Category: Stuff

T is for Tea

Drink up before it gets cold.

I have written on the matter of Tea on a number of occasions though it was rather a long time ago and very few people have actually read them.  So I am going to rehash these two posts because, as I recall, they were fun and the first also touches on tea-bagging which you dont get to read about every day.  The other is about Aliens, and everyone loves aliens right.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/29/more-tea-vicar/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/27/the-intergalactic-language-of-tea-daily-prompt/

Admit it, you thought it would be about Trump right 😉

Farewell

All good things come to an end…

To 2017…

See what I did there. 😉

I hope you’ve had a great 2017, and if not then I hope 2018 is better. And if you have had a great 2017 then let’s hope it wasn’t the pinnacle and 2018 does not turn out to be a steaming bag of dog poo.

Either way, life ain’t all that bad you know. See you all next year and a happy new year..

Love

Michael

S is for Screw you 2017

Oh 2017, face like a pool of sick and bogies

Oh 2017, face like a pool of sick and bogies

suckling us with your rancid saggy tits

filling our hungry mouths with your curdled filth

Our eyes watering as we gag on your putrid…

 

Only kidding 🙂

I have really enjoyed this year, despite how it may appear at times.  The year isn’t yet out and who knows what today will bring, but when it does close I wont be looking back any regret.  As I have gotten older I realise more and more that regret is a steaming bowl of maggoty stew and will only lead to you sat on the loo with your head in the sink praying to Jesus asking him to kill you as your body turns slowly inside out.

Ignore the maggoty stew I say and gorge on the wholesome soup of what could be because it had croutons and delicious chunky bits at the bottom…and it won’t make you shit your pants!

Words to live by!  BOOM!

R is for Rugby

Think of it as a physical version of American Football.

Oddly Rugby hasn’t really come up whilst I have been doing this blog given that it plays such a large role in my life, and always has.

Born in East Hull there is the inevitable link to Hull Kingston Rovers and I remember going to watch them from a very early age.   You grow up in Hull and you’re either a Red and White or a Black and White, there is no sitting on the fence, and I was a red and white.

There was something really magical about trips to the games with my Dad and there was such a thrill when I would take the match day programme and try and get player autographs.  It’s nearly 35 years ago now but the memories of drinking bovril in the cold remain and there is still a real sense of just how important it was to me all those years ago.

We moved to South Africa in 1981 and rugby is a bit like religion over there, just more important.  I loved playing growing up and despite those huge Afrikaaners forever battering us it was there that I grew to love Rugby Union.  I am a Northern Transvaal fan at heart still and was fortunate enough to live there in 1995 when the Springboks won the world cup.  Talk about fever pitch, the country went berserk and it was truly an amazing thing to witness.

Now I get that it is not everyone’s cup of tea, and the rules can be confusing and there are two types which doesn’t help but there is just something about the game that I love.  Whether its the physical nature of the contest I love or the skill, speed and power I do not know, but something in the game just appeals to me.  It doesn’t matter what level it is played at I can just watch it because of the sheer pleasure it brings me.

There is a real community, honest and camaraderie about rugby too and it is that side of things I enjoy more and more as I get older.  I spend a lot of time doing work for the local club and both my boys play so most weekends are taken up in one form or another with something rugby related.

Hmm.  You know this might be the most bland and sensible thing I have ever written.  You know, that must show just how serious I take it.  I think I will stop right there because I feel very grown up suddenly and I seem to be an awful bore when I’m serious about something.

 

 

 

Q is for Queen

Get your lighters out…

Well not quite Queen, I am thinking more Freddie Mercury. Why Freddy I hear you ask…well of course he is the lead man in my imaginary band of Dead musicians.

Think about it, that incredible ensemble of dead-too-soon genius’ reunited for one last hoorah. Everyone’s invited and you so better bring your dancing shoes because it could be a rather good night.

Now you may have your own opinion as to who is the best dead front man but I am sorry but it’s more than likely wrong if it isn’t Freddie Mercury. I am not even going to listen to any alternatives and will simply place me hands over me ears if you try and la-la-la-la-la-la. Forgotten how good he is? Maybe you have but I haven’t and I thnk perhaps just go youtube him because you’ll realise I’m right.

