tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25440723921688018082023-11-16T15:07:22.305+00:00A LIFE ON SHUFFLEThis blog is my observations of the world around me and my day to day life, as I make my journey, complete with musical accompaniment, through this moment in time we call life.
I hope you like it and at times find it amusing. Do feel free to leave a comment and follow me if you want to come back again.Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.comBlogger194125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-23052644606107538952013-01-12T18:36:00.001+00:002013-01-12T18:36:37.324+00:00Time for a changeAfter being here at Blogspot for a few years I have made the decision to leave and set up my blog with Wordpress. My blog is now at http://intheflatfieldidogetbored.wordpress.com/ click the link to go there: <a href="http://intheflatfieldidogetbored.wordpress.com/">Click here to see the new site</a><br />
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I hope to see you all again soon<br />
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Baz Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-3244030380414238582013-01-11T11:33:00.001+00:002013-01-11T13:54:56.022+00:00More Signs<b>Friday 11 January 2013</b> – Here we are, the end of another week so I thought I share a couple of signs I spotted around town over the past week. The first was <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIZ0lVzGtgNk0iMXowUD-GYqkNH73sVCirBP71cGq_uOzK6FbS7BqO0fkZJZUgr55tZ9f7kkTDg2RY0AghnEIiJP39y0CVSnrSNRlb-BwaK_vdYXr9YHO3B4qkQq6ZlLlfD8Lmu9MNVUpg/s1600-h/100_53914.jpg"><img align="right" alt="100_5391" border="0" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9NHXi34pKGH-oAjEwrxKswzoOmE1mbUGKL-Bb6r5M9HABYXZ6gaXUa4rhrGWmYhvNVoONd3KPCTKG512v9DFNj69tDjJVviIsLf6vYKT_fCcKJCwRqoyVLXX2MRu67L292PZy1JtKq2ZY//?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; float: right; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="100_5391" width="227" /></a>inside a window of a public house, and was difficult to photograph. If you look you can just make out that it says, <i>Xmas offer 3 bottels beer 4 £5.00. </i>Now I may be wrong but I’d have expected a publican to be able to spell bottle.<br />
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The next is a sign I saw taped to someone’s front door. I like the challenge that it offers any one passing by and wanting to offer religious instruction. <i>Spreading the word of God! Knock on this door! Go on I DARE YOU!!</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmMjMA85rw756B-mpD4qIDx2HiYP0HGGntWhB1xIhL3TOciIihluBmXm0UmdxpVywm4VeaPBfY0u1yNP1cSAf8GktgShfAcXkw03puiqpCf2Yww8EF0S2fUl9dreGUcoqUvwc8ZPVjn-A/s1600-h/100_53929.jpg"><img align="left" alt="100_5392" border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMX2QDzjw8hZRmq_ON6dCJfrTyiycqFBUMA_Zb3gkcYTJyec9iWyZjt47_lgvTyw17EFsTuEs6iyvjhnONmSOXTJmXHYVZj4oQR5D-X0cB7-j1p-AJKnqwjhYy2M6oFbzoDRvRc3rUv9Oq//?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; float: left; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="100_5392" width="303" /></a><br />
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The next sign for this post was seen in the window of a takeaway in town. This establishment had suffered a broken window back in March 2012 and has since then had a piece of chipboard up where the window once was. – Would that entice you inside to order food?<br />
I passed it the other day and the chipboard was gone and a new window was being fitted and they closed for a few days to repaint outside. A few days later the following sign was displayed.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5P_TChhFvVibaSWdrxtZtPUbNtfcFRJTAP8ws9zhhdVvp72L2c4FXf0F_b04f9vXiE6jn3Eej0MtqUbtvCSvyDkToiOVtN0_lPLvARDvwN9aiHvzt_M7qCHnQ7RIWuYz7LSoD3lmc4inf/s1600-h/CAM000234.jpg"><img alt="CAM00023" border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpDTee9Cd4Y9HnHfDymRJJHBeJnP8O6-21a5GAIfMTReKZGztwASxyronoWEx4CchYwtyMioyCPDaAaC1D9MWOAmcpwJIWMiUk_o8mVWVK0Jrd_wuKZOVXOBkq1L9783HZOVpexmELd2M7//?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="CAM00023" width="338" /></a><br />
For the shufflers out there, the song playing as I compose this posting is <i>The City</i> by The 1975, who are tipped for big things this year. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiERP18us4pBkaz-ohvBJXlX4xwQ6jNutnBLF4th16Q4H1e5AWt_tsXkQlJgDkiVUMyOAUtTaP_S_yLReZ-KIsfEbEVBqgREt3qqFLQPZlQEfzuMqRMbW8-cw9qU3MRwE1Iy9Pr1BWVQvRD/s1600-h/184473_10152392452050277_1903220748_n%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img align="right" alt="184473_10152392452050277_1903220748_n" border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgov16pb_dgr8oya9qlh_D7VRYWuvpf38XkljbHW0UWffZE-Z7ig9URPeinCadLgf5c9h8pg5MDdciZuw2V9Fc1MU-a-2KYDv8D8I_UzWtxiSi2376QlrmGPMCLGM3opQ39ic-20WK7X7hY//?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; float: right; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="184473_10152392452050277_1903220748_n" width="174" /></a> <br />
<div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:19447692-f752-429d-9f0f-e8c3a921f29e" style="display: inline; float: none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/signs" rel="tag">signs</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/spelling" rel="tag">spelling</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/sunny+signs" rel="tag">sunny signs</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/children" rel="tag">children</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/bottles" rel="tag">bottles</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/the+1975" rel="tag">the 1975</a></div>
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And finally a wonderful offer from Thomas Cook. Save a fortune on IVF; in fact save all that huffing and puffing needed to create a child, just pop along and for a pound choose the one you like the look of. <br />
Have a good weekend. <span style="color: magenta;">Baz</span>Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-38202487230121338722013-01-10T09:40:00.001+00:002013-01-10T09:40:37.466+00:00That All Important Opening<p align="justify"><strong>Thursday 10 January 2013</strong> – As <em>The Man Who Would Be King, </em>by The Libertines played at a discreet volume, I sat looking at the keys of my laptop and waited for inspiration.</p> <p align="justify">I have hit a block – I wouldn’t call it writers’ block, just a pregnant pause in my work schedule. I had half written the next chapter of <em>‘52’</em> when I left it to write a piece I’d been commissioned to write for a magazine. Christmas and New Year also interfered with my plans for the chapter and so it remained forgotten. That was until now, when I know I must continue if I am to reach my self-inflicted deadline of 90,000 words by March 2013.</p> <p align="justify">The problem is I just cannot get back into the rhythm of the piece, I’ve even written a chapter that appears later, in the hope that I’ll be inspired to complete this troublesome piece of prose. Sadly it didn’t help. So I looked back at the opening of the book, and those first few words that need to hook a reader; hoping I’d get that writers’ rush we get when we start a new piece of work. Did it work? – No, all it did was get me thinking about opening sentences of well known books, and if they grabbed me enough to carry on reading.</p> <p align="justify">The first sentence is from Emile Zola’s novel, <em>His Masterpiece.</em> This novel was <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZHWObNikbVtxBecYISLVQINlP24iD7NAZngBkE83cZo4MqhQaL0GU3tuV147zIAD0Vb91F1DUvRKaFvvo3V9ir79lUBcgMO1B9b4GqnDmypxIeSuthEbT62XRikVVWfdWWRY697JHEEi/s1600-h/Image.ashx2.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Image.ashx" border="0" alt="Image.ashx" align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAT9FfmFznzC-EkjWPZX_NK3gBb-4yv37bC9BQNoIIsgU4a8h-R47sFn8uR0jJrGNEew9h7YSv5CwyAU4JPwQt0yeR-SdcIjL3kOt4enPGDj4epXFqc7hFfldKZoPaosexzli2L2HZchZm//?imgmax=800" width="220" height="244"></a>mentioned in my friend <a href="http://timdiggles.wordpress.com/">Tim's Blog</a> and I became intrigued to read some of the text. The opening sentence had me straight away and I’m now reading the book.</p> <p><em><font color="#0000ff">Claude was passing in front of the Hotel de Ville, and the clock was striking two o'clock in the morning when the storm burst forth.</font></em></p> <p> </p> <p align="justify">One of my favourite books; read as a schoolboy is Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. I know it’s an odd book for a man to cite as <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4q9VE8zdC74mqbkhN_wqaXAWzIQqqZjeNvny-3zGRlSEhiodWFNiH_XPqXbqLDr4FS20cDFN0eFHuZDgXdHHI4Ck9L579_Iz8VlmYza6htQiLORkoJCMaamA4e8TLiyyFX5OHkdLDnuO/s1600-h/wuthering3.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: right; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="wuthering" border="0" alt="wuthering" align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGIKUHaVTIVmgyzuj2KSCtMRY4M1maDqYLcdvE6zRlK850xv5L8QtNHsVpDhz7DcB-bAMe7L51rJ4lbV0lA_-m_euYoBFIAkerspiuDG9KvbCHyGqGIvRKDqV9kYTAX5p8fB0xEc4F73ry//?imgmax=800" width="156" height="244"></a>one of his favourites, but I’m a bit of a Bronte fan and love the way that Emily, Anne and Charlotte wrote.</p> <p align="justify"><em><font color="#0000ff">I have just returned from a visit to my landlord - the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with.</font></em></p> <p align="justify"><font color="#333333"></font> </p> <p align="justify">In my opinion, Othello, is one of Shakespeare’s finest plays, and the opening sentence is directed to one of the greatest theatrical villains of all time, Iago. Oh my goodness, how I love how deliciously bad he is. Some may say that, Macbeth is the Bard’s most evil creation, but no. Macbeth is a honourable man, a good man corrupted, a man tortured by his deeds. Whereas Iago is bad through and through, a man who relishes in his <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-MZNj13YyEdw1SPsfpOK2u5WVJYekiqSWu5gi2ABVn9gaE_fU9U7ugBlbs5EHaXDpv2i2384tvNu6ojd8PyYb24Ylg215j2HqUzVoB1KjdZaKD_e3gYwgK-ahtfMMngishyphenhyphenZ8EQWzrz7/s1600-h/5694118793_fabe5938a8_b2.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="5694118793_fabe5938a8_b" border="0" alt="5694118793_fabe5938a8_b" align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthfAX28OyJWhfw9MrWUYV1wMCmQ60Xw8pimVStjxWATTSIEQZx0PINCC1qKJwrZrLmMeUt0baX3JZX0RkN0NEt5YoM0pILScjgl-c6qQDirSQ9N6Nb_UOGz8bcd1Bag9OsQUwCrkOTWNy//?imgmax=800" width="173" height="244"></a>nastiness. Othello’s opening is a street in Venice, and the first sentence is uttered to Iago by Roderigo.</p> <p><a name="1.1.1"><em><font color="#0000ff">Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly</font></em></a><em><font color="#0000ff">, t</font></em><a name="1.1.2"><em><font color="#0000ff">hat thou, Iago, who hast had my purse</font></em></a><font color="#0000ff"> <em>a</em></font><a name="1.1.3"><em><font color="#0000ff">s if the strings were thine.</font></em></a> <p align="justify"> </p> <p align="justify">Published back in 1972, <em>The Rats</em> by James Herbert had a profound effect on me. It was the first of Herbert’s books I’d ever read and it consumed me completely. Dated now, but still a darn good read; it was one of the books that I can say inspired me to write. I tried my hand at the thriller/horror genre as a twenty-something and very quickly discovered I didn’t have the talent for it. I went on to read all of the books written by Herbert, digesting them like a literary glutton. I tried Koontz and King, but found them lacking that something special that Herbert has. <em></em></p> <p align="justify"><em>The Rats</em> has a prologue, but I’ve decided to quote the first sentence of chapter one, as it grabs you by the balls: at least it did me as a teenager and the bruising remained.