A few weeks ago I was very busy watching something on television when someone knocked at my front door.
In the hope that it was someone bringing me something nice, I went to answer only to find a woman claiming to be from the local council standing on my doorstep.
She 'hello'ed' me, and then informed me that her office had had recent complaints from persons living near my house, of rats, frequently being seen coming and going from my garden and onto the road.
She then asked me if I'd ever seen any rats (or signs thereof) in my garden, and I honestly replied that no, I had not, although over the almost thirty years I'd been living here, I had seen plenty of rats on the other side of the embankment, especially after people had been fly-tipping rubbish over the railway track boundary fence.
Then she thanked me for my time, smiled, and bade her farewells.
Later that same evening I met up with the ex-partner-in-crime, told him about the visit, and asked him if he'd ever seen any rats in my garden.
He replied that no, he hadn't, and after a discussion we came to the conclusion that if any rats had ever tried to make a home for themselves out there, the resident foxes would have probably had them for breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner and that although (and I do admit) my garden is getting very overgrown and looks rather a mess, there were no rats living in it.
Now, the reason my garden is in the state that it's in, is because I am simply unable to do the gardening on my own. I suffer from arthritis, and the garden is rather bigger than your average 'back yard' as it's about half an acre in size if you include the big bit of land for which I pay a peppercorn rent per annum to Railtrack.
Even without the rented land which accounts for about half the garden, I am still left with a helluva lot of garden to deal with, and honestly, I am not able to sort it out by myself.
Add to that fact I am also living below the poverty line and don't have any spare cash to fix things such as the fence which is falling down, or pay anyone to help me, it's now wonder the garden looks like the sort of place one might meet a Doctor Livingstone or discover a new breed of exotic creature.
But I most certainly do not have rats in it.
Today, I was extremely busy watching a slanging match discussion on Trisha, when I heard a knock at the door, and again, hoping it could be someone bearing ducks, I went to see who was there.
This time it was a man who showed me an ID card which backed up his claim that he worked for Ealing Council, and he was at my door as one (or more) of the neighbours had reported sightings of rats coming and going from my garden again.
He asked me if I'd mind if he went to have a look around my garden for any signs of anything ratty, and I said that of course he could.
After all, I don't have rats in my garden.
After about fifteen minutes, he knocked again and told me that he'd searched every part of my garden including in the garage, down the far side of the house, the whole of the embankment, (and part of the pond by mistake) and had found no traces of rats anywhere.
I replied that I could have told him and saved him the bother, but as he said, someone had been making lots of complaints and he had a duty to investigate as of course, rats are considered a serious health and safety problem.
I agreed, and asked if he'd met the foxes while doing his search to which he replied that if I had foxes, it would be very unlikely to have rats as well.
Anyway, he apologized for taking up my time and went off to fill in his report, which will no doubt in the due course of time, end up in the hands of whichever neighbour it was of mine who made the complaints and allegations in the first place.
Now, I doubt very much that that person is reading this, but if you are, why the f*ck couldn't you have simply knocked at my door and asked me about any rat sightings?
If you don't like the way my garden looks, then please note that neither do I, and if the shoe was on the other foot, I'd be the first person asking you if you were alright, and would you like a hand getting your garden sorted as I know how difficult a job like that can be for a single person, especially if they have arthritis.
But then again, it's a far easier thing to do to pick up a phone and make allegations instead of trying to get to know your neighbours nowadays, isn't it.
Just think, if everyone keeps up with the same attitude as yours, you'll probably end up on your own, with neighbours complaining about the smell, and rats running in and out of your house because no-one bothered to see if you were alright.
And by the time the council came round to check, you'd died.

'allo again mes petits pamplemousses, and bienvenue to yet another fabulous Double Entendre Day!

I don't know about you, but today I'm in the mood for going up to a police officer and asking if he fancies showing me his truncheon, but knowing my luck he'd probably think I was trying to chat him up, when what I really want is to see and feel the size of his weapon...

But never mind, you lot can help me overcome my urges by coming up with as many fabulous witticisms and snappy one-liners in response to the photo for today's Caption Competition, the photo for which is -

Give it all you've got and then some, as I need a 69!
It's been far too long since I got one and should you be the one to get me there, you'll receive a delicious Screaming Orgasm for your effort!
And to keep you going while you whip me into a frenzy of antici...







pation, you'll get a yummy, scrummy, chocolate liqueur to titillate your taste buds.

So what are you waiting for?

Get.

Stuck.

In!