I know I probably should have done lead man last but I think he sets the tone and if we cannot agree on anything else then you know what, he can do an unplugged acoustic kinda thing and I’ll still get my lighter out and wave it in the air.

Now before I continue I will admit that I’m no expert when it comes to music bit I know what I like so this will mostly be about me because I’m a bit of a princess. Feel free to add your own thoughts in the comments though.

So. Drums. I went instinctively for John Bonham because he probably was the most insanely talented and influential drummer ever and if you don’t believe me go and watch his him on ‘Moby Dick’. Sweet baby Jesus he was seriously intense and after he launches into his solo you’ll know what I am on about. He was a real show stealer too and given he died so very young I am putting him in my line up.

Guitar? Ok so I am having two and they can fight it out. I am having Jimmy Hendrix and Prince. I could have had Prince as lead man and every instrument to be honest but this is more of a rock band and I am trusting Prince to get on board because bloody hell he could play a guitar. I think it was often overlooked because his persona was so huge, and having seen him live I will admit to having somewhat more than a semi after watching him play Purple Rain.

Hendrix doesn’t need a reason why. He’s just Hendrix.

Now there is no way you’re putting a line up together of dead musicians together without Phil Lynott bass guitar. I don’t care just how good he was or wasn’t…I need him in there because he is simply frigging awesome. Get listening to some Thin Lizzy and you’ll see what I mean. You know, he could be front man too, behind Freddie, Prince and Jimmy…

Now I have no idea whether they could gel because they were all so fabulous in their own rights but just imagine if they could. Such talent, on stage for one night only, and with the exception of Levon Helm all gone way too soon and such a loss.

Let’s see those lighters in the air one last time…

P is for Prince

All hail his purple majesty!

 

I cried the day prince died, and for weeks after continued to feel real loss.  I haven’t always been a fan though, I can still remember a time when I didn’t care for his music but quite clearly I can recall the day when the penny dropped and I realised that here was something worth listening to.  It was the day I heard the haunting whistles of ‘Around the world in a day’.  From then on I was hooked.

Album after album provided the soundtrack to my growing up and as I have become older that love has passed down to my youngest son Tom who is a big fan. Clever kid that Tom.

I will admit that there have been times when I wasn’t the greatest of fans of what he was doing, but he was still doing things no one else was even thinking about and there were still gems to be found no matter which of his phases he was in.

The pinnacle for me though was when I got the chance to see him at the O2 arena when he was in London in 2007.  As I stood there watching him play purple rain live I realised that I could quite happily call it a day and shuffle off this mortal coil because this was as good as it gets and given that I had an heir to carry on the family name everything was going to be downhill from there.

Michael

X

 

O is for Originality

just do it!

Not an easy thing really is it.  I mean what hasn’t already been said or done?  What idea hasn’t been explored time and time again and how many blogs already do something very similar to the one you just created.

You know what, I haven’t been doing this for long so I am hardly in a position to give advice but Im going to.  Just keep going at it, as hard as you can because most people are really lazy buggers with no stamina at all and they will probably give up at some point.

You don’t have to be the first to do something or even the best, sometimes working hard and sticking to your guns and not being lazy will get you somewhere.  And if that doesn’t work then maybe you’re just not very good at it and need to try something else but at least you tried and that’s more than most people do because a lot of people are just pointless and the world wouldn’t miss them if they were gone.

But not you.  You’re special because you’re reading this and somewhere out there are people who want to hear your voice.

Michael

X

 

N is for nature

I’m no Richard Attenborough obviously. In fact I’n not even a David…

 

 

I’ve always had a bit of a love hate relationship with nature.  I grew up in Africa so there was very much an abundance of the stuff and we were forever outside.  Wherever you went there was flora or fauna of some description and always of the sort of stuff people wax lyrical about.  It was an incredibly beautiful place but it can become a bit much.

Pop to the shop and there was inevitably something ‘majestic’ of some description there in your face screaming “Look at me” and waving it’s arms frantically.   Each morning the sunrise would require a slack handful of fire related adjectives before it would leave you alone and sunset would quite rudely demand your attention whether you had things you needed to get done or not.  What’s wrong with a cold grey morning that lumbers along as you get up or it suddenly becoming dark without you noticing and accompanying fanfare.

