Oh dear, here we go - another grot blog but it is good for the soul and you never know what you are going to think of along the way.
So, I offered to send a book to an academic lady in Bulgaria who studied English. It must have been against her reading grain to do it but she is and no doubt has found the error of her ways. However, she will read it because she enjoys reading.
I offered to send someone a copy because I thought it might help them understand me better but unfortunately they said it would not be their cup of tea but thank you anyway because adventure and detective stories were their poison. OK, I understand that. However, it would have made a good colouring book for the grand children and they would not have had to pay for it. Oh well.
Then there was another person who was into thrillers and romance who after looking at the first chapter of the book stated that it was definitely not to her taste. OK that is fair enough not everyone like whisky but they drink gin. It does not mean that whisky is no good.
What of this newspaper lark. I never read it now because it makes me so angry when - well that is enough said. I suppose it is news and current affairs but when you are in mothballs in a cave it does not make much difference to you - except for the natural disasters and they are well documented on the internet with Yahoo and Hotmail to name but a few. That is saddening when you read all the natural disasters so when there are the man made ones to read about it causes great sorrow and anger, frustration and disbelief. Unfortunately there is not a great deal that can be done unless it is physically possible. How do you stop corruption, that is a human failing and no amount of shouting or crying from me is going to change them or that.
Anyway, that is why I don't read the Newspapers. I don't actually read much at all due to the quantities I had to read two and a half years ago for at least a year to discover information from the driest of sources, namely academia. What, you have never read about the experiments on monkeys to prove that behaviour can be altered when a certain part of the pain was damaged. It was not like they induced the damage, the monkeys were born like it and they just studied the behaviour before and after surgery etc. They showed signs of unnatural unacceptable social behaviour, I could only surmise what that was -.acceptable behaviour that is. Then there were all the papers written that I had to read through to find just one line of text that was particularly helpful but I needed to know it.
Finally of course there was proof-reading and if I never read another book it will be a day too soon. So that is my excuse for not reading.
Now, I have lost the plot. Oh yes, tastes. Well, I always thought that people who loved reading just read and read and read, anything. I used to be the same and read any type of book providing it was not lewd or just plain tacky or tat. Why then do people immediately say they would not read it because it is not their taste bud tickler? It could be used also for propping a wonky table leg and the list goes on.
I think I am mad in the name of re-cycling and I often wonder what the people who collect the tins and bottles must think. Firstly because there are copious amounts of bottles and all vino tinto ones. Then there is the strange aluminium package every month or so which contains all manner of aluminium articles from bottle tops to the tearings off from the tablet sachets. I kid thee not. Then there will be, if I can pluck up the courage, the coat hanger hooks from the plastic ones. Huh, they used to unscrew in my youth and do you thing that is how it works today? No of course not, so I have to get the hammer out and bash the sweet hanging life out of them. The first time I did it I failed to use anything on the ears so had ringing in them for a few hours. Ah well, it was the one my brother damaged many years when we were out one night shooting rabbits. Yes, I know, but in those days there was a lot of miximitosis about. I know it is spelled wrong but it is such an old word that the dictionary does not have any sort of alternative! I drove the tractor and he had the double barrel whatever it was and he let it off in my ear because he was sitting on the tractor wheel arch. It has never been the same since, pardon, so this did not help and I have nobody to blame but me.
Anyway the good news is my foot has finally healed enough for me to do squats without cringing and running for the soopa doopa pain spray bought in Sri Lanka. The other thing is I feel like doing all those things that have not been done now for, well it has to be nine weeks now if not more. Pain affects the brain and I am not researching that just to prove it. I know from experience that you feel like doing nothing and feel guilty because you are doing nothing which is stupid really because it pays to put your foot down in order to get a rest in this house.
So because of this new found connection to the impetus part of the brain I started rooting through the bathroom cupboard mainly because I needed to put something away and could I get it in to a slot? No, of course not. So this entailed sorting through some long forgotten rubbish including a load of ancient razor handles. Goodness me, I did not know you could have a fetish for ancient razors and I don’t suppose there would be much call for it either in the yellow pages.
