Friday, 28 December 2012

It’s Christmas!

There are some things that I could do without, such as work and the responsibilities that come with being a grown man with a mortgage. And there are some things that I need, such as Christmas TV. Now, that may appear to a little strange to most of you but here is why.

In trying to forget the responsibilities it is nice to try and reclaim childhood. Christmas TV can help me do that. There are new programs such as the Gruffalo, The Gruffalos Child and The Snowman etc. There are also the old programs that I was, almost, forced to watch as a child, Morecombe and Wise etc.All of these allow me to shed the veneer of adulthood and, for the duration of the program, become the child I used to be and lose myself in these fantasy worlds.



Over the years I have watched these programs with my own children and now I watch with my granddaughter (soon to have a brother or sister :-) )

Silly games. These need to be played, while supping the Christmas booze. We can play board games till late at night, making up our own rules as we get more drunk! It may have been an eye-opener for no.1 sons girlfriend this year as we played 'Articulate' and 'The Logo Game' late into the night. The laughs that accompany these sessions can be quite stress relieving for a short time, till the daily grind of paying the bills returns with a bang!

But do not mistake childlike with childish, there is a world of difference.

Sunday, 9 December 2012

That Special Time of Year

That time has arrived when we are building up to the arrival of of the fat bloke with the beard and the red suit. In a couple of weeks time we will have to leave out a glass of scotch, a mince pie and a carrot. Just in case the mythical character wants to get a little fatter, pissed and feed his transport carrots. By the way, did you know that carrots contain traces of lysergic acid diethylamide? That’s LSD to us mortals. You would have to eat several tons of carrots to get high, but poor old Rudolph must be stoned all the time!


Anyway, today was the day that the Christmas decorations would go up. Every year I forget what a trying experience this is. Christmas music, or a Christmas film goes on, and out come the boxes of decorations.

We have, or had, 7 sets of lights for the tree, or wherever we decide to put them. Some go outside and the rest go inside. But of the 7 only 3 were working, or had the power adapters. Now this is something that I do not understand. Last year, and every year, we put everything away in a box. One for the tree, one for the decorations and one for the lights and the bits that go with them. But it seems that every year, during the summer, someone, or something, goes into my attic and rearranges the boxes. Even going so far as to remove some of the contents and hide them. Because this year there were a couple of the power adapters missing. There were also several sets of lights that didn’t work, either completely or partially. When they were put away they worked. So what has happened during the year to stop them working? This must be something to do with the Law of Sod. Closely related to Murphy’s Law, but nothing to do with Coles Law which, I think you will find, is shredded cabbage, carrot and onion with a little mayo.


Eventually we have a tree that is illuminated, the room festooned with tinsel and baubles and 2 empty bottles of wine.

To be completely honest, I wonder whether it was worth the effort.



And a happy Christmas to anyone who reads this.

Giant68 Smile

Saturday, 10 November 2012

Under Egyptian Skies

Disclaimer: All the names and faces have been changed to protect the innocent…

Bugger that! There were no innocents in this story, we were all as guilty as hell, of having a good time, laughing too much, drinking not enough… you get the picture.

Not being able to go to Spain this year and visit Jose the surly barman and all the others, we decided, after careful thought, to go to Egypt and cruise down the Nile. This started off badly due to the fact that the flight was dry. Egyptair are muslim so no booze! Nevertheless, we survived the trip without a glass of red and arrived at Luxor airport where the process of starting to separate us from our money began. Just 20 quid for the entry visa this time.

On the coach and try and figure out just what the rules of the road   are in this country. It seems that after dark it is optional to use headlights, if your vehicle has them. Occasionally, and at random intervals, you will flash your headlights for no apparent reason. Egypt is starting to confuse me!

We reached our cruise ship(?) late at night so didn’t get to see anything of Luxor till sunrise the next morning, but I must admit that the view was stunning.