It was though a wonderful place to grow up and whether the gorgeous expanses of the Highveld or the wild rugged coastlines it’s the sort of place most people would give an arm to grow up in and I’m really grateful that I did.  I’m less grateful however for the vast array of things that wanted to kill us.  Whether it be snakes, spiders, sharks, scorpions or any of the larger creatures there was such an array of deadly beasties that it really does tend to spoil things.

“Remember to check your boots for scorpions” was a piece of advice I received in the army that I will always remember.

As much as I loved it there I find England far more inviting and wholly less aggressive.  Not that it  isn’t completely without event though – occasionally we may have a bit of a slug problem and one day there was a badger that kept knocking over the bins which caused quite a stir.  Anyone familiar with Yorkshire or the lake district would probably also agree that we compare pretty favourably to some of the more grand vistas out there even if we are more on the side of ‘picture postcard’.

But we all like different things, I get that.

Michael

 

 

 

Excess indeed

My Sack overflows…

I’m posting a lot at the moment I realise.  Following a few days away I have a bulging Christmas sack that really needs to be emptied as I near the six month milestone of my blog, a point at which I said I would sit down and consider the experience and decide whether I continue, and if so what that will entail.

I have a load of stuff I am tidying up to get out and some challenges I set myself that I am determined to finish before the end of the year.  Well actually I have until the 3rd of 5th of January I think but the end of 2017 feels like a good date to aim for.

That means that you will see all manner of things dropping into your feed if you follow me, sorry about that I will do my best to spread them out as it’s rather rude to clutter things up I realise.

It doesn’t feel like the end just perhaps the end of the beginning.  But we shall see when I sit down properly to review things in a few days time.

Michael

x

M is for Michael

that’s me…

Michael.  That’s me.

 

This seemed like a good idea when I did the title but now I am less sure.  If you’ve read me for more than a day or two then you know what I’m like and I don’t really need to tell you.  I have a wife and kids who I love, a life I enjoy immensely and very few filters or boundaries.

You know what, I think that will just about do.

You really don’t need to know that I love comics or rugby or television or films or coding or laughing or being grumpy, that’s all there for you to see.  You don’t need to know that I think Donald trump is a twat and that I find it quite heart breaking to see what he is doing to America because I grew up with all things American and it played a big part in my growing up.

And you dont need to be told that I like to make people laugh and dont take things too seriously and that I have a problem with authority and organised religion.  It’s all there to see in my writing.

Thanks for reading and I hope you continue to take some pleasure in what I put out there and if not, meh, I’ll get over it.

Michael

X

 

 

 

 

L is for loss

If I were not here tomorrow…

Were I to die tomorrow then there are so many things I would not get to tell my boys.  As melancholy a thought as it is it is one with which I have of late struggled though something I have yet to remedy.  Such words of wisdom that are a father’s to impart would go unsaid and they would quite possibly venture into this world as young men without my deep and considered understanding of so many things.

Whilst their mother would without doubt provide them the support they need as young men I would not be there to explain to them why they should always ensure they place the drill chuck back in the little holder thingy on the handle of the drill to ensure they are not forever heading to the DIY place to buy another.

I ask myself who, if not me, should be the one to explain why darts is a sport and motor racing is not and why being a Yorkshire-man is truly a privilege.

My heart is heavy with the thought that at my passing so ceases the chance for me to impart upon them how a man should approach washing dishes so as to ensure he never gets asked again.

Truly though I believe the greatest gift we can give them is our presence, time and attention without which we cannot pass on our biases and prejudice.

Good god, what if they grow up to be Manchester United fans?

 

K is for Kids

Just to be clear. They are not for sale.

I have two and I love them very much, which is lucky for them because there are days when I think they might just be a little bit faulty.  Don’t get me wrong, despite their obvious flaws I still think mine are actually more pleasant than other peoples – and definitely yours – and I have the tedious photo’s and long winded stories to prove it.

