IT IS GREY!

18 June 2013

R. Linda:

While you are probably feeling the effects of smoke inhalation out in Denver, I have been painting a room. Yes, the loft, my loft to be exact. I decided the sunny apricot colour was a bit ugly and wanted something else, so I went to the paint store and looked at a masculine putty colour Benjamin Moore paint called Stone Hearth. So, I got meself a gallon and all the paraphernalia needed to set up for the do-it-yourself home painting project and off I went all happy with the prospect of a new colour. Finally, I'd be getting rid of the wife's sunny colour in that room. It has annoyed me since she had me paint it. Her excuse was, "It's a dark room, you need to have a light vibrant colour." Well, it isn't a dark room, it gets the sun all day long! And that light vibrant colour heats the room up in the summer!

I stirred me creamy beige paint and started slapping it on the wall. I thought it looked kind of grey not putty, but when paint is wet and at only one coat, one can't tell for sure that the colour one is looking at is THE colour.

Waiting for paint to dry is a pain in me butt so instead of waiting, I kept on going first coating everything. By the time I was done, it was time for the second coat. I looked at me first wall and it looked dark grey. Yet, when I looked at the paint in the can it looked putty coloured. What was going on? So, being me, I put me logic to work thinking it was the apricot underneath was making it look that way (I know, I should have primed the walls but I only wanted to do two coats not three!). A second coat would take care of that! So second coat on. I looked at the one dry wall as the other three were still absorbing the second coat. Hum, looked grey, not as dark, but GREY! New idea: a third coat! Third coat on and greyer still. I know I should have primed the walls since I ended up painting three coats anyway!

In the meantime of all me grumbling to meself the wife walks in and says, "I thought you were going to the warmer earth tones not the cooler stone colours."

Well, DUH so did I! I had her look at the paint that was left in the can. She agreed it was not the same colour that was gracing the walls.

"It looks like the castle keep." Says she walking off.

GREAT!

I shouted after her, "DO YOU AT LEAST LIKE IT?"

"It's a great colour for a man's castle!" She said, no help at all. I'd love it for once if she'd answer a question instead of make a comment that doesn't really answer the question. I tell ya women!

"BUT I DON'T LIVE IN A CASTLE!" I shouted again as I could hear her footsteps receding further away. "DO YOU LIKE IT OR NOT?"

Nothing, not a word then I heard her coming me way. She popped her head in and looked around.

"Well?" I tried again.

"It's good. Works." And she left.

I stood there paintbrush in hand shaking me head. She still didn't answer me question. I wasn't about to go out and buy another colour paint to paint over what I just painted. No, I had had enough, I'd live with it so there on me!

I got everything cleaned up except for one thing, a step stool I had left out. I had moved it into the room for a tricky corner and forgot about it. Let's face it I was knackered from working three coats of paint on an entire room! I was still unhappy I didn't know if I liked it and more unhappy I couldn't get a straight answer from the wife if SHE liked it, and I wasn't looking where I was going and took a good spill pulling the muscles on me right side. I can hardly pick up me leg to go up the stairs. I fell over the step stool, yes I did. At least I waited to almost kill meself until I was done with the painting. I don't know about me sometimes.

Anyway, I have today off which is a good thing, it gives me a day to recover and a chance to stare at the grey walls to decide whether I like them or not. I be black and blue on me shoulder though and the wife says if anyone asks how I got that way, I should tell them I was in the castle dungeon and was beating meself up over the colour. She thinks she's funny. And now its dungeon grey. Wonderful, just wonderful.

As I was thinking of sending you a photo and asking YOU for an opinion, I realised, everything to you is grey. All that smoke drifting over your house and the smell of burning, well you'd probably not be able to see the colour on your computer screen for the smoke. AND I know what you'd say, you'd say, "IT'S GREY!" So, I'm not asking but including a picture anyway.

Grey anyway you label it!

Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved

Of Airborne Mini-Coopers And Cheesy Cottage Pie

10 June 2013

R. Linda:

There has to be a mental illness that the Weasil has that hasn't been classified yet. I know he has one, what other explanation is there?

Have you ever noticed the fact that Weasil cannot seem to sit still? Not even for half a minute, no, no, the scamp is up and about and always doing something. The something ranges from behaving to mostly getting into trouble. AND when its trouble he finds, it doesn't effect him at all that others are unhappy with him. He seems to thrive on other people's energy as well. For example, he will arrive at a normal persons abode filled to the brim with spastic energy and before that person knows it, he is being whisked out the door and into some mayhem totally unexpected and unimagined. These episodes I have classed as Mr. Toad's wild rides, or in this case Mr. Weasil's.

What is this disorder? Well I be no doctor, but I think the Weasil is bipolar to a degree. What other explanation could there be for this behaviour? Though me wife jeers the Weasil is manic-spastic, whatever that means.

The only problem with MY diagnosis would be that Weasil never seems to swing from the energy side to the low energy side of the mood and energy pendulums. He is forever on a happy high with life (I know you are thinking drugs) and never really gets down. I mean if you tell him someone has passed away, he's sympathetic, but it never lasts for long before a joke comes bubbling out of his mouth, but I be thinking that is sort of needed to pull the rest of us up out of the doldrums. But still.

Take for example, this very week I had two friends pass away while the Weasil was still at me house. He insisted going to one of the funerals. We were standing graveside, the minister was saying things like, "Frederick, your family is mourning you, but I know you want them to remember what a wonderful family man you were, but you were much more. I think all of us want those left after our passing to say in remembrance what a good person we were and what a difference we made in their lives." And Weasil whispered to me, "An I wanna me friendies to say, "Hey! Look he's still moving!"

That is a fine example of Weasil humour, inappropriate as it was, I tell ya! He sets you up in a dark, mournful atmosphere and then hits one between the eyes with a zinger.

It seems to be one manic episode after another with the young whippersnapper. He's always getting himself and anyone he has along for the ride into some kind of trouble. He can't help it. Me worse nightmare is being in his company and Captain Jaack's at the same time. I am hopelessly useless when this occurs. It turns into the best one-up-man-ship competition one could find, and it can be fast and furious. I have made a note to meself NOT to engage in any situation which requires them both in the room at the same time, especially if they both be dressed as pirates. If it be Wolfie, at least I know I have an ally in the same thinking on the Weasil . . . but with less patience.

Earlier this week, and the reason for Weasil's arrival at me abode, was to drag me protesting self off for what has become the Tri-State Tour. It used to be Dragon, who along with me wife would have me drive them for an annual trip to Kittery, Maine. Not being from here, and as the designated driver, I for the first three years, would drive from New Hampshire to Maine, to Massachusetts, the last not being part of the trip. It became known as Gabe's Annual Tri-State Tour.

Well, the Weasil got wind of not so much the "tour" but the trip to Kittery. He went on up there on his own and had a wonderful time. He took his sidekick that crazy Scot, Rabby Kincaid with him the next time, and then the next year, they dragged me arse up there with them, and to make me comfortable with the trip, drove me to Massachusetts just to relive the experience. I tell ya, I did not find it funny. It took twice as long to get home and away from both of them, and I was well on my way to becoming a crazy person, okay crazier person. So this year, Weasil was threatening me with a trip to Kittery AGAIN.

He arrived in Rabby's car, Rabby being under the weather. Now Rabby, is a big beefy type so his make of car was a surprise that he drives a Mini-Cooper. How he gets his 200 lb. self in that thing, I have notta clue. How he would be comfortable driving it, is just as astounding. But that's what he drives. And there it was in me driveway, bright red with a British flag painted on top, and something else on top, Weasil's surfboard! I stood there looking at it with me cup of joe.

"That's what we are taking?" I asked Weasil.

"Yup, yup, yuppers!" Weasil grinned.

"That looks ridiculous. Why don't we take me Saturn?" I asked.

"Because ya nevah been in a Mini an it drives quite nicely, AND I havta droppie off da surfie boardie." said he.

"It's terribly small and you and I are both over 6 feet tall, so how'd ya think THAT comfy?" I asked staring at the tiny mobile.

"I drove it here dint I? I don't look any worse for it." And he did a turn so I could see all of him, front, sides and back.

I sighed. Okay, nothing to be done but jam our tall selves in and we did. I will say the front seat is surprisingly roomy, so not bad, but still I couldn't see how Rabby squeezes himself behind the wheel.

In me consternation of fitting in that small vehicle I had forgotten the surfboard strapped to the top. However, it didn't take long to remember it as we hit the highway. Suddenly we were airborne and I was totally confused with a good fright thrown in.

"Wha . . . wha . . . is happening?" I said holding on to the dashboard with two hands as the front end of the vehicle lifted off the ground.

"Oh it's just da surfie boardie has shifted to airplane wing position." Weasil threw at me causally.

"WHAT?"

"Itz okie dokie cuz it won't fall offie."

"I don't care if it isn't falling off, but gees we are almost airborne, stop and fix it. We can't drive down a major highway with WINGS!"

So he did, he pulled the Mini over and readjusted the straps. That position lasted for about ten minutes before once again, we were lifting off! I tell ya the Weasil is more than a piece of work, he's certifiable and if there is any question to why, THIS IS IT! Only this time I didn't have to tell him to pull over because Officer Mercer of the law did that. Weasil was issued a warning and he feigned contrite until the officer left. Then once again on the road and lift off occurred, and we were pulled over AGAIN. This time by a state trooper. This officer was not as nice as the last one. He was all for a Breathalyzer test for the Weasil. Of course zippy Mr. W passed it and was issued another warning. Once again we start off and we make it to the expansion bridge between New Hampshire and Maine when you guessed it, we were more than slightly off the ground, we were freaking flying with the air current as other vehicles were avoiding us.

I started berating him and he told me he couldn't stop on a bridge. Well, true there was no place to go but down, but in our case it was UP! Somehow we flopped to the other side of the bridge and made it to the Kittery exit without law enforcement.

We had to park at the very back of the first parking lot we got to because of the "wing span" of the Mini-Cooper. I almost beheaded meself when I got out forgetting the board was lying horizontal to the roof instead of vertically along the length of the Mini.

