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Poo and Pottering

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This is a largely Old People and Poo related entry. Be warned…

The streets outside are filled with crumblies like flies in a web. In fact they’re moving slightly slower than flies in a web. I am having a resurgence of trouble with my sciatic nerve and am therefore moving like I’ve had a bowel movement before I reached the bathroom, and yet I still won the race along the high street.

In lane 1, representing the Yorkshire Under-130s: Moosehunter, on foot.

In lane 2, representing the Urine-scented 3 wheel walker brigade: Man with one long hair poking out of his nose like a proboscis.

In lane 3, representing Great-Grandparents in mobility scooters: Woman with ZZ Top beard.

In lane 4, representing the boiled-sweet tripods: Zimmer Lady with squint.

Yes, two of these were actually moving the distance of half-a-shoe-length with each step!

Perhaps they set off early on Monday morning hoping to reach the market halfway down the high street when it opens on Tuesday.


We went for a night away in Wensleydale this weekend, courtesy of my Parents, as a Christmas Present. Amusing interludes included:

Moosehunter, wearing trainers with a sizeable hole in the side, stepping through a field gate and into ankle-deep liquid faeces. That was nice. I may have inadvertently said ”Oh bother. That has irked me a little.”

The toilets at the Aysgarth Falls National Park Centre, which bore a warning about not losing a child down the chute due to the excessive pipe width. They’re those eco-friendly toilets that have a composting tank 20ft below the building, like a cathedral of poo. God help the parent that loses a child down THAT chute. Incidentally, Mrs M avows that a frighteningly violent, cold and pungent wind blows up that chute too.

Lifting two dogs, each weighing 3 stone, over stiles, fences, barbed wire, dry stone walls and every other imaginable obstacle, often only minutes after the boys had been gaily prancing through four inches of slurry by the entrance to a field. I have never been so covered in poo as this weekend. And I’ve been to Rock festivals!

Oh, and Mrs M went into the little café/shop at Jervaulx abbey to purchase 11 plants, each costing £1.45. Now it took me less time to calculate that that comes out at £15.95 than it did to type it! And yet Mrs M was in that shop for 20 minutes and in order to complete her purchase it took two members of staff! I was beginning to think she’d been kidnapped by the Wensleydale Women’s Institute or some such, but it turns out, they were just thick and inbred. From previous experience, I’m guessing the owners recruited them from a local Co-Op store, perhaps making them drop their banjo and/or sister and/or trousers in the process.

I worry that I am beginning to get old. Signs of this include:

  1. Most of the time I am hurrying somewhere and when I am in a hurry, it is usually to reach a toilet.
  2. I have only one limb that does not have some kind of injury/defect and that limb has begun to click alarmingly (curiously mostly when the Simpsons is on TV!)
  3. I grumble about children making too much noise and riding scooters too fast.
  4. I have recently fallen asleep before the hour reads double figures several times. Until fairly recently I considered it an early night if I hit the hay before 1am. Oh lord, I just used the phrase ‘hit the hay’. Say no more.
  5. Last night, instead of a beer to round off, I made a coffee. I even thought of biscuits.
  6. I find myself thinking about gardening.
  7. Half the things I find myself humming are the theme tunes to TV shows from which all the actors are now dead. Or, perhaps worse, I begin humming something really good and half-way through the tune suddenly turns into the ‘Archers’ theme or the tune from ‘Rhubarb and Custard’!
  8. I find boiled sweets an attractive proposition. I have even bought Mint Imperials.
  9. I have more power tools than I do comic books.
  10. Half the movies I discuss with my boss are in black and white.
  11. I find myself using words like Picturesque and Quaint.
  12. I potter.
  13. I am rapidly approaching parity between the number of hairs on my top lip and the number of hairs in my ears.

Think I’ll leave it there. I’m starting to get tired with all the effort. Oh and software is bothering me.

  1. See y’all
  2. Moosey

Written by SJAT

January 11, 2011 at 4:45 pm

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