The indignant end of the humble brolly

Water Water everywhere, water water everywhere we care, water water everywhere the council doesn't care...

I thought of this blog because of where I currently work, Macclesdfield, which should be twinned with the kids TV program from the from the late 80's (even though I have now found out that there is a actual town in Dorset called Puddletown, formely Piddletown).

As everyone who lives in England knows an average day is one with rain, the last 2 years seemingly more so, I barely remember a dry day! (I know because I wanted to get onto my roof to do some repairs and 18ft up a ladder on a slippy roof, which could be someone's idea of fun, but not mine).

So on my daily routine, which I have previously blogged, I have to wade through the never ending puddles and dog mess, (which again Mac seems to have more than it's fair share). Past what seems to be the never ending story of block drains and puddles, puddles and did I say puddles? some are almost impassible lakes, hiding car damaging holes and monsters in their depths... along with the added problem of improper and hole filled footwear, this is not a nice town to walk round on damp and wet days.

But alas in this damp environment, scattered around me are the sad, twisted, discarded bodies of broken brollies... cast upon the pavement, in the gutter or shoved hastily into a bin and bush. It's a familiar site in any town or city, on a wet and stormy day, this simple tool dumped indignantly, after it's overwhelming usefulness.

A brolly is one thing that most people at anytime, will own more than one. (I myself have 2, one in the car, the other somewhere in the house.) And surely this second oldest invention or tool, should not be disposed of in such an ungrateful manner... I say second oldest invention, as I think the stick came first and the concept of the brolly second, as demostrated by one of our closest relatives.

So why has it become the second most abused tool?... (again in my eyes... shopping trollies get a harder deal at being abused, at least some brollies end up in bins).

Have some become so lazy, that they have the attitude of where it falls it should stay? and has it combined with the overall cheapness of the brolly itself? summed up in this simple equation below.

one pound or squid or pund! plus a chav shop girl, (who also will offer discount ladies socks, if you want any today?), equals an umbrella.

But as the saying goes, you get what you pay for.. ie it's cheap nasty and will break soon...

Does this show the state of affairs of the world?...

How we as a nation or a species don't care for much anymore, about our possessions, our tools and other people? - what will be the antiques of the future from such an age of idleness...

Only time will tell if we will end up in the dustbin or chucked in a bush when we break...

A pair of happy brollies... silly how one nearly covers the other....

Space and the fear of The Grim Reapers chilly hand!

Now before I start please don't get me wrong, I think old people are great, my great aunt is a feisty nice lady of 86, who means the world to me and my gramps (who turned 91 this year) I care for too.

But the issue I have is - I never like to queue with a pensioner with no idea about personal space and their big fear of death (fairs, fairs it is always around the corner for them). I'm not the only one my best friend has similar situations.

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Most of the times it appears to happen in M&S till queue, as seems a favourite hang out for gangs of them (what would you call a group of pensioners?), all buying overpriced but decent food. Some days the amount of tweed is too much for the eye, some are fine and make pleasant conversation and a smile, but I digress.

After making my choices - which are pretty simple when you have the same thing, I go to the till and this is where my heart starts to race and the mission to avoid the static nylon, fluffy tweed and noisy polyester begins.

I've always had a thing about personal space and who to let in it, I rarely hug my sister and just of late started to hug my parents again, I don't know what has cause this, friends I hug all the time... but family I don't much, is it the same as putting a kiss on a text?

.. again something that I never used to do...

But when it comes to a stranger, well I can flinch and feel horrid.

And the main offenders are old ladies...

(Some old ladies, young man)

So the situation is your happily stood in a queue - with the right amount of distance from you to the next person and the payee, when suddenly, they are there, first you notice a slight catch of your coat or a brush on your back - so instinctively you move forward and give them room, but sensing you've moved, they move too - even if it's only faction of an inch (I'm still imperial)

- it's almost like their tweed has taken on the properties of velcro or magically gained magnetic attraction to you!, or is this their way of saying hurry up I've not much time left on this mortal coil, I have to feed my pussy it's din dins...

Worst still when this does occur, the payee is taking their time, forgot their number or wants cash back or this items crushed etc etc making this shuffler behind more and more annoying.

So now you're stood waiting, knowing what a limpet feels like. Sometimes it can end there, you can pay and leave - rapidly, but there are times when it will last beyond this...

If the situation continues and you've closed the gap up as much as you dare, to the person in front, you then have to experience every little movement, that the tweed bearer makes, felt on your back - are they going through you pockets too, picking out lint and crumbs? runs through your mind too.

If this happens you may as well pay for their shopping, since become so close... and they are next to you as you begin punching in your number to pay, almost so close that you struggle for breath as they steal it, before you have chance to take it in.

Drastic visions, but I only want a lover that close.

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There are only 2 solutions, I've discovered so far to help this:

1. Which is mine, is to stand sideways with my legs wide apart - never turn your back on them or they will be stealing your warmth as quick as cold morning.

2. My best friends solution (which you need balls for), is to turnaround baffle them face on with a statement, sending the offending OAP in to a confused state, which in turn makes them back off into the depths of their wheeled trolley, he did this once as an old dear was nearly humping his leg as he paid, it worked a treat!.

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So on to the second issue.....

