Head Rambles

Grandad September 8th, 2011

I was pottering around the garden here today when I found something.

At first I thought it was just a darker than usual shadow under a weeping willow, but then I looked closer.

In fact it was a hole of some kind.  Underneath a weeping willow seems to be a strange place to have a hole and what’s more it was a strange shape.  The floor of it sloped steeply downwards and curved around towards the tree roots.

I went down.

At the bottom there was a door which I pushed.

It was open.

What I saw was a tad surprising.

Yup.  There beneath the ground, under a weeping willow was a fully stocked bar complete with glasses, wine, beer and whatever-you’re-having-yourself.  I grant it was fairly small.  It was also nice and cool, and being underground, it was dark, but electricity is laid on and fully functional.  Not a single no-smoking sign anywhere.  All it needed was a Hobbit or a Womble asking me what my pleasure was.

I very rarely suffer from jealousy but I am really fucking jealous.  I want one and I want it badly.

Now I have to work out where an underground bar can be discreetly concealed in Head Rambles Manor.

I can see I’ll have a busy time when I get home.

• Holidays
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Grandad September 7th, 2011

I mentioned a while ago that I had gotten myself a Roger Mk II.

For those of you who have been [or still are] living under a rock, Roger is the bloke who lives on a satellite and navigates me around the countryside by giving directions on a little map on my dashboard.

Now Roger Mk II sounds exactly like Roger Mk I, but there are some subtle differences.  The first and probably the most important is that Mk II hasn’t tried to kill me yet.  Mk I had a nasty habit of waiting until I was half way across a viaduct and then ordering me to take a sharp right, or just plain trying to get me to drive into a lake.  Mk II has so far proved to be the perfect gentleman and utterly reliable even if he still hasn’t a fucking clue how to pronounce French names.  I’m glad of the latter as it provides some light relief on a long trip.  Occasionally it even provides a moment of outright hilarity.

One of the features I mentioned before is that roger now beeps at me when I exceed the speed limit.  I switched that off because it was going constantly, but have resurrected it for the French driving, as the French have really sensible speed limits.  The open road is generally 90, but that frequently increases to 110 or higher on the main roads.  On the other hand it often drops to 70 for a few metres because of a hidden junction, and can reduce to a crawl for town centres and the like.

As well as beeping at me, Roger now tells me how fast I am going too.  And I have discovered that my own speedometer is way off the mark.  It constantly overestimates my speed and tells me I’m doing 95 or 96 when I am actually doing 90.  But how do I know which is correct?  Simple.  The French have kindly put up the occasional speed warning thingy that informs me how fast I am going.  And their thingies agree spot on with Roger.  So fuck my speedometer, I’m going by Roger in future.

One aspect of Roger Mk I that I thoroughly enjoyed was his total lack of a sense of humour.  I used to programme him to go to a particular spot and would then head off in the opposite direction.  This used to tie him up in fits of apoplexy and he would start shouting at me to take a U-turn.  When that failed he would start shouting “recalculating” at me at regular intervals, before going into a total sulk.  The new bloke is apparently made of sterner stuff however.  If I drive past my destination, he calmly and coolly gives directions back to wherever I missed.  He hasn’t said “recalculating” once, which is a bit disappointing.

So far, since the start of the holiday, Roger hasn’t put a foot wrong.  He has directed me along roads that even the large scale Michelin maps don’t show.  He has been 100% accurate to date.  His estimates of driving times are uncanny.  His knowledge of speed limits is encyclopaedic.

So why do I have this nagging suspicion that he is saving everything up for one big nasty moment?

• Holidays
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Grandad September 6th, 2011

I just fired up the old laptop to see if I could have a wee dose of Sharon.

Surprisingly enough, there she was in all her glory.

At first, the fucking connection kept breaking down, but after wandering around the place, I found a spot where the signal is actually constant and I can watch the news.  Luckily the water in the lake isn’t too cold, and I have to be careful not to drop the laptop.

So they are talking of dropping the charge to inspect my septic tank?  I should fucking think so.  Any fucking inspector who wants to stick his nose in my tank is going to get a lot closer look than he expected.  My shite is my business, so to speak, and I resent any gubmint wanker poking around in it, even if it is a case of like meeting like.

In the meantime, I shall leave you all with a photograph of our humble pad,  Seeing as I am already wet, having to stand here for the Interweb, I thought I might as well take a photo.

• Holidays
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Grandad September 5th, 2011

There is one aspect of this place I had nearly forgotten about.

The Wimmin.

As we say in Ireland – the wimmin is only fuckin’ mighty!

We went into one of the local towns today and sat outside a cafe in the sun, supping coffee and smoking the pipe.  [Not Herself – she doesn’t smoke a pipe, that I am aware of.] 

The wimmin that passed by on the street really shouldn’t be allowed.  They wobble in all the right places and the places that shouldn’t wobble don’t, if you know what I mean.  There wasn’t a Skanger, a Skobie or a Scrubber amongst them.  I swear I have memorised enough daydreams already to last me for a full year.  I also swear that they aren’t good for my health.  There again, I did achieve a pulse rate equivalent to running the 500 metres, so maybe they are a good thing?

It was just as well I had an old jumper to throw across my legs.

• Holidays
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Grandad September 4th, 2011

I suppose you are all wondering if I arrived.

I am sorry to report that despite all your prayers, I did.

I was going to write and say that it’s hot here, but that would be a lie.  It’s not hot.  It’s fucking hot.  But because there is very low humidity it is extremely comfortable.

As promised, I do have a lake all to myself [well, I share it with a load of carp or sharks or something].  They keep sploshing around but only when I’m not looking.  Apart from that it’s just Herself, myself and the wind gently rustling the weeping willows.  And the sun, of course.

This place does in fact have an Interwebby connection.  It’s what I would call a Nostalgic Connection, because it reminds me of the good old dial up days.  My browser announced that it wanted to update itself.  It’s a small update – a mere 18Mb, but the fucking thing is still tying up the connection after half an hour.  What’s worse, I’m trying to send an important email and that ain’t fucking working at all at all.  I also have doubts that this scribble will do as it’s supposed to do and appear on the site.

One thing I can promise – if I write here, it’s going to be infrequent at best, and I sure as hell am not going to try sending up any photographs.

And do I care?

Not a jot.

• Holidays
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