Well, here I am playing the music, the sun shining down benignly, peace and calm around. Now.

Off this morning, sharp as a pin, dressed to impress and wearing the Calcutta Light Horse tie. (Oh come on, you all know about the CLH - surely. If not, please ask) Doing my mentoring job with a Student who has some problems. That was good. He’s a nice young person.

Then Herself’s Doctor brother plus one son visits. Lots of ‘war stories’ from my time as an undergraduate in Cambridge and an Officer Cadet - and later on in business. Then they saw a pic of me in my kilt so I got them to try one on. ‘Oh, isn’t it heavy!’ Yup. That’s why it looks so good.

Why do people wear trousers when they go walking? A kilt is so much more comfortable.

T’other son was up at Cambridge and last year asked for help. Doctor Dad has a different knowledge base and asked if I could help. So I did. And had a load of fun doing it. Well, the work I did earned a Star First. Now you might say that was unfair because I did the work - not him. But he had enough nouse to ask me. Hmm. Whatever. To me it’s my Star First.

White van appears outside - ding-dong. Bottle of malt whisky and two crystal glasses from my apologetic bank - and that on top of the three figure sum into my a/c last week. Cool.

Herself is off tomorrow to visit bereaved Mother. Not easy. Doctor brother says that if a close loved one dies - move the furniture. Otherwise the close person will get ‘flash-backs’ - and think they’re going mad. I never thought about that. The mind is a wonderful thing.

I’m ingesting small but significant quantities of malt whisky and have about run out of steam after all that. So what is today’s thought?

People are funny. We are all driven by our perception of others - not by the facts. If I think you are rude - then for me, you are rude. The fact that you did not intend to be rude and can’t understand where I’m coming from is irrelevant.

Work with other people’s perceptions and manage your own perceptions of others. Easy? Never. Vital? Always. Sleep tight my friends - Dad

I’m off next weekend to spend time with my lovely kids. Kids? they’re in their 40’s.

My beloved Lucy, Matthew and - er - ‘Henry’. I can’t wait.

I love my kids so much. The joy of seeing them, of hugging them. Indeed of kissing them. To think that they kiss me - at our age and stage. My heart bursts with love for them.

We hope for so much for our kids.

What wise words has Dad today? Surely we all love our kids. But remember - other people are other people’s kids. Perhaps we should love them too.

Sleep well - Dad

Just for a change, the sun is shining. I’m listening to Glen Campbell. Well, someone should.

Lovely phone call from Henry’s Mum. I love her so much.

Off next weekend - with luck - to see my lovely kids (kids!!) and a couple of (truly) old friends. That will be so good. But I have a problem. The lovely but menatlly disbaled son of one of my old friends expects to see me in my kilt. And all the kit. Hmmm.

Which brings me to my last post. I expected a torrent of comment. You think it doesn’t matter? Well, if so, my Country is lost.

It’s hard for me to to think calmly - but -
The feminist movement has shot itself in the foot. I have been pro-active about the place of women in the world. But many women are not seeking equality. Equality of opportunity but deference to gender. Well ladies - one or the other. I know which one I vote for. Why not you?

A long standing friend of mine received a copy of an editorial published in the Australian press. And sent me a copy. As it happens, Herself was, as I’m sure I’ve yarned to you about, a £10 Pom - she emigrated to Australia for £10 and stayed there for 10 years. She misses it desperately and keeps trying to get me to get us to visit - preferably for an infinite period of time. So the following script rang a big bell with her. And it does with me. Because the parallels with the UK (oops, sorry, bliar has destroyed that - but you know what I mean) are too close for comfort. But no-one here is saying what this guy is saying so clearly. Hmm. I share this with you not to start a riot but to kick-start some thinking. Hopefully.

Our Country - YOU Have the right - the right to leave !

After hearing about Sydney not wanting to offend other cultures by putting
up Xmas lights; after hearing that the State of South Australia changed its
opinion and let a Muslim woman have her picture on her driver’s license
with her face covered; this prompted this editorial written by an
Australian citizen. Published in an Australian newspaper.

Quote:
IMMIGRANTS, NOT AUSTRALIANS, MUST ADAPT.
Take It Or Leave It

I am tired of this Nation worrying about whether we are offending some
individual or their culture.

Since the terrorist attacks on Bali, we have experienced a surge in
patriotism by the majority of Australians. However, the dust from the
attacks had barely settled when the “politically correct” crowd began
complaining about the possibility that our patriotism was offending others.
I am not against immigration, nor do I hold a grudge against anyone who is
seeking a better life by coming to Australia. However, there are a few
things that those who have recently come to our country, and apparently
some born here, need to understand. This idea of Australia being a
multicultural community has served only to dilute our sovereignty and our
national identity.

