Susan says, why not just say it as it is?

Susan says, why not just say it as it is?


Apparently anyway, Susan doesn't cook! Has no sense of humour- and sacrificed him for her art.

Susan thought accepting he go to Switzerland was a nice thing. Take her arty stuff, but get a brake from the dole queue, signings.

She should have gone herself...

Far too hot for a cloak!

"Hello Ferdi."
"Hi LIl."
"What you readin?"
"James Baldwin."
"What?"
"James Baldwin."
"What."
"James Baldwin."
"Oh, Is it good?
"It's a fable about pursuasion over force.."
"What?"
"It's a fable."
"On the table?"
"Fable, Lil. Fable."
"What happens?"
"A man who takes his cloak off."
"Ferd?"
"Yes Lil?"
"What's it about?"
"A man wearing a cloak."
"What?"
"A man."
"Oh! What happens?"
"He takes off his cloak."
"What?"
"He removes his cloak."
"Why?"
"Cos he's hot."
"What?"
"He's hot."
"What not?"
"Not what not, hot."
"Hot not!"
"He's too hot in his cloak."
"Well he would be; day like this, fancy wearing a cloak on a day like this," Lil said, and said. "Far too hot to wear a cloak!" and then said, "I'm hot and I'm not wearing a cloak.. before stepping out to gulp some green water from the bird bath. On her return she said, "don't know why you do all that reading, I could have told you that: it's too hot for a cloak."

"Would you like too read it?"
"What?"
"Read it?"
"No not now I know what it's about..."


The wind and the Sun once had a dispute as to which was the stronger of the two.
"Do you see that traveler plodding along the road?" said the Wind. "Let us both try our strength on him, and let the one who can first strip him of his cloak be the winner."
"Agreed," said the Sun.

The Wind began first. He blew a blast which sent the leaves flying through air; he raised clouds of dust in the road, bent the tops of the trees to the ground, and even tore up one sturdy oak by the roots. But the colder it grew and the more it stormed, the tighter the traveler held his cloak around him.

Then the Sun began. He burst out from behind a black cloud, and, little by little, darted his sultry beams upon the traveler's head and back. The man did not notice this much at first, but soon the heat was so great that he stopped to wipe the sweat from his face.
"Ah!" he said, " I cannot stand this. It is so hot that one might as well be in an oven!" Then he threw off his cloak, and carried it under his arm; and when he came to a tree by the roadside he sat down under its shade to cool himself.

After that, the Wind never claimed to be stronger than the Sun...

The heat Ferdinand is making you curmudgeonly.!

Israel is on the move. It is moving tonight inside Lebanon even though it has said the build up of troops on it's northern border were not for an invasion force... but that was before they walked over the border and captured a village -so they weren't lying then -just must learn to read more thoroughly between the front lines...

"The heat Ferdinand is making you curmudgeonly.!"


I'm sitting in a pink puff prawn cocktail toxic cloud and assailed by a voice -the sound of nails on a blackboard -Dolly is at my shoulder and on my back.

"Or should I say more curmudgeonly than your normal curmudgeonly self."

What dross that stripy wonder cat mews -I was going to say sometimes -but why qualify it.

I have managed to keep coolish. Laying on the tiles in the conservatory works well until the sun comes round and turns the glasshouse into a storage radiator. I had found shade under the cherry tree. I'd formed a tidy hollow in the dry earth and I was just nodding off when I was invaded by an angry army of red ants. Took me all day to remove the bad tempered blighters from my furry body. Anyway the next best place is on the garden table under the sun umbrella- the only draw back this is Dolly's patch and apart from the distinct aroma of old cod heads I do have to listen to her Daily Bile utterances of what the sensible should say to earn the crust of cooldom.

Ferdinand, GB plc and the chaos theory.

The chaos of the middle east continues...

