Fire!

Lots of moons ago I worked at one of the then many BBC Clubs. It was generally good fun, and as the reputation of the food at the clubs was far better than at the BBC Canteens, things were generally busy.
One week however, I got a call from one of the bosses asking me if I'd be willing to cover another member of staff at another BBC Club who was going on holiday, and as I knew how things operated (I was a senior catering manager no-less, nothing to do with my age, just my nous and experience) the next Monday found me travelling another two stops or so on the 207 bus route to my 'new', temporary work place.
After I'd found where to put my coat and where the loos were, I got stuck in to familiarizing myself with layout of the kitchen area, which was rather different from my usual kitchen inasmuch as part of it was directly connected to the bar area as the bar staff needed access to get to their glass cleaner which was in the kitchen.
The Club where I was spending the rest of the week was also much larger and rather busier than my little Club and had many more bar staff working there, some of whom said hello to me, but the majority just got on with their work as if I wasn't there, and although I was my usual cheery, smiley self, the bar staff pretty much ignored me.
By Wednesday I'd got the hang of where everything was and had sussed out the easiest and quickest way to get everything done before the Club opened so that I could get a break and put my paws up for a while before feeding the 500 or so regular customers.
About half an hour before the Club was due to open for lunch, I'd cooked and prepared everything that needed to be cooked and prepared, and set out the food ready for the rush, and so I grabbed a cuppa and settled down in a comfy armchair next to the kitchen entrance so I could keep an eye on things including the last batch of sausages that were slowly browning in a pan.
My break came to an abrupt stop when I suddenly heard one of the bar staff shout 'Fire!' at the top of his voice, and next I knew he'd run into the kitchen holding a metal bin, the contents of which were on fire and blazing nicely.
He ran around in small circles before screaming out 'Fire!' again which got the attention of the other bar staff, who also came rushing into the kitchen behind him.
For a couple of moments there was shear panic as about six blokes ran around in small circles wondering what to do next.
One of them had a brainwave which was to get a fire extinguisher, and so they ran out of the kitchen in search of one.
While they ran around the Club panicking, I calmly went into the kitchen, got hold of a fire retardant padded cloth used for taking extremely hot things out of ovens, picked up the metal bin, placed it into the sink and turned the tap on which put the fire out.
I then went back to my comfy armchair and cuppa.
At last, one of the bar staff found a fire extinguisher and they all ran back into the kitchen only to find everything under control, the fire in the sink, and no flames except the ones under the sausages.
They looked stunned until they figured out what might have happened and one of them came up to me and asked if I'd put the fire out, to which I replied simply 'Yes'.
That day, after I'd finished work, the barman who'd asked me if I'd stopped the fire asked me if I'd care for a drink before I went home, and the next day when I came in, I got a cuppa brought to me when I arrived and also when I sat down for a break. They also began to say hello to me instead of ignoring me, but I was still very glad to get back to my own little Club the following week.

Regular readers will have noticed that Tuesday has once again been postponed until tomorrow, but today is still on, which means it's time for this week's Double Entendre Day, Caption Competition!

And this week I've trawled teh intermanet for something vaguely topical, and seeing that there seems to be a lot in the news about some important football match coming up, I've chosen this piccy -



There's a slice of orange going for every entry, and a mug of hot Bovril available should I get me an ever elusive 69.

So, after the whistle, Get In There!

*pheeeeep!*

And yet again 'tis Monday. Woo, and indeed, hoo!

I'm actually very happy to report that nothing exciting has happened to me since I last signed in, and that after a visit to the local hostipal I've found that my foot is not broken, just badly bent, which is a 'Good Thing' in my opinion.
I've got some pretty spectacular bruises on me bum and hip, and also on my elbow next to where the skin was removed by the Uxbridge Road, but I'm slowly but surely getting back to something near 'normal', whatever 'normal' may be.

Alas, I didn't get to the DAS do. I wanted to go, but I realized that if I had gone I'd have overdone things and tried to fight, and fighting when incapacitated is not a sensible thing whatsoever, as I might have injured someone else because I was not up to full strength.
So instead, I pottered about the house and got a few bits of housework doned, and put my foot up as much as possible. Rah...

But anyhoo, me feeling sore and sorry for meself ain't going to do anyone any good, so in order to get back to the rhythm of life, 'tis time for this weeks Choose-O, but before we get to that I have a little anecdote which I hope you might find entertaining.

I took this photo last week during the airplane embargo over British airspace brought on by the volcanic activity in Iceland.

