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.

Regards

Giant68

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.

Regards

Giant68 x

Who is your favourite?

 

I read a report the other  day, in the newspaper, that stated that we have favourites among our children. Those of us that have children, obviously. Now that strikes me as a bit of a no-brainer. I expect that the people who wrote that earned a small fortune on the way to that discovery. I could have told them that.

It is human nature to have favourite. My Nokia E72 was my favourite mobile phone, but then the Samsung Galaxy 2 came along. Now my favourite phone is the Android powered Samsung, because it is much more powerful, does more and, to be honest, it looks a lot better.

Now no.1 daughter came along and she remains my favourite. But then the boy turned up. Now he must be my favourite as he has lots of cool features. No he doesn’t, I was thinking about the phone again.

Then just to confuse matters, no.1 daughter presented us with a granddaughter. She does have lots of cool features! I can buy her chocolates that she can spread all over herself and the carpet, and the furniture, she giggles, cries, sleeps, etc. So now she is my favourite.

What it all boils down to is that whichever child is around will be my favourite at the time. When they are all here, such as Christmas, they will all be my favourite and will be treated as such.

Until the next gadget comes along.

 

Regards

Giant68

I think that I should be getting a Nobel Prize

I think that I deserve one. I have done something that the entire scientific community has failed to do.
I have invented invisibility.
I buggered if I know how I have done it but I have. It seems that while I have been driving my car around I have inadvertently left the invisibility device that I have invented turned on.
I also have a personal device secreted about my person for when I am walking around the streets, or in the supermarket.
I must have left them turned on as people seem to have an inability to see me,  whether I am walking or in the car.
I AM 6’8” tall. I weigh 18½ stone. But at times I am invisible.
The only problem is that I haven’t invented the off switch for it yet. And because the device is invisible I can’t find it to take the batteries out of it. My only hope is that I didn’t connect the the solar panel that recharges it or I may never become visible again! I will always have other cars trying to be in the bit of road that I occupy. I will always have people walking into me in the street.
Still, on the plus side I can spend my life hiding in the ladies changing rooms and generally being a pervert without fear of getting caught.

Obviously the above frame is empty to you, the reader, and I am wasting my time putting it there.

Regards
Giant68

I’m a bit of a foody.

 

I am never going to be thin. That is a fact. Me and food have this understanding, It looks good (actually sometimes it doesn’t) it smells good and it tastes good so, therefore, I will eat it. There are some people who use food just as a mechanism to stay alive. There are some who use their food to make them look good, or intelligent, or just plain pretentious.

I know someone who will make scrambled eggs with the whites of ½ dozen eggs and only 1 yolk because he has been led to believe that it is good for him and will help build muscle mass. he also rinses all the tomato sauce from baked beans. To me this is a waste of good food, he may as well have a meringue and some haricot beans, whether it will help with the aim of looking a bit more macho I don’t know. Nor do I care.

There are people who will cook the most fantastic sounding meals that turn out to be half a portion of something expensive but has no taste. When did sauce start being called a jus?

Now Mrs Giant 68 thinks that I am a little weird in my choice of food and the time of day that I will eat it. Just the other day I woke a little late and didn’t have time for my usual toast and coffee before I left for work. By 9am I was starving. There is a sandwich van that does the rounds where I work just after 9am so I bought  a kebab with extra hot chilli sauce. I have had numerous comments about kebab in the morning, and sober, but it was bloody lovely. Mrs Giant68 is a firm believer in breakfast foods at breakfast time. Cereal, bacon, eggs etc. Not on the same plate, obviously, but the idea of cold meat and cheese is very odd for her. But on the continent it is the norm. Personally I can eat anything at anytime of day. Maybe because I have spent most of my working life as a shift worker working earlies, lates, nights. I have come home from work in the morning and had a beer in the summer or a whisky mac in the winter. My next door neighbour would see me sat in the garden at 6:30am on a summer day and accuse me of being an alcoholic. (OK, so he may not be entirely wrong…) And food is the same. I could eat a pie and mash or a full English, it matters not what time of day it is.