Having never been out of Europe the baking sun was a bit of a shock to the system, as was the boiled horse that spent most of the day sunbathing, posing, pouting and generally thrusting her sunburnt chest at any man that ventured onto the sun deck of the MS Darakum. I think that she was French, and boy, did she love herself! Strangely, rather than the women on the boat getting bitchy about her it was the men that made more derogatory comments.

From the minute we stepped off the boat we learnt that the locals have one aim in life. And that aim is to separate any tourist and his money. The most used word in Egyptian is ‘baksheesh’ which I think means ‘Hello good sir, would you please empty your pockets of anything of value and give it to me or I will follow you to the ends of the Earth pestering you until you can take no more.’ They will try and sell you papyrus bookmarks, scarab bracelets, scarves, anything that they think a European would want to take home and throw in the bin. If you take a photograph of one of the monuments and they think that they may be in it they want paying. As a tourist your most used phrase will be ‘la shokran’ or no thankyou, even though, after a couple of days you want to say ‘f^<$ off!’


The guy above decided that I would take his photo with Mrs Giant68. He wanted paying for the privilege of course, which I duly did. He had a gun.

Next time I will tell you of the towel animals, the sights and sounds, the food, the waiter that looked like benny from ‘The Mummy’ and the friends we made. But now I am just going to look back through the photos I took and remember the really fantastic holiday that we had cruising down the Nile on the Nile on the MS Darakum.



Giant68 Smile

Sunday, 21 October 2012

A shameful confession

I have a terrible confession to make. It will make grown men cry and people will shun me. There is a good chance that I will be hounded in the street and persecuted for the rest of my life. But to clear my conscience I must confess.

I have been a science fiction fan for as long as I have been able to read. At school I read novels by Hugh Walters. I watched films like ‘Forbidden Planet’. I listened to Jet Morgan and the Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy. As I grew older I moved to novels by Asimov and Blish. The Foundation series and Cities in Flight are still some of my favourite reading. When I was 12 years old I went to the cinema and was completely blown away by  film where a starship appears from the top of the screen, energy beams are lighting it up and then a massive starship is chasing it. Star Wars had an impact on my pre-teenage mind. If there were any doubts as to whether I liked the futuristic universe they were gone. Now I read the same stuff, Neal Asher, Peter F Hamilton, Ian M Banks among many. I love it, you will already know this if you read all my blogs.


But here is where it starts to go wrong. ITV have been showing the later Star Wars prequels. When they first came out I went to the cinema to see them and thought ‘Wow!’ But now I have sat and watched them through an adults eyes and thought ‘actually they’re pretty crap.’

star wars

There. I have admitted it. I do not like the newer Star Wars Films. The comedy characters, that tit with the big ears for example, spoil it for starters. But they could have been so good. The concept was fantastic but it was let down by the fact that it seemed to be aimed at preschool children. Sorry George, your special effects are some of the best I have seen but you still made three crap films. You should have left  it with just the first three. Please don’t bother to make any more.



Giant68 Sad smile

Friday, 12 October 2012

The Grumpy Gene

if there is a grumpy gene I think that I have it. I am, it seems, a grumpy person by nature. And now, to prove it, I have started having grumpy dreams!

Now, you know that I am a world class grump from the tone of some of these blogs. I wonder if there is an award for the grumpiest person in the world, a Grumpy World  Cup. Would I win? What would I need to do to win if I wasn’t quite good enough?


I woke this morning from the middle of a dream that was really winding me up. Everyone and everything in it was designed to piss me off. In fact, I was so grumpy and annoyed when I woke up that I had to force myself just to lay there and  calm down for a bit.

For some time now I have been achieving new personal bests in stress levels due to various things happening at work. Mrs Giant68, obviously, gets a bit fed up with way I am but being the saint she is she puts up with it or gets out of the room. Or I get out of the room.  But the last bastion of peace and tranquillity has always been sleep. Now that is being denied! In general, I do not dream. I go to bed, I fall asleep, I wake up 5ish hours later and get up. This is the first dream I have had for a considerable time. It would have been nice if it had been about my forthcoming holiday and the destressing I will be doing. Or fast cars, naked women, that sort of thing, you  get the picture. But no. Lets wake up considerably more grumpy than I when I went to bed.