The Barking

This all happened back when I was about thirteen years old and was at home with my mum and dad, and our two dogs, Sheba and Chips.
It was on a cold, dark, autumn evening when we were all about to turn in for the night when there was a knock at the door.
My dad, wearing his dressing gown,went to answer it and found one of our neighbours from across the road on the doorstep who was also wearing a dressing gown.
After I managed to stop Sheba and Chips barking the neighbour asked us if we'd heard the barking coming from the top of the embankment that was part of our back garden.
As the embankment was higher than our house, the noise had gone literally over our heads, but the neighbour assured us that the barking had been going on for nearly two hours and was still going strong.
My dad got a torch and went with the neighbour to investigate.
I watched from the doorway as they cautiously began to climb the slope towards the source of the barking and carried on watching as they ran back towards the house after the barking got rather louder and closer.
My dogs heard that barrage of woofing and decided to join in, which wasn't very helpful but it did send whatever it was that was making the noise on the embankment, back up to the top of the slope again.
My dad told us that it was a very large dog up there, probably a doberman or a rottweiler and after a quick discussion between my mum, dad, and the neighbour, they decided that the best thing to do was to call the Police to see if they could help catch the dog.
All this time the dog carried on barking. I reckoned it must have been at it for nearly three hours, and couldn't figure out why it hadn't lost its voice, but it must have been in a lot of distress to carry on so.
Anyway, the cavalry, or rather two police officers with a noose-on-a-stick thingy arrived, and they also cautiously climbed the slope while carrying a torch to see where the dog was and what it was doing.
My mum, dad and neighbour stayed to help round up the dog but I was told to go stay in the house and try and calm down Sheba and Chips, especially Chips, who by this time was bristling with rage knowing that a strange dog was on his patch, and he wasn't having any of it if he got loose.
So as the police, my parents and the neighbour tore around the garden after the dog, I tore around the house after my dogs as they ran from room to room, following the dog outsides movements.
And as they ran around, they barked.
And barked.
And barked some more.
After a couple of minutes I realized I could hear another dog barking somewhere. I listened carefully from an upstairs window and realized that my friend's dog who lived two gardens away had also joined in. As had the dog that lived across the road, the dog that lived further up the road, and another dog that was just passing by along with its human.
It sounded like all the dogs in the vicinity had joined in and were barking for all they were worth.
The noise was incredible. Now and again there would be a little howl from somewhere, but mostly all you could hear was barking from all around and drowning out nearly every other noise except for a very a large passing train.
I wish I'd had something I could have recorded it on, but even if I had been able to, I doubt I could have done the barking justice without the aid of some very snazzy quadraphonic speaker set up type thing.
If Dodie Smith had heard it, I reckon the Starlight Barking would have been a very different book indeed.
But eventually the police managed to catch the dog with the aid of their noose-on-a-stick thingy, and as I calmed down Chips and Sheba, the barking dwindled to the occasional 'wuff' and eventually ceased altogether.
My mum came back into the house and asked me to help make some tea for the police, the neighbour and my dad, and after putting the kettle on I borrowed the dog's water bowl and went out to let the stray dog have a drink.
The poor thing was still on the end of the noosestickthing, and was glaring balefully at the police and letting out the odd low growl, but straight away I could tell he was more scared than angry.
He gulped down the water in seconds, so I filled it up again and after making the tea, got the poor dog a bowl of food.
Again, he emptied the bowl in seconds before turning to me and giving a huge burp which I decided to take as a 'thank you'.
The police and my parents were still very wary about the dog, but I felt so sorry for it I grabbed a couple of biscuits meant for the police, and went over to the dog and hand fed them to him before giving him a pat and a cuddle.
The police stared at the scene in amazement before turning to my parents and asking,
"Why couldn't we have just sent her up there with the biscuits in the first place?" as the dog snuggled up to me and chomped on the digestives.
Sadly, the police had to take the dog away, but after a couple of days we heard that he'd been safely returned to his humans who'd been searching for him after he ran off after being spooked by a firework.
Amazingly, the dog had travelled all the way from Kent before ending up in our back garden, and his owners had thought they'd never see him again.
For about a month after, each time a dog barked it was very shortly followed by a very loud "Shut up!" from the human nearest to it.
And I've never heard The Barking since.

To the very charming woman who called me yesterday afternoon.

