Nothing Is Impossible. Or So They Say.

I was lying in bed this morning thinking: What if a lady giraffe and a man mouse fell in love and wanted to have a relationship? What are the chances of that happening? The difference in size would be the main problem, I mean even if they met in a zoo and had access to ladders the chances of consummating their love successfully are fairly remote. There would be a good chance that even if the mouse managed to reach high enough to attempt intercourse he could fall in and never be seen again! A platonic relationship would be a possibility I suppose but, and I don't want to sound cynical here, what would be the point of that?

Anyway off you go and enjoy the sunshine. Leave me to ponder this one. Having said that, I see the sky has clouded over. A bit like my brain.

Everton Football Club are on tele this afternoon. Come on you blues! My extremely handsome son George is playing for AFC Liverpool today. It's the semi final of something or other. Good luck Georgie!

Human Powered Flight Of Fancy.

Just imagine if you could fly. If we could all fly. Wouldn't that be great? I'm not talking aircraft here. We can all do that. No I mean if we all had hollow bones and wings. Wouldn't that be marvellous?

Perhaps best not to have our wings permanently sticking out though. Perhaps they could be foldable? Maybe they could somehow be incorporated into the underside of our upper arms? Some people, women in particular, already have wings at the back of their upper arms don't they. I believe they call them bingo wings. Why they call them bingo wings I have no idea. But I do know they get into a bit of a flap when they discover they have them. Anyway bingo wings are too heavy and flappy to take off with. Flappy? That's why they call them wings. But bingo? Well that's got me beat.

This current craze for tattoo's that young women have these days. That is going to look great if they develop bingo wings in later life. For an example take one of them little dolphin tattoos. In a few years that is going to look like a whale. A huge whale flapping about on the underside of the arm. Really it is best to think these things through. Another thing is that tattoos do not look better with age. They start to look very smudgy. I have a tattoo that I got when I was seventeen and very drunk. It is so misshapen and smudgy that I can't even remember what it was!

Back to being able to fly. It wouldn't be long before the government stepped in and began to make life difficult. I expect there would be 'no fly zones' created for a start. And flying traffic wardens. The skies would be horribly crowded too, and people crashing into each other. Be ever so difficult to keep an eye on the kids wouldn't it?

Of course you would have people who wouldn't be satisfied with just being able to fly. Some would want to be able to fly faster than others. You would find people strapping engines to their backs to give themselves an extra bit of speed. And of course their engines would have to look better and fly faster than everyone else. Extremely wealthy people would have extra bodywork built on. Maybe encapsulate themselves entirely so they could keep out the wind and rain. Eventually they wouldn't feel the need to fly at all and would begin to spend more time trundling around on the ground in their fancy machines with wheels. Eventually too, someone would cotton on to this, realise the potential to make loads of money, and begin making  more affordable machines with wheels on for the poorer people. People would be able to give up the rather risky business of flying about in the overcrowded skies altogether.

Hey! Maybe that's what happened? Maybe we could all fly once, and then some bright spark invented the internal combustion engine? It all begins to make sense now. Well it does to me, but then I think I might be a bit crazy.

I Am So Old!

I am so old that I can remember when telegrams were delivered by young men riding little red motor bikes!

I am so old that I can remember putting four pennies into the telephone!

I am so old I can remember when the farthing was legal tender!

I am so old that I can remember when everyone wore shoes that had to be polished every day!

I am so old that I can remember when all grown ups wore hats whenever they went outside!

I am so old that I can remember when people, men and women, smoked clay pipes!

I am so old I can even remember sitting down to listen to the wireless!

I am so old I can remember the Saturday night dance when the band was an accordian player and a drummer and we danced the waltz, and the quickstep and the polka!

I am so old I can remember when girls wore pretty dresses that didn't expose lots of flesh, but they still looked beautiful!

I am so old I can remember when all cars were black!

I am so old I can remember when the milkman came by horse and cart, and had glass bottles and metal crates!

I am so old I can remember when steam rollers were a common sight at road works!

I can remember these things so clearly, but I am so old I can't remember what happened yesterday!

I am so old!

The Lynx Effect.

My extremely handsome son George is home from Uni for the weekend. First thing I noticed when I picked him up from the station was how nice he smelled. Or perhaps how nice his deodorant smelled. He always goes for the Lynx effect. According to the adverts for Lynx deodorant it makes the opposite sex go crazy for you. He was on his own when I picked him up so perhaps the effect had worn off after his five hour journey from Liverpool. Mind you it was still a bit overpowering when he got into the van. I couldn't help wondering what he must have smelled like when he started out on the journey. I bet the girls were all over him!

The problem with deodorants is that they mask a persons natural smell. This is a shame because I love the smell of my son. Particularly the smell of the top of his head. When he was little I would sniff through his hair when we were sitting cuddling together. It's difficult to describe. The best I can do is, a kind of soft burnt scent. Occasionally I will still take a good old sniff when I can, but it is difficult nowadays because he is taller than me. I managed a sniff today though when I was standing on the doorstep and he was slightly below me. It is still there, that soft burnt scent, although masked a little by the Lynx effect.



The last couple of nights I have been watching a television drama about events that led up to the First World War. It is titled Thirty Seven Days. That is how long it took after the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand by a Serbian nationalist until war broke out. Thirty seven days! Do you think they gave the matter enough thought? What a bunch of bumbling egotistical idiots the leaders involved were. That is my conclusion.

Can one come to two conclusions about the same subject? I'm not sure, but I have anyway. All men should wear hats and grow magnificent moustaches.