Thanks to all my fans (both of you!) who emailed me asking me to relent and carry on blogging. After a long deliberation and many sleepless nights I decided that maybe I should return to the fold. I must admit that I missed writing complete and utter nonsense to please the masses!

After my mother died I inherited a big box of papers, letters and photographs that she had collected throughout her life. I found my old school reports and letters to and from the teachers about my disruptive behaviour in class etc.

Honestly I couldn’t believe it. I always thought I was the sweet gentle type who just loved mixing and playing with the other boys, and then kicking the s**t out of them when they wouldn’t give me their dinner money. That was the norm in those days.

I found a handwritten copy of a letter dated July 1950 which I thought was still relevant today. I don’t know whether she copied it from somewhere, or whether she composed it and sent it the HM Inland Revenue & Bandit office. I wouldn’t put it past her, she was a very forthright person; she always told it as it was! Anyway here is a copy of it:

Dear Sirs,

Mrs Dicky Bird
“The Nest”
Upper Sapling
BOUGH
Barkshire

I have changed the name and address to protect the guilty.

First, let me say that I did not write the following, I received it in an email last year from a close friend who has now passed into history. I don’t think he wrote it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had. I have modified it to suit my own particular situation.

I was contemplating writing a post about this very subject, then I remembered this email which states the way I feel so much better than I can. I don’t usually copy other peoples work and claim originality (well, perhaps just a little bit!), so if the originator of it comes forward I will give him/her credit.

“As I’ve aged, I’ve become kinder to myself, and less critical of myself, but more cynical of the way of the world is nowadays.

I’ve become my own best friend; in fact my only friend now. I don’t chide myself for eating that extra cake or biscuit, or for not making my bed, or for buying those gadgets that I didn’t need, but love to play with. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.

Whose business is it if I choose to play on the computer until 3am and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 50′s & 60′s, and if I, at the same time, I wish to weep over a lost love ….. I will.

I will walk along the beach in shorts that are stretched over a beer-belly, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the younger generations. They, too, will get old one day if they don’t drug and smoke themselves to death beforehand.

I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten, and I eventually remember the important things.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child dies, or even when your beloved cat gets hit by a car? Broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning grey and eventually fall out, and to have my youthful laughs(?) forever etched into deep grooves on my face.

I have seen too many close friends leave this world too soon, before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging. So many of them have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.

As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don’t question myself any more. I’ve even earned the right to be wrong when it suits me.

I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. I shall eat crisps, chocolate and cakes, and drink beer and Pastis every single day”.

This is a follow up to my post on the same subject last year.

Last Thursday at the ‘Working Men’s Club’ we were all gathered around the bar quaffing our ale as usual and listening to the folk singers in the lounge singing the usual mournful songs about disasters down the mines, fishing boats sinking in the stormy North sea, death in the trenches (1914-18), and other such cheery songs.

Sid only comes in on Thursdays, wife permitting, to listen to the boys in the back room singing their doom and gloom songs. We all eagerly waited to hear how he got on with our advice on boiling an egg in the microwave, (so it appeared).

Sure enough at 8:30 he appeared, all smiles and generally being jolly. “Hi fellas, how’s things?” he said, and turning to the barman “A pint of mild and a packet of Pork Scratchings please Barry” he said.

Picking up his pint he sat down at a nearby table, and started to read the evening paper.

“Well?” said someone. He glanced up. “Well what?” “How did you get on with boiling your eggs in the microwave?” I asked.

“No problem, thanks to your advice. Best boiled eggs I have ever tasted” he replied. “Really?” I said. “Yes, really, Jean (his wife) said she will always do it that way in future”, then he turned his attention back to the paper.

“Incredible! I would never have believed it.” said Barry, the landlord, “I thought you were having him on” he said to me. “No, would I ever do a thing like that to my best friend?” I replied.

A strange look came into his eyes, “Hmmm . . . Keep on eye on the bar for me for will you?” he said as he turned and walked into the pub kitchen. “I’ll be back shortly”.

About five minutes later we heard a muffled “FLUMP!” from the kitchen and Barry came running back into the bar, “You B*****ds” he shouted “You set me up didn’t you! You knew it wouldn’t work, and the lot of you want … well, you know!”

Turning to Sid he asked “How the hell did you manage to boil the eggs without them exploding?” “Simple” said Sid, “I always boil mine in a saucepan, I’m not as daft as you make me out to be”.

We all stood around laughing, but nobody offered to go and clean out the microwave. “You do realise Barry that this was a conspiracy to pay you back for last Christmas when you served up the Christmas Lunch and told us it was turkey, and afterwards announced that is was ‘road kill’ you found at the side of the lane, made my wife and several people feel really ill, and you thought it was really funny”, announced Sid.

“But I did tell you the day after that it was really turkey didn’t I?” he replied.

“And now we’re telling you that any idiot knows you can’t boil an egg in the microwave” said Sid “You always make out that I’m the village idiot, now you’ve just inherited the title!”

Pub patrons – 1, Pub landlord – 0
Game over.