I wanted to hit Weasil over the head for stupidity, and he knew I was short of a fury when he informed me the black crows of Calvin Klein had spied me arse in their parking lot.

"He's backie!" He called to them and sure enough there they were. You don't know how quickly the temper left me for the focus on those sales persons who I had got the best of the last time out. Now they were standing there pointing and laughing at me ride. Was the temper starting to boil? It was, and Weasil was no help. He acted as if he were sending me off to war with Calvin Klein by straightening me shirt collar and sending me in their direction. I made like I was walking straight for their door, but instead made a quick right into J. Crew instead. I had the satisfaction of when they saw me coming they all disappeared behind their clothing racks. Yup, they did.

I was joined by Weasil some time later, which had me worried at what trouble he had been brewing on his own. When we got back to the Mini, the surfboard was gone. I thought someone stole it, but he had taken it to a shop for repair. Luckily it wouldn't be ready for the ride home! Yes, something to celebrate.

After Kittery we returned to New Hampshire, we decided to go to the newly open British Beer Company. Yup, Weasil thought I needed a "mini trip to da UK" and this place was to be that trip. But first we needed to find a parking space. He wanted to park on the street near the place, so we rode around and no place could we find but the 15 minute parking. So ever onward and every street was a one-way, so we kept having to make rights away from it. We got further and further away until we finally found a street we could make a left on. We discussed going back to the parking garage a block away from the BBC. Somehow we managed to be making nothing but lefts until we got back to the garage. Only this time we got in line to find the garage was full and we had to back out which took a lot of time considering we had three cars behind us.

I started looking for parking on the street, but Weasil pulled into another entrance to the same garage! I was like WTF? But this time he got in! But then the Dyslexia took hold because there was no parking space open on that lower level.

"We needies us to go uppy," he informed me as he whizzed around passed another mini cooper which had taken one parking space that you could have fit two of the same vehicle in. I pointed this out to him as we passed it for the second time, then the third, and then the fourth, where I finally asked him what he was doing?

"We have passed that Mini four times. I don't need a tour of the parking garage. Why aren't you going up?" I asked him as the Mini came up for the fifth time.

"Cuz I can't seem ta findie me da ramp UP!"

Oi! We took a left thinking we were going up this time, but when I saw the Mini for the sixth time I knew we missed the turn somehow. I don't know how many times we rode passed the parked Mini because I lost count. At one point I told Weasil to drop me next to the damn thing he could keep "touring" the parking garage and I would wave every time he went by. I tell ya!

Finally, somehow I saw the ramp up and directed it to his attention and up we started, but we went all the way to the top at an alarming rate of speed, the excuse being no need to look in the lower levels there would be nothing, but on top there would be spaces and yes, he was correct. As we shot up to the very top level, there in front of us, next to the barrier was a space and zoom in we went, me screaming to "BRAKE, DAMN YOU BRAKE, OR WE WILL BE FLYING OVER THE SIDE!' And he did, with me seat belt saving me from contact with the front windshield. He thought it funny, but what if he lost his brakes? Yeah then were would we be? I wanted to throw his laughing self over the side.

But it did not end there. I had scraped me knee on the dashboard at the abrupt stop, so when I got me long self out of the Mini, I was limping like a son of a gun. I looked around for the elevator and there was one next to us, but as Fate would have it, it was boarded up. SO we started walking and as we got into the roofed area, Weasil said he saw stairs just ahead. The open daylight he saw as stairs was openings between graduating levels of the upper tier. Which meant no stairs but a drop off down seven stories. I hit him upside the back of the head for that and saw an elevator 100 yards down and that's where I limped to cursing his arse the entire way.

Once inside I pushed the button for first level which was the street. Only we went down, down, down to the basement level where what should greet us upon door opening, but that very same Mini-Cooper we had passed a hundred times before. Nothing was said, we just exchanged knowing looks and the doors closed as I pressed the button again. This time we went to parking level six, one below where we started, and an old lady got on. She pressed the button before I could for Basement Level. And once again, we floated on down and there it was, that Mini as the doors slid open.

"Ya think she doesn't realise she ain't at da street?" Weasil said to me watching the woman hobble into the garage.

"Don't know, and don't much care at the moment." I said pushing the button for the street level one more time. We made it. I don't know how we did, but we did. As we were walking toward the BBC who do we see hobbling 20 yard ahead? The old lady. We were both gobsmacked. How she did that we don't know. While we were riding up and down the elevator she had found a way OUT.

Anyway, we got to the Brit Beer Company. It was good, they had a nice selection of British ales and beers and we ordered our drinks served up with Cajun chips, which was weird, but they were tasty none the less. Not exactly British, but well . . . so we looked at the menu and I ordered bangers and mash with bubble and squeak, and Weasil was going to order the Shepherd's Pie but it was made with ground beef.

"Huh," he said to the waitress, "dissy here is cottage pie, I ain't known no shepherds, shepherding cows."

"No, that's Shepherds Pie." She told his British arse in her American accent.

I instantly had deja vu of a breakfast place I had gone to that served Irish Breakfast, but it was anything but. When I corrected the waitress she argued with me I didn't know what I was talking about even if I was from Ireland and brought up on authentic Irish breakfasts. But Weasil didn't care, he wasn't in the mood to correct a rather glaring mistake, and why?

"Because," he said, "Americans dunt know da difference anyhowz."

True, but won't those same Americans who book a trip to the UK be surprised when ordering the real thing to find it has lamb in it? Not every one likes lamb, but well, as Weasil said, not our problem. But it gets better, I got me bangers and mash AND sweet baked beans to pour over them. Now this has happened to me once before in an American Irish Pub and it was an unpleasant taste. Here it was again! Who does that? Well, I put them aside not to spoil the taste of the bangers and it was not until after the meal I realised I was served steamed veggies not bubble and squeak! I tell ya! The place be billed as a British eatery and they serve American food masquerading as British. Oi!

Me Bangers & Mash with baked beans & steamed Veggies

But Weasil had an interesting culinary experience with his faux Shepherds Pie he did. It seems beside the beef and veggies the potato topping had cheese mixed in. Now Weasil HATES cheese. And it was heavy on the cheese I noticed and when I saw it, I knew instantly, but Weasil not being a connoisseur of cheese couldn't figure out what the taste was.

"Dissy here stringy stuffins looks like cheese." He said pulling a long cheesy strand up with his fork and figuring it out.

"Oh that's not cheese it's a filler to hold the ground beef together," I lied.

"Are ya sure? It lookies like cheesie ta me." He said still holding the string aloft. "It ain't pot cheese, it be sum kinda cheddar. Who duz dat?"

But he ate it anyway.

Weasil's Shepherds Pie AKA Cottage Pie (with cheese)

Once back at the parking garage, we rode the elevator from basement to just before our floor and back down again. Three freaking times this happened! Finally we made it to the roof and Weasil couldn't remember where he parked his car. And the reason he couldn't remember was because he had for some reason had it in his head he was looking for his red Mustang, completely slipping his mind what he was REALLY driving.

Well, I pointed out the Mini and it all came back to him, SIGH, and off we went. I was sitting back with a full tum thinking how lovely it would be to go home when I noticed the Welcome to Massachusetts sign. That got me straight up in me seat, where I banged me knee again!

"Where are you going?" I shouted disturbed.

"I needies me a cup a coffee an so we's goin' ta da bestie Dunks in Mass."

Oh I knew exactly where we were going, yup I did. Salisbury, Massachusetts and there it was, THIS:

The Mecca of Massachusetts

I tell ya! Going to Massachusetts in spite of a protest, just to prove it was a bonafide TRI-State Tour not a DUO one is the WHY of this. He just had to do it. He could not let me relax in peace and enjoy a nice ride home, NO, we had another stop and this was it, in another state, where the state we had been in, was filled with Dunken' Donut places!

We spent a long time inside that Dunks. He just meandered around sipping on his coffee and then he'd go order a single donut and meander some more, then go back and buy another donut, get his coffee freshened and meander around the place looking at the poster size adverts for Dunken' Donuts like he was in an art gallery. That I made it home by 5 was just shy a miracle. I left him at me house while I went to pick up me kiddos from Lego Club. When I came back the Weasil had whipped up a large cottage pie (no cheese), and two banana cream pies. How he did that within 15 minutes I have notta clue though I suspect he didn't make any of that but had it delivered from somewhere.

It was nice of him, or is he buttering me up for something else I don't expect? That is the vexing question because Weasil just happens, any time of the day or night, one never knows. What was it Wolfie said? Oh yes, on seeing the young whippersnapper coming towards us he said, "Gabe, something wicked this way comes." Yup.

Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved

The Curious Case of . . .

04 June 2013

R. Linda:

Well, what is the world coming to? I mean when any way to garner attention becomes the norm, well I just dunno anymore. It used to take running through a stadium naked, or waving an over sized flag, or shouting at the top of ones lungs to get a media person to give one the undivided attention one wants. But this is rather new, a name change! Who'd a thunk a name change would work to get the media's attention, especially when not only does one change ones name, but tacks a famous one on for good measure.

Take the case of one Mark Townley, who after several moniker changes, one would think would not want attention to himself at all, but I guess when one looks at the names used, there was that need for attention just under the surface of Mr. Townley's psyche.

Here be a dude (as Weasil would refer to him), who was taken into custody in London recently for making threats against our royal whippersnapper, Prince Harry. Who'd want to harm Harry I want to know? I happen to like Harry, he's full of the old Harry, and I am usually somewhat amused at his unroyal antics. It seems Harry is a normal guy and not a stuffed shirt, so of all the royals why threaten Harry?

