It wasn't me!

One hour into this mornings shift and the radio crackles into life.

"Hello Mannering, A fire 's broken out in zone x on the furnace."

"Tickers, you been up on the furnace?"


End of shift went tits up. I had to do butch, sweaty, dirty stuff. Told not to bother getting a shower as the water's cold. Then the bloody Skoda wouldn't start.

I finally get home and say hi to my eldest daughter Fluffy and her best friend Alchopops.
I ripped the pull off a lager can.
As I put it to my lips, Alchopops purrs,

"I must say, I just love what you've done to your kitchen."

I am the Fire Starter.

Couple of things about yesterday.

As I approached the kitchen , I was relieved to see, I 'd be able to make it, past the flames, to the back door, where a relatively short length of hose, was already attached to an outside tap.

Turned it on and ran the pipe through my hands to find the end, as I returned to the kitchen.

I stood in front of the inferno and watched the water limply fall out of the pipe onto my shoes.

Quickly shuffled back to the tap, turned it up and shuffled in again.

This time, I found I'd actually turned it off!

Third time was the charm and after a minute or two all was under control.



Later that day......

Electrician- "Must have been a hell of a lot of heat in that fire, when did it happen?"

Me- " Couple of hours ago."

Electrician- "Really, I can't believe how calm you are, most people would be fraught."

Me- "Well, I'm a steel worker, I've seen loads of unwanted fires in my time."

Brown Eyed Girl II

Continued from previous post.


I was feeling mellow, confident and content. One last look around the club, then I'm focused. I feel like I'm putting Brown Eyed Girl on a pedestal, then looking down on her.
She glances around the place a few times but doesn't notice me. How could she fail to notice me, I'm six foot tall, only fifteen feet away and looking straight at her?
I don't think she's avoiding eye contact, because her gaze, passes quickly over me a couple of times. I need eye contact to know what she's thinking.
If she looks, then doesn't look again, fine.I know where I am.
Maybe it's the drink, but I feel she's going to connect.

There, almost missed it. For the tiniest, briefest moment, her 'room scan' catches me. She knows, I've noticed her, but she couldn't have taken much in.
It's hard to gauge time on these occasions, but it seems like five minutes before she scans again. Again, that brief glance into my eyes. Now she knows I'm watching her, but not how much.
The glances get more frequent and longer each time. It's gonna happen, I can feel it.
Bald Beerbelly man and Youngster haven't noticed yet.
All three of them are still dancing.
Brown Eyed Girl has her head bent down as she watches her own moves.

The last three glances are like a crescendo. Adrenaline wells up and gushes through my body. I'm already grooving to the music, but this rush, gives me more snap.

Finally, she straightens up and looks straight into my eyes. Bingo!
A short pause then she starts to dance.
Dance with me.
We're fifteen feet apart and we're dancing together!

Now, maybe my mind is over theatrical, but it seems like slow motion, The crowd fades back and we're both bathed in spot lights.
Barry Whites voice resonates, "My first, my last, my everythang."

This is potentially a seminal moment. A great moment.
Perhaps in three months, we'll be doing the 'From Here to Eternity' kiss on some sun drenched foreign beach or, drinking wine together, watching the sunset, on a terrace in Provence. If we stayed together for ever more, few, if any moments would top this, but right here, right now, this is exciting and sexy and I want it to last for ever.

I detect, in the left hand corner of my peripheral vision, what appears to be, two men, dancing the tango. Leading arms outstretched, they stride purposefully between BEG and me, heading for the door.
This vision is so bizarre, It seems like 'The Walrus of Lurrve' is abruptly stopped, by an 'Ally McBeal' type, needle on vinyl scratching sound.

It's Trevor and Rhino Bouncer!

I break our gaze and ask, "What's going on?"

Rhino man pauses and glances back at me.

"I'm throwing him out, that's what"

"Why?"

"He was asleep, on the bar...... dribbling."

It seemed like a fair cop to me.
I turned back to beautiful, sexy Brown Eyed Girl. She's watching. I shrug at her and follow Trevor Truelove onto the street.

In the balmy Summer night air, Trevor spins and slumps onto a bus stop seat.

"Where were you Tick? We could have 'taken' them!"

I doubt if he could have 'taken' an asprin that night.

You've got to make sure your mate gets home alright.

Well haven't you?

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Edit-

Everythings gone tits up again. Thought I'd do the laundry this morning. I'd been having a bit of trouble with my washing machine. Fluffy's boy friend had had a fiddle with it and it seemed to be OK. Just put my whites on, when I realised I'd forgotten to replace the back. Didn't think it mattered. Unfortunately, the drum pully chewed through the flexable blue pipe causing water to squirt into the machine, shorting it out. Bollocks.
Having Isolated the machine I went back upstairs for a quick blog, when the power for the whole house went off.
As I came down the stairs I could smell smoke. The lounge was thick with it and dancey flamey light was comming from the Kitchen.
It seems I'd put a laundry basket on the electric hob, (which was stone cold) and must have turned one of the knobs a fraction by mistake.

