Forgotten Years

Whilst in the process of clearing out piles of old folders and plastic bags in a neglected room I've come across some ancient gems. Mostly of interest only to myself and immediate family, nonetheless I intend to share a few found items with the blogosphere.

This is (was?) my father cira 1972 - the face of Minster Fuels :

His name wasn't Roy, for some reason 'Les' was not considered the right name for a heating engineer. On the reverse is an advert for 3-piece suites, reduced from £60 to £42. You wouldn't get a bloody 3-piece SUIT for that price now, let alone furniture!

The following picture is definitely an indication of how things change ;

That's my mother and I, Christmas 1966. I am proudly clutching my new golliwog. Guess what, I grew up without becoming racist. Funny that.

Here's me in 1965 :

And here's me half an hour ago :

Which proves, if nothing else, that dogs like me even if humans don't. Also the hair's come full circle.

Finally (for now at least) a family picnic from 1964. At an aerodrome in Hampshire. We weren't fussy. (I say 'we', but as this was taken in the summer I was merely a collection of sexless cells with no identity at this time. Some say I still am.)

I suspect more of this nonsense will follow soon....



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The Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round

...except when they don't.

So, I was walking the dog with a friend yesterday when we encountered a huge scaffolding lorry parked completely over the pavement on a single track lane leaving just enough room for cars to pass, but only just. We carefully passed it (by having to walk up the middle of the road) while being balefully watched by three dead-eyed hairy-arses carrying scaffolding poles and planks to and from the lorry.

One of the 'men' stacked a pile of planks against the side of the lorry, reducing the passing space even further. An average sized car would JUST be able to pass. That's when the bus arrived. We both stopped and turned to witness what happened next. The bus drew up behind the lorry but could go no further. The men stared at the bus. The bus flashed its lights. The men stared at the bus. The driver wound down the window, I couldn't hear what he said to the men but there was no reaction. The men stared at the bus.

Maybe I'm considered soft, but at this point I would have shouted something like "Oops, sorry mate!" and moved the planks to give the bus a fair chance of at least trying to get by. The men stared at the bus. I was fully expecting one of them to rip his shirt off and start bellowing and beating his chest.

Eventually, after several cars and a bike had pulled up behind the bus, turned round and buggered off again, the bus slowly squeezed past the lorry, destroying someone's hedge in the process. The men stared at the bus. Once it had gone they carried on loading their lorry in silence.

My friend and I looked at each other, our mouths open, stunned by this weird display of macho ignorance. It seems that it is considered a weakness by a certain portion of the population to demonstrate any glimmer of thoughtfulness or consideration towards others, or indeed to even acknowledge their existence. I shouldn't be surprised, I already knew that, but it's always stunning to actually see it in action and it confuses and saddens me every time.

My friend is a librarian. She doesn't expect to encounter any of those men again anytime soon.

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'These Frequencies are Changing...

...a soft acceleration, across the surface of the sea...' - I do like those lyrics, courtesy of John Foxx the ever-regenerating quiet man. Music and wordplay is so subjective, but right now they evoke a certain empathy within me as things around me do seem to be gently altering at the moment.

It's very possible that within the next few months I will have to initiate and deal with a major life change, new job, new house, new area to live in. It's something I've been toying with for several years now and things have shifted into a position which dictates that it's probably now or never. Strange how 20 years ago I'd have just got on with it, embracing the adventure and the change... and yet right now, even though the possible outcome will mean a vastly improved lifestyle in a place I really want to be, it's utterly terrifying! Thus prevarication has set in. Someone kick my arse please?

I had an amazing drunken day out with some very good friends yesterday, alternating between pubs and wobbly woodland walks, ending up at the finest drinking establishment in town for a nightcap. Reality-dodging can be fun!

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