Bude Canal Mist with Goya!

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May 7th 2018 8:46pm

We decided this Saturday to go down to the Weir Cafe and walk along the canal into Bude. Along the Atlantic Highway we could see billowing clouds of sea mist in the valleys and on the horizon like some impending nuclear cloud approaching. Should we just go back home and sit in the garden and pick our noses? Consensus was unanimously undecided so we finally arrived at the Weir Cafe.
It was bloody freezing there and all I had was a t shirt to wear, oh and trousers etc of course. We walked into the freezing fog like Spanish refugees expecting to see body parts dangling from the trees as in some Goya-esque horror etching. Our space blankets rustled as eerie silhouettes of figures like Ringwraiths could be seen now and again bobbing out in the spiralling mist. Finally Bude appeared out of the frozen sea pea soup and we decided to visit the shops as we had no idea where the beach was.
This was a great mistake, most of Bude was closed for Sunday! It’s a busy Bank Holiday weekend, time to make loads of money, yet they’ve all closed for the day; typical Cornish business, or could they be all at church? We decided against the £5 local pasties as £20 is not quite the price I’d like to pay for a quite snack! Back to the canal where loads of motor bikers were stroking and licking each other’s spotless machines . They’ve all got supercharged racing bikes that are only to be taken out if there’s sunshine, no rain and it’s exactly 18 degrees C. Then it’s out for a predictable Sunday in their colourful gimp leathers and a quick ride down to the Bude Canal for rancid corn oil chips and anaemic tea. After half an hour they’re home again to spend the rest of the day washing and bedding down their bikes. This is followed by spanking each other with discarded rolled up chip wrappers and having kinky sexy in their Suzuki leathers.
We decided to leave this ghost town and felt our way back along the canal in the freezing fog like Blind Pew. Finally we left misty Weir Cafe and just as we arrived back at Clovelly Cross the sun appeared. Not to self, don’t sodding go anywhere on a bank holiday just stay in the garden and stare at the the lump of purple pigeon poo on the decking!

As a footnote, I’ve had to throw a t shirt away because due to the cold my stiff nipples wore a hole through the material! 

Password To Hell!

Al Brown Leave a comment


Well I think I’ll just book some tickets for a classic band at a local venue. I go onto the website and select the band, then the date and I’m directed to the seat selection! I select the best seats in the house as I’m an early booker so the cream of rock is mine. I’ll be drenched in the saliva of a real Rock Star soon enough.
I start the payment and the site asks please log in your details, I enter my details and the website says NO! Apparently either my email or password is incorrect! I check my list of email/password files and I’m certainly not wrong; I’ve entered the correct bloody information. I try various variations, in fact 76 but the website still says NO! I then enter the dreaded button. Click here if you’ve forgotten your password you thick, senile old duffer! I do this with trepidation and get the reply, we’ve sent you a link to reset your password to your recovery email address!
I log into my usual email page but it says error please enter correct details! Again I try at least 23 attempts then look at my email/password files and I’m certainly not wrong; I’ve entered the correct bloody information. I have to bite the bullet and click the link that says, forgotten your password you dumb, waste of breath, click here to reset your password. I do as I’m asked and the link replies, a link has been sent to your phone!
I check my phone no reply or link! I try twice more, no answer! I then realise that this email is linked to a Nokia 3210 I owned at the turn of the centuary! OMG; they’ve contacted the dead! I return to the link then through various menus and sub menus and crypto-menus and psuedo-menus manage to create a new link to my iPhone.
I return and yet again, bite the familiar bullet and click the link that says, forgotten your password you senile senior citizen that still has a Nokia 3210 as a sodding phone number just die you wrinkly bag of elbow skin!
I enter the previous details and ker-ping the link appears on my iPhone. I renew my password and log out! I then receive the link from the original venue, I log in and boom my details are there. I go through the well let’s just book some tickets for a classic band at a local venue. I select the band, then the date and am directed to the seat selection! I select the best seats in the house as I’m an early booker so the cream of rock is mine. I’ll be drenched in the saliva of a real Rock Star soon enough. With a trembling hand I press go!

