAVY CAST IRON BURNER:

H is for Heavy.

No, no, don't thank me, it's all in a day's work for the modern space-person.

The truth must be told.

I need a hair cut.

A Hairy Man

Well, I really need several of them cut to be honest.

I have my hairs cut at Jeff's Barbers Shop.

Jeff is 1,000 years old and knows what you mean when you ask for a short back and sides:

A Smooth Man

"No Matter" (MRI Scanner Mix). Performed By: OSM and The Midnight Car Park Ramblers.

Republic Resophonic Ukulele. (Updated).

I've owned this uke for over a week now:

First off it may be helpful to understand some of the history and principles of resophonic instruments by going here: RESONATOR UKULELE
I've linked to the ukulele version but the general principles remain the same for all the resophonic family of instruments.
Essentially they were created to be LOUD so that they could compete with brass and reed instruments in dance bands of days gone by.

This uke certainly looks the business.
Although it says 'Republic' (an American Guitar Manufacturer) on the head-stock it was made in China and the same models can be found with other names attached to them, but they're essentially the same.
You can even get a 'distressed' version.

It's quite heavy, that's to be expected, yet the actual weight still comes as a surprise to anyone unused to this type of instrument.
A strap button on the body would have been nice to facilitate longer periods of 'stand-up' playing, but I could fit one myself should the need arise.

I've written about my dislike/trust of tuning pegs and I still prefer geared machine heads.
Having said that, these pegs seem to be fine, if a little on the budget end of the scale, hold the tuning well and only ever require slight tweaking:

The action is good which makes it so much easier to play index finder style than any of my other ukes:

Build quality is good through out, but I'd like to get a look at the inside of the body.

The neck is a good deal deeper than I'm used to and I prefer it as it seems to feel more 'positive' and I have very big hands.

What's it sound like?

It sounds like a resonator.

There's not a great deal of sustain compared to a wooden uke but I like that.

It really comes into its own when it's 'pushed' and I'd like to play along with a trad jazz band to find out if it can cut through that overall sound.

Mystic Rog (tip-top finger-style guitar player) had a go with it and, after I'd managed to wrestle it out of his clutches, announced that it was 'really nice' which qualifies as high praise from Rog. 

I really like this uke, it's full of songs.

Update:

If you consider buying one of these instruments you will need a polishing cloth.
I use one I found in an old glasses case.

'The Next Voice You Hear' - Performed by OSM & The Midnight Car Park Ramblers.

I am looking for someone to sing this song.

I'd prefer to hear a female voice sing it.

Track of the Week: Fred Vom Jupiter performed by Die Doraus Und Die Marinas.

That's from Outa-Space.

The Seasonal Wish List.

The Condition: 2 Weeks After 3 Heavy Whacks.

If it wasn't for concerned people asking me "how are you now?" I'd have probably forgotten the events of the last two months.
Today I feel very well, more very well than I've felt for years.
My eyesight has changed, but I'm waiting until I'm sure it's stablised before I consult an optician.
My feet aren't as 'fizzy' as they were last week the sensation is now more like a 'tingle'.

I can't get over the general feeling of wellbeing I have, it's very unusual.
I suppose any type of condition that creeps up slowly allows the body to adapt over time and so becomes virtually unnoticed until it reaches a severity requiring treatment.

Who can tell?

I rang the neurology dept. at St. Richard's hospital on Monday.
Yes, they have received my referral.
They will contact me in due course, which will probably be in about 14 - 16 weeks.
I was told my referral status but the only thing I can remember about it was it didn't seem to be very urgent which I took to be a good sign.

So, now what?

I've more or less made my own mind up, on the evidence of my experience and the information I've amassed during the research I've done, that I have Multiple Sclerosis and have had the condition for a period measured in years rather than months.
I think it's the milder end of the MS spectrum the recurring/relapsing type.
It will be very interesting to meet and discuss this with the neurologist.

Q) "How does that make you feel Mr. SpaceMan?"
A) "This is my condition, it belongs to me, I okay with that."

In conversation with other people about my condition I've fallen into the habit of spouting a 'pop' philosophy line:
"It's not the hand your dealt, it's how you play the hand your dealt".

That's true that is.

