Grandad May 21st, 2012
You almost have to admire the bastards.
Not content with skinning us for every cent they can during life, they are now after us after we have died.
Now even the dead have to pay tax.
And what’s more I see it is our friends the EU who are imposing this, though I would dearly love to know why the European Court of Justice are involved.
When my time comes I will refuse to pay.
They can bring me to court.
They can stick me in gaol.
I won’t care.
Heh!
Grandad May 20th, 2012
One of the best things about living in the countryside is the peace and quiet broken only by birdsong.
As I scribble this I can hear some blackbirds, a pigeon or two, a robin, one or two sparrows and a few chaffinches.
However, there is a bird out there that is singing his [or her?] little heart out and I haven’t a clue what it is.
If I had a description, I could look it up on the Interweb. If I had a picture, I could also look it up on the Interweb. But all I have is a sound, and I can’t look that up.
This morning, I stuck a microphone out the window to see it I could capture a bit of the song. It is a very cheap microphone and is designed to be shouted at, at a range of a few inches, so capturing background sound is tricky. The result is mainly just a load of hiss with a hint of song in it.
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I played around with the sound I had captured and applied a drop of electronic wizardry. The result is quite different from the original sound. I managed to remove a quare amount of the background clutter and to isolate the bird in question. It’s a little distorted, but still a bit clearer.
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It’s a beautiful song – high pitched, bubbly and very melodic.
Anyone got any ideas?
Grandad May 19th, 2012
I have a wee yoke at the bottom of my screen here.
It tells me the actual temperature and the perceived temperature.
Nine fucking degrees!
And I can testify that the other figure is reasonably correct – though step outside the house and it actually feels a lot colder than six.
It is fucking freezing out there
The only bright spot is that there is no rain, which makes a big change.
So where the fuck is Global Warming?
According to cunts like Gore, I should be growing grapes and cacti all year round by now. We are supposed to be emigrating north to cooler climates. So where the fuck are all these high temperatures he warned us about?
I am paying carbon tax on my heating oil because burning it adds to Global Warming, yet I am having to burn that oil because of Global Fucking Cooling.
Methinks it’s time to wrap up warm and go out to burn a few car tyres.
Anything to hasten on a drop of climate change.
Grandad May 18th, 2012
I had a visit to Doc during the week.
It’s nothing serious – just a general checkup; a sort of 10,000 mile service as it were.
Of course as soon as I walked into the surgery he came up with his usual line. “Howya Grandad! And how are you?” Naturally I replied with my usual cheerful riposte – “I’m fucking great! Why the fuck do you think I’m here?” It’s the same damned routine every time.
For those of you who haven’t met Doc before, I had better explain that he is in fact the local vet, but we all go to him as the real doctor usually isn’t sober enough to stand, let alone do an examination. Because of his training though we do have to be a little cautious. In particular I always refuse a prostate check. I have seen him up to his shoulders up a cow’s backside, and I’ll be damned if he is going to try the same on me.
Leastwise he checked my lungs [no problems at all there], my heart [still pumping], my ears [still have two] and my blood pressure [steadily rising at that stage].
He asked as usual if I still smoked the pipe. I told him to fuck off and buy his own tobacco. I’m not falling for that one again.
He suggested I give up the drink. Again, I told him to piss off. He’s only trying to worm out of all the pints he owes me.
He asked me to walk up and down the surgery a couple of times, which I did. Then he asked me to do a canter followed by a full gallop. Once again I had to remind him I’m not a fucking horse.
These visits to the Doc can be damned confusing at times.
Anyhows, to cut a long story short I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear he has given me a reasonably clean bill of health.
He has suggested though that I take some precautionary medication.
He reckons I have early onset bovine mastitis.
*sigh*
Grandad May 16th, 2012
I’m taking a break.
The question is five what?
I don’t know. Five minutes? Hours? Days, weeks or years? Who knows?
In the meantime, chat amongst yourselves.
And here is a wee something for your edification, amusement or education. Take your pick.
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