The page freezes!

I refresh the site and return through the email/password passage and notice my seats are booked. I return to my email site and sure enough front row seats are mine. They’re also still wet with the sweat & saliva of past Rock Stars!
With a growing confidence I print off my tickets, no Blue Tooth link, I renew the connection through my laptop, still no Blue Tooth link. I reflect and realise that there has never been a reliable Blue Tooth link ever anywhere on planet earth! I then discover through seeing a ghostly image on a piece of A4 paper that I’ve no printing ink. I renew the ink and print them off! There they are my tickets ­­­­sent all the way from 1999 through a Nokia 3210 via a canary yellow Ethernet Cable!
I then think, I’ll re-log into the venue website just to confirm and set my mind at rest. I enter my email then password and press click! The website says NO! Please enter the correct email/password details, I do so and I’m certainly not wrong! I then enter the dreaded click here if you’ve forgotten your password. The reply, a link has been sent to your Nokia 3210 back in 1999 and by the way your Rock Star has still not decided to pick up the guitar and learn it yet, so think again you completely useless, wrinkly, smeg ridden piece of skin around the tip of a penis! Next time just pop into the Queens Theatre with the other Geriatric Zimmer Dancers and do it in person! Regards Landmark Theatre!
A foot note this scenario. This happens once every two months at my place of work just to access my elearning and emails!
Also why do they want me to log in? Surely I can pay direct using my address and credit card details. What they want is your email so they can bog you down with advertising every hour of the day! They’ll even sell your emails to everyone else. I log in and I’ve already received 1.000.000 useless adverts!

Suddenly there is a large bang and a wall behind me is covered with an impact of bloody cerebral tissue!
January 17th 2020 23:09 pm

No One Came In Iceland!

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I’m only saying:-
On the way home tonight I received a text message saying can you bring home some milk. I thought I’d pop into Iceland and pick up a couple of pints cowjuice. Well I picked up the milk and proceeded in a north easterly direction towards the front tills. Well you’ve guessed it, as usual there was only one person manning the tills.
In front of me were two full trolleys containing microwave burgers, microwave cheesy baked potatoes, fish protein shapes which resembled king prawns and an assortment of frozen, highly dangerous and graphically appealing packets of poisonous offal. The lad on the tills pushed the buzzer beckoning others to help out. No one came!
Then the owner of one of the trolleys in front of me couldn’t find her debit card, then when she did she couldn’t remember her pin. A woman came up with a packet of chocolate biscuits and was allowed to jump the queue. Excuse me I’ve been here and sodding grown a beard already!!
Damn it: I couldn’t stand it any more so decided to go to the back door tills whilst the sound of the beckoning buzzer filled the air. I arrived at the back tills and you’ve guessed it they were unmanned. What I did see were four Icelanders slowly filling shelves and chatting in a relaxed manner. Now and again they raised their voices to talk over the buzzer pleading with them to help their colleague out.
Finally I placed the milk carton by an empty, soulless, lonely till and proceeded out through the back door and into a corner shop three minutes away. Instead of paying £1 for two pints I paid £1.18 for one pint. If you ask me that was money bloody well spent and I’m sure the dairy farmers would agree with me too!
As a footnote as I was leaving I did see Kerry Katona sweeping the floor. The only reason she was here was because she didn’t want to pay British taxes. June 8th 2016 7:19 pm

Law Of Sodding Annoyance!

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Now here’s a few things…
Why is it you go to your toolbox for a flat headed screwdriver all you find is Posidrives or Phillips and vice versa? I think it’s referred to as the Law Of Sodding Annoyance which affects people of a certain age. This aforesaid Law considerably slowed down the changing of a Stanley knife and an opening of a paint tin today. It also affected my day in five uncertain ways!

