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A rare venture into poetry – and yet another outlet for my madness

Posted on 2 August 2011 | 9:08am

After yesterday’s guest blog on happiness, today I turn to the subject of madness, more specifically my own.

I was approached a few months ago and asked to write a poem for a book being prepared by Bovington Middle School in Dorset, to raise money both for the school’s English deparment and for Help for Heroes. I tried all sorts of ideas before settling on this poem, WHEN THE MIND CRACKS, which is clearly inspired by my own crack-up in 1986.

I never knew why they called it cracking up

Until the crack up

Until I closed my eyes

To chase away the fear

And saw a plate glass

Where a moment ago I saw the world

Turning churning churning turning

Into a maelstrom of noise and colour and people

Who were there

I think they were there

But when I asked them why

Their eyes took them away from me

To a world I wasn’t meant for

So I closed my eyes

And hoped the noise would go

But it grew louder

Till the plate glass shook

The colours merged

Just as the brassband merged with the bagpipes

Merged with the orchestra

Playing the start of the opera

Merged with The Shadows

I’m cracking up … I want Elvis or Johnny Cash or no, Kris Kristofferson

Yes, Kris Kristofferson

And they give me Hank fucking Marvin

No offence Hank

But who put you there? And why?

Always why?

Why blue in the left corner?

Why red in the right?

Why God in the centre?

I don’t do God

But He’s testing me

If not Him who?

Something’s testing me

I’m failing

And the punishment must follow

The tiny hands before my eyes can hold the glass no more

So it shatters into a million shards

Of noise and colour, of voices and music and memory

And each one cuts into the skull

Yet there’s no blood

Or if there is it is

Blue red green brown yellow black

Now mixing so harsh so ugly I can look no more

So I open my eyes again

A man is standing there

His hand reaches out

Touches my shoulder

And he asks if I need any help

The plate glass has broken I say

He nods and I wonder how he can know it has broken

When all he can see is me

Not the millions of shards still flying behind my eyes


Enlightening me

As to why

They call it cracking up

** School of Poetry, which includes poems from author Terry Pratchett, TV presenter Robert Llewellyn, as well as students and teachers from the school, can be found at

** To order signed copies of Alastair’s diaries via Waterstone’s, click here

  • Ms Jane McKellar

    That’s quite brave putting that up.Well done

  • Ehtch

    Dylan Thomas, to me, walks on water, poetrywise, but I would say that, since I share his surname and obvious welsh weaknesses. This bit from his Under Mikwood will get anyone going, females most I hope, I quote,
    “the only sea I saw was a see-saw sea, with you riding on it. Lie down, lie easy, let me ship-wreck, in your thighs”.
    Good. ey?

    • Dave Simons

      I’d say a touch of the DTs.

  • Chris W Drew

    Brave – but stick to the day-job!

  • Anna

    Well done! What a pity you’re too late for this annual competition on the theme of mental health. If you read the winning poems, you will see how closely they resemble yours in capturing the agony and the intensity of mental illness.

    And well done (heavy irony) to HMG that has cut funding to the Poetry Society which has in turn had to cut funding for writing programmes for prisoners, too many of whom have mental health problems. I’ve published poetry myself and have been involved in a small way with this sort of work and can testify to the beneficial effects of writing, particularly poetry, on the lives of prisoners suffering from anxiety, depression and other mental afflictions. When will they realise that helping people manage their troubled lives and move away from crime and anti-social behaviour actually protects the public in the long run?

    • Your comment and recent events have made me think quite a lot about the way we interact with our prisoners Anna.  As a society we are rightly addressing the importance of access to the interenet and the issues faced by those who do not have it.  But prisoners do not have it and this is becoming a bigger and bigger barrier to their opportunity to interact normally with society.

      Being able to post and discuss things on the internet is deeply healing for many too.

      I wonder if it might be possible to make internet access a privilage for some prisoners?  There would have to be rules.  There would have to be both the technology and the personal capacity to ensure that every page they visited was scrutinised.  The former is surely easily achievable.  I wonder if perhpas the latter might be achieved with the help of volunteers?

      Thanks for starting this interesting train of thought.  I’m currenrly writing on the way we function intellectually in Web2.0, Web3.0 and Web4.0 environments and am hoping to start a PhD in the ways in which Web4.0 behaviour can be harnessed to enhance democracy (and the practical issues involved in doing this).  Anyone interested in chatting about this or sending me comments can find me through my blog:
      or through this article:
      which starts to lay some of the groundwork for the PhD.

  • Anonymous

    Poetry? are you pulling my plonker? It’s just a belly roar.

    • Dave Simons

      I thought poetry was just a belly roar, although I agree that some attention to technique helps to turn a belly roar into art. I recommend James Reeves, ‘Understanding Poetry’. Reeves in particular recommended the writing of ‘poetry’ as a kind of therapy.

  • Ehtch

    St David of Wales. Make of as you want. I am a celtic welsh pagan myself, and have not much interest in Jesus Christ, to tell you the honest truth.

  • Dave Simons

    AC – I know this is a serious subject and it’s a serious and genuine poem based on real suffering, but I can’t help wanting to lighten the matter a bit by offering the observation that if you preferred Kris Kristofferson to Hank ‘F’ Marvin (formerly Hank ‘B’ Marvin) then you must have been in a bad state!

  • That’s actually not bad.

  • Carmelm_hennessy

    That was wonderful. So well described. You have a talent alright.

  • Teresa

    I adore your honesty Alastair.

  • Rebecca Hanson

    The tragic events in Norway have highlighted the contrast between our approach and theirs, which sees crime as being an indication that something is wrong and prison as being the place where the issues generating the behaviour should be addressed in an environment which is as close to normal life as possible.

    This line struck me:
    “When all he can see is me”
    He can see you and he can accept what you are telling him. 
    He can see you in a way you do not yet understand, or maybe didn’t understand then?

    It’s a good piece of writing because it helps to describe the indescribable.

    Here’s one I wrote about school improvement (at 87)
    There was going to be more but it didn’t go down well with the critics. 
    Interestingly I felt more comfortable writing without punctuation too – or it might have been that I just don’t really know how to punctuate this kind of writing in a way that helped it.

  • MicheleB

    Your poem scared the wotsits out of me

    As compulsive but scarey as a little book I’ve read many times ‘Hunger’ by Knut Hamsun

  • MicheleB

    So must you be Dave if you prefer HM to Johnny Cash 🙂

  • Ehtch

    : )))
    Tidy, thelonghaul. You have just given me a right belly roar. Well tidy comment, though Alastair might think otherwise, amateur poet or not.

  • sammyr

    I like this very much, especially your courage in exposing this part of your life. Thanks so much for your continuing work helping to reduce the stigma of mental distress.

  • I used to be inert,
    I used to be inane,
    And now I’m ert,
    And ane, again.

    I too will stick to my day job.

    Des Currie

  • Connie

    good use of poetry skillz.

  • Ehtch

    More Dylan Thomas for the apparent amateur poets that seem to run this shitty site. ONLY JOKING ALASTAIR! Maybe,

  • David Hardie

    Mr Campbell.

    I think you are an intellegent, astute and debonair man.

    Poetry? Not so much.

  • Dave Simons

    Actually I do prefer Hank Marvin to Johnny Cash. These days Hank is based in Perth, Western Australia, and I’m told he does a lot of Chet Atkins-style guitar work. Cash was too full of himself for my liking, and he introduced a lot of sentimental, Republican slush into Country Music, the sort that Ronald Reagan loved to identify with. Remember that dreadful song, ‘No Charge’, rightly satirised many times?

  • MicheleB

    I’ll leave you to your JW (Aaaaaagh) and stick with my political straddler DS ……

    Yes he sang about some ‘redneck ishoos’ but mebbe he did so in attempts to get across to poor workers that voting R was not an aspirational thing at all.  Y’know, a bit like the way Labour had to use NI etc in order to reach some misled rightists.

    He also protested about the death penalty and allied himself with no party; his daughter has very recently denounced Rs trying to claim him as having been one of theirs.

  • Adrian Scott

    Great poem, honest, gritty, write more of them
    Adrian Scott

  • Dave Simons

    I’m glad to hear about his daughter – do you mean Roxanne? Yes I agree that some of Cash’s work would not have endeared him to Republicans – San Quentin’s a good example. They would have loved him though for wanting not only to support the GIs in the Vietnam War but to go out and fight with them. I expect he was ‘complicated’ (or perhaps ‘muddled’). I doubt if there’s much of a comparison between Cash’s relationship with poor workers and New Labour’s relationship with News International. At the risk of expessing naivety, innocence, inexperience, out-of-touchness, I don’t understand your first sentence – did you have an attack of these flying ants when you said ‘Aaaaaagh’?

  • Robert

    A longish comment, if I may – before you post another entry and the theme moves on.

    Your poem covers only the first minutes. The initial shock.

    The music – in my case it was corny old fashioned fairground organ music sometimes playing ever faster sometimes more slowly but somehow always with a sarcastic tone to it.

    Then come the voices – that’s when the real terror of a breakdown kicks in.

    Once the voices have established their reason for being in your head – established their story – mine was basically the grommets operations I had as a child implanting the radio control device. (How many other sufferers come up with the same?)

    So you find yourself wandering about listening to the control room sometimes taunting, sometimes giving odd instructions like saying a daft phrase 87 times EXACTLY, or else, sometimes saying there’s a party being organised so you go wandering about local restaurants politely asking for the table booked in the name of…..

    There’s so much more nonsense that goes on – dangerous nonsense that can so easily end in tragedy. That DOES end in tragedy. I was instructed to jump into the river Avon – I don’t swim. In the end I “renegotiated” it into baptising myself in muddy water near the bank. First my folks saw of this was a pile of muddy wet clothes outside the back door of the house where I’d stripped off to go for a shower (it was early – no-one about at that time). I had another 48 hours of madness after this. It might have been three or four days – might have been longer – I know it included signing up and going to an Alphacourse meeting. I had already called to see a Dr of Divinity based in Cheltenham, the brother in law of a dear friend, who I was “being told” was God’s current reincarnation on earth – we still exchange Christmas cards. Must have been a surprise for him, though, me turning up at his front door at 7:30 on a Sunday morning respectfully babbling religious sounding nonsense. I could swear to this day he and I were “talking” to each other before and after I went to see him, as well as sitting there with him.

    Fortunately, on the Wednesday, I drove past dad going the other way near home – flagged him down – said I was hearing voices (and control really really didn’t like that!!) and he took me straight to the doctor’s surgery. My Doc – she is a wonderful lady – had me checked into hospital that afternoon and the recovery started then.

    I am a very lucky man. I was very close to complying with the “instructions” to kill myself – too much of a coward to obey.

    Looking back I can make that it was a laugh a minute, but not at all so, really.

    Definitely not funny at all.

  • Gilliebc

    Robert, I think that’s really brave of you to share such an awful experience with us all.  It adds to peoples’ knowledge and hopefully understanding of mental health issues also.

  • MicheleB

    I don’t blame those Americans of the 60s/70s that did support their GIs in spirit if not in person.  There was conscription after all, if one REALLY sympathises with brutalised people one might empathise with people coerced into taking part in any war (especially those brainwashed as only latter-day Americans could be about ‘socialism’ and other countries’ rights to decide their own politics) ….

    Your attitudes are so prescriptive; fancy harking back to a man’s empathies of 40yrs ago and overlooking his attitude to guns, brave in itself in a mad place where gun lobbies portray the UK as a police state because of a ‘work’ of fiction that has been swallowed as a cause celebre and occupies miles of columns on Stormfront et al.

    I suppose I would have a similar reaction to flying ants at the door as I
    would to certain people knocking on it trying to enlist me to their
    ‘religion’ but I’m not sure what inspired your ‘idea’ unless it was an attempt at humour (which is unlikely).

  • Dave Simons

    Thanks but at the risk of triggering another fit of gratuitous vituperation dare I ask you again to explain the first sentence in your last post but one?

  • MicheleB

    ….. ‘gratuitous vituperation’ …. you must be a sensitive soul indeed DS.

    It went like this :
    AC’s poem ‘objected’ to his having been subjected to HfM instead of JC or KK
    You joshed that you didn’t share his preference
    In similar vein I joshed with you about mine
    You proceeded to defend your choice (as if it’s a competition anyway …. durrrr) then to add some lies about mine’s politics
    I offered to leave it at that, me with my wobbly-politics choice and you with your Jehovah’s Witness (a clan that’s even more dislikeable than arch Republicans)

    ….. and so it droned on ……  ‘vituperative’ too? 

  • Robert

    Thank you Gilliebc – the really important point I did not make is that I was lucky having parents who could take me back home and look after me for the months when the strongest medication was needed. Without that life would have been very very awkward.

    If I had had the breakdown more recently, since their deaths or during their late infirmities, again the outcome would have been very different.

    As it was I was able to play a large role in their care in their final years which has been good for my own self esteem. It’s also been good for Great Britain PLC as I’ve mde a contribution through my taxes and all but eliminating state care costs for mom and dad (the “all but” being their own NHS medical costs).

    Having good effective mental health treatment/care in place pays good dividends for the nation.

  • Dave Simons

    Ah – now I understand! Jehovah’s Witnesses! I should perhaps have guessed! There is a recommended rule about acronyms and initials – always give them in full first time round, possibly with the abbreviated version in brackets. Then people will know what you’re talking about.
    The JWs have never held the slightest interest for me – I’m only interested in Hank as a guitar player.

  • MicheleB

    Quit the attempts at disciplining please 🙂

     …… otherwithe I will thcweam and thcweam at you to have uthed your browther, any browther for a thearch on ‘JW’, it would have been that thimple, much droning ago.

  • Dave Simons

    OK next time I get stuck I’ll contact my brother.

  • Ehtch

    Since it is Friday night, so may I propose and compose a poem, for Alastair, to show how it is done, AND THIS is off the cuff, totally, right now.

    Mind, don’t mind,
    it is only a bunch of cells, that plays,
    with your mind,

    Synapses, it is only a junction, as on a road,
    that gets clogged with traffic, of another nature.

    Worry if you want, but it won’t get you further along,
    you might as well piss into the wind with your thoughts.

    Depression, that happens on a full moon,
    when we bark into the sky or when rain comes in.

    Sun, oh yes sun, which gives us strength,
    then buggers off for six months and makes us sin.

    The Doc says, my chemicals are not right in the brain,
    but who I am to argue, he could be right, but yet again.

    Death comes to us all, but how?
    now that is enough to make you worried, and wonder now.

    Ok, ok, more prose than poetry, butI hope you get the feeling. Cheer up Alastair, you constant occasional miserable Scottish yinit. People love you, and understand you – well, some of us do! : )

  • Ehtch

    A different, but shorter poem, but with more intense stanzars, or whatever professional poets call them things.

    Depressions high and low,
    can be called a hill and a valley,
    going here and though.

    Manic depressions the same,
    but become a Star War scene,
    trying to save a Princess dame.

    In a World of your own,
    trying to find the key,
    but given a lock not actually known.

    Cracking up as a complete pan of glass,
    and not knowing where you are,
    time to say, yes, I am really completely off my arse,

    Thought I would put that last line in for pathetic amusement laughs from the gallery around abouts.

  • Alex Love

    What if the bloke who asked you if you needed help was God? Or perhaps God doesn`t do you.

  • Ehtch

    How thin can the answers get… : )
    Just a justification joke, Get it, justification? i am wasted on this site,and there’s me trying my very best… trying to many no doubt
    : )

  • Ehtch

    Justinian is a great name for a baby boy these days, isn’t it Alastair? If I spawned a boy today, that is what I would call him. And his mates in school would call him Justy – CLASSIC!

  • Ehtch

    Bugger it, another poem, off the cuff. Might sound bollocks, but who gives a fuck?

    Riots, riots, where do they come from.
    the pantry kitchen, or from another storm.

    Lads that are dancing their storm,
    where do they come from, the norm?

    Girls, behind their men,
    are stirred with flem.

    Tottenham has been boiling,
    but not as a sweet.

    Croydon is not comfortable,
    as their ex furniture store.

    London, drop your draws
    and expose yourself,
    what you actually are,
    and up yours.

  • Ehtch

    I’m a poet,
    and didn’t know it.

  • Ehtch

    Sod it. a poem for Engalnd cricket.

    Rose propose, over two hundred not out,
    makes me feel I should be a woman, no doubt.

    Irish, backing you up,
    now that is humanity, so shut up.

    India, don’t worry,
    tea and curry.

    Go England, play the game.
    win, and fuck the fame.

  • Ehtch

    It is said the swans are playing away,
    with things, that are gay.

    Manchester United, and Fergie,
    Yes, he is the skys bergie,

    Sodding off ones that doesn’t agree.
    managers that don’t sit on his knee.

    Bobby Charlton. Allan Clarkes friend,
    Many others, no doubt, no end.

    Georgie Best, with his dying liver,
    even though we knew he was a giver.

    Sportsmen, when old, they go tits,
    but at least they don’t go nuts on the whole.

  • Ehtch

    Wales, 19-9,
    goodbye england,

    Played your games,
    but you didn’t win,
    with your spin

    Hook, but not Hookie,
    from a problem zulu or boar.

    Cracked a try,
    that any english, will not deny

    Come on England,
    World Cup up, but are you,
    are going to play like fuck,
    as today?

  • Ehtch

    Bugger it, come on up,
    Ireland England Scotland and Wales.

    We don’t to muck.
    and play like fuck.

    We love each other really,
    even if we try and deny.

    British Isles,
    with their styles,

    Catholic protestant islamic,
    hindu or whatever.

    I love my nation,
    and think, we are together.

  • Ehtch

    Preacher Eli Jenkins, from Dylan’s Under Milkwood,
    “those that are rising and raising their blind”.

    Now that is what you call poetry in words.

  • Ehtch

    Cameron has come around, to sense,
    but as bound, gives no ground.

    Dave, you cannot save,
    because you have not been a slave.

    Tories, with their pathetic stories,
    trying to find some glories.

    Britons, don’t worry,
    we will find our own glory.

    Men, women, girls and boys,
    we will smash their toys.

    Find peace to live,
    and give.

  • Ehtch

    Wisdom, and new dome?
    on the mind of a soul, of mankind.

    I find it isn’t so, with souls,
    going here and fro.

    Nastiness, when you feel it, when young,
    digs a hole deep in your soul.

    Hard to fill, when older,
    even though you try get bolder.

    In a pub local, picking up fights,
    that you think is important, and showing might.

    Coppers keep picking you up, even if they are weak,
    playing their games, the establishment speak.

    Never mind my friends, let it wash,
    a ducks backs it always should be so.

    Let them carry on, and do so,
    and rememeber, I’ll be your broth, and try and do so.

  • Ehtch

    Off the cuff, in a huff
    I might write these poems,
    worms and all stuff.

    But with true complete feelings,
    as like a complete wife over
    the kitchin drain making peelings.

    Vegetables on the street,
    giving problems to peelers
    but all want is just a meet.

    To complain as a fish wife,
    to tell off all to all
    and put down their knife.

    Saying the country is really sick,
    under the skin right under
    well true and thick and sunder.

    BBC spouting off as a Daily Mail,
    not in touch with ones
    that want life and want to sail.

    Channel Four not that bad,
    channel five simple on the whole
    but not quite as that sad.

    ITV, Corry Street and Emmerdale,
    showing our society in fact
    not that bad but slightly quite pale.

    Health in mind and body and soul,
    is the aim I think for all
    and don’t let them put us over the coal.

    Living life healthy happy and free,
    and to help the world
    which we need to be.

  • Ehtch

    Welsh poem, off the cuff again, ar rhyd y crisiau fi,

    Arglwydd, beth sydd yn digwydd,
    man a fan.

    Pobl yn wneiud eu gwaith,
    gyda faith,

    Troseau popeth,
    gyd dyma faith,

    Cynu tan pob man,
    dim abadenwych dynan.

    Ferch neu bechgyn,
    rhiwle yn cachyn,

    Sim mots, dyna ni,
    mae ty, yna, i ni.

    It’s South Wales Carmarthenshire welsh by the way, and maybe my old welsh teacher will need to slap my bottom on some words, well a lot really. Artistic poetic licence is my excuse. Very crosover.

  • Ehtch

    A-levels, O-levels, U-levels, or whatever,
    don’t worry, you will find your level.

    Banging on a computer PC keyboard,
    to UCCA feeling like a complete toad.

    Trying for yourself to find a place
    for them it is their total disgrace.

    But don’t worry on their crashes,
    you’ll be alright, you’lll be smashers.(!)

    Good luck, our brilliant future generations,
    bollocks world, but with their impressions.

  • Ehtch

    i think I have run dry, poetrywise. I am getting pretentious now….

    Dry, dry, where can my next words come from,
    said a lad in number ten panicking,
    from his Cornwall retreat looking like a plum.

    Maybe I should say behave all,
    but that might stir glory,
    with those that have fury.

    Maybe I should say somethings like this,
    we will beat you with sticks,
    maybe they will give up, or is it a miss?

    Shove them in a concerntration camp,
    not that damn genius I think,
    hold on, Geneva convention and all that pomp.

    Gallows then, or am I going too far,
    the electric chair then,
    I think I am loseing it,
    and can only sit and stare.

    Happy holiday in Corwall Dave. August bank holiday – get the whole bloody arsenal out, just in case. I do not know anything, but two weeks after last, copycat? From ones who missed the “party”? I hope to God not, but….

  • Ehtch

    i think I have run dry, poetrywise. I am getting pretentious now….

    Dry, dry, where can my next words come from,
    said a lad in number ten panicking,
    from his Cornwall retreat looking like a plum.

    Maybe I should say behave all,
    but that might stir glory,
    with those that have fury.

    Maybe I should say somethings like this,
    we will beat you with sticks,
    maybe they will give up, or is it a miss?

    Shove them in a concerntration camp,
    not that damn genius I think,
    hold on, Geneva convention and all that pomp.

    Gallows then, or am I going too far,
    the electric chair then,
    I think I am loseing it,
    and can only sit and stare.

    Happy holiday in Corwall Dave. August bank holiday – get the whole bloody arsenal out, just in case. I do not know anything, but two weeks after last, copycat? From ones who missed the “party”? I hope to God not, but….

  • Ehtch

    True story here – a poem made by a friend I used to know, Vanessa Thomas(copyright 1998), a  South Wales semi-amateur poet, on me, on when I met her and got to know her, and her noticing how much of an emotional wreck I was at that time with her. She liived on benefits bringing up four children, when she had to move miles from where she lived previous due to dangerous family problems, if you get what I mean.
    He came to see me, then went away,
    He loves a girl of yesterday,
    She’s left a mark, she’s left a scar,
    His heart won’t open, it’s just ajar.
    He picks on me, whenever I try,
    Because of this girl, she’s the reason why,
    I show him I love him and that I care,
    But in his mind, she’s always there.
    His understanding is wearing thin,
    His heart and love, no-one can win,
    He’ll pick on me, whenever he can,
    This impassive and imperative man.
    My love for him is very strong,
    In my eyes he does nothing wrong,
    I’ll stand by him, even though there’s a scar.
    Even though his heart is only ajar.
    He’ll soon, I know, not want me any more,
    The scar, it hurts him, right to the core,
    His loneliness will seek another,
    But he can only love as a brother.
    He came to see me, then went away,
    He loves a girl of yesterday,
    She’s left a mark, she’s left a scar,
    His heart won’t open, it’s just ajar.
    Many thanks to Vanessa, and she used my surname to publish the book, and not her surname because of her own problems from the past, and wanted to be semi-anon, bringing up four children. An incerdible offbeat intelligent woman, four years older than me.
    Anyway, that is life sadly. You have your problems, and I have my bed also made.

  • Ehtch

    Some might be wondering why I use the extra fourth line in the last verse sometimes, and sometimes an extra line in the first. Well, I follow what has become familiar in “pop” songs, but they repeat their last two lines in same words in songs, so I have adopted it and have it different, and I think it has good effect. My poems are shit by the way, semi-cultural at the most. Anyway, I make them off the cuff, and if I was any dood at it I would be a pop lyric writer making loads, as Carole King did and does,

  • Ehtch

    Scunt a runt or…
    Oxford dic, tell us all.

    I known but won’t tell,
    to you here and all.

    Them nasty words
    home counties turds.

    Where do they exist,
    to be besist.

    In the palour?
    no, not on lager.

    In the kitchen?
    with ladies witching.

    No, profame at it’s best.
    is done under arrest.

    Or in a pub talking,
    trying profamity stalking.

    Swaring is alright,
    as long as might,
    behind it, you are able
    to put the fight.

  • Ehtch

    Fred, up earning bred,
    Dibnah, saying what yah.

    On his horse of iron,
    fuming stinking but lion.

    Travelling the country,
    with his own back pantry.

    Knocking down chimneys,
    or pegging them up, knees.

    Fred, sad you are gone dead,
    great bloke, when all done and said.

  • Ehtch

    Ace of Hz,
    with all their farts.

    That seemed to work,
    unseen via a berk

    Talent, brit and all,
    there is no need to fall.

    We have our talent,
    completerly concetrated.

    Depends what the bollocks wants to do
    display, or play games to do.

    Top of the Pops BBC style.

    Ronnie Laine,

  • Ehtch

    Tripoli, Italy, old Roman,
    and all old silly.

    Not known in whole,
    but it is, an historical ball.

    Sand inland, by the ton,
    OK oil also, under their sun.

    Gaddafi has yes lost his way,
    but come on, try make him sway.

    He hasn’t been that bad.
    though exit makes him sad.

    Colonel, militarily not the wall.
    if, highness, you do not stall.

    Full time has been called for you Colonel, but you will be well looked after in your retirement, I am sure of it. It is a funny ol’ world, but things move on, Colonel, you must realise that.

  • Ehtch

    Robert from scrapheap?
    If so, I am starstruck.
    Can you do my laundry for me? : )

  • Ehtch

    I think I am getting used to being a pauper poet, even though I have a roof over my head, and my dad looks after me, even if I go bonkers artistically with him at times, as you do….


  • Ehtch

    BBC or Alex won,
    or another son, Duncan.