God help you all today!


Now bugger off and leave me alone!

Giant68 Open-mouthed smile

Tuesday, 9 October 2012

Survival of the fittest?


‘Breathe deep the gathering gloom…’

Winter seems to be approaching rather rapidly, today it was pitch black and rather chilly when i set off  for work. And now, late afternoon in early October, it is starting to get a little gloomy. It will soon be time to shut the curtains, put the lights on and get cosy. The heating is on and the house is beginning to feel a little warmer.

But that is not what this is about. You should know by now that I am the one of the grumpiest people on the face of the planet so i must, therefore, have something to complain about. And this time it is Ninja cyclists.


Dark mornings, rain, general gloom. You will see these, if you are lucky, cycling in the road with no lights, dark clothing and no idea of their own safety or vulnerability. Darwin wrote about the survival of the fittest but sometimes I feel that it should be survival of the luckiest! Twice this week i have nearly curtailed the existence of some dim and dim-witted cyclist as they plough on regardless of the fact that while I am in a car with lights I may not see them until the last minute. And that may be too late.

When I am out on my bike I want to be seen. I will festoon myself with lights. I would put a neon sign over my head to drivers where I am. But then I want to survive the trip. To be honest, I would cycle on the pavement all the time if I could.

Also why do the cyclists where I live not use the cycle paths?? I bet that by night they are sneaking around the roads of Southampton trying their hardest to get themselves killed!

Rant over.



Giant68 (Grumpy old git) Smile

Sunday, 2 September 2012

Things to do with food

Yeah, I know. Food is for eating. Not all the time in our household. We have a habit of playing games with it, nothing kinky though, generally the kind of games that involve ‘how many can you eat’ or ‘how fast can you eat’.

How many Jaffa cakes can you eat in a minute? I thought that one was simple. Hundreds? Tens? Nah! I managed to get the sixth one in and start to chew as my minute ran out. Mini Giant didn’t even get that far.

Yesterday was my granddaughters 3rd birthday and as usual there were allsorts of cakes, sweets and other goodies lying around. So there were some challenges to be attempted. As I have already stated, the Jaffa cake challenge was won by me with a poor count of 5 and a bit. Next came the teacakes, those delights of chocolate, marshmallow and biscuit. I managed 1 in 17 seconds. Really poor attempt even if I do say so myself. One of our guests managed 1 in 8 seconds. I think that he just swallowed it whole!


There is one other game that we tend to play at Christmas. And that is the After Eight challenge. What you have to do is place an After Eight mint on your forehead, minus the wrapper of course, and get it to your mouth without the use of your hands. This, obviously, can get a little messy, with participants left with chocolate on their face (and also the floor at times!) It is amazing what people will get up to once they have had a drink or two!!





Giant68 Smile

Wednesday, 1 August 2012

Who will remember the humble slide rule?

I had a conversation yesterday that was a bit of reminiscing about things from the past. I can’t remember how it started but it covered the slide rule, ready reckoners, abacus and other things of that ilk. One of those conversations that has meandered along not really having a set destination.

Now, I think that some of you will read this, the few of you that follow this blog, and wonder what on Earth i am talking about. Well, this is a slide rule:

slide rule

The Americans call it a ‘slip stick’ and it works by aligning numbers marked on the scale in certain ways and you can find the answer to all sorts of mathematical conundrums. This is the device that put man on the Moon in a time when this was the calculator of the day. There were no fancy LED screened boxes of electronics that will calculate Pi to a thousand places. In this day and age when physicists are trying to find the Higgs Boson and the numbers that they are dealing with are so miniscule that the ordinary man cannot really comprehend them computers and calculators are an essential item. But back in the fifties when the British had a space program boffins in brown overalls would be sliding their slide rules and calculating gravitational pull and fuel consumption rates all without the need for an electrically powered gadget. I found my slide rule the other day and I can almost remember how to use it. Makes me sound quite old doesn’t it?