</p> <p align="justify"><em><font color="#0000ff">Henry Guilfoyle was slowly drinking himself to death.</font></em></p> <p align="justify"><em><font color="#0000ff"></font></em> </p> <p align="justify">Some openings just don’t grab you, but the books still go on to become a major success. One such book for me is JK Rowling’s, <em>Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.</em> I found the first sentence uninspiring and bland. I’ve not since been able to connect with any of the books in the series, and remain happily ignorant to the story of this famous boy-wizard.</p> <p align="justify"><em><font color="#0000ff">They didn’t think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters.</font></em></p> <p align="justify"><em></em> </p> <p align="justify"><em>Sex, Lies and Family Ties, </em>is an independently published coming of age novel<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsNbh9aC2HDQmZDQQPnPT3CmKQDNSdAa6YJ08ZMOhPGJ9P0zT8sx9YH6t8VeGCr1vQPQai90MbEcR0_wnJR3oZBuLXhvicmZxiWuxQvk4bSEsgN6zHNQ_nqZxFLpnACWZgc4NE5iWrJoh/s1600-h/97809532260782.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: right; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="9780953226078" border="0" alt="9780953226078" align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_IdjF-X0MVSsMMvKCpgVpZdlVMZETvvQWUdZzhqFLxdvHzPBWKlTqK-pzSyG8meGUNdr26-3bB82HAmuumr0mzCVxvRo8Ywg55zHeD8m5rZOfgj0pYLTtLetKRsGicPGL5relZTSb8CH//?imgmax=800" width="137" height="204"></a> written by Sarah J Graham. At a reading event in late 2012 I picked up a copy and read it avidly from the moment I’d turned the first page. It’s a dark book, but unlike <em>Wuthering Heights</em> it isn’t brooding.The story contains a despicable man that you can loathe, almost as much as <em>Othello</em>’s Iago. And finally like <em>The Rats</em>, it has moments that make your insides churn. Oh, and a brilliant first sentence.</p> <p align="justify"><em><font color="#0000ff">On the day that Jim finally died, Carol Hopcraft danced a jig in Mrs Hamilton’s hallway.</font></em></p> <p align="justify">My final first sentence comes <em>52 </em>from my own novel in progress. I just hope it grabs readers attention.</p> <p align="justify"><em><font color="#0000ff">The rush of hot air on my leg indicates that Len has silently farted again.</font></em> </p> <p align="justify">Only time will tell.</p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-90328121634010724182013-01-09T10:19:00.001+00:002013-01-09T10:19:48.008+00:00Hello in There<p align="justify"><font color="#0000ff">Wednesday 09 January 2013</font> – Last week during a visit to the local supermarket, I was standing at the till watching my shopping slide towards the cashier when an elderly lady popped a single item onto the conveyor belt. Being a gentleman, I of course asked if she wanted to go in front of me as I had several items. She thanked me and promptly popped herself one place further up the queue. As she waited her turn she began to tell me about some new cushions she was hoping to buy in the January sales. </p> <p align="justify">She paid for her item, and as mine were being processed she continued to chat, this time asking if I’d had a nice Christmas. I told her it was agreeable and asked how hers had been. She told me she had spent it alone, since she had no children and her husband had passed away many years ago.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPh6m228iYku1sFnuuos6eSwiGoWGN760o1xvQ92yXcvv2iDD5kmoEemNLZ8gnzObG-NQ0M5FB_IZFRdtBtPeQP6ftjRoBfcGWcLmHF79Khq046tCZ2eXOpzqg2Mngqouqe8PPz3P2VncZ/s1600-h/Hello12.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="Hello" border="0" alt="Hello" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYftAm1rLJcmWK2vkWbbswnoKndCGEiyzBzNQc4vDYffJSQrIPc6VljYVKbkkx1HT_7wbjCtd-4KSTkPxM3v-3fZBxRAtBLrfvjp24QwUplsE6tKxQYZXAlvCenZ8MdVEdO0rcvNkoMoOv//?imgmax=800" width="365" height="245"></a></p> <blockquote> <p align="justify"> <font color="#008000"><em>Hello World. </em>Barry Lillie 2013</font></p></blockquote> <p align="justify">After I’d paid for my shopping I stood outside with the old lady and listened as she told me she spent her days alone inside her house, seeing no one. She only ever had the opportunity to meet other people when she did her shopping. We chatted for a few more minutes; what we talked about wasn’t important. What was important was that for about thirty-minutes I made a difference to someone’s otherwise lonely day.</p> <p align="justify">Maybe we should all make an effort to stop and say hello to the elderly, maybe a friendly face may the only contact they’ll have for several days.</p> <p align="justify">This encounter reminded me of the Bette Midler song, <em>Hello in There.</em></p> <div style="padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; width: 448px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; padding-top: 0px" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:b2b65485-43f7-45cf-8e0a-791657e85cd1" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent"><div id="13e65438-acee-4888-bb85-317e9571a91d" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;"><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOJRj0-B1lk" target="_new"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgifzKQ5OJl3KU85BqsitxJKLCIQKBb-d_jJhzFWG3Fnvzmi0OcZPuc8810btK6cOo9X2IdtLzM8Vvvlkffm2vy723LM4GuBwTpvRqp5hr6r1XCaut43MaiUOtlUhHlD6H3_3XhEJ_w9cYx//?imgmax=800" style="border-style: none" galleryimg="no" onload="var downlevelDiv = document.getElementById('13e65438-acee-4888-bb85-317e9571a91d'); downlevelDiv.innerHTML = "<div><object width=\"448\" height=\"252\"><param name=\"movie\" value=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/MOJRj0-B1lk?hl=en&hd=1\"><\/param><embed src=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/MOJRj0-B1lk?hl=en&hd=1\" type=\"application/x-shockwave-flash\" width=\"448\" height=\"252\"><\/embed><\/object><\/div>";" alt=""></a></div></div><div style="width:448px;clear:both;font-size:.8em">Bette.</div></div> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-69060831009609846892013-01-08T10:34:00.001+00:002013-01-08T10:34:02.726+00:00Order or OCD?<p align="justify"><font color="#800000">Tuesday 08 January 2013</font> – A few months ago, I decided to save space, so I took all of my DVD discs out of their cases and stored them inside folders. </p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodBvaCcpD01kRET1rIIc6qdjNnzmLIWNPcDK-LdYHEdye1gxRolwUEbYiYHnIGVGsm_la9yl48GDbkLa52_8L8vprrNoPtFZpDGU4wh5JBW2lOXwlv3k3DSVxSrYfmb3voH8TCb-6onta/s1600-h/47566_10151050097817187_1350487249_n%25255B1%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: right; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="47566_10151050097817187_1350487249_n" border="0" alt="47566_10151050097817187_1350487249_n" align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Tz0DE5AN_0CLk3JGYB13dChxgOhcPiHfK8uRinzUSioDviiSpzht6FjtjMnBUyh04ochqxpwAuXgSL_tS4DuSHvK86uF6yEOsgeVdL39BV76-JidDjl1hRdjk8ugrulOAyKEHYwAqGuY//?imgmax=800" width="160" height="240"></a></p> <p align="justify">After years of being on shelves in alphabetical order they now reside inside zippered cases with see-through pockets. Of course they are all slipped into their sleeve alphabetically and if there’s more than one disc per show then they’re filed chronologically.</p> <p align="justify">Recently I purchased twelve new DVD’s and so had to then slot them into the correct position, which meant shuffling them all into their new positions. As I currently have nine cases, and each case holds two-hundred discs it became a mammoth job.</p> <p align="justify">First I assembled the new discs into alphabetical order, and saw that the first film was <em>Benvenuti al Nord, </em>meaning I’d have to move approximately 1789 discs just to slot this one into position. The task in itself took forty-five minutes to complete.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivbzHIIu5YF9LosKzsHz2ZA-48wm7XSoRQNTq8Cw-WU34RI3tvd_5FrgNILSJqoRhulV9lnWTc7awYtyRlF8pb17ck3CzBAQ91yikMBMvD_Yq4hh6LqkZWLlNdniirnk0MTz2LwGzIqg2Z/s1600-h/100_53683.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="100_5368" border="0" alt="100_5368" align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQOPIBG-9tytXDeUdASsONlXO5FnfHgAKlgcOWgK8CQQmTd8rr6t18HbjWObfE83QTeq2IzB6KiFRJ7URhfvrH3D5tZBRgU6PBJ2J-49HwHeLF-IerZWVtbPItuxMw4mPFVKbbdlxPYca//?imgmax=800" width="244" height="164"></a></p> <p>Now I know it may sound like a bonkers thing to do and I am aware that I’ll never get those minutes back. But I feel it’s worth it.</p> <p>1. I am happier knowing that they are all in order.</p> <p>2. If they were all mixed up, I expect it’d take more minutes in the long run to select a film, as I’d have to go through several cases until I found the one I wanted to view.</p> <p>I guess some people would call this obsessive compulsive disorder.</p> <p>I call it order.</p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-5111668270237604582013-01-07T10:41:00.001+00:002013-01-07T10:41:13.221+00:00Graffiti<p align="justify"><font color="#0000ff">Monday 07 January 2013</font> – I was thinking about graffiti this morning. After breakfast as the Scars played <em>Romance by Mail,</em> I went for a quick stroll. I was hoping some fresh air would re-activate my creative juices dormant since the festivities. At the bottom of the street someone had sprayed a pointless piece of graffiti on a garden wall. It was such a crappy bit of scribble that didn’t warrant a photograph taking, but did make me think about a few weeks ago when I did spot an interesting piece of graffiti.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBr9avwZBiRtdflE5hAbF7CftZVd5b787zIGkxPZYebSIHvLnHlCTRXMs6RYKSC5aKWypTe2b-MkMUZ284QUS4acv4F0etHyMNeu_s5YU-IvGcKO_tzK7Ybu1lfZr-JJXhaWt5mE7lVIHc/s1600-h/100_53614.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="100_5361" border="0" alt="100_5361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYaGxiz1TbWqEi6RNMXQMw9WDb7wDXKcfGz9NcI3Dw11DYqDwjfklM6pKpA2EOolp74Ct936XEa7b74FARY0Kty8Dr6APuuVh1kKxhu-cNb5FbXBMokW5qSXnvB0ivyFFmTqGbvC2me2o//?imgmax=800" width="309" height="256"></a></p> <p align="justify">In Britain people have a different attitude to graffiti than the Italians do. An earlier blog entry of mine mentions this click the link to read it:</p> <p align="justify"> <a href="http://intheflatfieldidogetbored.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/who-is-getting-better-deal.html">http://intheflatfieldidogetbored.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/who-is-getting-better-deal.html</a></p> <p align="justify">I see graffiti as street art. It doesn’t have to be as skilled as the work of Banksy, but should at least be well executed. I know there’s argument for the destruction of <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirQodoc2V4dugBRBd9_3FUJ5xUUoCW6v_0mGzMeJ0ry2JUvP5jLMLGF8l27rcts9zy92SD9ztOGG7IcDEcWe29m3_uIE4SoiR8CH2ZPFZj2oufFwpKh3qbYx9R_R7QbnGHTS0qIFlwrkoh/s1600-h/100_22624.