    The Hour, the beeb put out,
    to expose as they were, as prefered.

    Empire tools, exposed,
    in 2011, well fucking exposed.

    Anyways, hope things have moved on,
    I shout, without Sheperds Bush popping up mong.

    And reflect our country now, cotswolds fairy land,
    Rupert the Bear and north-east with their canny-lands?

  • Ehtch

    Hope you picked up on the the past present and future time travel in this poem. Vanessa was, yes, from Barry originally, was once my lover. And her mother had a few, well, children from several fathers. Vanessa knowns her father was a South African based sailor, but knowing her, and looking at her, around here, he wasn’t anything dutch, must have looked south wales silures as here.

  • Ehtch

    Dylan Thomas, it is, isn’t it?
    Made great propoganda lines during WWII, the best, thought the post englih establishment are yet to admit. Watched UKTV Yesterday the other day on the bombing of britain, and the pathe cinema came out during the war with perfect Dylan Thomas what he obviously wrote.

  • Ehtch

    August bank holiday,
    a need for another poetry?

    Thankfully brits are quiet,
    and the hurricane storm.

    Blasting down buildings,
    that can’t stand the weather.

    Secret storms that felt,
    with people not dealt.

    Smouldering discontent maybe,
    or it was just there could be.

    Anyway, all and over thankfully,
    lanced boiled hopefully totally.

  • Ehtch

    Jim Clark, now that is one,
    magical in his trade,
    driving cars,
    a sportsman made.

    Renowned above Fangio,
    Stewart, Fangio, Scumacher,
    Ultra fast and calm,
    cutting just right turn maker.

    Died sadly doing his trade,
    not in a ’40 Spitfire maybe,
    but a choice he made,
    plying his own choice of trade.

  • Ehtch

    My dad is sad, trying to his life over, still,
    when it is over, time for another skill.

    Denying he is a total tool,
    now bagged and can’t produce a stool.

    A fool to himself, well known,
    Drag his son to his own meatures.

    That is what I have to put up with,
    a fool, always looked after, but they have gone,
    so I am left, from the capital of Llannon.

  • Tonymcready
  • Ehtch

    Clicked on something last night, that loaded a spoof pc repair wotsit that locked my computer, and in sorting it out hid all my personal files. Now I am not saying it is the link above, but I recommend it might need checking out.

    By the way, managed to unlock my computer through going back to the basic DOS level, then unhid my personal files.

    As I said, it maybe not the above link – it may have been something else I clicked on. Better to be safe than sorry and check it.

  • Ehtch

    Flagged the below link “mental health report” due I think it loaded a pc repair spoof on my PC that locked it. Had to do a system restore from low DOS level, and unhide my personal files it hide. It may have been something else I clicked on, but best to be safe than sorry and check the link for yourselves.

  • Ehtch

    World Cup rugby soon coming up,
    but will NZ again come up short stump.

    Bottle it totally like a small ship,
    get to the semis and totally dip.

    Ireland no chance, Scotland more,
    England booed, when Wales score.

    Ozzies booed like nobodies,
    La France? boats bombed harbour bodies.

    Hoke fish is all I have to say,
    from NZ, and bloody well tasty.

  • Ehtch

    Not long posted on Wolf Tones Black and Tans kick arse music as a poem but sadly, yootoob don’t accept justification lines of poetry in comments, so, as it is, I will trproduce it as such,

    time for another poem… Glasgow, glasgow, preachers head in hands, death threats all seem from invading sands. Time travels very fast. hate, how long can it last? Modern times, keyboard banged, big and small, fingered scored. Fingers like pigs nipples, swelled, clumbsily simples. But the main thing is to get over the bump, to local understanding, accept, thems thoughts put on a dump.

  • Ehtch

    Great tactical move to have Eire neutral during WWII, even though they weren’t really. Bit like Spain and Germany I suppose.

    But paddies built our new concrete plane runways during the war here, and many many other things. Neutral? Give it a rest.

  • Ehtch

    Dai Greene is no doubt been seen,
    across our country, slightly mean.

    Jumping over hurdles like a horse,
    a course fox a clever four legs.

    Two legs is that what he got,
    no sign of a saddle not.

    Chinless south-easterners, on your Downs,
    upon horses,
    think of this Llanelli lad did, over hurdles bound.

    Ungrateful twats. Seb Coe – can’t stand the tory git. Give me Steve Ovett any fecking day. Seb is a twonk!

  • Ehtch

    Scarlets v. Aroni, an Italian team,
    from up their north rarely seen.

    Italy, trying to play the game,
    rugby, to some footies inane.

    Parc y Scarlets tomorrow we welcome,
    our roman old friends to play.

    In our amphitheatre small and plion,
    but this time without any old lion.

    Gladiators though truelly abound,
    from both sides, future hopefully renound.

    I like my rugger, it is war controlled,
    as long as the ref is well fucking balled.

    what? WHARRRTT!

  • Ehtch

    Vanessa, your mother was a wrong ‘un,
    as life produces some said.
    Your grands looked after you,
    grandad, masonic leather aproned.

    Heartbroken when grands went,
    finding love when truck Fishguard driving.
    Inheritance, France well visited,
    buying an SDI Rover, cash paid.

    Back to UK and Weston-Super-Mare,
    buisiness Woman of the year, dare.
    But attract a hubby that was not square,
    motorbike business helped set up,
    but hands not used for spanners once,
    hospital had to take care.

    say no more…

  • Ehtch

    “couldn’t you care, my wife and your husband?”.

    Dylan should have butted in here and said “I was only keeping the oven hot for when you eventually come home, to stop it drying out”, but as a typical poet, he didn’t have the balls to saying it, when faced with a brand new experienced killer.

    But he spoke well for the Captain in court, a great verbal reference for him in fact, and Captain got off with just a well good telling off, and told to try and his best to get over what he experienced within war. Captain and his wife had a very, very happy lifetime marriage, and yes, for him, her oven was always hot.

    More tea Vicar?

    • Ehtch

      Alastair, emailed Disqus on what I posted last night about my “expand profile” strange(!) user name that has appeared there, and this is the reply I got,
      “To change your name you would need a full Disqus account which you can register here: Be sure to use the same email so you can merge your comments and change your profile information here:,Giannii

      I will do as said tomorrow sometime. Obviously something rogue has happened, but that is online life it seems at times. Hopefully I will have no problems doing it.

      By the way, MicheleB has a strange username with her “expand profile” too – checked others, but didn’t come across any other strange ones.

  • Ehtch

    Dave Simons, it’s Captain Cat the blind old sea captain saying it, in Dylan’s Under Milkwood, when dreaming when afternoon napping in his house, Schooner House, when retired and old, remembering, sub-consciously. Therefore the sea state references in his dreams is of landlubbering conquests when young of ladies.

  • Ehtch

    Circadian rhythm movements coming up,
    with NZ rugby time upsidedown.
    I have already started bedding at six,
    and rising at two with a frown.

    Six weeks of kiwi time coming,
    I will have to endure,
    To catch things live and alive,
    on ITV’s coverage hopefully pure.

    Amateur coverage that no doubt,
    will wince my rugger bones.
    But at least it will all be, think,
    enthusiastic not run by bores.

    Good luck to ITV1 and ITV4,
    but get ready for criticism online.
    Totally and extraordinarily,
    from the usual rugby whores.

  • Ehtch

    Drop your draws as in guns, rather than drawers undergarments.

    Why am I starting to annodate my poems….

    I am getting really sad now.

    Anyway, reminds me of a great poem of Dylan Thomas, again, as him a chaotic professional poet, in small hours of the his morn – enjoy,

  • Ehtch

    Vanessa’s one of 63 in her book, but a poem on London homeless in the 1980’s and tory ’90’s, which we hope to god will not return to with the present regime,

    Cardboard Coffins

    No-one to turn to
    Nothing to do
    Nowhere to go
    No-one to know.

    No shoulder to lean on
    Everything’s wrong
    No listening ear
    To wipe the odd tear.

    No parent, no friend,
    No money to spend
    No shelter to sleep
    Things are not cheap.

    Nothing to eat
    No shoes on my feet
    Nowhere to go
    As I sit in the snow.

    A cardboard box for my bed
    A rucksack underneath my head
    At night, London’s a cardboard city
    Hundreds of us, what a pity.

    Last line is a dig at liberal conservatives head in sand inactives, claiming expenses,as  I translate and create in my own personal mind. Make of as you want.

    ISBN 0906821363

  • Ehtch

    OOPS – 65 poems even.

    Googled her ISBN but it doesn’t show. It was published by Carmarthenshire County Council in 1998.

    No idea where Vanessa is these days, since I have worked all over the world since, and lost touch.

    Piscataway in New Jersey, and Willmington, near Boston was interesting, after 9/11. We had a healthy discussion about it when I visited Piscataway, but the bloke I had to deal with in Willmington treated me as a member of Osama’s family, the tital yank numbnuts, everything foriegn wanted to bomb them or something! That was a seriously hard engineering gig, and yes, I wanted to flatten him, the yank prick twonk, but I resisted, oh yes I do, but it is still inside, and I should have invited him onto Main Street, for a DRAW! And I would have won easily. Yank wonk.

    Shit my pants though when on a plane when that plane went into the ground for other reasons in Long Island, which the capatain informed us as we landed at Boston. I am a sensitive man…. But one on one, I can give as I get. WHAAARRRT?

  • Ehtch

    Tenniis poem. Tennis US Open, well wankered by rain from Mother Eart.

    Well, Flushing Meadows, well soaked,
    with what Greenland melted ice in the sky?
    With burning constant lights and fuel,
    seen from the Moon, you try and deny?

    Murray slippering on lines, and the spanish one,
    falling off his seat with cramp.
    Weather up the East Coast.
    strange and seems ramp up.

    Four years it is with this,
    rain not expected.
    Any message yankies,
    burning proffered?

    Oliver Reed and Rita Tushingham with my best whiteman early history of north america, trapping, in the mid 1800’s, or maybe earlier,

  • Ehtch

    To tell you the truth, I could be still working for Pyramid Engineering Sevices in South London, selling micro-electronic processing equipement top-drawer stuff from the old ultra-successful SLEE company before them, but when the bubble burst, and the people I had to get on with from Bookham Technology from Abingdon and Swindon, and Nortel, thought miles better and brillianter, in Paington, I realised, British Industry is not properly supported and is amateur total shit, and that is due to Thatcher way back, and the way she destroyed it’s confidence, which exists to this day.

    Coalition Clegg twats have reinforced it with the Sheffield Forgemasters nonsense as soon as they got in. Clegg? Start fill you CV in, you won’t get back in in 2015.


  • Ehtch

    Gary Lineker, Alan Hansen and that Shearer,
    Over-confidents golf course botherers.
    On Match of the Day spieling shite,
    Knowledge human lacking might.

    Alex, keep them sorts rod length,
    gobby shites with their oncourse clubs.
    Trying to run things with a G n’ T,
    Corbett short at their side, looking like a tee.

    Horses and courses is a better view,
    to see common man deal and lose.
    As on the streets, and we play the game,
    of life, win lose draw, always same.

    What makes you think these golf-course sports telly pundits wind me up with their over-arrogant comfortableness? hate the creepy bastards in fact, they make my skin crawl.

  • Ehtch

    Alastair – Dylan Thomas just simple describing when he stayed with his auntie on a farm in west wales, on his school hols, which magical lived his mind. As in “a dog barked, farmyards away”. Stunning words.

  • Ehtch

    France, can you dance, as Asterix,
    Germanic times into the mix.

    Napoleon short of stature,
    but not of attitude.

    De Gaul.big nosed tall,
    jackel bullet did not fall.

    Tati?, now, this one,
    un Jacques homme drôle’n.

  • Ehtch

    Good gawd! Come around back here to read the above poem what I posted, and I have even impressed myself, and I am proud to admit it. I know, Alastair, you are good mates of Fergie, but he reminds me of the old Leeds manager Don Revie, battling south-eastern english shitoes, if you get what I mean, which both of you will no doubt do.

    But hope Swans stay up this season, though. Fergie – got a couple of lads spare, by any chance? : )

  • Ehtch

    I am pissed and cannot sleep,
    Namibia and Fiji creep.

    Wales scored, they can go far,
    to show the world bizarre.

    Rugby, hammer and tongs,
    is a game ulike ping-pong.

    Nutting nuts, against heads,
    countries pound in their steads.

    Wingers flying when asked,
    hopefully around props arsed.

    Rugby, union, is a strange game,
    war controlled, without medals and that fame.

  • Ehtch

    I semi-blog on Alastairs blog, as we do,
    prostituting ourself to Campbell pimpido.

    Speiling shite, whatever comes to mind,
    anything goes, see hear smell or blind.

    I like this site, blogged, haggis flavoured and all,
    no, british isle and Oireland, we will not fall.

    More western isles gaelic music from via North America,

  • Ehtch

    Namibia put away,
    welsh young lads play.

    Fiji and sleepless nights,
    I always worry without might.

    Pound on, Oz vee Wales,
    final flamed, NZ recenently caned.

    With taffy stick, with our young lads,
    we will make the world look like a priii, more tea vicar?

  • Ehtch

    my spelling is atrocious. I will have to remember how to spell “spieling” correctly sometime.

  • Ehtch

    Where is this little england,
    all loverly and also sundry?
    Wimbledon wombled with
    rubbish all around abound?

    Alderney living, what does she know,
    tennis and cricket her husband spout.
    BBC indian emporers and empirers,
    came back with their Victorian old shout.

    Victoria’s bed they have stayed,
    return to infesting BBC’s new led.
    Cliff with his pop songs, coffee cafe,
    but Spike M no who knew a Naafi.

    Rubbish who came back, arrogant,
    servents barked at with rant.
    Empire, what for? for Rome?
    Ugly game, Chist’s no dome.

    Just a poem to show up of the claim of Rome for the right to say everything about Jesus Christ and his mother. I await some cardinals to tun up at my door, to put me right….. and to have a good go at BBC history, and the people they employed, many returning from the Indian subcontinent in the late 1940’s, just to give them a job.

  • Ehtch

    If ever you get renumatitive for my speilings/spielings, please let me know – I will give you a 10% cut Alastair, Ok, you are pushing it now, 20% then, you robbing tight fisted scottish basteward.

    Capitalism, who invented it?
    The local market, barter it?

    Git, Jack, a few beans,
    grow monkeys seen?

    A new party in our land,
    that say land is not sand?

    Jack says Rory says it called Tory,
    Mother says, does a supplement come that Mail on Sunday?

  • Ehtch

    I, I believe need to understand ourselves,
    before you should go out your door.
    To a world to explore, in ignorance,
    my aristocratic friend, in pence.

    Lowly brit, can speak the international speak,
    on the street, not like you as a high freak.
    Gobbling on your words, confused,
    a lady pick up lost, Manchester dude.

    They make me laugh, with their free scarfe,
    trying to still run it, even with their cold bath.
    If, the film, was a message, heard absoured,
    I think, and totally ostrich sand ignored.

    Jesus, I write poems all my life it seems, and when I get around the realisation of the concept of editing, rather than be a flash poet, I might lose something in the feeling.

    Why to I sound suddendly like Skripps from Heartbeat – you know the one, the one that was Benny from Crossroads, or was it the binman from Corry. Sorry Beeny from Crossroads, he was in Corry.

    Anyway, when my present financial situation changes when “events” happen, I think I know which route to go on. I have a bookfull of simple ideas already.

    Just a taster –

  • Ehtch

    I could expand my emaulings,
    to lands humans fallings,
    and editors maulings, ignorant.

    Modern day callings, yawnings,
    to old men, old speak callings.
    Concrete mind, not modifying,
    nor conforming to modern mind.

    Where to go then, we are calling,
    disappear into a mind failing,
    or another world more imaginative,
    where 2011 speaks today impressive.

  • Ehtch

    I have had to have councilling, a couple of times,
    to cope with family health and stuck in their times.
    Irrationality, builds up with time and overseas dime,
    but at the end it is not important and benign.
    Living life with blinkers on, ahead only,
    ones around with lateral thinking lonely.
    Seeing the world as seems go bonkers,
    growing old and becoming Willy Wonker.

    quite amusing, I think…

  • Ehtch

    I write these poems, to make it easy,
    realise lads boxers and ladies knickers.
    How easy it is for ones condusive,
    how to be culturally inclusive and indusive.

    Yes, ladies knickers I prefer,
    bisexual, I have been described.
    But basic male love is asexual,
    python length though and all.

    Lads that like lads is sweet,
    an old thing, no need to tweet.
    Primary school did meet,
    ladies too, love lipping meet.

    Ahem! more tea vicar? Young people, you certain ones, writing poetry is easy. Don’t be like me, that put it off for forty years. My first poem was a song, for an imaginative pop group, I called Huw and the Kippers, which my younger brother laughed his arse off in being totally impressed in it’s humour and cuttingness.

  • Ehtch

    I like to be judged as a present this exact day poet spieling, speiling shite appealing, to modern man/lady on the street wealing. Poets are not renound, xFactor they are not appealing, but fashion changes, and we might suddenly might become appealing, as Craig from Red Dwarf. WHAT? smegghead

  • Ehtch

    You sit in your place, in your school,
    battling your instincts against the rule.

    Say you should think this with their that,
    wanting to shout “teach, your a total prat”.

    But that is not the case, teachers case,
    they are only what is good now, and not their face.

    Yes, teach, is only doing a job well gobbed,
    trying his best, Please Sir Alderton you should score.

  • Ehtch

    Hundred comment, but not one eighty,
    as Jim bulley, that gets you an onion.

    Bother this thread, fed,
    Theads of poetry instead.

    One-Hundred-and-Eighty geordie said,
    Oxbridge educated, love it, when all done and said.

    An appreciation poem for Sid Wadell and his love of darts. A great bloke. Anyone remember the Indoor League with the super brilliant old Yorkshire and England fecking fast bowler of old, Fred Trueman? I do. Ay-oop Fred, ow yoo doing oopstairs,

  • Ehtch

    Welsh young lads play sway and play,
    in mirror of us playking fools games.
    Said it alreay, Oz vee Cymru, final sorted.

    Kiwis dscovered, history is not their side,
    discovered now uncovered with that pride.
    Auckland, New York and shit, who’ll give it?

    It’ll be a good sunday of exibition of rugby with above sunday date.

  • Ehtch

    I have a terribly dust allegy, morning boaking.
    no wooden floors can put right.

    My immune system is god would only know,
    fucked up not crisket or ant game.

    But it stimulates my mind, secret immune,
    Poems spieled, celtic indian western immune.

  • Ehtch

    Alastair, you love me, utterley, completely. shovely poems, on site putadley, prostitudely, cricket battedly. Jonathan, my old mate on ruger telley, Daviesally, whilley, golf clubs not grass smelly. that’s enough, I have run out of puff, wordswise

  • Ehtch

    Nought, doubt, my great grand mam,
    died young also daughter earlier,

    Hetty and Elisabeth well remembered,
    Harthill so very well in mind recovered.

    Photos seen, dad and Gertie,
    Harthill, don’t worry, I’ll be your Bertie.

  • Ehtch

    Italian friends, you know I made,
    Jonney in Tumble sorted nine.

    He loved me non-catholic ices creamed,
    and I loved hima  man dreamed.

    With his bumper games, italian fame,
    Jonnie, well remembered, colliery opposite famed.

    By the way, that was the start of my conections to Italian families, if you get what I mean. England is thata way. Good morning.

  • Ehtch

    Putting the world to right we fight,
    might but me hope for lady tights.

    Saying observing and again saying,
    without a chapel or church visit with praying.

    Dear lord, a little prayer I make,
    for little people born to die.

    We are not wholley good nor bad,
    with us all born to only die.

    OK, last couple of verses was ripped off from Dylan Thomas’ Under Milkwood’s Parch Eli Jenkins’ evening eulogy, but Dylan won’t mind, in his right seat upstairs.

  • Ehtch

    “hardly out of his nappies” – brilliant line from Fred.

  • Ehtch

    Fiji worried, I shouldn’t have been,
    incredible performance this morning seen.

    Sixty-six nil, lads full of beans,
    young, welsh, and incredible scene.

    Oz v. Wales final it will be,
    result? who knows not mean.

  • Ehtch

    I fell in love with Ollie Reed, and Rita Tushingham with her taste of honey with Dora Bryan, years ago. I am a bit like Ollie, self-destroying, if you get what i mean, but I am enjoying it, so don’t worry. Ollie on Parkie, enjoy,

  • Ehtch

    If you want to play bagpipes with anyone Alastair, channel four should send you over to north america to play in a scene with the ex-Scots there. Just a thought.

  • Ehtch

    Oops, got it wrong Sky Arts, pay-for-view. Tell them to get their wallet out to make a proper job of it.

  • Ehtch

    furthermore “scarfe” is a reference to the cutting cartoonist, that appeared in high-brow newspapers in recent decades. i will have to stop this annowotsitness…

    Some of Scarfe’s work was in this, filmwise,

  • Ehtch

    Praise, and raise? not these days,
    unless you are a banker wanker.
    Us lot far from their City ways,
    with them as a money tanker.

    Us on their form of streets,
    are left to bin pick scraps.
    For them to keep in living,
    to the living in their traps.

    Fools are we to endure this,
    oil trade, and time split made.
    How to change, profits made,
    from fantasy money not fade.

    Who knows, revolution of sorts,
    or London City wall used?
    If City they give some slack,
    maybe we’ll then futures pull back.

    No need to say further about the above, appart from posting some Pulp and Javis Cocker from, again, Sheffield. I have a fixation of Sheffield. I have some great photos of Sheffield from about ’44/’45 when my nan and my dad visited there to see our relatives,

  • Ehtch

    Joining the armed forces, I kew I had to be within the lines.
    But I was, life brit looking at pathetic personal official lines.
    They knew I think, my then present secret personal whines,
    looking at nuclear, on basic camp, in ’85, the alarm whinned.

    An education it was, better than any can conform.
    Respirrator, underground of with CSG,
    Breathed saying, Corporal, cough, I support your team.
    Life building character scenes I seeked and a dream.

    But, we were paid for the front line, but as I a technician?
    behind the lines aircraft cleverly kept together without ommision?
    Lads army should be paid. loads more, and more pension paid.
    Spanners like me, was like an estate agent unlike a coffin be.

    jesus christ, i do not know what to say

  • Ehtch

    might as well post another one, I will have to look on beeb news telly from Sian and Bill, first thing they say I will make something up, it is 6:43 now, here goes,

    Four hundred million, BBC are involved,
    fighting self-involved total penis belled.

    Who gives these comfortable self-centered,
    comfortable leather chaired totally numptied.

    Salford, get orf your arse, walk, and see you there,
    if you want to continue your career in Madmanch YEH!

    welcoming committee will be led by Shaun Ryder, I have alledgedly heard,

  • Ehtch

    Saturday standing square, but with no exciting footie scores coming in.
    Here we you and all stand with excitement last night sent off scored.

    Rugby is thin in certain places and faces and described as wasted.
    True, it it is self-involved with us rugby cases totally mad natives.

    But english rugger club is the biggest natives, oh yah look at her,
    and look at them, failed, money pounds at the door or any bar.

    England rugger team were like a past time off and on the field,
    hope footie round bladder will show thwm up to full-time yield.

    bloody disgrace

  • Ehtch

    Poem that Dylan Thomas wrote when he was sixteen/seventeen, that blew the mind of his 1930’s communist minded well older friend that ran a corner shop on St. Helens Roadnear him then, even thought Dylan was never communist – he was everything, maybe apart from nazi,

  • Ehtch

    Though Dylan had a brilliant editor, his dad, DJ. Master of English at Swansea Grammar School, up Mount Pleasant, up Mount Pleasant before the war that is, before half of it got bombed flat.

  • Ehtch

    Banks and society going down,
    also welsh principality with a frown.
    Downgraded,retarded, told capitalist,
    West Bromwich, first mortgage desist?

    Culture of kick the dog of one small,
    I think is going well on here and now.
    Bigboys finding ones to offload score,
    to management wankered take doh.

    To save themselves, Wimbledon tickets,
    for in their freinds minds, teeshirt nipples.
    Pathetic lot, in a world of their total own,
    not knowing when to give up the gown.

    These banckers sorts need the harsh reality of unemployment, from top to bottom involved in this plastic trade of lifes fantasy, not reakky existing money. It never appears on our streets, ever, does it? Ladytron about it, White Elephant,

  • Ehtch

    Magical irish gaelic song, sung in both gaelic and english,
    Travel, but in your mind the miles will be short, you could say.

  • Ehtch

    Liam Fox, we not want to go,
    but to say the truth such so.

    What are yo we need to know,
    so your own country can say so.

    Clouded lines an aircrft can fly,
    as any person a montain nearby.

    Come out what your secret is, desist,
    in what some say, a marriage excist.

    One arranged you think for things look good,
    but we will one day will elect a PM that takes it up the toad,

  • Ehtch

    Irelande, où étiez-vous? Dans votre dômes prêtre, cachés? Vous avez joué ordures, espérons que la France joue comme les hommes. Rendez-vous à Auckland, en France – ho-ho-ho!

    Nous allons boire du vin rouge ou amer gallois, quoi qu’il arrive, Jacques

  • Ehtch

    And proudley open. If anyone watched the BBC scientific documentary the other night, you will realise the line between male and female is well blurred. I have been promoting this for years, since being a pretty male with urges towards females, but seem to attract the opposite, with my frustration. It is on iplayer somewhere on the beeb somewhere.

    Time for a song for it, when wisdom was about,

  • Ehtch

    I sense something is holding Liam Fox back – to look at him he is charismatic. If i am right he takes it up the shuffty, and he comes out, he will be eventually be the first shuffy Pm, made public that is. Can’t tell with these old Tory MP’s from the past, thy maybe AC/DC, but looking back, Chamberelin was a, how can you say, backseat driver, but that is my judgement ony. Winnie, drove a jag right up front, when he was sober.

  • Ehtch

    Scotti, Picts or even lowland Brythonic Celts above Hadrian,
    Scotland is as any land is a complex land.