Your family in Australia sound wonderful, and the grandchildren I'm sure, are all little angels, although I do think your daughter should take the toddler to the doctors if the rash gets any worse.
I'm sure your son-in-law will find another job soon, but it would probably be a good idea to stop relying on 'hitting the big time' just because he won that prize out of all the other 200 or so contestants at the karaoke competition last year.
On to topics closer to home, I do think it disgraceful that your neighbours erected their new fence two inches over the border of your garden, but I seriously doubt they did it on purpose just to spite you, and I'd recommend you simply ask them nicely to move it back instead of getting the police involved. After all, it is only two inches, and I honestly don't think they're trying to take over your garden bit by bit.
I'm sorry to hear that your ingrowing toenail has gone septic, and I'm positive your GP won't think you're making a fuss over nothing if it's oozing as badly as you say it is. If you seriously don't want to see your doctor, maybe you can find out if your health centre has a chiropodist you could see instead, but please, do get it seen to asap.
As to your 'gentleman friend' you met at the club, I say Go For It! If he's as charming as you make him sound, what do you have to lose by going out for lunch with him? The worst thing that can happen is you find out you don't get on as well as you hoped, but if all goes well you might end up with a lovely new friend, and that is always a good thing. And don't worry that he might 'try things on' with you. From what you told me about his recent hip replacements I doubt he's going to be up to much of that sort of thing anyway.
And talking of operations, thank you again for telling me about your sister's recent hysterectomy in vivid detail. I still have the mental image of her stitches bursting leaving pus and blood all over the hospital bed, but as you said, she was in the best place for something like that to happen. Oh, and btw, it is not possible to catch fibroids. Trust me on that.
Again, as I said it was lovely of you to call me and fill me in on all aspects of your life within the space of an hour, but please, please believe me when I tell you again, I am not your brother's niece.
You really did have the wrong number.

To every one else who's reading this, your Choices for today's Choose-O are -

• Home Economics
• Surprize!
• The Barking
  

And as per usual, don't forget to tell me all about your weekends while you're down there, akay?

Extra, 15:09 hours.
Can anyone guess what this is?

No photoshop or digital trickery involved, just a straight forward 'click and go' photo.
But of what?

And so the weekend beckons once again, and so I've decided to play another game that might hopefully let your brains unwind and switch from work mode to play mode.

And the game is this. A new version of an old theme, what you do is to think up as many different uses you can for an ordinary, everyday item, other than the obvious, for example.
A brick.

A brick can be used to make houses, but then you can also uses it to strike a match on, or as a doorstop, or cut in half and placed in a sock, can make a handy weapon. Get the idea? Excellent.

In that case, your item to ponder over is,

A rubber duck.

Over to you, and have as fabulous a weekend as possible.

ttfn,

An anecdote for Thursday, #1.

Years and years ago a friend of mine lived in Fulham and I'd often stay over at weekends if I'd been out on the town.
The landlord of the flat also owned the shop below and another house across the road which he was renovating with the intention of renting it out at exorbitant rates to people who could ill afford to do so.
This man also had a dog. It was a pedigree Doberman, aged about three years old, and although many people thought the dog was fierce, it was in fact soppy as a Mills and Boon story and daft as a very daft brush.
The owner was an arsehole. No other way of describing him without being too rude, but he was the type that thought having wads of cash, a big car and a fierce dog made him a Big Man. The only thing big about him was his waistline, and he was also a bully to boot, especially towards his poor dog.
Most of the day, the poor thing would be chained to a safe in his house with only a bowl of water for company, and the chain wasn't even long enough to enable the doggy to stretch his paws properly.
On the occasions that the man took the dog into his shop, he'd think nothing of teasing it and one time squirted lighter fuel up the poor animal's bum
I'd made up my mind to contact the RSPCA but before I got a chance to do so, the man took the dog to the nearby park.
The dog looked forward to his walkies big time, as it was the only chance he got to run about and enjoy himself, and if the owner was in a particularly good mood, he'd even throw a stick for him which the dog loved to chase.
One fine day, the owner took the dog to the park and after a while, threw the dog a stick.
The dog ran after the stick, got to where the stick had landed, and simply carried on running.
It ran.

And ran.

And ran some more.

And then it ran out of the park and off in the general direction of Chiswick, never to be seen again.

I can't say I blamed it one iota, and if anybody reading this found and adopted a Doberman back in the late 80s, give him a pat from me, akay?

--------------------------------------------------------------

PS. Please give a big round of applause to Scaryduck for holding the fort admirably yesterday while once again my intermanet connection failed.
I blame the rain.

Wednesday's Caption-me-up-u-like

Misty's broken the internet again, so it's down to me to come to the rescue with a caption compy.

I WAS planning on doing that George-Bush-and-the-Turkey pic again, until this assaulted me in my pics folder.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking, somebody's broken their ASBO again.

Get in there.

