Tuesday, October 31, 2017


Happy Halloween! The neighbourhood throbs with fireworks and ghostly figures scaring the pants - as in panting from a fright - from estate residents who smile at the little monsters, or turn off the lights with each chance for a trick or treat.
At the supermarket this afternoon, small monsters rushed passed trying to fit oversize pumpkins into seemingly undersized shopping trolleys. I thought I'd amuse them. 'Baked or boiled pumpkins for you, young man?' I asked one in a sort of shroud.
His mother laughed and the lad stumbled over a message he could hardly wait to get out. 'Why did the copper nab the 'alloweeny ghost?
'So 'cause like 'e didn't 'ave a ...' He jogged his mother's handbag for a prompt, then remembered. 'The ghost didn't 'ave a licence for 'unting.'
'Hauntin',' the lady said.
'Yea, an' that.' The little lad turned up the volume as an excited group of young Halloweeners joined us. A junior Batman shouted, 'What trees like 'alloween the most of all?'
The questioner couldn't wait for me to guess. 'Bam-BOO!' he shouted. 'An', an' what do witches put on their 'air? Scare spray!'
Continues on my blog for my not all that scary true life adventure story Sailing to Purgatory, here >>> SailingToPurgatory.com

Monday, October 30, 2017

No sex, please. We're young!

In ancient days, elders were seen as the wisest, the most knowledgeable, and they were chosen as the leaders and - believe it or not - they were actually listened to. Yes, if you happen to be of a certain age, you'll know that some facts from history do seem impossible to accept.
Yet when you think about it, what a crazy notion to imagine that elders, monopolised by the task of defying death, would have something - anything - to say that might amount to good sense.
Of course, if you are younger you'll know those, er, wonderful lectures about clothes then and now and music then and none now etc etc.
You'll know only too well, also, the taste for what was once termed music, music that they rate as sexy and very exciting - a waltz. To them it's more of a turn on than Adam's apple was to Eve.
I mean, a waltz! You'll know the rhythm, one-two-three, one-two-three. A tapping of the nose with the forefinger here. Say no more.
Here at the old folks' housing estate where the State has me shelved, we're pretty taken by the latest to come from the whipper-snappers down behind the silenced grandfather clock at Westminster.
Apparently - well, the Beeb reckons so - they're going to halt the happy old groping that we ancients saw as confirmation of our appreciation of the difference between the sexes.
In the old days, if we wanted one of the opposite gender to know we considered them attractive, we'd do more than announce it.
Nothing like a pat, a touch, even a gentle goosing, to confirm your feelings. The answer came with a blush and a coy line, and occasionally a no-can-do. Of course, even the gals not attracted were at least grateful for the proof of appreciation. Continues on the blogs for my travel story, Sailing to Purgatory, >>>>  here at SailingToPurgatory.com