    Looked from below seems an historical simple task,
    but not when looked into, into past times not pasg.

    Easter several cultures of old with modern mind instilled,
    genetically complex as in Glasgow well and truely filled.

    The Pasg/Easter reference is the complication in time of Jesus Christ, and it’s knock on effects. Pope or Harri Eight, who is better? FIGHT! As Harry Hill may as well ask.

  • Ehtch

    Dan snow did an excellent small series of programmes, two or three episodes, on how christianity entered our main isle, via Ireland then the small isle of Iona, west of Scotland, for BBC4. A must watch for any modern day bible-bashers abouts, I think. Christianity was imported from the north and previously tried from the west.

  • Ehtch

    La Francsay, today to meet to play,
    games, rugger togs foot put on.
    Artistic games, no doubt played,
    brit celt knot, and gallouise whinned.

    Should be a good game, to behold,
    in rugger world terms when all told.
    Sticking it up each others, in tackles,
    good luck to both, you total mad muckers.

    may the best team win, and all that bollocks. I am warming up to it already, if you get what I mean. HIC!

  • Ehtch

    I am an observer, of yes us living life,
    like Waters hotelled of Pink Floyd pointed.
    Sharp daggered observations you might say,
    close to the bone totally cutting but not innane.
    Waters, Anzio Italy, his dad did drowned teared fall,
    but the wall seemingly is still there for us to fall.

    Love Pinky, always, since very young before ten,
    See Emily Play – yes please. : )

  • Ehtch

    Older then bolder, a young brother to look over,
    my young life seemed solved and already over.
    Mam and dad also to look over, their frantic life,
    house built, to their desires to thewir tilt, life’s stife.
    Hollow aimes, ok maybe free, but shallow capitalism,
    parentals seen in their never had ot so good HP whism.

    song time, from 1959.

  • Ehtch

    I am reaching fifty, This January nifty.
    Darting lives daggers with a side step,
    opinel hunting knife always by my side.
    Pubs windows I have entered, and left,
    Brilliant arguements not know, no end.
    Stick them up there anyone someone said,
    what I would say and and a foot planted up there.
    Travelling through a pub window is not a nice experience,
    but by damned, Cirencester lads shook my hand afterwards, in sense.

  • Ehtch

    Sharp, like a modern harp, I am,
    trained to kill with little frightening alarm.
    Pause, grab wrist and twist and neck wring,
    easily done to end life when  in job to bring.
    Knives, arms, rifles, all studied and used,
    abused some say, but one day not war losed.
    Men with that streak are sometime well required,
    to know how to kill, without medals on suits atirred.

    I have had some, ahem!, interesting armed forces training, and the best of it was in the TA. post RAF, SAS in Norfolk was an eye opener, and taught me how to take a man down, one on one. Threw a fat bloke into a middle of a road once when he tried to have a go at me, and he then ran away like a little boy. He was twice my size. Armed forces training see, of the SAS kind. Foreign Legion, which…. say no more Hughie,

  • Ehtch

    Dylan Thomas, obviously part of my clan, was totally grief stricken on the atom bombs dropped on Japan, in ’45, and he was encapsulated in worry of where mankind was heading. His worries can not be underestimated – he carried them into his own grave at the young age of 39 in 1953. Some people are like that, pathetically caring.

  • Ehtch

    Ozzies and us Taffies went out to play,
    green with claret from veins that spray.
    Hammering each other totally marvels,
    knocking heads plus bodies gormless.

    Super Man or any Batman, Shane fly,
    when tried tackled sent into distant sky.
    Came down like an asteroid, arse on fire,
    still on fire scored a try, pants smoking attired.

    Kicks missed, ozzies not licked,
    blondes though wished licked.
    That girl from Brisbane, I took hotel,
    grapped my balls and cock, drunk hell.

    If i was planning to pick that night,
    I would have drunk less for might.
    But I was on a British Lion Session,
    and when that beatiful blonde Brisbane girl dragged to my bed,
    my cock my god, was only good for Trumpton, fire-hosing for any cred.

    Yes, first test Lions 2001, Brisbane – got friendly , well she and her friends  picked me really, but it was perfect, same height as me, five foot nine, blonde blue eyed and handsome and strong, as I like them,but I only arrived from singapore where I was working that whatever time it was, and I went straight on the pop, and when lions won, it carried on. No wonder I couldn’t rise to the occasion – I was totally and absoluterly exhausted, especially after working eighteen hours in a day to get some machine working so to have some time off to hop on a plane to Brisbane to be where the Lions are. Five hours there on a plane, five days there, five hours back. Brilliant experience.

  • Ehtch

    Trumpton and Camberwick Green for education to new young children. Ey, Alastair?
    Ivor and his Engine?
    Watch with Mother, aprons strings and all that, hide underneath your mothers 1960’s skirt, shy to the postman.

  • ehtch

    Kiwis win but now rugbydump stink,
    francais red whinning saying robbed, wink.

    Maybe the napoleons came up short,
    but a case maybe for to send tort,

    IRB, a rule and law to themself,
    as us welsh found, Rolland rat is no elf.

    We wos robbed, the constant cry,
    you hate us, and now we want to die.

    It is only a game lads. But yes, the IRB do seem a right bunch of cu…, more tea Vicar, let me top you up. What were we talking about again Father O’Brien?

  • ehtch

    My Brisbane beauty was a sheep farmers daughter, from out in the wilds of Queensland open land. I think that was where the connection was between us that made that night. I was only there for the Lions rugger, but… As I said, I was a bit exhausted on that trip. Met incredible people there, that bloke that ran a posh fashion shop in Brisbane shopping centre, totally gay, and that prot bloke from NI with his family, that was on the run from the RAH, and many many other people. Seem to meet these people, like when I went to Torino a couple of times – got introduced to an old boy who was an old Juve player that played with John Charles, and when I said I am from fifteen miles from where he was from, tears were falling from his eyes in joy. I think I need to travel again, sometime.

  • ehtch

    I have this power over women and men, which I have suppressed to my end.
    Because I am not selfish and a bellend, I use for furthering everyones end.

    Fool, an average estate agent would describe me, but hell, they don’t get it,
    in their nattering life not realising they are going nowhere, acting like a tit.

    I know what is what, as from the top of my fence I have always observed,
    looking at people pass by, whose a total sweety, and whose a turd.

    I should start my own X-Factor show, and some Eton school pupils will get the thumbs down, but not all. You always need to sort the fine from the waste in life, even Eton.

  • ehtch

    I’ll get to 180 here, pet, Sid Waddell, even if it kills me.
    poems will be coming out of my bollocks to do it. ‘Ave it!

  • ehtch

    Woman met, not eating right, unhealthy try to recover.
    Meals made on plate in front, said eat for life discover.

    If not for me, for another, don’t listen to the Wail to uncover.
    Life, what it actually is, don’t let them love hysterically manouver.

    Life is simple my love, don’t take it all in, and be buggered,
    fuck people like Esther and Price and all their nonsense irrerd.

    Say no more. A young lady I have been listening, singing from down my way, has the right spirit. And this song might be apt, since this winter we are told will be parky and white again. Take it away Evie, fy blodyn bach wen o’r gaehaf(that translates to the english as, my small white flower from the meadow – ok, wipe your blubbering tears, for gawds sakes, grow some balls, sniff)

  • ehtch

    Books are dying, looks are surviving,
    X-Factor lads and ladies max factor plastered.
    Sing, or an excuse of singing on telly,
    look good for Simon to say give welly.
    Bank account topped up, fuller,
    or a next girl on line to pull her.
    Shallow game, not 1964,
    like these two, one would implore.
    Tom and Rita Pavone from ’64. Classic clips from when I was two year old. Brilliante.

    i’ll get up to that 180 Sid, before this xmas and snowfall.

  • ehtch

    Talking about being two or so in 1964, had a babysitter, cousin of my next door neighbour mother there, from a big mafia like family from Carmarthen. She was about sixteen or seventeen, and blonde and blue-eyed and….
    Have bumped into her daughters and nieces since – jesus wept! Blonde goddesses or what? None of them is less than five foot ten. One of the younger ones I got into giggles hoplessly when I described her as a norwegian foxy goddess. Lame I know, but she liked it, which is the main thing, isn’t it?

  • ehtch

    Sorry, Alastair, for the overload of poems,
    but must reach Waddell 180 to perform.
    Why? No idea, just a mark on my terms,
    fight and battle to against pathetic norm.

    The norm, what is it in our simple life?
    Tasks after shaving brushed teeth washed.
    Kicking off into life, car taking your rife,
    Meeting people, gritted teeth them unbathed.

    OK, so I am being too blunt and ugly.
    with people you all meet today and daily.
    But am I close to the truth with those pugerly?
    I think I am, on my fence sitting, looking at you, playingly.

    Should be up to 150 now, Alastair. Well, I bloody well hope so. I’ll get 180 by xmas. More Royksopp from Norway, by the way, quite good, from a few years back,

  • ehtch

    Marsheaux, greek ladies watched, for years.
    Ladies watched, me, no big surprise.
    Sing sang song with female quality,
    pervertedly watched you could very well say,
    but denied, though out of the corner of my eye, well pervy.
    second track is brill.well I think so.

  • ehtch

    Empire state human. Do I want to reach?
    I feel no but talk no of all each.
    Where I am standing am happy enough,
    even if life flacks to me in face stuff.

    Up to you all what you want to face,
    it is not for me to say you’re a total disgrace.
    Live life as you want, and your Empire is chose
    but my state human will be different from yours.

    Two Empire State Human tracks, original Human League from Sheffield, then a cover from Marsheaux, from Greece, and video done by a bloke from New York,
    Sorry if I am buzzing people out by my posts. My only message is, is get a life and look out.

  • ehtch

    OK, so I have got the hots for Marsheaux, loverly couple of greek ladies, right up my street. Tidy track from them here. Loss of Heaven? You could say that loverlies,

  • Ehtch

    Abroad, arab jews germans french greek italian austrian or whatever.
    seem to pick up my thoughts are not whatever or never.
    Even birds backgarden, oats in hand, robin stands, and picks on my thumb stand.
    Ok, creatures on this Earth, I have a talent,
    but it does spook me, me on this planet.
    Catalan, basque, castille and all, moors so what fall.
    Palestines, Libians and all, seem to see me life tall.

    Peace and love, and all that bollocks we play.

  • Ehtch

    Ladies – when you see me come down the street, think DANGER!
    I look at life very must stranger than you, with all my heart dagger.
    Talk to me if you want, but take it on yourself if you hear not want,
    my aim as a man, needs not repeated, between legs, in your ca…
    Time for another cup of tea for the Vicar and Father O’Brien. How are those high cheekbones and those glassy irish eyes in your confession box, Father?

  • Ehtch

    Just heard Evie has moved on to future things. Hope it works out for her, Hell of a female sweet singer.

  • Ehtch

    fy mlodyn bach wen o’r gae haf – my small white flower from the summer meadow, it should have been, even. I had gaeaf, which means winter, in my mind. I must let my fingers catch up my mind at times.

  • Ehtch

    Spring fall forward, Fall on back,
    time told, modified, like sea tack.

    Sails looked, put up in spring then,
    summer, autumn, then down erung.

    Winter, childs’ hopefully snow falling,
    plumbers bills adult payments stalling.

    How much? to solder a pipe and joint?
    “Sorry gov, but it’s market forces point.

    Elasticity of the market, more needed,
    your thin wallet by me will be greeded”.

    Have a nice this winter everyone, and hope it will be a cold and white one. Would be nice to see the Thames freeze over like in old times, and hold a fair on it, right next to the London Eye and Westminster, says most plumbers…..

  • Ehtch

    S’pose it might be a good time for a poem on yodelling.

    Yodel in your distant hills, we will try and hear you,
    our ancient white blue eyed lands, iced right through.
    Clean through, if singers with certain names not get,
    all I would say is, fraulaine, forget it and we gehts?

    Franz Lang, Ms Oesch from Helletia Switzerland and Taylor Ware from Tennersse(! – you might think, but watch – Alp extraction, easliy). enjoy, genießen, profiter, godere. Sorry Ms. Oesch, couldn’t find romnsch word for enjoy.

    Franzl –
    Melanie –
    Taylor –
    Taylor visiting Europe when a little older –

    Eeeh-eh-eh-diddle-le-de-diddle de

  • Ehtch

    Mortail Coil.
    Jimmy Saville has shuffled, marathons run,
    yorkshire pit, dj’d to top of the pops telly fun.

    BBC thought he was a foil, we could say,
    BBC crazy in their empire lost ‘stab ways.

    A great bloke, giving out gongs, on telly,
    hidden message to kiddies, it is welly.

    Shoving it them up the ones that infiltrate,
    to say things slowly, they cannot create.

    Jimmy introducing Matt Monro here from 1964, begging us not to walk away, walk away from what – that is up to you to make up. I have already made my mind up.

    Jimmy. I will remember you, and show my grandchildren clips of you, like this, Swansea Lads, Pete Ham and Pete’s great friends,

  • Ehtch

    You have got to be chaos minded, to true think,
    but I do not recomend, bedroom made in drink.

    Try it if you want and you completerly explore,
    but I implore it is not for amateurs that occur.

    It is for certain characters that do pop into life,
    saying things, moving in what direction or rife.

    Say no more – there will always people like me about, so put up with it fascists, live and not ignore. And I know how to sail a boat, if I ever have to get away from you canoes, if you play your mind spiralling minds, towards complete tools.

  • Ehtch

    It is a simple fact of the matter,
    if kep boys close to themselves,
    wihout stimulous, arse factor,
    government ministers are belles.

    Myslf in Grammar School, GIRLS! Jezzus!
    some incredidle beauties, tuck shop met.
    Karens, Carla, Howards and Price sistors,
    and many more, implore, wished nether.

    A boys school, these days, what gulag?
    to excert that a young man, denied,
    a same age female hand ocassionally,
    but christ quite felt sweet rising bally?

    Ladies in my school were superbe,
    several were matched off with me,
    future teenage fanatasy life to be,
    but many wanted adventure, picked,
    that is how we were educated to be.

    Grammar school system – the intricasies in society.
    But I was told I was the most intelligent kiddie that the headmastert he had ever seen in a while, at Priory Street Primary School, Carmarthen, in 1967, and that really spooked my parents, my mother especially. So much so, my mother decided to move our family. If I continued my excellent education in that Carmarthen Primary School, I wouldn’t b her now. My Mothr was controlling manipulative, even if she was a nurse, if you get me. But she is dead now, so I don’t have to worry about her self-destructive ways anymore. She was not healthy for me, and I know it.

  • Ehtch

    Anyways, let’s have a healthy life poem, like walking.

    Wales has suddenly announced, that you can walk around it!
    Well! There’s a shock, thought that what history always wanted.

    A path, on our edge? To see our stunning hidden beaches with rocks?
    Are these english now going to visit us are completerly off their blocks?

    There’s no near nightclubs, and rare pubs, but knock on a certain door,
    yes, Farmer-so-so, or his wife, will pour jugs of merry, trip adoured.

    My favorite beaches, in my land – a heart stopper, Monkestone Beach!,
    steps up and down from it, beyond forty-five, one in two in road money.

    Then Marloes, distant Dale, at the end, towards secret isles there,
    maybe I have said to much, and not want too many treads spread there

    Marros Beach too, but that is another secret to some, with it’s old iron age community, which I found a stone tool from then when they were digging the path nearby. Just a blunt edged pounding stone, for getting fat off a cows skin, before drying.

  • Ehtch

    Sign of a some sort of poet, is to invent words.
    erung, to again ring, does it exist, or just turd?

    Do I care? No I don’t, manipulating talk as want,
    to anything I feel sounds good, criminally twoced

  • Ehtch

    Strong hips, and lips, ever wanted to meet,
    to give meat, hopefully to opposites a treat.

    Babes come out, oh dear, seven bill up and increasing,
    condom wellingtons wore, pill consumed, and Pope reversing.

    Didn’t work, myself at least ten per cent failling,
    trying to find the reverse gear on a new car is galling,
    but on a new horse takes the pleasure and cause stalling.

    Family planning – seven bill? My arse!

  • Ehtch

    This winter cold, yanks have already started.
    East Coast son, always sign we will have it.

    Electricity down, how would we cope,
    building fires in back garden, central heating? nope.

    Chopping axes, rusty brought out of retirement, from back shed,
    rusty, old films looked to how how to use, non-tenement, or bread.

    Ollie – show us how to use an axe, again,

  • Ehtch

    Jean Le Bete, carry dried meat on you, to give to wild cat, and then he will know you, and take you to meat, so you could give him most, while you take skin and fur, which cat has no use. Yes?

  • Ehtch

    I have been asked to make a positive poem on us being seven million on our planet, as a very super totally narrow species that has ever lived on this planet we are stuck on – us known scientifically as Homo Sapiens Sapiens, modern man. So here goes with my poem, on us.

    Mammoths, please fuck off, you too sabre toothed, you let me down.
    Loved you all, but you are telling lies about us, ustogether ice crowned.

    Ok, mammoth steak used to go down well,
    trout and salmon from icey stream from netted well.

    But, modern man, what is this christianity you speak,
    and other later Allah with his tiled houses special speak?

    Never mind, seven bill, no doubt you have an idea where you,
    J. G. Ballard, might have a thought, 1970 odd to go.

  • Ehtch

    The Normal, Top Gear, JG Ballard, Cars, Death, Two and Two, put together.
    Horse and cart can’t deny.

  • Ehtch
  • Ehtch

    When things get winter desperate, kill animals in your next field. Myself have sheep, early lambing young ewes for next spring. If things get desperate this winter, farmer will not mind my cut throat pilaging, and I will see him right next new spring. Song,

  • Ehtch

    Pick a days story and make a poem I find easy,
    looking at people all of them becoming greedy.
    I will get to one eighty poems xmas easily,
    if life feeds me, to make fun of them poetically.

  • Ehtch

    Payouts from Dalily Mail getting it wrong,
    run a story on me DM for a pension bonged.
    Sad little paper constantly getting it wrong,
    but take to court if around me create a pong.
    Slam you in the dock I would gladly happily,
    while your council blag on your behalf squirm.
    A nuisence rag is the Daily Mail in our life,
    Viz is top drawer in hyperbolye comedic strife.

    There should be a top of the pops chart for rags payouts.

  • Ehtch

    Alastair, did you notice your “great mate” in this clip, Piers? ” What do you do Taylor?” Quite a kiddie fiddling question some could say, but I don’t. ONLY JOKING PIERS, remind yourself of a rational sense of humour, and not be so Daily Wail!

  • Ehtch

    Greece, self-fleeced, now just tease,
    advice in through out the other, shell-like.
    You are becoming the EU problem child,
    but Italia, Porto, Oirland, Espania becoming alike.

    Euro is on it’s arse, financial concept-like,
    to fantasy WW’s again will not again uncovered.
    Throw it out, and start again, as engineers have done,
    a prototype should be learnt from, even in being endured.

    Say, a mark two Euro, in say fifty years or so, at least,
    while in the next decade we raid bins for scraps to feast.
    To tread water, while we sort the bollocks out, to out,
    then be able to swim further, posh kitchens bought to eat, again.

  • Ehtch

    The Human Condition, it is sadly a tradition,
    getting our arses burnt with money and sex.
    Into our minds we live and play these games,
    getting into a mess, as boats on rocks, wrecks.

    Live and learn, we are told as we clear up mess,
    but why do it in the first place, controls in awry?
    No, it is the Human simple Condition to repeat,
    again, again until end of time no matter loud cry.

  • Ehtch

    Just posted this on a Pete Green vid, with ref to Syd from Pinky’s band, I quote,

    “lsd, can explode your synapses totally, not recovered permanantly, tripped, without a rail ticket return, dopamine put into a junction, serotonin put to bed, noradrenaline, cup of coffee cannot recover, nervous system shorted-out, burnt wires no electrician can put right. So watch it all.”
    No need to say an overload of lsd went on into some heads, sadly and heartbreakingly. So, yes, watch it!

  • Ehtch

    “When I say, whenever wherever I find myself myself in the World I find myself, when I say I am from the Western side of old people from mainland here, and they look in my eyes and hear me, they shake my hand, and want to praise me, in a little way. Calon haf i pawb – a summer’s heart to you all, frindiau bach ar a byd hon – friends small like me on this World of ours.”

  • Ehtch

    Gravity the seducer, so they say is available, for download,
    into our electronic devices grandfathers frowned downed.

    Plugs is in, to hear gramps less than he does us possess,
    mind different from him, wheelbarrowed spuds filled garden.

    In a new world of each, not Mars or Venus, girls and boys,
    but sad gramps, sitting seated not enjoying these new toys.

    Anyway, excuse to Blur things with girls and boys, enjoy gramps – get up from your seat and dance your incontinent underwear off with this…

  • Ehtch

    Wars are always lost, even wwI wwII miners, digging coal like fury,
    heard deaths underground skyrocketed, but suprisingly singarly.

    Rather than disasterously, due not doubt to engineering cleverly,
    geologicaly applied, as it should have alwaysly, not in wartimely.

    But there you go, the concerntration of some minds when needed,
    but didn’t stop blocks drop on the odd miner to mince him feeded.

  • Ehtch

    Hammer’s End, I like to decend, in my older days.
    Money inherited, place try to recover in old ways.

    Hidden place I know, people know I have my eye,
    there farmers glittering eye has been seen in me.

    Could be in with a good shout when time comes by,
    sea view drowned forest before window small place view.

    And if someone beats me to the line, there’s another one, along coastline,
    planning permission begging to be put in, for walls to be put back up, and live in.

    Kev from channel four, no, I am not interested, I beg no publicity,
    you and your telly can just go for a titty.

  • Ehtch

    Barrels of “port” on boat going up Thames,
    to cellar underneath the houses of thems.

    “Where you going with that barrel Fawkes?”,
    challenged, “To rosy nose those that talks”.

    But someone talked, bid for first bombfire did,
    fail completely, infiltrated by loose jaw bid.

    Hang drawn and quartered, bollocksed and parts,
    message to advise others play but not these arts.

    Always baffled me that Caths go to bombfire nights and fireworks. Always has done…

  • Ehtch

    Fergie, twenty-five-up, and still in flight,
    horse still running, but this season tight.

    Manc C new into the mix with the old Arse,
    Chelski Italian head banger with pesto sauce.

    This could be an interesting season, Opps Scouse,
    too, tomorrow with toast hoped roast Swan do nouse.

    Footie is the number one sport in one’s country,
    but three with me after betted crickers, then rugby.

    Happy 25th Sir Fergie.

  • Ehtch

    BIG OOPS – got my footie managers mixed up then, pesto sauce is Manc C, not Chelski. Chelski is maniana paella. Ah well! told you it is my number three sport. oh bollocks, got it wrong again, he is Portugese. roll on spring for the crickers. Anyway, footie club managers is a turnstile, “generally”. For 19 clubs in the Premiership you do not know where you are from one season to next – maybe that was the point I could be trying to make, by being subliminally ignorant?

  • Ehtch

    University Olympics, some of us do like do to parttake,
    thanks UCCA invite, but true life I like to see and to talk.

    Some say not invited, but I was, Coventry Polytechnic, pleaded,
    but turned down for gawd knows mind reason, wanted to see seeded?

    Thatchers new greeded planting and destroying, as soon sow when needed,
    Falklands lads on a Carry On, Whitehall civil Service Offices pathetic created.

    Poll tax? What a fantasy bollocks! Only a  Dailly Mail woman reader would come up with that,
    But my male respect for the opposite of my race will not call her a complete stoopid twat.

    More tea Vicar? How about you Arch bish Willi? Been back to Swansea laterly? Excuse me while I pump a toon out, hop you like it both,

    By the way, Adele, hope your tonscils and things get sorted. Don’t swollow in meantime, you don’t know what is in it….

    Coventry Lanchester Polytechnic, 1981,

  • Ehtch

    YESSSSSSS, nil all, scousers, in my eyes fall,
    tonight Liniker Hanson and Shearer say they’re tall,
    going to that anfield puddle coming away with a point,
    putting the map of brit anglo-taff footie to a new point.

    ‘Ave it ‘Anson, you scottish waste of space – back pass? My Arse!

    I like my footie, on the quiet – I’m an old Don Revie Leeds supporter don’t you know – they do that don’t you do know.

  • Ehtch

    Domeo, Met-Art, Femjoy, not met not clicked?
    only 50% but maybe less do want to flicked.

    Pages turned over, but by “some” ladies no doubt also,
    to get up back to 50% who life’s long boats are shallow.

    Ladies performing, showing a biological calling with beaches,
    young new lads balls growing, ladies ovums too, blimey teaches.

    Sex. alright, can go out of control, Roman Rome like stuff,
    shagging anything that moves or not, forgetting barbarian strife.

    More clothed, maybe, ahem!, art,

  • Ehtch

    Well done Swans, with your west wales druids wands,
    Merlin like, Harry even Potter will not deny in sands.

    JK Rowling wrote Freshwest Pembroke approved house,
    but blimey, Swans kicked a footie ball today with nouse.

  • Ehtch

    Sunday, drummed, Chapel and Church await.
    Cross fields, with shoes held in hands, to praise.

    To praise to a distant Lord far away from us all,
    but to sing songs on the inspiration of life He gave.

    Some say, “what the fuck”, but I don’t, civilised times,
    civilisation He brought rather than religion, and it’s used fascination.


  • Ehtch

    We get through our archaeological, and not known historical, chaos,
    to constantly create a new irrational time-lost sort of chaos pathos.

    Iron cars running fast in time with it’s momentum and inertia physical,
    horse and cart only had odd broken neck felled or over leg wheeled.

    No blown holywood tanks of petrol nor trucks, screams in night’s sky,
    going forward blind into banks of fog with faith, St.Christopher by side.

    Rate of knots on land we fall, technology going backwards mortality,
    at least on ships, water cold intake, slam onto rocks glamourously.

    Down the Davy dark deep they were, but not for travellers these days,
    usually just a comment these days, got stuffed on the M4, fast ways.