Now I have scorched and melted hob extractor and one wall full of kitchen units. The flooring has had it as well. Need a lot of decorations, and can't get the electricity back on. Can't even make a cup of tea.

Double Bollocks!

Brown Eyed Girl

After the first night out with Trevor Truelove, I was beginning to doubt his credentials. We'd been to a variety of venues, in which I wondered, if the clientele had their parents permission, to be out so late.
It had ended in a casino full of Chinese.
The Chinese are gamblers not drinkers, so we'd had the bar to ourselves.
There, Trevor had frittered the final hours, making a half-arsed hit, on the half-cast barmaid. He was declaring his undying love and promising to whisk her away to paradise, a technique which is more fun than efficacious.

But tonight had been more successful. Some dancing and flirting, we had even been victims of a phantom groper, which is a bit of a thrill, if you haven't had your arse groped in over a decade.

Although nothing 'meaningful', such as the start of a beautiful relationship or a quick 'bunk up' behind the chip shop, it had been fun.
I had been pacing myself, a concept unfamiliar to the 'devil may care' Truelove who, though drunk, was still unwilling to call it a night. He suggests Flares, the '70's disco.

Flares, I concluded, as Trev' got the drinks in, was more 'fun' than 'meat-market', which suited our mood.
The clientele were 'ladies of a certain age' most of whom, had let themselves go. Escapees from dull lives, squeezing into their best size 16's. Makeup, jewelry, gold accessories, bent on drinking and dancing to music, from happier, more carefree times.
In the opposite corner, leaning against the rail of an observation tower, a bouncer scans for trouble. His bulk suggests he's on 'roids, resembling as he does, a baby rhino.

Later, I loose Trev' and am standing with my back to the wall, between the bar on my left and the door, when in comes the Brown Eyed Girl. I'm a sucker for short hair and brown eyes. She has both. White blouse and dark slacks, 4o'ish, maybe 17lbs overweight but pretty.
She's with two guys, Bald Beerbelly and Youngster. She dances with both and I observe, that sometimes, they're trying to flirt with her. She doesn't reciprocate.
I wonder what their relationship is, colleagues perhaps?

That's all for tonight. Does Tickersoid get the girl? Where has Trevor Truelove gone? Don't miss tomorrow nights thrilling conclusion.

Cocked up again!

I've just spent ages putting in a new post then lost it after the preview. Bugger!

I love it when guys talk bollocks. Here is an extract from a conversation I had at work yesterday.

Tickersoid, "I love HBC."

I'm faced with a 'What the fuck you on about you gay wanker' look.

Tickersoid, "Helena Bonham Carter," I explain,
"wouldn't you just love to lick her eyebrows?"

Michael Cane, "What, with her in the monkey suit?"

Pips, "Yeh, wouldn't that be purvy, getting a blowjob, with her in the monkey suit?"

Tickersoid, "So long as she didn't hold it at the base and try peeling it like a banana!"

On the Pull with Trevor Truelove.

48 years old and in the first week of separation after 22 years of marriage. Trevor had offered to 'show me the ropes'.
There is no rule book on dating at my age and to be frank, I wasn't much good at 'pulling' before I got married.
In spite of this, my confidence was high. I was fit, could dance, hadn't smoked for 10 years and four months at the gym had now, made me visible to women.

Showered and changed at work. Just enough time to drive home, eat and catch the 8pm bus into town.

During the drive home, I'm aware that my body weight is the only thing stopping the contents of my bowl, doing an impression of a curious tortoise.

I arrive outside the impressive four story terrace house in which I rent a tiny garret. Clenching my sphincter whilst loosening my belt, I quickly mount the stairs to the 1st floor communal toilet.

Slam, turn, drop, dump.

I'm slightly weekend by the sudden disgorgement. When I recover, I realise, there is no toilet paper. We're supposed to supply our own.
I like to think of myself as resourceful, but unlike previous occasions, I have no paper, till receipts cigarette papers or old wrappers on me.

Ahhh! Pedal bin.

Inside is nothing but a rolled up panty liner. I gingerly unroll it using the very tips of my fingernails. Fortunately, it turns out to be the final 'all clear' pad.
The plan, to stick it in the arse position in my boxers, go upstairs, retrieve my bog roll, go back down stairs and finish off.

With that problem resolved, my mind races onto the night ahead. Am I too old? Can I still 'cut it' on the dance floor? Is Trevor actually qualified to advise me? As I enter my room, the cell 'phone rings.