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: right; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="100_2262" border="0" alt="100_2262" align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUvB3wF7vScn6VAFLrFWxjZv1QKaVmj9a7ewcmpXizsNXSc7YW6EJ4RrNAHf2sTu_YUcvJ6ZvQ70niDzTm_JGWKVSuh1vmFwsJfJH8KitapzwwHIqDjjKe6hUhXO6DAI7So1scAC4nkEJ3//?imgmax=800" width="160" height="240"></a>property and I understand this argument and agree it’s viable, but from the point of view of just looking at graffiti I do think some can be pleasing to the eye. I took a photo in Napoli back in 2009 of a train and every carriage was adorned with artwork. None of the Italian travellers on the platform batted an eyelid, in fact they ignored it. A couple of English tourists sucked their teeth in dismay. This laid back attitude means that no one is rushing around spending money to remove it like the rail networks in the UK would. The Italian’s know it’ll just come back if they do, so don’t waste the energy, they conserve it and apply it to la bella figura.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVKVzJp6ZYpIF1SKK8sulP-0yBaoag2GTAk6g2vF7mAVX3RMzIknEhoeDOsP_wCfVmsTqA-R4mGGCAP5pYrHdZ3byopq0ftgqYkrCYwTXCwJAa6tAqJDDwQWEZ816OzeQQH82bjvCIbIG_/s1600-h/100_22635.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="100_2263" border="0" alt="100_2263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmFZHNYx-tx8Pu63UYgd0t3JXEikYq8Kyl3fwlwI0S7LgAmXsK29efSs2HTJkGEn_iVA6nyAKFkvFJMZm1yUqDEB3d3v_jU-7SuLELAaUPxdeMh4fa4SzBLbmnunvgdelLTEqCOrCxXJm9//?imgmax=800" width="333" height="222"></a></p> <p>There’s another piece of street art that I drive past regularly. One day I must make the effort to stop the car and get a photograph to share here.</p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-8973111080494923862013-01-04T10:13:00.001+00:002013-01-04T10:13:19.917+00:00Hanging around bras… Yes, that’s right, it’s not a typo.<p><font color="#9b00d3">04 January 2013</font> - How predictable am I? I got up and decided it was time to change the desktop image on my laptop, so I changed it from a picture of the Italian sex-god Tiziano Ferro to a picture of the Italian sex-god Tiziano Ferro. (Who’d believe I’m no longer in school, and I’m bloody 51?)</p> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1PjPSHSX9Orjgv4QuE7EFQ9JjMxqVqE9UC46yjAEXsEuOnnMMFpbvQiLsPWNI3U1242aBydklZga5Q6EEb5sDZgcXmnddI1o1LmAI65rBmLLPywjzrY4MveYxJDXXQm0ptdBA0b_p8WmG/s1600-h/993.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="99" border="0" alt="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49tjOrex9sNtI2Bni2lfmMhx3VAaxne8KJqXNnia0tlZTMZHfY1Yy0AQYKAys-vdgBeMpWIX1Uq3mT3xbvPLjt_WSvuFYSzPwQx2_hQV44P4ZOBXbTc5LlRlGficemHlUH7k18P2iSOIq//?imgmax=800" width="457" height="246"></a></p> <p align="justify">Before Christmas, on a shopping trip I found myself waiting for ‘me Dutch’ as he paid at the till of a well-known high street, budget clothing emporium. As he queued I discovered I was standing in the bra section. Now the sum total of my brassier experience has been fumbling as a teen with B*****t F****’s<font color="#ff0000">*</font> fastening at a youth club disco and wearing an oversized one during pantomime at various venues up and down the UK. <font color="#ff0000">* </font><font color="#333333">name disguised to protect the innocent.</font></p> <p align="justify">So I’m standing surrounded by ladies intimate apparel and began to peruse what was on display. There were lacy bras complete with gel side fillets to emphasise the cleavage; giving less endowed girls that Holly Willoughbooby look I guess. There was a selection of bras that came with under-cup gel to lift the bosom and even some with gel-cups to give the illusion of a bigger breast. At £4.99, much cheaper than surgery.</p> <p align="justify">It was only when I’d spent several minutes moving from rack to rack, (no pun intended) that I noticed the sales assistant watching me. I nodded and smiled just <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiDyg6mNzYG7MFCDku8c40sbwNbmFkmCrf8rQAALWc-18CabvwFwsdCcLIvtPdhFzFL9kF1QRTPTwhk8H3RHpPbi68mKZ6tQJfuiZAqO2wxASE7EhZeJwrk1Mm9R5w8c1YbTVm8bvnBOtL/s1600-h/CAM000183.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="CAM00018" border="0" alt="CAM00018" align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7VQoLN76fLC6LmI_wCFab1sZCiLODGGHS8m0fyXQ6HyO7zNTR35DaI_Eyr_DXGe7Ew1f49tq9wrUnHiNCGBw22DnVM9-zCIFG2UrEWYvmjsgGKOT2yMzzkeSoMegngcZHy71ojLpaslf//?imgmax=800" width="224" height="244"></a>as ‘me Dutch’ exited the payment line and as I walked away she gave me a look that told me she didn’t think I was a pervert.</p> <p align="justify">It was that knowing look of someone convinced that I was a cross-dresser.</p> <p align="justify">If I was a transvestite I think I’d call myself Olivia and I’d wear brassieres like this padded purple one. </p> <p align="justify">I’m always willing to <em><u>make an impact</u></em>.</p> <p align="justify"> </p> <p align="center"><strong>Have a good weekend – see you all on Monday</strong></p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-970011102918309642013-01-03T09:57:00.001+00:002013-01-03T09:57:23.729+00:00The Prince, Public Toilets and other Peoples’ Children<p align="justify"><font color="#800040">03 January 2013</font> – I know the title of today’s instalment sounds like I’ve been up to some nefarious activity but it’s the easiest way to explain recent events at Freeport at Talke. </p> <p align="justify">During a pre-Christmas shopping trip I was mooching through the shopping mall when the call of nature struck me. The public lavatories are situated upstairs so I stepped onto the escalator and was travelling upwards when I noticed a small boy beside me holding the hem of my jacket. I looked around to see his mother at the bottom looking up with smiling encouragement for her son. We reached the top and he released his grip on my jacket and calmly walked over to a man, who I presumed to be his father. No nod of recognition came from the man as he took the boys hand and led him into the cafe. </p> <p align="justify">Either I have a trusting demeanour or these were parents without the cotton-wool <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYiUabzsLCE2iAbS65-XDHbkQGiS63OqTdVADy_taOjRU2PrV3qANKjVe8ILwM6goN_miC4zDgf70BEWy88EfEyWTieB8EkgOEPQFfnewcjMy7cb_mJMpoVuAxp_-0L1vV6ve3Zgvuk5dT/s1600-h/427px-Prince_Albert-18422.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: right; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="427px-Prince_Albert-1842" border="0" alt="427px-Prince_Albert-1842" align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSgAcK3IbhNfYdvbRnsLkiC_KE2ltBs0szlhL-NTCRIte17en7kwS_I1fCFFke_-c0XElFIAhyzDLSmqkBbx6qI5VZtanXApqzcodjPMaawAobx-aMDomUK45Sg-P5fkmm74AzLN-ei38//?imgmax=800" width="175" height="244"></a>mentality of child-raising.</p> <p align="justify">I followed another father and son into the public convenience, and they secured themselves behind a cubicle door; pity it didn’t hold the boys conversation inside. At first myself and the other patrons heard – “Are you having a wee too, daddy?” This was followed by “Daddy, why do you have a big earring in your willy?” Needless to say, there were a few of us taking longer to wash our hands at the basins, eager to catch a glimpse of the father that we now knew had a Prince Albert nestling inside his Y fronts.</p> <p align="justify">A few minutes later I’m sat in the café enjoying a cuppa when at the table next to ours a small girl, aged around three or four turns to her mother and says, “I need toilet.” Her mother takes her by the hand and leads her a few paces from the table, points in the direction of the public facilities, approximately seventy-five yards away around a slight bend in the corridor and lets the child wander off on her own while she sits back down to continue drinking her coffee and munching on a cupcake. </p> <p align="justify">I wasn’t the only person there that looked suitably shocked.</p> <p align="justify">As the child returned safe and sound; although can we be sure she washed her hands? I switched on my iPod and left as Nina Simone sang <em>Strange Fruit</em>. As I descended the escalator I thought to myself, strange parenting.</p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-3500970194166173572013-01-02T11:00:00.001+00:002013-01-02T11:32:24.855+00:00Cash-back?<div align="justify">
<span style="color: red;">02 January 2013</span> - I was shopping the other day in that well-know supermarket that has four letters in its name, an ‘A’ at both ends that makes it sound similar to a Swedish pop group. I loaded what I wanted onto the conveyor and the girl behind the till scanned and smiled as I packed away. I began to pay with my card and she asked me the question that always comes before you’re requested to put in your pin number, “Would you like any cash-back?” Usually I say no, as I only draw cash as and when I need it, but today was different. I was planning to pop into the local market, where it’s all cash transactions. I asked if I could just have five pounds. At first the girl behind the till looked shocked, as if I’d asked if I could have a night of kinky sex with her grandfather, then she raised her eyebrows and said, “Five pounds, oh no, we can only let you have ten.”</div>
<div align="justify">
“But I don’t want ten,” I replied.</div>
<div align="justify">
“Well you can’t have any cash-back then.”</div>
<div align="justify">
“Why not?”</div>
<div align="justify">
“Because at A_ _A we only allow a ten pounds minimum.”</div>
<div align="justify">
“Why?”</div>
<div align="justify">
“I don’t know, I guess it’s like cash machines, we can’t do less than a tenner.”</div>
<div align="justify">
“Never mind,” I said, left the store and stopped at my banks’ ATM and withdrew a crisp five-pound note, popped the ear-buds into my ear and as Cher belted out, <i>Love is a Lonely Place without U </i>I nipped into the market and purchased some black pudding.</div>
<div align="justify">
Regular readers of my blog will know how I like to find unusual signs and those with spelling mistakes, and so imagine my surprise when I found this one for you all to enjoy. Here’s the first bad sign of 2013:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY5KU9SGz21Ees0VcQiP6erwgD09Dh2r7Js8pULu1uVkFRmfu0LenUNfKaD0_jTXQg5KpnisKjv8DavtbsZ3PEyUsP8gTIvwZnNF0b0ilb9A79Tp-x5ka7oyj9nF5whummwlT9Q2s20NRK/s1600-h/CAM000195.jpg"><img alt="CAM00019" border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ7I2-x2lvTHzdLiDv65UN3FzS_baFnwWXQtxulkqFKOXoG1pEVDZUscvAoFn8EJn5ga9HrlKEsMOgntiJXtguef96axObRXeeXmO8nMBsk2ecbU_rt-npN7Z3S6I7uNPt0ycjGS-ALwNr//?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="CAM00019" width="467" /></a></div>
