When the kids were younger we used to spend a couple of weeks of their summer holidays with Eurocamp in France. It was rustic and a bit basic but over 3-4 years we had some of our very best family breaks at sites in and around the Dordogne and not one drop of rain in all our trips! And we met some great friends with whom we’re still in touch 30 years later. There was a Dutch family who we befriended with 5 beautiful daughters and mum and dad Dini & Burt. They were great fun and we and another family of all girls headed up by lovely Dennis and Julie were as pally as can be. Burt, Dennis and I used to keep an eye on the kids in and around the pool area whilst playing boules and drinking the odd beer or trois. And whenever Dennis or I had an unlucky bounce of the ball on the gravelly strip we’d turn to Burt and ask ‘Why me Burt?’. It became something of a catchphrase amongst us and I’ve often thought it’s a line that could easily be chiselled onto my gravestone, given the drama that always seems to dog my simple existence.
So we are so looking forward to heading out to NYC to see our lovely daughter & son-in-law and beautiful young grandsons. We’ve both been busy as hell these last few weeks in preparation but these last few days have been quite a challenge on the patience front. And it’s also been quite a while since I’ve regaled you with one of those it-can-only-happen-to-me stories about my creaking body. Hey ho here we go again… Continue reading
It’s been a few weeks since I last posted – we’ve had a recent brilliantly relaxing holiday in the Vendee region of France with all my beautiful daughters, fine sons-in-law and, of course our fab grandsons (minus footballer S who was in the middle of his pre-season training programme, sadly). Apart from that I’ve been really, really busy on writing stuff. Tonight I’ve got a bit of a break on a big piece of web-building stuff whilst I await a go-ahead or otherwise. So time to do some blogging again. And the theme is underpants. Yes ladies I’m going to share some manly insight with you about how a real brutal hunk of a man chooses his briefs. Steady girls.
Just look at this view, stunning eh. When I was back working for BT I used to drive to and from work in London and I’d spend nearly 5 hours a day on the road. When it came to time off I’d yearn to go places to get away from it all but mostly away from the car and roads and traffic. Places just like the scene above in fact – wandering round the lakes, on the moors, in the dales etc. Ah the peace and tranquility eh.
Well it’s been an interesting week on the political front. That damned decision to have a referendum on the EU has cost us yet another Prime Minister and now we face the very realistic prospect that our next head of Government could be one of Boris Johnson, Michael Gove or Jeremy Hunt. It’s not much of a choice is it, choosing between a conceited buffoon with a laughable hairstyle, a double-dealing snake with the brain of a dipstick or an under-delivering smug little shit? What a bloody fiasco. The only saving grace is that if we lived in America our leader would possess all of these traits – and more. Yes this posting’s really about the Donald, his ridiculous plans and actions, that hair and his unlikeability. And he’s heading to the UK on his first state visit very soon. Oh lawd.
Well hello dear readers, long time no post. Sorry about that. I thought being retired would give me oodles of time for writing but somehow the days get filled up. Anyway it’s nice to be back on the blogosphere. I’ve missed so much I could have commented on – the saga over Brexit (but now it’s just too dispiriting), the fabulous football scene (though right now being a Man United fan is, well, bloody dispiriting too), that dipstick Danny Baker (but some redneck radio station will hire him no matter what I say – it’s got to be Talksport hasn’t it?). No I’ve missed all the big juicy and newsworthy story lines so I’ll just talk about myself for a change.
Well after an action-packed horrific return posting on creatures attacking my manhood, this is an altogether more reflective piece about getting old. Sigh.