As it turns our Mr. Townley threatened our Harry under his new moniker which is Ashraf Islam. That conjured that catchy church number, Shadrach, Meshach of Jericho, but never mind that, me mind runs amok at times. So a little background, Mr. Townley is well known in Northern Ireland where he has the distinct label of con artist. Yes, he does. Seems Mr. Townley before he became Ashraf Islam and a few other names is from Bangor in Northern Ireland, County Down, not Maine, USA (just to be straight). And he began his con man career when he changed his name to Antonio Mendez. Does that name sound familiar? Oh for sure because Antonio Mendez is a famous sort he is. He was the CIA Technical Operations Officer who planned the escape of the American diplomats hiding in the Canadian embassy in Tehran. Ben Affleck played him in the Academy Award winning movie ARGO. Ring a bell now? He looks like this:

The real Tony Mendez

Well, Mark Townley thought that a perfect name to assume if one was to open a security and bodyguard service. So on arrival in Liverpool, our man of the hour assumed the new moniker, and advertised his new security training business where work was promised at completion of the course. And sight unseen but knowing the name of the famous Mr. Mendez, dozens of former army soldiers paid the £250 registration fee. They were told to go to Welsh Beach and upon arrival found no Tony Mendez, no anyone but the sad fact they had all be ripped off! Who does that? Well, we know who does that and does it well and his name isn't Houdini.

In the meantime, the former fake Antonio Mendez had made his way with his stolen cash to Northern Ireland, while the Liverpool court convicted his absent arse of fraud. And once there he dropped the alias, and found another ingenious and famous moniker to assume. Mark Hamill. Sounds familiar doesn't it though? I conjure in me mind this image when I hear that name:

Yes, Luke Skywalker!

And well while living in Northern Ireland, our con man set up a business called National Task Force. Which was a business geared to gymnastic and youth boxing clubs where for a few thousand pounds sterling here and a few there, "Mr. Hamill" would provide equipment and mini buses. He actually wrote cheques for all the "stuff" after receiving monies for services to be rendered and when the cheques bounced as bounced they did, "Mr. Hamill" took himself to the Republic of Ireland, Dublin to be exact to escape prosecution in the North. 

In Dublin, he didn't just sit around and count his money, no indeed, he came up with another grand scheme he did. This time he set himself up (still using the name Mark Hamill -- well he hadn't used it in the South so why not? -- Oh and pity the real Mark Hamill on this next one) as a provider to newspapers of topless photographs. What newspapers he provided such to are, I have notta clue but he was doing so well with this new enterprise that he turned it into a modelling agency. Yes, he did! BUT, once again he issued forth bad cheques and where did he go? NORTH. I tell ya it takes brass it does.

Once in Belfast, since the modelling thing seemed to be a hot profit, he set up shop once again. He took the money of the aspiring models who PAID HIM to take their photos in the hopes they would strike it big. And once again, he absconded with the cash leaving them high and dry, no pictures, no modelling course, no claim to fame, no nothing! Well, the only one that struck it big was our fake "Mr. Hamill." When the "models" turned up to take the modelling course he had charged £150 for well, our man behind the camera had fled again. Gone, money and all! 26 people standing around wondering what happened to not only their money, but their promised careers! The police were called, but "Mr. Hamill" was long gone!

And where did our scoundrel go? Dublin, AGAIN! Yes, I tell ya!

Tsk, tsk!

But Townley had an idea, this time by not only changing his name, but possibly his religion. That might throw a monkey wrench in the works huh? Meanwhile back in Belfast, the police were not finding it funny our con man had duped them twice. The thought to fix his squirrely arse by issuing a bench warrant after he "failed" to appear for his court date to answer yet another fraud charge. Are we surprised? Nooo, of course not.

Our industrious thief was busy converting to Islam and changing his name to Ashraf Islam. He even joined an Islamic group who were vigorously caught up in the austerity protest at the GPO in Dublin. One would think to keep a lower profile, but well . . . somehow he found a way to make money out of THAT and once again bounced a cheque, this time he received €7000 and then turned around and wrote a cheque for €6000 and of course it bounced because he never deposited the money in the bank!

What to do? Where to flee to? Well, he got he hell out of Dublin he did, nothing worse than mad Islamists after one's fraudulent arse, so back to Belfast he did go! The Belfast court held not one but two bench warrants and seeing no escape, Ashraf decided to give it up (for a little while anyway) and turned himself in. Yes he did, it was the right and only thing to do. He was jailed for six months, enough time for people to forget.

And that was the problem, our man of the absconding with other people's money did not really want to be forgotten. SO, this time he moved back to his hometown of Bangor and announced his plans to release a movie entitled, "Jesus Christ Pornstar." Now if you think that didn't raise quite a few eyebrows as well as irk many of the good Christians living in the neighbourhood, you'd be thrusting your head deep in the sand. Our misguided Islamist became the centre of a blasphemy row to end all blasphemy rows, I tell ya! But wait it got better, this film he was releasing had one Ashraf Islam in the starring role! Well, not being able to keep his fingers out of the money jar the former Mark Townley, Aka Antonio Mendez, AKA Mark Hamill (too many times to count on that besmirched name), AKA Ashraf Islam, racked up a lot of debt and YOU GUESSED IT, he did his disappearing act, this time back to England where his shifty arse wasn't so shifty because he mouthed off about threatening the life of Prince Harry and well, he was arrested and CHARGED! Yes!

And here finally is the real Mark Townley, AKA a whole lot of famous names.

Mark Townley starring as Ishraf Islam, jailbird

Wouldn't you think instead of the back and forth between Northern Ireland, Ireland, and England he'd have tried France?

Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved

Tea With Becks - Part Two

01 and a half June 2013

R. Linda:

(Continued from Part One previous blog entry)

Neither of us wanted to turn around, but we both felt it in our bones, we were not alone. Slowly we turned and there was Nigel Farage. That right there would be enough to scare a cat out of tree. Yes, it was and I wanted to run out of the room, BECAUSE Nige was looking straight at ME! I knew, yes I did, he read me blog bit on him and his adventure in Edinburgh and well . . . he probably had it in for moi. (See 30 May 2013 blog story - Mr. Farage Visits Edinburgh -- and a memorable time it was!)

I could not shamefacedly shuffle forward with outstretched hand saying sorry, no I couldn't because I wasn't sorry. It is people like Nigel that make me life worth living. Rather someone else doing something stupid and writing about THEM instead of me doing stupid things and being the only one to write about.

However, I needn't of worried. Nige came forward like that at ME! I was taken aback and poor Becks had no clue who he was.

"Sorry," Nigel said, "I hoped never to be in anyones blog, especially YOURS." Was that a slap? I couldn't be certain. But I took his hand and gave it a fishy shake since it was a fish hand he held out. "Who is this strapping young fella?" Nigel asked indicating Becks and probably to change the subject.

I was gobsmacked neither knew who the other was! What is the UK coming to? SO, I introduced them to each other and Becks was as clueless after as at the start, but Nigel had a glimmer of recognition coming forth in his brain, that yes, he'd heard that name before, just never paid it much mind.

"Oh, Beckham, yessish, it's coming to me me," Nige said smiling. "You still play?"

OH NIGEL!!! I was double gobsmacked.

"I just retired," Becks said his eyes all going steely at Nigel's nerve.

"OH! Just so, just so," Nige mumbled dropping the fishy handshake with Becks who wiped his hand on his suit pocket and took himself over to a table filled with royal photos, I supposed to regain his temper.

"I didn't know he could speak," Nigel whispered to me. "I thought all footballers were dolts, too much of hitting balls with their heads, yessish. He does have a bit of a lower class accent doesn't he, for all the good looks and designer clothing, not to mention the fragrance?"

I actually slammed me forehead with me hand and said, "DUH!" but Nigel didn't seem to catch that, no he was leaning around me looking at Beck's back.

"He looks quite affluent, yessish he does," Nigel said softly to me, "You'd think he could afford to feed his wife, poor emaciated thing she is."

OH he didn't just mutter that but yes he did! I was glad Becks wasn't within hearing distance. But he was on a roll now with Becks far enough away he could softly chat with ME about the man!

"Well, I do hope he doesn't get it into what brain he has left to run for Parliament. For a nice looking fella he has a funny voice don't you think? Bit of a shock when he speaks and oh who are we fooling, public speaking for him would be disastrous. Best keep ones good looking mouth shut and look nice." Nigel said taking a sip of beer.

When I saw the pint glass I was all about where he got it from. He told me he had a key.

"A key? A key to what?" I asked.

"THE key to the Royal Refrigerator." Nigel said looking smug, like he just let me in on the best kept of secrets.

"NO!" I said genuinely surprised, "I've heard tell of such but didn't know it really existed."

Nigel slipped me the key and pointed at a polished wood with gold gilt trim square box that said on the top in royal gold scroll, The Royal Refrigerator. Well, I took that key and shouted over me shoulder to Becks if he'd like a jar and he turned all brightened up by that offer that it wasn't another cup of Darjeeling and came trotting over to fetch one.

"A Becks for you Becks?" I joked lamely.

I put the key in and a spring lock opened the RR and there were over a hundred small kegs with gold letters of all the good beers of the world, or so I thought at first glance. The only really good beer in the world that was missing was Guinness. As I perused the fridge, I realised there wasn't one single Irish beer in the lot. I was a bit overcome, yes I was. But that didn't stop Becks from letting me know that the fridge was filled with the best German beer money could buy. I was pissed I was, so I opted to have none at all.

"They don't call this the House of Hanover for nothing," Nigel said sipping his German beer and toasting Becks who was less than enthusiastic to toast anything with Nigel.

"Hanover?" Poor brain dead Becks asked Nigel.

"Windsor, now," I said and explained as best I could in simple terms the progression of royalty and when it is a good time to change ones royal last name to something a little less war inspiring. If Becks got it, I doubt, but Nigel was totally amused at my efforts to educate.

"Are we all retiring?" A voice said that made us all jump and turn round to see Camilla, looking at us like we had our commoner hands caught in the Royal Refrigerator. She moved forward and took Beck's beer glass as she batted what eyelashes she has at him. He looked rather confused and went back to the RR for another pint.

"I'm not retiring," Nigel said, "My party is doing quite well." He informed Camilla loudly. "The only people in the world who would like me to RETIRE are the Scottish, and just to spite that lot, I wouldn't give it a jolly thought."