There's one thing I have to do now.
I have to get into my mental time-machine, go back a short time, and tell these guys everything will be alright:

Manly Pursuits No. 10: Visiting A Musical Instrument Shop.

Having just planned to take two vintage leather cases on a 4 mile walk to the nearest proper cobbler, I was slightly relived that Mystic Rog phoned and invited me to join him on a trip to Hobgoblin at Crawley.
It's quite safe for me to visit musical instrument shops nowadays as there's nothing I want or need at the moment...   well, perhaps a new kazoo might be nice because my current kazoo is rubbish, but nothing else, really.

The trip is on in Rog's luxury auto-ma-car:

Hmmm, Road Trippin'

It takes about an hour to get to Crawley which is a riot of 1960's brutalism the kind I quite like as there are very few examples of it surviving or destined to survive much longer.

Sadly I didn't have time to take pictures. 

So, Hobgoblin Acoustic and Traditional Musical Instrument Shop:

Everything from accordions to zithers.

I bought my baritone uke from this shop and the washboard I stained yesterday.

I tried out a  Hamano mahogany concert uke, a Katho Ebano Cajon, a Sansula Renaissance Thumb Piano, a Blue Moon Dulcimer Stick in D, a Banjolele, a Olympia Handmade Walkabout Dulcimer, and a Cymbala, child's small zither.

All of the above instruments were very 'nice' but no match for my new resonator uke.

Then I found the instrument I would gladly take home with me, the Atlas 21 String Guzheng.

It blew me away:

Along with most of the rest of the planet I think I maybe turning Chinese.

I would happily sit in a room and play this instrument for hours on end.

(Players of the Guzheng please note I could't bend the notes as I was filming at the same time as playing).

What was Mystic Rog up to all this time?

He was playing the more complex stringed instruments most of which seem to be based on the mandolin.

Lots of strings in tunings (violin) that confuse me no end.

Here he is being disappointed by a guitar:

Disappointment. You are doing it right!

It wasn't until he played the Blueridge BR-60 Tenor Guitar that his face lit up (then he looked at the price tag).

BTW, don't be fooled by the 'Blueridge' name, this guitar is made in China (Oh, what a surprise!)

It sounded wonderful.

I think Rog is as good as convinced he has to have one.

The only other instrument that caught Rog's imagination was the Remo Thunder Tube which makes a great noise that sounds nothing at all like thunder.

Then the shop manager noticed us and politely asked if there was anything we wanted.

Fortunately Rog wanted two sets of mandolin strings. 

I thought we were only there to faff about trying things, like the shop staff's patience.

Then I remembered I needed a new kazoo:

Metal Kazoo, Is It You?

So ladies, in case you were wondering, that's what happens when two middle-aged men visit a musical instrument shop and this is how the Guzheng should be played:

'Distress' Staining A Washboard.

"I bought Linda new washing machine.  Is she grateful?"

I've had this 'musical' washboard for sometime now.

I like playing it, it's really LOUD.

What I don't like is it's new-looking-ness.

I set about distressing it.

Take six tea bags, boil them in a litre of water and leave the brew to stand over night.

Take a large piece of wire-wool (do not try to clean your fillings with it), put it in a container, then pour in enough malt vinegar to cover it.

I usually have these two potions mixed and ready to use but I seem to have lost the last lot.

I know that when I do eventually locate the jars the one with the super tea brew will probably have grown a really weird mould on it.

I began coating the washboard, first with the tea dye then the wire-wool dye.

After several applications the washboard looked like this:

"I can't tell the difference" I hear you say so I removed the skull and crossbones sticker just for you:

Yep, that's a pretty effective staining method.

All that remains to do is allow it to dry, give it a wax polish and reattach it's bits and pieces.

Big Up (Again) for Music For Manics Blog.

If ever a blog was mis-titled Mr. Fab's  Music For Manics blog has to be it.
Granted some of the artists featured are a bit 'out there', but I prefer the sound of music that's fallen through the cracks in some visionaries' sanity.

I still feel the blog should be retitled Music For People of Taste and Discernment.
Mind you, on second thoughts, the blog title probably keeps the trendy vacuums* who stand about in kitchens at drinks and nibbles parties discussing the cultural relevance of Bjork and casually drop into conversation that they own a God Speed You Black Emperor C.D. (even if they don't) at bay.