As Australians, we have our own culture, our own society, our own language
and our own lifestyle. This culture has been developed over two centuries of
struggles, trials and victories by millions of men and women who have
sought freedom. We speak ENGLISH, not Spanish, Lebanese, Arabic, Chinese,
Japanese, Russian, or any other language. Therefore, if you wish to become part
of our society, Learn the language!

“In God We Trust” is our National Motto. This is not some Christian, right
wing, political slogan. We adopted this motto because Christian men and
women, on Christian principles, founded this Nation, and this is clearly
documented. It is certainly appropriate to display it on the walls of our
schools. If God offends you, then I suggest you consider another part of
the world as your new home, because God is part of our culture. If the
Southern Cross offends you, or you don’t like ” A Fair Go", then you
should seriously consider a move to another part of this planet. We are
happy with our culture and have no desire to change, and we really don’t
care how you did things where you came from. This is OUR COUNTRY, OUR LAND,
and OUR LIFESTYLE, and we will allow you every opportunity to enjoy all
this. But once you are done complaining, whining, and griping about Our
Flag, Our Pledge, Our National Motto, or Our Way of Life, I highly
encourage you take advantage of one other great Australian freedom, “THE
RIGHT TO LEAVE".

If you aren’t happy here then f#@* off! We didn’t force you to come here.
You asked to be here. So accept the country YOU accepted. Pretty easy
really, when you think about it.

Well, like it or not - that makes one think. So-called multiculturalism in the ragged remains of our once united and focused land is simply setting person against person. For that reason alone I think it is a lousy concept. But what a very tangled web faces us.

I’m very troubled for what used to be my country. I’m almost glad that I’m old and so won’t see how this horrendous mess plays itself out. I pass the poisoned chalice to you youngsters.

And my closing thought? Cherish and protect our innocent young who know not that they will carry the burden of our future on their slim shoulders.

My love to you all - Dad

Finished re-planting the front garden and putting down the bark mulch. A nice job. Now we start on the back. The poor old garden suffered badly because I wasn’t well enough to look after it - so it needs a big makeover. With the help of Julian who does the work (I just pay the money and buy the stuff we need) it should all be fine by the end of the summer. Aaah.

Herself had the brain-scan this morning. Now we chew fingernails waiting for the result. Brain tumour or not? Please cross everything for her. We’ll be on a knife-edge for at least a fortnight.

Meanwhile I got another result from a certain Bank which has been messing me about. £150 in my account and 3 bottles of superior malt whisky. Presumably to prevent me from remembering what they did.

Meanwhile have offered Henry the loan of my metal detector and have to drive up there with it. So I get to see the family. That’ll be good. Do I get a percentage of whatever he finds? Hmm.

Lastly have been interested to see chatter on Henry’s site about giving up smoking. For some time I was an expert because I gave up regularly. I started smoking because back in those days (Think WW 2) doctors said that smoking was good for your health because it killed off the germs - true! Anyway one Sunday Henry’s Mum and I were sitting in front of the fire reading Sunday papers and I said I was giving up (not again!) and would she? Answer - yes if you’re still not smoking next week. Action replay - next week, fire, papers, I said ‘Have you got a cigarette?’ Ask most smokers and they haul out a packet and wave it at you without another thought. So she did. I can see it in my mind’s eye today. A packet of 20 Senior Service with only two fags gone. So I threw it on the fire. The row that followed was well nigh homicidal. But she stopped too. Which is how Henry’s Mum and Dad stopped smoking. And, no, I have no idea why it worked then when it hadn’t worked several times before. But neither of us smoked again. And Henry was a small babe in a carrycot at the time.

Dad’s thought today? A life spent trying and making some mistakes is much more valuable than a life spent doing nothing but complain about the mistakes of others.

Peace to you all - Dad

Things have been a bit busy this week! But here I am with the rain pouring down and listening to Chet Atkins with Mark Knopfler. Just what I need today.

Service of Thanksgiving for Herself’s Dad today and I should have been taking her there and joining in. But I was up last night with problems at both ends and am still in that state! So Plan B is that she went up on her own, with the cold lunch for 10 made early this morning and will overnight with sister. Back tomorrow. There are some weird bugs about. And I feel really bad not being with her.

I sent the following letter to the D.Telegraph (don’t worry, they won’t publish it):

Seeking to enjoy the Young Musicians’ final I was reminded brutally that modern music is wholly unmusical and without merit. Which reminded me that modern art is inartistic and real filthy beds, dead animals or drunken explosions of colour lack any merit. Meanwhile many of today’s children are inarticulate, innumerate and illiterate. So from whence come the people who teach our young to be inept and unable? And who is teaching the teachers to sabotage our cultural life?