I quite like the newly created word, ‘lastwash2pm’ and the spelling of ‘normal’ with a double ‘L’, but my favourite is the uppercase ‘S’ at the end of days and shouldn’t New Year be capitalised with an apostrophe before the S? Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-12318883632272584392013-01-01T11:37:00.001+00:002013-01-01T11:37:26.629+00:00Car-Park Etiquette<p align="justify"><font color="#ff0080">01 January 2013</font> – So here it is, 2013. How we’ve waited for you with eager anticipation and hope. Hope that you’ll bring better weather than your predecessor, maybe a fiscal miracle to bring an end to the recession and hopefully a dignified retreat from the public eye by Robbie Williams. </p> <p align="justify">As my blog is all about my life and the music that shuffles on my iPod as I go about my days, it’s only fair to let you know what the first tune of 2013 is, as it shuffles randomly to the fore. <em>I’m Still Waiting</em> by the fabulous, if short lived, River City People.</p> <div style="padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; width: 448px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; padding-top: 0px" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:f6e3ed10-80d0-4d40-9b2c-e2d71efa61c4" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent"><div id="1e11a65b-8dc1-4ea0-bd4b-c1e123b77a7c" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;"><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fSZZlIE-wIA" target="_new"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsXzyDVNooRHN4K_ty-IVVCrKqHAHGMssa8bfWR9jCiKK7vri5LNedcRDNjhC0UeQnESGMbCShYBfdtSUnHlDjmcdclX7sRJesnlXRXUGbzzLqZMSMJOMJb8QNHTBqeATz9lAih0KX3awM//?imgmax=800" style="border-style: none" galleryimg="no" onload="var downlevelDiv = document.getElementById('1e11a65b-8dc1-4ea0-bd4b-c1e123b77a7c'); downlevelDiv.innerHTML = "<div><object width=\"448\" height=\"252\"><param name=\"movie\" value=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/fSZZlIE-wIA?hl=en&hd=1\"><\/param><embed src=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/fSZZlIE-wIA?hl=en&hd=1\" type=\"application/x-shockwave-flash\" width=\"448\" height=\"252\"><\/embed><\/object><\/div>";" alt=""></a></div></div><div style="width:448px;clear:both;font-size:.8em">I’m Still Waiting. River City People</div></div> <p align="justify">Sadly I have to say my first blog of the year is an opinion piece, a letting off of steam some may say. A rant. It concerns the use of car-parks, which tends to be one of the everyday situations that will be guaranteed to tip me over the edge.</p> <p align="justify">We are all sensible enough to know that it’s wrong to park in a bay reserved for disabled drivers if we are not entitled to do so. But, I have to admit to having a problem with mother and child spaces. I understand that people with children need ample room to accommodate the buggy and other child related detritus, but why do these spaces have to situated in premium areas of the car-park? You’ve only bred not lost a limb. Another bone of contention regarding these spaces is the amount of people who think because they have a wide expanse of tarmac either side of their vehicle they are justified in leaving the shopping trolley there and driving off. <strong><font color="#ff0080">Don’t get me started on people who are too lazy to return their trolley to its bay.</font></strong></p> <p align="justify">Another activity that gets my blood boiling is impatient drivers. Yesterday I was ready to reverse out of my parking space when I noticed the man in his car to my left also begin to reverse out of his. I waited for him to leave, checked no one was behind me and began to reverse. Suddenly out of no where came a woman in a car causing me to brake as she’d decided not to wait for me to leave, and skidded around me into the recently vacated space to my left. Imagine my surprise when she got out of her car and just shrugged, as if to say “oh well, no harm done.” Had I not been in a better mood I’d have been tempted to give her a few choice words.</p> <p align="justify">As I exited the car-park, which has two lanes; one for people turning right and another for people turning left, I was sat in the right hand lane. I am about to reach the junction when the car to my left suddenly without warning decided to change lanes. I beeped my horn, only to have the woman in front: the woman who didn’t have the dexterous ability to use an indicator, lift her hand up and give me the middle finger salute.</p> <p align="justify">Whilst I’m on about car-parking, I have to admit to hating those people who cannot park in the centre of two lines, those that either straddle the line, or park so close to it that when you arrive back at your car, the only way to get back inside is via the sun-roof or to tunnel in from below.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjgBftiDeU136YI6l-TBmObkQY816vkfOR3ZzmbjvaY5sEnEtLgSL4x3w2OhILjMcSpOzMDarOUwMwqzeNCADiKvsmquyYwKYVQ57zmbsqxsowBcnWVj9VtE5yrzQ1QFZA6vsKwvm4A2N/s1600-h/84804-Royalty-Free-RF-Clipart-Illust%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="84804-Royalty-Free-RF-Clipart-Illustration-Of-A-Shiny-Pink-Euro-App-Button-With-A-Chrome-Rim" border="0" alt="84804-Royalty-Free-RF-Clipart-Illustration-Of-A-Shiny-Pink-Euro-App-Button-With-A-Chrome-Rim" align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEVIZphaG_eWx2lXhIhFkAbNd3fRw87rwrthiVxrB2TLX9oMCEZS-2wdjC_2I_dqFFDp3wBGrhCqhjkmlGUvqBMkQeyGuYkZrMxEVyphVux5_sBOV1el9MyAcPUsEXfeDmvZVpJmfGXewS//?imgmax=800" width="212" height="179"></a>Finally, you know my feelings about mother and baby spaces, but I believe there’s a section of the car-park that needs to be set aside for the LGBT community, let’s call it ‘gay bay’. It doesn’t have to be pink or rainbow coloured, just a privileged spot for the people who are free from the expense of bringing up children, paying school fees and pre-school childcare. As it must make sense to allocate specialised parking to the portion of the shopping community with the largest proportion of disposable income. <font color="#ff0080">Tongue firmly in cheek.</font></p> <p align="justify">Rant over – just in time as Antony and the Johnsons start to play <em>Everglade.</em></p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-68364175924013635852012-12-30T11:00:00.001+00:002012-12-30T11:00:18.685+00:00So, that was 2012<p align="justify"><font color="#008000">30 December 2012</font> – Okay, if you want to be pedantic. Yes, I know that there’s still a day and a few more hours until 2012 is officially put to bed. But this is my blog and if I want to do my review now I will. Stamps foot in a petulant manner <img style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none" class="wlEmoticon wlEmoticon-winkingsmile" alt="Winking smile" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCMaudodYm9v08mxdszRT3ytVkTAdWmUIbjU5vNGWjWdSiau9d34Zga51DUhk0fP4_Qh71Gn8w3ymzxPBdwVIIvHPIbCdRUTvDVc2rj8Bq6i164ypH2pDOnvJIIJ-BIHE8cnPanv3t7AjY//?imgmax=800">.</p> <p align="justify">Very little has happened regarding my living arrangements, I’m still displaced with a third of my possessions in the UK another third in Italy and thanks to two break-ins at our place out there the remaining third has been either sold-on or sit in the home of the thieving scum, that saw fit to take them. We are hoping our situation is resolved in January 2013, so that progress can be made and I can continue to pursue my dreams.</p> <p align="justify">I’ve had a good year regarding work and writing, I completed <em>Willow and the Motorway Horses</em>, had some more published features in magazines and in September I started my ‘grown up’ novel entitled <em>52</em>. I’ve had good year at my writers’ group <a href="http://renegadewritersgroup.blogspot.co.uk/">Renegade Writers</a> there’s been encouragement, honest critiques and much mirth and merriment.</p> <p align="justify">The iPod has done its job splendidly this year, with the top three most shuffled songs of 2012 being. <em>Israel - </em>Siouxsie and the Banshees. <em>La Differenza Tra Me E Te - </em>Tiziano Ferro and <em>Memory Lane</em> – McFly. (That’s a surprise"). Talking about McFly,I’ve always thought that Harry was bit fit, but having seen them all grown-up on their Christmas special, I don’t think I’d say no to any of them should they knock on my bedroom door. – TMI saucy.</p> <p align="justify">I ended the year with a nomination from another author in the Next Big Thing blog project, which has inspired me to continue tapping at those laptop keys, and I then added my thoughts to the project too. <a href="http://barrylillie.wordpress.com/">Next Big Thing (Barry)</a></p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6-m7PyYvVBHymzqojrtqvv2fyEyw44mDqp_nFWuMjw2nocqBHsQbaUKJAUMw5q8ALAWrKtDLpzdd2t6cPgfJxQlipY8C9mbuKGAWA5ThSeSR-5TR2ok2-IixRWF78GZdEq56tCirQmoRo/s1600-h/artworks-000034770820-z6c588-origina%25255B1%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="artworks-000034770820-z6c588-original" border="0" alt="artworks-000034770820-z6c588-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqzcfLTfXGkgoxaMN6Tj81WGpgZ15h8s1brDsDh8N-x8h31mJMlIu92ThoI9ry9dIkJqOfqJ_XMd4T0DYhyM9Td3uSDqEENd6bKlxbhwQL6DL4_12nwUWwBoINwN_M4oVkM8iXYKoWIbV//?imgmax=800" width="292" height="177"></a></p> <p align="justify">Sadly in 2012 we lost the disco diva Donna Summer, another Gibb brother and comedy legend Eric Sykes. Actor Clive Dunn gave up his fight against ‘<em>the fuzzy-wuzzies’</em> and author Maeve Binchey put down her pen. </p> <p align="justify">However I personally believe the saddest loss of the year was that of Winnie Johnson, who passed away without knowing where Ian Brady buried her beloved son, Keith Bennett. I hope the hunt for Keith continues.</p> <p align="justify">A diminutive singer from S. Korea achieved the most viewed accolade on YouTube. Emmerdale celebrated its 40 years on TV with an advert that reprised the classic <em>Untrue Unfaithful (that was you) </em>by Nita Rossi and Girls Aloud celebrated ten years in the music business with <strong><u>another</u></strong> greatest hits album imaginatively titled Ten.</p> <p align="justify">The world watched as we staged the Olympics and the Paralympics, successfully in my opinion. The only downside of the Olympics was the repeated TV appearances of Louis Smith and being subjected to Victoria Pendleton’s attempts at dancing on Strictly. </p> <p align="justify">The apocalypse didn’t set the world on fire, to coin a phrase. The world failed to end as predicted so it looks like I’ll now have to return my library book and pay the 15p fine.</p> <p align="justify">Before I publish my last blog entry for the year I must leave you with another spelling mistake in a sign I spotted inside the window of an estate agent.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHPiRqpm5Ai7xlxcOyZmgqtKw6YNZHUqsgaQtpvwkw1Xbd1fNMdtxIcYaPpOiOt8xS5vlRqRo3vsXTF_eIqTV6q1VcKNMyRzMy-xjHw2e_4MFfgQqqpppXCRIJSpgxipmRYTwo3BdHOeSZ/s1600-h/CAM000204.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="CAM00020" border="0" alt="CAM00020" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVatZheWXEGUVeP7ZdF6w-t5NVPSAfJjgeYUI8o11-mlOuEMP-NEWxL7788A33qJjTqF-0wP_cOhOP9WCvKFL_bOEBbLkg9tFGdCeE1C6CY9nILWyBFJLrjoz8Fybx86nGflZhSKJbaBIJ//?imgmax=800" width="431" height="324"></a></p> <p>If you notice on the eighth line they have used the American spelling modernization with a ‘z’ then two words later they use the English modernise with an ‘s’ – I wonder if this was a deliberate case of someone trying to confuse a spell checking program?</p> <p>I hope that every one of you that will be attending New Year celebrations have a good time and arrive home safely. Here’s to an exciting 2013 for us all.</p> <p>And finally, this sign made me smile, for obvious reasons. I wonder how many prank calls they’ve received since the twins were on the X-Factor?</p> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNANut63n-VArjFTE04WamqaEtmYd8t2uhypdguhnbP6MF2_HIEuYmwbhlmOuJM-hMDxwUolb7WC8ev_lJKQbcLh3kSEwMuvjdgnkW1AH6r9N2NQuUHZWfoQgncUQUUwUWt4JKRwgTrhv/s1600-h/CAM000228.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="CAM00022" border="0" alt="CAM00022" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXIPe7Ym4Ttk8Sk0lxjinE03zlTg9VN7hBZM2inUdVoFqfTYzBqxYeCoaz5q0f_0Lj3xOGxBelfSCozDggDB94ibh93XBhC-Awi8QH_ROAYNYtjv6IYoNVI9c4FLYNUrWVQ6GmM-f7ge1Y//?imgmax=800" width="415" height="93"></a></p> <p>The final song to shuffle forward as I complete this posting is <em>The Man with the Golden Gun</em> by Lulu which is ironic really considering 2012 saw <em>Skyfall, </em>what is hailed to be the best ‘Bond’ movie ever, and as another year ebbs away, I’ve still not watched one.