"Oh please don't say that word," she whispered, "retirement gets Prince Charles hopes up so, and I just can't live with the disappointment when he gets into a black funk over it." Camilla said. "Oh that Becks," she said looking at Beck's back as he stood at the RR filling another glass. "I remember when HIS wife retired and THAT was met with joy all over the world that she was no longer going to record music or what she thought was music!" Camilla said smugly.

"Meow," Nigel chuckled and walked away.

I had covered me face with one hand at the embarrassment of it all. But that didn't stop Camilla.

"You know Mr. O'Connor . . . " she began.

"O'Sullivan," I corrected rolling me eyes and wishing I had a strong drink in me hand.

"Oh right, well Mr. O-Sull-i-van, I do think you need to be kinder to me and Charles on your blog."

"You both read me blog?" I said kind of impressed.

"Well . . . no, WE don't but the footman does and he tells us what you write about us." She said looking down her nose at me as me ego deflated quickly. "We need to say good riddance to negative things like . . ."

And that's as far as she got as Prince Charles strode up sort of overhearing her last words and said, "I think we need give a good riddance to Parliament and install a full monarchy to restore order. Don't you think?" Prince Charles interjected at me.

"Uhhh . . ." I was gobsmacked for the umpteenth time that day. I did not know what to say, I mean I did know that I would disagree, but well . . . it was PRINCE CHARLES, what was I to do? So I did the only thing I knew and said, "Your garden is lovely."

At which for a moment he looked at me like I had lost me mind, then he got this stupid smile on his face and was flattered. Yes he was flattered. He went into a horticultural dissertation on isolated transference of germicides on hybrid plants of the indigenous nature. I wanted to say WHAT, but I didn't, I tried to look genuinely interested, but it was painful.

"We just have got to take the time and find the resources to engineer a caste system for the plant population."

WHAT, the "plant population," engineer a CASTE SYSTEM? WHAT??? When he got into the installation of lawn sprinklers and how to make them work at 30 degree angles, I excused meself and helped meself to a glass of German beer. I HAD TO to keep me sanity!

As I turned around from me sixth glass thinking I could handle anything Charles threw at me, I found the Queen had arrived and was waving to Becks and me. We both did that strange royal wave back hoping we were doing it correctly. We were bidden over to the royal presence and I was instantly ignored as she looked Becks over and muttered to Philip who had appeared out of nowhere, "I do so wish our Prince Wills looked like this man. What a boon that would be for the monarchy's image!"

Becks looked slightly disturbed as we both overheard that theatrical whisper to the hard of hearing Philip, which wasn't meant to be overheard, and more so when Prince Harry (who we had not noticed) turned round between his grandmother and grandfather and said, "Then we'd have the Ken and Barbie business going."

Both royals looked confused and he clarified his remark with, "Becks and Kate, come on now."

Both the Queen and the Duke looked startled. Well, it was obvious neither had thought of THAT and I'm very sure Posh wouldn't be happy to know the Queen was thinking of lining her husband up with pretty Kate, even if it wasn't truly meant. The conversation was turning quite uncomfortable for Becks not to mention bizarre for me, so I pulled him politely away.

"Where is pretty Kate anyway?" He asked looking around with a bit of apprehension.

I looked around and there she was in front of a full length mirror arguing with it. I pointed and he shook his head and we moved as far away from her as we could. I did think Beck's believes mental illness is catchy, but it wasn't that it was vanity, but no time to explain that to him.

"This is bloody awful," Becks said, "We need to get out of here."

I could not agree more. I looked around and the room had no doors! This nearly woke me up it did. I was feeling me heart pounding at the thought of being trapped with the royal family, in a very large gilt room somewhere in Buckingham Palace!

"Look at Philip, he's dressed like a toy soldier," Becks said, "and Harry has that Nazi uniform on, and Kate's talking to a mirror, and Camilla blends in with the chimney -- I can't tell where she begins and where she ends, and Pippa's on top of a table wiggling her arse at us, and the Queen is wearing a hat indoors and toting a pocketbook to match, and where the hell is Prince William? OH and worse of all is that Nigel whatshisname over there gloating at us."

I looked and sure enough there was Nigel dressed like a wizard with a huge teapot! Even his long velvet robe had teapots and cups for designs on it and his long wizard hat did too! He was looking at us waving the teapot and chanting something, but before he could throw whatever he had coming at us, I saw the white rabbit. Yes, I did it ran across the room and disappeared. I saw where it went, there was a large black hole and I caught hold of Becks as Nigel started to wind up the teapot and pulled him through the hole just in the nick.

We fell into blackness, but I wasn't scared, at least it wasn't me screaming like a girl, I think that was Becks because the rabbit was below us laughing. The rabbit landed first on something soft and out the hole it went. Then we landed a bit harder but no worse for wear. We ran out the hole to the light and found . . . we were back in the tearoom.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Beck's shouted.

I was gobsmacked for I hoped the last time. We both knew that the double door in the room led back to where the Royal Refrigerator was with everyone still there. The other door, we couldn't get open, it was locked! What to do? There was no sign of the white rabbit, no none. A voice behind us made us spin around as it said, "What is a weekend, do either of you know?"

Pouring us tea was Violet, old Lady Grantham. She was dressed in an off black silk taffeta of Victorian style with a large pocket watch and chain draped across her breast. I thought that odd.

"It always happens. When you give these little people German beer it goes to their heads like strong tea!" She said handing first Becks a cup and then me as we joined her at the table. I sat there thinking I heard her wrong. Didn't she mean power goes to their heads? Hum.

"I must speak my mind," Becks said as if in a trance.

"Oh dear, why nobody else does." She said wiggling her nose which stopped me cold.

"Don't be a defeatist, it's very middle-class," I caught myself saying to her as she turned her attention to me. "I don't know why I said that."

"Are we to be friends then? THEY are a bunch of lunatics let loose on us," Becks said to her ignoring me, "we could use help.

"We are allies, my dear Mr. Beckham, which can be a good deal more effective. More tea Mr. O'Sullivan?" Violet asked, tipping the silver teapot over me cup.

"No, no thank you," I said realising both Becks and I were downing cups of tea like it was going out of style. What was happening? For one Becks seemed to be growing smaller and me taller.

"Mr. O'Sullivan, that's an Irish name?" Violet said as if it was not a good thing.

"Yes, it is."

"You are quite wonderful with your blog, the way you see room for improvement in people, wherever you happen to be. I never knew such reforming zeal sparked in the soul of an Irish person."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I said not sure it was.

"I must have said it wrong," she laughed looking down at Becks who was growing smaller by the second and he seemed to growing a lot of yellow hair and looked like a girl. I blinked several times, but he was still getting smaller and more feminine.

I thought something was off, and as I reached over for the milk, being Irish impolite on purpose, it was then I saw a long white ear tucked into the wig on old Lady Grantham's head. Her eyes met mine, but the eyes were pink and the ear popped out from the wig, then the other one, and I knew it wasn't Violet Grantham it was the rabbit! As I got me big hands around its throat, the eyes beginning to bug out of the head, I could hear me yelling, "Bring Becks Back! We need him for Team England and the next World Cup!" when I felt the ground shaking like an earthquake and we, the room, everything was being swallowed up and disappearing, but for a voice calling me name.

It was Tonya's voice in the world of the awake, shaking me to the same state.

"You're having a bad dream, wake up!"

I did, I was shocked, the dream had seemed so real. But there I was in me room, flat on me back staring up at the post and beam ceiling. I knew where I was, I lay there dumbly as the wife got up yammering something about drinking too much strong tea before bed and it having the effect of good German beer and that this was the first day of a new month, she hoped I'd mend me late night habits.

"Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit." I said.

Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved

Tea With Becks - Part One

01 June 2013

R. Linda:

Let's hear it, say it, "Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit!" It be the first day of the month and I said that upon rising for luck and woke up to excessively hot weather! What be up with the white rabbit? Where did he go? That's a story for a cooler day I'm sure, just thinking of all that fur makes me perspire.

I will say all this talk of Brown Betty's and tea cozys got me poor brain in a teatime tizzy it did yesterday evening. It was 93 degrees Fahrenheit at midnight last, and there I was sipping extremely hot tea! Me followers must not send me comments so late at night I don't get these stupid, foolish ideas into me addled brain that a hot cuppa sounded like the right thing to do. It decidedly was not the right thing to do, because I managed to up me body temp about 20 degrees more, throwing me into a sweaty mess. And yes, I finished off the whole pot, I just could not let that Darjeeling go to waste. And yes, I did try to get any passing family member to join me, none would! So you know the result don't you? SIGH.

I finally, after a sweaty time of tossing and turning, and thinking the hot buttered toast wasn't a good idea either, I fell into Darjeeling dreams I did. And the first one up was the only one, thank the tea gods for that. I was sitting in Buckingham Palace with David Beckham, doing what else? Sipping tea of course! I tell ya, I can't cut a break.

Becks and I were sitting in a rather posh room awaiting Her Highness. We were shooting the breeze about bending backwards but more about Posh Spice doing that, I know don't ask, when we were mercifully interrupted with Prince Harry jogging in. Yes, he was jogging! No, I do not know why he was, just know he was. And he was there to grab a hot cup of tea! One would think a cold bottle of the finest blue bottled spring water would be more in keeping with jogging, but no, he jogged in place pouring the tea and talking to us about a memorable night dressed as a Nazi at a party of a friend of his. Becks looked a little stunned and poured himself another cuppa as Harry went on to regale us about a strip-billiard game he hosted in Vegas. Then he jogged off as I unconsciously looked around for something to spike me tea with.

Becks and I sat there wide eyed, wondering what just happened, when the Queen walked in looking for Harry. Uh oh, we both knew Harry must be in trouble and Becks even whispered to me, "Wot he do this time?" I shrugged as the Queen's mobile rang and she stopped her looking to answer it.

"WHO is this?" She demanded. "Oh it's YOU!  No, the Falklands are NOT for sale!" she listened and then shouted, "WHAT?" We exchanged looks, she seemed to forget we were sitting there, or rather standing there, yes we had risen in honour of her royalness. "You put your toy soldiers away OR I will send my grandson down there to open a can of whoop-arse!" And she hung up mumbling to herself about a buyer's market. She left the room as if neither of us was there. We sat back down to our tea.