"Hi Trev'."

"Hi Tick', are you OK to meet me at 8.30 or are you going to catch the later bus?"

"I'm OK, 8.30 is fine."

" 'K catch you later. "

My mind is still going ten to the dozen as I arrive in the almost empty bar. Trev' is waiting and orders the drinks.
Greetings dispensed with, he starts to inform me of the nights agenda.
It occurs to me, that with the excitement of the evening and the distraction of the 'phone call, I've forgotten to implement the part of my plan that involved going back down with the bog roll to finish off.

I'm still wearing the liner!

Any normal person, would have said nothing, slipped off to the toilet and sorted it, but my love of the bizarre gets the better of me.

"Excuse me Trev', I have to dive off to the toilet to remove the soiled panty liner from my 'kecks'."

Trevor is frozen with incomprehension, as I wander off.


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I think even Biker Girl subconciously thinks I'm gay after what she told me last night. I was going to blog it but she's beaten me to it. ( I would have put in a link, but I don't have my html notes with me )

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I've tried to make the Skoda to go faster. Yesterday, I tucked into the slip stream of a passing tortoise but it soon lost me.

"It'll all end in tears."

That's what my mother used to say when my big bro'' and I started play fighting. He was bigger than me so the tears were usually mine.
You'd think at my age I would have learned.

Saturday night at the 'Pit Pony' I start provoking a fight with a much younger guy by prodding him with a guitar. Things escalate, until I get whacked in the face with a saxophone. This dislodges my glasses and, as I step back to find them, CRUNCH......Bugger!
I told Little Miss, my teenage daughter, the story the following day. She reckoned I was being a bit of a drama queen, 'cos a fight with inflatable vinyl musical instruments is no big deal!

Yesterday, I'm in Cwmbran, to get my glasses fixed. I'm familiar with the shops and don't need to wear my nerdy spare pair to find 'Specsavers'.
I'm explaining my problem to the assistant at reception, unaware of the significance of the vague aroma of coffee.

"I'm sorry sir, this is a sandwich bar, 'Specsavers' have moved up the mall."

Still not sorted.

I'm making a few calls to 'touch base' and have a moan about my current luck. My first caller lets me go through the whole tale before I ask how they are.

"I've probably got cancer."

"Oh."

A couple of days later, a call to the fabulous Karaoke Karen gets as far as,

"I've had a bad week,"

"You've had a bad week!!! Listen to mine......."
You see, there's always someone worse off than yourself.

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My youngest, Little Miss is blowing her nose in some kitchen roll. I offer her some soft tissues but the box resembles an RTA. She looks at me in a WTF way.
"Sorry Evil Chicken thought it was hostile." I explain.

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I forgot to put a belt on before I went out today. I'm doing the waist band wiggle to hoik them up and think this makes me like a sk8er boy. At my age I probably just look like a plumber.

If the point of text speak is brevity, shouldn't 'sk8er boi' be 'sk8r boy'?

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People are impressed with the condition of the Skoda ( possibly the slowest car I''ve ever driven ). One comment was,
"That's the first car you've owned, that doesn't look like you found it in a skip."

B logging

Recently, a guy at work tells me he's gone for a shit and been so proud of the product, he wipes his bum and puts the paper in the waste paper bin. Finding a piece of card and felt tip pen, he writes 'Record breaker', and places the card on the cistern. He then gets his 'phone out and photographs it. Blue tooths and mails it around the plant. The turd, he tells me is massive. As he's telling me, he does the 'fisherman's, one that got away hands' thing. If his indications are correct, we are talking, 10 inches by two!
Word gets around fast these days and before the shift is out, guys are coming from other departments to witness the 'monster'.
I asked to see the picture to back up his claim. He told me he deleted before his wife found it.

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Out last night with friends to Karaoke Karens show, in Abersychan. I'm having a piss and look up at the urinal cistern. Something frothy and brown has been seeping out from under the lid. Having done a bit of plumbing in my time, I can't imagine what this could be. What is more worrying, someone has taken the trouble to write their name in the gunge with their finger. Eww!

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Karen likes to have people like me at the show because I'll get up and sing before everyone else is drunk enough to have a go. I call my self her 'fluffer'.

Last night after singing four songs. 'Jilted John', 'Cool for Cats', 'Where do you go to my lovely' and 'Blueberry Hill' whilst every one else talked amongst themselves, a downs syndrome girl gets up and sings in the manor in which you might expect. I look around and she has everyone's attention. Undaunted she continues clearly enjoying herself. At the end she has massive appreciation and applause. A warm glow pervaded the pub after that.

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I have a new, second hand car. It didn't start this morning. Bollocks!