Your pal, Duck (Scary)

Lodger

Some readers may remember the post I wrote ages ago called 'Fight Pub' in which one of the minor characters was a lodger who was lodging in the pub I was running at the time.
If you want to read that tale you can do so by clicking here, but it's not necessary to do so as this tale will make sense without the other info. Hopefully.
So anyway, some years ago I was running this pub in Old Woking with the Then-Partner-In-Crime.
It was an 'interesting' pub inasmuch as you never knew from one day to the next whether a fight would break out or not, a riot would start across the road, or maybe the rozzers would raid the place, or an interesting new lot of lodgers would come to stay.
Most of the 'interesting' stuff I could have done without, especially one Saturday night when all hell broke loose thanks to the local bully picking a fight with me and the band that had been playing. (See earlier link for details)
Also that evening, one of the lodgers who'd been staying had helped make the evening worse by getting pished, trying to chat up someone else's girlfriend, and the biggest mistake of all, grabbed me from behind and rubbed himself up against me.
To say I was unhappy with his behaviour was an understatement.
This lodger was part of a group of men who were working on a building site somewhere nearby and the boss and his team had taken over all the spare rooms we had. The rest of the team were great guys; always polite, never caused trouble, and all went to bed at closing time without even trying to push for after hours drinks, and so I decided not to complain about the one lodger and instead gave him a yellow card with the warning that if he pissed me off one more time, then I'd be angry, and he really didn't want to see me angry.
Sunday passed peacefully. The only thing I had to do was to get my cheek X-rayed after being punched in the face the night before and give my statement to the old bill when I got back, and to say I was tired when we finally closed up and had some free time to eat, watch some inane programme on telly and flop was an understatement.
It had been a very long day, and by the time we'd cashed up, cooked our dinner and so it was getting on for 1am.
It was a relief to snuggle up under the duvet and watch some daft film as we listened to the rain outside beating down on the roof.
I'd almost nodded off when I heard a hammering at the front door and someone shouting for attention.
With a sigh I went to the window and leaned out to find out what was going on, only to see that lodger swaying drunkenly as he rapped on the door.
He hadn't seen me and I got back into bed and told the TPIC what was occurring.
"Are you going to let him in then?" he asked.
I replied that it was pissing it down raining very heavily outside, it was 1.30 in the morning, and that no, I wasn't going to let him in straight away.
I'd have happily left him out there all night but after about fifteen minutes, he was shouting and hammering so loudly I thought he was going to wake up the other lodgers and possibly the neighbours, so I donned my dressing gown and with a snarl, went to let him in.
I didn't hurry as I found the keys and went down to the bar, and when I suddenly opened the front door, the prat almost fell into the bar.
He took one look at the expression on my face and I thought he was going to do a runner back into the night, but instead he stammered an attempt at an apology.
I very quietly but firmly told him I was really, seriously annoyed and angry and the best thing for him to do was to get the fuc hell out of my way and not make another sound until morning.
He looked terrified and when he noticed the TPIC standing on the stairs looked to him for help, but the TPIC told him that he had nothing to do with the situation and alas, couldn't do anything to help him even if he'd wanted to.
The lodger fled up the stairs and I once again locked up before heading up the stairs and back to the sanctuary of my bed.
I had to go past the room that the lodger was sharing with the boss of the group and as I did so I found the lodger standing with his back to me gently tapping on the door trying to get the boss's attention so he could let him in.
I couldn't resist.
I snuck up behind the lodger and slammed my hand against the door loudly enough to wake up the entire pub, thus causing the lodger to almost piss himself with shock.
That did the trick of waking the boss and when he opened the door I informed him as to what his employee had done.
The boss apologized and told me he'd deal with the lodger first thing in the morning, and leaving the lodger to his fate I went back to bed once more.
The next day I found out that at 06:30 hours, the boss had told the lodger to pack his things, then taken him to a cash point to take out the money he owed us for his rent plus £50 extra, then taken the money from him before leaving him at the nearest railway station without a reference and the clear instructions to sod off and never come back again, ever.
The boss gave us the £50 for way of an apology on the lodger's behalf and also apologized to us personally for the behaviour of his staff.
I just wish I could have seen the lodger trying to cope with no sleep, a massive hangover and no job.
Justice I felt, had been served, and it was good.

Oh my sweetpeas, I do so apologize about the lack of post yesterday, but 'Life' once again got in the way of things I wanted to do, and this time in very big way indeed. Thursday was effectively cancelled, but I promise I will tell you all about the Lodger, asap.
As to today, Friday, depending on what time you're reading this post, I could be either,

a) Trying to spleep
b) Aspleep
c) Awake and dashing about getting ready to catch a train
d) Swearing because I missed said train
e) On a train heading towards Fleet Street for an incredibly important meeting
f) In an incredibly important meeting
g) On my way home from an incredibly important meeting
h) Aspleep, after an incredibly stressful day.