"Should we have curtsied?" Beck asked looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Bowed you mean?" I said thinking of me head being ordered off me shoulders.

"Whatever . . . but should we have?" He said rather alarmed and downing his tea and pouring another cup.

I didn't get to answer because in came pretty Kate Middleton with a silver and diamond encrusted hand mirror looking at herself and pulling at her skin to bring it up. This got Becks and I attention immediately.

"Mirror, mirror, who's the fairest of them all? Oh and don't you dare say Pippa!" Well, the good for us AND Kate the mirror did not answer. Kate looked up from her image in the looking glass to see her new National Portrait hanging on the wall in front of her. Her eyes got very big and the expression on her face was not one of a happy princess.

"That's what I need another bleeding portrait of me looking like a tired out rendition of Camilla looking like a hausfrau. While can't these artists stick to something like finger paints? Ugh, maybe a nip and tuck will help." She said looking back in the mirror and pulling her face this way and that. And out she went never seeing us.

Becks eyebrows were raised to his hairline as he gulped down his hot tea and poured yet another cup. I had to look at the teapot, it seemed to hold a never ending amount of the Darjeeling delight. I topped me own cup off and was about to pour a bit of milk when Prince Charles came waltzing in looking all upset, and he was so in that mode of preoccupation he did not see us.

"Darn it! Bloody sods!" He shouted as if he was a one man show in Hamlet. "What is it we cannot go one day without an American getting in the mix? We need to revoke their independence as soon as I am king. It's the first thing I'll do," he shouted throwing a finger in the air for emphasis. "How dare that Perez person call my Cammie a horse face chimney breast when everyone knows she looks like an old used tampon!" And he paced back and forth, fists clenched as he spoke of this through his teeth and out the door he went to wreck havoc on America I suppose.

"Well, there is that," I said to Becks taking a sip of tea. He nodded in response.

We sat in silence for a whole two seconds before the door swung open and there was Prince Philip dressed in ribbons and medals looking the toy soldier come to life. He looked around the room as if looking for something or someone, never really seeing us, I suppose because we were nothing special and he announced to the air, "Why can't I be asked just once for an opinion on national affairs? Why can't I be asked just ONCE what I think of Parliamentary proceedings? Oh WHY WHY WHY?" And holding what little hair he had left on his head, he came over to us and without a word poured himself a cuppa and strode out.

Both of us burst out laughing. I now WE BAD. But it could not be helped. The poor old guy has never been anything but that "bloke married the queen" and "Philip who?" and lastly and most disastrously, "Mr. Queen Elizabeth 2." Oh my.

"Well, I don't think we are going to be "seen" by the Queen today," I said putting my cup in the royal saucer.

"No, neither of us are blue bloods," Becks lamented, "entitled for even a nod."

"Harry spoke with us," I pointed out, "I suppose that should count."

"Oh yes, he did, didn't he? But he's the black sheep of the family innie?" Becks observed.

"I guess that makes him more like us?" I asked wondering.

"I suppose." Becks said looking around.

We started to get up when the door opened one final time and there holding on to the handles of the double doors was Pippa! She was smiling directly AT us! We got all the way up and smiled back and did a slight bow, not knowing if we should or not. She came forward, extending a hand to each of us. Becks knelt down and kissed his, I stood in shock and wondered if it was expected I should do the same, but being Irish the IRA might decide to blow me up next time in Newry for such, so I politely smiled and shook the two digits that were offered in me direction. No, it wasn't the whole hand, Becks got THAT, I got two fingers. Yup. So I did not feel strange not kneeling and kissing. Decidedly NOT.

"I am here to show you both how to party with Harry." She gushed withdrawing her hand and fingers.

She went to a table across the room and we two were elbowing each other at the famous tight little arse that was jiggling in front of us. Yes, we did, we are after all male pigs and it was expected I'm sure. So once at the table, we saw an array of party things.

Pippa picked up one of those paper hats you get in a cracker and placed it gingerly on her head.

"Come on now, pick yours up and place it as I have on your heads." She smiled with party goer enthusiasm.

And of course we did it all wrong and she tsked at us.

"The idea gentlemen, is to place the hat without ruining the "do," like this." And she replaced her hat on her head with the utmost care. Well, we got it, we did the same and she clapped her hands together in sheer joy we weren't that low class we couldn't get it right.

"Now gentlemen, when one blows a noise-maker one must not get the tip of the blower wet. Like this," and she demonstrated one of those noise-makers where the end flips out like a blue or pink tongue. And sure enough, the gold paper mouthpiece was not wet (though there was a hint of lipstick).

This is where we fell into low-class imbecility. Neither of us could keep the mouthpiece dry. We tried, for  the realm, the people, the politics, the parliament, the Queen, we did try our best, but we failed miserably.

"Must be the tea," Becks offered in excuse.

"Must be," I concurred.

"Oh well this is not going to happen then." Pippa said looking at the oriental carpet and stamping a well shod designer toe. "No, I am very afraid neither of you will be able to attend my roping Prince Harry to the altar . . . I mean my surprise party for Prince Harry . . . " her voice trailed off as she looked off into space like neither of us were there and she was having a private moment of conjecture.

I looked at Becks and with a motion of my head I indicated the open door behind us. He gave a slight nod and both of us, our eyes never leaving the daydreaming of Prince Harry at the altar that Miss Pippa had on her mind, backed out the open door and slowly shut it on her image where the last we saw of Miss Pippa, she heaved a great sigh and then she was gone, blotted out by the polished wood of the doors.

BUT, as we let out our own sighs, in our case not of longing, but relief we realised we went out the wrong door.

To be continued.

Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved

The Travellers Dilemma

31 May 2013

R. Linda:

Yesterday (before the heat set in), I was to go to a convention of sorts in the Dorchester Heights area of Boston. I could smell the heat coming, so I got inside to the air conditioned atmosphere of one of the hotels as quickly as I could. And because this area is like Jackson Square and I did not feel very safe, I was happy to be off the street and inside the rather dark, musty and gloomy old hotel. Anyway, being this was billed as a breakfast buffet kind of deal, I made me hellos and went off with a friend to get the chow. And chow is a good word for it, like in dog chow.

I would like to know why it is, when you go to these places the food is sadly wanting. I know it was no 5 star hotel, but it was the equivalent of eating cafeteria fare or worse prison food (I've never been to prison mind you, but I think what I ate was pretty much like that).

It seems this year I've had a lot of these early morning hotel chain breakfasts, to such a degree I am a bit of an authority on the food. I cannot think of one hotel chain in me mind, that I could say I had a great meal! I remember being in Lothian, Scotland at the Holiday Inn, and the day before I had checked in there was no one in sight. I took meself to the bar and had a drink and there was one or two people there and one was visiting. But the next morning I went to the breakfast buffet to find the place crowded with guests. One Scotsman was loudly decrying the fact that "This is SCOTLAND why is there no porridge?" Why indeed? I had runny eggs, blood sausage (that was so dry it could have been mistaken for a doggy treat), some kind of roll that was harder than a rock and I thought I'd break me teeth on. The tea was lacking in that the hot water was mostly gone, so I went to the coffee urn and got the dregs. I tell ya. When I asked if the coffee was going to be replenished, I had hopes as the urn was taken away but it never came back!

I left very hungry and had to catch a train, to which at the station I found a small cafe and had a sticky bun and a cup of somewhat decent coffee (and mind you Scotland is not known for its coffee), but well it didn't do much for me at all so it was the start to not such a great day.

I suppose because the breakfasts are "free" (I'm sure it was included in the price of the ticket the company paid for in yesterdays case, or absorbed in the room cost if one is forced to stay as in Scotland), that no fuss was thought to be needed. So, in my case free it was and you get what you don't pay for, in these cases. Yup.

I had been at a chain hotel where I had spent the night and was leaving first thing the next morning. Only I did not have to get up at 6, I got up at 8. By the time I made it downstairs, breakfast had been hanging around the lobby since 6 a.m. and it was pretty picked over, stale and the coffee was stone cold. I wanted to have a fresh hot coffee and took a cereal box (you know those kiddie size Frosted Flakes you buy your kids at the supermarket) with me as I ran down a fleeing wait person for fresh coffee and MILK for me cereal. Well, you'd think I asked to be served by Gordon Ramsey himself. It was such an imposition I tell ya!

They were out of ground coffee, and were hoping they were done with the buffet so they wouldn't have to brew more until they had time to run out between then and lunch! Really! I was told there was a Dunkin Donuts two long blocks away and that's where I should go. I began to stick the cereal box in me pocket because I wasn't going back into the lobby to put it back. Then on second thought, I left it on the concierge counter and took meself off to not Dunkin Donuts, because there wasn't one, it was a McDonalds where I had an Egg McMuffin and the equivalent of what looked and tasted like dirty dishwater. To make matters worse, I missed me train because I had to stand in a long line at McDonalds for me order. I was not happy I can tell ya that much.

I notice that whenever I am forced to stay in a chain hotel or motel, it's the same old stuff. The cereals range from Frosted Flakes, Cheerios, to Fruit Loops mini boxes. The breads are always stale croissants, break your teeth hard bagels, old soggy toast and in some cases black and burnt toast, with those little tubs of lard that have got oily or the sticky jelly tubs that are on the battered side. To offset those culinary delights are the eggs! They run from old, cold scrambled, to runny messy cold over easy, to rubber omelets with hairs in them! Coffee, if you are lucky to get any of that beverage, usually I get the bottom of the pot where the dregs give your mouth an unwelcome surprise, or old teabags your granny has horded since WW2.

With low cost, no frills airlines, to chain hotels and inns, it makes one appreciate that when one can afford to travel in style, one should take full advantage because . . . well because the other end is pretty sad and depressing and if one isn't careful, a straight diet of such will do a few things to ones appearance. Like, you will lose a lot of weight and your skin will have a grayish tinge to it, your taste buds will have rolled up and died from lack of tasty food, when you are served a decent cup of coffee you will go into caffeine nirvana and probably shock that you actually got the real thing and have to be resuscitated, and if the bedbugs haven't bitten the hell out of you to where you look like you have a full body case of acne, you will be sporting bags the size of giant suitcases under your weary, sleep deprived eyes.