Then, before that was the abacus. The Chinese could, and still do, calculate so quickly with this rack of beads that they can beat a man with an electronic calculator. They still have contests for school kids  using abacus in a race against the clock.


Then there was the Ready Reckoner. My dad had several, using them in business to help with various aspects of finance, weights, measures etc. It was just a book of tables to help with pounds, shillings and pence and other values. But then people of my parents generation could add, multiply, subtract and divide in their head. There was no need for a thousand decimal places. When I started as an engineer we worked to thousandths of an inch, now engineers work to millionths of a millimetre. Times and measurements have changed. And the degree of accuracy.



Giant68 Smile

Saturday, 9 June 2012

Certainly sir…

I am going to go back to what I do best. Being a grumpy old sod. Today I went into a large, well known supermarket which, for want of a better name and because it was, we will call Tesco. Don’t get me wrong, I am not going to pick only on Tesco, all the big chains seem to be guilty of the same thing: the deterioration of customer service.

I walked through the store picking the items that I needed, mainly alcohol if the truth needs to be known, and queued at the checkout. Now this is where it all starts to go wrong. Actually, thinking about it, it starts to go wrong as you walk across the carpark but that is another story. The lady sitting at the checkout grabs the items I have placed on the conveyor belt and scans them as quick as she can, flinging them down towards me at double quick time. She is reasonably polite as she asks for the payment, and my loyalty card, but then I have to get my own receipt. Now what is wrong with that I hear you say. Nothing really, apart from the fact that it is designed to do away with any human interaction in the shopping experience. The receipt is vomited from a machine that is just out of reach of the checkout girl, so she either stretches for it or lets the customer get it. I don’t want this.

I am a little old fashioned about all this shopping business. Actually I am a little old fashioned about everything. But what I like is to go to a shop where the staff will refer to me as sir, not mate. I have nothing against the term ‘mate’, not when used in the context of friends, but not by some teenage, spotty, tattooed youth with bum fluff on his chin which he likes to think of as a beard. I will, generally, never be  a ‘mate’ of this person. I want eye contact, I want ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, and I want ‘sir’. And I want my receipt handed to me with a smile. If I am expected to treat the staff of these shops with respect I want it back.


There are certain stores that have a better customer service than others, Marks and Spencer, Waitrose, while the likes of Lidl and Aldi are a little more lacking than Tesco or Sainsburys. Can you see the pattern here? The more high end the shop, the better  the customer service. In my local Asda I have walked past staff whinging to each other about other staff, their management, conditions, working hours, who they were sleeping with last night, and the language is not always the best. As the public face of the company they should be smart, clean, lacking in piercings and visible tattoos and polite. They should treat the customer as king. And likewise the customer should treat the staff as human beings.


There is a  small Indian restaurant near where I live. I have used it for years and consider the owner a friend. But every time I go in I am referred to as sir. I am treated well by the staff, and so is everyone else who walks through the door. Nothing is too much trouble as they know that the customer is what keeps them in employment. Maybe the big stores should pay Jewels Restaurant a visit and be reminded of what they have forgotten. They want as many people through the door as possible. The checkout girl is paid as little as possible and works as long as they can get her to work for. Every company wants its pound of flesh. Gone are the days of the corner shop where you can have a chat with the jolly shopkeeper. I mourn the loss of that day.



Giant68 Smile

Sunday, 20 May 2012

Jack Frost comes calling.

Did the camping thing again last weekend. As is our wont we descended on the Salisbury campsite en masse, well some of us did anyway. There were only 6 of us camping this year, i reckon the other regulars finally came to their senses, with a few extra just visiting for the day.

Now bear in mind that for a couple of weeks before this we were under drought conditions, this meant that it was persisting down with rain almost continuously. But on the day that we were due to camp the rain stopped and the sun came out to shine on our little venture. I must admit to a certain amount of surprise that we have been so lucky when we go under canvas, having had only a little drizzle last year in Sussex. The days were lovely, compared to what they had been like in the previous weeks, but the nights were a different kettle of fish.