But have you any kind of answer to my question? Looked at objectively, our so-called civilisation here in the UK (oops, sorry, bliar has destroyed the UK - but you know what I mean) is seriouly uncivilised and getting worse week by week. Public bad behaviour, untaught and undisciplined children, gross levels and types of crime, ever lower standards everywhere - the list could go on for ages. What on earth is driving this ever downwards? But it’s reaching catastrophic proportions and we all seem to be sleepwalking down the slope. And no-one is kicking up a fuss. Just one-off grumbles about one-off events. Where’s the National Movement to stop this NOW and turn it around?

Surely no sane person wishes to live in the environment we have now - let alone the abyss into which we are being pitched?

Back to the Young Musicians - the wrong person won it. It should have been the pianist. Stunning. As for the percussionist - as a one-time drum player, including military band, jazz and classical - words fail me. Is he thinking of adding tap-dancing, eating ice-cream and juggling 5 multi-coloured balls to his act? Save me!!

Shades of the film Mrs Henderson - I played the drums in a jazz club in a basement across the (narrow) road where The Windmill Theatre is. Cor, I was wicked in those days!! But you knew that, didn’t you?

Think positive, Dad!! Yeah - got a result yesterday. Four phone points in the house. Two in the office - one for fax / phone and the other for phone. One in our bedroom. One in the living room - with a walk-about phone. Had it for some years and the battery has died. Cheaper to change the phone than buy another battery - if you can get one to suit an old piece of kit. So off I go.

Study phones and find only one that also has an answerphone facility. OK. After some trouble find a Person. I’d like one of those, please. Pause. Gets key, opens doors to stock. We haven’t got one. Oh. Well that’s a bit silly - why is it on display? AH but we have some NEW phones that are NOT on display. Go on, show me. Here’s this one. GOOD - does it have an answerphone feature? (Sighs) Yup - you can see the green button on the pic on the box. Are you SURE? Yup. So I buy it.

Get home, open box, grab instructions - and you’ve already guessed - NOPE. No answerphone. Back in car, down road, ask for The Manager. Made a strong case for being messed about. Much clattering of computer keys. We haven’t got one in stock. Oh. I will credit you for the one you returned, would you like the display one for nothing?

Well, that’s a result. I thanked him a lot. It’s very smart and has all sorts of fancy features, too. It’s worrking a treat.

Time I left. So what’s Dad on about today?

There’s a game called Prisoner’s Dilemma. It was created to study the effect of choosing to co-operate - or not - with someone with whom you negotiate. You will find lots of references on the internet. The bottom line is that you get further by co-operation than by power-play. Depending on the real situation. So I might gain with a power-play today - but what about tomorrow. Anyway -

If your opening approach to others is co-operation rather than isolated power-play - in general you get more of what you want - and less of what you don’t want.

Hey - have a peaceful day - Dad

Well, dear me, a lumpy day today. Herself is still with her family so I’m on my own. Up at 5 o/c this am (that’s usual) got the morning papers at 6 and drank tea / read papers for a while. Then off to the Village - so nice. The people are so nice to me. Then two long phone calls from (literally) old friends asking for my help / advice / w.h.y. about stuff. So that was nice too - and I’ve spent a bunch of time creating a PowerPoint Video Presentation for one of them. ‘Cause he can’t do it himself.

Watched the Qualifying for F 1. Looking forward to the race but Herself is having lunch with Mum and won’t be back here in time. Oh well.

I shouldn’t show off, but one of my old friends said such a nice thing about me:
You’re a person who lights up a room when you come in - not because you have left.
What a lovely thing to say.

Well - off to make supper but here’s a thought:
If all the economists in the world were laid end to end they wouldn’t reach a conclusion. So who said that?

And my thought? Why not be nice to people - they may have had a really horrid day in which case you will bring them pleasure. If they’ve had a good day - they will share their pleasure with you.

Sleep well, friends - Dad

Why is my SECOND blog published before my FIRST blog?

Answers on a bank note please!!!!

Dad

Which first? The good or the bad? Well it’s a lovely warm and sunny day today.

And thanks to Jane for suggesting California as an alternative to Vermont. I was fortunate enough to spend about 10 years of my business life working in International as people put it. So I saw most - not all - of the world (watch out or I’ll tell you about the British Trade Missions I led to the USSR and India) and a fair amount of the USA - including California. I was often in San Fran, LA and San Diego on business - and over time spread myself about by car to sightsee and enjoy. I must have had the occasional bad experience, but none come to mind. I have some lovely memories of lovely people. Apart from an occasional lack of sense of humour over security (and this decades before 9 / 11).