And before I am done, may I say the cheapie airlines are also in me sight. That there is no other way to fly than business or first class. If you find yourself with a cancelled flight and the only available seat is in the back in coach, think about the choice of that bedbug hotel or four or more hours with crying babies, elbows in the ribs, exorbitant costs of a bag with five peanuts inside, an alcoholic drink that costs you your first born, and the fact you are probably being loaded into a propeller job that will take two hours longer to get you home than if you were on a jet! And let us not forget the cost of a second bag of luggage if you have one, being the cost of your monthly mortgage payment on your house. Just sayin'.

Yes, Gabe be in a bad mood, Gabe does not like the heat!

Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved

Mr. Farage Visits Edinburgh -- and a memorable time it was!

30 May 2013

R. Linda:

Tuesday I was still graced with the Weasil's presence. It just floors me how he can go wherever he pleases as if he is a single man with nothing but time on his hands. Poor Mrs. Weasil and kiddos, I must say. Why they hold onto him I have no clue.

As I was saying, Tuesday I had to work and the Weasil decided to tag along since it was Boston we were going to and he could go about his "fun day" while I worked. At the end of the day he came up to me floor and joined me as I was sitting in a conference room (a staff meeting having finished) shooting the breeze with a fellow from England who is a foreign correspondent. We were talking EU and UKIP when the Weasil sat himself down and listened, but the squirming in silence I knew would not last. It seemed the subject was one he had a healthy Scottish interest in. Who knew?

So, here we go, the Scottish born Weasil be all in a twitter over English Ukip leader Nigel Farage. When I heard the last name, I said, "Isn't he French?" To which I was given a very dirty look from the one Englishman in the room also named Nigel, but with a Hall-Parker fastened to the end of it. "Oh sorry," said I realising there was no humour in me question as far as Mr. Nigel David Edward Hall-Parker was concerned. Why do the English have so many names and some of them with hyphens?

But Weasil ignored Mr. Hall-Parker and told me how he had gone to Edinburgh, Scotland recently and was informed that the Ukip leader had the nerve to step foot in Edinburgh and that something should be done about it, and that something was PROTEST the man's presence. So off to the Royal Mile the Weasil did go and he did not have far to look to locate Mr. Farage, for he was surrounded by many a rather boisterous and in some cases, unhappy gathering of Scotsmen!

Mr. Hall-Parker said nothing, just sat contemplating the Weasil with a rather sour expression on his face.

Some background for you if you are not familiar with Mr. Farage and the Ukip (the United Kingdom Independence Party). Mr. Farage is credited with being a founding member of the Ukip which be a right-wing populist party. Its objective: The withdrawal of the UK from the EU (European Union). But that wasn't all, it placed candidates in more than 420 general election seats gaining 1.5% of the vote but it did not win any representation at Westminster. It tried and failed to break through the elections in the Scottish parliament as well, an effort the Scottish did not appreciate. However, as time has passed the Ukip has enjoyed moderate success and what troubled the Scots in Edinburgh was when Mr. Farage went on the telly, radio and gave numerous newspaper interviews expounding on his hopes of replicating the Ukip's English success in Scotland (a land looking for it's independence from England). AND that immigration laws need to be stricter. Batten down those borders, yes indeed! Hum, perhaps he should not have expounded those things so much, but well he did, and this caught the attention and ire of many a left-wing Scotsmen it did.

Mr. Farage made the mistake of saying this: "We've got some things to say about how Scotland might be outside the European Union with a reinvigorated fishing industry. There's a gap in the political market for Ukip in Scotland that did not exist last year!" AND if what he said prior hadn't garnered him much attention THAT got him a lot of instant attention.

Seems Mr. Farage went to the Royal Mile to meet up with the Scottish press, but unfortunately for Mr. Farage, left-wing nationalists and some socialists read of his whereabouts on their Twitter accounts! In turn, some members of the Radical Independence movement got wind of this as well. This group recently launched the official "Yes Scotland" campaign (if you know anything about Scottish politics - well, add this group and you have a rather gnarly mix of left-wingers ready to hijack Mr. Farage's limelight).

Standing in the middle of the Royal Mile, Mr. Farage found himself being shouted at as a racist and that he should leave immediately and go home! Well, this was not what he was expecting, but it is what he got and a little more. Most of the protesters were young and college aged and you know that when one is of that age, one knows more than anyone else, and one is inclined to late night discussions and debates in dorm rooms or in pubs where one expounds how brilliant ones ideas are and at times gets a bit radical and holier than thou on things in general, mostly political things in general. So if you keep in mind here you had a fired up, passionate bunch of young men mostly, waving fists in the air, shouting at the top of their lungs, the atmosphere becomes a little intimidating . . . shall we say? Yes, we shall and that is exactly what happened.

As you can imagine this quite shook up Mr. Farage who told reporters, "We have never had a reception like this anywhere in Britain before. Clearly, it's anti-British and anti English. They hate the Union Jack."

However, they do love the Saltire! That is when it happens to be white on a blue background. None of that red, white and blue stuff, oh no, no.

Police were called and they did try to put MEP Farage in a taxi, but the driver wouldn't take him. To add insult to injury a second taxi was called, but that driver too refused and zoomed off leaving the situation as is. Oh what to do? This gave the crowd to jeering at Mr. Farage and shouting some not very nice things like calling the fellow a "racist Nazi scum!" Try listening to that being shouted at you with a Scottish burr. Um hum.

Seeing the crowd was bolstering up and the situation getting tenser by the moment, the police quickly escorted Mr. Farage to a pub, the Canon Gate to be exact where the wooden doors were locked behind him. Once inside he was treated to listening to the protesters chant, "Vote Yes for Scotland" and a few of them revealed a 20 foot banner that said the same. Someone even joked (and I think it was the Weasil) that Farage would come out for a ciggie sooner than later, and they could confront him again. The crowd had no trouble letting Mr. Farage know where he could "stick your Union Jack!" Others decided to take a well intentioned stroll round the back of the pub in case Mr. Farage thought he could escape that way.

But the Lothian and Borders Police brought a riot van in and it stopped outside the pub doors -- in the front. Yes, it did. Fun about to be over, em no not quite yet. About a dozen protesters managed to get themselves in the pub with Mr. Farage where the journalists and police were in attendance as well. Mr. Farage tried to reason with them, vehemently denying his party nor himself were racists or had any ties with the BNP (British National Party). But this was met with disbelief, yes it was. To drown his hyperbole out, the protesters began chanting and singing which was also picked up outside the pub and the pub keeper had had enough and asked all to please leave his premises, which caused a rather sticky problem for the police.

The crowd outside had an antsy ten minute wait before the pub doors were opened and seeing their chance they moved forward while the police tried to protect Mr. Farage's person and shoved him into the van safely.

As the van sped away the crowd put up a rousing cheer of good riddance. Weasil said you could see Farage on his mobile through the back window where the grills were set, looking like a criminal who had got caught and was being carted away. The red of his face in humiliation, redder than a beet.

I don't think Mr. Farage will be visiting Scotland again anytime soon do you?

A member of the RIE (Radical Independence Edinburgh) piped up, "Farage came up to Scotland to spread his racism and bigotry here -- we showed he's not welcome! His party Ukip have always achieved a derisory vote in Scotland but Farage thought that could change after their recent local election successes in England. In 2014 we finally have the chance to get rid of the political system at Westminster that pours fuel into the bigoted fire of Farage and Ukip. Scotland wants to be a country that welcomes immigrants -- but we need independence to make that desire a reality."

For his part, Mr. Farage later told an interviewer, "Normally I would love to be locked in a pub, but it was pretty unpleasant. If this is the face of Scottish nationalism, it's a pretty ugly picture. This was dressed up as an anti-racism protest, but it was nothing of the sort -- it was an anti English thing." And further, "The protesters were not prepared to have a conversation," but he did say the police did a fine job from keeping a "very nasty" situation from getting even nastier. He was disturbed at the "deeply racist, with a total hatred of the English, the anger, the hatred, the snarling, the shouting, the swearing, was all linked in a desire for the Union Jack to be burnt and extinguished from Scotland forever, etc.," Uh . . . do you think?

His parting shot now that he was safe, was that the protesters were, are you ready? A bunch of "yobbo fascist scum." Shortly after this when asked if he had appeared calm in the face of adversity, perhaps he might have fared better, and that observation got Mr. Farage extremely upset to where he ended the interview, to which the general observation was that the whole "incident" had quite unnerved the gent to where he wasn't back to feeling quite himself.

Well, what can one say eh? Those who wish him ill will hope every interview he has goes much the same and those who wish Mr. Farage well will hope he recovers from his ordeal at the hands of those "yobbos and fascists" that so hindered a lovely visit to Edinburgh.

Oh and a picture to memorialise the visit of Mr. Farage to Edinburgh, courtesy of Andrew Milligan/PA.

Nigel with police escort - doesn't he look thrilled?

As to the other Nigel, who sat silently as Weasil with much animation regaled us of events, well, he had little to say and up and left without a by your leave, yes he did.

"Ya think it were sumthin' I said?" Weasil asked me with a devilsh smile.

"Er . . . could have been, just didn't take Mr. Hall-Parker for a Ukip or anti-Scottish independence sort, but considering the rather abrupt leave-taking . . . " I shrugged at the wonder of it all. SIGH.

So there you have it, and let this be a reminder, IF you visit Edinburgh do not mention the Ukip or Mr. Farage UNLESS you want a rather vigorous debate of your own.

Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved

Oh Lord Northhampton, Tut Tut Tut

27 May 2013

R. Linda:

The question is this, what do you do when you find out that the musty old statue that doesn't go with the decor nor history of the place you are in, is assessed for a lorry full of cash? You sell it right? You send an alert out to Ebay shoppers everywhere that YOU have something wonderful and a must have, for someone who collects all things Egyptian or someone in Egypt who might want it back. Yes indeed.