But I don't want to dwell on that matter, as the weekends (or any time off) IMO, should be reserved for as much fun as possible, and so changing the subject entirely I shall now regale you with an anecdote afore leaving you with sumfink fun to get your mental teeth into.

So. Anecdote.

I was in the pub with the EPIC and one of my bestest friends, when for some reason the conversation turned to strange lumps and bumps that turn up on a person's body. We once again discussed my bizarre and recent neck lump, then talked about a weird swelling that the EPIC had turn up years ago, and then I remembered a small bump that made itself at home on my wrist many years ago.
But while trying to tell the tale, I completely forgot the specific name for the lump on the wrist I was describing, and so asked my friend and the EPIC,
"What do you call those things that you hit with a Bible to make go away?"
To which my friend replied,
"Jehovah's Witnesses?"
The correct term for what I was describing was Ganglion, but I far prefer his reply.

And moving swiftly on, I will now give you an answer to a question, and your job is to try and guess what the question is.
Simples, eh?
And so, your Answer is -

About 33 inches.

Play fair, and do not Google, as it won't help you anyway, I've already checked.

Over to you, have fun, and make the most of your weekends, whatever you decide to get up to!

ttfn,

Helloo again my sweethearts! And Bien Venue to yet another Double Entendre Day!

As this blog has been following a rather medical theme recently what with my bizarre lumpiness, hostipal visit, and the return in the news of the so-called 'Doctor' Craig, I've decided on the following photo for today's Caption Competition -



I'm sure you can come up with plenty of things to stuff my box with, and in return for your efforts there's a nice cup of tea available for every comment, and should anyone get me to a 69, they can have a Valium and a biscuit to go with it.

So wot'ya waiting for?

Get stuck in!

Sorry folks, but the story about the 'Lodger' will have to wait until Thursday, I have some rather interesting news to impart!
Some of you readers may remember a certain 'Doctor Craig' who left comments over here and also at Scaryduck's blog, Circa 2006.
He claimed to be a Doctor working at Addenbrook's Hospital as well as another in London.
Once he left a comment telling me how he'd just watched a man hold his son's hand and sing to him while the son's life support was switched off and the son slowly died in the man's arms, and that being a doctor was so very rewarding as he could help people.
Now I know a lot of doctors, and none of them sounded anything like 'Doctor' Craig, and after a couple of days I got suspicious. I wasn't the only one either.
The Wrath of Dawn also did a bit of digging and discovered that 'Dr Craig' had an ex wife that was after him for money, and that a few other women had bad things to say about him as well.
I phoned the hospitals he claimed to work for and of course they'd never heard of him, and for a bit of fun I carried on pretending I didn't have a clue that he wasn't the genuine article.
He began emailing me, telling me all about the stately home he was to inherit as soon as his elderly parents popped their clogs, and many, many other fantasies that were going through his brain.
I also checked where his emails were coming from and followed his comments via my comments tracker. None of what he told me added up, and it was an easy enough thing to check.
Now, yesterday, Scaryduck sends me an email with a link asking "'ere, that 'Doctor Craig. This is the same person isn't it?"
One look at the photograph proved it was and I read the article with disbelief and amusement.
You can read that article by clicking here.
I do feel a bit sorry for Miss Miles, but seriously, how naive do you have to be to fall for that crap?
Surely someone at the TA should have checked his claims and credentials, but it appears that anyone can join up without even having to prove who you are, which beggars belief!
I contacted a well known comic Women's magazine at the time asking if they'd like to expose this fantasist, but they declined telling me that they didn't think there was a story there.
How wrong they were. If they'd printed it, maybe Miss Miles would have been warned off the slimy little git.
Ah well. Such is life.

Further Reading.
SundayMail.
ARRSpedia
Ex.Pats CZ
Forres Gazette
Forres Gazette again (My favourite!)
And for teh win, courtesy of Scaryduck, this -
Wasteland

Hahahahahahaahaahaaaaa!

Happy Monday everybody!

I don't know about you but I had a good start to the week as last night I had some friends over.
We were sat about putting the world to rights; them with a couple of bottles of wine, me with a pint of squash thanks to the antibiotics due to unexplained lumpiness, and one of my friends said she wanted to see some old photos if I had any.
I sniffed some out and did a quick censor before showing her a load that I'd taken in Switzerland many moons ago.
One was of a glorious sunset taken from the side of a mountain that showed the valley in darkness and the sky ablaze with fire!
My friend stared at it for a while before saying "That's really lovely, which way up is it supposed to be?"
I tried not to laugh while I explained that usually, the sky is at the top of the photograph and the ground at the bottom.
Life is different when you're the only one sober.