It was also a lovely sunny day, so warm in fact that people could sit outside the pub wearing just a t-shirt if they desired*.
I took the piccy and went back in the pub to show some friends this rarity of a shot saying, 'Isn't it fabulous not to see any vapour trails in the sky for once!?' to which one bloke came back with the rejoinder, 'Well of course there aren't any vapour trails in the sky; it's so hot they get dissolved before we get a chance to see them'.

And on to the Choose-O. Your options this week are -

• Speech
• Snap
• Fire!

Please place your order in the comments box along with a description of your weekend, or any other interesting, exciting things that have happened to you recently.

ttfn, and may the deity of your choice bring you all good things!



*And jeans/skirt/sarong as well of course!

So, you know that saying 'Cheer up, things can only get better!'?

Bullshit.

And I know this empirically.

Earlier today I woke up feeling rather happy. Thanks to the recent sunshine I wasn't as achy as usual, and when the Ex-partner-in-crime asked me if I'd like to accompany him on a stroll to West Ealing and back as he had a few errands to run, I replied 'Yay, why not!?'

And so, off we trotted towards West Ealing whereupon our journey we were suddenly confronted by a psychopathic. drug-addled, pisshead from hell who for some insane reason believes that I slept with her boyfriend.

Now, I most certainly have done no such thing. I've known the 'boyfriend' since I was twelve years old and for some years looked up to him as an older brother. Once, many years ago I put him up on my sofa as he was destitute, but that's as far as it ever went.

Really sadly over the years, he has got into drugs in a serious way, and I'm not just talking about the odd puff of Maryjane.
His girlfriend is even more of a druggie, and when she can't afford drugs, she drinks, and drinks very heavily.

She'd been threatening me for over two years although I'd done nothing, and to say I was getting 'fed up' with her screaming and threatening abuse directed at me in the streets was pissing me off, was an understatement.

And so, today.

The Ex-partner-in-crime and I were walking towards West Ealing, when I suddenly noticed that she was walking right towards me with a friend of hers, who I admit is an acquaintance of mine.
As usual she started screaming at me about how I alledgerdly slept with her boyfriend and was a lying whore &c, and as soon as she got within striking distance, I once again denied her allegations and asked her to simply leave me alone. I turned my back on her and next I knew she'd shoved me so violently from behind, that I lost my footing on a tree root causing my ankle to twist badly, the rest of me to fall into oncoming traffic, and the skin that was supposed to be on my right elbow to be smeared all over the Uxbridge Road.

Very fortunately there was a police car nearby and so I flagged them down.
Funnily enough, it was then that I was informed by one of the 'See you next Tuesday's' friends, that she was on bail, and that if I pressed charged she'd end up in prison.

Oh, how so very tempting do you think it was for me to sat 'Yeah, press charges!'?

But. The police did what they could to patch me up (I'm allergic to sticky plasters and they didn't have any non-hypoallergenic) and after a while I decided that for now, it was probably best all round to leave it with me signing a statement that read that 'I would not press charges at this moment in time' and made it seriously damn clear that if she ever so much as looks at me in a way I don't like, she's had it.

I'm still left with a badly sprained ankle and a very sore arm, not to mention to bruise that's developing on my lower back and bum. All these injuries mean I won't be able to make it the DAS weekend I was looking forwards to going to tomorrow, but still; could have been worse.

There could have been an oncoming bus!

Wayhey for Wednesday! As once again it brings us the joys of the Double Entendre Day, Caption Competition, and what can be more fun than that, eh?*

Today I have trawled the intermanet to find you a photo to amuse and scintillate your grey matter, but all I could find was this -



There's a bottle of Michaelob going for every entry, and a pint of Baileys available should anyone get me to a soixante-neuf.

So, get'cha ya-yas out and get stuck in!

*Answers if any, on a postcard/carrier pigeon/back of a blank signed cheque/comments box.

