The importance of grammar.

Each time I return to this Church in Sheffield for a hatching, matching or despatching, I am thrilled to see that this sign remains.

I resisted adding a comma today as I choose to believe that at some point they did indeed have to contend with Parishoners wearing sex shoes.

Shorts – Dead Accountant walking

A while back i sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads

Having slowed somewhat in my writing, a while back(September 2022) I sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads. Unedited, raw, and just done for the hell of it…What concerns me most about this one is that I have no recollection of writing it. How curious.


When the dead rose, yawning graves willingly vomiting up their rancid, worm riddled treasures, there were those that cried that this was surely hell. They thumped their chests and proclaimed – often waving leather bound books – that these were the end of days, and that it was time for judgement and oh boy were we going to be sorry. They insisted that we weren’t to complain because the truth had been there all along, mostly tucked away in the bed side tables in hotel rooms they conceded – but none the less it was our own fault for not believing and not paying attention and we should just get on with what was surely coming our way.

Now obviously I should point out that other faiths and theologies were available for commentary on the matter, and in the main those professing them were also found with leather bound books, different ones, but most generally concurred that we had this coming and there was nothing that could be done now.

That is probably one of the positives of the whole end of the world thing. They were all right to a degree and were able to find common ground at last with a shared message. The smug satisfaction did not last long though as they – like most people – were soon trying – and failing – to avoid the dead because they weren’t at all interested in whether you or any of your newfound friends had a leather-bound book at all. They would quite happily feast on you regardless of denomination or size of your leather-bound book collection.

A few months later those of us that remained were rather convinced that in fact almost everybody – regardless of persuasion – had been so very far from the mark.

The dead it turns out just wanted everything else to be dead too you see. They weren’t at all fussy. Cat? Sure, thing they would happily make that dead. Dogs? Easy pickings. One dead dog coming up. Cow found wandering unsuspectingly. You got it. Deaded. And people? There were plenty of those to make dead so absolutely they were all in on people too. It seemed a straightforward and simple lifestyle, and given they seemingly had none of the complexities and strains of modern life to contend with they could focus all of their energies on making things dead, and they were making a bloody good fist of it.

No, this was not hell, because hell would have been preferable in some regards. At least hell was warm. This was something on a whole new level, well beyond the gnashing of teeth and the wailing of the childless mothers the Old Testament had promised in repayment for our iniquities. There was no horned chap sat on a throne with a pitchfork insisting that we calm down, stop complaining, and bend over for our daily anal probing.

This was worse than hell.

This was London 2042.

Oh, and did I mention I’m dead too? Oh yeah. Pretty unfortunate turn of event but that’s how it goes these days. I had wanted to be an accountant but turns out the universe had other plans.

Guess there are things worse than death eh. Accountant. What the hell was I thinking…

Shorts – Burrito Meltdown

A while back i sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads

Having slowed somewhat in my writing, a while back I sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads. Unedited, raw, and just done for the hell of it…


In the endless possibilities of eternity there are things of such horror that they have yet to be imagined. Truly, truly terrible things that defy all description and would drive you mad if you were to know just how awful they might be. But on that list of things that have been both imagined and endured, there is the endless torture of being trapped inside a space suit, thousands of miles above the Earth, with your own fart.

Evolutionists would have us believe that homo sapiens, as well as lower and higher functioning mammals, have a natural proclivity to the stench of their own internal brewing as it is an affirmation of ones effective inner workings. Or something like that.

And here, in the darkness of space, on the edge of Earth’s atmosphere, Buster Wilde found himself wholly convinced that once that list of universal horrors was finalised there ought to be space made on it for the intestinal effects of government ration 158, beef chilli burrito.

It was not exactly a burrito in a way that a potato is not exactly a bottle of Russian standard vodka, though the chemical constituents would undoubtedly argue to the contrary and persist in their assumption that the dark paste he had endured, if coupled with the particularly large and lumpy potato, were in fact the basis for a rather good start to a night out on the town. They would further assert that they were technically correct in their belief in being a great dinner on the basis of being technically correct. And that is of course the purest form of correct and therefore the most compelling.

This was no night out on the town though. This was an attempt to unjam the launch arm of the satellite docking bay, whilst being suffocated by his own bodily functions.

“Screw it,” he thought to himself as he pulled down on the crowbar that he had jammed under the bent plating that had come loose when the bay doors had opened. He took a number of deep breaths and coughed. A couple more followed and for a moment sprite of light danced before his eyes. A warning light beeped on his wrist panel indicating a drop in oxygen levels, and then it blinked green once more and then went off.

“Everything ok out there?” came a voice over his com. “Swallowed a fly?” they continued, laughing.

Buster watched as the jammed plate came loose and drifted past his visor, spinning slowly. He reached out a gloved hand and managed to grab hold of it, clamping it to the magnetic belt hung around his waist.

“I’m fine,” he replied, “nothing to worry about. Arm is freed and I’m heading back to the lock now.”

Buster pushed himself away from the rail that ran the length of the cargo bay doors and drifted slowly back towards the entry hatch. He watched the Earth thousands of miles below, silent in the inky blackness. The smell had mostly gone now, and only a feint remnant lingered on his pallet. 

“Entering hatch one now,” he said as he swung the heavy handle and pulled the large square hatch cover open.

“That’s good,” came the reply across the com, “now get yourself inside, it’s curry for dinner tonight and you have another scheduled walk out there later – one of the access panels needs bolting down.”