Also, as it's Monday, your Choose-O choices for this week's entertainment are -

• Lodger
• Home Economics

Choose wisely mes petits wallabies, and don't forget to tell me all about your weekends while you're down there, akay?

Following my recent lumpiness, I've decided on another silly game for the weekend's fun and frolics, and so today it's 'The Most Worrying Things To Hear Your Doctor Say'.
For example -

'As long as it doesn't burst you'll be just fine!'
'We're not 100% sure what it is, but one of the nurse's dogs had something very similar'
'Now don't panic, we're only wearing the NBC suits to test them'.
'If it starts moving let us know'
'What do you think it is?'
Nothing else seems to be working so we've called in a Witch Doctor'
'Just in case, are you religious?'
'I had the same thing years ago but it dropped off in its own time'
Please remove your shirt. And your trousers. And your underpants.'
'Would you mind holding this bowl, only I get nauseous whenever I take blood samples'
'Now, just bend over and bite down hard on this wooden spoon please'
'I promise, this won't hurt a bit. It's going to hurt a lot!'

So, over to you, and don't forget to have a wonderful, and hopefully lump free weekend, y'all, akay?

ttfn,

Yesterday I got up as usual. I wombled downstairs to get a coffee and then went back upstairs to flop on my bed to plan the rest of my day.
But then I got a funny twinge on the side of my neck, went to feel it and felt a small lump which was sore to the touch.
I found a mirror and had a look only to see this lump literally getting bigger by the second!
I felt it again and it was very painful to touch and when I tried to open my mouth I found I couldn't open it very much and that it also hurt to do so.
Trying not to panic I phoned the ex-partner-in-crime to ask when he was coming over only to hear that he was just about to start teaching for the next hour or so.
I told him what was happening and he said he'd be over ASAP, and that I was to try not to panic in the meantime.
By then my whole shoulder and left side of my neck, which was where the lump was swelling, was feeling very sore indeed so I tried getting myself comfy while I waited.
To my joy and relief, the Epic turned up about ten minutes later after putting off the lesson and after I pulled on a pair of jeans, t-shirt and shoes, off we went to to my GPs.
On arrival I showed the receptionist the lump and told them it was still getting bigger and luckily a passing my doctor overheard me and after taking one look at the lump, took me through to her surgery.
She prodded the lump, gently I might add, took my BP and temperature while asking twenty questions, but although shh had spent six months of her training in an ENT department, she admitted she'd never seen anything like my suddenly arriving, mystery lump.
The lump was still getting bigger so after asking us which hospital with a specialized ENT department was easier for us to get to, called Charring Cross and informed them that I and my lump would be with them within the hour.
She gave me an explanatory letter and wished me luck before we set off bound for Hammersmith.
I reported to A&E as instructed where I was once again prodded and poked before being plugged into the machine that goes 'PING' to ensure I was still alive. The very second they did so however, all the lights in the A&E depatment dimmed and the 'puter screen went blank, which worried me a tad, but to my relief the power came back almost straight away, and after the triage nurse rebooted the machine, all was 'normal' again.
After that I was told to wait for the ENT team to come and get me, so I waited patiently while praying that my lump wouldn't burst.
Forty minutes passed before a very nice doctor came to get me, and after we walked around the A&E searching for the ENT treatment room for a while, we finally found it and he too prodded me and asked me questions.
After finding out that I hadn't eaten or drunk anything different and that I'd been fit and well -apart from the sudden lump - and that all I'd been doing when it arrived was sitting on my bed, he told me that the lump was nothing sinister (other than it being on the left side of my neck) and it was probably either a blocked salivary duct, or a swollen gland, but because of where it was, they couldn't be 100% sure which it was.
He told me that he was going to consult with the senior doctor, and that I might possibly be kept in so they could keep any eye on me, to which my response was 'oh gods no, anything but that, I promise I'll be good and take any medication, but I really did not want to be kept in if at all possible!'.
He sympathized and went to see the top bod after telling me that a nurse would be along with some painkillers and that I was to try and relax while I waited.
As promised, the nurse came along with the drugs and a short while later I was feeling less pain and doing my best to chill out under the circumstances.
The very nice doctor eventually came back and to my joy told me that I could go home as long as I promised to take the tablets and come back to see them in a few days, and most importantly, that if anything changed or I began to feel any worse at all, I was to go straight to my local A&E.
I promised Guide's honour that I would and after thanking him and the rest of the staff, I called the Epic and asked him to come and get me and take me home!
Last night, after I eventually got to spleep, I woke up at almost midday to find that although my neck is still sore and lightly swollen, the lump has just about gone again!
I'll be taking the antibiotics as promised as I seriously don't want to have to go back to hostipal, and I'm still feeling rather groggy, but I'm so happy the lump has gone!
I'll probably never know what the lump was or why it picked on me though, but I suppose it got me out of the house and gave me something to write about.
And if a small alien creature bursts out of my neck I'll let you know.