Launch Party

Many moons ago I had a wonderful dog called Chips. I've written about him on these pages before, but for those readers who are new, and those with the attention span of a noodle, Chips was a Staffordshire Bull Labrador Cross, who came to live with me from Battersea Dog's Home when I was about eight years old.
He was a fabulous dog; a friend, companion, side-kick and minder all rolled into one, furry package with a big grin and a waggy tail.
From the first day I got him we went everywhere together whenever we could, and between us there wasn't an inch of the local park left unexplored.
But then after he'd been living with us for about six months, one day we couldn't find him in the garden.
We called and called, and despite my searching every nook and cranny of the garden including the embankment, there was no sign of him, but just as I was on the verge of tears thinking he'd run away, suddenly, there he was strolling in through the back door and treating me to another big grin.
I was so relieved I couldn't be angry with him, but one thing remained a mystery. At the time, the garden was separated from the road by a fence that was almost six foot high with no gaps or holes, so how the hell had Chips got out?
We all forgot about his great escape until one day, a couple of weeks later, he vanished yet again.
Although I worried I had a feeling that he'd be back, and sure enough, a couple of hours later, there he was sitting by the front door waiting to be let in.
My mum and dad checked all around the garden perimeters but again found no holes big enough for Chips to get through, so how he disappeared remained a mystery.
Until the day that I saw him make a break for freedom.
Unknown to Chips, I'd climbed a tree by the front gate and as I watched he looked around to check the coast was clear to escape before jumping up onto a tree stump that was next to the fence and then jumping up onto the fence itself and then leaped to the pavement below.
After that we got used to his comings and goings and after I saw him using a nearby pedestrian crossing (He waited patiently looking both ways until to my astonishment, the traffic in both directions stopped for him and he crossed over giving each driver in turn a grin and a wag of his tail) I figured out he was smart enough to not get lost or into trouble*
I was still curious as to how he got back into the garden though, as there was no tree stump on the other side of the fence to give him a paw up, but then one day, on my way back from school I saw his method.
What he did was to wait until there was no traffic coming, then walk out into the road, then curl himself up into a tightly sprung coil before getting a good run up that got him all the way back up and over the fence! For a medium sized dog, he sure could leap!
The locals got used to seeing Chips coming and going over the fence and most were savvy enough to cross the road before the got to his escape point, after all, none of them fancied getting jumped on by a well set dog, even though he had a charming nature and a big grin.
But one poor chap wasn't so lucky.
One fine summer's eve, I was on my way back from the station, and in front of me by about ten feet or so was a man who'd also exited the station at the same time.
I rounded the corner in time to see the poor man nearly have a heart attack as as if from nowhere, a rather heavy, medium sized black dog fell on his head.
He screamed.
Chips screamed.
I ran, as a) I didn't want to own up to owning Chips at that moment in time and b) I was desperately trying not to laugh.
I heard the man scream some more and next I knew Chips hurtled past me as fast as his paws would carry him.
I waited for a moment or so before peering back round the corner in case the man was still there, but happily he was just limping out of view by then.
Maybe I should have put up a sign that read 'Beware of Low Flying Dog!' but then again people might have stopped to read it and the chances of being landed on by Chips would have been even greater.
If that man is reading this, I am very, very sorry for my dog's behaviour, but I bet you got a great story to tell at parties.

*Apart from getting a bitch in Greenford pregnant, he didn't. Or at least, if he did, we didn't find out and he wouldn't tell us what he got up to on his excursions.

Due to forces beyond my control, yesterday's post will now be on Thursday, and hopefully Friday's will be on Friday, if not that might happen tomorrow instead, which means that Thursday will become Saturday and I'll been found having a lie down in a dark room somewhere.

But today is still Wednesday which means that once again it's time for the Double Entendre Day Caption Competition, your photo for which is this -



There's a swig of a power drink going for every entry, and an energy bar available should anyone get me to a 69!

So, as is now traditional, get stuck in to my box and give it a thorough stuffing please!

And once again another week blossoms before us like a bud unfulrling in the springtime sun*

Today we have the usual Monday Choose-O, the results of which will determine what tomorrow brings, then on Wednesday be ready for some titillation with the Double Entendre Day Caption Competition; Thursday is as yet not 100% certain so look forward to a surprize, then on Friday I hope to bring you all sorts of fun and exciting stuff to entertain you for some, or perhaps the whole of the weekend!

Aren't you all lucky!?**

Also today, before I get to your options for the Choose-O, I have another anecdote to regale you with. It's a true story as I know the fucktard person involved, although I will not name names in order to protect the not-so innocent.
So.

