OCCUPIED COUNTRY

I've Got To Get A Message To You

Right, I've finally said "so long" to Haloscan as my comments provider as they tend to dump all comments after a few months. They probably want untold amounts of moolah, greenbacks, dough, bread, coin, drafts and notes to keep them a little longer so they can bugger off. I have enabled Blogger's own comments system for, as far as I can tell, reading the small print, those comments are permanent. So go on, get a message to me and leave something to be unearthed by digital archaeologists in 2105.

This telephone box on the left is about half a mile from my house. Somehow it survived the wholesale destruction of such boxes way back when. A few years ago there was a rumour it was to be replaced. The locals however, were up in arms against the idea. I'm glad they won. I don't even know if it works and I - and the locals too I shouldn't wonder - will probably never need to use it. It just looks good and reminds us older folk of the days when it was still bliss in that dawn to be alive. Of Two-Way Family Favourites, The Billy Cotton Bandshow and pimply National Servicemen wishing Mum, Dad and sister Carol all the best from some BFPO on the frontline of the Cold War. Who remembers the A and B buttons? I wonder what sort of dial-up connection we would've got all those years ago?

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Time to leave these warm premises in order to take our canine bundle of fun and happiness for its nightly lead-pulling, pavement-fouling, discarded-fast-food-grabbing, human (I think)-sick-eating, total-disregard-of-"Master" drag walk. Fortunately the iPod comes into its own at times like this. Match the clothing to the weather, stick those tell-tale earphones in, set it to 'shuffle' and off I go. Oblivious to man, beast - or mugger.

After that, back home for a last beer, some late night aural delight and then bed for a sound night's sleep with only good dreams.

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Dearest woke early this morning and pottered about the house like she normally does. No massive pain after the knee-op at all. Later she absconded with Eldest to choose some furniture for his new house. It looks like he'll be out of here in a few weeks. The last to fly the nest. Sheesh it only seems two-minutes ago I was telling him to act his age. Oh, hang about, that was a few minutes ago - just before he headed to Manchester to meet a frustrated Youngest as he arrived back from Man United's failure to beat ten-man Crystal Palace.

The two of them are in Rockworld at this very moment with a gaggle of mates, phoning me and texting me, letting me know what they are listening to in the deepness of their inebriation. Kids eh?

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Anyone else out there already bored shitless by the juvenile shenanigans of our two major political parties? 'Cos I am and I'll tell you this: If I - a political animal in many respects - am bored, then 75% of the bloody country must be. The argument has all the finesse of a playground fracas. "You started it", "no I didn't", "yes you did", "didn't", "did", "didn't", "did", "didn't", "did", "didn't", "did", "didn't", "did". Everything is spun, on all sides - and I include the Lib Dems in this. Every politician is so frightened to death of saying anything 'off message', controversial or thought-provoking that the whole process has atrophied.

And they wonder why nobody's paying attention?

Arf!