And so...


s'Wednesday...


But is it safe...?


Only one way to find out and that's to start stuffing my box full with whatever you've got to hand, really...


Could be a simple observation...


Maybe a classic Double Entendre of a comment...


Or then again, you may possibly add an exemplary witticism that renders any reader incapable of speech and stamina, leaving them only able to collapse in a crumpled heap in a corner of the attic room and squashed between the doll's house and the Apple Mac that hasn't seen the light of day since 1977...


But in order to be able to cogitate and consider a pertinent comment, you must be able to view the relevant photograph, and so, your clicky for this week's Caption Competition is -

Get stuck in there my sugarlumps, and please remember that there's a bag of Hula Hoops going for every entry, and an extra large, Mr. Whippy's special, with extra candy sprinkles, strawberry sauce, and a chocolate flake for additional garnish available should anyone get me to a 69...


And so...


What are you waiting here for...?


Get...


In...


There!.

Spicy.

Lots of moons ago when I was helping to run the pub in Pangbourne by mistake, I took over the catering side of the business as the previous so-called 'chef' turned out to be a raving psychopath with a penchant for spinning yarns* and was fired after the local police took an interest in him.
At first the food side of things was very slow, as the so-called 'chef' had totally ruined the reputation for food that had been built up my the previous managers, and I had plenty of time to make the majority of the menu from scratch and could honestly call it 'Home Made'; a fact that I was rather proud of.
As well as cooking the tradition pub grub such as All Day Breakfasts, burgers, fish 'n' chips and sarnies etc, everyday I'd do a fresh soup and a couple of specials, usually dishes such as Cottage Pie, Sausage Casserole, or Beef Stew with Dumplings, and a veggie alternative of Pasta Bake or Winter Vegetable Stew, but the favourite meal among the regulars, especially the local builders' was my own recipe Chilli Con Carne.
On Mondays I'd ask the regulars what they'd like most and what day would it be best to cook it for them, and after a few weeks, Thursday turned into Chilli day, and I'd have to cook up at least a dozen large portions to keep the lads happy.
I decided to teach the Then-partner-in-crime my recipe just in case I couldn't be there for some reason, and it wasn't long before his chilli was very nearly as good as mine.
Normally I'd make the meals the night before and so one Wednesday found me in the kitchen busy chopping, peeling and stirring, even though I was technically off duty due to a rather heavy cold which had left me with a head full of cotton wool and no sense of taste or smell.
I'd finished browning the mince and had just added the chopped onions, garlic, fresh chilli peppers and capsicums, when the landlord from a pub round the corner called and asked if we could lend him some line cleaner, and The-then-partner-in-crime said 'of course we could' and then asked if I could pop round the corner to drop it off to them as he was busy behind the bar.
So, I turned the heat down to a slow simmer and dashed off to deliver the line cleaner.
When I got there, the manager insisted I stay and have a drink on him for helping him out, and to be polite I agreed and quickly phoned the TPIC, to ask him to please give the chilli a stir and turn the heat down a tad more.
I finished off my wine and thanking the manager trotted off back home to tend to my chilli.
I added the tomatoes and some red wine and tasted it before adding seasonings of mixed herbs, chilli powder, and a few other bits and bobs which will remain secret.
As I was so bunged up I found I couldn't taste a thing, and decided to play it safe and not add too much chilli powder and salt, just in case.
I finished it off by adding a dash of my favourite chilli sauce and a dash more red wine before giving it a good stir and leaving it to simmer before asking the TPIC to keep an eye on it while I went for a lie down and a dose of cold remedy.
I must have been more tired than I thought as I woke up the next morning instead of after an hour as I'd planned.
First thing I thought of was that I hadn't finished the chilli so I bumbled downstairs to see if the kitchen was still there and hadn't been burnt along with my chilli, and to my relief, everything was fine. The TPIC proudly told me that he'd left the chilli to simmer for a while longer before taking it off the heat to cool down before popping it into the fridge for the night.
Thanking him, I took the pan back out and put it onto the hob to heat through slowly before the lunch crowd came in.
Now, what the TPIC hadn't told me, was that he'd tasted the chilli earlier the previous evening, before I'd gone to deliver the line-cleaner, and finding it rather bland, had, as soon as I'd gone to bed and fallen fast aspleep, taken it upon himself to add the seasoning in the belief that I hadn't finished making it. Why he didn't taste it before he did so, I have no idea, but season it he did.
So, the chilli had been seasoned twice.
Anyone who's tasted my chilli will know that although I make it spicy, I don't make it over hot as then people can add extra chilli sauce or Tabasco if they desire.
One of the customers liked extra Tabasco and chilli sauce and as usual when he came in I placed the bottles next to the plate.
About six of the regualar chaps were sat down, I'd served them their meals, the Tabasco addict had doused his chilli with extra sauce and was about to take a mouthful when a group of eight smartly dressed ladies came in asking if we were serving lunch still.
I was about to say that yes, we were, and would they like to take a seat by the garden window, when the chaps tasted their food.
The noise that five of the builders made after taking a mouthful of extremely hot chilli con carne when expecting it to be the usual, spicy, but not on a par with molten lava, was incredibly loud and didn't just startle me, but also the ladies, the rest of the customers, a couple of people walking past and the chaps working in the office next door.
The builders coughed, spluttered, spat the chilli out and clamoured for water between gasps for breath as the twice seasoned chilli burned the inside of their mouths and parts of their throats.
The ladies fled, never to be see again, the noise of the builders swearing and hacking still following as they ran.
I tasted the chilli and wished I hadn't. The TPIC also tasted the chilli and wished he hadn't. I asked him if he'd added anything to it while I was apsleep, and the penny dropped. Thanks to him seasoning it so much, I now had a very large pot of inedible chilli which was going to leave me out of pocket, and possibly with a loss of regular custom too. I was not a haypy bunny at all!
The TPIC and I were trying to placate and reassure the chaps that they weren't going to die and could have their money back for the ruined food, when I noticed the Tabaso addict still sitting at the table being very, very quiet.
I went over and asked if he was alright and to my amazement he said that yes, everyhing was fabulous, and if the other blokes didn't want their over seasoned meals, he'd be very happy to finish them off, and that if there was any left in the kitchen, he'd be very willing to buy the lot so that he could stock it in his freezer!
The man must have had no taste buds and a cast iron stomach, bless him!
Luckily the chaps saw the funny side of the situation and decided to to go for the Winter Stew that day instead.
I never let the TPIC anywhere near my Chilli again though, and made sure I hept the seasonings hidden away, just to be on the safe side.