Iran (axis of evil-and wearing a black hat) must be to blame because the rockets launched from the backs of lorries hail from that country and y..
"Ferd? "
"I'm busy."
"But Ferd."
"YES?"
"Arms are GB plc's greatest export!"
"I know."
"But if we believe the manufacturer of arms is responsible, we could be up to our whiskers in shrapnel, you're just asking to be bombed!"
"Not a bad idea (the being held responsible not the whiskers and bomb bit-) But no, I'm pointing out the obvious."
"But Ferd this is just too serious."
"Dolly everything has many sides. We have history.. We have our talents.. Our character.. Our beliefs our humo..."
"Ok Ferd, I get the point. But you are supposed to be writing your autobiography."
"Yes, and I have written three pages, but as I write this it becomes my history, so I've only got to get from there to here and this bit will be already written. "
"Ferd you're a genius!"
"I know, but it's nice of you to say so."
"Ferd?"
"Yes ?"
"Where do the Israelis get their arms?"
"America."
"So if Iran is to blame.."
"Yes Doll?"
"That's all."

Let the fur fly

I don't (always) understand humans; loathe, as I am to admit it. And I am, of course a great understander of the human condition. But, the news arrives in shrapnel bursts from the speakers and assaults my eardrums. And I question: if the Jews above all people can't learn what hope then for the rest of humanity?...! The Israelies posture that they have the right to defend themselves. Of course, every spirit has and must, no one could or would argue against such a tenant, but I can argue with the methodology. I can and should defend myself against being squished by big rubber wheels; should I therefore blast off the road every car, lorry, and motorbike that traverses my course?

History if forgotten has a danger of repeating itself. I would have hoped the Jews would have understood that lesson, and have been if not generous then magnanimous in their responses, but it seems humans regardless of their race, creed, sex and experience serve their own needs regardless of the consequences. A despairing position.

Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.

David Beckham world cup 2006

"England! England! England!"
"Stop shouting."
"I'm excited."
"England!England!"
"Ferdinand!!!"
"England!"
"Ferd."
"Yes Doll?"
"Stop shouting."
"England."
"Ferrrrrrd!"
"England! England! England!"

Jim the graveyard cat

Through the large black wrought iron gates across the flagstones, a shortcut walked to the shops. At Christmas time once a year and for that day only the gates are closed, this preserves the path as private property. Most of the gravestones have been removed some re-rooted along the stone wall. A few headstones remain; lichen clad most of the inscriptions worn away by rain and wind. But one tomb is lichen free, well tended, the wording recut. This is the resting place of Thomas Helliker hanged March 22, 1803 in the 19th year of his age. A cloth worker, he was arrested in 1802 on suspicion of threatening a night-watchman with a pistol during an anti-machinery mill-burning riot. Although protesting his innocence, he refused to betray the real culprit, a fellow member of the shearmen's union, and was subsequently tried and hanged on his 19th birthday. He was later cleared of any wrongdoing and was adopted by the trades unionists as a martyr marking their struggle through turbulent times.

And this is where Jim the graveyard cat's black backside was now parked. His eyes closed face tilted up to catch the warmth of the sun. Without raising so much as an eyelash...
"Hello Ferd, "he bellowed in that low slow West Country accent.
"Morning Jim," and I jumped up to join my good chum on the warmed stone.
We sat side by side, sharing the sunshine.
Two good ladies from St James' were tugging weeds from the rose bed, Mavis and Mabel. Mavis had blue hair.

"How's Doll, Ferd?"
"She's ok, Doll being Doll."
"And Lil ?"
"Ok, although shes gone deaf."
"Stone me."
"Yep, deaf."
"Well I'm sorry to hear that."

Mavis said, "I'm not getting that dandelion root up, they go deep they do and I'm not digging, you never know what'll come up in here; a bony finger breaking through the soil!"
"Could give us a hand with digging!"
"Er."
"Look at those two will you? looks like their having a conversation!" Mabel chuckled.
"What the F~+* do they think were doing?" Jim muttered
"No point whispering Jim, they can't understand us."
"I know! but for *~#+ sake!" His language as broad as his dialect. "Fancy coming down to mine and sharing a vole?"
"Fried or boiled?"
"Last one there is a mangy F*&$+*+# fleabag." Jimmy yelled leaping off our resting place, and we raced off to Jim's gaff. Through a break in the stone of the church and down to the cellar which housed gardening bits and bobs; Jim's bed was a seed tray made from pinewood with an old potato canvas sack for a blanket and protective cover against splinters from the rough wood.
"Look at them now Mave. They look like they got it up em. They dont like it up em ey Mave?"
"Pehaps they got the finger, the bony finger..."