Hello,
A few of the fine visitors to this blog slipped me a few quid back in 2009 to help my guerrilla gardening troop buy spring bulbs. Once again heartfelt thanks to those generous souls. If anyone who donated would like to see the early results of their generosity, they can see the first flowers of 2010 to bloom on our site here and there is much, much more to come. Still there's nothing like a few early bloomers to banish winter angst.
Most of what you see in these snaps wouldn't be there if people hadn't helped out with planting, donated cash or in a few cases both. There is a before snap tucked away somewhere in gallery linked to above.
I've been haunted by terrible visions of nothing blooming despite our efforts so the sense of relief in seeing those early blooms has lifted my spirits enormously. The whole fundraising period was very hard and most painfully of all we were very badly let down by someone who promised us a great deal of help with our efforts. Still I'd rather be looking at our developing garden , knowing I'd done all I said I'd do, than be a selfish, passive/aggressive bullsugar addled parasite.
That's enough of the fall out from my bad friendship choices. Let's dwell on happier things and goggle at the flowers.
Cheerio
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
3/14/2010
10/22/2007
A Mysterious Incident in The Office.
Hello,
I did promise you all a tale about my irritating work colleague so here it is. I did have a sketch to accompany it but my scanner is in a huff, so you'll need to wait for that. In the meantime here goes.
On Friday morning my irritating colleague called in sick stating he'd suffered 'a fall'. For reasons that are beyond me he turned up at the office at lunch time to explain face to face that he wouldn't be in. As he was due in at 10am by lunchtime we'd all worked that out.
Imagine my surprise and delight when he appeared reeking to high heaven of drink with cuts to both sides of his face his nose and knuckles still claiming to have fallen. A story he stuck to even after the entire office had stated it was obvious he's been in a fight.
His 'story' is that he was coming back from the pub and slipped on some gravel on a 'steep hill' after which everything conveniently goes blank. Now I'm no expert on forensics, in truth I am not even incompetent in it, however how is it possible to fall on your face and not only graze both knuckles but cut one's nose quite deeply, scrape both cheekbones and get a black eye?
Being an unusually clumsy individual I am expert on the subject of falling and those injuries aren't consistent with a fall. So the question arises what fucking hero walloped him? Who is the chap? What does he drink? What happened?
I am afraid I have become obsessed with uncovering the truth. So much so that Mr Clairwil half expects to me turn up in a deerstalker which is just silly, I see myself as more in the Miss Marple mould. I have even retraced his steps from the pub and can report that there is no loose gravel and no steep hills.
I suspect I know the motive all I'm missing is the perpetrator. I will keep you posted.
I did promise you all a tale about my irritating work colleague so here it is. I did have a sketch to accompany it but my scanner is in a huff, so you'll need to wait for that. In the meantime here goes.
On Friday morning my irritating colleague called in sick stating he'd suffered 'a fall'. For reasons that are beyond me he turned up at the office at lunch time to explain face to face that he wouldn't be in. As he was due in at 10am by lunchtime we'd all worked that out.
Imagine my surprise and delight when he appeared reeking to high heaven of drink with cuts to both sides of his face his nose and knuckles still claiming to have fallen. A story he stuck to even after the entire office had stated it was obvious he's been in a fight.
His 'story' is that he was coming back from the pub and slipped on some gravel on a 'steep hill' after which everything conveniently goes blank. Now I'm no expert on forensics, in truth I am not even incompetent in it, however how is it possible to fall on your face and not only graze both knuckles but cut one's nose quite deeply, scrape both cheekbones and get a black eye?
Being an unusually clumsy individual I am expert on the subject of falling and those injuries aren't consistent with a fall. So the question arises what fucking hero walloped him? Who is the chap? What does he drink? What happened?
I am afraid I have become obsessed with uncovering the truth. So much so that Mr Clairwil half expects to me turn up in a deerstalker which is just silly, I see myself as more in the Miss Marple mould. I have even retraced his steps from the pub and can report that there is no loose gravel and no steep hills.
I suspect I know the motive all I'm missing is the perpetrator. I will keep you posted.
6/18/2007
6/14/2007
6/10/2007
I am a Bingo champion!