I think/hope that my eldest may well have the most wonderful sense of humour as just the other day he asked whether the Germans were still looking for the Von Trapp family.  Now don’t get me wrong, as an Englishman I am of a mind to think that somewhere there is a lower level Ortsgruppenleitner with a hatred for sing songs that is still hopeful of apprehending them, but truth be told that’s probably just me being awful.  I was troubled enough to ask him whether he was serious, and I am still not actually sure.

The youngest is a precious little thing who has the most delightful ability to believe his own lies and I am most certain that he is destined for great things – probably in politics or banking.  Such is his conviction that I often have to refer to the internet to support any argument I may find myself having with him.

Still, I wouldn’t be without them no matter how much I was offered for them – and trust me the little blonde one is worth big money in certain parts of the middle east.  The elder brown haired one is probably worth less though he has broad shoulders and a strong back and would certainly do the work of at least one small mule.

Not that I’ve researched it.  Honest.

To be fair, had I tried to return them or asked for a repair I imagine I would have been told that any damage they are currently exhibiting may well be my fault.

 

 

 

J is for Jesus, Jew and Jam

I do rather like Jam.

Given it’s Christmas and all J is most definitely for Jesus.  I was going to write ‘J is for Jew’ but that sounded a bit accusatory and a kind of racist.  It’s not is it?  It’s only a word after all.  I tend not to think about what is and what is not appropriate when I write and simply go with it and watch my followers to see whether it effects the number.

Maybe it’s how you say it?  Or who says it?  If I am standing on top of a burning car outside of a bank it is most like decidedly racist, criminal and a load of other things that my mum would not be proud of.  If someone has a bomb vest on insisting J is for Jew and is shouting for his friend Alan Akbar then again – I am thinking it is probably a negative use.

Conversely, if I am wearing a little white hat thing on my head attending a colleagues son’s something-or-other where they cut parts of his dick off then I think it is simply a statement.  I sit and reflect: “Oh yes I see, J is for Jew.”  It’s almost a rather comforting and warming moment feeling that I am connected to a people that have spanned all of written memory.

Guess how it makes you feel is about you and not me really.

P.S.

You know, google is great.  I searched for ‘Jewish Cock Cutting Ceremony’ and it informed me it was called a bris.  I am assuming lots of other people have searched similar terms.  See, I’m not alone in my ignorance.

P.P.S

J is also for ‘Jam’.  I do like Jam.

 

 

 

I is for i-spy

You can shove your i spy!

Before I get into this I would make the point that I love my boys very much and would do just about anything for them.

If in doubt understand that I will regularly unclog their toilet –  which they seem to prefer to only flush every third or fourth visit – with only minimal shouting and threats.  Look closely and you will see that the bonds of love are such that I have been known to tidy their rooms for them and only remind them once or twice that the option of adoption remains on the table until they are 18.

Still to be convinced?  My heart overflows with love so abundant that only recently I was witnessed preparing them 3 meals in a single day.  That’s true human kindness right there…

That said, there are limits and those limits come in the form of board games.  I really do not enjoy one bit sitting down with the family for an evening of board games and frivolity.  It takes almost no time at all for me to upset somebody because I refuse to let somebody win because they’re ‘only little’.  Play against kids of your own age if that’s how you want to roll but as far as I am concerned you want me to play, I will play to crush you.  Ideally I will make you never want to play board games with me ever again.

I know it makes me a terrible person.  I will pay for their therapy when they are older.  Might also explain why we have a cupboard full of unused board games.

The wife likes to play with the boys when I am away though, which is nice.

And don’t get me started on bloody i-spy.  As if driving in this country isn’t hard enough with it’s constant roadworks and sheer weight of traffic…I travel miles and miles having to try and guess the quite ridiculous things my youngest apparently spies.

Get lost Thomas you didn’t spot Batman, T is not for “Tornado” and you can get stuffed if you believe that you saw a clown in the car that went past us 5 miles ago.  You’re a liar and your lies make baby Jesus cry!

And don’t go crying to mum when I insist that Psoriasis begins with a P, and you’re no doctor so the dry skin on my elbows could well be something more serious and your diagnosis is worthless because you are only 9.

😉

 

 

 

H is for Home

I have lived in a fair few places in my life.