I was staying in a large hotel in LA. Breakfast tray from room service. Being a tidy chap, I went to put the tray outside my door. I happened to be stark naked at the time. Don’t ask me how, but I over-reached myself and the door - on a very strong spring for security reasons - slammed shut behind me. Well now. Stifle scream and see wall-phone for maids to use. Call down. Pls. will someone let me back into my room NOW - if not sooner. And run into deep suspicion. Hang on to phone, face to wall, assailed by transfers and long waits whilst phones brrr somewhere. At last deep cross questioning. How could I PROVE I was the occupant? Try that with no clothes on. Suggest that nudist robbery was a very unlikely form of sport in LA - or anywhere apart from a nudist colony. And what happens? They send a VERY BIG MAN with a VERY BIG GUN who stands well back and DEMANDS that I face him, then DEMANDS that I prove who I am. You couldn’t make it up.

However the adult readers amongst us will know intuitively that standing naked in a hotel corridor trying to reason with a gun-wielding idiot whilst the occasional disbelieving guest passes by (direct to the Front Desk to complain, doubtless) makes the male dangly bits try and hide themselves. So I’m not even a - how shall I put it? - robust looking nudist. Probably about as - how shall we say? - ‘well formed’ as a 7 year old just after swimming in a country stream in November. Stupid sod. Him, not me. I told him to open the door, open my passport which was lying exactly THERE and I would tell him the dates of the latest three stamps in it and the countries that made them. Well THAT was stupid of me. With a BIG GUN who needs to know about passports? However, it worked in the end. When I checked out no-one would look me in the eye. Yeah, it’s a c-o-o-l place, California!!!! And thanks, Jane. Don’t let me know your address or I might just - -. No, don’t go there.

Enough for this blog - I’ll write another.

I’m on a GBS kick just now (oh, you’ve noticed) ‘Do not do unto others as you would they should do unto you. Their tastes may not be the same’. Couldn’t put it better myself!

Dad

Starting this one with lordh. Yup, the fondue was magic. And, sorry, no cigar for 833. But hey - that cuts down the choice for the others so you done good there!! (Always look on the bright side - because with a labour gov’t you are BOUND to get pxxxxd on sooner rather than later and you need all the cheer you can find)

Well the promised bad news is about Herself’s much loved father. He had a major heart op. and has suffered from leukemia for some time. He has been bed-bound at home for the last 8 months being looked after by Mum - of whom more anon. Needed oxygen to breathe, personal functions not good. And etc.

Having put my yesterday blog on, the phone lights up. He has had a seizure / heart attack (?) Wiped out. Emergency ambulance to hospital. Attempted resucitation but feared brain dead. Do we go or stay (other family members much nearer) Then - that’s it. Passed away in the hospital. It’s over.

As I’ve said before he was such a lovely man. The family are Born Again Christians and their Church was founded by Grandad. I’ve been there and the people in the Church Community are incredible. Then I read about these animals in schools and on our streets. And rage. He and Mum are two absolute golden people. Those disgusting louts are not fit to lick his boots. And the certainty is that if one of them attempted to - he would never have let them.

So we tried Plan A - I drove us up there this morning, overnight at an eye-wateringly expensive hotel, back tomorrow. Neither of us slept too well so at about 3 o/c I suggested Plan B - she drives up today and stays with her sister for as long as Mum needs her. So we did Plan B. She set off early and is safely up and at it there.

And wouldn’t you know. Mum’s 80th birthday is in June and many plans have been made - and kit bought - to celebrate a wonderful occasion for two wonderful people. Smash. Smithereens. And how will Mum feel? A long, close marriage - and she’s not too well herself. Hmm.

But it was a matter of when, not if. And someone who has unselfishly done so much for so many disadvantaged people will, indeed, be warmly welcomed in the Heaven he so richly deserves.

Note to terrorists of whatever kind - please read this and think about it. But they won’t.

Sorry - I’m in tears writing this and I probably shouldn’t have let it out. Why oh why do the SXXXS survive - and the decent people suffer? Just one of many, many questions. What right has prescot to life when such a fine man has been taken? Answer that, and I’ll know the secret of the universe.

Slightly over the top here, I’m afraid. But that’s the way it is.

In ‘usual’ terms my father was older than usual when I was born. Later I was fairly newly married with two kids and working every hour I could travelling and trying to succeed in my business career. Busy, busy, busy. But my father would go on for ever. Then, one day, he’d gone. But I’d never asked him about his life. About his work. About - well - him. And now I’ll never know. I can’t tell you how much this hurts me - quite often - today almost 40 years after his death. PLEASE don’t make my mistake.