Hello,
I've taken up online bingo and I'm pleased to report I'm rather good at it. In the last two days I've won a total of £135, it would have been more but I had to share a prize! Oh and before some soggy flannel starts, this all came from one £5 deposit and a free tenner and being a responsible gambler I have removed my winnings and deposit from my account, so I am in effect gambling on their money. People should admire me.
In a surprising turn of events earlier in the week I was advised that I have someone 'very interesting' from the 'spirit world' behind me. Unfortunately, although I am more spiritually evolved that you peasants, at this stage in my development I'm not allowed to know who it is. I hope it's Oscar Wilde but worry that it might be Hitler. I'd hate to be followed by Hitler. Quite apart from his disgraceful behaviour , he doesn't strike one as having much of a sense of humour and then there's all that guilt by association stuff to consider. I was told this by a real psychic quite out the blue. One minute I was rummaging through my handbag, the next I was wide eyed in astonishment.
Apparently there are 144 souls alive and dead in my 'soul group'. I reckon I've encountered two of them in my life so far (including the dead one that's following me) so that leaves 142 of my chums to track down, but how? I reckon the psychic was angling to be in my gang which I feel is understandable but misguided. The question for me is how do I track down the other 142. Naturally I will use all my usual methods, classified adverts, ouija boards and the like but does anyone have any ideas? I intend to devote 12 months to this mission and will be publishing the results in book form.
Anyway it's a warm night, I've got the windows open and 'Ragdoll Maggie' is downstairs belting out show tunes. I've never been gladder I'm alive.
Cheerio
I've taken up online bingo and I'm pleased to report I'm rather good at it. In the last two days I've won a total of £135, it would have been more but I had to share a prize! Oh and before some soggy flannel starts, this all came from one £5 deposit and a free tenner and being a responsible gambler I have removed my winnings and deposit from my account, so I am in effect gambling on their money. People should admire me.
In a surprising turn of events earlier in the week I was advised that I have someone 'very interesting' from the 'spirit world' behind me. Unfortunately, although I am more spiritually evolved that you peasants, at this stage in my development I'm not allowed to know who it is. I hope it's Oscar Wilde but worry that it might be Hitler. I'd hate to be followed by Hitler. Quite apart from his disgraceful behaviour , he doesn't strike one as having much of a sense of humour and then there's all that guilt by association stuff to consider. I was told this by a real psychic quite out the blue. One minute I was rummaging through my handbag, the next I was wide eyed in astonishment.
Apparently there are 144 souls alive and dead in my 'soul group'. I reckon I've encountered two of them in my life so far (including the dead one that's following me) so that leaves 142 of my chums to track down, but how? I reckon the psychic was angling to be in my gang which I feel is understandable but misguided. The question for me is how do I track down the other 142. Naturally I will use all my usual methods, classified adverts, ouija boards and the like but does anyone have any ideas? I intend to devote 12 months to this mission and will be publishing the results in book form.
Anyway it's a warm night, I've got the windows open and 'Ragdoll Maggie' is downstairs belting out show tunes. I've never been gladder I'm alive.
Cheerio
5/07/2007
The Wonder Of The Jamaica Star
Hello,
For some time Mr Clairwil's newspaper of choice has been the Jamaica Star. It's quite a read and one that I feel is unfairly overlooked. Truly it is a thing of joy.
My current favourite concerns the unhappy fate of a Rasta found dead in a pigsty. Whilst one doesn't like to giggle at anyone's death it hard not to when confronted with details like this;
'A pair of pants believed to have belonged to Bernard was hanging on a nail in the sty.'
The locals are convinced that poor Bernard was rather too fond of pigs;
'The manner in which his body was found aroused the suspicion of the residents of the community who are adamant that the pregnant pig was being molested.'
The police are unconvinced;
Do go over and take time to gaze at the 'HottieHottie' I do like a big thighed woman.
For some time Mr Clairwil's newspaper of choice has been the Jamaica Star. It's quite a read and one that I feel is unfairly overlooked. Truly it is a thing of joy.