    M4 in South Wales, in apreciation to Dylan Thomas, even though it didn’t exist in his day, just the A48 through South Wales then.

  • Ehtch

    Phfft phfft, take that my friend, canvas I wish for your end,
    my name is now Ali, get down and praise me you bellend.

    Well my name is Frazier, and I am not giving up to you boy,
    and your Uncle Tom in your corner playing you as a toy.

    Steak fried greaseless, my names Foreman let’s have sense,
    less of this boy and that stoopid slave Uncle Tom nonsense.

    Smack your heads together unless you stop dancing and bouncing,
    but if any of you take me to the far east, I reckon I’ll be bowling, over.

    repeat what I posted elsewhere with Joanna Lumley, blimey!

  • Ehtch

    Trains can be superbly tecnologically reliable, without sleeping driver,
    darting throughout our land human failing Beeching feeling godiver.

    Stupid dig up without mothball that was then in the nineteen-sixties,
    not to be chanced sitting opposite a stranger loverly girl with her titties.

    John speiling his Betjeman, lonely stations as village driveways,
    grassways to any inner and outer town or city, of road parkways.

    John Betjeman,

  • Ehtch

    There was once two Carmathen Stations not one now,
    Carmarthen Junction West and Cardigan Carmarthn town.

    How things have changed, how cars had to manupulate,
    through town streets to get through, steering turned.

    Twentieth Century, when car became king, when move on,
    for this bypass shoved on, paid for our house for a song.

    Railways land possessed, human less, so more sense,
    Town and cities more mortgaged Thatcher value, pay up,
    but then government turn their games and say what tripe.

    Ripe to say your driving us whale and gale and ape,
    to say do this, buy castle, just for a poor future sale.

    more Betjeman,
    after Auden,

  • Ehtch

    Punch drunk, what?
    Ali and Frasier, and so.
    Foreman taller and wiser?
    Good luck George, porge,
    keep the essential message said,
    what to fought for, Tom Jones whitie always said,

  • Ehtch

    Farming is technological these days, is easy work,
    believe, modern machines, straw in mouth again normal.

    Suck on it  while diesel animals beneath you work,,
    ladies no doubt, burring beneath seat, is unlike horse.

    COUGH! Get the turnips grain and carrots in and we’ll win,
    and extras like leeks asparagus, and the odd greenhouse win, also.

    Bring back brit farming, oh yes I say, recovered when do those so much things well, like living in poverty and strife, geting ripped off by town greengrocers and butchers, please fuck right off.

    Now that is what I mean about modern farming – costs him a pence in milk, the supermarket sells it for loads of pence, as Joanne Page from Gavin and Stacey would say, but the farmers gets a pants 0.1 penc per pint, on a good day! Stacey, tell me, where the fuck we going wrong? Ness – I am sure you have something to say about this – give it full bullets, takes his eye out….

  • Ehtch

    Living life happy with coming life mortality can be a difficult task,
    when faced with the final station when lived life with edged rasped.

    Affairs tombly arranged and put into that draw  to find when long gone,
    wondering what area will be filled with oneselves in life when long done.

    But the World will simply carry on on its long merry path of sheep together,
    one after the other into future time travelling times journied by one othered.

  • Ehtch

    Told you I’d get up above 180 easily before xmas.

    Song/vid in celebration,

    Enjoy Alastair. yankie sixties nicely humerous.

  • Ehtch

    NO. I won’t be a writer, no, never, a poet never,
    I just want to hide away and sit fence for ever.

    On a tv programme, no no no, I am another animal,
    never do will I do those things, is to me simply alien.

    Photo taken, soul taken away, much seen today,
    people stand, cameras in front, much seen, soul,
    closed personal soul taken away to oether stray.

  • Ehtch

    post this Alastair, for godsakes, tried once already. For poets everywhere, and maybe philosophers, it is aether, not oether.

    My spelling is terrabill…

  • Ehtch

    Ok, time to make a poem on BBC headline, as today as with,

    Branson, oldfield tubular bells always by his side,
    strides through life as the successful dyslexic hippy.

    Planes put in sky, as records make no virgins of us,
    getting those red dressed stewardesses prick us.

    Ok male stewards as well, whoops, coffee spilled,
    may I wipe for your crotch for you, oh yes ’til?

    Pilots in the front cabin, going round the World,
    even in a balloon, 80,000ft, what a complete loon!

    Anyway, that is my appreciation poem for Richard Branson – he is offbeat and needed, in this country. BA SUCKS, and is stuck up their own trailing waste pipe, oh yes my friend.

  • Ehtch

    Mark E Smth in Oslo, a few years ago,
    in a park where his misses used to go.
    35 years screaming from him now today,
    appreciated by this once young man I say.
    Giving it as he feels, Salford Manch feel, speil,
    to thou thee and tha turned out, help him, to shout out.
    History? who’ll have it, forget it, don’t mention it, just quote it.

    The Fall in Oslo a few years ago, a great great clip. Mark E Smith? I like him, a lot, from a distance, for a long while now,

  • Ehtch

    Republic of Scarletia, top of your group,
    what hoop did you jump to do so and fro.
    Think none, talent done for young lads,
    blistering from full back, JPR sideboards.
    Attired, under blonde flowing locks sped,
    where west wales come from and bred?
    Who knows, maybe from that cave, hidden,
    where we bred our children to try future ridden.
    going. Wonder if he plays tennis as well as JPR? Maube JPR should challenge him, as long as he doesn’t modify Liam’s bones, and all that doc shite.Well played Liam Williams in the last past weeks – only nineteen and looking like JPR already. A HELL of a future on him, if he keeps the attitude and spirit

  • Ehtch

    Coal, a hole, found by farmers chance, ploughing.
    Outcropped and dug and fire fed, pack horse sent.
    To local canal, for shillings a pack, nice income.
    But then had to dig deeper, for steam engines belly.

    Holes small, small chilrden and wives crawl, in skirts,
    then men built them bigger for themsevelves, for transport.
    Knocked wood roof, bounce and fly, man off head off fly,
    But modern day, why? Modern technology easy conquer,
    underneath the sky, gassed pressured geological seams of traditional anthracite home Christmas afternoon fires, glowing.

  • Ehtch

    Fergie walks out, when southern media shite shout out,
    third team in present day, the goon suggested the trout.
    He can bang on his typewriter all he wants the fucking twat,
    know Manc U are first, close followed by Swans where it is at.

    Where did this goon of a reporter come from? Up his own arse?

  • Ehtch
    Better Beeb vid. As soon as beeb get off his case, they are back on it, with their London media mates, in cahhots. Pathetic. As if the rest of the country is blind, as pointed out by Mark E. Smith several years ago with his group, The Fall, and ironically recorded in a southern soft shite BBC studio, when he was eventually invited – Blindness by The Fall,

  • Ehtch

    Brilliant clip here, Alastair and Fergie stroking each others lengths, if you don’t mind me saying, joshingly.

    Alastair and Fergie, Alex with his glass of red,
    glass of water Ally saying time it’s for my bed.
    Fergie saying stay for again a time while friend,
    Ally saying I’m up at six to and back Mile End.
    Fergie says why, and Ally why not morning air,
    helps my mind to keep constant contrary and fair.
    And Fergie says, fair enough.

    You really do love each other, don’t you each?

  • Ehtch

    When I was ten, saw this girl come down the lane to meet,
    only seven, her primary classroom friend to socialise greet.

    Well up the hidden lane from my nan and tadcu house was she,
    welsh only, but hair good teeth healthy cheek bones dream to be.

    I ran to her to try make her my friend in my young pathetic way,
    but I talked foreign, and she must thought, ach-y-fi, y sais stray.

    By the way, was in Grammar School with her, three years younger than me, but she was still shy, and 100% heavy duty welsh – like a forgotten tribe, but by god she filled out well during her teenage years, rosy cheeked strong boned and healthy. Wonder where she is these days?

  • Ehtch

    Us seem fairy, barometer airy,
    that life is changing, Tudorary.

    Not Pope and Catholics time,
    but capatalism past-sublime.

    Times are changing, the wind,
    inner old people, cannot recind.

    Where we going an adventure,
    seen before, life new re-enter.

    Next decade will be VERY interesting in life. Hang on to the ride, if you can. You will be privileged to experience it in time of our Human Race. But it could be bumpy, though.

  • Ehtch

    …and those two sisters had names that were beautiful and truely tongue twisters, even for us other simple welsh.

  • Ehtch

    Coalites, the gormless shites,
    today with all their shite trites.

    I commend this to the House,
    my arse, I commend it louse.

    Scratching my head and back,
    people wished they could tack.

    Back to May 10 time travel it,
    so not have this load of shh…

    Many people in the UK today are bemused, some amused, at the total pants artists we have in government leading our nation today. They are absolutley barking in fantasy land. Jesus wept, I have never seen so many gormless politicians since Lamont as Chancellor in the early 1990’s with Major PM – Lamont then was a great soap opera, him running around like a headless chicken with the ERM business then. Laughed my part off then, almost.

  • Ehtch

    Chemical periodic table, biological rabbit female parts,
    Physical Newton’s law and Hook springs and Art.

    Historical Roman and Alexander and whatever horse,
    music composers mid-european sung to until hoarse.

    Latin baffled with, Eng Lit and Lang, french ooh-la-la,
    Maths compasses trig egyption pyramids and whaaa!

    Woodwork and welding and boys head down planing,
    filing but could be cooking tarts these days waining.

    Speech classes to get rid of the over by ‘ere, like,
    but still taught welsh, eisteddfodau visits to trike.

    Geography pink parts on a map, across the globe,
    this has gone, this this and that, that well no hope.

    So there is the education eleven turn into twelve,
    but they forgot to mention, look after yer selve.

    Niece is having a good time in her first year at second school, now twelve. Lily fach wen. Very charismatic girl – could go far.

  • Ehtch

    Ten years gone, mam gone, but you will not like this,
    she was warped and tried to destroy me, started seven.

    Sorry, I am not making this up – it easier to lose apparent coffin in ground agreed,
    but with lifetime frustration and reason battles, afterwards you are left puzzled.

    Then it hits you, she didn’t really actually love you, and was in life for just herself.
    Anyway, became ill with all sorts of things in the last ten years, peculiar things,
    trying to cope with my mother, looking for reasons, why she was a complete cow.

    You won’t believe what she used to come out with, tried to explain it, my Dad?
    No, she was always the same, she would have been fecking worse if I didn’t come along, smile in her face and be glad.

    Suppose I should call this poem “My Mother was a Cow”. Just ask clever people who knew her – manipulative, and dragged me down with her emotional constant bullying, which I had to put up with too long. Song to describe it,

  • Ehtch

    Sorry if I have upset anyone,
    fall at your mother’s feet in praise.
    Sometimes it is not always,
    mother “I am home”, yank raise.

    Sweep under the carpet,
    dyson or hoover, dust out the window.
    Behind closed doors,
    all and fair, until widower or widow.

    Then the offspring are hit,
    growing up times recalled ghost.
    Shit, we all not the same,
    memories afterwards can make us toast.

    and I have struggled with it, especially with what I am left to look after, but I am finally getting a handle on it, but by damned, it was from one crisis with him to another, but I think I have got him, for the agreed happines for him, and myself and my brother, but it was a rocky fucking path last decade travelled.

    Blue Oyster Cult vid of above song, which I tried looking for, but found this night,

  • Ehtch

    Rage rage rage against some moon,
    but what sort moon, living or dying alive?
    Hate to die in a tory economical recession,
    with people around themselves looking to survive.

    Like to die with people with happy faces,
    where your death will not pay their debts.
    But down to the local garage and jewellers,
    New posh car and forget the over coffin wepts.

  • Ehtch

    Anyone that decides to go into modern day secondary education teaching of school eleven-to-eighteen plus, has to watch Gregory’s Girl, the film. It encapsulates trying to teach teenage sex discoverers, and how to cope with them without faulting them. It has many hidden messages – try to pick up on them. Great director made this film, umm, Forsyth bloke from Scotland somewhere as his first movie. THAT’S ‘IM, Bill Forsyth. Will have a look for my favorite clip from it – right, found, the cooking class scene, but there are many many others,

  • Ehtch

    Rugger poem for today, about Shane Williams, an international rugby player retiring today from top-drawer selectable, from the Amman Valley, who has captured the imagination of all in the rugby World in the way he plays – fifty-odd tries from eighty-odd caps, all from five foot seven and twelve and a half stone.
    Shane Williams, the little squirt,
    gone by me again, fresh-air grab.
    Down the charlie line he does dart,
    would be easier to catch my own fart.
    Rove’s behind the back line, left to right,
    jumping in when he see’s right, through.
    Bouncing through forwards jack and box,
    Dylan’s dancing Williams, legs of a fox.

    Good luck Shane on your final appearance in the red vest – enjoy it, but make sure OZ is sorted with it. Oz and me music, from a Melbourne nightclub, but with some rugby league OZ players it, it looks,

  • Ehtch

    I was always there, here, wherever, my future Mrs Doyle,
    mother of my brilliant bred daughter yourself chose toil.

    Catholic girl, looking for a martyr around every corner,
    pumping sex wanted then forget like a nun’s mind horner.

    Hypocritical Cath’s, they live in fanasy land, mind blank,
    mind partitions, ladies waste Vatican City and wank.

    Ashley, thanks, but no thanks now.

    El Salvador, and William Byrd 16th century from blighty then,

  • Ehtch

    The greatest power you can show is your own denial of copulation, with lesser strong-minded ones left to ask ” how do they do it?”. Perverse it is, a form of imposed psychlogical control. And what baffles me, old Pope’s, aledgedly, “carried on”, and where the hell does the Roman Empire come into this with their basic divide and conquer in old soldiery and simple political tactics before? Or have I answered myself?

    Bring back the Celtic Christian Church I say, which early Rome Church went of their way to undermine and destroy for corrupt power in Western Europe. You don’t read much about that in history books these days, do you, after certain people were bought and old maniscripts were homed in and raided and burnt?

  • Ehtch

    Furthermore, as I have mentioned more than a BBC repeat of one of their programmes on telly, Devon and Cornwall, and bit of Dorset and more of Somerset was Celtic Christian, and inland Wiltshire. St Patrick of Ireland was brought up on the Bristol Channel coast of Somerset, it is told.

  • Ehtch

    The efficiency of my body is waning, even when young creaking,
    fresh air genetic designed with modern life should be applied.
    But it is very hard and difficult with dust ridden carpet curtains,
    outdoor modern life a part-time occupation in waking beds wind denied.

  • Ehtch

    Above is an appreciative poem to all that suffer from asthma and other immune system dysfunction caused by modern life. My problem is allergic and hereditary angiodema, of the mucous membranes of the digestive tract mainly, but also kidneys and bladder and parts. Lungs ok, but have slight attacks in the throat, which a couple of times have frightened me witless when for a couple of minutes I could hardly breath, when I inhaled some allergen or something that my immune system did not like. Mould I suspect. Doctors are struggling with the subtlties of the immune system, but that should go without saying, on many peoples experience. Ended up in hospital once with an angioedemic crisis that sent my temperature skyrocketing, which they initially thought was appendicitis, but when giving one of those sonar scans as in pregnancy, showed my appendix was kosher, but a few abcesses were along my small/large bowel, which was a sign of a bad angioedema attack, where fluid and blood go into the mucous membrane lining.

    Anyway, hope some docs read this, to give them something to think about.

  • Ehtch

    It is said I come across as a James Bond, mysterious,
    ladies fingers on lips powder room wet deciding.
    Forgetting that I look at life all simple levels equal sharp,
    finding outside for smoke woman equal wedding shedding.

    The life of a party DJ can at times be hard, or easy,
    when you stand up front and play some Wham!.
    George and his old mate Andrew with now Keren bach,
    would be bananaramming it until 2011 no mam.

    Is that is what is getting to you Michael? If so just tell,
    no shame that you are desperatly missing your mother.
    There are ways to cope with this, and not at all modern,
    things like she wants to see you live without any mind bother.
    We are all of us mortal, sadly, you me and everyone, so fuck it, but let us not give problems, try solve very little problems each day, in any old way you can think of. Nothing grand though, just little things, it all helps.

    Daniel Craig, aka James Bond, at the moment,

  • Ehtch

    Jonny Wilkinson, always shaved,
    decides to hang up his international boots.
    England saviour in time, time saved,
    Newcastle mainly played, unfashionable roots.

    Good luck Jonny, more time for the golf course,
    swinging clubs that sevens always on you.
    But remember, teach youngers ones the nouse,
    not your swing future, play Lineker with you.

    Have a happy time with Question of Sport and knickerless Sue Barker circuit. Golf – who’ll have it? Jonathan Meades,

    and oh yes, Jonny has just announced he is retiring from international rugger, so says the beeb,
    five iron I think Jonny, four maybe if you give it pasty…

  • Ehtch

    think I got my irons mixed up then – it is a five, not four, that needs a bit of rice. Sorry, golf followers. Shake hands? oh god, not that way….

  • Ehtch

    Head charged, did you feel it?
    In bed head next to son or daughter young.
    I did, whether I was transfering anything,
    experience lived or done thing.

    Always struck with me, close genetics,
    brain a complex human attribute.
    And baby lying next to one from loins,
    speaking to you when still gummy and rote.

    She did you know! Like a mobile phone.

  • Ehtch

    Has Sue Baker, sniff seat, ever done a political question of sport? You Ally would be obviously be one of the captains, and may I recommend Jonathan Edwards the Plaid MP in Westminster, as one of your team members – played cricket with him for Penygroes CC, and really likes his sport big time. Top kid, but you could say needs voice accent classes, but speaks welsh like a preacher in a chapel pulpit though. Like this,

  • Ehtch

    Alastair, if you could, invite Jonathan Plaid Westminster MP for a meet. Like to hear you would. My main memory of Jonathan is in a mid-week crickers game in Ammanford, where all the side had to bowl two overs. apart from the wickie – we were there practising – Jonathan his swing lines, and me my off-spin googlies. took three wickets that day easily bamboozled. Well easy, but we lost by two wickets.

  • Ehtch

    Jonathan Meades, may I say Alastair, actually came down to the Valleys/Wales to see the premier of Twin Town, where Rhys Ifans the now fucking successful Hollywood actor and shit, with his brother, who still does daytime S4C childrens tv programme, honest. Rhys Ifans and his brother, Llŷr, top welsh acting bloke. anways,

    Rhys Ifans with Howard Marks, the wordwide dope dealer all around the World in old times on Irish telly, of all places,

    by the way tv paddy bloke, can I enter something up you?

  • Ehtch

    jeezus wept, I am entering my fiftieth year to heaven,
    within weeks now, jan ten next month somewhat braven.
    Entering yes, as Dylan could not say with his life fate,
    but I will do my best to get there, drunken my xmas late.

    Any advice Alastair for the fifties? Buy a sportscar maybe?
    or just sadly give in grey hairs chest growing like a wannabe?
    Or just take up gardening and grow roses onions and spuds?
    or get a young filly and act like a fool like the other old turds?

    Any suggestions gladly welcomed how to cope, but hope it is the last one….

  • Ehtch

    One fallacy about Dylan Thomas that he could not speak welsh. He could, but not as well as he could english, so there we go.

    Met several people in young teenage days going to young farmers discos when young telling me he used to speak welsh to everyone he met when staying with his auntie in Fernhill near Llangain in deepest peninsula Towy/Taff farming community.

    In them days it was not fashionable in artists circles to admit you spoke a native language. Dylan always made fun of this with his references to yank cowboy and indian films everyone was brainwashed with.

    Dylan, Fernhill, his,

  • Ehtch

    …but an old posh sexy rich trout will do, to tell you the honest truth, slippery the better…


  • Ehtch

    Played golf, As Jonathan no doubt, yawned at the polite talk though, with hidden messages in polite such talk, when”they” realise you have an immaginative mind of your own of life, which is not condusive to their small mind status quo, top of the pops or not, Croydon living near Ronnie Corbert in Addington Village or not – yes Status Quo, seen you all out in Croydon when released from golf clubbed insitutions,
    funny handshake club joined…..

  • Ehtch

    The main worry for me today, as several past old days, if my Scarlets get a good rub of the green playing in Thomand tomorrow. Was quite worked up last week, but hey!, it is only sport. See what happens 12:45pm lunchtime tomorrow.

    Nigel, what do you say,

    there we go

  • Ehtch

    Intricate online software, spooking all of us to death,
    otherside of our firewall, gathering what do and go.
    Makes me laugh it does, going future job underneath.
    be told, wank daily Mr Thomas without a whore?

    Spies in the skies is not what we should be worried,
    nor ones in any bed, but that was more satisfying.
    Ones in dark rooms with eyes failing is the arseholed,
    thinking they are clever, above station, free denying.

    Screens tft or any transitor film, click keyboard yes or no,
    ones that seem qualified in information and technology.
    But no possessed key to say ney in true life fan hum,
    nor say I can’t walk and see in daylight any tragedy.

    People who seem to think they control online content are well above their station for far too long now, I have found. Harrumph! top your port up General?….

  • Ehtch

    Father and son,
    physical retreat,
    old one on one,
    Now we other side room old arguments repeat.

  • Ehtch

    Merry Xmas, we are supposed to say,
    hypocritical totally false and shallow.
    Say suddenly love one another shake,
    when in our soul we but totally yellow.

    Cowards to the fight that 364 ask,
    but up the blinkers to life abounds.
    Think not my problem down street,
    leave it to PC Plod, it’s his pounds.

    One day caring, family,
    Salvation Army kitchen.
    364, put away again,
    constant charity lacking.

    Season’s Greetings.

  • Ehtch

    I, thankfully, don’t need to get drunk every day,
    every other for three hours used to do me.
    Liver creaking like a staircase telling pay,
    now life plays mind much even told let it be.

    I am not the messiah, I am just like you, no not Brian, Huw – no not Chew you silly londoner, HUW H-U-W! CHEW? oh i give up.

  • Ehtch

    Finaly finning on new years dinning, we steak,
    some with yews entrails with Highland Park.
    Name no names parsnips and neeps apart,
    draws male denied, young girls apart, I hope.

    Hope for what bounce dancing higher, in Skye?
    or self-indulgence american-canadian contiued?
    Pathetic to the scene with every man and laddie?
    Women at the back thinking “Beth ti’n credu?”.

    Y diawl ifaerth. Ti yn canu i’r y saesneg, ti’n gwybod na?

  • Ehtch

    Happy New Year? – MY ARSE!
    Queen giving gongs to crims and capitalist charlatans.
    Got now to put up now with 2012,
    propaganda in Cameron Town of this Olympics black and tans.
    Christ, it is going to be a long year,
    with fuckers left RIGHT and centre saying black is white not greys.

    Oh bollocks – no doubt Cameron’s thought police is going into overdrive switched on now past few months aimed. Just read the Daily Mail as a barometer I say in the next week or so, but tomorrow mornings edition might be enough, bring the Tory New Year in with a bang. Song,

    Not that I am a so an’ so, just a bit of reverse psychology, for both sides of any conflict on the Hibernian and Brit Isles….

  • Ehtch

    Talking about the Queen and her gongs graciously givens, this song, rumour has it, is loosly based on Princess M in the 1950s, putting herself around. She was a case of a character, wasn’t she? A very sexy and interesting person, definately a right one, a Princes Di pre-conceived you could say…

  • Ehtch

    Guidance, welsh given, free,
    does it makes us stupid?
    Barometer of Brit Isle in say,
    even if army called trupid.

    English, always listen,
    to Welsh troupadours.
    In any cause, we know,
    even sex and money and ‘er indoors.

    Jackie Lee, White Horses and Rupert the Bear and Indigo Pipkin Hartley the Hare and things infamous, now lives in Canada these days I think, been speaking to her about life and things the last couple of days, inbetween the lines, and reminded her of her brilliant Northern Soul track sung in a psydonym. Jackie,

  • Ehtch

    I write this stack of poems,
    as incendieries for thought.
    Future poems and songs writ,
    via this gormless welsh twit.

    Go for it, my young and beautiful loverlies, help the trade balance, and give Johnney Foreigner what for through art. Gilbert and George, who I thinik is/are brilliant, marvellous thought provoking, just fuck will you type, artists, that is ecapsulating Britland, as I gush,

  • Ehtch

    Ricky Gervais, with his face, got to love him.
    Speiling live loved humour all around unbound,
    with his mates that tall one and the northerner,
    sent to India or Pki or Sri Lanka or somewhere in a jockstrap,
    and then come home and say, you are two cants on insisting I do that, says the perfect round headed person from up north, Karl.

  • Ehtch

    Helen and Mira and male friends singing brit long lost history, pre-dark ages and all that. Art and tart, a healthy combination I say, the best education,

  • Ehtch

    Man and woman, designed ludicrously,
    cock and balls downstairs and tits upstairs.
    Makes you laugh in the bigger picture of life,
    to get in bed for a woman to then pass a whale.
    Funny old World it is.

  • Ehtch

    I sit on my liers chair, with my crown of thoughts,
    do I compare, to one is who bought.
    As nine inch nails bled, on your coffin said,
    could done and said, when we all put to bed.
    Gene Tierny, what room are you staying in tonight, loverly, perchance?

  • Ehtch

    I live my life, grasping as much interest that I can find,
    to my own mind to keep it away, away from the winds,
    the winds of the clock ticking away and of air windmill,
    or water wheel turning of life gushing never ever still.

    Nor from last breathes heard about come too common,
    too common to do me good in present time coming on,
    relations falling like daisies on a frosty morn or rainfall,
    looking around, feeling like I am crawling, fly on a wall.

    Feel like I am stealing time but from who and why do,
    moving through time no police box required from you,
    silently slipping away, though all around all move slow,
    just carrying on relative fast looking busy just for show.

    CHRIST! aren’t I a miserable bugger at times! Ah well, Wales for the Six Nations, I suppose!

  • Ehtch

    I live my life, grasping as much interest that I can find,
    to my own mind to keep it away, away from the winds,
    the winds of the clock ticking away and of air windmill,
    or water wheel turning of life gushing never ever still.