This bloke I know has dabbled in 'soft' drugs for many years, so much so that you can tell when he's getting near by the aroma of 'herbal' cigarettes from fifty paces with a following wind.
One day, not so long ago, he decided to try something different, and after asking around the local denizens of the area he managed to score some crack, or crack cocaine as it's also known for the sum of around £30.
Now he'd read all about how to smoke it, but had never put the method into practise before, and after looking up instructions on the intermanet, he looked around his house and found a plastic bottle, a straw, and some blu-tack to help seal the straw 'pipe' in place.
He carefully made a hole in the side of the bottle and got the pipe in place before realizing that he didn't have any tin foil to make the part of the pipe on which to burn the crack, which according to instructions you place over the top of the bottle, then secure with an elastic band before making some tiny holes in it with a pin in order to place the crack on top before burning it whilst breathing in through the straw.
So he improvized.

He improvized with cling film, the result being his face getting splashed with molten plastic and £30 worth of class A drugs literally going up in smoke.
Some people say that drug addicts are stupid, but some people are too stupid to become drug addicts in the first instance.

And now, your Choose-O choices are -

• Speech
• Snap
• Launch time

Choose wisely my cherubim, and don't forget to tell me all about what you've been up to since last we talked, akay?

Tootles for now, *mwah!*

*Comment may contain traces of purple prose.
**Answers on a postcard/carrier pigeon/comments box.

And so another Bonk holiday passes by with only the wrappings of copious amounts of chocolate left to rot in a landfill to remind us that about 2,000 years ago, some bloke got nailed to a tree for telling us that being nice to each other might be a Good Thing.

Yes siree! Chocolate Sunday is over and done with for another year, and seeing as I did nothing to celebrate it's advent at the time, I've decided to do so now with a picture I found on teh intermanet that I reckon is most apposite.

It is this -

As is normal with this 'ere Double Entendre Day's Caption Competition, I have some rewards for your efforts and this time there's a Creme Egg going for every entry, and a tasty rabbit pie available should anyone get me to another much awaited 69.

So.

On yer marks...

Set...

Go!

Oh, and don't forget to tell me all about what you've been up to since we last talked while you're stuffing my box, akay?

*smooches*

Weird Science

Lots of moons ago I was forced to go to school, which I mostly endured with good grace. Most of the time I was bored witless with the lessons and so, but now and then something exciting would happen that made getting up in the morning worthwhile.
This was one of those occasions.
At one of the schools I went to they had a very old fashioned science classroom. It was a Victorian building and the rooms were big with very high ceilings. In the science room they'd installed wonderful old work units throughout the middle of the room and we all sat on big, high stools to reach the worktops.
Also installed on the worktops were gas taps for the Bunsen burners, at the very far end of the room was the teacher's desk, and at the other end the wall was lined with deep, old-fashioned sinks and the store cupboard, which was chock full of all sorts of interesting things that if mixed correctly would go 'BANG!' and turn things a pretty colour and/or burn through them.
Our science teacher was a tad eccentric a total, utter fruitloop of the highest order. He knew his subject alright, but reckoned that in order to entice children to learn, the best thing was to get them excited about the subject in hand, and sometimes his methods were rather... unusual, to say the least.
One day our lesson was to be all about the human digestive system. Instead of the normal 'read these chapters before I show you diagrams on a slide show' method of teaching, our teacher decided it would be better if he pretended to be a bit of food going through the body, and began by jumping onto his desk, or 'the mouth'.
As he made his way through 'the body' he would jump onto empty stools and side desks telling us that he was now in the small intestine, and punctuate his moves with cards showing us where he was in the body.
He was getting more and more excited as he went along, and he failed to notice that some of his pupils had lost interest in his antics and had become far more intrigued by the gas taps on the worktop next to them.
He also failed to notice that one of the boys had a lighter.
We watched the teacher leap around the classroom; I don't know what the other pupils were thinking but I was in a state of bemused disbelief and was wondering how long he could keep going without falling off the furniture.
It was when he leaped from a side desk and into 'the large intestine' that things became very interesting indeed.
He leaped at the exact moment as the boy with the lighter lit a jet of gas, which caught the teacher on the ankle and set fire to his trousers.
Within a second he realized he was on fire and tried to jump off the desk, but unfortunately his foot caught a pile of books which sent him skidding along the work unit at high speed, screaming as he went.
He came to a stop by falling off the far end of the units by the sink, and very luckily knocked over a bucket of water which put out the flames on his trousers.
All was quiet for a few seconds as we held out collected breaths and wondered whether to call for help or laugh...
But then with great aplomb, the teacher stood up, stepped back up onto the work unit and said,
"And that, children, is how shit happens!"
We gave him a standing ovation as he made his way back to his desk before dismissing the class ten minutes early, bless him.
If all lessons at school had been taught by him, I'd have willingly gone every day.