1. We decided to paint our hallway & landing. Everything went well until we noticed that the water damage from a recent boiler malfunction kept seeping through the white emulsion paint. 36 coats later we still see the dark dribble marks and the ceiling is beginning to look like the stalactites on a Cheddar Cave roof. Damn, damn, damn it’s off to B & SODDING Q.

2. You are in the traffic at that wonderfully artistic Cornish Barnhenge when another car, full o spotty hoodies, pulls up beside you revving their bean tin 750cc engines with one foot diameter exhaust pipes. In my car, I know I can take them, oh I know I can take them for sure, but I let them go and pretend that it’s all for maturity and the benefit of my blood pressure. My twins quietly take the piss in the back of the car and I realise that I should have run the f’king spotty bastards off the road. That is for my children’s sake, of course!

3. Arrived at B&Q looking for watermark stain spray and cannot find anyone for advice because there is only 2.4 people working. Finally, a kind adviser helps me and I make my way to the check out. A bloke in a mobility scooter, that looks like it’s powered by two AAA batteries, is trying to pay. He cannot remember his pin number, and realises that there is no barcode on his purchase item. The co worker is sent to try and find the actual price…. 22 minutes later I pay for my item and F… THE RIGHT OFF!

4. Back at Barnhenge revving my car”s 2L engine, no one’s going to take me this time. Green light, sandal & sock to the floor and…. stall. A bloody old man with flat cowpat cap behind me is hooting at me and a sodding Smart Bra hums past me arrogantly into first place it takes the chequered flag!

5. Finally, I return home a broken interior decorator. My wife paints away the stains of my middle age despair and I’m left weeping on the chaise in the front room like a hormonal Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen. Happy Holidays!
Oh a footnote just looking at Channel 4 adverts. Is it me or is Nicki Menaj’s bottom unfeasibly large?
March 2nd 2917 1153 pm

Retching Kids!

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It’s amazing to what lengths children will go not to eat their evening meal. Amelia has just spent the last hour moving remnants of her food around the plate disguising it and using clever illusionist tricks to make it look like she has actually eaten something. After whining like a lame dog, feigning vomit sounds and microwaving it a dozen times she finally eats 0.0001g of Gingsters pasty. Well done so no ice cream for you! Perhaps later she will stop overreacting and confirm that she was actually glad to be born.
November 21st 2011 6:48 pm

The Blackadder Bob Scenario!

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And a final thing; the galactic year is 5045 and a grey dusty space ship enters a long-forgotten planet’s orbit. On the side of the ship the blue words read Archaeological Craft 12-67Z. They are searching for evidence of ancient world leader hairstylists.
A small craft leaves the ship and ventures down to the planet’s surface. As they descend small areas of blue and green can be seen through the acrid green smog. They soon land and the lead suited occupants leave to find archaeological specimens. Very soon they find a crude kind of electrical communication device and its co-ordinates noted on their holographic data sheets.
Once back on board they plug the device in to see immediately a couple in jogging bottoms at the zoo. They’re busy drinking and as their child comes up they give it the device like some sort of child’s pacifier. Next they see a baby giraffe and they lose the picture to a brilliant white light. Their captain informs them that this planet was once occupied but sadly a nuclear war wiped out all of its isolated inhabitants. Apparently this confrontation was compounded by a short Russian leader who was fearful that he was about to be outed as Gay. He decide, quite logically, to take the Blackadder Bob Scenario to the letter. Three other paths are open to you. Three cunning plans to cure thy ailment Mr Putin.
Putin: Ah, good.
Wise Woman: The first is simple – kill the boy!
Putin: Never!
Wise Woman: Then try the second – kill yourself.
Putin: Hmm… And the third?
Wise Woman: The third is to ensure that no one else ever knows.
Putin: Ah, that sounds more like it! How?
Wise Woman: Kill everybody in the whole world!