*Full on porkie-pies about anything and everything.

Well, as you might have guessed, my intermanet connection went tit pear shaped for a few days leaving me once again without contact to the outside world.
I contacted my ISP only to find that all was well at their end, and after checking my 'puter for anything that might ail it, I've come to the conclusion that the only possible thing that might be the cause of my extremely intermitent access is the branches outside my house battering the telephone line.
If any 'puter ubergeeks can let me know if that could be a possible problem I'd love to hear from them, and if anyone reckons it could be anything else, please also pass on words of wisdom via my comments box as I'm getting rather vexed to say the least!

But anyhoo, onto more fun and exciting things; today is Monday which means it's time for this week's Choose-O, your choices for which are -

• Spicy
• Lodger
• Home Economics

And as it's also the start of the week, how's about we tell each other our favourite jokes? I'll get the ball rolling with -

A couple move into their first house and the wife decides that they need a guard dog, so she sends her husband off to a local breeder to get something suitable for the job.
The husband arrives only to be told that the breeder is all out of trained guard dogs, but instead has a Karate Duck for sale.
"Karate Duck?" exclaims the husband. "You're having a giraffe, surely!"
"Not at all mate!" replies the breeder. "This 'ere duck is an 'undred times more effective than any of the guard dogs I've ever sold. Look, I'll give you a demonstration"
And so he takes the duck out of its cage and says -
"Duck, Karate that bin!"
The duck sets upon the dustbin with a fury of wings flapping, webbed feet 'hi-ya-ing' and a frenzy of quacking and a few seconds later, all that is left of the dustbin is a pile of shredded plastic and metal...
The husband is incredibly impressed and asks the breeder how much for the duck, and after one hundred pounds have changed hands the hubby takes the karate duck back to show his wife.
The husband walks into the house and explains to his missus that the breeder was all out of trained guard dogs, but has something far, far better before proudly showing her the duck.
The wife's reaction is one of disbelief and anger, and she asks her husband what the fuc hell he thought he was doing buying a duck!
"Sweetheart, listen!" says the husband. "This isn't an ordinary duck. It's been specially trained in the martial art of Karate!"
"Oh really?" replies the wife, "Karate, my arse!"

Your turn.

And don't forget to let me know how your weekends were. They must have been more exciting than mine.