    Nor from last breathes heard about come too common,
    too common to do me good in present time coming on,
    relations falling like daisies on a frosty morn or rainfall,
    looking around, feeling like I am crawling, fly on a wall.

    Feel like I am stealing time but from who and why do,
    moving through time no police box required from you,
    silently slipping away, though all around all move slow,
    just carrying on relative fast looking busy just for show.

    CHRIST! aren’t I a miserable bugger at times! Ah well, Wales for the Six Nations, I suppose!

  • Ehtch

    I live my life, grasping as much interest that I can find,
    to my own mind to keep it away, away from the winds,
    the winds of the clock ticking away and of air windmill,
    or water wheel turning of life gushing never ever still.

    Nor from last breathes heard about come too common,
    too common to do me good in present time coming on,
    relations falling like daisies on a frosty morn or rainfall,
    looking around, feeling like I am crawling, fly on a wall.

    Feel like I am stealing time but from who and why do,
    moving through time no police box required from you,
    silently slipping away, though all around all move slow,
    just carrying on relative fast looking busy just for show.

    CHRIST! aren’t I a miserable bugger at times! Ah well, Wales for the Six Nations, I suppose!

  • Ehtch

    christ – sunspots

    i have sold three copies dear….

  • Ehtch

    christ – sunspots

    i have sold three copies dear….

  • Ehtch

    Went solo in a glider – did three flights solo. Just something I had to do, being up there with the birds, feeling free, lonely, clouds flying by, and then realising, oh fuck, no engine. NOOO, only joking – gliding is an incrediable pastime, and I will forever be thankfull to the RAF and civilian members of Bannerdown Gliding Club in 1985 at RAF Hullavington.
    Vid, appropriate,
    Phallangus of art, we are becoming,
    even from your hosts, Allie, non-posting,
    art in our lives intertwined, art to even, oh dear,
    may I say it, free online porn, keeps prostate clear,
    away from animal and tree and plant that we should fear,
    of dying to keep us seven bill in bog roll and shit my dear.

    Human race – give me strength!

    I am feelig extra miserable today, don’t let me take you down – ok you asked for it – What is a definition of a human? A world waster. Told you to go away, now what are you going to do with yourself today – play a video game, play with your dido, chat with your frieds “over” coffee somewhere, OR JUST TALK SENSE? Douglas Adams had it right, we need to get these estate agents off to another planet, quickly.

  • Ehtch

    Went solo in a glider – did three flights solo. Just something I had to do, being up there with the birds, feeling free, lonely, clouds flying by, and then realising, oh fuck, no engine. NOOO, only joking – gliding is an incrediable pastime, and I will forever be thankfull to the RAF and civilian members of Bannerdown Gliding Club in 1985 at RAF Hullavington.
    Vid, appropriate,
    Phallangus of art, we are becoming,
    even from your hosts, Allie, non-posting,
    art in our lives intertwined, art to even, oh dear,
    may I say it, free online porn, keeps prostate clear,
    away from animal and tree and plant that we should fear,
    of dying to keep us seven bill in bog roll and shit my dear.

    Human race – give me strength!

    I am feelig extra miserable today, don’t let me take you down – ok you asked for it – What is a definition of a human? A world waster. Told you to go away, now what are you going to do with yourself today – play a video game, play with your dido, chat with your frieds “over” coffee somewhere, OR JUST TALK SENSE? Douglas Adams had it right, we need to get these estate agents off to another planet, quickly.

  • Ehtch

    Sorry not to cheer you up again, but a message much said, much more worryingly said these days,

    Devon resolving thoughts between Paganism and the teachings of Christ in the first century before anyone in the World. Myself? I think Jesus was a good bloke. The God thing? It is another word for Mother Earth, as far as I am concerned.

    There endeth the lesson.

  • Ehtch

    Coronal mass ejection… mmmmmm nice, and from a very loverly looking clever lady, and she is very excited about it too,

    What? whaaartt?

    more tea vicar?

  • Ehtch

    Some posts get posted some do not.
    Do I give, my arse, no I certainly don’t.
    I trust Cameron OOPS, yeh Campbell,
    to call me a knob away, elsewhere sell.

    But Alastair won’t do that to me, won’t you bach – I have a way to twist and turn people which what they think that possess power, in various ways, even my daughter, which I have spooked again this week, when she has realised again her mother is not some recreation of baby Jesus’ mum.

    Anyway, a song for you Alastair, quite different, here goes,

    May I lend you a hanky, Alastair?

  • Ehtch

    We should NOT appreciate ourselves,
    ourselves derivative from cowards,
    cowards who darted not going into fight,
    with those that did, that did, and fight the might, and died, for our simple history.

    A song for them, and not certainly us, them, that has no offspring around us, of them, not heroically polluting this World, and becoming estate agents,

    fucking british nazzies still with us, c @@ nts. Atlee should have put them all up against the wall for treason. Fuck the NHS, getting rid of them would have done Britain the better.

    What? WHARRRT? oh piss off will you. Aneur-ur-u-urrin Bevan knew how to so-so-sort you tories out. So he had a stutter. So?

  • Ehtch

    The jury is out, on me, it seems, with life. But it does not bother me, I love life, and young people getting around unbound, just trying to get on with it, and if someone decides I have had my innings, uprstairs or downstairs, it is up to them, I have no quarms on how I have lived, I have and will enjoy.

    Peace and friendship is all I have to say, and all that bollocks.

  • Ehtch

    another c @ ntry – classic clip. what? did I just fart vicar?

  • Ehtch

    Brilliant interview of Glen Matlock, bass guitar above of the Sex Pistols (before he got replaced by Sid Vicious), on when Malcolm McLaren bought the farm – brilliant bloke, top fella,

  • Ehtch

    One foot ahead of the flock, is spooky,
    for anyone that who in life is a bit fruity.
    Fruity as in fresh with ideas and schemes,
    pushing humanity on into the new scenes.

    Glad there is some of us about, ey Alastair, at any level. Give it blunt I say, and when they stop gasping at their own apparent judged rudeness, explain then, with their then obvious attention, from us, and the sheep should then follow to another field, in theory..

  • Ehtch

    Life, sweet and sour,
    must be experienced,
    but certainly do devour,
    as one arse gets trounced.

    Yes, to live life doing your best to avoid the sharp edge of life is not the way to go. You should front up to it, almost invite it, and tell it to where to stick it, when coming experienced.

    More Rita Pavone, eurovision song contest attempt on Italian telly, years ago, I think? but I might be wrong, but great clip all the same

    Quite a girl is Rita.

  • Ehtch

    With all the shit that I post here everywhere, mish-mash, pig’s soup, and just a complete mess, could be put in a book as a pisstake of modern day blogs, apart from yours, of course Alastair. Bet it would sell, but not today, since I am at least five years ahead of thoughts, of common mind. Just look out, there will even be films made of bonkers blog posters, speiling rubbish to abound unabound. Technology moves fast, and I can see next year, with 100MBps, landline and almost mobile, people will again be another animal. Mark my words. And to think I was fascinated with Felicity sending cassette tapes to her friend in the mid-1990’s, on when I watched on late night telly, as per,

  • Ehtch

    Six nations to now kick-off today, 2012,
    but thanckully not KICK-OFF times ancient.
    Still smacked faces and bodies in various ways,
    we will see with an amphitheatre saying thumbs up or down.

    Romans, sorry, Ities with their strings of durum wheat,
    Irish the boney arsed bogmen doing what they do best with priests.
    Scots or yes Scots, that in every away pub will be bagpiped and ladies exposed.
    And then comes us English and Welsh saying to each other, isn’t this really exciting butt, and get answered, ‘oh yah – I say, ding-dong’, and all that foreign english language that they speak.

    This is a fecked up poem for Austin Healey, former rugby player, now full-time shitstirrer in a welsh newspaper, or something. Well, we are like that see, don’t like to see someone out of a job – we always like to give someone a start see.

  • Ehtch

    Knew I forgot the French, as you do,
    La Ray Verte, full version (!!!).

    Non, non cashiers cheques, bucks only voici mon monsieur,

    Have an hour and alf to watch theses,  Monsieur Campbell, vous wool loovs it, ma mon ami.

  • Ehtch

    My dad has sent me into one of these temporary insane mental conditions again, with what all life experienced, last night, threw the car keys somewhere now cannot find, know I “should” get out, but can’t, my duty to family celtically engrained does not simply allow it, but does he see my sense he does not, he just tells me basically just go, just go will you, but I can’t, because I just want to look after him, as we exchange life polluted experiences slaps on our simple faces.

    oh christ, please give me strength this sunday, but we are miles away from killing each other, but are metaphorically inner, we could be.

    All the best to everyone who has to cope with irrational procasenating OCD old parents, everywhere, feeling like they want you to chew the dinning room dinner table’s legs, at times, as I did feel, last night, in simple life frustration. oh mary jesus

  • Ehtch

    Alastair, Rita Pavone visits London every now and again, she loves the smoke, London that is, not ahem! Bob Hope. Why don’t you give her a shout and you all have her around for din-dins? Really think you are on her wavelength and might like to meet you and all.

    christ, talk about coming over all facelessbook matchmaker, in the friends sense only, please Alastair – I saw her first!

  • Ehtch

    I am a lighthouse now, to move in any direction gives me dread.
    Been here there everywhere in simple task of looking for bread.
    Now moving from my present position just here do me no good.
    Lost the will to move like a tortoise without legs, limbs of wood.

    Been offered several jobs, but the bastard travelling – I can’t simply cope with it anymore – put me in a cave and let me be a recluse, please! What do you say Monty Python?

    I have been 10 years at home and you want to put me on a plane to where???

  • Ehtch

    Ceredwen, Prydain prydferth, a lament to Britain – hanky time it should be for all, for all of us living on our simple isle now,

  • Ehtch

    Knew the Gwedraeth Fach Valley is where the old Tywi went down in glacial lanes in old time, David Q. Bowen the Prof in his marvellous book told us. Storming fresh water over the lands we now live on.

  • Ehtch

    Anyway, hope to meet some of you in the drowned forest of Marros beach – leave you car at the Marros Church and have an impressive walk down to where my ancestors used to live, hunting boars and deers and rabbits, and hares at the side,
    See you there, in summer, with our healthy sun above us, showering her health onto us, to get us over the next fecking winter.

  • Ehtch

    remarkable that this was posted on my fiftieth birthday, now seeing it on YT. Am I getting paranoid? No, just my simple message might be listened. Ok, I am a little bit paranoid, always looking behind my back looking who wants to fuck me in the arse… More Ceredwen, on our simple children we have to look after, until they know the better than us oldies,

  • Ehtch

    By the way, Laugharne is not far away, less than ten miles from Marros, as the car flies, on lanes, where Dylan Thomas fell in loved with, and lived there, before his demise on tour in the US in NYC. Yes Laugharne, one of the triumverate of the three joining estuaries of our seas in Carmarthenshire. Look forward to see you around there this summer, you SE England living rich poshoes. Just give me a call and a shout, for taxis and such, bodyguards even, if needed, torys….

  • Ehtch

    Furthermore, talking about Marros and Laugharne and things, Pendine in between – see you there with hopefully sun on our backs, ladies round the corner with their tops off as I strolled by passed when young – that one in the red bikini bottom was hot, as I needed to sit down to keep my dignity shown… my god, those titties, like blamonge moulds in my mind. what? wharrrt! Song in appreciation of Pendine, and their marvellous youngster visitors these days,

  • Ehtch

    I talk to someone anyone, even with bull,
    then naturally look into space with the pull.
    But still with appreciation and understanding,
    still, making them end up laugh with my pulling.
    Funny how life gives you understanding experience, as long as you don’t become life blind and just take it on the chin, in continuing, song,

  • Ehtch

    When the ME109’s are coming down on you, do a complete 180 degree turn and head off into the opposite direction, and when they catch up with you, do another one, and then they will not have the advantage, then shoot the bollocks off them. Only works in a Hurricane or Spitfire though – you will be wasting your time trying the same tactics in a Wellington or Lancaster (and family) bomber…

  • Ehtch

    I can see Rita bouncing up and down on her setee in Switzerland watching Italia vee England in rugby at the present moment, via sattelite or something. She is like that, get’s quite excited of life around her.
    Sweet Rita,

  • Ehtch

    Knew an old boy that ran a pub near where I come from, he was near eighty, the other side of seventy. Anyway, something was kicking off in his pub, and he said no nonsense here as he stormed from behind his bar, then the bloke said no way, and this near eighty landlord looked one way, then turned and flattened him, sent him horizontal across the slate floor. And the rest of the punters dragged that customer out of the pub and left him on the pavement, and called a taxi for him. True story this is – ex-armed forces was the landlord, commandoes WWII and all that. Song for him,

  • Ehtch

    Talking of Vickers Wellington bombers of the RAF WWII, this is an excellent appreciation vid of it, gaming styles, BUT, without the hopeless death,

  • Ehtch

    In my time in the RAF, as a Flight System technician, got taught on the English Electric Lightning control system, before it got withdrawn out of serice in the 1980’s – full of mag amps and solenoids to prevent cold war nucleartoid bombed pulses dropping them out of the air. I think I may have lost most of you already, art A-levelist non O-levelled science ones especially, anyway, RAF life on a Lightning base as here, in this brilliant vid, at the sharp sharp end of our cold war that we all participated in, Michael Caine and Impcress File style,

  • Ehtch

    Cameron is on a booze cruise,
    in shallow waters.
    Tell us history again is whoos,
    simple tory twaters.

    He might as well bark,
    into that sky.
    As like a nature nark,
    how we get by.

    Get by, where north,
    is not happy.
    Party that England?
    tory nappy.

    Tin-tin in Middleborough, translated to local cunditions, if we’re oonderstood,

    Teeside bros strength! what?

  • Ehtch

    Cameron is on a booze cruise,
    in shallow waters.
    Tell us history again is whoos,
    simple tory twaters.

    He might as well bark,
    into that sky.
    As like a nature nark,
    how we get by.

    Get by, where north,
    is not happy.
    Party that England?
    tory nappy.

    Tin-tin in Middleborough, translated to local cunditions, if we’re oonderstood,

    Teeside bros strength! what?

  • Ehtch

    spacker olympics : ))) no I shouldn’t but, yes as shown by BBC for cheap coverage, the SPACKER OLYMPICS. Fills the days in for the BBC in for minimal outlay, I suppose. Used?

  • Ehtch

    spacker olympics : ))) no I shouldn’t but, yes as shown by BBC for cheap coverage, the SPACKER OLYMPICS. Fills the days in for the BBC in for minimal outlay, I suppose. Used?

  • Ehtch

    Push it to the edge,
    look over past.
    Turn around and see,
    faces aghast.

    Sheep in far fields,
    looking at feet.
    They look sideways,
    not want treat.

    Political correctness is a disease, but as long as when you know when to pull back and look back at the mess of humanity behind you, then you learn what is what. Suppose it is an artform, not to be tried by amateurs, as I am constantly finding, in my practising.

  • Ehtch

    Knocked back by parentals and grands,
    a repeating story in some’s life.
    Talking to ostrich heads for your life,
    feel their coming out past strife.

    That is why they are and were, they can’t help it, even though you want to nut the wall in talking to them.


  • Ehtch

    I am a sponge, it has become obvious to me,
    talk to friends and family of things,
    that they have fogotten and let laid to let it be.

    But why?, have they taken a memory forget-me pill?
    not remembering experiences up and down hill?
    Maybe so, so, there we go, looks like I am different.

    Who cares anyway – takes everyone to make a world up, apart from pro-eugenic scientists and certain politicians want. Song time,

    ok, jokes then.

  • Ehtch

    Do I offload my pool, away from my Greece,
    to offshore, run from my struggling people?
    If I do not, will I be fool to such future people?
    So ah well, Liechtensein, Monte, Luxemburg,
    or unimaginatively, Switzerland, here I come,
    with my heavy suitcases, online transactually sent, and stuff my own country.

    What? It’s legal after all, some say!


  • Ehtch

    Saturday, oh gawd, ar they going to try make fools of us again, wearing thin.
    Up in that twickers that must be running thin as any sort of HQ,
    lives changing.
    We have a bank of quite a few rugger players building up, exporting,
    many to fill boots.
    Taken many years to do so, flanking minds eye and attitudes english,
    diplomats to France.

    Song for our lovely rugby players playing in France, and I have heard, more in Italy soon,

    ahh, Rita, mmm.

  • Ehtch

    Thinktank, out of that bank, frightens some,
    those in the plough trail lines of life and stuff,
    and when we pop up they flail, arms up in air,
    at us bizarre, light through a prism not known.

    Great expectations to all in life, that is out of step with those, COUGH!, people.

    think Alastair now realises I have a way with words and the mind, but I am still practising, hell knows where I am going upstairs, a song for you Alastair,

  • Ehtch

    My maternal grandfather called me a goody-ooo,
    ever since the age of eight or nine.
    Reading Beanos and Dandy stomach on bed,
    at ungodly hour for other child benign.

    Been going on for over forty years now so,
    cat has got his spots unremovable.
    Tablets sleeping? stick them up your arse,
    tatooed I am with poachers nightshift, from my genetic past.

    I sleep when I do, I can not classically can be called a necrophiliac, no, a dipsomanic, no – I’ll get the right word in the end, a, a , a oh christ, google – ah that is it, an insomniac. I should be a captain of a ship, they work all hours and move through timezones and not worry when it is either night or day. Knew I should have joined the Merchant Navy, I could be bossing Phillapinos now, well not bossing them, phillapino seafarers are brilliant people. I am only fifty, so maybe I could still give it a go, and push the boat out….

    Circadian rhythm? You hum it and I will certainly not be able to sing it. I seem to be different to most.

  • Ehtch

    Males, livers we like to hammer them.
    But why sweet girls you do yourselves.
    Let our livers sweet love turn to sludge,
    that so you all can complain in old trudge.

    Christ, wots ‘er name from Corry in the hairnet, that’s ‘er. Ena fucking Sharples, will go down in history. Remembered her playing the piano on that itv Sunday program with wotsisface, supposedly the father of somoeone, yes that is him, Jessie Yates, Songs on Sunday or some other hypocritical front or other.

    Spiritual singing from the Alps is called, after all I have said, Melanie, from Switzerland don’t you know,

  • Ehtch

    Lover’s extremes. bipolar,
    one minute stroking cat
    then dumped down to the floor
    as not needed, picking hairs from body.

    I saw, but thought I could do good this lady,
    the fool I was, with her constant reinvention,
    reinvent latest history that I did this that or other.
    Struggling looking after histaminic mind is not a hobby,
    no matter what does climax.

    Deep I know, but some might get it, trick cyclists no doubt. Beauty has the other side of it, total crankyness uncontrolable, even with themselves. It is good to learn about aspects of life, in living it, but by christ, it is testy at times.

    Going to try to look of the best of Frasier, here goes,
    this will do,

  • Ehtch

    Feel free to edit my terrible spelling mistakes out and my grammar, and then sell it to the highest bidder. I couldn’t give, if itis worth anything.

    All the stuff I come out with is instantaneous, tghink what could do given half an hour, let alone a day.

    Knew always I had a bit of the Dylan Thomas in me, my english teacher knew it, no wonder she gave me such a hard time.

    Right, a super short poem on my old english teacher.

    Right, Martin Chuzzlewit, Lord of the Flies,
    Julius Caeser and Twelfth Night, and radio plays.
    That twat from boxing, cauliflower years from some early tv play,
    books telling us of 1966 Morris Mini Copper S Monte disqualified, due to some bulbs.

    Not that short, I suppose.

  • Ehtch

    Dynamic family life often wrong,
    your mother insists north,
    only for father say south,
    and you only want is the west.

    Troubled, buggered by house,
    wish someone take me out,
    of this madhouse of destroy,
    where I can bloom and grow.

    Meet friends not controlled,
    same views on earth found,
    friends also new unbound,
    stuck generations concrete.

    Say no more about this. Life moves on, no matter who does not like it, even through generations, Lords and Dukes.

  • Ehtch

    Captain of a ship, cat’s eye on sea,
    to see which way swell is coming to see.
    To see him and his ship to try and overturn,
    so that him and his crew and cargo it cannot throw.

    To Davy’s dark, he hope it wouldn’t do,
    but if one comes to split there’s nothing can do.
    “So down me boys we all must go, slaves cargo and all,
    but hope to God will look at me all fair, for my ship was under Devil’s care”.

    Just made this up. Really should have joined the Merchant, or something.

  • Ehtch

    More Rita, quando era giovane e ha ottenuto nei cuori, e si può facilmente capire perché. Ragazza dolce, che canta, in televisione, con dolcezza.

  • Ehtch

    We talk, we bark, us men even sark, about life,
    running around in young life having great larks.
    Head in sand in what is in front of us, sarky not,
    when first have our balls cut off, for to grow old.

    By the way, just reinvented the world sark, it seems, for a different meaning, but I am into birds, don’t get me wrong, both kinds.

    More Billy’s misses here, Pamela mmmmm, anyway,

    seriously mmmm… anyway. Berlin, more not the nine o’clock news,

    “you look revolting…”

  • Ehtch

    Pam, the trick cyclist to the stars.

    OK, so I am guessing here, but bet she is. People who World move could do with day to day therapy. I’ll let you know when I can fit you in Pamela. And no, I am not a tricky, just a normal bloke, but there must be a private industry in it, for one that can pay, to sharpen their mind to make more money, unlike repair minds from ones sent from us to our present wars, coming back broken in despair. Selfish selfish sponge Holywood. Oliver,

  • Ehtch

    One of my favorite Ollie Reed movies, you might have noticed, the above is – The Trap. Another one of his was as a beatnik seaside resort freelance photographer in the early 1960’s in Torquay, Torbay. Very interesting it was, but can’t remember what it is called, will search…. ah yes, found, The System. Strange name, directed by his friend, the great raconteur and gastronaut, Michael Winner – as I said, a super interesting film. And of course they did the brilliant Hannibal Brooks together too, top of the list starring an elephant.

    Anyway, The System, good vid about it here, filmed in Torbay area, with Jane Merrow, mmmm etc.,

  • Ehtch

    Yes, Hannibal Brooks, where Ollie famously pissed onto an austrian flag, as you do, that he tore down from one of their pub walls he visited, when slaughtered. He didn’t mean it, austro-hungarians, he was just making a joke, a go to the toilet joke, again as you do, non-diplomatically polite english non-type.

    Lovely bloke was Ollie.

  • Ehtch

    We’re here, but in a fart, we’re gone,
    dinasaur like in our own life.
    Parentals and grandparents seen young,
    dancing all they see spun, and wrung,

    Yes gone, enth degree grandparentals,
    struggling rabbit noosed to feed,
    spuds from the field, in yield,
    and ladies to cook it, with yeast merry.

    Ladies yes, young, but not that young,
    pressing bossoms on their dress
    yes they impress, downstairs rubble,
    to get up for what they want, trouble.

    Pisa leaning tower, Blackpool Tower,
    Eiffel tower of steel, unlike people,
    twin towers, umm, Empire State up,
    gils allowed only, to climb my stump.

    Song for my disgusting mind, I suppose – more tea Vicar? stop giggling Vicar, for goodnessakes.

  • Ehtch

    Good link here, quote,

    “4. Oliver Reed
    The Actor: A brooding, larger than life presence on screen, Reed was famed for a string of tough performances in films like The Three Musketeers and Oliver! He also managed the not inconsiderable feat of making nude, man-on-man wrestling seem macho in Women In Love. Well played sir.

    Their Amazing Life: A renowned hellraiser and womaniser, Olly Reed’s life would make for cracking entertainment, from the bar-room brawl that left him needing 63 stitches in his face, to the legendary drinking contest he had with Steve McQueen in the early ‘70s. Even his death has a certain heroism to it, with a chronically ill Reed spending his last night drinking and scrapping with a group of sailors in Malta. He died of a heart-attack the following day.

    Key Scene: Whilst filming the wartime drama Hannibal Brooks, Ollie endears himself to the locals by tearing down the Austrian flag from outside the crew’s hotel and urinating upon it. As the shoot moves on to Germany, there is more of the same, as Reed enters a bar decorated with every national flag save Britain’s. Grabbing the terrified manager, Reed snarls, “I’m coming back tomorrow night. If you haven’t got a Union Jack by then I’m going to trash this place.” There is no Union Jack the following night so Reed puts a bar stool through the window.*Last couple of lines there is brilliant. The link,

  • Ehtch

    Been scratching my head where that music was put to another vid and it has just come to me just now- Gavin bluddy Henson!

  • Ehtch

    Forgot to post Jane Merrow in UFO, the non-puppet live action series from Gerry Anderson, but still thunderbirds to me. Jane Merrow herself posted this on youtubby, 69 now and still going strong, quite a lady,

    Driving a Porsche 912 flat four, mmmm.

  • Ehtch

    furthermore, Jane Merrow’s homepage on youtubby,

  • Ehtch

    You might notice Julia Foster acting there too, at the start – the dimwitted blonde on hols that get’s taken in by Ollie’s character – mother of that, umm, BBC new institution, Ben Fogle. No further comment, I tend to just change the channel when his wetness appears. A bad advert for public school education, he talks so much flannel – not the type of bloke I would like to go into battle with, let alone, god forbid, as my platoon commander.

    OK, a few comments then, just one of my microcosmic character assessments of privilage in it’s little forms in Shepherd’s Bush beeb. Don’t you agree Alastair?

    I’ve got more talent in my little toenail, but I might not be as long tongued and waffling to bosses on nothing important, round the office drinking water fountain.

  • Ehtch

    Would loved to have had a strong rational woman,
    share the bed with in any twentieth olympics.
    But breakfast time, being given orders of the day,
    from such ladies to me be a complete shame.

    Shopping then, coffee then, seeing friends, chatting,
    back in car, country required country drive.
    Evening comes, food in restaurant, then back in bed,
    as to an office, when all I want is footie and open in cricket.

    Balls cut off, going shopping, chatting to friends, driving,
    seeing countryside birds, all free, nature feeding.
    Back in car, discussing bullshit, mention politics or sport,
    might as well come from Mars, with my underpant bar.