Here this is what it looks like:

Photo: Northampton Museum (and yes, that is the "little woman" at her lord and masters feet)

Nice, hey? Just dust it off, photograph it and stick it on Ebay! How simple would that be? Well, not so fast.

Before one sticks the thing on Ebay, one must make sure the person who donated it all those many long years ago, doesn't have a relative who might get wind of your perfect 5 star sale and put a stop to your cashing in.

That is exactly what happened to the Northampton Borough Council that had met several times trying to come up with ways to fund heritage projects in the area. Imagine their surprise when an insurance assessment gave them quite a large and surprising monetary figure.

Mainly they'd like to sell it so they may invest the money in cultural projects that would be more in keeping with modern Northampton's cultural needs.

The council feels the "piece" is not a central part of the borough's history truly. It was picked up by Spencer Joshua Alwyne Compton, a 19th century aristocrat and second Marquess and donated in 1880 by the fourth Marquess of Northampton, to the borough museum's Egyptian collection. The statue is a mere 30" tall sculpture of Sekhema, thought to date to 2400 BC. But the seventh Marquess and current Lord Northampton, Spencer Douglas David Compton, is quite certain the council has no authority in the sale of his relatives donation. He has his legal experts stepping in to prevent the sale, and it does look like he is in his right. It is all a question I suppose of: IS the statue a part of the original collection or just an added piece? I ask you? I'm sure I don't know and since I be making nothing on this, I don't really care either. But then that's me.

The gift of deed does indeed say that "at no time dispose of any part of the collection." It further states that the loss of the statue or any specimen would leave the museum financially liable and the entire collection would revert to the Marquess or his heirs. This tells me the seventh Marquess doesn't want it either and well . . . we are talking a cool £2 million. But could it be the "curse" that all Egyptian statues brought to England seem to produce, as it is a fact that the second Marquess died the very next year he brought Sekhama home to Northampton! So there is THAT little bother.

Oh what one could do with all that money! Anyway a council spokesman feels the "piece" is not a "key part" of the town's history. And the insurance fees to keep the liability claims at bay could be better spent on other things more modern and needful as well as beneficial to Northampton, the town, not the Marquess.

So ladies and gents what should they do? I think if the "piece" was added after the original Egyptian collection it should go on the block. Haul it off to Ebay post-haste I say! And don't mention anything about a curse if you put it in auction. Shhh, mummies the word, I mean mum!

Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved

It's All Relative Isn't It?

25 May 2013

R. Linda:

I have a dysfunctional family history. So to discover the dysfunction continues in a family line one didn't know existed until recently, came as a huge surprise to yours truly.

It started with a call from me Mam. She told me in talking to me Da's new relatives she told them she had a son in Boston. They in turn, told her there was a slew of THEM in Boston. Me own grey haired, apple cheeked little Mam threw me under the bus when she said, "Here's me son's phone number, ring the boyo up and go fer a visit!" AND THEY DID! But these were not directly related, no this was a woman who married an O'Connor and when her husband O'Connor passed away, married a Doyle. And these people were Doyles not O'Connors.

I was sitting in me living room when the phone rang and a voice said, "Hey Gabe, how ah ya?" I was not recognising the voice but it was decidedly Bostonian in accent.

"Sorry, who is this?" I asked.

"This is yah third step cousin once or twice removed, Betts Doyle," and the voice laughed as if this was a joke.

"Sorry?" I said not understanding right away.

"Your ma and my husband's ma had a phone conversation . . . "

"OH say no more." I knew then who it was. Me long lost non-cousin that was not directly related to me in any way shape or form but through a step parent maybe, that I wasn't looking for, nor forward to getting to know. And I must trust me instincts more because once I met them, it not only put me in a strenuously stressful state of mind, it sent me wife to hospital.

It all started with being talked into a meeting. As you know I live in the woods. Me abode is a nice place now that we have worked to fixing it up the way we like it. It be a comfortable place, very antique (which it is) and we take care of what we have because that's how we were brought up to appreciate our abode being a reflection of ourselves. Tonya has taught our boyos to take care of their things as well and they are very well behaved I must say. BUT I know not all children are, a lot are indulged and have little to no respect for others "things" shall we say? And when you work so hard it is particularly disconcerting to put up with that sort of thing from others. We have a few children the boyos play with that pretty near turn our furniture over when they visit. So when I got the call that the unknown relatives were bringing the young daughter, I was like UH OH. Especially, since the wife is in a high risk pregnancy and any little thing can set her off.

I did make a remark that the boyos would be in school and there would be no one to play with, so have her bring something to occupy her little self unless she liked Star War toys, she was welcome to play away. Well, I was told "She's 7 going on 30." OK.

But knowing me wife I did say, we had a lot that wasn't childproof and that made the new cousin a little snippy back with this, "She's well behaved she won't touch your things!" Wow.

Well, I can say right off it be a good thing me Mam lives far away because the "visit" was rather a stress filled one. Over the phone I was being told about this person and that person, none of which I knew of or recognised a tad about, and before I could say Bob's your uncle, I get this: "So Gabe, me an Michaelis will be up next Friday, noon, an don't have lunch ready we'll grab a burga on the way. Oh and before I forget my fatha will be with us. So take the day off it isn't everyday ya get to meet yer long lost relatives ya didn't know ya had, hahahaha!"

I went around the dance hall with this bird, but she would not take no for an answer. She told me she knew where I lived and no directions OR lunch needed. Seems she had looked me up on the Internet, but I know there are two other people with me name up here, so could be I'd luck out and she'd be on her way to one of them instead. Yeah right I should be so lucky. But when I thought about it, I be not that easy to find. So . . . was there a real possibility she was off to another O'Sullivans?

Yesterday dawned rainy and windy. The wife was home, the two boyos had school. Tonya wasn't feeling well, but she told me she'd be able to "entertain" and not to worry. It was in the back of me mind if she was staying home I should be worrying. So the noon hour came and went and I was happy the new relatives were at another O'Sullivan's abode when at ten minutes after the hour, a car slowly pulls up to the crashing of thunder and lightning. I thought to meself, how perfect is this? Gees!

I could see the woman's face clearly, her mouth was an 'O' as she looked at the house and I realised, me abode was probably nicer than where she was from. Uh oh.

I went out on the porch as a small person charged out of the car and passed me into me house! She was a blur I tell ya. Then came Betty or Betts, her hair cut to her head like she was wearing a brown helmet,  in bedazzle wear, so bedazzled I was seeing flashing spots before me eyes, then the husband, dressed in undershirt and jeans with a rather tobacco stained vest, and finally grandpa, the biker dude in his dirty leathers, nicotine stained white beard, and cigarette. I could smell the cigarette odour on all of them as they came up to me. When you do not smoke that smell is far from pleasant. I introduced meself and they did themselves and went on through, as I gulped a breath of air to follow them in.

Poor Tonya who is allergic to nicotine backed up from the group holding her breath. I knew immediately she was wishing the weather was good we could go outside in the back and sit out there. But no, it was pouring and we were stuck! Thanks Ma!

As soon as they were all inside, Betty turns to her men and says, "We can't invite these people to our dump, look at this place."

Em . . .

"You sure are a lucky ducky Tonya to have a place like this, do you work?"

That took the wife aback, she was stunned, and said of course she did (I was waiting for the "Of course I do FOOL") but she thought it, just didn't say it out loud.

Betty's hubby says to me, "Hey Gabe yer an Okie? From Oklahoma? You sound like an Okie."

I was speechless. This is the first time an Irish accent has been taken for a heartland one and I was rather taken aback. Would it not have been more polite to leave off the "Okie" insult and just asked, "Where are you from?" Oh my.

Before we could even sit down, Betty had a pile of photo albums she was slamming on the table and opening up to show me. "This is the tribe," she says, sliding the first of 6 albums in front of me. I sat down because I knew, yes I did, this was not going to be a quick flipping through the pages because she was turning them for me after an explanation of each. Oi, oi, oi! After the first ten pages I started to get suspicious of just WHO I was looking at.

"Are these O'Connors?" I asked knowing in me heart they were not.

"No, these are my branch the Cantonelli's."

"Okay, so which one of you is the O'Connor?" I asked also realising it wasn't her.

"Oh that's Michaelis. He's yer relative a few times removed and stepped. You know like in step matha. But he's a Doyle."

Yeah and I knew that too. So much for any known bloodline linking us.

Michaelis was as interested in this stuff as I was. "Remind me who are these people again?" He asked Betts.

"They're the O'Connor branch." She said all knowing.

He sat at the end of the table looking around the kitchen sizing the place up, while grandda who was a Cantonelli, stood there breathing heavily and wheezing like his lungs were tarred up, which they probably are. The child had disappeared into our living room and that is where Tonya had gone to, to get away from the nicotine. What they were doing I did not know but I could hear Tonya trying to coax the child into colouring books.

Finally everyone took a seat and they started dissing on the rest of their family. As Betty would flip to a new picture I got a round of razzing of that person from Betty, Michaelis and the biker grandda.

"Oh that's Steve, he's in witness protection," Michaelis threw out as we came to a picture of a rather natty dressed man from the 1940s.

"That's a joke?" I asked, no it wasn't. They even told me what his new name was. And he's still alive. Great way of keeping his new identity hidden. I tell ya!

We got to Auntie Lu who had Hodgkin's Lymphoma, Auntie Tina who had Hodgkin's Disease "full blast", Uncle Albert who had Parkinson's disease and Uncle Louie, who had the "big C" and I piped up and asked, "These are all Cantonellis?"

"Yeah they are." Betty said.

"What runs in the O'Connor family, do you know?"

"Alcoholism," Michaelis pipes up and snickers.

Great. And I'm thinking with so much cancer in the Cantonelli family why are they such heavy smokers?