Lets not be precious about our food. Lets just eat good, tasty, healthy food with no sign of a jus or a couli anywhere. Lets have gravy and custard. Good old tomato ketchup and brown sauce. Whenever you want to eat it. Today I spent Sunday lunchtime sat in a curry house (The Jewel of India, in Southampton. If you ever down this way please try it, the food and service are excellent.) eating curry and drinking beer. Mrs Giant68 was with me as were our daughter and son-in-law and the granddaughter. No Sunday roast. No roast spuds or brussel sprouts. I know some of you will be happy with the no brussel sprout bit but I love ‘em.

Even the much maligned Big Mac tastes good at times, don’t deny it. I would eat one.  With fries. And maybe some onion rings and…

Mmmmm!

 

Giant68

PS I make no apologies for the shameless advertising of my mates curry house. Other curry houses are available, but not as good. (In my opinion)

i sit here in amazement…

I do. I sit here in amazement at the world around me and the things I hear and see. I am trying to finish a pub quiz that I am writing for tonight but I have been distracted by the telly and the internet. The internet purely because it is a brilliant tool for researching into questions, but also a distraction. I was looking at music downloads and found a band called ‘Mustard Pimp’. What on Earth are people taking when they come up with these names??

‘Come on, lads, what are we gonna call ourselves?’

‘Howabout Anchovy Wallpaper?’

‘Chrysanthemum Butt Plug?’

‘Nah. I’ve got it! It’ll be a sure fire winner with the oldies! Mustard Pimp!’

‘Brilliant!’

‘Superb!’

‘Why can’t you be happy staying plain old  Justin Beiber?’

 

Then the telly. Purely because it was on and the adverts came on and distracted me with a child's game that is set to be the hottest, and most wanted toy this Christmas. ‘Doggy Doo!’ A game about canine crap. You feed a plastic dog and eventually he will defecate. I imagine that the winner is the one that collects the least poop. And I used to think that Buckaroo was weird!

 

I am no longer a grumpy old man. I am a grumpy, bemused old man.

Giant68

Uno cerveza, Jose, por favor…

 

I have been to Spain again to visit Jose the surly barman. The sun was shining, the sky was still blue, and Jose, bless him, was still surly. But he remembered us from last year and smiled, sort of, or it could have been wind. In fact it probably was wind.

It still feels a little strange to be sat under his shiny new awning in the middle of the road. Cars driving past, people strolling by. And there are me and Mrs Giant68, and our friends, sitting there  downing the cerveza like a bunch of thirsty alcoholics!

The bbq is showing signs of wear and tear, in fact, the bottom was hanging out of Joses bbq. All he did was lay a tin plate across the inside to hold the broken pallet that he was burning to cook the food over. But the sardines were fantastic that he cooked on it, and they were free.

We learnt several things while were there. Jose has a good memory (he remembered us, possibly due to the size of our tips, I expect that is how he could afford the new awning!). Friendships don’t die out over the course of a year, it was really good to see Harry, Ann, Sian, Amy and Jeremy again. And we learnt a new use for cola. I will not enlighten you over this last one, but all that were on the roundabout that night will remember it.

Now to the flights. Aircraft, it has been said, are metal tubes full of other peoples farts. The flight out certainly was. It must be the change in air pressure but the intestinal gasses are just sucked out of me when I am on a plane. I apologise to everyone that had to share the plane with me that day! But on the way back we suffered more. Not gas. Our ears were assaulted by the young children that some inconsiderate individual had sneaked on board. If you are a regular reader of my blogs you will know that I am not a fan of children in places that are not suitable. I would not consider taking a very young  child on plane to a country that is very hot  and the food is different. It doesn’t strike me as much of a holiday when you, continually, have to keep the sprogs entertained and fed with English food. They will get sunburnt and cry. They will get hungry and cry. They will get tired and cry. Their ears will hurt on a plane and they will frickin’ well cry!

Take them to Butlins, for God’s sake! They will be catered for. They will not get sunburnt as there will be no sun. They will eat ordinary food. They will sleep because the nights are not too hot. They will not cry. But most of all they will not irritate me.

Normal service has been resumed. I am grumpy again.

Regards

Giant68