    Bollocks to it, get on a double-decker, giving tickets out,
    whoever passes by hops on to my trip and strip.
    Road driven on, not for some, that want shopping,
    must be more interesting for those after beguiling.

    Tell them Cliff, just tell them as your Dad supposedly did Cliff, but….

    sing along…..

  • Ehtch

    oh fart, if no-one if giving it a go, might as well say something, for those official poets to have a look what I say, I suppose, but this I am just starting, to it it clear now, for goodness sakes, you hysterical brit empirers that live down that, yeeee,threaded end of Britain – you are odd you lot english mafia that run se WEngland, completerly cuckoo.

    Anyway, poem, umm,

    Torn away from time I am, trainng each day,
    let alone millimeteres, I should have had.
    Pumping iron, to build body, but why,
    keeps constantly spinning in my mind.

    Breasts Ennis, but still bench pressed,
    Dai Green, expressed, as fast one lap.
    Swim? Oh christ, yap yap yap yap,
    cycling? yap,yap,yap, bb fucking cee.

    destroyers. BBC, let them get on with their training you studid feccking GOOONS!

    Wel, someone had to tell the beeb, they are idiots, world war one brothers that weren’t allow to be Leutenants, when their brothers died, because, yes, they coulnd’t dig coal properly in world war one.

    Bevan Boys in WW2 were superbe, well chosen by Aneurin Bevan.

  • Ehtch

    Heaven 17 not met, distant,
    songs were spun.
    Sheffield steel redundant,
    down the rung,

    Glenn, Martyn and Ian sung,
    ex-head was office used.
    Melatonic sounds from brung,
    transitor op amp abused.

    Gordon’s Gin consumed,
    for another line.
    then split up and fumed,
    to two virgin benign.

    Fighting to get whatever,
    head for the future.
    Asymetric won the day,
    on head premature.

    Gordon’s Gin, by Human League, 1979,

  • Ehtch

    BLIMEY! 300, I can waffle, me.

  • Ehtch

    Bevin boys it was, of course, just pointing out the historical confusion with Bevan’s NHS. of course, but is inter-linked, in a way. An-an-aneurin BBBBevan, speaching,

    Bevin boys going underground,

    click pathe vid

  • Ehtch

    since it is 300 post here, might as well edit my flash poem as we speak, here goes, for spells and shit,

    Heaven 17 not met, distant,songs were spun.Sheffield steel redundant,down the rung.

    Glenn, Martyn and Ian sung,ex-head was office used.Melatronic sounds from brung,transistor op amp abused.

    Gordon’s Gin consumed,for another line.then split up and fumed,to two virgins benign.

    Fighting to get whatever,head for the future.Asymmetric won the day,on head premature.

    Gordon’s Gin, by Human League, 1979,

    Think that is better, but might have missed some pedantic grammer or spelling, but who gives a fanny? Ey?

  • Ehtch

    Powerful writing, how is it done?
    Get your Singer sowing machine out,
    and let it spun.

    Life looked back, cricked neck,
    legs opened inviting,
    mark one life.

    Powerful in words and life turds,
    maybe, reflected past,
    may long it last, mirrored today, sadly.

  • Ehtch

    Dark secrets of GP’s, we know there there,
    yeast born but not told.
    Through life managed, monk’s herbals,
    study eyes, for mind.

    Knock off, clinic closed, 5pm,
    whisky time, hammer.
    Phone goes off, oh christ what now?
    Mrs Evans has fallen.

    Get there, she has had a turn, again,
    tea revived, just drink more.
    Thirst, one sense that old destroys,
    in body, and mind.

    GP’S have a heck of a job – rainbow of all spectrum of human life they see, which cannot be taught how to cope. Strong minds and stomachs, to try cope.

  • Ehtch

    Method acting? I play day to day,
    who am I today? I do not know.

    Acting in my life, to give confused,
    all around say he’s nuts, but profound,

    Hidden life of such actors in such speil,
    is like a circus act, animals optional, dog walking.

    Find your losing yourself, personality on a trip,
    to elsewhere, when eventually you wake up one morn, gone.

    Actors loose their personality if they want to be “AN” actor. Stripped and bear what they were before. Going out with an actor for a few pints is like going out with a dozen.

  • Ehtch

    France, La France, tomorrow, already sent the english press shitless,
    with baffling words and phrases, in english mainly, apart furch.
    On european history put in the right Rhine place, you were above,
    while us blonde welsh were from alp below, as french friends, endless.

    Yes, a spectacle to be seen, specsavers hopefully not involved,
    whistled to irish-type speak, with a saffa would no doubt be gold.
    All told, it will be a grand event, prozac at the ready, for the worst,
    but I am sure, hundred percent charging damage, french will turd it.

    All the best Cymru against our, soon hopefully baffled, welsh friends, the Jacques Tatis.

  • Ehtch

    Well! That was an hell of an event, Wales/Cymru has gone bonkers, but it doesn’t take much, he says.

    All the best to Robbie the landlord and Gareth at the King’s Head, Capel Hendre – it was quite an afternoon. And also to Ian the landlord at the Cross Hands Hotel, for afters, karioke and things, I sang myself hoarse – sorry all for the ear damage. And whatisname the french bloke from the Rhone valley – we managed to communicate with my third year school francais, just. Might as well post a vid, kiddies from Whitland school, West Wales, school project or something it looks like,

  • Ehtch

    Electra complex or Oedipus complex, love gone wrong,
    as Freud complexed, spoken to flatearthed clothed ears.
    Quite a truth he spoke, as soldiers fall in their dying breath,
    called mothers, back to womb, back beginning of their years

    Daughters too, hunting for a substitute dad, to order them,
    to argue with throw tantrums with, and bang those doors.
    But to always love, no matter what goes wrong, with life,
    even if they experience arguements, knocked onto floors.

    More Heaven 17, with russian clips, and no, not porn, politics and the bomb thankfully not dropped,

  • Ehtch

    This should be an interesting event this summer, just up the road from me, flilling in the niche between Glastonbury and the National Eisteddfod in a little way. Just up the road from me, at Llandeilo, at the magical park of Dinefwr, about half way up the Towy Valley, a valley deeply steeped in history, dotted with bronze, iron, roman and medieval aged past times, and good dairy farming areas, as well as having the most expensive salmon and trout fishing rivers in the UK, on a par with Tweed and Teviot in the Scottish borders. Will be interesting how it goes. Also has one of the oldest alternative-living communities around, nearby. I think it is still going.

  • Ehtch

    Alastair, let anyone that you know who fancies watching a recording of how S4C’s coverage was like on above game on Saturday, for UK cultural research reasons, and other curious reasons, it is now on CLIC, S4C’s version of the beeb’s iplayer, but without any of those annoying ads that pop up and pollute on ITV/C4’s versions. Available for all of UK, not only Wales, which is nice. The link,

  • Ehtch

    Christ!, aren’t I a miserable bugger with my memories, and sometime mammories experienced, cough! Anyway, this vid is from just after when Stalin died, 1953, live performance act from actual USSR/CSSR. I like it, but it took a good few decades to wash Stalin out of their system, that is how I view it historically gnat sized timewise,

    I have several times been called a red, but I wasn’t at all, I was above all that. Anti-capitalist? maybe. Humanist? yes could be. Pagan? might be the top of the list for me, Mother Earth bosses everything, at the end of the day, when we are long gone, even the human race. Might be getting deep here, but since not many call by here, I might get away with it, not following the human race party line, and all that, if you get me. Sometimes I don’t myself.

  • Ehtch

    Even furthermore, bugger it, H. G. Wells, a genius, my favorite author of the twentieth century, coal mining Wigan in Wigan Pier and things, he was well in advance of his time here, and remarkably so, millennia. Stunning writing, put to film, with that marvellous Ozzie, Rod Tayler. What are you saying I am starting my charmed offensive for when Wales play Oz in three tests of rugger this summer? H. G. Wells I am talking about, maybe,

  • Ehtch

    And by the way, didn’t really want to say this, but this is how me and the french Rhone bloke were conversing Saturday night, with Logan and Ustinov interchanging parts between us, each at times thinking “what the dickens is he saying”. Said he had a femme, with a rolling pin, back in La France, so he wasn’t interested in me finding a young lady free to spread the diplomacy, so I said bon nuit to him as he and the rest of his gang went to the Cross Hands travelodge at, must be, 4am, give or take. Good night it was.

    Anyway, this is how the conversation went, in a way, and to think we live less than a thousand miles apart,

  • Ehtch

    Winners, that wins the day, all else are also rans,
    culture that creates is today, not false yesterdays.
    Some notice them, the worried furrowed foreheads,
    denying what is happening, steel clamped in stays.

    Move on, be dynamic not static, frightens some,
    the cultural concreted, new is not good they think.
    No, taken as sinful in the narrow corridors of time,
    and mind, when eventually mechanics with blink, extincts.

    Tried to take a sledge hammer attitude in this poem, giving feelings of the old guard of anything needs attacked, but obviously to the ones that are glaringly irrational and need to move on, desperately. But even if help is offered, their eyes are blind, ears are closed, and mouth too open. oh bollocks. Such is life at times.

  • Ehtch

    I play sport, I am a rockstar, I wrote a book,
    suddenly earned stacks of cash, for today.

    Knackered, lost fashion, writers blocked,
    it went away, yesterday, just like magic,

    Golf course, drug parties, Groucho club,
    only to be seen, shake hand memories.

    Tax when there, was enormous at top,
    this that other industry, of burned trip.

    Budgets? Fantasy for today.

  • Ehtch

    Since I haven’t yet declared it, might as well do now, I am a The Big Bang Theory fan, and no, the comedy show I am on about, US’ latest export after Friends, Cheers, Frasier, Rhoda, and Lucy Ball. Poem for most people’s favorite character from it, though Penny, mmmm, is a close second,

    Sheldon, in his warped mind, though not Star Treked warped,
    as what he would no doubt hope, with our simple other minds,
    is a goon, dysfunctional in a stereotypical social occassion,
    amongst the fellow human race he feels alien and not part.

    Comic book marvel collector, trainspotter, infinite physicist,
    stand in his office front of his whiteboard thinking wiping,
    Indian friend at side, OCD, Raj stand there I sit there,
    and Penny from cheese factory “what a load of crap”.

    “See, girls have no culture”, said Raj. Sheldon vid here, supposedly the best bits of him,

  • Ehtch

    And no, the third bit of the fourth line I was not mirrored lined referring to J. K. Rowling, honest, or was I? It is my discretion what is the truth I was writing. Buy me a drink and I will tell you my truth….

  • Ehtch

    China, as your dogs our grandmother,
    or grander’s had on their mantelpiece,
    is a strange piece, today, in our World.

    Stabalising some say, from recent wilds,
    from colonial times, opium and things,
    scottish pushers Paxo educated, chimed.

    Jew scientist, Chinese not experienced,
    in our times of do your family best next,
    what? And then trouble started farted.

    Twentieth century? Who’d have it? Ey? US and Soviets irratiated this planet, with testing, and US in history in Japan, which they are struggling with, skyrocketing cancers, just one stray alpha particle consumed start off. And now we have buggering tsunami caused floating in our atmosphere, skyrocketing it more, no doubt.

    Song for it, the bugger, by man’s stooopidity, and lack of foresight,

  • Ehtch

    Carmarthen, asylum on the hill,
    a marvellous town, affected,
    People with closed open minds,
    if it is possible, healthy minds.

    Merlin’s old town, we are told,
    from historical turds from time.
    A magical place where I come alive,
    when I recreate myself and future survive.

    Place I was born, I am an old Roman St Peter’s boy, since I was born there, yes, my mother bore me in her house, straining upstairs where we lived then, Carmarthen is through my soul, cannot be described. Went down there last night, great time, but when I started tried chatting those two six foot Carmarthen girls, I thought, time to get home. Cost me a fortune in taxis, but with petrol prices, understandable. Bloke taxi lives in Ferryside, which we deeply discussed, at the lack of ferries, in the triumverate of the three rivers of Carmarthenshire..

  • Ehtch

    How can you feel cold to your family, when brought up cold,
    towards myself early life, when you cannot be cold,
    when eventual need called, cannot ignore.

    A corner of the mind disturbed, past times compromised,
    come back to haunt, a closed corner thought shut,
    only to find, unlatched, a jack in a box, with life.

    Don’t think I need to say anymore, for people who “get” what I just said. Be thankful those that don’t, emotional torture when young, day in day out, drip-drip, when nothing was felt good enough, but when looked back it should have. Backed my parents up always when young, but self them was only I experienced.

    People in general society just say leave me to God, but I was in a peculiar situation, could write chapters on it. But I survived, in sorts, sorts of what can be seen as I am now. Jesus wept, I wasn’t being over-sensitive, I just had two parents, one shouldn’t have been with the other, my mother should have left my dad to whoever.

    Anyway, I am feeling better these days, got over the dark days when my mother died and everything came to a head in my head of all my life. Never was happier when I was away from them, but something inside me always dragged me back. It was like a multi-generational form of some sort of abuse, destroying each other, but not in the usual sense, just emotional coldness, and shoving hurdles due to fright in front, that shouldn’t be there, for life.

  • Ehtch

    France, Germany, Austria, Italy, maybe Monaco,
    surrounding the Swizz, very interestingly.

    Neutral they say, but in what? Rugby?
    past euros passive? my fat arse.

    Take money and run, and hide, collective financially
    into alp mountain vaults, not seen, by us.

    Song for swizz by their Melanie,
    ja/oui/si/si(swiss romansh)/fucking yes(english-tribal!) : )

    I have a way with europe, me.

  • Ehtch

    blimey, I have even impressed myself there, last night. I have a way with words, when I try, but some say turds, no flipping doubt. Loves to all, even cretins.

  • Ehtch

    April Fool, who is fooling who?
    travelling on lines, made by?

    Past times, other travelled,
    microchip not experienced.

    Flag what up, we’re alive?
    survive, in our present clime?

    Give us a medal then, reaching fifty,
    when on average dead, past time.

    Give us a fair slack of the whip then,
    this warped new boat we now travelling.

    Modern super duper modern life is interesting, isn’t it?

  • Ehtch

    My daughter now lives in Billericay, Essex
    hopfully not in some sudo-religious convent.

    Mates no doubt she met, working abroad,
    ready for gormless meets of this years wotsits.

    Good luck to her, subbed wotsit hairdresed,
    upstairs and no doubt down, what? Nails?

    Life of times these days, boys frustrated coped,
    and ladies want throw off balconies pissed.

    Life and times of a rep, Siân seems does well,
    20 hour day at time, pick of the boys, no doubt.

    You have just got to let them go, haven’t you, birds flying out of your hands. Let them find where they want to nest.

  • Ehtch

    Dad, why do you go away so much?
    I must do for myself.

    But why Dad, you will do OK here?
    I won’t, and you know it.

    But Dad, I will take care of you?
    Who will take care of myself inside self?

    Now you are being stupid now Dad.
    Well isn’t life stupid, when you get into it?

    All the best Alastair, life is funny, at the end of the day, and all that bollocks, and it frightens the living daylights out of us for it being so simple, doesn’t it? This poem is a play on question marks, more than anything, answer me, or you vill experience ze consiquences.

    Humour included, as an added spice of life…

  • Ehtch

    Ladies, put on a pedestal, can’t get on top of it,
    never had a sister, that could be the problem.

    Battling bathroomtime, never experienced,
    mother with two sons and husband confused.

    Family dynamics, slewed to men oily spannered,
    steam trains and cars, Hollyoaks it wasn’t.

    Toilet seat always up, seventy-five percent of time,
    pantry always empty, by lads lifed consumption.

    No need to say any further, but my mother did confess to me she would have hated to have a daughter, she wouldn’t know how to cope with one, so there we go, it turned out alright for her, toilet seat and splash stains or not.

  • Ehtch

    Humidity dropped, snowflakes aloft,
    north wind blow, but in April?

    Sweating last week, this week brassy,
    weather playing monkeys with us.

    Flakes by end day, gritters parked up,
    reversed from summer sidings.

    Barking brit weather, playing games,
    seaside cafes, tea and crumpets waste.

    Snow on the way, already up north. Mother Nature and her games, with the help of carbon man.

  • Ehtch

    Indoor allergies, asperingus or whatever,
    biting at ankles of my immune system.

    Travellers caravans I should be in,
    even native tents or a hovel.

    Less than five feet of fresh air away,
    no hacking when just awake.

    Houses hermetically sealed is unnatural,
    as clothes on our body, respectable.

    Give me a tent out in the air, outside alive,
    no carpet fabric mites shit where strive.

    Allergies is not rocket science, but wished the same would be to them.

  • Ehtch

    Sorry, my spelling again, asperga, aspergel, what is it again doc?

  • Ehtch

    Furthermore, my mother, being a nurse, was given tablets in the 1950’s for her serious allergies, but screwed her immune system up, where she then developed rampant immune system disorders, right across the scale – rheumatoid athritis, sjorgan’s syndrome, vitiligo, scleroderma of the guts, the list goes on.

    That is why I will not even take an asprin, and although I have allergies bad, won’t touch any medicines and pills, because it comes back to bite you.

    My mother, by the way, died a horrible death, fibrosis of the lung, and knackered heart valves, due to rheumatoid arthritis. That last night with her in the hospital, hearing her gasping for air, will haunt me forever – it fucked me right up. Should I have been there, for my own good? pieces, small pieces I was.

    Bugger it, a song for my mam, she liked Daniel O’Donnell, yes, him, so why not. It will help me at least, in a little way.

    This is what mother would want, not me godforbid, to me it is totally pants. But this the stuff my mother listened to. So I can’t complain.

  • Ehtch

    Know this is not very nice to say this, but the best medicine to calm down my immune system is pure and simple alcohol, as if it has become genetically part of the body chemistry from past times. But if you can do without it for other reasons, fine, but when I gave up for three years, my skin went bonkers, knees ankles and shoulders were complaining like anything, had to gave up hiking for a while, but all those disappeared when got on the apple cider. Oh, yes, also, now follow a total glutein-free diet, and don’t drink milk, just a bit in my tea, that has helped also. If I drunk a pint of milk now, I would be sitting on the toilet for most of the next day, due to mucous-membrane creeping scleroderma of the guts, destroying di-saccahride digestive capabilities.

    But apart from that, I get by and am happy enough. Let’s have another Daniel O’Donnell song, shall we? Why not,
    Not too bad…. maybe…

  • Ehtch

    …but not as good as the Kiwi, Hayley Westenra singing it, loves her rugger she does,

  • Ehtch

    Alcohol gives my immune system something to battle against, I have found, it seems. Anyway, Hayley getting her gong in London, in one of them posh events they tend to hold there,
    Brilliant singing!

  • Ehtch

    Totally off topic, balls chopped off, castrato, in middle europe, a way out of the gutter, if you had a voice to start with, europe is nuts, and still is, that is why the CIA has a problem with us, we blow whichever way the wind blows, and are barking mad, and the yanks are uncomfortably with that, oh yes, dawg-godam-darn they are,

  • Ehtch

    Greg Pritchard, with unfeasibly unbelieveable male vocal chords, knackers intact, it is said,

    A loverly brilliant voice from freakdom, that the human race pops out, now and again.

  • Ehtch

    A man for all seasons, what season?
    unlike dog going sniffing and bonkers.

    To where, mind consumes, in genes,
    intelligent downtrodden balls in them.

    Thoughts, but religion? Do birds follow?
    No they don’t, so why should we?

    Life, started, but as a candle, at the end of day, out.

  • Ehtch

    School photos, looking back, Priory Street Primary School.
    Carmarthen, looking proud, the lieutenant of the class, five yeared.

    Next to the Captain, my great mate, future NHS’ed,
    and ladies and girls that still fall on me, those innocent times.

    Six foot now girls, past models, daughters now too also,
    say, to my St. Peters Boy mentality, come up and see me.

    A slppery slope up Lammas Street it would no doubt be,
    like a trout going up the Tywi, turn left, to the Gwili.

    Met a son of an old friend of Carmarthen last night, quite surreal, looked exactly like him, so I said, “You are not Ed’s son that runs the Queens Hotel in Carmarthen, are you?”. And he incredible said “Yes”. He was stunned, as I was stunned. Never met this young lad ever, though Ed used to get around.

  • Ehtch

    The capaten of my time then, my big mate, next door, 73 Hafod Cwnin, Chris Jones, worked in NHSdome admin high up after studying history at Swansea Uni, all over the UK, but he said it was quite difficult in the Thatcherdome, but he is a tory, sugar and spice we are to each other, but I still loves him, to death, my extra brother. Likes golf, a lot, but we all have our crosses to bear. Will have to pop in and see him soon, it’s been a few years, as you do.

  • Ehtch

    crosses to bare even, my spelling is atrotious. Clumbsy fingered.

  • Ehtch

    Love cats, never had a pet dog, too much work,
    pet dog like a fawning wife, also looking at you.
    Never married, catholic priest-like without bible,
    too independent-minded, squirt into corners visit.

    Yes, cats, friends, hug you then piss off blanked,
    off somewhere who bluddy knows, catland maybe.
    Then turn up as never left, hugs and kisses lame,
    making out you are best thing, within life’s flame.

    Dogs are just too needy, like wives, very time consuming and expensive, but expensive is not the word, can’t remember it, ah yes, that is it, ‘king high maintenence, up and down the aisle costing thousands. Vicars laugh.

  • Ehtch

    Audrey, from Belgium, and Bob Hope, not dope, not on a golf course, 1967,
    Audrey Hepburn was a classy stunner, wasn’t she?

  • Ehtch

    1967 Oscars also nominated, “The Russians are Coming, the…” etc. Gram Parsons,

  • Ehtch

    Bugger it, in the next few days I will go and see Ed at the Queens, and he will let me know about Chris, and go and see him. Don’t want to turn up without information how things are these days for him, with him, last I heard, on his second wife.

    Song on of our deep rooted relationship, quite rare to be found,

  • Ehtch

    oh shit, spelled/spelt maintenance wrong now, but at least I spelled/spelt aisle right, so not too bad.

  • Ehtch

    A catholic girl I was with, super beautiful,
    could cut cheese with her cheekbones.

    Should we’ve banged them out after one,
    I sometimes ask myself now, after Mayday.

    Hospital in Croydon, pain gone through,
    her as well, squirting out a melon below.

    Incredible experience that made me run,
    away, looking at stiches made was not fun.

    For those that have been there, I need say no more. My nerves were buckled and shreaded, and no good more to no man after that. Jesus wept! Sweet eyed melon looking up at me, finished me.

  • Ehtch

    Might as well repost Sarah Miles and John Mills and Christopher Jones, the yank classy actor, and times repeated….
    Brilliant sweet clip, get in there Sarah!

  • Ehtch

    I suppose I have been on my own in my life, never had a father. He is aspinger, and doesn’t realise it. I had to be the dad to my mam, and it has had it’s affect. As I said previously, things went bananas after mam died, having to take over his contract (!can’t remember the right word again), as the eldest son. Take over the brief/yes, that is it. But I am sorting it, and doing a good job, dad miles away, here but not here. Song,
    Dad’s quarter yorkie, me eigth, Harthill Lakings, great uncle used to play for Middlesborough, George.

  • Ehtch

    more bad spelling, asperger even,

    Not serious, but it’s there, can’t get a grip of social peculiarities at all, never has been able to, and it is not due to old age, he has always been like that, and I should know. Have thousands of stories.

  • Ehtch

    Classic trait, I have noticed, is mirrored social interactions, without independent edges at all. Lack of fuming at life days events when it goes wrong, just irrational blow-ups at when a surprise has happened, out of daily habits. But has become less, when I’ve reasoned with him, but it has taken years, and out of me too. Ah well. But it is genetic, latent in me, to a certain extent, so it will pop up in grand-children again, and there is no doubt about that. Remote farming community inbreeding in past? Maybe, he says.

    And anyway, explains my bad spelling, no matter how many times I look at a dictionary, I get that word wrong and wrong again. Good at maths though, nine times out of ten get the Coundown maths puzzle exactly, though the multi-words section is a blur, but Rachel makes up for it, looking at what is behind her.


  • Ehtch

    24 hour offie, seven day, at the roundabout at the end of my road,
    always selling out of black treacle from paddy truck co-drivers.
    Fags sold, pasties and sausage rolls, end of M4 two mile,
    officially dual-carriaged A48, on your Streetmap, or google.
    Truck drivers turn up mid-night, with petrol and diesel and things,
    telling me “no panic, us contractors need same pay as before”.
    Fantasy living people, visiting garages, think petrol is like meat,
    comes from a supermarket and no idea before what is the score.
    Glad UNITE are the big man at the moment, unlike the numbnut shitstirring government we are presently under a yolk of.

  • Ehtch

    Coconut wax, surboards, not suitable for skiis,
    is my smell of summer on Atlantic Coast skiis.
    In air sweetly as I pull on my 6mm neoprene,
    wet suited without tie I plunge into the briney.
    Paddling like fuck, to get to other side of life,
    one day choppy other day glassy on dreams,
    but sometimes total mess, washing machine.
    Down the front, like an Hawaiian god I stand,
    then after get off and paddle through again.

    Coconut wax is my seaside, the smell strong and sweet and natural, away from life’s strifes.

  • Ehtch

    Should I spend my time thinking or doing?
    what is the happy balance with being?
    Quality or quantity to future produce?
    or just run around like a mad fool?

    Looking as if I am seriously doing?
    Or fist against cheek thinking?
    Looking at life, contemplate,
    seeing everything’s fate?

    Quite a question, isn’t it? What is the balance?

  • Ehtch

    oh bollocks! Spelled yoke wrong there now. Clumbsy. Will have to have a try at self-editing sometime. Sorry oxen.

  • Ehtch

    more father bashing

    Mature in advance of my years, I was,
    father was disturbed with some way.
    Couldn’t handle it, as else things in life,
    attack, at least excuse, put me down.
    His dysfunctionality life term for me,
    out of love and duty me now one way.
    But, thankfully his ear conch like live,
    got him over the border toward life like.