Onto photo album number 2 and more Cantonellis. Oh yeah great. A newer batch. By book three I noticed a phenomenon, the child of which I had not got a good look at was all about the dog and was running in and out of the house with the animal zooming along side. Tonya finally gave up shutting the door after the child who left it wide open. Tonya took to making coffee and offering cake of which that was refused because not one of them eats cake. OK. But beer would be good. I did mention to Betts she might want to look after the child because she was running amok with no guidance.

"Oh she's fine." I was told. Meanwhile, without us knowing the child had found the doggy treats and fed the setter not one box, but two box fulls of treats she wouldn't get but over a three month period. I found a sick dog and empty boxes when they left. Dog has been sick all night, but wait, that wasn't the only animal she wrecked havoc on. On one of her zooms outside she saw me neighbours horse out in the field. She and setter went zooming down to his barn where she found 4 lbs. of carrots and proceeded to feed all of them to the horse. Lucky for us, the horse is fine, but the old neighbour is thinking he be losing his mind because he has somehow mislaid 4 lbs. of carrots! I knew what she had done after the fact when they were leaving and she was telling Gramps about the horse and how many carrots she found, "lots and lots I fed it, thought the horse would POP."

I never saw any pictures of the step O'Connors, never heard any stories on the step O'Connors but I know all bout the Cantonellis! But midway through this Tonya left and came back with her coat and car keys.

"I have to go. I'll call you." She says and gives me a kiss, then tells the "tribe" it was nice meeting them. I ran out after her to find the excitement was too much, she's was experiencing contractions and she was taking herself to the emergency. I was floored, I told her I'd drive her, but she insisted I stay. We argued to the car and I could see she was getting more upset with me, so I let her go with every intention of shooing everyone out and going after her.

I told them what had transpired, but Betts is a nurse and says, "Oh she'll be all right." And proceeded to open another photo album of Cantonellis. I was dumbfounded. The more I protested the more they talked over me and told me that Tonya was fine. It was a usual occurrence and better she have the baby sooner than later. I was like WHAT? Don't you think if that happens I SHOULD BE THERE? Well, this 'debate' went on for 30 minutes when it was interrupted by me mobile phone. It was Tonya, she was going for an ultra sound but baby seemed fine, she'd let me know the results. I offered to come over and she said, "No, really Gabe, its fine." The one day she has to be brave, is the day I want to leave, but no, she doesn't want me to leave the "relatives." I don't know sometimes, and I certainly don't know why I have the ill fortune I do!

Around 4 p.m. the "relatives" left all happy, beered up and full of threats to come visit again. It was then I noticed the sick dog and me neighbour tooling up the driveway with an empty wooden carton. Just what I didn't need. I waited for the neighbour as the others pulled off honking (who does that?) with the dog throwing up its guts in the driveway.

"Sick dog ya got theah Gabriel. Hey Gabe, I got a carton of carrots a good 4 pounds and I had em' down in ma barn and discovered they be all gone. Did ya by any chance take some?"

"No, you know I wouldn't without asking." I said rather perturbed.

"Well, okay because I saw that young visitor of yers in ma barn and by the hoss and wondered . . . " his voice trailed off. Then it hit me what she had said, being I was preoccupied with Tonya and I told him she might have taken them, but I did not know for sure, but I would be happy to reimburse him.

"Uh no, no, I just wondered, the hoss is off its feed and I thought she might have feed those carrots to it. Hoss's will eat as much as you'll give them, they'd eat themselves to death if you left food out. You best get to that dog, it doesn't look like its doin' well." He said and left me.

I went in the house to get the water bowl thinking it would need water and as I walked in the back into the mudroom I noticed the empty doggy treats. OH MY GOD! I called the Vet, had to wait for that call, so I used the landline on calling Tonya, no answer! I called me neighbour and asked if she'd pick the kiddos up from school. She had as prearranged with Tonya. Would she mind keeping them a little longer and I explained what had happened to Tonya. No problem. No sooner had I hung up the mobile rang and it was the Vet, I gave them the ingredients in the box and they told me to keep the dog drinking water and there was nothing that would harm her in the treats, just give her a belly ache. As I was hanging up Tonya started texting me she was doing well, she'd be home as soon as her labs came back, but she would be having hospital dinner, so get something for myself. I said I'd be right over and she told me no, that was ridiculous she was doing much better and should be out of there by 7 p.m.

SO I tried to get the dog to drink the water, she wouldn't. She'd just whine pitifully and the cat stalked around smirking. I realised then that Mr. Kits had hidden himself the entire time all this was going on and probably laughing at the dog chowing down all those treats. I was in a daze at all that had happened in one day and the aftermath of not knowing anymore about my step relatives but that they are crude, combative, smokers, and beer drinkers with a child who could do in every animal within a five minute radius.

Having nothing to do but what I was, I rang up me old Ma. Yes, I did and I knew it was late over there, but I did not care. I gave her a piece of me mind I did and told her NOT to do that again! She was thinking me as cantankerous as me grandda, but I did not care. "Come on now Gabe, ya had to be excited about new relatives." No, no I wasn't. AND they were Doyles and Cantonellis, they weren't even O'Connors or for that matter a token O'Sullivan!

"Cantonelli? Isn't that Italian?" Asks she.

"You think?" I said sarcastically.

"We don't have Italian blood. How'd we get a Cantonelli in dere?"

"Do you really have to ask me that, Ma?" Shortly after I hung up. What was the use?

I sat there in a stupor but not for long, I realised I smelled of nicotine and needed a shower, but that didn't happen. I found meself answering the door to that seasonal pest that invades me happy home without warning, yet once again. The Weasil was bored. Yes, he was and how that state of being can happen to someone who causes chaos wherever he goes, is beyond me comprehension, but bored is what he said he was, and viola there he was darkening me doorstep. And there I was thinking he was a few hours too late for the 'excitement'.


I was just about to get in the shower, so I told him to make himself at home and as soon as I was showered and dressed, I'd join him to listen to just how bored he was. I wanted to wash the nicotine off me along with the bad memories.

"Hey Gabbie, ya got any of da latest scientific religious books hanging around?"

I had to stop and mumble scientific religious books to meself. I was about to say that was an oxymoron, but he had found the newspaper. Without a word I went to me shower. While I was in there I thought I heard knocking, but I could not be sure. A moment or so later, I thought I heard voices. Well, once showered and dressed I went into me living room and asked if someone had come to the door.

"Yuppers, dey did it wuz da JW's -- a new crop." Weasil said folding the paper.

"JW's?"

"Yuppers, Jehovah's Witnesses? Dem."

"OHHH," I said glad I was not available.

"I tole em' yer arse wuz in da basement watchin' porn. I dunt think they'll be back."

Of course he did. Lovely. I tell ya! Could me day get any worse?

I sat meself down and steeled meself to ask the question, why was the Weas bored? Certainly, Boston offered a myriad of things to do and see. Certainly, he hasn't been everywhere there is to go in Bean Town? But apparently, according to him, he has done it all!

I sat and thought about that, and I have to give it over, he probably has done it all. If I had 24/7 to spend doing anything I wanted for years at a time, I'd have seen all of Bean Town and more.

"So here you be." I said slapping me thighs.

"Yuppers, here I be." He said slapping his.

Silence. Not a word was said as we stared at each other, hoping the other would have something to say to break that awkward moment. The timing on his mobile phone was right because I heard the sound of crickets! I swear it was perfect! He has that sound when he gets a text.

"Well!" I slapped me thighs again as he looked at his phone message.

"Well!" Said he, slapping his.

"This is sad," I said.

"Yuppers it iz." He said back and more silence.

Suddenly he got up and came over with hand extended, "Allow me to introduce meself, I be THE WEASIL, and you are?"

I had taken his hand before he opened his mouth and was shaking it as that spiel came forth. I looked up at him with me mouth hanging open in dumb surprise. He sat back down and was punching in numbers on his mobile phone.

"What are you doing? Or, who are you ringing?" I asked as he looked intent as he pushed some buttons.

"I think we needies us a third person to make life worth livin'" He said putting the phone to his ear.

"Who you ringing up?" I asked leaning forward.

"Da Wolf."

"No, no, no, you can't do that," I said getting up to take his phone from him but he moved his head around and put up a finger to hold me off as he started talking.

"It's da Weasil, I'z lookin' fer da man," he said.

I rolled my eyes and mouthed to him to hang up.

He shook his head and continued talking, "Yeah, I needies em' ta ring me when he can." And with that he clicked off.

"WHAT in heaven's name are you doing bothering him?" I said a wee bit outraged. "It is NOT like he's right around the corner, he's in Ireland! Do you think he's going to hop a plane and come here just to entertain the likes of YOU?" I was indignant I was.

"Really Gabbie, yer needies ta settle down it ain't like I wan' em' ta fly here, cuz we are gonna fly dere instead."

"Oh . . . oh . . . oh no we are not!" I said moving back from him, shaking my head 'no.' Then I explained to him all that happened, where Tonya was at, how worried I was, and he looked all concerned.

"Ya haven't had dinner?"

"Dinner? I tell you all that and you ask me if I've had dinner?"

"Yup, I take it yer hasn't. I will make ya dinner while ya waits." He got up went to the kitchen got some Chinese noodles and some chicken and started preparing something.

"We having Chinese?" I asked looking to see the dog flat out asleep under the table.

"Nopers we iz gonner have Japanese."

"No, no, noodles and chicken are Chinese." I said.

"Nope, nope, noppers it iz Chinese not Japanese me Korean friend tole me so."

I had no time to react because Tonya came walking in. Surprise WEASIL IN HER KITCHEN! Just what the doctor ordered, NOT!

She looked stunned, but sat down and told us she was fine, baby was healthy, just the nicotine had set her allergies off coupled with the rambunctious child. It was shortly later the kiddos arrived tired out and dinner was served. It was quite good but there is no way Weasil's dish wasn't Chinese. He crashed in our guest room and today has been quite a help. Just when you think he isn't worth much, he proves otherwise. He's been on the phone several times trying to make me think he has a direct line to Wolfie, but I know better. He's hatching up a tri-state tour next week with Rabbie. I know it's coming. After last year and the inertia switch fiasco I can hardly wait.

Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved