Wolf, flaming sheep and a bold women.

Just got back from my eighth, twelve hour shift in ten days. On the two days I had free, I spent quality time with my youngest daughter Little Miss.
We were in Cardiff, hopelessly trying to shop for accessories to match her prom' dress. I have no style at all and her style is .... well.....alternative.
I turn to her and say,

"We need help, shall I call Fluffy?"
"Yeh OK."

Fluffy is her older sister. She lives with her boyfriend, on the other side of Pontyhotpant.
I call her on the cell 'phone. No sooner do the words "shopping for accessories," leave my mouth, than she agrees to meet us in 40 minutes.

Fluffys little Fiat lurches left and bumps harshly into the agreed car park. She is nodding her head in time to 'Fat Man Scoop'. Wedged between the first two fingers of her right hand is an unfeasible long, fat, hand rolled cigarette.
She bounces enthusiastically out and instructs.

" It's too late to go to 'McArthur Glen' get in the car, were going to Wellfield road. I know a short cut."

She has changed from being my little girl to 'Wolf' the Harvey Keitel character out of 'Pulp Fiction'.

Sheep.
I heard a story of an incident, which was caught on a pubs CCTV.
Five guys arrive early for a wild night. For fun, they have hired sheep costumes.
After a few drinks and with the bar otherwise empty, one of them catches fire when another carelessly lights a cigarette.
Once he realizes, he first freezes in denial, then drops and rolls. This, it turns out, is not enough to extinguish the flames. One of his mates, feeling he ought to do something. Jumps on top, and consequently catches light himself.
There then follows a kind of 'flaming sheep domino effect'
If this wasn't funny enough, the story teller goes on to say that having watched these guys, dressed as sheep, on fire, running around in panic five or six times, (and you would watch it five or six times, wouldn't you) he noticed a man, out on the street, looking in through the picture window, holding a small boy by the hand. After the second sheep catches fire, the man holds the boy up so he can better witness the mayhem.

A bold woman.
This story came to me yesterday from a colleague, not given to exaggeration.
He was relieving himself at a urinal, in a night club in Newport, when in stumbles two, giggling, young, attractive girls.
This is not unusual in the city clubs of the South Wales coastline. Women spend three times longer than men in the toilet. In older buildings, this is not reflected in their capacities.
One girl stands laughing in the doorway, whilst the other goes down the line of urinals, looking around the shoulder of each guy to see their 'peckers'. After about the fifth one, she shouts, "you'll do." spins the guy around by the shoulder into the cubicle behind her and shuts the door. Her friend leaves still laughing.

Now, call her a 'slapper*' if you will, but I have to admire her technique, efficiency and audacity.
In less than six seconds, she's gone from zero, to control of a hand picked pork bayonet in privacy.
That's got to be some kind of record.

* Slapper- A lady whose vagina and morals are a little loose.

Tumble weed moment.

During a lull at work, in a cabin full of guys, the subject of Greek food comes up. I'm not a fan of Greek food, and I think their drinks are worse.

"I hate Greek wine, tastes like piss."

There is always some one who says,"How would you know?"

"Let's be honest," I said "we've all had a sip or two of the old 'salty hot dog water' at some time or another."

I look around at the frozen faces.



"OK, just me then."

Wot no Panda?

Surfer dude calls round to return a trolley jack.

"Panda's gone then?" He cheerily enquires.

"No." I replied, wondering what he was on about.

I had only driven past my back driveway about an hour ago and the vandalized, rotting corps of my undocumented, Fiat Panda was still there.
I only think about it when I drive past, and wonder when a 'comment' will be made by disapproving neighbours or how much will it cost me to have the heap of shit towed away?

"yes, I just drove past and it's not there."

So someone's 'nicked' my Panda. Serves them right!
I'm impressed mind, I couldn't even start the cunting thing.

It's nice to know, there is some justice in the world.

Another quick one.

Gota pick Biker Girl up in 15 minuits.

Four and a half hours sleep.

Very intense 12 hour shift.

End of shift, I realise I've forgotten to bring a towel into work.
Going out tonight, so decided to shower and use those blue paper hand towels.

I'm using towel after towel and it's taking time, when I get an offer to use a proper towel from Max Cadey, retired sexual preditor and manipulater.
Max suffers from obsessive compulsive disorder so I say in disbelief,

"Do you know what words just fell out of your mouth?"

Max is still showering.

"That's OK mate, I've got a fresh towl in my locker."

Gratefull of the offer I continue my drying with the towel on the rail indicated by Max.
I'm just rubbing my arse and bollocks when Max starts sniggering.

"It's not your towl is it? I knew it you fucker!" I shout to Max.
Max explodes into laughter.

Michael Caine, in a shower out of view from me, pops his head around the corner.

"Oi! leave my bloody towel alone."

Thought for the day

Running very short of time today and only had two hours sleep, so here is a quickie.

Before you can truely love another person, you must first, learn to love yourself.

Best wash your hands in between though.

Just a small filler before my 'Tims Todger' story.

Just a couple of the 'moments' from this week. I've been working quite a few 12 hour shifts, so haven't had time to compose much. I've got a few ideas on the back burner, so providing my alzheimers doesn't evaporate them I'll be alright when time avails it's self.

Wandering into an adjoining cabin at work, ( cabin- think Homer Simpsons workplace ) to tell them that, one of the furnace gas valves had developed a fault, and the resulting explosive atmosphere was likely to induce Armageddon, ( or it might have been to 'borrow' a couple of custard cream biscuits to dunk in my coffee, I forget which. ) I noticed a sex toy catalogue lying on the part of the control desk, normally reserved for the resting of, greasy 'safety' boots. I think they'd had a 'bit of a rush on'. Maybe they'd already heard about the fucked valve or run out of 'jammy dodgers' or something.
I couldn't resist. Flicking through the pages of 'scary, pink, vibrating, knobbly things', I came across, ( no, not literally. Philistines! ) the extensive collection of 'but plugs'.
Now, being regarded as ' a bit gay' by my colleagues, I've developed a kind of 'gentlemen who do air kissing' alter ego and so had to comment.

" I'm not paying £15.99 for a but plug! They can shove that up their arse!" I ranted in mock outrage.
"Anyway, ( piggies favorite word ) how come they come in so many different colours, it's not like you're going to see them."

The second happened last night as I was preparing for the anticipated Valentines day payback.
Actually, it's not really like that. Biker Girl is not a fluffy V-day bull shit person, for that I salute her. Ironically, I think that's even more reason to make a bit of a fuss of her.
I was just changing the sheets, when the 'phone rang.

Me-"Hello."

Two second delay, whilst connection made to Calcutta. This pre-warns me of what's coming and gives me a chance to think of something.

Cold caller-"Hello, is that Mr Steel Worker? My name is Nigel. I'm calling on behalf of 'Aspiring Amalgamated Global Telecom' to see if you would be interested in our telecommunications package. We think you would benefit from...."

Me- "You have a verrry attractive voice. Are you, by any chance, gay?"

There then followed a short pause followed by a burrrring sound.

I'm wondering how long it'll be before the novelty of this type of gag wears off.

Has any one noticed a falt on the spell checker. If you have to go round it a second time, as I frequently do with my poor spelling, it misses out spaces and repeats the last letter of the word.

Chocolate and vodka trifle

Ingredients-

750ml of vodka.
200g of your favorite chocolate. ( Chocolate cake will do )
Small pot of whipping cream
Appx 3 rusks.
Slab of fruit jelly.
Any quantity of really cheap custard mix. ( Out of date is fine )
1/2 pt of milk if required.
One or two veracious omnivors. (poodles work for me )

Preparation.

Take a liberal swig of vodka to get you in the mood.

Line the bottom of a bowl with broken rusk.

Take another swig of vodka.

Make up the jelly by dissolving it in 1/2 pt of boiling water.

Fill a shot glass with one finger of vodka and knock it back.

Pour the jelly mix into the bowl such that it just covers the rusk.

No vodka this time, but prepare a tall glass of vodka with ice, coke or a fruit cordial to taste.

Using a fresh bowl, make up the custard mix according to the instructions. It doesn't really mater if you mix it, but you can if you feel up to it.

Move both bowls to the fridge to set.

Fill an eye wash cup to the brim with more vodka, and remembering to keep your eye open, give yourself a quick fix.

Take the tall glass of vodka and have a long hot bath, preferably with candles and aromatic oils, while you wait for the jelly to set. Don't use rose petals as clearing out the plug hole when your getting pissed is a bummer.

Put on a fluffy white bath robe and towel turban. Place bottles of nail varnish, nail varnish remover and the remaining vodka on the table next to your favorite chair or sofa. Add some cotton wool balls, cream (whipped or otherwise ) and the chocolate or cake.

Settle down and bung a 'chick flick' into the DVD player.

When you think the jelly has set, it doesn't really mater if it has or not, press pause and remove the bowl from the fridge and spoon or pour ( whichever is appropriate) the custard over the jelly.

Feed the resulting slop to the veracious omnivors.

Continue to watch movie whilst painting toe nails, and dipping chocolate into cream.

Alternate this with more tall glasses of vodka, util the warm glow of contentment caresses your soul.

Things I like about being a steel worker.

1) The wages.
2) You get to play with really big, I mean REALLY BIG, toys,
3) The whole surreal nature of it, flames, steam, noise, molten metals etc.
4) The camaraderie. Did you know, within 3 months of a fresh crew being assembled, they completely synchronize their periods.
5) The 'WTF' moments.

I've just got back from night shift. At around 4.30am, I turned around to see something, only 6 Ft away, weighing 20 tonnes, which should have been horizontal, but was now tilted at 45 degrees to vertical, wedged into, what should have been a 10mm gap in steel floor plates, but which had now, been distorted to 300mm.
I look over at the operator to see him grinning gleefully.
The whole event is witnessed by camera, linked to all the cabins on plant. ( cabins- think Homer Simpsons workplace ) Within seconds, raucous laughter is booming out of the echoing tanoy system.

Priceless!

Morning after the night before

After a heavy night of alcoholic merriment, 'Biker girl' , a couple of her friends and I, go back to my house, for a quick beverage before bedtime. ( there were no 'takers' for the Bovril )

Biker girls' friends, lets call them Dia' and Jo' to mask their real identities, are from a nearby village. They have just started dating, but under controversial circumstances.
In order to avoid gossip, they ask to sleep over.
I offer them the downstairs bedroom, which is fed from the lounge, home of Bobby and Chicken.
During the night, the poodles, hearing movement from behind the door, become agitated and yappy.
In order to quell the ruckus, Jo' decides to let them in. The poodles quieten down and play amongst themselves.

It's hard to imagine, unless you've ever seen the like, how much mayhem can be created by the combination of two poodles, and two, slightly damaged, feather pillows.

Dia' and Jo' woke up in a kind of 'snow drift' of feathers. It was surreal.
The down, once unleashed, occupies about 10 times the original volume.

In order to avoid detection, Dia' leaves first. Jo' walks back to the lounge, having kissed Dia' good bye, smiling.

"Once Dia' walked out into the sunshine you could see he was covered in fluff."

Good job I didn't leave an open tin of syrup out.

The Poodles.

Now that I have a bit of an audience, ( don't make any sudden moves or you'll frighten them away ) I'll introduce the poodles.

Baboon Butt Bobby and Evil Chicken. ( dah dahhh!!)

Baboon Butt Bobby, 2 years old, male, so called because he once became so entangled in brambles he had to rip the skin of his buttocks to escape. The skin healed and the hair grew back a different colour. Originally a circumstantial homosexual, as a result of living with Charlie a long suffering Westie, but now hetro', much to my annoyance.

Evil Chicken. 1 year old, female. Frightened of most things, but once she is comfortable with something, she attacks it.

Lap dogs.

The trouble with lap dogs.......They sit on your lap.

At least one of them sits on your lap, the other just wanders around your chest and shoulders trying to find a lap. Occasionally, backing a fluffy arse onto your face, or blocking your view to the T.V. Eventually it flops down under your neck, which is where it started. This is called stage 1.