</p> <div style="padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; width: 448px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; padding-top: 0px" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:b69de7c3-292e-4ef7-a8ec-a21e92c2a0eb" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent"><div id="b74a53f6-6674-4cbe-9b9c-7a7de70a9a94" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;"><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxTCwrIYyZQ" target="_new"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRaFW6ai_HUAbqeu61hwMSu3P6Bewj2v4q_f4RRANazkotn8VVdUnHnrlEW500TlrvQL_10SJlqjvKY0uhCIlnhLYu41sQ2JRyv7oeDEbHb_1-MP4-I-YzFuYrJTUwNIFWz3QM32TpxLQm//?imgmax=800" style="border-style: none" galleryimg="no" onload="var downlevelDiv = document.getElementById('b74a53f6-6674-4cbe-9b9c-7a7de70a9a94'); downlevelDiv.innerHTML = "<div><object width=\"448\" height=\"252\"><param name=\"movie\" value=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/TxTCwrIYyZQ?hl=en&hd=1\"><\/param><embed src=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/TxTCwrIYyZQ?hl=en&hd=1\" type=\"application/x-shockwave-flash\" width=\"448\" height=\"252\"><\/embed><\/object><\/div>";" alt=""></a></div></div><div style="width:448px;clear:both;font-size:.8em">Enjoy</div></div> <p>Take care, see you all on the other side. Baz x</p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-36554171627038651512012-12-24T12:25:00.001+00:002012-12-24T12:25:41.232+00:00Gifts at Christmas<p align="justify"><font color="#ff0000">Monday 24 December 2012</font> – Well here we are, Christmas Eve, just one more day and we’ll all be opening lovingly wrapped gifts. No doubt there’ll be a few new pairs of socks and maybe the odd bottle of gin waiting for me in my pile of presents, not to mention that odd gift that for some reason seems to sneak in and leaves me wondering why anyone would consider giving me something so strange. I’ll refrain from pointing out what odd ones I’ve received in the past for fear of upsetting the gift giver, although I still have no idea why someone gave me a Polish phrase book. </p> <p align="justify">I think as the years stack up, it becomes increasingly difficult to find interesting gifts for people. Young people and kids are so easy to buy for, but what do you get fifty-something's who already seem to have everything?</p> <p align="justify">Last week however, I received a simple gift that was both personal and interesting. My friend Tim, handed out at our last Renegade Writers’ meeting the modern <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODJD81oPKf3K2CuAHvKVqY91VYinAr8GDGJK9DSTsEWl93jG0nFBUofRdI59FqK41gqKDk-6W1WOkuJe2WhwXD0AE-NSoRl3FidL81_x6hkct3VG4TwwV97nQCccV2JbD5Fgsa7wEsxm5/s1600-h/Tim1.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Tim" border="0" alt="Tim" align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb29Ivz-zMpDR1ZGDSqGQhF_oWkbSYRA-rXJKEHQheiX6reVmThfGYjRrQJ1JxGWuXvnFF65-lmIdWolrYSr_rx2TJoNw0TcBZAQvJZzBh6QkNAxdk6sLRLKWg49w2kQzlVti2KC8LwsF6//?imgmax=800" width="236" height="240"></a>equivalent of the 80’s mix-tape. He put together a compilation of tracks on a CD of songs that he had discovered and listened to throughout 2012. Obviously a CD cannot contain all the tracks listened to in the year, but it does contain twenty-one hand-picked gems and an amusing photo-shopped cover.</p> <p align="justify">Tim’s website which includes some of his writing and films can be found at the following link: <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/timdiggles/Home">Tim's Website</a></p> <p align="justify"> </p> <p align="justify">Speaking of interesting gifts, what do you give a sophisticated gay writer with OCD and pencil fetish issues?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgONzrJDuBnJ0nSA8nZR3EC5dIeAnSqor4wpzoKrqj1fdqX4dvZa6Imbg7u6bfGZymvVgt15WVvB2K-n0CuMAlo7pJPxlz4mApmt5KueqfyOJGDEpLSPTB2lI08qStGGkRcutsqGwNCjjp4/s1600-h/Cuffs3.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: right; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Cuffs" border="0" alt="Cuffs" align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuukZ6zEwU3CTUFcC6gIpTBQCowf4jd0xR9G4RmSsKv2o7aNbhpn4VvXiVhKOUwdduzkFHPbZzq5wdSrdBRB3HNquXZ_aKP16sTg-ooQLSz8XeP4OGREUKBFKny6o-3szETJD1MbSAQzEH//?imgmax=800" width="244" height="244"></a></p> <p align="justify"><font color="#ff0000">Answer:</font> These amazing pencil cufflinks which I was given by my young, talented friend Josh. </p> <p align="justify">For some of Josh’s musings take a look at his site here: <a href="http://jallerton.com/">Josh's Website</a></p> <p align="justify">This will be my last posting this side of Christmas, I’ll be back around the beginning of January with my thoughts on 2012. Until then enjoy the festive season and stay safe.</p> <p align="justify">Oh, and finally the song on shuffle as I type this entry is, <em>Manners </em>by Icona Pop.</p> <p align="justify"><font color="#ff0000">Baz x</font></p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-8180867251902248532012-12-21T12:35:00.001+00:002012-12-21T12:35:22.338+00:00Contains Adult Theme and Sweary words<p align="justify"><font color="#0000ff">Thursday 20 December 2012</font> - You know you’ve reached the depths of despair when you’d be willing to give a trampy old bloke oral sex, just for a mouthful of White Lightning cider.</p> <p align="justify">I make no apologies for today’s lewd opening, as I was shocked, nay flabbergasted when I had the following experience.</p> <p align="justify">I was walking through the edge of town, on the periphery where the populace tends to be at its lowest ebb and the niceties of social intercourse are neglected. Where grass gives way to dog shit and shop-fronts have bars. I was walking along, iPod turned off and hidden in pocket. Well you can’t be too careful here, I feel like Will Smith in <em>I Am Legend</em>, furtively scouring the shadows for trouble, the only trouble is I don’t have a German Shepherd. (Which reminds me of a Dave Spikey joke)</p> <p align="justify"><font color="#0000ff">Every morning this week when I’ve got up there’s been a German shepherd having a shit on my front lawn. Today the dirty bastard brought his dog.</font></p> <p align="justify"><font color="#333333">But I digress. I was walking past a derelict bus shelter where there was four dishevelled men sitting, all of varying ages but the ravages of alcohol had given them all a wizened look. Two men drank from cans and an older man was drinking from a bottle of cheap white cider, when the younger of the group asked him for a swig. The conversation went something like this:</font></p> <blockquote> <p>Man 1:Give us a swig.</p> <p>Man 2: Fuck off.</p> <p>Man 1: Come on you mean bastard.</p> <p>Man 2: Fuck off</p> <p>Man 1: I’d give you some if I had a bottle.</p> <p>Man 2: If you want some, suck my cock.</p> <p>Man 1: Fuck off.</p> <p>Man 2: Then you can’t have any.</p> <p>Man 3: You’re not going to make him do that again are you?</p> <p>Man 2: If he wants a drink he’s got to earn it.</p></blockquote> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_FTwQHVncawenyp-x384bfqHf_5vnLiTfxo1Z65SN-nw3ETmnycdmpBuqaisCiAJZxVcMhNApF0H4AuZKR7iMuPwRfSuvRGAAP71xvimPwyg24V9-5Y44e7p0JxbYqcHgGQ4ZLhkrPcG2/s1600-h/0105653.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="010565" border="0" alt="010565" align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqAooA9hvyO7pd4QdLNb0HUp6NJ1hNo8f-I2u8N56T5gn3sx0tR8PPwJ3CKKGeOYiJTddeLgC6K6YDXkWHJAi0iap6BhCZz-qubhYd0nRKtaZasKoxXMCdLOz6T-yXs6ObecdmFR0u2bdO//?imgmax=800" width="75" height="240"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>I scuttled away for fear of seeing the desperate man earn his mouthful (no pun intended) of cheap cider.</p> <p><font color="#0000ff">On a lighter note, it looks like the Mayan’s got it wrong, 11.00 am passed without the annihilation of the world. I did wait before posting today’s piece, as I didn’t want you all to go into oblivion with the thought of a trampy old bloke getting oral relief bouncing around inside your head.</font></p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-8893432005364773132012-12-20T10:45:00.001+00:002012-12-20T10:45:34.523+00:00Everything Must Go!<p align="justify"><font color="#9b00d3">Wednesday 19 December 2012</font> – It’s sad that so close to Christmas the electrical retailer Comet has gone into administration leaving its workers with nothing but a bleak outlook and a new year of benefits and form-filling.</p> <p align="justify">I saw the adverts on TV urging people to act fast if they want to secure a bargain, so like so many others I popped to our local store. Outside was a huge yellow sign that read: Everything Must Go!!! – Yes it had three exclamation marks, a tad excessive I know, but who cares about grammar when there’s the possibility of getting a blu-ray player for peanuts?</p> <p align="justify">We strolled through the doors and it wasn’t a case of everything must go, but, everything has gone. When I say everything, I kid you not, the shelves had gone, the tills had all gone, bar one and they were reduced to selling what was left of the shops interior..</p> <p align="justify">On a display stand was a box of electric plugs, 20p for five. A box full of random remote controls, £3.00 for the lot and a box of the stores lever arch files, for sale for the princely sum of £4.00. I strolled over and the label's on the files’ spines read things like, Absence Records, Orders and Delivery Notes. I had to secretly get a snap of the box, and here it is, apologies for the poor quality. I had to be quick as security was watching.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDOg2xFnYly-KNIBrT81FOjZ8AK4wlEu3KopOQMUNWUmuuNCoIFR2BlgMWbh4ElJtBtgowhU0hCDktaUOk-m0edOuSKtW73rhgtVZAFMTp5ONKcB8VIJoLAW_L7Qv-Pr4WwaDVzkCEv_j/s1600-h/CAM000144.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="CAM00014" border="0" alt="CAM00014" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_Nip9xdeqy0k6bsqSVwVgXSqG6O1pHH4SmWdtE0H1DYLDq_Lywr0SZTThNAGhpg0cR5wtlzXvoA0HBJCOqit3kpjteNf-X3BSJe-0KoyA20hs6bAJkp4V8JBdO04dF_ReomzwHgxu3sV//?imgmax=800" width="240" height="161"></a></p> <p>I’m just wondering who would want to purchase a box of files from an electrical retailer?</p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-59956456881831646792012-12-19T10:24:00.001+00:002012-12-19T10:24:08.371+00:00Surreptitious Sniffing<p align="justify"><font color="#f82d16"><font color="#800000">Tuesday 18 December 2012 –</font> </font>I am about to own up to doing something today that I have never done before. It’s an odd furtive thing and I urge you not to judge me too harshly. Today I was out shopping. It was a usual shopping trip that consisted of queuing for parking spaces, queuing at tills and queuing at ATM machines. It was whilst I was queuing at a till; my goods moving slowly down the conveyor belt towards the bored looking boy at the end, who’s name badge told me he was called Jamie, that I committed myself to this bizarre act of absurdity.</p> <p align="justify">Just before my goods reached Jamie, a woman in a purple sweater passed me, there was nothing peculiar about the woman that made her stand out <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshL5kOBM3rD-7nJUzAWI-O9vDRZmrp6vjfOuMTHp-lJBKxDCXqXe0ymi07M_I-cLr-kv7-cT6aur60wE8Q_1lSA-Ruietx5xGZt4E73ka1G2pgCpNiYRy7ULWFEDgVyUrvItjZ-5K4UL0/s1600-h/Chanel-Perfume_12923388573.