I’m out of here - but my love to you all - Dad

You could say that my Vermont blog fell flat as a pancake. SURELY we have a blogger in Vermont? No? Then please will someone FIND ONE!!!

Anyway, I’m working hard over my computer today, the weather is overcast but warm - and I’m playing 3 o/c in the morning jazz. Yeah!

Herself is busy creating more teeny-tiny stuff, working e-bay and her web-site. I don’t know. But she’s happy which is the most important thing.

She’s come up with a ’super wheeze’ for her next Fair. A competition to guess the number of Smarties in (an empty) half-litre-brandy-bottle. I was forced to drink the brandy to enable her to do this. Entries from you all will be accepted - the number is 3 digits, neither 2 nor 4. So that makes it much easier for you to win. NO CHEATING!! But preference given to entries enclosing a soiled bundle of used current bank notes. Watch this space for ACTION!!

Long standing very good friend from the Training Days phoned yesterday having small hysterics. Wants to run a day programme of training, got the venue lined up - paid money - PANIC! What to talk about? Well, I would have thought that you STARTED with what to talk about and went on from there, but what do I know? But it gave me some fun. So I e-mailed him some stuff with an outline programme - entitled More Profit in only 20 small steps. Profit is the POWER that drives your Business. And so forth.

Pause for thought. Actually making a profit is the only thing that drives the success and comfort of the inhabitants of our isle. Why doesn’t brown know this. As for bliar - well you can only laugh, can’t you. bliar, brown and punchy two XXags all together in a bag of total stupidity. If that was a TV series you would give up watching because it was so removed from reality. Except that it’s OUR reality. We’re stuck with these stupid, thick, hopeless, perverted bastards. PLEASE tell me the name of the only person in Britain who voted for this lot because he needs what we Therapists call ‘re-orientating’. As for crims having more rights than I have - or more worrying still - Herself has. Words fortunately fail me.

Which is why our troops should be out of Iraq. I’m all in favour of our Navy Army and RAF - having been in two of them and wanted to be in the other one. But if Iraq wants to have a civil war - go for it, guys. Without us.

I wrote an unpublished (as usual) letter to the D.T. saying that after we cut India adrift (a big mistake) it blew up and became India, Pakistan and Bangladesh - plus a few bits. Same scenario in Iraq. Kurds, Shias and Sunnis. Go for it. The sooner it divides, the sooner they’ll stop killing each other. And us.

Whence came this political rant? Weird. I had no idea my blog would go this way when I started writing it. I guess I am just royally ‘thinged off’ with this crappy bunch of thieves (prescot and his homes / cars / money? I wouldn’t pay the stupid sod in rusty washers)

Which reminds me of G.B.Shaw: ‘A government that robs Peter to pay Paul can always depend on the support of Paul’. Well he seems to have got that right.

Takes deep breff.

Lovely sons’ roses / flowers STILL going strong. Malt whisky long gone. But the memory lingers on. I am so lucky with my kids. (Kids? They’re in their 40’s!!)

Almost fully re-planted front garden is looking fine.

AND - Yowzah Yowzah - it’s Swiss cheese fondue for lunch today!!!!!!! I’m off to open another botle of wine. I couldn’t bear to run out.

People say that they like or want to live in a community. But a community is like a bank account. If you don’t pay in - after a while you can’t draw out.

We’re lucky, because we live near The Village. A lovely place to visit, to shop, to meet and talk with people. I HATE the urban environment and have not visited Poole or Bournemouth town centres for years. But we visit The Village most days. We put in our bit - and are paid back handsomely in kindness, courtesy and care.

Just a thought. Dad

I don’t know why, but I’ve been thinking about Vermont. It’s what I would call a County in the upper part of our Colony - America.

I’ve been there several times and the colonists have been really friendly.

The small Inns in which I stayed were really nice. The people were really friendly. I drove a ‘muscle-car’ at a speed well above the posted limits. Most special of all - I bought some letters written in the 1800’s. Lovely.

I’d like to vote for Vermont as a really super place. And if you live there - please invite me and Herself back for a super stay. You know you’d like me to be with you.

Just a thought.

As G.B.Shaw said - ‘A life spent making mistakes is not only more honourable but more useful than a life spent doing nothing’.

So don’t blame me.

Dad

Dear All –

AT LAST – for the first time I’ve found a pic of the Army truck I drove around Knightsbridge (in London, you know) in the pouring rain to get my driving licence.