Out in the van – Prague

Where: Prague

When: December 2023

Why: Celebrate the eldrsts 18th

With: Me, the boyd and Mrs Afterwards

So not quite in the van, but a holiday away for a few days to celebrate the eldests birthday. Prague is an absolutely incredible city to visit and if you love history and old buildings and zoos and beer and markets and snow – well this is just a place for you. If you love the idea of delicious local food then this is not the place for you.

They seem to have misplaced all the delicious parts of the pig and kept only the shin’s, knuckles, cheeks, necks and other unslightly parts.

But hey, we had an absolutely fantastic time and once we got the hang of the local metro system it made it even easier to get about and we could fit more into the 4 days we were there. But this is not a travel blog and I’m just sharing a few pictures and wholly recommending it as an absolutely wonderful place to visit.

Heirloom

More rambling words…

These memories, like trinkets long discarded, out of reach

And though I search elusive they remain

With faded paint, and gold hue once so bright now dim

Ensnared with such a wonderous pull now seems like pointless whim

You held it in your hand, I think, though cannot be so sure

For memories aren’t always believed

And where I saw it last slips through cold, frail grasping fingers

And names once tripped from sparkling tongue, now only in fog lingers

Instinct pricked, elusive elements of something once so sure

This certainty, now possible or maybe

I search, I know it’s to be found, so close, so very near

This trinket, bauble, well loved toy, that now seems oh so dear

AB

Theodore Rufus Doggington…How is it going then?

Theo and I wandering the local area with camera in hand

Well, in just a few days my doggo will be 2 years old. Ive not written about him much on here, so thought id post a few photos to celebrate the last year or so.

I regularly say that I don’t want a dog, and did not ask for one. I was convinced that I would not have to walk it or pick up the poo, and like many before me I fell for those lies.

I don’t mind though, as it turns out he is quite wonderful company and a lovely dog with a great temperament and a love of hot buttered toast.

He is mostly trained, though his recall is rather iffy, and should you dare to eat in his presence he will do his best to drool all over you until you lose your appetite and give him whatever you are enjoying.

Oh, poor thing lost his balls a few weeks ago so waiting to see if that changes him in any way. So far it hasn’t…which is good as he’s mostly perfectly imperfect.

Anyway, like kids, I’m sure everyone thinks their dog is the best. I shall shhhh…

Happy dog day!

So you have cancer. Now what?

C is for…

So, turns out I have prostate cancer. I wrote about it first here…

There is so much reading you can do on the matter once you find out you have the big C. Stuff on diet, treatment, research, oh the list goes on and on. Websites, forums, books, articles, pod casts. Its never ending.

I’m just saying you can. I’m not saying that I did. Fuck that.

I really don’t want to dwell too much on it really if I am honest, it isn’t going to get me any time soon, and I don’t need treatment yet and people live with it for decades so why fill my head with thoughts on the matter. That is my way of looking at it anyway.

Oh, I saw this nice specialist for a follow up a while ago, he had a tie on and an office and certificates on the wall, and things are settled and no worse than they were and Ill go get checked out every 6 months and maybe have another MRI or a biopsy. So it all seems very much in hand. My head isn’t in the sand, I just feel like it’s best left alone for now, you know?

The only thing that bothers me from time to time is the thought that it can spread or maybe I’m open to some sort of secondary cancer, but I mean what’s the chance of that. Hmm, you know there is probably a statistic for that. is the chance of that is probably well understood. Well, I still don’t want to know.

Probably more chance of me dying from eating too much cake or not getting enough exercise to be honest…

F is for…Frogger

F…Screw you Frogger!

You can read the genesis of this A-Z here.

Now onto F!

Oh how bountiful is the overflowing goodness that is the list of arcade machines that start with the letter F that I remember playing!

Flying Shark, Frogger, Final lap, Final Fight, Fire Shark…ok so with the exception of Frogger maybe not household names but these are some of the games that I played a lot of. I bloody love vertical scrolling shooters and games like Flying Shark still float my boat to this day. You don’t really get a lot of games like that now, and to be fair its hard to improve of some of those that came out in the eighties such as Xevious and terra Cresta…to this day they remain perfect to me.

Pretty sure most folk remember frogger. Do you remember how hard it was though? Such was its bastardry that your 3 lives could be gone in less that 30 seconds. I kid you not. It may have good memories but just you try to play it today. You’ll realise how hard it was. Cross the road and you think youre doing great, then onto the logs, thinking yeah I got this.

No you don’t, ok. You don’t got this. You don’t got shit. Frogger got your 20 cent piece and you are going to be feeding it more if you want any sort of reward. Frogger was unforgiving and brutal, and don’t you let nostalgia tell you otherwise!

Flying Shark
Frogger
Final Lap
Final Fight
Fire Shark

Out in the van – Baitings reservoir

Up north!

Where: Halifax, West Yorkshire, England

When: 23rd of August 2022

Why: To go and see how low the water levels are.

With: Me, my youngest Thomas, Mrs Afterwards and Theo the dog

So just a quick ride out towards Ripponden, maybe twenty minutes away. We’ve had an uncommonly warm summer and have water shortages in places, and the water levels on Baiting’s reservoir have dropped significantly. So much so that the old pack horse bridge – long ago submerged is now visible. We grabbed an ice cream, wandered around the reservoir, commented over and over on how low the water levels were – and then went down onto the old bridge. Then back home as it was rather warm out and being English I don’t really like being outdoors too much when its sultry…