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Chanel-Perfume_1292338857" border="0" alt="Chanel-Perfume_1292338857" align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEpF3KSimb8O6npgocs1yUslYA0Gz7Q2O3iffk1sVMNhvgF09cjVLZBVc-VtfobHw7vqi0kcEkK3Qkz0ay3TNvhOPKIzxhJx5e54Pr3X-uvQFBsp2jFmvuf6-qMzHr2kGd1y8oD_Kq0Ebx//?imgmax=800" width="160" height="240"></a>visually, but she smelled lovely – obviously a very expensive perfume had been liberally applied. I was captivated by the scent that wafted across my nostrils as she passed by, so I grabbed my items off the conveyor, which made Jamie look up disdainfully and followed the woman down the aisle. Every time she stopped, so did I, just hanging back enough not to look like a weirdo stalker. I was surreptitiously sniffing this exquisite scent as she carried on shopping, non-the-wiser. </p> <p align="justify">As we turned a corner it suddenly struck me that what I was doing was odd and as I broke away and made my way back to the till and Jamie, my OH asked me what I’d been doing. The look of horror on his face said it all and Jamie looked up as a bloke with curly hair called another one with sticky-up hair a blood weird freak.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK_8veajZBfuu65F4lACyeRyh_4RxePO_3Fge9EkUINqmG_gpmrfo-NvKAU7bzdT2LozSsD_E5cwrHg0f_bpNmWxre2Re8GEnZFVtOkcG1k9PmvECe7CNtJ4JwOcyqd-kavRlJ_3sd6BYJ/s1600-h/70675.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: right; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="7067" border="0" alt="7067" align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCQg9ZkT9NIGxTn4ysMfsFJLUNnPaVkRGccB0TTUkdkHdC7MsjBKZTUBZWKQtiNIajIqpNySJfQnMaWK0THocYUbcdMvCRsdXPPS5opKjRyn-EyNVqOXO49JjLY76FQRdHUeHM2U7JBEk//?imgmax=800" width="226" height="226"></a></p> <p align="justify">On the plus-side, when I got home the postman had delivered my new bottle of man spray: Narciso Rodriguez, so if you want to follow me and sniff at it please form an orderly queue.</p> <p align="justify"> </p> <p align="justify">Now for something more serious – later this evening, it was dark outside and the streets were deserted when a feeble knock came on my front-door. I opened the door and looked down at two very small, very young girls who held out an open sweet tin that contained coins. Two pairs of eyes gazed up at me, two mouths parted and they began to sing <font color="#800000">We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, etc. </font><font color="#333333">I gave my stock response – “Bugger off.” and closed the door. Then I thought, bloody hell anything could happen to the little mites, how irresponsible to allow two small children at this time of night to go knocking on strangers’ doors. </font></p> <p align="justify"><font color="#333333">I mean anything could happen – they could run into a supermarket sniffing stalker or worse.</font></p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-32343180861761786682012-12-18T10:50:00.001+00:002012-12-18T22:35:34.249+00:00Conclusive Proof<span style="color: #9b00d3;">Monday 17 December 2012</span> – I sit at my laptop as the iPod shuffles and Sylvester, the king, (or queen of disco, depending on how you remember Mr James) begins to belt out <i>Over and Over. </i>His falsetto fills my front-room-cum-office coupled with the talented backing vocals of Two Tons of Fun: who will later become known as the Weather Girls, so I’m happy.<br />
At the weekend I spotted a couple of signs that caught my attention, the first one is conclusive proof that there is a problem locally. It’s not drugs – although last week we did see police officers dismantling a cannabis factory that had been set up in a nearby street. It’s not truancy – although during term time the streets here are still full of kids, and it’s not car crime – although around the corner from me there’s a lady who owns a tangerine coloured Fiat, and that is criminal.<br />
The problem is the inability to spell Wednesday correctly. My previous blog posting: <a href="http://intheflatfieldidogetbored.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/belated-news-about-bert-and-box-of-fufu.html">http://intheflatfieldidogetbored.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/belated-news-about-bert-and-box-of-fufu.html</a> featured what I thought was just a random act of mid-week misspelling, however I’ve spotted yet another one, again in the guise of a publicly posted sign. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy8xLY_Y-5bvmwG1tYv2A21m_iC-hVjjG_tS3v9TfNQ6-ZBHAnohnZFFXgpvOzmN7DLIPe1JrV9BlPLEmknWeUn1wqFy-5ED0R4GmFSuNthiPQfZrj6BCPmxbzCaZJ6sPv1DWQQ-ZxpC4h//?imgmax=800"><img alt="CAM00013" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Sz8AxJtTPhTVquR6cbElqFhfo4q6qNG9_Qiav0T1hDOPG6kRvf-TQjedYfL6_Af_pTKGOSr95Nh3JDkIyFbR3r8BszaJbeGpoT0-VJMHtQfsDeST7jZriMIpv6xuJzwvvdZWecuoK9oA//?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="CAM00013" width="195" /></a><br />
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Whilst I’m on the subject of signs and misspelling, I was walking past a building that houses a solicitors and legal claims company – you know the kind: <i><span style="color: blue;">Have you had an accident that wasn’t your fault,</span></i> <i><span style="color: blue;">and </span><span style="color: blue;">do you want to sue somebody for an inordinate amount of money, of which we shall claw back at least twelve per cent in commission?</span></i></div>
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I spotted this grammatical error in their range of services advertised in the front window of their office. Needless to say, it wouldn’t fill me with confidence should I ever need to sue my neighbour for leaving out an old stair-rod which I inadvertently tripped over.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUvceGobjGXWchHstci5Ho1MNz8a_zduth92FTAKBGCpG6cxK3L72gLBI4nX48tG44pI0oupNJ08TUval5E49F3qpNVLrHx2cwGpYzh92kbP-7gQaz39F6n9ilXNWgosedi59Z4L5oZoms//?imgmax=800"><img alt="1355582345054" border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHsUO7DWuC9bybeqsZoZXlZIp1FwcjJHQH4eKlceNIQMPGjusVaYTm9ZV0ZD-9Ryuq9iNFqZIqCkWnvgnIhQR5tQNEj-dioofKv2uH1REhHYioUw1u2Ar6JT3mGHPQE4i95a8NZwEC-u33//?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="1355582345054" width="279" /></a></div>
I think I’ll go elsewhere should I have <span style="color: red;">an</span> accident.Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-24931605380763418602012-12-17T11:19:00.001+00:002012-12-17T11:19:29.951+00:00Did I Just Say That Out Loud?<p align="justify"><font color="#ff0000">Wednesday12 December 2012</font> – You know when you’re distracted and a thought pops into your head, and you have that feeling that it wasn’t an internal comment but a verbal one, well that happened to me this evening.</p> <p align="justify">On my way to my Wednesday writing group meeting, I stopped off at a cash machine in town. I was standing behind a small queue and as usual my iPod was playing. Morrissey was singing <em>I Knew I Was Next</em>, from the Swords album. A sort of off-cuts collection of tracks that never made the final cuts of studio albums.</p> <p align="justify">Anyway I’m standing waiting my turn when the man at the front of the line completes his transaction and turns to leave. He’s about five-feet eleven, slender with a mop of dark hair. He’s dressed in a fitted checked jacket twinned with a pair of black skinny-jeans. As he starts to walk away, I think to myself,<font color="#ff0000">F*** me, he’s fit. </font></p> <p align="justify">He falters and looks directly at me, as do several others in the queue and I think - internally this time. <font color="#ff0000">Oops, did I just say that out loud?</font></p> <p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwekQq80xH_u0nyVpu6wo6pJmFobBEXwPSyiuMF-3EB9RR-eHcmD60mgpzwTtBtfSyFA1jFdknS4nUMuzCVA6lpzZSWJkA_3f5XI8UnFpkNMo90w4WN8E5obx1UCmoLXYoDACnF1f8Y75Y//?imgmax=800"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Morrissey" border="0" alt="Morrissey" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii1eyeWZPTmJdaogdlxbN480hw7pEOREUH5U2vy-K_0U7viWSUyTW4bENUeqmfHy6z7uHE8K2jlSzZ1AgrgAMU7wb35gCtXye7Cn_PFD6im41gKOJqz0Xwo5foj82gdCj6GDCzrfed6Ebj//?imgmax=800" width="203" height="240"></a></p> <p>Mind you, when you think about it, back in the day, Morrissey was a bit fit too.</p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-67040267505905038212012-12-04T18:05:00.001+00:002012-12-04T18:10:09.853+00:00A Never To Be Repeated Revelation<div align="justify">
<span style="color: maroon;">Tuesday 04 December 2012</span> – Today, I did something that is out of character. Something that’s just alien to me. Something that anyone close to me would know is so at odds with my make-up that they’d be shocked.<br />
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So what did I do, I didn’t commit a heinous crime. I wasn’t responsible for the hacking of a government mainframe and I didn’t swear my unwavering allegiance to an African despot… Worse.<br />
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I wore a pair of trainers – Worse? I hear you say.<br />
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Okay so it’s not in the same league as the recent Jimmy Saville revelations. And I’m well aware that It’s nowhere near as bad as the televised, live episode of <i>TOWIE</i> or even as hard to swallow as the possibility that Jahmene Douglas the singing shelf stacker may win the X-Factor.<br />
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But, trainers are just not me. I’m a proper boot or shoe kind-of-guy, leaving the afore mentioned footwear to hip-hop artistes, athletes and burglars. So alien is the thought that I’d wear these, is no more a revelation to many than, that Christopher Maloney loves his nan.<br />
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Luckily, I’d only slipped them on to pop to the shop, just five-hundred or so yards away, so no real credibility damage has been sustained – that said, the lad three doors away who is always dressed in a tiger onesy did say hello as I walked back home. I just smiled and turned the volume up on my iPod and as Stooshe sang ‘Black Heart’ I shuffled away, hoping he didn’t notice what I had on my feet.</div>
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Stooshe–Black Heart</div>