The story is – I had been driving BIG TRUCKS around the village (Redbourn, Herts) where we lived because Dad’s factory in London had been flattened by Hitler and he had found this one. He had done a deal with the local policeman to allow me to take them to the garage for petrol and back to the works. If I was ever caught on a road other than the agreed route I would be done. And so it was. And I moved them around the works and backed them into a narrow loading dock – because no-one said it was difficult. Slip, slap, slop.

So I was doing a course at City & Guilds (a.k.a. a decent Uni) and joined the TA (as in Territorial Army for the Colonials amongst us. Sort of like the National Guard in the USA) and they said they would teach us to drive. So I drove. And the Instructor said – ‘How did you do that?’ So I told him I’d been driving Big Trucks since my legs reached the pedals.

So came a Wednesday when it was ‘thinging’ down with rain, and the Instructor said – ‘Drive the Army Test Officer’. So I did. He was testing motor-bike riders and chasing them around Knightsbridge in the rain was a bit of a challenge. But I did.

NOTE: The truck has a canvas roof over the drivers’ place. There are two small glass plates in front – not a complete window. I was wearing my glasses which tend to get very smeary if rain blows in on them at 30 mph – or rather more to keep up with the bikes. Wozzat?

We got back to the Depot and the Examiner signed off sundry forms. When he had finished, I asked if he would sign off a form for me because I had no licence. He was surprised. He said I drove like a polished professional – and then he signed my form. Which is how I came to have a driving licence.

You couldn’t make it up.

Dad – or whoever you think I am

The pic didn’t come out. But you get the idea. I’m sorry about the pic.

Sunny and hot, mostly, today. Dorset weather. Aaaah.

Watched the F1 race - and the red cars did far too well. B-o-r-i-n-g. Had a scrumptious lunch of roast orgasmic pork / new pots / broad beans then melon and banana. Urp. And herself and I having been awake since 2.30 in the middle of the night - then went to bed and snored somewhat, doubtless. Now up and at it again. Herself is fettling teeny-tiny stuff. I’m hunched over the computer.

Following a response to a recent blog of mine I offered a delightful lady in the US of A (you remember - one of our many colonies) a made-to-measure coaching course for her son. She is SO NICE - so we have a cyber friendship which Herself and I think is great!! That adds to Julianna - bless her. We exchanged lovely mails and I wrote / sent the first bit today. That was fun! I look forward to seeing how this unfolds. Given that British English and American English are somewhat different, I expect some fun. ‘Don’t forget to use your rubber to erase an error’. That would cause either hysterics - or - well, hysterics. (For non-American-English speakers, an American ‘rubber’ in Eng. Eng. is a 6 letter word starting with c and ending with m. And you can blow it up like a balloon. It saves men from paying maintenance - if the CSA ever got its mind in gear. Oh well, never mind. And please DON’T set me off about the CSA) As G.B.Shaw said and Churchill quoted, ‘England and America are two countries separated by a common language’.

GBS also said - ‘You see things and you say ‘why?’ But I dream things that never were and I say ‘Why not.’ He’s so right. And I always thought I was potty. More on this topic in due course.

As I told you, my two utterly lovely sons paid us a State Visit. Oh, was that ever lovely. I love them both to bits (and their gorgeous sister). I’m just lucky (said he blushing somewhat and hiding face behind hand). Herself is not their Mum but she loves them too - and they are generously kind to / about her. But this bit is about flowers. Henry brought me a pot of deep red roses for St.George’s Day - and they are still blooming and lifting my heart. He’s an old softy, really. T’other one brought a sumptuous bouquet of flowers for Herself which is still going strong and looks smashing. Then there was the single malt whisky but we’re not talking about that.

Well, Gardening Julian arrives tomorrow to plant the stuff I bought. Which is not exactly what he suggested. Chin up, chum and take the used bank notes - no invoice needed.

Me, I’m back in the saddle at the Gym and intend to grit my teeth and grind away for an hour, three days a week. (See those lumps ripple). The weather having been lousy, since Jan 4th. I’ve been going there in track-suit trousis (had to buy a new pair) Cambridge Uni T-shirt (I’ve got 5 of them) and an old track-suit top. (Couldn’t find a non-logo one to match the new trousis). BUT NOW - no need for the tatty top. But I also felt that the trousis were too much. So as I laid awake after 2.30 I pondered. And pondered. Sundry male persons at the gym wear limp, floppy, striped, elasticated waisted horrible shorts. Yuch!!! What to wear? Decisions, decisions. PING!!! Rugby shorts.