My current favourite concerns the unhappy fate of a Rasta found dead in a pigsty. Whilst one doesn't like to giggle at anyone's death it hard not to when confronted with details like this;
'A pair of pants believed to have belonged to Bernard was hanging on a nail in the sty.'
The locals are convinced that poor Bernard was rather too fond of pigs;
'The manner in which his body was found aroused the suspicion of the residents of the community who are adamant that the pregnant pig was being molested.'
The police are unconvinced;
'The Whithorn police are, however, cautious in their investigations as they say there is not enough evidence to suggest that Bernard, interfered with the pig or that he was killed by an unknown attacker.'
Being found dead in the vicinity of an animal is always a bad move.
My present favourite bit is 'Tell Me Pastor'. Beats the arse off Joan Burnie any day.Do go over and take time to gaze at the 'HottieHottie' I do like a big thighed woman.
Cheerio
1/27/2007
Clairwil's Burns Night
Hello,
I somewhat unusually spent Burns night eating lentil and tomato soup, before taking myself off to the Theosophical Society. It's normally something I celebrate in my own small way but having come home to find my door kicked in I was a little distracted. Still better late than never.
I'm sure Burns would have approved of my large dose of wine all the same. I wasn't going to bother doing a post. It's not as if Burn's Night went uncelebrated without me, however being a wicked Scottish nationalist reactionary I couldn't hold back.
I should stress that I don't like Burns simply because he is Scottish. He was also a fox and a beautiful if flawed soul. Oh yes and he wasn't too bad at the old poetry lark either. I think it is a testament to his ability as poet to transcend race, time and class that his words could render a six year old girl brought up on Barbie and Battle of the Planets almost speechless (though not speechless enough) with Tam O'Shanter. One of my few happy memories of school was first hearing that great narrative poem. Up until that point everything had seemed so pedestrian, sums, sentences and tissue paper. The hateful Mrs O'Neil couldn't spoil Burns, not even when she sent me out the class for asking what a 'cutty sark' was. I'm not a true Scot apparently. The woman was certifiable and I rather fancy that if he'd been alive Burns would have left the room with me to stand on 1982's answer to the creepie chair. The disgusting Mrs O'Neil later made me stand in a wastepaper basket for being 'rubbish'. Still I had Tam O'Shanter in my head and she only had a wish to humiliate children, which I think makes me the winner. Let's all hope she's dead as doornail now or at the very least embarrassed, frightened and miserable.
To wander back towards the bloody point.
Here are two of my favourite Burns turns.
Ae Fond Kiss
Address to the Unco Guid
Cheerio
I somewhat unusually spent Burns night eating lentil and tomato soup, before taking myself off to the Theosophical Society. It's normally something I celebrate in my own small way but having come home to find my door kicked in I was a little distracted. Still better late than never.
I'm sure Burns would have approved of my large dose of wine all the same. I wasn't going to bother doing a post. It's not as if Burn's Night went uncelebrated without me, however being a wicked Scottish nationalist reactionary I couldn't hold back.
I should stress that I don't like Burns simply because he is Scottish. He was also a fox and a beautiful if flawed soul. Oh yes and he wasn't too bad at the old poetry lark either. I think it is a testament to his ability as poet to transcend race, time and class that his words could render a six year old girl brought up on Barbie and Battle of the Planets almost speechless (though not speechless enough) with Tam O'Shanter. One of my few happy memories of school was first hearing that great narrative poem. Up until that point everything had seemed so pedestrian, sums, sentences and tissue paper. The hateful Mrs O'Neil couldn't spoil Burns, not even when she sent me out the class for asking what a 'cutty sark' was. I'm not a true Scot apparently. The woman was certifiable and I rather fancy that if he'd been alive Burns would have left the room with me to stand on 1982's answer to the creepie chair. The disgusting Mrs O'Neil later made me stand in a wastepaper basket for being 'rubbish'. Still I had Tam O'Shanter in my head and she only had a wish to humiliate children, which I think makes me the winner. Let's all hope she's dead as doornail now or at the very least embarrassed, frightened and miserable.
To wander back towards the bloody point.
Here are two of my favourite Burns turns.
Ae Fond Kiss
Address to the Unco Guid
Cheerio
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