They smile sympathetically and place the device into a box labelled Earth 67Z1. ‘Now what’s for dinner’, they said, ‘today’s been quite uneventful.’
April 15th 2017 6:39 pm

The Diced Spleen Van!

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Oh and another icy thing. The trouble with Farcelook is you see others having a better time than you’ll ever have. Now a point of reference; I was perusing my social feed when I happened upon a certain Matron & her daughter licking a couple chocolate cones of Mocking’s Diced Spleen. Behind them an appealing blue sky, sunshine & the wonderful vista of Instow Beach looking rather dapper. I thought, right then family we’re going to have some of that.
After a short journey, we arrived to witness a splendid sunlit beach, but exiting our charabanc proved a great disappointment. It was colder than a witch’s tit and the wind cut through us as if we were summiting K2. We decided quick get the Mocking’s and see if we can make it back to the car before Captain Scott asked where we were. We passed a car full of acrid smoke with an elderly couple dragging on woodbines reading the Daily Vile. We could only make out their eerie silhouettes and the odd glow of a cigarette end. Another car’s windows were white with aroused condensation, now and again a piece of naked skin hit the glass only to deny what part of anatomy it actually belonged to: bloody horny teenagers! The next car, a couple sleeping or perhaps recently diseased, another an Afghan hound licking Mocking’s out of its owner’s gaping mouth like some obscene come swap. Eventually we arrived at our destination, the almighty cream coloured diced spleen van. After quickly and rather rudely grabbing some waffle cones we decided not to set up base camp but to make a final dash back to our charabanc for safety. Out on the beach we could see dog sledges, odd large white furry animals, and a bloke staggering into the icy windblown sand wearing a furry parka and arctic clothing. Resigned he fell to the ground and we lost sight of him to the elements. Back at the car we quickly dived inside and locked the doors to the subzero.
We licked our Mocking’s Diced Spleens and listened to Sing Something Simple and then the Black & White Minstrel Show on the radio. After my wife surgically removed my frostbitten fingers and popped them into the ashtray I drove the hypothermic family back home to regroup.
Next time we’ll remember don’t visit Instow until July and then only those two weeks and don’t pay attention to pleasant & tempting posts on Farcelook. April 4th 2917 804 pm

Favela Style Thatcher!

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Today’s sermon from the Pilton Pulpit; A Property Owning Democracy & Right To Buy? Discuss!
There is a culture in this country brought about by the Thatcher generation where owning your own home became instilled in our culture. Now instead of just owning a home making a profit and cynically using it as an investment has become almost paramount. People make important life decisions, they even put dreams aside on whether they’ll buy a home or start a family for example. Second homes, holiday homes their elevated prices are now forcing inner city people to live in favela-style back yard accommodations. But this ownership is just an illusion. When we sadly become infirm and require residential care or nursing in our own homes a lifetime of hard saving and sacrifice will be used to pay for this overpriced treatment. Your hard-earned cash will finally be eaten away by business people picking the financial bones of your misfortune like Tory Vultures. I think equity release could be a way out. When you get to a certain age sell your house and go on holidays, have adventures of your lifetime; recoup your lost and wasted time stolen by government promises. You’ve spent a lifetime buying your home then use it to finally live the life you dreamt of. I did read about a lady who sold up due to impending infirmity and went on a cruise of a lifetime. Her daily expenses were less than living in an overpriced care home. Now you do know you can’t take it with you, don’t you? 
In the end have the last laugh and don’t comply to their overall plan for you and your hard earned dosh; stick two fingers up to the establishment!
May 21st 2017 9:43 am

That Lynx Effect! Deod a Rant!

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You can tell my kids are nearly teenagers! Five minutes of them being in the house I was almost asphyxiated by the toxic stench of Lynx Apollo deodorant! Thank God the patio doors were open, I just managed to crawl under the fumes and out into the back garden. Sadly two house sparrows had already succumbed to the acrid pong and were in their last death throws on the decking! June 6th 2016 4:03 pm

Magic Tena Pants!