I chucked them all on top of the cupboard, which is floor standing by the way, in order that he who is fast going through the compeetoes could decide that maybe he did not need them anymore because of the new slim line, anti cut throat razors that have more nooks and crannies in that the human face. I get fed up digging out the Yuk that builds up on the handle ah but that is another thing to grot about on a cold winter’s day.
Anyway, the long and short is that he who is fast losing the plot, cutting edge razors and compeetoes decided that they served no purpose now not even as a door wedge and so they were given the order of the bin. I looked at them, not fondly it has to be said, then took them into the kitchen and grabbed a magnet of the extractor fan over the hob. Yes, they were metallic handles and then I decided to attack them but this entailed parting them from Bakelite like plastic. The tool box is another treasure trove and the thought of breaking a screw driver did not appeal so I decided on the pliers and a hacksaw – for metal that is. The pliers were useless at the squeeze but the hacksaw was able to cut into the plastic on the inner edge of the handles. I cut several notches over the kitchen bin mainly because we do not have a saw bench. I was very relieved not to have ended up with cut fingers and then I went in search of my garden and kitchen knife. Well it is used more in the house these days because I decided that having broken one blade it was not prudent to break another. I did not like this knife because it was a weird shape, difficult to describe, but it was like fluted towards the tip of the blade. I used it in the bathroom once to try prizing something out of something else and it slipped going right into the soft pad bit of the hand next to the thumb. I don’t know its technical term or anatomical one come to that. All I know is that it jolly well hurt and the air was full of a few choicer words than jolly. Ah, the joys of swearing, it saves your hair falling out apparently. I am sure you must know this. A lady, I mean a real titled lady was out on the estate and one of her workers put a steak through his foot. Rather than swear in front of her he just kept it all in. A few days later his hair dropped out and it was put down to this. So Lady V had no qualms with swearing after that, if indeed she had in the first place. It is OK for effect but then over spicing the languages leads to hot gossip. No, you know what I mean. It becomes just boring and pointless in context.
Anyway, enough of the swearing. The knife was thrown to one side in disgust and it was thrown that well that I could not find it today. Consequently I had to go outside and get the broken bladed knife to use for the prising apart of the razor handles. It worked a treat because it is a good and sharp knife and if it had not been a dead blade then no doubt it would still be in kitchen use.
I was on the last razor and it was a real – the last one is always the worst – type. Then there was the most bizarre sound from outside. I thought it was a dying dog but it turned out to be our neighbour over to collect some rolling tobacco. He has the most awful chest cold at present but still needs the bakky. So at this point he who almost surely needs the compeetoes came out from the den and handed out the bakky collecting the compeetoes from the sale.
He spotted my last stand razor on the edge of the bin and picked it up. I thought he was going to go ballistic at my antics but he merely parted the two bits, with bits of Yuk going everywhere, as it does. Then we had a conversation about conservation and recycling and then the tip to collect the aluminium and get money for it. Well I don’t think my monthly package would fetch much on the open market and I do not do it for cash but if someone else does then that is all well and good and does not bother me because I think money is funny. It has a strange effect on people.
Finally our neighbour departed taking his bakky and a box of cough tea purchased on eBay from sources that should not be mentioned due to it being frowned upon. I have two boxes of lean tea left and about a million cough teas so what does that say, that I get chestier than I do fat or someone made an error of judgement in his bid to keep me fit and well. The laxatea went with great speed which is a shame because it worked but then you don’t want to know that.
My final donation no, that is not the right word, ah, contribution to recycling is the rotting vegetation from dead flowers to potato peelings, well it would be if I peeled them but you know what I mean. What the birds and badgers cannot eat then goes in the green bin and I am sure he who has finally decided that I am beyond redemption, does not think much to this and he will thing even less of it if he had a sense of smell because the banana skins are singing a Jamaican trilogy out there every time I the lid off. If there was a light in there no doubt they would dance as well.
As this has deteriorated into the green bin rubbish then it is time to close this, finish the washing up that I was putting off and then do whatever is left like write some Christmas cards and letter that I have been threatening to do for a few days now.
Oh well, at least the daffodils standing to attention on the window ledge over the sink will be safe for a week because they are fresh and thriving although why we should have thriving daffs in November is beyond me. Maybe they are fresh out of the green house which is apt because that is the colour of their final resting place, the dreaded green bin, I hope they cannot sing!!