Yes I apologised before for the "fear of death" thing, but I have lived most of my life (at least 30 years now) with a grandparent, who has been afraid of death. As the rest of my grandparents have sadly passed away, through illness and genetic conditions, he has out lived them all and the rate he's going - he still has quite a while left in him (unless he worries himself to death).

I have a thing about it in the most part as it can get slightly annoying at times... he worries about every little thing - that could KILL HIM!.... how ever trivial... and some of them have been very trivial!

But it still remains a surprising and captivating mystery to our family, that he has lasted this long... as I will explain...

Again I can imagine anyone saying so what.... you should be glad that he still about (which I am)

Well, since the passing of his wife my grandma (29 years ago), who must have kept him in line, he has become one of these people off "how clean is your house"... not quite as bad as some on there. But we are willing to bet there is something else alive in his kitchen.

Before he came to live in the granny annex at my parents, he live in a one bedroom flat, this coupled with his habits - which mainly were not cleaning properly, stepping in dog mess at any given chance and keeping old rusty bike, that maybe useful.

I've never known anyone this untidy, dirty and considering he is so afraid of death, tempting the grim reaper everyday (maybe even he's afraid to go in there), with the lack of basic hygiene around the home.

It's plainly visible with amount of dust bunnies, living on his skirting boards and the general grime on surfaces, should be a clear indication, that he should not worry so much about death... I think death worries about him!.

The Futures bright, the future's polka dotted.

So I've decided to start a blog, the outcome is unknown and the content just swirls of memory and put together thoughts in my head and apologies now for my bad grammar, which I hope will improve.

Why today I keep asking myself, sat at my place of work multi tasking between programs, slightly tired and suffering swollen tonsils, with a boredom that has hung around me like a dark patchy fog for sometime now, only wiped away by friends and a girl called N and previously B.

Well, I guess sat listening to music it's making me drift back to when I was a kid and all the expectations I believed that the future had for me (too much belief in the movies on my part and probably the source of my boredom) it is as good as place as any to start.

I do find that my mind never shuts off, making me think far too much at times, during my dinner I was thinking of possible things to blog about, memories, rants or whatever comes to mind, as someone I know does really good blogs and if I can write just one thats as good I'll be happy.

START OF THE SPIRAL-

I think my eyes were opened clearly to the future by TV shows like Starsky and Hutch, Dukes of Hazzard, The Rockford Files, Ironside, Quincy (Jack Klugman was the best of all!) Space 1999, The Professionals and Wonderwoman in the late 70's. Beaming into our homes that men were men and had a clear a sense of duty, but most of all they always got the girls, (apart from Wonderwoman). For obvious reasons the Wonderwoman has been a main stayer throughout the years. (all this was before I moved abroad, which was a total different kettle of fish when it comes to my tele-visual experience -for a later time to be explained).

Lynda Carter on screen gave birth to child like images of what the future could have in store for me. I had a fairly clear cut idea of what I wanted to look like after this, a suave man in a suit, with slightly flared pants (as it was the fashion back then) and a full head of hair, a sense of duty, possibly a tuff cop with a gun, saving people left right and centre and always getting the girl - with a smile and a laugh at the end of the day!, but the true overall picture inside my head, I looked more like a cartoon than real person (and with being a artist these days I could draw my image out and laugh). Though recently I have found where the seed for this image of my future self came from, I believe it was the guy that Wonderwoman had a soft spot for good old Steve Trevor and his white teeth.

This came about because I was an early starter in liking girls, I found them a thing of fantasy, wonder and fun mostly, apart from L's sister who once clonked me on the head with a golf club.

My best friend at the time was a girl we shall call E, she was the granddaughter of the my neighbour, blonde haired, blue eyed (like myself) and she was fun!. We were like two peas in a pod (as described years later) and our time together seemed endless (as most people always think) and I thought we'd be together forever, but only thing that comes to mind going back to this time, is the incident of the "worm", one of our mutual friends placed a worm on the swing she was about to use, on seeing it she blamed me and stormed off. From that moment on it was a downward spiral, I soon moved abroad for three years and when I came back it was never the same, much to the dismay of the "peas in a pod" people.

The rest of the my simple life back then was constantly being filled with the outdoors and good british humour, family gameshows - with fantastic prizes, which saturated the old idiot lantern. But here and there it was speckled with the odd titivation of Legs & Co, Angela Ripons legs, Hills Angels (seemingly always chasing Benny in suspenders), the ever popular site of the Felicity Kendal in the Good Life and going to my grandmas, cause they bought The Sun newspaper.

It seemed fairly clear cut what a "English" man back then required, the odd bit of smut, skimpy dressed girls, Mrs Solcombe going on about her pussy and countless other double entendres/innuendoes , which I imagined would continue on and on till I understood the joke and take all this "englishness" with me into my adult life.

SKIP TO THE END -

So here I am years later, not the tuff brit cop that gets the all the girls, but an artist with a sense of duty (that some rare times gets the girls), time on my hands and bad english grammar, wondering if this blog will be any good and lead to more.

I still am smutty and can hear a double entendre a five paces and have a huge crush still - on the starry pants wearing Lynda Carter and girls are still great, so some things have stuck with me.

The Future is nothing like what I imagined, mostly down to the fact it became clear I was born in the most prolific and inventive century so far. Things have become so PC and dehumanised by technology, that I find myself feeling antiquated before my time, the sense of moral duty and fibre, fighting hard against its slow erosion by the media, which opened my eyes in the first place....

So what's next?