Myself and Mrs Giant68 were the first to arrive and duly set up our kit and were settled into chairs with alcohol by the time the others turned up. T-shirts and shorts were the order of the day at this point. Everyone else then had to pitch their tents while we set about cooking the dinner. By this point the sun was getting low in the sky and the stars were starting to appear,  the temperature was also starting to decrease. By 10 ish it must have been around arctic temperature. We were all starting to shiver and it was decided that it was time to start wrapping ourselves in sleeping bags, blankets, several layers of clothing and whatever else we could find to help us get warm. All the men suggested climbing in to the same tent, and sleeping bag, to conserve body heat but somehow that didn’t go down to well with the ladies, women huh!

Now, i have been a shift worker for more years than I care to count I find that I can’t sleep late. I am generally up and awake around 5am. And this weekend was no different. I was awake about 4:30 and needing to pee. I scramble out of the many layers that I had wrapped myself in and started to undo the zip on the tent flap to hear the cracking of the ice on the outside of the tent! By God! It was cold! I shivered my way to the amenities block to do the business, and you know what happens when parts of the male anatomy get cold!!!


But once I was properly dressed I went for a walk, it would be some time before anyone else was up and about so i may as well find ways to amuse myself. Now i don’t know if many of you are up and about as the sun claws its way over the horizon, but this is my favourite time of day. When we had our dog I would, quite often, take her for a walk in the woods at sunrise, or down by the water.

There was a beer festival happening at the rugby club next door, we had planned to go and visit but unfortunately we got too drunk at the tents. None of us were able to walk in a straight enough line to find our way past the tent pegs let alone make it up the road to drink beer. More’s the pity.


All I can hope is that when we go for the next tenting thing it will be a bit warmer!



Giant68 Smile


Sunday, 1 April 2012

The Longest Sentence in the English language.

There is a joke that goes something along the lines of ‘What is the longest sentence in the English language? I do.’
Today I have been married to Mrs Giant68 for 23 years. It seems hard to contemplate that I have been with the same person for that length of time and it got me wondering about these partnerships. What makes people pick someone that they will then spend the rest of their lives with? OK, I have made a mistake, I married young and divorced shortly after. In a way I regret the fact that it changed my life and hers, and possibly not for the best. Although mine turned out for the better I sometimes wonder how hers turned out. I seem to have wiped that period of existence from my mind and struggle to remember her name, let alone what she looked like. As I have gotten older I realise that no one was really at fault, we just screwed up big-time.
But, as I said, my life turned out fine. I have 2 children to be proud of (although I will not tell them that) and a fantastic granddaughter. I would not change my life now for all the money in the world. But I do wonder what made me choose Mrs Giant68.
Is it pheromones? Is it the shape of her body? Good child-bearing hips? What?
Few animals in nature mate for life, swans, wolves and beavers among them. Why? Surely we are programmed for survival. You pick a partner for procreation, implant the seed then move on to the next one to implant more seed. So why do we stay with one person? I do realise that people are not all faithful, many do stray, and many move on to a new partner. But many do stick with the same partner for many years, my marriage has lasted now for 23 years. If anyone can shed some light please let me know.
Giant68 Smile

Thursday, 22 March 2012

Step into the kitchen Maude…

Well, the new kitchen is here and my stress level has climbed through the top of my head and launched itself into space!

To start with the carcasses of the units are all fully assembled, which saves a lot of work but where, in Heavens name, do you store it all? I have a house that was full to start with and now I have the makings of another kitchen in it!


I have stored it all over the place. The conservatory is full. The room that was my office is full. The hallway has 9m of worktop and 9m of upstands laying through it. When I get up in the morning and descend the stairs in the dark I have bruised both shins, stubbed all my toes and turned the air blue.

All I have to do is fit it now. That is easier said than done. When it was all delivered there were a few items missing. And as the law of Sod states it would be the vital pieces. Then there are the bits that I haven’t got a clue where they go. I can see that by the time this kitchen is fitted I will be able to sell the spare parts on eBay!  