    Frankly, been through hell with him after mam died, people all through life knew what he was like, hanging over me, if he was left, me eldest son with sense.

    Ah bollocks – another bloke well ahead of his time, uncutdown though, Stevie Winwood at nineteen here, and he wrote it, 1967,

    As Dylan Thomas said, words to the effect, to be a “son of a sloth and a turnip”. How times repeat. But it has different flavours, doesn’t it?

  • Ehtch

    Good review of a monologue drama play that was done at the Edinburgh Fringe a few years ago, based on (and tribute to) Dylan Thomas’ experiences on his US tours of colleges etc. in the early 1950’s,

    The yanks are still crazy about him still. Well, the literary “culture vultures” over there, that is.

  • Ehtch

    My mother had a subtle but hard spell on us,
    not only as a mam, but a honest wife as well.
    Remembering herself up in Seven Sisters, coal,
    1930’s, running around without shoes and knickers.

    War came, 1939 initially more strife, but grand promoted,
    ex-horseshoe country blacksmith promoted to look after ropes.
    Up and down shafts at ungodly hour during war he checked for fail,
    until tired, slipped, fell off, cracked his leg on the next level and landed on the next, survived. His war story, Steve y Gôv, the colliery blacksmith and engineer on the ground, or underneath, Great Mountain Colliery, World War Two, helping to shove up the coal for the war effort, quicktime.

    A Focke-Wulf 190 with long range drop tanks came to strafe it, but I suppose no-one wants to see that, When he saw everyone waving up at him, and the young kiddies giving him the zieg heil, we spooked him and he landed in RAF Pembrey in a total messed up psychological condition. We have our ways. This is a true story, honest…. super honest, research it.

  • Ehtch

    Died flames, happens quicklier than others,
    flamed up and bright alight to all around,

    Beautiful teeth cheekbones, rosy cheeked,
    full of life all abound around, doing alright.

    It seems. Mind inside, turmoil, try change,
    another life no friends old understood, gone.

    Building up, try say doing ok, war friend killed,
    what for, my sanity, to be around here now, milled.

    Lynette Roberts lost a male love, even though she was in a marriage of sorts, in WWII, and that was the downhillfactor for her, after leaving and being lost from her family life from Argentina, due to political changes and all that stuff there.

    Bugger it, a vid for Lynette from Argentina – this should cheer her spirit up, and I am not joking, it will, young people doing things not war,

    My Scarlets vee Munner at home tonight in rugger. AHEM! could be interesting.

  • Ehtch

    Robin going forth, then coming back,
    darting that sparrow hawk round the corner.

    Pigswill I must enter for mid day dinner,
    sitting atop pink skinned middenler.

    Oats thrown out to me are sweet,
    but back I need, to make feel.

    Feel old times, farmer times tilling,
    harrowing, human runts snorting, upon back top.

    Robin know more about us than some of us.

  • Ehtch

    Working my way through the cellar, before hic! death duties come in, anyway who is this fella Lloyd George with his working class arse?

    Come fart by me I would ask him, sitting as he do, looking pheasant,
    peasant I say, go, go over there old boy, you smell slightly different.

    Taxes, taxes? shove them up your harris Westminster, I am offshore,
    but yes, live here most of the time, but my school tie has the score.

    Time is running out Dave, and others, to come clean what sort of family you come from. Or should we save it when we know a GE is coming up? Or would it ignite a GE? mmm, let me contemplate…..

  • Ehtch

    Alastair, going for a sprint, gonna try and get it up to 500 here for opening day of the Olympics.

    It won’t be hard work though, they just appear in my brain. No, no, I am not mad – well, not exactly clinically mad, and no, not that either, I AM NOT AN ALIEN. Well, as far as I know – you never know.

  • Ehtch

    The marvellous silent comedy star contemplating as a film director then, James Findlayson, with, no, not with Cameron and Clegg, but Laurel and Hardy, but what is the difference some would say, no doubt. I do.

    James Findlayson, originally from Stirlingshire Scotland, but now here in this clip Hollywood, California (in the US if you haven’t heard of Hollywood….),

    A stitches L & H clip. But C & C make me laugh also, but in a different way.

  • Ehtch

    Mentioned before, Evening Primrose Oil from soil,
    was hacking and barking like dog early morning.
    Awoke for the spluttering attacks from bronchii,
    shoved self back on the EPO disappeared, my!

    Mentioned before, druids and monks with flowers,
    borage flowers and leaves made into a morn tea.
    Now found contain same, immune system calmer,
    PGE1 and gamma linolenic acid the fat the charmer.

    Alcohol promotes but suppresses the step before,
    if low in body before pop, you know the score.
    A circle of reinforcement going down to less,
    no delta-6 GLA left until EPO met, oh bless!

    It has the habit of making you drink less, but makes when you have a drink more enjoyable. But there could be other factors involved, so you’d better all check with your doc.

    Disclaimer: I am not a monk, Cadfael welsh one or other, nor a druid, honest!

  • Ehtch

    really off the blocks now Alastair, not mind, but Olympic sprinting….

    Flight control system technician RAF went to end,
    trained sixteenth months to double payrised niced.
    Still russian time howling siren on Swinderby block,
    so know if what whenever whichever bomb dropped.

    Lightning English Electric Lightning hydraulics avoid,
    cut a finger off high pressured if put a finger inside.
    Fuselage leccy lines I was involved to black boxed,
    screwdriver only required deep thought knew screwed.

    Unscrew, pull out, blackbox healthy tried, no, storetime,
    get another bit darkened wizard box for another go.
    Hey Presto!, Lightning can now take off up sky above,
    chasing the moon and sun again, screwdriver in hand.

    Fav vid of an English Electric Lighning. My time in the RAF was excellent, and if things did “kick off” after I left, they knew where I was, and was ready for the call, as I was informed on Bush’s Snr early 1990’s Iraq campaign, if it escalated. But I am glad as it turned out there was no need for me to chase medals then.

    English Electric Lightning,

  • Ehtch

    Life moves on, always, avoided these old time get togethers,
    prefer these young ones where heard “who is that gruntie?”.
    Youngsters when ask I explain, they laugh or giggle “What?”,
    insane to them they find me now, but with young it will stick.
    So when old they say yeh, he was right in bothering us then,
    as they their then old fool, bother their youngsters, ad infintatum.

    It is called being social, even though I tend to end up talking to their girlfriends more. Don’t know why…..

  • Ehtch

    Client, a lady group reminds me of the such attack. Many things that happened during WWII would be morning headline news now today, but all lost now. Oh the games of mice and men, tucked away censored in some Ministry of Defence vault,

  • Ehtch

    note with the second reviewer, tory, that he describes Dylan Toots as “an ageing writer”!?!

    He died at 39 for goodness sakes you stoopid stoopid twll right-wing fucking twat of a tool!

    calm down Huw. Anway, hundreth birthday for Dylan in 2014. Could be quite a party in West Wales. Clinton and Carter are rumoured to come to it in West Wales, as well as tribes of culture vultures from all over the World. What Toots spoke can be applied wherever you live or lived.

    But it will be autumn for it, which is nice, extra holiday money outside the traditional summer tourist season. Dylan describing his thirtieth year to heaven, when he admitted it wasn’t when he wrote it, when leaves laid leaved, with their October blood, on the ground,

    and then the town awoke, and the gates of the town, closed, behind me.

    Getting to 500 hundred will be easy, Alastair. GO TEAM GB!

  • Ehtch

    Leave me to heaven, leave her to heaven
    an arguement some say, without person.
    He is out of step, destructive on others,
    world of his own with confusing message.

    Hang on, time passes, he she has a point,
    what did they say, this would happen now?
    Oh dear, so it has, what can we do now?
    come passed to past thinking, wot a blast!

    Gene Tierney has come to my mind today with the leave her to heaven, again, when she was troubled herself thinking, after her film maybe, as a psycho lady beauty from Hollywood. Brilliant lady she was, republicans just could not understand her, as they do,

    I am in time-framed love with Gene. OK, call me sad if you want, but when I perfect that time-machine, who will be laughing then, ey? : )

  • Ehtch

    June 21/22 I am looking forward to, this summer,
    fierce sun new year my eastern bedroom window.

    Telling me, why are you not up to look at me wanker,
    doing all this work for you and you stay in your bed.

    My birthday, here, when I visit you for twenty hours,
    all you can do wake up at eight and water my flowers.

    Yes, my flowers not yours, I am the strength of flame,
    giving you strength mankind, going around total lame.

    The Sun has spoke, the big yellow thing in the sky that is, not that tosser red top, confused with life, speiling shit.

    another pre-Olympic poem ticked off, Alastair. I am on FIRE!

  • Ehtch

    Might as well post a pic of a robin from about 1967, was five, annual Robin, sweet pic, but the robin looks obviously stuffed. Got this annual, was given to me by an excellent family and friend when we lived young family in Carmarthen, towards Abergwili. where our first home of local Bishop lived, prot, with Henry Eight changes. Played threw a piece of slate at almost took his eye out, the kid that gave me this later, tried to throw and miss, but got it totally wrong. I was beside myself then, still am now, I only just missed taking his eye out. Jesus wept!
    Robin annual, 1967,

  • Ehtch

    Friend who we both went through the RAF system then, Swinderby-Locking-Cosford route for smart technicians, went to RAF Sealand together, for serious nurd flight system technicians, and we shared a house, the otherside of Chester. He was four years younger than me, and he pleaded with me to become a nav, you and me in a Tornado, me driving it you getting us there and dropping the bombs. Didn’t actually tell him when I turned him down, my immune system is the quandry to me. But fair play. Flying Officer Meirion Roscoe from Anglesey, Cemaes Bay, became a fast jet RAF pilot, brilliant, just simply brilliant. But as I said, if anything would have kicked off, I would easily become behind him, getting us there, dropping bombs, on friendly people, waving up at us…

    Will have to go up to Felinheli to see Meirion, and if I turn up, his jaw will fall on the floor, I trained him in life, I was four years older than him.

  • Ehtch

    looking back, the Laugharne estuary was missing, so I will give it another shot, via my friends from youtube. Sea visted,

  • Ehtch

    more Dylan via Gwyn Thomas but now via Glyn Houston, filling in for Gwyn, when his soundtrack was lost but film survived, from Gwyn’s manuscript then, via his wife Lynn,

  • Ehtch

    I put half a dozen comments or so on youtube,
    talking this that or other, passionatly totally.

    Next minute or so someone made vid of it,
    do I mind, nooo, hate it more if ignore was it.

    People who make videos, I have found around,
    are on a different planet that kick start like a bike.

    Ideas that are going now, but have no patience there,
    for twiddling knobs, because they outward always stare,
    for the next idea.

    As I said before, thankyou this bloke/lady for posting this on my fiftieth birthday in appreciaction of my old name Drowned Forest, as well as my promotion of Mother Earth things. And I am not bullshitting you Alastair, they did! youtube, ey? brilliant stuff,

    ten Jan 2012, turned fifty. But I have a suspicion it was Will Gregory of Goldfrapp, or even Alison herself. Who knows, could be some fuckah from MI5 spooking me, who knows?

  • Ehtch

    Summer solstice, standing by big rocks,
    deep embedded within granite minded.
    Dancing like fairies, sun coming above,
    popping up 4am saying did you miss me.

    Power rays, lasered gapped stones stand,
    druids calculate to all yes friends this is it.
    Winter is over, three months maternity corn,
    build up for consumption in devil’s Christ winter.

    Jesus was a capricorn – not many people know that, like me. NO, hold on now, I am just a naughty boy, that is all, and my name isn’t Brian either.

  • Ehtch

    New movements in the online World I am hardwired to,
    seeing things new fashion fashioned for kiddies today.
    Telephone line always abused met art or war or score,
    human ways to get to the lowest common denominator.
    Highest factor is just a dream in our followed life stream,
    no fished river needed to bank what I look about and see.

    Dai Ling Ping, online gaming, where he set up a online gaming house, and telling yankies to fuck off and stuff your popcorn up your jacksee butts. Bluddy hilarious Alastair, a must watch/hear,

    I am still fecking laughing my bollocks off here now.

  • Ehtch

    More Dai Ling Ping and his marvellous grasp of languages, I am still in stitches. Hey President Nixon, take my rat to shove up it your trousers, to nibble on your plums, before exploring your rectum. McCartney used to keep rats for such purposes in the early 1950’s I have heard. Yeh.

  • Ehtch

    Telegraph, Guardian, Times, Mirror, Sun and Star and whatever,
    it is all bogroll paper now, isn’t it?

    Chips are not interested anymore, nether street down blown,
    slate and tablets onto dried scraped.

    Screen pushed switched, cpu station also fingered into action,
    OK, these days might be other tablets.

    Devices communicate, down through copper or air we survive,
    and please no one mention sunspots and tides.

    Sattelites above prowling geostationed in spot relative on us,
    if they go out, will be back to small cards in a tall narrow box,
    thought by Independent minded.

    Anyway, if such a Mother Nature event does happen, it will certainly be interesting. “But we have planned for it”. What?, controlled absolute chaos?

  • Ehtch

    McCarthy even, the red in the bed hunter from the early 1950’s, where everyone was made uncomfortable, even visitors like Dylan Thomas when he came there, where it was judged maybe, what would be the appropriate health care in middle of such red hysteria for such a fella to given?
    Simple question now.

    Though I tend to know the answer. Hysteria ruled in NYC.

  • Ehtch

    Was going to post Michaela Strachan stroking some lions, but this will do, 1989ish, Michaela in ‘king marvellous Blackpool, with that steam train botherer, dyslexic, Watreman, that managed to make a couple of pounds out of Kylie and Jason – BE-HAVE!

  • Ehtch

    Demanding, demanding, when calling, the game,
    Alastair where the fuck are you, we call.
    Stubborn onliners needing to be fed, in this new game,
    messages instant, onto online posts we fed,

    Feedback innane, to keep us amused, to fill our day,
    Balls saying this that or other eventually,
    All helps in the political spectrum, Neil appeal?
    Yes that Andrew, Times what he was?

    Explains, ex-Murdoch puppet he was, squirming now,
    old landscape of times in bed with each other,
    Looking forward I love how young just laugh between,
    we have been total fools, in comfortable bully botherers.

    Murdoch and Clan? Bin them from Britain, lock stock and barrel.

  • Ehtch

    Situation, you got yourself into, making excuses for another, run out,
    time to deal with it, time to say goodbye, burning me complete out.
    Daughter involved, twist the screw dignity tried recover, used abused,
    messages fed, irrational thoughts transfered, towards unrecovered.

    Life when trapped, layer upon layer, troubled people, their thoughts,
    tried to do the right thing, just not good enough, revenge caughts.
    Emotion of the worst kind, digging deep by their spade nonsense,
    year by tear passes, wisdom young hope developed, future sense.

    Personal private investigations, and all that. Dire Straits, 1982, I think,

  • Ehtch

    OOPS! should have posted what I post on front page blog here.

    With your tweet, all the best to your youngest on her eighteenth.

    Daughter turned 21 Feb just gone. The crazy girl is doing fine. Her facebook front page here, as I said, staring out a huge turtle underwater somewhere in the world. Doing an instructors course in scuba-diving these days, well into it she is. She could swim like a fish since she was about four years old. She maybe blondie, but she is as sharp as a tack, real streetwise since young, and you can’t anything over her, oh no!ân-Thomas/720165273

  • Ehtch

    Just posted this on the Guardian’s site, so I thought I might as well post it here too;

    There was this fella called Hunt,at dancing thought give it a punt.He strode the floor,blue rinsed adour,but youngsters called him a twunt.

    The fella in question is slinky hipped Jeremy Hunt, as if I need say. Link,

  • Ehtch

    Blackberry, strawberry, blueberry or whatever,
    raspberries to you all, I now have an iPhone.
    Outages blood boiling curdlling neck vessels,
    do not need for to turn puce which am prone.

    Performance and reliabilty is the PR phrase,
    not some shitting piece of electronics gip.
    Giving me grief with lame apologies and shit,
    something that works like my mouth and lip.

    Haven’t got one myself Alastair, but good luck with your iPhone, but don’t bank on it, it is still only just a bunch of electronics that no doubt will occasionally play up, hand-held or networks, down the air line.

    Think I did a fine job there, getting good at this.

  • Ehtch

    or dear copy paste went wrong there, time for re-justification, or whatever it is called,

    There was this fella called Hunt,
    at dancing thought give it a punt.
    He strode the floor,
    blue rinsed adour,
    but youngsters called him a twunt.

    That’s better.

  • Ehtch

    Spike was good at raspberries.

    sorry, couldn’t help myself…

  • Ehtch

    Hysteresis, a government needs
    a grey area, healthy one pleads.
    No black white border between,
    but give take, not hysteria seen.

    Making decisions here and now,
    tomorrow another story and bow.
    Decisions made responded rants,
    Government, flying seat of pants.

    No need to explain further. Hysteresis is the time and physical dimensional area where your central heating thermostat switches on then off, and vice versa, for those not, COUGH!, technologically minded. And it can be prostituted to general life, allegorically, as here, as with other scientific terms that have been nicked. Economics are always at that, nicking, as in “elasticity” of markets. OK, a little explanation then.

  • Ehtch

    Furthermore, a graph to explain myself – government should act within the red and blue curves here, with light control, where most of day-to-day life is.

    One example where things go outside it that needs special consideration is things like an energy crisis due to OVERSEAS factors, and then also, of course, the danger and action of war on use, as like the subtle one that was declared on us ten od years ago (COUGH!, ey Alastair?).

    And it is just a co-incidence the two curves are red and blue, you could say…..

  • Ehtch

    Are passionate people becoming sub-human?
    Inhuman, to the eyes of this coalition cause.
    Illegal in their eyes, trouble back-breakers.
    No, I do not think, with all I muster implause.

    It’s a healthy Brit thing, took thousands years,
    square up the life we live in, cattle and wheat.
    Brewed to define Island, how we are and care,
    abused by people, that seem only just left teat.

    Another present government bash, am afraid. Hope I am not starting to bore people. Those ultra-few that visit here, that is.

    And hope the justification turns out alright, and to do a bit of copy paste when my comment being posted started to play up with editing and moving lines, as you do.

    Boris and St. Paul’s comes to mind…..

  • Ehtch

    good grief, you’re up Alastair. Worried about London for tomorrow? I am too, hope to god Boris doesn’t get back in. Hate to see him having a plum seat at the Olympics this summer.

    And it would be nice to see Dave and Ken sitting next to each other, and occasionally shaking hands, and even hugging each other when “BRIT GOLD” comes out of the speakers…

    : )

  • Ehtch

    Been to vote, local councils, me and my dad were two and third visiting there.

    Anyway, to really spook people, which I always try, uniformed westerner atlantic light boated people, god knows how many were lost big tide, on some sort of uniform culture down it, as in Galicia, and down Portugal in times past, by this welsh originating welsh group, today.

    Enjoy, and fantacise romantically, as you do, wimmin usually,

  • Ehtch

    christ, please let me let spell aisle for the rest of my life, please! I am a wanker at spelling it. Talking of isles, as you do, Irish ma’bee,

  • Ehtch

    i am happy with one,
    but rumours I have two,
    could be be more,
    the little digraceful welshman that gets around.

    The hair and eyes, only confirned daughter and son so far, but there is, let us not ponce about this, my spawn is bothering england as we speak.

    as if

  • Ehtch

    The last oak, do we cut it, to make boat, small.
    Smaller than old, when oaks were vast, here,
    and everywhere. Size of twenty men across,
    now lost, in some sea far away underneath,
    from their home, their left roots still scream.
    Britain Oaked, at one time, squirrel passage,
    Dover to Glasgie, nuts ate, no feet on floor.
    Boars ploughed, our only farmers, acorns,
    arrowed man occasionally, spit roast night.
    Deers, roes looking sweet and succulent,
    just one, and only for food and not for sport.
    Hazelnuts, blackberries, gooseberries, plants,
    trout, sea even, salmon, eels and bass sea,
    lava seaweed boiled, cockles and mussels,
    occassional potatoes, Armada coast grew.

    bit here and there poem, different.

  • Ehtch

    wimmin, god bless them, you have got to make it that they feel that they are in control, otherwise we are fucked, Earache city.

  • Ehtch

    Spuds in Ireland came with wrecked Armada ships, going around our isles, trying to get home.

    Song about it, maybe so,

  • Ehtch

    Long lost london, we do praise,
    Croydon coombe south praise.
    Valley of our old then we do say,
    Celts going around in corners spray.

    Still attracted there, you see them as they stay,
    looking up Sanderstead hill, and Selsdon by the way.
    Checking to see everything is doing ok, lands recoverd,
    golf coursed or cricketed, reported back doing well ok.

    Song for Croydon, behave, sit down at the back, kiddies….

  • Ehtch

    further, warm, letherette,
    JG Ballard with Gabrielle Drake, parts one and two,

    Gabrielle, actually getting her kit off, in Gerry Anderson’s UFO. I see nothing UFO about Ms Drake, stripping before my eyes,

  • Ehtch

    Quite ironic I saw you on Top Gear today Alastair, a repeat shown on UKTV “Dave” channel. Jeremy is quite an arse, isn’t he, playing to the cotsworld’s gallery, ey Alastair? But there is something about him you have got to like. Like one of those bolshie mouthed kiddies that sit at the back in any of your average classroom he is.

  • Ehtch

    1986, as in the bus journey above, was the first time I really visited Croydon, for “reasons”, say no more Major. her dad was Eltham cor blimey, her mam Derry City top of the morning. Got to spread the genes see….

  • Ehtch

    I am a diplomat between alp and the boot it’s south,
    no idea how I got here, but I am, kardoma caffied.
    Respect I think it is, fed back down the alien lines,
    and honestly nothing to do at fourteen, dribbled,
    at Isabella’d thirteen, between us penpalled I wibbled.

    Catholic, who cares? Her smile won me over,
    across any borders Normans and Popes put in way.
    But sadly, life things took over, and pen to paper got thin,
    maturing life present day frustrations then took over, to nothing.

    Song for Isabella, I still remember you, bella-bella, mia luna,

    Hankytime, I think. piss orf, buy your own, visit marks and sparks….

  • Ehtch

    oops, may have forgot to post Matt Monro, with Andy Williams – did I?

  • Ehtch

    By the way, the three fellas above, if you are brit cultural ignorant, Dave, Boris and Georgie Porgie especially, are, from left to right, Glenn, Ian and Martyn, from Sheffield, where my marvellous. it has been told, my great-grandmother was from nearby, Harthill, Elizabeth Laking, sadly died when 36, in 1926, leaving my thirteen-year-old grandmother motherless. Mentioned before she knew growing up near Kiverton Park, and near the Yorkshire village actually called Wales, which might have excersied her wonderful mind.

    In our family, we have excellent brigantes celt tribe from her.

    Mentioned before she went to school with Herbert Chapman, best english footie manager ever,  Kiverton Colliery and all that, and her great-nephew played for Middlesborough and Wolves in footie too, George.

  • Ehtch

    swopping spit. what? wharrrtt!

    More Andy Williams, followed by Matt,

    Matt, in some present day, against Andy, in some face off,

    Matt my vote is.

  • Ehtch

    So I am UK’s version of Shelley – MOM,, save me,

    Sing soft kittie please,

  • Ehtch

    swopping spit, in europe, between us loving, as you dooo…

  • Ehtch

    Anyway, just phomed my old mate Alun, and we are off to the Kings Head to bother Robbie, in deepest plaid Cymru land, across the border from Llanelli. Yes, we are going up the welsh hills, two miles away..

    Alun sadly lost her mother three weeks back, and has a job now to look after his sister, since she is not well since a teenager, mind. Anyway, I will find out from Alun if he can cope after mam has gone.

  • Ehtch

    Heart in it’s right place, it has got to be,
    to survive and be alive to sniff morn air?
    Watching shooting to what we all see,
    is only way viewing all spectrum to be.

    Seeing these special people, them distict,
    standing in their own way on soapboxed.
    Mouthing their views like on speakers corn,
    telling us this that and other some barking morn.

    Takes a “special” type of person to stand up and “do” politics, one supposes, but good luck to them all, you are all yes, a right bunch of “specials”. : )

  • Ehtch

    500, before long jump before Olumpics? easily, he says…


    Catrin bach/small.

  • Ehtch

    Like Minis, always since the 1963 Morris Mini Minor came into our family, when young, as like a pet cat, loved. Still love them, had plenty of talks with people to create a company to make quality body panels and various parts, to make sure they will still be around for future young lads and ladies to see, ad infinitum and all that bollocks. One of my favorite clips of a mini used and abused these days, with a Bentley 1920’s like supercharger under it’s bonnet, somehow snug. Lads from the Roses, up in Lancashire/Yorkshire somewhere, driving like fools around one of their lakes,

  • Ehtch

    My grandfather, describing how he bumped into nana,
    one day, Llangendeirne horse fair one August, 1930 odd.
    Fell into love with the small sweet woman, home from Birmingham,
    home from service, domestic, cleaning fireplaces, kitchens and stuff.

    Marvellous woman, no one cannot just fall at her feet, I did, popped out,
    107 Bethesda Road, still in my dreams, my grandparents maternal,
    tadcu Steve, grumpy as fuck, but there for all of us kiddies appeared.
    Love my nana to death, him seeing her wilting towards her death,
    was heart breaking for all to see, 1904, nana 1911, never forgotten.

    They were two characters. My paternal grandparents too, but I will leave that for another day.

  • Ehtch

    OOPS. forgot to post this vid with the last poem, as you do, on 1930’s Llangendeirne horse and servants fair,

  • Ehtch

    Time, what place has it in our personal minds?
    Bothering us dimensional in our walled brains?
    Fuck off time, let us get on with it, towards whatever,
    our sharp end? so? Time, make a point, or fuck rightoff!

    Sorry for the sware words I use, but I only use it for fucking artistic purposes, the c%&ts they are. More tea Vicar?

  • Ehtch

    Happy May Day, away, Brighton or Marget or Clapton-on it’s sea?
    Workers day off, those still with grindstones to nose these days.
    Russian workers, plough Ukraine, wheat over planted, new borns,
    harvest to look forward, till then deckchaired summer sun relaxed.