Stage 2.
This is the point, when you become completely demotivated. Can't reach your fags, the ashtray, coffee or the remote. You feel trapped and useless. Watching some, 'so called' celeb's you've never heard of, humiliate themselves on some inane reality T.V. show, but you're unable to change channels.
"Oh I can't get up, It'll disturb the poodles."
It's hard enough to get motivated on just coffee and cigarettes, but with lap dogs.....

Finally Stage 3.
At this point, all tolerance vanishes, because you made, the mistake.

For one small moment, you forgot yourself and gave one of them, the merest hint, of affection.

It's tiny heart races, it's excited, it can't contain it's self, it must return the gesture by wanton face licking.
The other senses the excitement. It now competes in the face licking frenzy.
The two of them are like little sycophantic ant eaters on crack. Their miniature tongues probe your lips, your nostrils. You can't breath.

AGHHHHHHH!!!!!

You leap to your feet in panic. The poodles tumble from your chest, confused and offended.
You're free at last!

I'm thinking of wallpapering in velcro. At the onset of stage 3, I could just fling them at the walls and relax.

Blogging III

Uh oh!

I've just compared the 'Blogging' post with the 'Blogging II' post.

Now, I've got a very unpleasant image in my head, that won't go away.

Blogging II

Hah, I've found it in my 'Idiots Dictionary'.

Blogging-

1) The art of damming the toilet bowl with poo.

2) Something 'nerds' do on the 'inter...web....net...............thingy'

Blogging

I've concluded that blogging is like souflette. The more you cook it the lighter and fluffier it gets.

My End is Nigh.

Don't you just hate it when you're locked in your own house, because you can't find your keys.

In a couple of months, concerned neighbours will have noticed the accumulation of milk bottles and the smell of gone off chicken.

The police will force open my door, against a mountain of junk mail.
The poodles will kick off.
On the floor of the living room, which by then, will be strewn with poodle poo, they'll find my half eaten, rotting corpse, grinning manically.

"Shut those yappy bastards up Sgt, the're getting on my nerves."

You have two messages.

There is something exciting about the robot telling you have messages. It makes you think you're popular.
This morning there were two.
The first was some guy slurring a reply to some girl who'd left a message on his robot.
Ever since I saw ' Ruthless People,' I've had fun with wrong numbers.

"I'm sorry Simon can't talk to you right now as I've just tightened his ball gag."

My favorite is a text message I once received from a girl, who was clearly starting a new relationship with a guy called Phillip.
She was texting to say, she thought she had glimpsed him, darting into a clothes shop.
I texted back gleefully;

Hi Sharon, it was me. I was shopping for some women's clothing. I somehow feel more relaxed when I wear them. Catch you later. Phil.

That evening guilt kicked in.
I decided to ring the poor girl and explain.

ME "You don't know me, I'm a middle aged steel worker living in South Wales. The point is, you sent me a text this morning which was intended for Phillip."
HER "Riiiiight."
ME "I made up that stuff about women's clothing as a joke."
HER "Riiiiight."

I'm convinced, she either still doesn't know what happened, or she thinks Phillip thought better of his confession and got one of his mates to back peddle for him.

The second was from the fabulous Karaoke Karen to tell me to assemble the gang. She's back in town.

Cue confetti and last part of '1812 overture.'

I can feel the darkness lifting.

Celeb's

Why, on the rare occasions I actually watch TV, do I constantly hear "we're obsessed with celebrities."

Who is and why?

I honestly couldn't give a hampsters hump hole what they get up to.
Perhaps it's because I don't know them ( not watching TV will do that )

However, if I had the chance to spend an evening with Lulu*, I'm sure I would blissfully hang on her every word whilst she bored me into a coma.

* Lulu, for those of you too young to know, used to be a fat spotty teenager who shouted alot. ( No dear, this was before punk )
Now she is a bit of a babe for 'gentlemen who wear cardigans and slippers,' who lives in a place called 'Lulu Land.'
There she lowers her cholesterol by mainlining margarine and talks endlessly about herself and her music.