For those limp-wristed males and charming but unaware women, REAL MEN’S Rugby Shorts are fascinating. They need to stand up to serious abuse during the game. Other men grab the ‘edges’ and put their shoulders to your bottom in the scrum. Pathetic, wimpy shorts would scream and fall down. Oh, death. But where could I find some? (Since I haven’t played Wing Forward - or whatever it’s now called - for Z years)

The glorious WEB - of course. Rugby shorts come in plain colours - none of this stripey stuff. Rugby shorts are made of serious materials, not girl’s stuff. Rugby shorts have a tie at the waist to stop somebody pulling them down. Rugby shorts have a slight curve in the side to give REAL MEN something to hang on to. Rugby shorts are the business. Oh, and they have two pockets. So I’ve bought a pair. The wimps in the gym wearing these soft, fluttering, pathetic knickers can see how a REAL MAN in Rugby Shorts and a Cambridge Uni T shirt - puffs and pants a lot and is glad to go home later. Well, why not?

The trouble is that I’m enjoying this blog and don’t want to stop. But I have to.

Three o’clock in the morning is a terrible time. We all know about the three o/c moment. It’s the pits for what we think. I have no way of changing that. But I offer you two ideas:

Re-visiting what you feel - in the middle of the night - are sins is OK. But there is ANOTHER SIDE to it.

Yes, but you were kind and gentle to others.
Yes, but you won’t do that again.
Yes, but many others are happy because of the way you helped them
Yes, because the small thing you did lifted someone’s heart
Yes, because you made them laugh
Yes, because you behave the way you believe in

You see, it’s simple.

My love to you all - especially the colonials stuck out there. Hey - I’m with you!!!!

(Pleeze send insults privately)

Sunny and hot, mostly, today. Dorset weather. Aaaah.

Watched the F1 race - and the red cars did far too well. B-o-r-i-n-g. Had a scrumptious lunch of roast orgasmic pork / new pots / broad beans then melon and banana. Urp. And herself and I having been awake since 2.30 in the middle of the night - then went to bed and snored somewhat, doubtless. Now up and at it again. Herself is fettling teeny-tiny stuff. I’m hunched over the computer.

Following a response to a recent blog of mine I offered a delightful lady in the US of A (you remember - one of our many colonies) a made-to-measure coaching course for her son. She is SO NICE - so we have a cyber friendship which Herself and I think is great!! That adds to Julianna - bless her. We exchanged lovely mails and I wrote / sent the first bit today. That was fun! I look forward to seeing how this unfolds. Given that British English and American English are somewhat different, I expect some fun. ‘Don’t forget to use your rubber to erase an error’. That would cause either hysterics - or - well, hysterics. (For non-American-English speakers, an American ‘rubber’ in Eng. Eng. is a 6 letter word starting with c and ending with m. And you can blow it up like a balloon. It saves men from paying maintenance - if the CSA ever got its mind in gear. Oh well, never mind. And please DON’T set me off about the CSA) As G.B.Shaw said and Churchill quoted, ‘England and America are two countries separated by a common language’.

GBS also said - ‘You see things and you say ‘why?’ But I dream things that never were and I say ‘Why not.’ He’s so right. And I always thought I was potty. More on this topic in due course.

As I told you, my two utterly lovely sons paid us a State Visit. Oh, was that ever lovely. I love them both to bits (and their gorgeous sister). I’m just lucky (said he blushing somewhat and hiding face behind hand). Herself is not their Mum but she loves them too - and they are generously kind to / about her. But this bit is about flowers. Henry brought me a pot of deep red roses for St.George’s Day - and they are still blooming and lifting my heart. He’s an old softy, really. T’other one brought a sumptuous bouquet of flowers for Herself which is still going strong and looks smashing. Then there was the single malt whisky but we’re not talking about that.

Well, Gardening Julian arrives tomorrow to plant the stuff I bought. Which is not exactly what he suggested. Chin up, chum and take the used bank notes - no invoice needed.

Me, I’m back in the saddle at the Gym and intend to grit my teeth and grind away for an hour, three days a week. (See those lumps ripple). The weather having been lousy, since Jan 4th. I’ve been going there in track-suit trousis (had to buy a new pair) Cambridge Uni T-shirt (I’ve got 5 of them) and an old track-suit top. (Couldn’t find a non-logo one to match the new trousis). BUT NOW - no need for the tatty top. But I also felt that the trousis were too much. So as I laid awake after 2.30 I pondered. And pondered. Sundry male persons at the gym wear limp, floppy, striped, elasticated waisted horrible shorts. Yuch!!! What to wear? Decisions, decisions. PING!!! Rugby shorts.