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Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-84765954778601491482012-12-03T15:01:00.001+00:002012-12-03T15:01:06.140+00:00Belated News about Bert and a Box of Fufu<p><font color="#9b00d3">Monday 03 December 2012</font> – Okay, so I’ve been away for a while due to work commitments and the need to concentrate on my novel ‘52’, but today, so far has been so eventful I can’t help but share it with you all.</p> <p>The first event occurred whilst I was walking past the local church. I was nipping into town to post some Christmas cards to friends in Italy and buy some of the incredible tasty naan breads that Abdul sells. As I walked past the church, which is on a main thoroughfare, I spotted an elderly gentleman, he sort of popped up from nowhere, and proceeded to undo his flies and pee up a tree. He was in full view of the passing traffic and myself, and suffice to say nothing was left hidden. A passing car horn honked, he waved then turned to me and said, “I was bostin’ for a pee.” </p> <p>So I stood in a queue that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an Italian post office, endless elderly people had flocked with cards to withdraw their pension, and all I wanted was an airmail sticker, postage to Abruzzo and five second class stamps. This wait however gave me the perfect opportunity to do some people watching. A woman not far away spotted someone she knew and waved and said hello. Her friend asked how she was, she told her she was well, apart from some problems with her feet - she didn’t go into detail. The friend then said, “I haven’t seen your Bert for a while.” her friend replied, “You wouldn’t, he’s been dead twelve years.” </p> <p>“Oh,” was the reply, “Pointless asking how he is then?”</p> <p>After purchasing my stamps and paying overseas postage costs, I’m walking back when I see a board outside the pub advertising something, on closer inspection I <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ6WVBBWAMNnqQuhz4E9DqRsrD0Deb71L68BziZn0-P2FPP_hIYx4Kz8iu6bMqEUuX0f_qo6uXev_m8AFJDwV92XbTht4QSqHI4d9-voXbpxfJ7Pd33Eftqt-HUOQZ3mAkQ1_H6XLIYEs6/s1600-h/100_53583.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: right; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="100_5358" border="0" alt="100_5358" align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__dh3wpHKWc7Bzz0etfUVcEqCt4aHQ9i94aGinGTnLk6EJTsE1-D2cNvIDSOgAw-ktsC4S4CA3hoTaQaKl-ft-uEXgjxQhVmnupfhyphenhyphenOOEpdegqzpiHBdQJghn-HWGoq9vSMtsq0G-97jT//?imgmax=800" width="244" height="221"></a>noticed that they do midweek bingo at a reasonable price, sadly I cannot find this day on my calendar – or does Wednesday now have a new spelling?</p> <p> </p> <p>I decided that today would be a good day to use up yesterdays roast chicken left-overs and so popped into get some ingredients for a curry from Abduls. His supermarket is an olfactory spectacle, the aroma of spice permeates the air, and there’s always some funky smell around the section where strange looking vegetables lurk. I’m <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyYaLtjIAxYc2BUy7SpvmyPnVZ3j6HjwmbkBU9BDp2hLTuuRM4LosXrT-RhKqwvJFXzg5wfrkOj3AWtvjYPYbcL-0kTnMK3wYb_19BEhcVtlrvWd3Sjj5Y0C_HT2yfdX_nzlLbsuM3uZ0J/s1600-h/Fufu-Plantain%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Fufu-Plantain" border="0" alt="Fufu-Plantain" align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0KJm7KSA3pPZTehIJEgXuCfPrOXnB1hOABOUyxiJc2bm-Zszwl9Pi1ja5tA4BZDfkS0SZougzxEbBd44tkhz2Drn6lZ3VAWDuluyLxg60cMt2zIPI2SmPum-SR79Qqy_r4VAgFmbLJ80//?imgmax=800" width="148" height="244"></a>wandering around, when I spot a product that makes me smile, it’s the name… and I’m aware it’s a tad immature but this product brought a smile to my face today… When I was growing up, I know what I was told a Fufu was, and it wasn’t flour.</p> <p>So I’ll sign off from this, my first blog post in many months, and tell you that the tune that’s just shuffled to the fore is a Radio Shack Hi-Energy classic by Barbara Pennington called, ‘On a Crowded Street’… If you close your eyes, you can almost smell the mix of leather, poppers and Breaker.</p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-83873861549827305952012-06-01T08:15:00.001+01:002012-06-01T08:15:22.074+01:00It’s not the end, well it is, but maybe not<p align="justify"><font color="#f82d16">Friday 01 June 2012</font> – I have decided that looking after this blog is taking up too much of the time I could be using to send proposals out to editors, research new non-fiction features and finally editing Willow and the Motorway Horses.</p> <p align="justify">So this will be my last post in A Life on Shuffle.</p> <p align="justify">I’m not saying it is the end of my nonsense, random ramblings blog, and maybe one day It’ll be revived. (If it is I’ll make sure you know about it)</p> <p align="justify">It’s been great compiling the posts, but I really need to use the energy in better ways.</p> <p align="justify">Please feel free to look at my professional freelance blog at <a href="http://barrylillie.wordpress.com/">Freelance</a></p> <p align="justify">Thanks to everyone who has logged in over the past few years.</p> <p align="justify">I’ll leave you with a photo I took last year in Lanciano, a lovely town near us in Italy.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJp8g_DshTN247gJR_oC3UzInxtXAg_erimCk-DuwnWKskw4Ny4tEle5neUyoX54vQZgFwRsHmxUc1UfXzj_uFQzBRC98IpxcRNoYs1xODVIN-HI-G2jTuIm4i2lZJouUMZubzZjTXwgxl/s1600-h/IMGA02165.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="IMGA0216" border="0" alt="IMGA0216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTu3I3JYbRKfGJbUn329Vs4keev88EjpU_uk0PBB78OEcpmWTeb_SUInwUJAokx_syy4p9_osZ8V_c72MnZUsTB0pngHNccuNtHZuIewIpb7DvFpr53xc5Cis2B505GO131u4LF964kPLg//?imgmax=800" width="407" height="305"></a></p> <p>For those interested, the song on shuffle as I write this last update is L’inverno all’improvviso by Nina Zilli.</p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-13650063042805717602012-05-31T08:08:00.001+01:002012-05-31T08:08:13.833+01:00Get Rid Of Your – What?<p align="justify"><font color="#f82d16">Thursday 31 May 2012</font> – Today is the day I get rid of my OH for a week as he’s off house and dog-sitting for friends. This will give me the opportunity to get some time to get some work done without interruption, and more space in the king size at night.</p> <p align="justify">A few months ago I spotted a sign in town, and never been without may camera took this shot of it.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj73TfG35HUKd6CFLxuBNW4Z3AmpKSKYL730f8y4_mo9wm09NJhIvG5x_osY01mjQ-NuEZdvGLjztHIMeQidvM7scXXP1z9Y8KsdRG27jTQRLcFUGknKCtoiR0YSwKbxT2w2r-4PU4BBMLf/s1600-h/100_51557.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="100_5155" border="0" alt="100_5155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHHStSWUNRyw84Cv6tbqB75oAWuF2n173HuZ6uA0QAgtD7F531ZLMIqTrTOLA75G6PEwpWNDsU-Q10n0z8_amJadxlfshgQwRNlx7DLa_dIVLsCp3XrrYppoNKBrwnxMaLSGlckZRHdvY_//?imgmax=800" width="505" height="148"></a></p> <p>Obviously, what the original banner was claiming you could get rid of has faded with time, and I wondered what I, or you for that matter may insert into the now vacant space between ‘your’ and ‘free’. So here’s a few ideas of mine. <font color="#f82d16">Do feel free to add your ideas in the comments box below.</font></p> <p><font color="#f82d16"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwV1Ty1NtYwylrwI1g0MkV_iG6KyYWzXwpw6aB-6mMlj6k6uQKNSNr-SCDV06G0Peeryoft9n4Jf4ErIWw9QqW3bcQ04cH0FvhUK_evAzVgwjPa8Go5hL6uoZ2YupkF1d8rAu7FgGA-av/s1600-h/Fluff7.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="Fluff" border="0" alt="Fluff" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4U9Pi59txQZdSY3KKr74mKU-9Uwx4PnWzC3Y5b9mZhHe4cLD39XfKsDwYr6TgPQm0ZtFYOAySXq6j8rmTVANmsHDsaJUfdmqSBgxdtL-wzxuIg0TDQiWJE-Yy4Gw9i352EyRgouCqyzY//?imgmax=800" width="513" height="150"></a></font></p> <p><font color="#333333">Or for those among you that have a mercenary bent:</font></p> <p><font color="#f82d16"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxALNv3PzTum-Oe3L-wxzSF7aX4Mfs4zTy3j1qmOBK6LvER6n6wk7nprSiVH4esStGdPO1aNZyjV_rBxXCg6tCaQ0AGy8wJG6dRNY1dv-8Ut4Oez_fM9v01m6RGXLJ3y5isSdSa8Kd_jOZ/s1600-h/relatives5.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="relatives" border="0" alt="relatives" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6p9MOSGESOLZplXMKnwSL3GH8TgtOqr5rzZ5Dmj5CDYocpeJE-PTe0oQBVhIn3nIm2tDfJYPUumc_A7aUMqg9q4A4jtqm9ClgcPECXoFMqpNeiWGT8zjep9ycohchYg_PFh0sJMC5x9rc//?imgmax=800" width="511" height="149"></a></font></p> <p><font color="#f82d16"></font></p> <p>Here’s one for my writer friends:</p> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBWQz4aexkLvncUC-Z692pxIwhW9IT8eNAMnb4rrJCupyaPDdJ6d07cthGq_pN7m9J1WFHny21vzeuoKCCEf3s2E5El6ArF2H0GBuIaaJTrAYW971Lr9mFxzXHSS130ocQNuln_XaK7Qup/s1600-h/spare6.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="spare" border="0" alt="spare" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUrF8N2S8KCkiYmzfCbVMqjITJw_0BMECozN27YB_hXBuZGuVzYKIZSGBmfb0V4oGCdpnk2MGd5V9qftO2EQKiwJFMTUVhAlmJuPPDwmms4yBLq4t0e6l7VdaAJIylhmoJ3FdXhSs8yEn3//?imgmax=800" width="529" height="157"></a></p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-11432339075730376192012-05-30T07:49:00.001+01:002012-05-30T07:49:22.187+01:00A Place in the Spam<p align="justify"><font color="#9b00d3">Wednesday 30 May 2012</font> – Today I rose, turned on the iPod and allowed Antony and the Johnson’s to welcome my day in with, ‘Paddy’s Gone’. I had my breakfast; toast with one of Jan’s wonderful eggs – When I say Jan’s, I mean from her chickens, I’m sure there’d be laws about harvesting human eggs for breakfast, not to mention it possibly being an invasive activity.</p> <p align="justify">Talking about invasive activity; as we move ever forward in a digital world, there’s one thing that is the scourge of electronic communication, spam. Now you’d have to either have been sat on a rock just off the coast of Madagascar for the last fifteen years, or my dad, to think I’m referring to the tinned pork shoulder and ham. <font color="#9b00d3">(It’s name by the way is a portmanteau: meaning a combination of two or <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8_V1qXsUuFvvzjskqgKpnSkzzTPLa3pA3rzGSMgznpYKAcT5jnjhZzgxSX8UcJJh6WaMNttAKUNaTbVDb2i2ubPqo-LdY4aWcd-FZ4PY_2NtmUEPxxqKnHu9unhqHhV9GBzqCgFZ7MdEe/s1600-h/spamReg3.png"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="spamReg" border="0" alt="spamReg" align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyTa_S0FO4UAN_6xxZKo42MR2vDnyzciN7dRC5ilV5M14vESXfpK8duG3QF3lMi7clQhGDSKW4dWYHZWjVtkAEUY7LAzlUiDDsOpVMDMGlZmM95HoddSh_Y9DvLrGzfkbQBPTwZwXHDuA6//?imgmax=800" width="240" height="237"></a>more words to make another, in this case, (sp)iced + ham = spam).</font> Random fact over.</p> <p align="justify">A few months ago I went to the NEC, for the overseas property fair organised by the magazine and production company, A Place in the Sun. A friend has an estate agency over in Italy and he sent me some free tickets. Being always on the look out for anything that may make an interesting magazine feature, I accepted the tickets graciously.</p> <p align="justify">The day of the fair arrived, and with camera, notebook, pencil (steadtler of course) and tickets I drove down the M6; passing Willow and her chums, (sorry that’s an in-joke for those in the know), and made my way to the NEC. We navigated the car parks, paid a fiver for parking and went to spend the day collecting brochures, grabbing anything that was free and paying over the odds for food and beverages.</p> <p align="justify">Before we could enter the halls we had to fill in a form and give an e-mail address, now I hear you all say, (well some of you, the unkind ones.) <img style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none" class="wlEmoticon wlEmoticon-smile" alt="Smile" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9qu2jbg5wTlwLEISok21lAY-2NrUrP_53cJdzRcZeXItx-HoEix81Io3wW-yMaYZt5hjTehNsYHtY65ddZ6lhXd-GBLpEsUf3likT633nr-tFyONqCFFqCMoZ37Lk_VVS-kI3EjUkmvu//?imgmax=800"> “Idiot, you should have made up a fake one. You’ve only yourself to blame. Blah, blah, blah, etc.”</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinwhbrmD6SLnpk1IzeSBGzImOLwCD0o9gGBaKjtpbxO6AJVKR38_OLi2TQqT17u_kFVy5QtXS9nzxSeHL_r9Xn7X8X-9MkffsubH9_2fYo_ce6wLQk3Uqonhix6HsEwWIArxEjfnbu0b9T/s1600-h/apits_covers23.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="apits_covers2" border="0" alt="apits_covers2" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgME0CHuo9m0biW-4p0APxDY4JQHCRo5cC86o1HXl_PISFnmoR96lGBQqVDUbVWG1tYS0HSEi5E09CH2Hx-vOtIliOggvzGMAjo-pp3E8-6Nb_Xu1t4EVlEDWKI8trJqkMDYLOzFOgkq3ou//?imgmax=800" width="240" height="160"></a></p> <p align="justify">Well, the fact of the matter was I thought, I’ll maybe find something of interest in the occasional newsletter, and maybe there’ll be an opportunity to sell them a feature in the future. The sad fact of the matter is that they have since my visit bombarded me with e-mails, every day. Now when I wake I no longer look forward to a place in the sun, I go straight to my spam folder and press delete.