Wish me luck!



Giant68 Smile

Sunday, 4 March 2012

A Questionable Pastime

Some years ago, myself, Mrs Giant68 and Mini Giant68 started going to a pub quiz. Not necessarily for the quiz but just to get out of the house and socialise with our friends. Over the years we became quite successful at the quiz and at gaining new friends. We have seen quizmasters come and go and the result now is that I, together with some of the other quizgoers run the quiz.


This all came about due to the fact that the pub landlords father had been running the quiz for a while and the landlord had decided that the time had come to move on. So Brian the Quizmaster went as well. The quiz was in danger of finishing and, therefore, the social event of our week would be no more and the friendships we made could evaporate into thin air. So I took on the task of organising it. I make sure that every Thursday there is a quizmaster, there are prizes for the various rounds, raffle tickets to sell etc. I also make sure that there are enough prints of the answer sheets and picture round sheets. I farm out the quiz to whoever wants a go. I do it every now and then, Mini Giant68 does it and a few others. I don’t want to do it every week as I like to take part in it. I like to test my knowledge against all the others. A bit selfish really, and a bit childish. But i think that human nature is such that we want to know that we are good at, or better at something than other people.

Bear in mind that we know most of the people that turn up for the quiz, we are friends, maybe not close friends but friends all the same. But they never seem to be happy. No one, apart from those of us that host the quiz, seem to realise the amount of effort that goes into writing a quiz every week. You may think that it is a piece of cake to come up with 40 or so questions every seven days, but try it. I must admit that i have learnt a few things over the last few months, do you know which national monument is painted international orange? Or what the name of Blofelds white cat is in the James Bond films? I do. But there are times when the quiz teams start to argue. We always state that the quizmaster is always right, but that is not good enough. I have to wonder sometimes why they bother coming.

And how do we stop people Googling? We can watch them while they are in the pub but now that you have to outside for a fag…?

images (1)

I sometimes wonder if it is worth the effort. The time spent writing a quiz that will  cater for all levels of intelligence, all genres of music, art, literature. Maybe I just need to develop a thicker skin, and realise that I can’t hope to win against people who don’t listen to music, watch films, or the news. Maybe questions about the length of time it takes for different types of paint to dry?

OK, so the Golden Gate Bridge is painted international orange and Blofelds cat is Solomon.

But what is the name of the polar bear that stands on top of the Fox’s Glacier Mint?

And which is the shortest motorway in England?


Whinge over. If you happen to be anywhere near the Millhouse pub in Netley, Southampton on a Thursday evening pop in and see us.


Giant68 Smile

Wednesday, 22 February 2012

A little reminiscing…

When I was a kid we would, sometimes, go and stay at my grandmothers house. She lived in Nottingham, where I was born. I can always remember her house, it was a big old detached place with a wide staircase with quite shallow stairs. A stack of my uncle David's books were on the landing outside the door to the room that I would sleep in. The room was a small, single room with an oriel window that I would sit on the sill of and look out over the wide world outside. There was an old, blue pedal car in the garage that could pick up some speed when you rode it down the sloping drive.

But there is one thing that I could not remember complete. My grandmother would give up her bed for my mum and dad and she would sleep on the cushions from the sofa laid out on the floor of the living room. In the mornings, as I was always awake early ( same as I am now, really) I would go downstairs and gran would make us a cup of tea and we would get into her makeshift bed with the tea, and maybe a Lincoln or Malted Milk biscuit, and she would tell stories. Now there are two that I can remember vaguely. One was about a toy soldier and the other about Bobtail Bunny. Recently, since i became a granddad, I started thinking about these, and as I couldn’t remember the actual stories I googled them. Googlewack.

In fact there is a link to the Bobtail Bunny story. It is a search that I had done some years ago. But otherwise nothing. Lots of people know how it starts: At number one in Rabbit Row, A crowd of bunnies live, you know…

But that is it. But now I have the complete story. The mother of Giant68 has found a copy that she typed out many years ago, and now I am going to share it with you. Most of you will, probably, not care but I do. These things should be kept alive and it is a shame that I still cannot find a trace of the toy soldier story ( if anyone out there knows it please contact me)

Here it is:

At number one in Rabbit Row,

A crowd of bunnies live, you know.