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I was watching that informative and unbiased Spynews when I was confronted by an advert so heinous in its design that it made my toes curl and my eyelids fold inside out. Yes, that British Seniors advert with the payback guarantee. Once you snuff it your family can actually bury you rather than let you rot in a bin bag in the back garden. The way refuse collections go at the moment the stench could be incalculable.
In this classically misguided advert you see an over 50s woman in a mouldy dated kitchen preparing lunch. The kitchen is adorned with those yucky 80s tiles and worn cupboards, she looks a little tired and has that common accent that appeals to us working and lower middle-class individuals. She informs us of having taken out this over 50s insurance to put her mind at rest because she wants to look after her family after her death! She looks like she’s going to die at any moment. Outside her son and husband are tinkering with a crappy worn red car happy with the thought that when she expires, whilst cooking their festering Sunday roast, they’ll get the dosh and escape this decaying, stereotypical lifestyle advert.
Finally, the advert ordeal ends with a phone number business card on a tea tray covered with a crochet lace doily and fine printed china with some pensioner style cookies.
The part that winds me up is at the end. The tired husband is shown fixing a knackered old Corsa (faded paint and fibre glass patchworked) on his driveway. He says with satisfaction, ‘This will run for years and years.’
The unfeasible young son says, ‘Just like you Mum.’
Finally, all three laugh like mad scientists in an episode of Hammer House of Horror.
This appalling advert been produced by some young, patronising twats in a Perspex office who have no idea who post 50s are except for some caricatured stereotypical vision. They think we’re all walking around in charity shop clothes, stinking of piss and sipping tea from bone china cups. We obviously cannot afford to redecorate or even drive modern cars with our degenerative myopia. We live in some time capsule of a worn, bygone, decaying era limping around like Quasimodos in our figure conforming Tena pants. These magic pants help us to get out and live what’s left of our pathetic lives without leaving a yellow trail disappointment; but that’s another advert.
Now British Seniors if you want my business make my life aspirational and attractive to me. I see myself surfing, bungee jumping, paragliding, motor racing, cycling and sunbathing on luxury yachts with glamorous women etc. Make it like a fantasy James Bond intro then finally at the end lay your greedy message on me, put some money away for a long time so that we can skim off the interest and prepare for death you undervalued decaying old bastard! November 4th 2017 11:18 am

Oh I wish I could afford a send off like Jenny. Well if you take out an over 50s plan, pay £500 a month for the next ten years then perhaps you too could have an average funeral whilst the company invests your money for their own ends. This brings me to tonight’s over dinner discussion in my house.
I said that when I die my wife would then be lumbered with our sproggs. They could then plop me into the bath and liquidise my dead body by each of them wearing rubber gloves and wielding Kenwood chefettes. It would be then simple to flush me down the plughole and save all that dosh.
They weren’t totally with me on that one I hasten to say. There was some resistance with regard to clogged pipes, expensive drain cleaner and the idea that Kenwood Chefettes wouldn’t effectively grind up my bones. All I was doing was trying to save money! October 13th 2016 6:12 pm

Meerkat Jockeys!

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Odd thing, this morning I decided to have a lie in as I was on a late shift. Nine o’clock I eventually came too and thought, mmm it’s a little cold yet the central heating’s on? As I clambered down the stairs I noticed that the front door was wide open and so too the garden gate; bloody Archie had left for school in a hurry. I closed the door and decided to make an espresso. Out of our middle room a dog, which is not ours as we have no dog, walked out into the hall and looked at me. It was as if it was saying, ‘Hi where’s my daily bowl of bland canine boredom?’ I ushered the dog to the front door and out into the street, no owner no dog pound van! I returned to the kitchen and my espresso expecting to see a meerkat jockey ride past on a zebra or giraffe. Something similar to an old surreal Twin Peaks episode. I then realised that perhaps I should put some clothes on. Help me I’m going f’king bonkers!  December 7th 2017 11:23 pm