Today's post, Music for Saw Blades, Wood Planks, and Rolling BBs Round in a Dish is a cracker if you like your avant-garde on the high-brow side and is part one of two.

Part 2, I suspect, will be for those who like it mad with a touch of bonkers on the side.

*No, not the bloody Dyson!

Poorly Linda.

I had today all planed.
I knew for certain just how every thing would go.

Then, at lunch-time, Linda came home from work with a stomach bug.
I filled a hot-water bottle for her, removed her boots and propped her on the sofa:

Notice Big Fish wondering what food woman is doing home early.

The situation returned to normal and I returned to my well planned purposes.

The phone rang.

"Can you bob round old chap?"

"Babs is on the blink, I need a packet of Fisherman's Friends and could you set the telly-box up in Bab's bedroom for the duration of the blink?"

There's a 'bug' going round for sure.

So, in the absence of anything else interesting for me to blog, here's a picture of a bunny rabbit under a tree:

Hey! It's Bacon & Brie Sandwich Time Innit?

One of the many compensations of working as a Modern Cloak-Room Attendant to the landed gentry is the 'doggy' bags are pretty good.
After a charity ball on Saturday night all the cheese the guests were to unsophisticated (or drunk) to eat was wrapped up and given to the staff.

I really like brie (I also really like the blue cheese I brought home but can't remember what it's name is).
I really like brie with bacon in a sandwich.

Take bacon, I prefer smoked back, put it under the grill until it's pink and crinkly:

Take brie,  I prefer the free variety:

When the bacon is cooked, make toast (I'm using rubbish bread because that's all I have to hand):

Put the cooked bacon on the toast:

Put the brie on the bacon:

Slam the door:

Eat.

A Series of Events Involving Ukuleles and Ladies Underwear.

Third Sunday in the month again so, Wukulele again.
It only seems like last week I was rambling on about the wonderful Wukulele jam.
Suffice to say it was as wonderful as ever.
I become embarrassingly over-ethusiastic at this event and say and do foolish things that draw attention to me.
I can't help it.
I am embarrassingly over-enthusiastic.
It's one of my endearing features.

Another feature of this event was the first trip out with my NEW TOY!:

Yes, I always look this cool.

It's a Concert sized resonator uke and it's fabulous, fabulous, fabulous!

I've blogged about my financial hard-times but, after the last few weeks, my attitude to the whole situation has changed.

I managed to dig myself out of an impending hole by not actually digging the hole in the first place.

I sold everything that wasn't screwed down, I stopped smoking and if any kind of work was offered I said "YES!".

I'm not being self-righteous about this, I just did what was necessary to get myself out of a situation I shouldn't have let myself get into in the first place.

During the great (long overdue) musical instrument sell-off the one instrument I regretted having to sell was my resonator guitar.

I love the 'bark' that type of instrument has and I missed it.

I began watching resonator ukes on eBay and decided I'd have one just to pat myself on the back a little for being a brave soldier recently.

I have no regrets, this instrument is a thing of joy!

No doubt about it.

I let anyone at Wukulele who asked, or showed any interest in the instrument, have a 'go' with it which is another aspect of that 'embarrassingly over-ethusiastic' thing I have.

Anyway,
Linda and I are on the way home.
Linda sees the sign for the new ASDA (ASDA=WalMart in USA) store near Ferring and suggests, in the way that only women can, that it would be interesting to visit.
A short discussion ensued in which I made several spirited attempts to suggest we shouldn't visit the new ASDA.
The short discussion ended.

We joined the cue of cars trying to get into the ENORMOUS car-park.

Time passed and I eventually found somewhere to park.

I hate car-parks, car-parks are my natural enemy.

I am useless at car parking.

Welcome to ASDA:

The caption on this picture was generated randomly by hand-held technology.

You're bloody welcome to it mate!

Time was I enjoyed visiting supermarkets, I considered them 'democratic'.

Nowadays I just get confused and irritable in supermarkets and embarrassed at the pompous way I considered them to be 'democratic'.

Now, you remember who instigated this trip into mediocrity don't you?