The youngest one is Bobtail Bunny

He is so jolly and so funny.

With bright red coat and trousers yellow

I think he looks a smart young fellow.

The bunnies go to school each day

Their ABCs they learn to say.

They’re taught by Dr Owl, so wise,

With specs on beak and big round eyes.

One day when school came out at last

The bunnies hurried out so fast.

“We’ll play at hide and seek” they cried.

So Bobtail hurried off to hide.

“I’ll hide inside this hollow tree,

Ha! Ha!” he laughed, “they won’t find me”

He stayed in there a long, long time

Till out at last he had to climb.

And when beneath the trees he peered

He found his friends had disappeared.

And he saw no one but a frog

Who jumped upon a fallen log.

He hurried on, but sad to say

Poor Bobtail somehow lost his way.

He looked around, but all in vain,

And presently he found a lane.

And there he saw, to his delight

A pretty cottage painted white.

“I feel so tired I think I’ll stop.

I’ll knock and ask my way, thought Bob.

A little girl named Joan lived there

With bright brown eyes and golden hair.

“Come in” she smiled, and for a treat

She gave him lettuce leaves to eat.

She had a rabbit in a hutch,

Of course, she loved him very much.

“Just come and stay with him” said Joan,

“It’s dull for lop-ears all alone”

But Bobtail said “I just can’t stay

I’ll come again another day”

Joan walked with Bobtail down the lane

And soon they reached the wood again.

“Goodbye” cried Bobtail “you have been kind,

My way home now I’m sure I’ll find”

And when he’d bowed both left and right

He quickly scurried out of sight.

But now the sun had gone to sleep

The little stars began to peep.

The silver moon shone overhead

And all the birds had gone to bed.

Soon Bobtail reached a tiny glade,

It was so dark he felt afraid.

And suddenly he heard a sound

He gave a start and looked around.

And there stood Mr Fox, so sly.

His favourite dish is rabbit pie.

“Just come with me” he said “and stay”

And grinned in such a hungry way.

Poor Bobtail bolted in a fright,

He ran and ran with all his might.

His little heart went thump, thump, thump.

And then he tripped against a stump.

He fell, and lay there in a heap,

And soon he sobbed himself to sleep.

A bright light shining in his eyes

Soon woke him up – to his surprise

He saw his daddy- oh how grand-

A lantern swinging in his hand.

“I’m found” cried Bobtail, “ Oh how splendid”

And so his great adventure ended.


I intend to learn this and recite it to my granddaughter.



Giant68 Smile

Sunday, 15 January 2012

Wine to testicles

Strange title I know, but stay with me for the moment and all may become clear. Have you ever followed the direction of your conversation? If you are socialising with friends the chat will meander backwards and forwards, round in circles, double back on itself and generally go in some really strange ways. I found this yesterday.

Yesterday myself and Mrs Giant68 went to visit some good friends for dinner and a few drinks. To protect their identity we’ll just refer to them as Nicky and Neil (Bugger! I’ve done it again and let slip their real names! Never mind, I don’t suppose many people will read this anyway.)

We do tend to have some weird conversations as we are all slightly mad, and that evening was going to be no different. While sat at the table after dinner we were talking about wine, Mrs Giant68 left the table at this point to answer her phone (damned rude if you ask me, what on Earth did we do before we had mobile phones??)  when she returned we were discussing testicles. The conversation went from the merits of certain wines, hospital, x-rays, Neils damaged thumb, vasectomy and testicles. All in the space of 2 minutes and 57 seconds. And as she left us talking wine and returned to us talking b*££*cks she was a little confused.


Mind you, by the end of the evening I was confused myself. Far too much alcohol, in fact I was still drunk this morning when i got up!

Next time you are chatting try and follow the path and see not where it ends up but how it got there.



Giant68 x