For those limp-wristed males and charming but unaware women, REAL MEN’S Rugby Shorts are fascinating. They need to stand up to serious abuse during the game. Other men grab the ‘edges’ and put their shoulders to your bottom in the scrum. Pathetic, wimpy shorts would scream and fall down. Oh, death. But where could I find some? (Since I haven’t played Wing Forward - or whatever it’s now called - for Z years)

The glorious WEB - of course. Rugby shorts come in plain colours - none of this stripey stuff. Rugby shorts are made of serious materials, not girl’s stuff. Rugby shorts have a tie at the waist to stop somebody pulling them down. Rugby shorts have a slight curve in the side to give REAL MEN something to hang on to. Rugby shorts are the business. Oh, and they have two pockets. So I’ve bought a pair. The wimps in the gym wearing these soft, fluttering, pathetic knickers can see how a REAL MAN in Rugby Shorts and a Cambridge Uni T shirt - puffs and pants a lot and is glad to go home later. Well, why not?

The trouble is that I’m enjoying this blog and don’t want to stop. But I have to.

Three o’clock in the morning is a terrible time. We all know about the three o/c moment. It’s the pits for what we think. I have no way of changing that. But I offer you two ideas:

Re-visiting what you feel - in the middle of the night - are sins is OK. But there is ANOTHER SIDE to it.

Yes, but you were kind and gentle to others.
Yes, but you won’t do that again.
Yes, but many others are happy because of the way you helped them
Yes, because the small thing you did lifted someone’s heart
Yes, because you made them laugh
Yes, because you behave the way you believe in

You see, it’s simple.

My love to you all - especially the colonials stuck out there. Hey - I’m with you!!!!

(Pleeze send insults privately)

Late (for me) but I just wanted to tell you.

Herself got a bunch of parcels from Thailand with beautiful mini-pots which no-one else sells to the dolls house market. She’s over the moon. So that’s good.

Me, I’ve had nothing but good contacts today. Nice, decent people. Warm, honest. Super.

The first Estate Agent I ever believed in.

Good old Pete - and his Boss when we went to collect the plants he’d put aside for us. I saw a planted bowl kind of thing and said ‘I like that. Can I buy it?’ ‘It’s a display piece - I’ll ask the Boss’ He did. And she said - sure. How much? Just the price of the bowl. Have the plants for free. Yup. That was good.

The gardener who will come and plant the plants I bought. He’s really happy about that. And we talked about his 2 yr old daughter.

Three lovely e-mails saying v. nice things about me. Blush an’ that.

And more. Somewhere out there are decent people. Hard to find amongst the dross - but so well worth cherishing. Support your local decent people. Oh, and me.

So what am I thinking tonite? Why do we complain much faster than we compliment? ‘Thank you’ has so much power and brings so much pleasure. Go on, embrace the ‘thank you’ culture. It’ll make you happy, too. But ‘Have a nice day, now’ rings like a cracked bell. Be genuine - or don’t bother.

Love to you - Dad

My thanks to lordh and Jenny for their concern. So that’s three of us, then. Meanwhile our Country is sleepwalking to oblivion. (Who was it said that? I can’t remember)

I have no honest basis for saying this, because I have not personally read the BNP’s manifesto. But it seems that many of their propositions are eminently rational. One self-evident proposition (from the name) is that they believe in Britain (except that bliar has destroyed both Great Britain and the UK. There are NI, Scotland, Wales and - um - 9 other regions. No England. When Prescot gets out of (someone’s) bed for long enough - that’s what we are going to get). We could get it back together again. Perhaps. But NO-ONE ELSE IS TRYING. And THAT’s the point.

I would have a big problem voting for the BNP - for the various reasons offered. BUT - when there’s no-one else, how can you say ‘I disagree with YOU ALL’? I cannot imagine that the BNP or any such party would get anywhere in big enough numbers to take over. So they’re not a threat. What IS a threat is that people are NOT LISTENING. Saying the BNP are Nazis may be reasonable (but I don’t know) but they ARE standing up for things that no other ‘decent’ party wants to talk about. So my country (as it was) is being trashed by Labour (in a big way) the Cons (not standing up for what Cons should stand for) and the Lib-Dems. (Who they?) So please stop telling me how horrid the BNP is (and you may well be right) and start telling me who the Hell else gives a damn?

This is a highly emotive topic and may make people v. cross. BUT ignoring it or villifying the BNP simply doesn’t answer the question.

I don’t want the BNP in power any more than you do. BUT if a serious chunk of people voted for it - would THAT make the serial dick-heads listen - if only out of fear?

Some damned thing must change before my Country is finally flushed down the pan - and it’s two-thirds of the way there already. Perhaps a bunch of enraged football hooligans waving English flags and voting BNP might save us. Being prissy about it won’t.

Harrumph - Dad