Linda (for it is she) has now amassed enough evidence to come to a conclusion about this latest retail opportunity to spring unbidden from the bowels of boredom.

She doesn't like it.

Now somehow, and I really don't know how it happened, I managed to misplace Linda and found myself wandering around alone.

I found myself in a bad place:

HELP!

I think I'll leave me there.

Lost in a supermarket, surrounded by ladies underwear, and without a ukulele.

That'll teach me to sit and wait in the car in future.

My 'Track of the Week": Kashmir preformed by Led Zepplin.

I like two pieces by Led Zepplin.
One of them is "Trampled Underfoot" the other is this one:

Pompous with pretensions to epic quality.

I think it's a middle-age thing.

The Comfort of Days.

You say your fine

Thriving in the wreckage

And you don't have time 

To contemplate the day

This parties old

Filled with pale shadows

Of beautiful things 

You had to let go

The comfort of days

Soon forgotten

All the ways

You might have spent the time

(© OSM 2012)

BeHeld's first demo try out:

Philosophy 101 with Mystic Rog & OSM.

OSM: My philosophy asserts that everything is absurd.
Mystic Rog: It dosen't occur to you that the assertion "everything is absurd" is, in it's self, absurd,
OSM: Q.E.D.

Welcome To The Modern Cloak-Room Attendant Team!

I have absolutely no idea who these people are, they were just here when I arrived.

I wish I had an exciting job like Linda:

Angry Birds.

The Condition.

It's now a week since I took the steroids.
I feel really well.
My sleep patten has returned to normal.
I now wake up feeling refreshed, and I get out of bed straight away rather than having 'just a couple more minutes'.
My feet feel 'fizzy' but I can live with the sensation and, now that I think about it, I've been living with it since the early part of this year.

My eyesight is more difficult to evaluate.
On sight test charts the improvement is vast when compared to the initial stages, but....
The sensation is of having 'something' obscuring my vision that, in days gone by, would've made me rub my eyes to sort of re-focus them.
Sadly they don't re-focus anymore, or, at least, the left one doesn't seem to.
I don't really notice how my eyesight has changed until I go outside then it becomes all to apparent.
The distance is a double vision blur and bright light causes me lots of problems.
But I'm not blind by any stretch of the imagination.

My walking seems to have changed.
I've always been a bit 'stumbly', clumsy even,  this is different.
I feel somehow knock-kneed.
Difficult to describe.
The problem disappears as soon as I get on my bicycle though.

I mentioned that whist riding to a recent Modern Cloak-Room Attendant shift my eyesight kept coming and going.
There's something similar happening to my legs when I walk anywhere, the fizzing seems to increase in intensity.
I now believe this is due to Uhthoff's Phenomenon.
In fact the more I read about it the more it seems like a credible explanation.
If it happens again when I'm cycling I'll stop riding, cool off, and see if my eyesight improves.

Q.) "And how do you 'feel' now Mr. SpaceMan?"
A.) "I was made out of rocks, spit, and twigs in the dales of Yorkshire, I'm fucking indestructible baby."

Charity Shop Score! 1960's Glass/Plastic Coffee Cups.

Every now and then I'm in the right place at the right time.
Today, 14:15, 4SIGHT Charity shop, was such a place and time today.
Direct from the space-age I found these:

I don't think they've ever been used.

So, that was a definite hit.

This shelf however may need a wide berth:

Note to those in the U.S.A. read "Under" pants.

I'm sure there's a market for them.

Revelling In My Time: Uke Jams and Steam Engines in the Night.

I raved on about Shoreham's Uke @ the Duke jam before so I won't need to elaborate again.

Shoreham's quite a trek for me and I have to wear a special wheeled big metal suit to get there.
Standing room only when I arrived
I always feel like a bit a cheap-skate at uke-jams because I don't have a printer and so I can't print out the song books to take along which means I have to 'rubber-neck' over other people's shoulders.
On a more positive note, it also means I have to socialise, this is no bad thing and one of the important aspects of uke-jamming for me.