Should I stop blogging?

It was easy when I first started because I felt I had so much to say, and thanks to Zoe of “My Boyfriend is a Twat” (now now longer with us; in a blogging sense I hasten to add!) who gave my blog a BIG mention at the start. The result was that I had an instant circle of readers. Thanks Zoe.

The truth of the matter is I have so much to say, not in the trivial manner of some of my later posts, but in a more aggressive and political way now. These last few years watching this country go rapidly downhill is distressing me and making me very angry with the politicians and other people who are supposed to be running this country. They are running it alright; into the ground!

I think that if I turn this into a political blog I will lose a lot of my cyber-friends, and I don’t want that. In all honesty I dont think I can continue the way I have done and watch out “lords and masters”, who we elected as our “representatives” to speak for us in Parliament, now telling us what we can and can’t do whilst lining their pockets with our money and living the high life!

See what I mean? I was on the point of a rant just then, but I managed to check myself just in time.

I dont think I will just stop blogging, but I feel that I should take a break for a while and review the situation. One answer I suppose is to start another blog under a different name where I can really have a go at the bas. . . er, blighters who cause so much grief to the elderly, the sick, the unemployed and the homeless while giving shitloads of our money to other countries.

So for the time being it’s ‘au revoir’ from me and the little fellow in the picture, who will no doubt pop up in another blog soon I hope. As Arnie used to say, “I’ll be back”. Now I’m off to the ‘Earl Shilton Home for the Bewildered’ for a spot of R & R.

It is believed that Aesop lived from about 620 to 560 B.C. It’s not known exactly when the first of Aesop’s fables were written as the fables were originally handed down just like a myth or a legend.

Aesop’s fables were originally used to make thinly disguised social and political criticisms, the similarity to parables can be seen in most of his short tales.

I was given a copy of “Æsops Fables for Children” as a Christmas pressie this year from a young relative who obviously thinks I’m in my second childhood (Don’t you dare say it!).

Reading through it during the Queens Christmas Day speech (lets’ face it, anything is better than that!) I came across the following fable which I found was very relevant in these uncertain times:

A Goatherder, driving his flock from their pasture at eventide, found some wild goats that had mingled with them, and shut them up together with his own for the night.

The next day it snowed very hard, so that he could not take the herd to their usual feeding places, but was obliged to keep them in the fold. He gave his own goats just sufficient food to keep them alive, but fed the strangers more abundantly in the hope of enticing them to stay with him and of making them his own. When the thaw set in, he led them all out to feed, and the wild goats scampered away as fast as they could to the mountains.

The Goatherder scolded them for their ingratitude in leaving him, when during the storm he had taken more care of them than of his own herd. One of them, turning about, said to him “That is the very reason why we are
so cautious; for if you yesterday treated us better than the goats you have had for so long, it is plain also that if others came after us, you would in the same manner prefer them to ourselves.”

“Know what I mean? Eh? Know what I mean? Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Saaay no more! ” – Monty Python

“Let us say I break into your house. Then, when you discover me in your house, you insist that I leave, but I say, ‘I’ve made all the beds and washed the dishes and done the laundry and swept the floors. In fact, I have done all the things you do not like to do. I am hard working and honest. Well, except for when I broke into your house.’

According to the protesters, not only must you let me stay, you must also add me to your family’s insurance plan, educate my children, pay for all my family’s medical and other healthcare needs, and provide many other benefits to me and to my family. My husband will do your gardening and general odd jobs because he, too, is hard-working and honest. Well, except for when we broke into your house.

If you try to call the police or force me out, I will call my friends, who will picket your house carrying signs that proclaim my legal right to be there. It is only fair, after all, because you have a nicer house than I do, and I am just trying to better myself.

I am hard working and honest ,well, except for the breaking in part.

And what a great deal it is for me! I live in your house, contributing only a fraction of the cost of my keep, and there is nothing you can do about it without being accused of selfishness and prejudice against house breakers.

You must learn my language, so you can communicate with me, because English is too hard for me to learn. Also, you must change the rules in your schools so that my children can wear the clothes I want them to wear, rather than the uniform your children have to wear. Your schools must also provide special foods to my children and your children must eat these foods, too, because I do not want my children eating many of the foods you and your children eat. Otherwise, you must build schools that are especially for my children, and others like them, where they can wear the clothes of my choice, speak the language of my choice, eat the food of my choice and are taught the subjects of my choice. If you are of a different religion to me, you and your children must also learn all about my family’s religion, although the schools you build for my children will not teach them about the religion of you and your family. As I am living in your house, you and your family must stop celebrating your own religious festivals but allow me always to celebrate mine.

If I break the rules of your house, I should not be subject to the same punishments as your own family because my rules may be different from yours.

You should also allow me to vote – in my own language – because I live in your house”.

(Author unknown at this time.)

I bought a copy of the local paper again today to be confronted with yet more evidence of the “falling crime rate” in our area, as you can see from the front page.

A Leicester based paper said that my town, and the adjoining town of Barwell, have the highest crime rate per head of the population than anywhere in the Midlands!