</p> <p align="justify">Oh how soon the dream can sour.</p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-39739419914848513262012-05-29T13:35:00.001+01:002012-05-29T13:35:10.580+01:00Tent in the Trees.<p align="justify"><font color="#ff0000">Tuesday 29 May 2012</font> – The weather of late has been quite nice, this tends to lend itself to more physical activity, and time away from the laptop.</p> <p align="justify">Lately I’ve been walking on the fringes of town, where the urban sprawl gives way to rough unkempt land; most of which was once commercial, but is now being reclaimed by nature. Isn’t good how the green seeps in slowly to envelop the broken glass of humanity.</p> <p align="justify">On one such trek I was came across a tent in the trees, a reasonably new and expensive looking one. It was a long way from town, and there was signs of a fire with empty cans and bottles scattered around; evidence of life.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsK8TwAZRBI_jgMNLIfCVrvL7927Hs04f4CE424ayS6hVjrzw-vq-8zG_fNIdRNiAtq-B-exGegRksES_Z6Asp-AcuFnjj820sbi9lP_ovs-L68tgUovAFyy-c6UzIwjnXNuaSrQYcEQqJ/s1600-h/100_51704.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="100_5170" border="0" alt="100_5170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Akpid-TIIhEYyzA8D8_a28tARM7EoS9pqe_SFqr1JDlWtvIGIf6DS0s9_fpgjQngsXkohpbgSzrLSIKTOoFnxkLt3sGUvNJLvOlCdURZ5q41Z1z3WhnLzLYxU4PPvufYtmwDL7ZmepCI//?imgmax=800" width="240" height="160"></a></p> <p>I whipped out my camera and took a quick snap, thinking who would be living in the trees so far from other people?</p> <p>I came up with the following assumptions:</p> <p>Someone on the run.</p> <p>Someone homeless, but with the funds to purchase a tent.</p> <p>Someone who didn’t want to be found.</p> <p>I heard a twig behind me snap, so I put away my camera, popped the ear-buds in and strolled away as my iPod shuffled and Gary Numan played ‘Beserker’.</p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-3126806580681062922012-05-28T08:07:00.001+01:002012-05-28T08:07:09.693+01:00Trips on the Dream Express<p align="justify"><font color="#0000ff">Monday 28 May 2012</font> – Well the Eurovision is over for another year, but I’m still in cheesy camp music mode. Having downloaded the tracks I liked, they’re on the iPod on repeat. You cannot beat lyrics like – ‘this trumpet makes you mine, girl’.</p> <div style="padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px auto; padding-left: 0px; width: 448px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; padding-top: 0px" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:c4098278-d9ac-498e-8030-a711a5fbe0cc" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent"><div id="41abf077-5071-4386-bf39-2dbe4f58ce64" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;"><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8o-ykAs_jtE" target="_new"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAyfstLVCFAFQHu5mkOM0yHaN8mvRABRTZrLjdG7xvHaLnwBaZJqziUTLYoyRDUlTZQbGCXvxnl1XSuts9xaR6f3HRh7hJNAkkL4BRt_4iQ2H3vrtpsvoniL9Lb7xm_Hw8pNUDRM1sKxzn//?imgmax=800" style="border-style: none" galleryimg="no" onload="var downlevelDiv = document.getElementById('41abf077-5071-4386-bf39-2dbe4f58ce64'); downlevelDiv.innerHTML = "<div><object width=\"448\" height=\"252\"><param name=\"movie\" value=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/8o-ykAs_jtE?hl=en&hd=1\"><\/param><embed src=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/8o-ykAs_jtE?hl=en&hd=1\" type=\"application/x-shockwave-flash\" width=\"448\" height=\"252\"><\/embed><\/object><\/div>";" alt=""></a></div></div><div style="width:448px;clear:both;font-size:.8em">This trumpet makes you mine, girl</div></div> <p align="justify">I know I’ve been away from, A Life on Shuffle lately, this is because I’ve been working and also trying desperately not to lose my Italian language skills: it’s amazing how much seeps into obscurity when you’re not using it on a daily basis.</p> <p align="justify">Just lately I’ve been having quite vivid dreams at night, usually they are short and I wake thinking, what the f… But it’s like I’ve purchased a ticket and climbed aboard the dream express. I’m having lots of mini movies playing in my head.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVub5sNmaqZurMMGQOROgNNwvJyMT-PUBYRyEcyamGK7QJGDmoCIO-vwZNJ6cC5U0oE9j8o0fX-WFnzZeveZyNF8n4UrgMfNa91PrGY7Rj-aST_F-nX73ikgu2z8C62Bh8XKEevnnxw8oo/s1600-h/alan-halsall-03.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="soapawardsoutside 240907" border="0" alt="soapawardsoutside 240907" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJNJhNxLBf0L2UntVnZCJtSyLlgwGZsA3yvU5mYxdiCZp12vqOF7MnZ_dubIirrgirBdwXKFzcyPgJTL0aLAeHQOvtXa4ZnVYDrSjlGIyAY65tKPbQLw2CNwaOotiP-tj6rVP-h8ClN_t//?imgmax=800" width="184" height="244"></a></p> <p align="justify">In one I was in a hot air balloon with Alan Halsall, (Tyrone from Corrie). In another I was sitting in a hole with a polar bear and oddly in another I was pasting €500 notes onto a wall.</p> <p align="justify">I have been having one recurring one each night; usually before I wake at 06.30. (oh my, I’ve become a creature of habit). In this one I’m in a semi derelict house in Italy, and there’s a room I must get to. Every time I try to get to this room a (demonic) force wraps cord around me and swings me around. The odd thing is I have the opportunity to escape, but keep trying to get into the room, and end up tangled up and being almost hanged. </p> <p align="justify">The worst part of the dream is, as soon as I manage to get to the door, I wake up.</p> <p align="justify">Ah well, maybe tonight I’ll discover what’s behind that door.</p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2544072392168801808.post-75435329529982526812012-05-27T09:54:00.001+01:002012-05-27T09:54:12.143+01:00Eurovision 2012<p align="justify">For those who have been reading my blog for the past few years will have noticed my Eurovision reviews and predictions. However this year I didn’t have time to look at all the entries and write reviews prior to the competition. So I wrote this review as I watched the competition live last night, and have attempted to keep my comments as short as possible.</p> <p align="justify">Last night’s show seemed to be a Euro-tribute to David Guetta, there were a handful of songs, including the winning entry by Sweden, that wouldn’t look out of place on a Guetta album – thankfully as the bass boomed, Kelly Rowland didn’t show up.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgudjGZSUj2hduzIoSoU_1GLAnoTABTMiTLeptvX9qgj-Y3hT0BqIggjUTuWQSWU450tOJ3RVJImSECXKxMU_7AVJUF1u0I_MCJV4CA53Bdw_LAo5qptgoSeRuII90bqZWv2dae7lAL87Wx/s1600-h/Eurovision%25252BSong%25252BContest%25252B2012%25252Blogo%25252Bposter%25255B8%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Eurovision Song Contest 2012 logo poster" border="0" alt="Eurovision Song Contest 2012 logo poster" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3q1iIXiH__bjcPuCCVGbHnQrip3tHPuJCdSl42y8DBAwsqABkQ9hsX6P6c3vrs9LEQd7C4fXj4Gr6SEeWKiWe7lS95AowfrlzXl4V8awLJlcLWoKdXi7erlSYBM735AK4W6QhagFN-7X//?imgmax=800" width="350" height="233"></a></p> <p align="justify">So here’s my review of last nights show:</p> <p align="justify">United Kingdom: Boring.</p> <p align="justify">Hungary: Upbeat but forgetful.</p> <p align="justify">Albania: The Marmite song. (I love it though, the song, not Marmite).</p> <p align="justify">Lithuania: Lost in the 1980’s</p> <p align="justify">Bosnia & Herzegovina: Homage to a L'Oreal advert, great hair poor song.</p> <p align="justify">Russia: Fun song, but won’t win. Boom boom lyrics.</p> <p align="justify">Iceland: Gaelic sounding and melodramatic.</p> <p align="justify">Cyprus: Lady-Boys do Beyoncé dance moves.</p> <p align="justify">France: Oh do stop wittering on.</p> <p align="justify">Italy: My favourite love it. another song with boom boom lyrics.</p> <p align="justify">Estonia: Passionate but with dancing eyebrows.</p> <p align="justify">Norway: If a song could be a million clichés this would be it.</p> <p align="justify">Azerbaijan: Nice voice but no substance.</p> <p align="justify">Romania: Have never won, I can see why.</p> <p align="justify">Denmark: As interesting as cottage cheese.</p> <p align="justify">Greece: Sexy fun song. (I always like the Greek entries.)</p> <p align="justify">Sweden: Pure theatre; Patti Smith/Guetta amalgam. Winner written all over it.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEighYXLnBvtEh5DJ0CuHxV3uZFDNZZDJQ8EsJmrueQV_nXI6JM7J3KhrM1_Dui9u1RQKP218LjiSQNKussxeUmlVQ82WVq-LinEbhuhOBHm4V9kzcQNv2GB1-qNz72LRoT85sha1UA5ROwI/s1600-h/181802_243008589145723_242977889148793_443425_1648285268_n%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="181802_243008589145723_242977889148793_443425_1648285268_n" border="0" alt="181802_243008589145723_242977889148793_443425_1648285268_n" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvRAZHEiTDQ8wrvdbE8ZN5QmnfJ7EuKKbC_v7wEXA02zLRFK36H1MSJLoUX2k5iiRBZcR-a5BpTfOu8U9tLNUW1jnuozeLGDmuP3bYSXxKRNbjEP6mnxSgy9MHm6NaCxeGZMKqdYIbqX6n//?imgmax=800" width="342" height="229"></a></p> <p align="justify">Turkey: Borat has stolen the hotel bed sheets.</p> <p align="justify">Spain: Great pipes on the singer, as usual dull song.</p> <p align="justify">Germany: Didn’t hear the song as was transfixed by tattoo on chest.</p> <p align="justify">Malta: Wobbly vocals and pronunciation, liked the line ‘I’m into (you) Hugh’. They’ve obviously watched too many Olly Murs videos; hence the Olly dancing and vocals that go eh eh eh eh eh eh eh.</p> <p align="justify">FYR Macedonia: Love child of Jodie Marsh and Carla Connor (Corrie) rocks out.</p> <p align="justify">Ireland: Bored with the twins now, please get your hair cut and work in Tesco.</p> <p align="justify">Serbia: First impression of singer is a bloke that arrives to plaster your extension. Song is as interesting as watching jelly set.</p> <p align="justify">Ukraine: Why is X-Factor runner up Rebecca Ferguson singing with a wreath on her head?</p> <p align="justify">Moldova: His fourth attempt, do they only have one singer in the country? Love this one, fun with a capital F.</p> <p align="justify">So there it is, my run down of last nights contest. The finance minister in Greece has woken up without a sweat on for the first day in ages, Italy will be cursing, Albania will be happy, and the Hump will be packing his case and heading back to Leicester Angeles later.</p> <p align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGRxznmOCYykfpJ8UuYba6_ZVCvn4ugHI_JpZpgPUeXwWMe8BBZavwNQcCmywbYBtoFlHMFsjbTbb8DUtrTgeOXO61BVKs9WFsDZTuHfiodosQzN3OGQMh8abQ92MPCzVThJ9cn3wUzEht/s1600-h/People%25252Bapplaud%25252Bduring%25252Bthe%25252BSecond%25252BSemi-Final%25252Bof%25252Bthe%25252BEurovision%25252B2012%25252Bsong%25252Bcontest%25252Bin%25252Bthe%25252BAzerbaijan%252527s%25252Bcapital%25252BBaku%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="People applaud during the Second Semi-Final of the Eurovision 2012 song contest in the Azerbaijan's capital Baku" border="0" alt="People applaud during the Second Semi-Final of the Eurovision 2012 song contest in the Azerbaijan's capital Baku" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibybsCd7XnlRo4KmXXp34UbI5RAO5aR6KM-gQEb-cqlytw7_YTlVQ16CVybgQJUaM5Ijtqg5P04etqGJZxUt2nf82mZa64onAXriymQFsvDdiKVVP2YYxp2H0N-ST8dNJiz8DR09CTPOgy//?imgmax=800" width="420" height="280"></a></p> Flatfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00586020908136633482noreply@blogger.com0