Clubs and interest groups can be a bit of a social minefield.
Why?
Because one assumes, or at least I assume, that if one shares the same interest as someone so 'into' something they join a club to pursue whatever interests they have then they must be jolly wonderful people.
How can they not be wonderful people?
They enjoy basket weaving, I enjoy basket weaving, I'm a nice person, therefore they must be nice people, is the false assumption I'm trying to illustrate here.

Let me tell you, I've had to spend time in the company of complete bastards because I made this basic false assumption and, in my experience, running clubs have the highest proportion of bastards to people you might actually want to spend your hard-earned leisure time essentially running through the streets in your underwear with.

Phew, that took some typing.

Anyway, suffice to say that the uke scene doesn't seem to be like that.
Maybe bastards are allergic to ukuleles or perhaps ukuleles are somehow bastard resistant.
Who can say?

Any way, here's a short film about balsa wood:

I had to describe it as a short film about balsa wood because YouTube starts to ask all sorts of awkward questions about copy-write if I indicate it might contain a musical performance.

The observant will notice that virtually everybody in the pub was flailing away at a uke.

I think I heard there were around fifty ukers in total.

Some of them even had beards!

Uke jams just don't care.

I enjoyed myself.

Later, on the drive home, I pulled up at a set of traffic lights in Worthing.

Across the road, travelling in the opposite direction, was a monstrous steam engine breathing fire and smoke.

I leapt from the car, having first activated the hazard warning lights of course, and ran down the street after it prep-ing my camera.

After about 100 yards it was obvious that I wasn't going to be able to catch up with it so I stopped and got what footage I could:

Then I noticed something.

I'd really put in an immense effort to try and catch the engine, full on sprint, but I wasn't out of breath, not even slightly.

The last time I tried jogging, which I hate with a passion, I made it about half that distance before I was unable to breath.

Bless the NHS and their wonderful drugs!

The Horrific Truth About Today's Modern Cloak-Room Attendant Practices!!

The Cow Bell Dept.

Over at There Lives A Wildboar In These Woods Le Sanglier has posted a picture of The Cow Bell Dept* where she works:

I call temptation on that!

Please tell me, because I don't know, how on earth could anyone resist 'testing' all the products in that department just to make sure they were fit for purpose?

(*Which I notice is next door to the Hand-Bell Dept.)

"Will You Be In There Long?"

My glib ramblings, oh how they haunt me as in solitude I sit....

Those of a sensitive nature will no doubt thank me for neither illustrating nor giving explicit details of this most recent "inconvenient" development.

But that apart.

My eyesight has definitely improved.
I'm preparing for a relatively short shift as a Modern Cloak-Room Attendant which shouldn't present much of a problem as I don't think there will be many guests tonight.
My sleep patten is still very disturbed but I can live with it and, just at the moment, feel well rested and alert.

Uh oh,

Excuse me, there's something urgent I must attend to.

Errr, I'm Fine Thanks. (Support Your Local Uke Jam).

The last few days have been a bit of a blur.
The last high-spot was the bicycle ride home during the early hours of Friday morning.
WOW! You should've been there!

The wonderful drugs then began to leave my system.
My sleep patten had become disturbed to the point where I couldn't remember if I'd slept or not.
My feeling being that the "or not" bit is the truth of the situation.

The Modern Cloak-Room Attendant shift that started at 16:00 hrs. on Friday and finished at 03:15 hrs. the following day was, to put it mildly, a trial.
Which, I'd like to point out, I successfully negotiated.

My physical condition at the moment is difficult to evaluate, but I'll try.
I'm not in pain.
I'm sort of 'wobbly' when I walk, but I don't have a problem walking.
My feet feel 'fizzy' in the way they did when both my legs went numb earlier this year.
My eyesight is completely out of focus but seems to be slowly improving.

Another good night's sleep and I may have something more to report but, I will say this:
If you find yourself in a similar situation to me (say, with Optic Neuritis)...

TAKE THE STEROIDS!!!

But, fuss and bother on all that.
Today is the Littlehampton Ukulele Jam!

I'm ready:

A Spaceman Risks Carpet Madness Because The Light Is Just Too Good.

The "Hard-Core" are in:

"What Page?"

And for no apparent reason at all, here's a picture of Linda standing next to a big metal restaurant:

"Hurry Up, I'm Bloody Freezing!"