Where are the police you ask? Honestly, in my 13 years of living in this area I have never seen a policeman actually walking the streets. I have been told that they have been spotted by eagle-eyed people on the odd occasion. I have seen some lady ‘Community Support Officers’ at times, but only in daylight hours and walking in two’s or three’s. Until the Earl shilton Bypass was built we used to get police cars racing through the town with their fairy lights flashing and making enough noise to wake the dead. Now the bypass is in use we don’t even see them anymore.

Nowadays young offenders are just given a caution, in other words a “telling off”. In just eight years 1,873 criminals received at least 10 “cautions” each (Home Office figures)!

When youngsters learn from the outset that they have nothing to fear from the law, is it surprising that so many choose crime as a career?

Must go now to raise the drawbridge, lock the gates and instruct the sentries on the battlements of ‘Smithy Castle’ to stay awake and be alert at all times.

I have the current “Hinckley Times”, which also covers the local area including my town Earl Shilton, in front of me. One report states ‘Crime in the town has fallen’ and goes on to say:

“Overall crime in Hinckley (I suppose that means the district as well)is down 5.5%, equalling 135 fewer victims.

Figures show incidents of racially aggravated crime are down 42% (not surprising, there are very few immigrants in this area), incidents of criminal damage are down 20%, incidents of anti-social behaviour are down 14.6% (obviously the person who quoted this figure doesn’t live in Shilton!)are there were 27 less burglaries compared to a year ago”.

The italics are mine.

The front page headlines on this paper show a Senior Citizen covered in blood after a vicious attack by three youths who set upon him and stole the takeaway meal he had just bought. They stamped on his face and he finished up in hospital. The paper states:

“The law prevents these boys being named because they are under 18″.

However the three were given “referral orders”, (wrists slapped, and warned that if they do it again they will be told off again!) supervised by the ‘Youth Offending Service’. Yet another politically correct do-gooder organisation to help the little darlings get over the traumatic experience of beating up an old man and robbing him.

But I digress. Other news items in the same paper include:

‘Girl, 5, breaks leg after being hit by a car that failed to stop’
‘Store raid terror for workers at the Co-op’
‘Man punched after fracas outside takeway’
‘Police hunting three men after attempted abduction’
‘Man in cider theft’
‘E-fit released after vicious assault’
‘Appeal after an assault in Station Road’
‘Director’s council tax fraud’
‘Man stole from gran’
‘Man faces drugs rap’
‘Devastated at barn stock theft’
‘Man bailed on crack cocaine charge’
‘Sheds broken into and contents stolen’

These are all separate incidents, and this is all from one weeks local paper. Every week I have noticed that the number of crimes is increasing. Twenty years ago there were perhaps one of two crimes reported. Believe me there are a lot of “minor crimes” in our town which go unreported.

Twenty years ago I very rarely locked up at night; naughty I know, but I felt I could trust the people around me. Not now, I lock the front and back door at all times now and never leave a window open at night or when I’m out. I always put the safety chain on before answering the door because recently I  had “persons unknown” trying to open the back door on two occasions when I’ve been in the house!

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Just what is happening to our England? It seems that this traitorous far left extremist Labour party have withdrawn their funding of the now famous Black Country St George’s Day Parade with the feeble excuse that it would attract “extremists”.

More than 20,000 people turned up at last years event and had a great time, myself included. Does this mean that we are all regarded by Sandwell Council (Labour dominated) that we, as patriots trying to keep our traditions and culture alive, are regarded by them as “extremists”?

I think the real reason they want rid of the St Georges Day parade is because they are frightened of offending the ethnic minorities; the very people that Labour are relying on to vote them back into power in May, when they can finish the job of destroying our heritage and culture forever!

Look at the evidence to date:

1. Bradford, 2 years ago. St George parade cancelled because it’s offensive to Muslims. A march to celebrate St George’s Day was axed – because the authorities feared it would spark race riots. About 1,500 children were due to take part in a parade to commemorate the patron saint of England. WTF!

2. Schoolkids are being punished for flying the English flag. It found that politically correct teachers are sending youngsters home for wearing clothing featuring the St George cross. The kids are even being told off just because they have been dropped off in a car decorated with the symbol. WTF!

3. The Church of England is considering rejecting England’s patron saint St George on the grounds that his image is too warlike and may offend Muslims.

4. St George cross banned. British prison officers who wore a St. George’s Cross tie-pin have been ticked off by the jails watchdog over concerns about the symbol’s racist connotations.

There are many more instances of the politically-correct do-gooders trying to brainwash the English people into believing that we are institutionally racist.

I for one cannot accept the fact that we have to bow down to the ethnic minorities and abandon our own culture so as not to offend their culture. I was was always taught that “When in Rome, do as the Romans do”, so why can’t they recognise our traditions in the same way they expect us to recognise their festivals and traditions? The real truth of the matter is that it’s not the immigrants who are offended, but this despicable Government is trying to destroy us as an English nation and replace use with god knows what!

End of rant.