I have lived in a fair few places in my life.  Hull, Secunda, Mossel Bay, Grahamstown, Oudtshoorn, Knysna, Immingham, Barton-Upon-Humber, Sheffield, Sowerby Bridge, Brighouse and Halifax.  Not the one in Nova Scotia.   I think that’s all of them.

My instinct here is to explore the phrase that ‘home is where the heart is’, and looking back all of those places – perhaps with the exception of Hull (Which I left when I was 10) and Halifax (where I live now) – felt rather temporary.   I have very few, though definitely some, memories that I look back upon with fondness, and try as I might I find myself hard pressed to remember the feeling of content I have where I live now.

Perhaps it is the stage in my life that I find myself at, the life I have made for myself and the physical surroundings that all together make my current home something different to everything that has gone before.  It is not a fancy house by any means, only a small terrace in an average part of an average norther town but it is mine.  Or ours, as I share it with my wife and children.  It is the place that we have made our home for the last ten years and where the memories that mean the most to me have been made.

It is where I have watched my boys grow up, each room filled with magical memories of at least one of them covering it in vomit.  It is the place where I have threatened to paint and put up shelves and trust me, I will get round to it I promise.  When we are long gone somebody will pull up the carpets and see the large cock I drew on the wooden floors in the back bedroom.

We renovated it from top to bottom recently, and put everything we had into it to make it the place that we could spend the next decade though there is perhaps still not quite enough room for my comic collection.  Oh, and don’t get me started on the collection of things at the bottom of the stairs up to the kids bedrooms.

It is about more than just the four of us though, it is the place where my wife and I have made new friends and welcomed them into our home and been so very grateful when they have eventually left because we do rather like the peace and quiet too.

When I go out I see so many people that I know from the community, and I feel like I belong here and am part of the community and proudly so.

I love where I live, the house I live in and the people I share it with and who knows, maybe we would have been happy in any of the myriad of places I have lived but to me this one is special.

 

Next time…I is for i-spy

 

 

 

BIG FUN!

I think we all wish we were just a bit like him…

20171206_1603171557322054.jpg

I saw that number plate on the way home today and it got me to thinking as to just what sort of person must they be that they are so confident in their fun factor they that he would demonstrate its apparent stellar quality in such a manner.  To have BIG FUN as your number plate you must surely be special.

Now I am going to suppose it is a man as I doubt a woman would ever boast of her ability to have fun in such a way.  Maybe it is just me and the way I was brought up but were it a woman driving such a car with that number plate I would imagine she was prone to sexual dalliances and enjoys a jolly good seeing to with anyone who was kind enough to buy her a whisky sour.  I know that is awful of me, and you know what – I blame society and my parents.  She might just actually be great fun and enjoy practical jokes and paintballing.

To be clear, those aren’t the opposite ends of some fun scale I have when assessing the funness of a woman.

So I am sat there in traffic imagining him and I did feel somewhat intimidated.  I like to think I am good fun when I am out, especially after a couple of whisky sours but he is probably the sort that makes me feel inferior and withdraw somewhat.

It was a bit like that time I saw a chap at the swimming baths with the largest penis I have ever seen.  He had a carer with him as he had some rather apparent learning difficulties but what he lacked in one regard nature had certainly compensated him for in the underpants department.  He strutted around the open change room like a Grecian god swinging care free and repeatedly bashing into the lockers.  He was having a fabulous time of it, blissfully happy and beaming from ear to ear and it left me feeling wholly inadequate.

But back to our fun time Freddie.  What must he be like I wondered?  Great hair for one – fun people are prone to fabulous hair I find, probably quite a thick head of it or maybe even a rather lovely curly to it.  It goes without saying that he is probably a fabulous dresser too.  He was driving a Mercedes so I am putting him in to the funny, charming and the life of the party type of fun rather than the whacky, silly voice office buffoon type of fun.

I bet you a fiver he had a really nice watch too.  And that he was a great lover, and kind to animals and would probably clear your drive of snow and salt it from that store of salt he keeps just in case.  In fact I bet he did all the neighbours drives.  Before they got up.

And oh what fun he is.  No party is the same without him, he lights up a room with his very presense and when it comes to charitable giving he…

Ok I think I have perhaps gone too far.  I just accidentally wrote more than five hundred words about a man I have never met and my wife will probably read this …

Love you wife x