    Ukraine folk song, nice ladies from there, mmmm, met art… more tea Vicar?

  • Ehtch

    by the way, pervious is Yale College from the US, for those not in touch, singling welsh for their finder.

  • Ehtch

    Might as well post Carwyn James, the 1971 Lions coach singing russian, as he concentrately learnt when in the Ryal Navy, listening then online. went to the same school as him, lived two miles away from me. Yes I suppose you could say, a red school, encrypted into me, but it might all help. gas in pumped and footie clubs and thing. Carwyn the marvellous, with wotsisname great englishman introducing him,

    This is seriously going down as excellent as browny points in that I tend to visit, the King’s Head in Capel Hendre – they knew always I was a red in the bed, especially the ladies as such, when we talked afters of such, comrade fach blodyn wen fi, o’r gaeaf.

  • Ehtch

    Us welsh and russians have things in common, and we understand each other – we originally come from the foot hills of the Alps – they went north, and we went west, that is when you notice, when you look at the Ukraine video two doors up, we look alike, and have the same character. Germanic either of us are not, which came later, say a thousand years or two or so, when we had long left.

    Quite interesting subject, but totally full of confusion, as long lost history tends to be. Have a lot of time for Neil Oliver, the scottish ancient historian and archaeologist, trying hard to get his head round it all, and he is doing a great job at it, I think. His docs on telly are excellent. The dark ages are not so dark, when the need to look into it is present and motivated. Dan Snow is also interested in such stuff too, them two are the figureheads for pre-brainwashing school 1066 history. It is there for all to see, if you look close enough.

  • Ehtch

    Dried up like an apricot, I do feel like at times,
    watching these plums all together throated.
    Raised raisins, all dressed up to the nines,
    appearing on tv, feckless, like field goated.

    Paper of old, Queenie billy goated from,
    William whatever, Orange wasn’t, Mary’d.
    Telling seated, look out my people, with pomp,
    these wankers will do this that other wallyed.

    Queens speech in modern beligerent poetry, off the cuff as usual, took me five minutes, juggling things. Have my eye on bigger works, so watch and shoot. I’ll let you know.

  • Ehtch

    Neil Oliver, spouting wisdom, with help of the Ty Unwin welsh music and vidsual production company,

    Dan Snow, on his stunning docs in pisodes, of how Chrirtianity crept from Somerset(then welsh, : ) ), Wales with it’s Llans modified, through Ireland, across Scotland, and down into England, towards old Roman Augustus in conflict, which has caused so many problems, Rome trying to keep it’s hold on us, even now, with NI bombings, indirectly – well, it has got to be said, no bombings in Wales, even though we should have more reason for such, but we are more caring and peaceful, as a people, which some abuse our nicety. Dan,
    maybe not sorry, can;t find the clip I was looking for, so this will do,

  • Ehtch

    Dreams bothered until morn, suffering in my sleep,
    ladies I should have stayed with, as I played games.
    My games of life, when tight trousered to all to see,
    meeting ladies as in above vid meadow, so sweet.
    Mind blowing games, when now look back on, view,
    seeing her again and again in moon plagued thoughts.
    Young, footie games, coats for goalposts, no, not same.
    heart and mind scarred, nothing can recover from such.
    Time goes on, stopped playing those games, no more,
    burnt soul that there is no recovery, as I stroll, to my end.

    Sorry, I am feeling extra miserable today, a song for Ash, to encapsulate her, what she meant to me PRRRAAAAPP, sniff,

  • Ehtch

    Give me a child at seven, I will show you the man/woman, as that Jesuit said. I was seven in 1969 with The Archies. Quite ironic, when 56 Up is coming up, tonight is it? Neil from Liverpool I remember most, as many do, things really did tax his brain, will be nice how he is these days. Hope well, in our all modified madness.

  • Ehtch

    Sorry, got it wrong, next monday night, 56 Up, on ITV1. A must watch.

  • Ehtch

    Anyone that says welsh rugby is not full of politics, they are talking bollocks. Met Barry John several times over the years, we are from the same tribe, I am sad/glad to say, it decends into politics. Great bloke is Barry, very reserved, but having to earn money requires him to show his head. Brilliant clips of him here, some remarkably rare clips, as like when he charges jinking right down the middle of the field for a Wales and England combined side, against a combined Ireland/Scotland side, in the early 1970’s, for some long lost reason,and the christ-like music as he scores a couple of his tries will amuse anyone, even ruggered english types,

  • Ehtch

    The ginge? Always attracts attention, on the stand,
    loverly girl, lost her way in her ambition to all pand.
    Eyes ideal, ckeekbones appeal, to ones romantic,
    hope one day Captain Kirk sorts, warp automatic.

    Two vids of Tiberius here, the first one pure comedy, the second a book, available, from the usual non-local outlets, in all galaxies,

    All the best Rebekah, as in a riot. We call it Rebecca here down this way,

    Watch Rebekah, I’ll sort her head out for her, and put it back on the right way, diplomatically. Well, I suppose it is my duty, ey, Jim.

  • Ehtch

    Rain seeding, I know it goes on, at times like these,
    rumoured spent time time spent RAF, Canberras.
    Disasterous experiments refined put right disastors,
    south west usually, taking the brunt, silver in airs.

    Still goes on, behind the scenes, crop spraying like,
    high above us, when lawns are thought desperate.
    Not green to me also, thinking, looking and viewed,
    1976 was un-Enoch brown, cattle and wheat gasped.

    Modyfying weather, it has got to be, like taking pills,
    RAF stations on “special” missions, or private now.
    Pilots told just do this this and this, for eyes only,
    flying above, do duty, following orders, farmers plow.

    Think I have said enough, and no, this is based on rumour control, from HQ rumour central. But it is all on the web, so don’t be so fucking surprised we modify the weather, to keep your front lawns green, golf and cricket.

  • Ehtch

    DAMN forgot to post the link to previous, bollox! I paniced…

  • Ehtch

    Jim, I am a doctor, not a politician,
    Jim, it is life, but not as we know it,
    Jim, I can think of one reight off – ye’ll need something to wash that dairne with friend, have yer tried some Sorrian brandy?
    how to handle a woman…
    Ding-dong, William, sorry, Jim.

  • Ehtch

    427 already, already well up on what 500 by Olympic start predicted.
    When 501 will appear I will come out with some darts 501 of Sid Waddell – “501, he is like a jockstrap light of nuts”, or, “501 – he is a panther in his own bedroom, without claws”, or, “501 – last time I saw words like this, they were unwritten”, and I could go on. I like Sid Waddell, you might have noticed. His Yorkshire Indoor league from way back when Lazurus rose from his grave way back in the early 1970’s, with Fred Trueman his mate, his starter for ten,

  • Ehtch

    Double bill cinema-like double header of rugger on the S4C welsh telly this early and late evening, from five pm onwards – Llanelli clubside vee Aberavon in the Welsh Premiership playoff, then Glasgie Warriors against Dublin’s Leinster in the celtic Rabodirect semi playoff. I am looking forward to see how the young Glasgie lock Richie Gray will do, I sense he will have a stormer. Incredible future talent, about almost seven foot, but runs like a centre. Lions test shoe in for next year in Oz easily.

    As Sid would no doubt say about Richie, “Last time I saw a long streak of piss run like this, I was in front of the porcelain in my local, trying to hit the celing”.

    Available live online from S4C’s online site, all four hours.

  • Ehtch

    …furthermore, the S4C’s live link, since it is all welsh there, if you missed the english clickable button,

    UK only….

  • Ehtch

    Pity, Spike might have not so much be unable to get himself in such experiences bedde in such times, if the WWW web was around then, when he hears others are struggling too. That is why WWII PTSD wasn’t too high, because there was a lot about averagly in society in late 1940’s/1950’s, and they could talk about it with like been through the same, and not to ones not through experience, who could not talk to.

    Think Spike had it bad, he went bamey first due to north africa gunning shelling when they went up Italy, when it was different and past, after cans of bully beef and water daily ration.

    You can tell, always liked Spike. His WWII books are brilliant, tried to read between the lines it was for them all.

  • Ehtch

    Bollox, Warriors lost. Flipping Clancy the (!) irish ref. Fraid he was to show himself up in Dublin with his poshoe Irish establishment friends looking on at him. What a so ‘n so he is. A traversty in rugger reffing yesterday evening.

  • Ehtch

    Self-depreciation always wins the crowds, well, in the UK that is, not in that yankland, where tha de na known their plums in their underpants from their puppets.

    More yorkie classic indoor league,

    Yorkshire dartboard at the start, nay trebles, nay lads, shoot yers arrows elsewhere ta try an get yers to a finish.

  • Ehtch

    Selfish Macmillans never had it good parents,
    self absorbed, parents of their dancing tune,
    of only theirs, but when I wanted them to care,
    feckless late full employed was the response,
    uncared, ignorant, buy carpets and curtains,
    materalistic, pathetic, brainwashed for me,
    yeh, terrific, mind now almost blown balistic.

    Calling them names in their utter total stupidity,
    in their warped world much money in coming,
    tick box prat family life, hugs false uncare felt,
    smile, try be brave, it might get better but no,
    disgraceful selfish people it has to be said,
    only they cared for, warped father, and cow,
    could have gone far, lonely, shitheads how?
    terrible fools, everyone helped, these people,
    just disgusting bastard woman, mental case.

    Feel better for that. I am exorcising my ghosts slowly. Cheers Alastair. Many thanks for the opportunity you have given me here. Hope others are helped in same as in I was the same shame family, that they called love “love”.

  • Ehtch

    Brilliant clip here with Sid Waddell on the “Indoor League”. Used to watch it in the HTV region in Wales when young, during the afternoon when in school holidays. Must have been shown during school holidays for some reason…

    Gey out in ta tha fresh air soon. Neh, im ganna watch Fred anna Indoor League, larcke.

  • Ehtch

    Brilliant clip here with Sid Waddell on the “Indoor League”. Used to watch it in the HTV region in Wales when young, during the afternoon when in school holidays. Must have been shown during school holidays for some reason…

    Gey out in ta tha fresh air soon. Neh, im ganna watch Fred anna Indoor League, larcke.

  • Ehtch

    BIG WHOOPS- my sub-conscious has just reminded me, I might have posted this for Neil Hughes from Liverpool, who is on 56 UP on ITV1 at 9pm tonight, a must watch.

    My sub-conscious works in peculiar ways – at times I really do not know what it is up to. But that is learnt here and now instinct, that a modern homo sapiens sapiens human mind is now capable of.

    Don’t miss it, the telly programme that is, ITV1, at 9pm, tonight.

  • Ehtch

    BIG WHOOPS- my sub-conscious has just reminded me, I might have posted this for Neil Hughes from Liverpool, who is on 56 UP on ITV1 at 9pm tonight, a must watch.

    My sub-conscious works in peculiar ways – at times I really do not know what it is up to. But that is learnt here and now instinct, that a modern homo sapiens sapiens human mind is now capable of.

    Don’t miss it, the telly programme that is, ITV1, at 9pm, tonight.

  • Ehtch

    I am a farmer without acres, in my limewashed house,
    family no doubt inherit when dad bangs off on his way.
    No animals to store feed to coming market nod nouse,
    nor grain or peas nor carrots bunny rabbits table lay.

    Just this farmers house, with kichen settle and dresser,
    table solid oak, chairs astride, fire wind wood kept fed.
    Garage big at side with various machines now lesser,
    rusting hulking, motorways tractors, not these days fed.

    Grass back and front grow, looking for goats to nibble,
    foxes visit, leave disappointed, no chicken coups here.
    Spuds can be planted, asparagus too, Heston wibble,
    but just a simple home, a family home, deep felt stir.

    Bugger estate agents and their quotes, GET ORF MY LAND! boom… boom. These twelve shot catridges work well, ey Vicar?

  • Ehtch

    Another poem for Neil, from 56 UP from tonight, what he came up with he captured succint.

    Let’s us get on with it, if we do not seriously bother,
    too much work and time me to reform, to your eyes.
    Let me alone to find my own path, friends visit other,
    who care welfare, how I am, unconformed life strays.

    Never feel the trainlines christmas set bought follow,
    you need to become hollow in life when all met front.
    Make your own mind up, don’t let it be bother, narrow,
    irregular tracks you do follow, searching, and no runt.

    All the best Neil, and the one that was in care sent to Oz, and the fella also from Liverpool, Neil’s then mate at seven, that appeared again on it after many decades, after the Thatcher c**ts got to him, back then. Peace.

  • Ehtch

    You give and take, when young,
    given carrot on stick if you want.
    You bite, for a taste, then decide,
    whether to be in or otherwise out.

    Hard decision, to follow lines life,
    they call for all  needs and wants.
    Up to one to decide to play along,
    or feel free to need no you control.


  • Ehtch

    Crowd surfing fail, due to too many pizzas, but who gives a fuck? I don’t,

  • Ehtch

    Saw Beth with her Gossip on the Jonathan Woss programme years ago first – stunning live telly performance – tried looking for a clip of it, but big fail.

    Like Beth I do, she’s got, ummm, spunk, right spunky she is, as the ozzies would say.

  • Ehtch

    ITV4 should show repeats of Indoor League. It might be the start of something. I am sure they must still have the tapes in some vaults, somewhere, here’s hoping. If neh, suck me plwwms and call me auntie.

  • Ehtch

    Friend of my daughter’s uncle, went to learn russian in Bangor Uni in north Wales. When I asked him to speak russian to me, I just went, like a Manuel, and said “¿que?”

  • Ehtch

    East window, bedroomed, starting to be penetrating,
    no, not that China nor Russia, just the glowing sun.
    Blinds total blinded at it energy lasered my curtains,
    where we all in sense should all go out for some fun.

    Sorry, short one today, feeling extremely lazy today, what with this yellow thing, above us, making me deckchaired,

  • Ehtch

    Capricorns taurians virgos, always have time for them,
    aries too, and other days off from said narrow timelines.
    Know who I get on with, with life experiences I can confer,
    and don’t let anyone tell you different, as strange stones fall.

    There is something in it, and it is how we are in the womb and when we appear, gravitational pull physics from sun and moon and stars on brainwaves, at it’s subtle mind effects on our young developing mind, as we start to look around, dribbling.

    You heard it here first.

  • Ehtch

    bugger!, buggered up posting that link – burro burro, eee-hooo, donkey!

  • Ehtch

    If anyone fancies editing below, feel free, but leave the grammar alone – it is like that for a purpose, leaves the mind confused for a moment, in marking, and then it comes, oh yes, quite correct. Tricks of the words on the mind, as some people say when I go down the papershop I say spouting in morn, “he is a bit bonkers, isn’t he?”, and then I know I have won.

    Prose and poetry, confused.

  • Ehtch

    Oh bollocks, but that is time for you. Liked her, her with Georgio Moroder and analogue beating crepping spiking sound speakered synthesisers from late nineteen seventies,

    Sylvester was another one different from then, now well long gone,

    Time moves on, past signposts passed.

  • Ehtch

    Broadsided, artsided, what is the difference?
    it is a thinking game, so bluddey well think.
    Throw ball tackle crease bother goal line,
    in the name of sport, just go for it, you young twit.

    Well done England today, tidy performance.

    Carwyn at end this vid came to mind. At I think 1 : 50 in is my first grammar school gym teacher, once captain of Llanelli, especially on behind iron curtain tours, I am happy now to mention, after melted curtains, without fire, Ray Williams, Wales and Llanelli wing then, cold timeland. Taught me art too in my early years, Giotto etc..

  • Ehtch

    Celtic tiger, here, where?
    Thatchers kitty more like.
    Ireland we did once stare,
    but we laugh, still on bike.

    In the UK, austerity hasn’t arrived, but I suppose it is relative, it has never even left for a few decades now. We are in a tidy fucking position, mentalwise.

  • Ehtch

    Highlight of the Scarlets rugby season for me? Easy – ex Glamorgan fast bowler turned rugby international rugby player doing some right tidy burgling in France, enjoy

  • Ehtch

    Enraptured encaptured I feel today,
    no, no hang ups I feel today at all.
    Looking out and about to all strays,
    feel must say, gruntie not in his stall.

    Ready to bolt open to anything in front,
    looking seeing and then give it a sprint.
    Barking fools, who think turned different,
    we are still the same, in what we inherit.

    Mongs about that think the next generation are a different species, they need shooting, ey, Sir Alex?

    ee’s go something yeh kneh, Alastair…

  • Ehtch

    Swans eleventh, fifty mill in the bank,
    cheers Barclay, no need for hold up.
    Soccer roundball rugby offshoot else,
    invest, welsh life, and any other pup.

    Badfinger, Swansea Townhill, circa 1970,

  • Ehtch

    furthermore, with Swansea City, our recent previous claim to fame was 318 fucks in three minutes in movie history. Met Keith Allen years ago in Llanelli visiting his grandmother. Never met his brother though that produced and directed these fucking fucks,

    Feel free to not post Alastair, but we are hidden enough away here not to cause a fuss, I think.

  • Ehtch

    Who needs legs running down the wing? Hanno floated right down the touchline from halfway line like this Alastair, honest!

    Huw Evans Agency – thanks.

  • Ehtch

    Jon foxy Davies and George North either side of Aaron there helping him to gasp afterwards. Wales in Oz should be interesting this summer, after the Babaas in Cardiff. Got into an extremely interesting conversation that has been going on for weeks with this medical student in Scotland, all sorts of spanish and italian extract, and an oz misses, you couldn’t make it up, here in the comments of this George North appreciation vid,

  • Ehtch

    Poetry unpretencious, pop without music,
    man on street to whistle and sing no band.
    Written life daily stride to read unpathetic,
    visions of daily grind without magic wand.

    Might as well post something appropriate, ‘ammers, since they are back up top, Alf ‘appy, even if it is a Warren Ozland Spurs,

    “See, the trouble with the ‘ammers, they can’t compete with all these rich gits that turn up in our country buying footie clubs, spending money like no tomorrow….”

  • Ehtch

    Shock jocks, more imagination than Dr Spock,
    unradioed, closer bone blocked or unblocked.
    The feeling on the street hard discussed, tribed,
    rib it should be, with my girlfriend sheep, stalled.

    You can guess what I’ll post to back me up, or do you? No, you don’t. Peace, etc.. Muddy the marvellous,

  • Ehtch

    The King of Hearts, always win in the end,
    even in Edinburgh derby hatted could say.
    But not by this much, or we will get soft,
    doft hat at glad, but Hibernian say ‘king.

    Final play, reflected Glasgie, but different way,
    up and down field well water down we say.
    Still interesting from off field factors social,
    facts less maths, from that large west Clyde.

    Wells done Hearts, quite a big win, interesting, Edinburgh style.

  • Ehtch

    Chelski won, money in the bank works, gas and oil,
    no tory in this country as Leeds ’75 Bayern can foil.
    Notts Forest or Lerpwl and others too, you tories,
    this is an international team in no name, bories.
    Well done, AHEM!, Abrambski – what’s the fella’s name again? no not ‘im, the fucking owner…
    Anyway, a brit side won with penalties, which is something, I suppose. More bollocks in the shorts of a Chelski side than an average England side, the shithouses, with penalties. Ouch!

    From a ‘king welshan, you arses – now go to Euro 2012 and do something, you english total children.

  • Ehtch

    They were lost to us Michelle,
    gone long away to work away.
    Not at all the same way but,
    in time modify, the way we are.

    Michelle as in Obama, Princeton this lad went to, mexican donkies years ago.

  • Ehtch

    Well, I got banned on The Guardian, so I know what is going on there. Didn’t push it in any especial way, just pushed its buttons on how they stand, and they failed.

    Yes, we have a tory government well and truely in. People appearing, cloaked, and doing their best to change the borderline of perception. Anyway, let us see what happens. You Alastair will no doubt are being worked on, especially visiting that Lords the last few days. Hate the bastards, when they geta chance. Look how we will go down hill, using the excuse of EU without actually helping it.

    And by the way, Alastair, fuck the Guardian, but gawd knows what paper I am going to buy now. Sign of the tory times, divide and conquer, and leave people in the cold?

    bastards, london islington bastards

  • Ehtch

    OOPS! This the song I should have posted for Hearts yesterday, but couldn’t remember it at the time, it is perfect,

    Not much to do with footie, but who cares, there might be a very slight connection.

    And never mind me and The Guardian Alastair. I tend to be too off mainstream for traditional, as you may have found. That is why artists and film makers and actors are advised not to get involved into the middle of the river, they will not like it, those that run that part of life’s stream, for their own personal control, blinkered shallow and dog in manger.

  • Ehtch

    And Roy Hodgson is from Croydon, and I like Croydon. So Roy, if any of them players you choose give you problems, just give me a shout, and I will send the lads up to sort them, the taffia massive, as I have already mentioned. : ) But don’t expect us to support you all, well, not openly. But if you play in the right spirit and heart like this years Grand Slaming Cymru side, we might melt.

  • Ehtch

    Posted this poem in conversation with Whiskers from Scotland last night, and his misses Franny from Oz, but in proxy, since she had gone to bed, as you have to, last night, so I’d thought I’d repost it here, since I am barking into the moon here with poems, and get another tickboxed off towards 500 before etc. etc.,

    I found being alive, looking ino peoples minds,
    that you find what you knew what was in there.
    Sex aside, just fellow human noticing in strides,
    life they have to follow, conform they try, to where?

    Hard to say in life up front of us, right in our faces,
    where we are going when all is said and done today.
    I know where, as we have always gone, without aces,
    just down the road of life, relaxed, let it happen, foray.

    Tried copy paste to here before, and it went wrong, but tried sorting it as I found, but if it turnsout wrong, I will re-justify it, or whatever it is called, etc., usual spiel

  • Ehtch

    whoops, furthermore, forgot to post the vid, that I did for them, well welsh soppy and hanky time, teared filling, as you do,

  • Ehtch

    Alastair, one joke that I posted on The Guardian that got “removed”, on the Baron Cohen “Dictator” film thread was this one, and I am damned sure Warren will like it, here goes,

    Why do Spurs supporters have ears that stick out and bald heads?
    Because whenever they hear the price of the next year’s season tickets, they go “‘Ow much!” (pull ears), “Oy-Oy-Oy!” (slap the ‘ead)

    Now, what was wrong with that Alastair? Ey Warren? yeh, naffink!

  • Ehtch

    Omni fucking shambles what, Whitehall?

    Rhys Ifans the famous actor, with his brother Llŷr, who presents welsh daytime childrens telly on S4C these day, COUGH! peswch… wharrr!

  • Ehtch

    Different version of the vid, very classy ladies, the one on the left from Liverpool as she does, and the one on the right is from Bulgaria originally, a multi-multi-lingual oxbridge genetecist in her day job. Clever she is. Helen and Mira,

    ding-dong, I say

  • Ehtch

    My mid-summer is coming to be done,
    winking at 3am, telling us it’s coming.
    Over my flat horizon, priviledged, see,
    ok slight mountain top between me and thee.

    Sun arise, hope cloudless and blue, we praise,
    to see glowing organ that is the most important.
    Out of us all, chorophyll other Phil has no arguement,
    this life as we stand strode, in after 3am, praised bestrode.

    Song for it, as I do, from a lady a just a few younger than me, year of the horse, a taurian, yum-yum, Alison Goldfrapp, 1966, me ’62, capricorn, year of gawd knows.

    All the best Alison, have a fine mid summer day on me.

  • Ehtch

    bollocks she still is going on about me, ater looking down from my five foot nine Harrier pilot height in Trent Park when I met Alison, those sweet blue eyes out of her sweet catholic face. ah fuck. Hope she has eggs in a testube to make it right. BOLLOCKS! Huw and me as she mentions in this frigging song as well! bollocks collocks and triple 1989 buggering bollocks. But I suppose she wrote some songs from my loverly celtic wilting head, that sold, so lose-win. buggerasion
    bloody life, even me celtic lilting in talk to ladies. I remember Alison looking up five foot three or so enraptured into my face in Trent park. Told you things happen between Taurians and us capricorns, it is not at all all bollocks.

  • Ehtch

    A song and vid for Alison, to try and get over it, the very 1980’s, we could say, experienced us – love to take you up in one one day and make you giggle as I made you then do, looking back on our scenery not quite britllant that cause me and only me, to be cool,
    from coalmining Wales/Cymru,

    What makes you think I am in love with Alison Goldfrapp?

  • Ehtch

    blyddy got it now, it was Tiesto plus Ladytron that posted it on my 50th birthday, videos of music I like. How slow am I? As they did on my youtube bothering 49th. God, you really have to shove things right in my face sometimes to see the obvious.


    ten jan capricorn, the goety….

  • Ehtch

    but could be for Rod Stwewart, but I do not think so somehow.

  • Ehtch

    Sienna Miller twiddling her hair at the start really turns me on, but she does remind me of my maternal grandmother who I remembered always did the same, and was also hot, so I have been told, by various eighty year olds remembered, quite milf like to them,

    Whole film is on pay for view on youtubby, few dollars. I’ll wait for it to come onto telly, and write it off against the licence fee, even with the fucking adverts I will have to watch, unless beeb four take it up, in 2014 October maybe, Dylan bach’s hundredth birth, hundredth year to heaven,

  • Ehtch

    Good grief! 55 UP soon Alastair – my subconcious playing it’s games again. Happy whatever, four days time. 55, as a small nelson, as Shepherd raises his leg, a bit, behind wicket gate, counting sheep.

  • Ehtch

    must be up to 470 already – wotsisname Bolt like, could be up to 600 by Olympics.

  • Ehtch

    Totally off topic but these op-amp synthesisers that Ladytron use here, wooded contained, used them in Smiths-Newmark, but I started to use off the shelf metal ones, 19u, 21u, etc., from RS or Farnell, still made them full of op-amps though, and swiss manufactured multi rotational switches, for various Sea King helicopter input simulated sensors, search and rescue, Westland mid nineties produced, that Wills is now controlling, storming when called, into our barking at times seas, researched and developed,

    Lost anyone yet?

  • Ehtch

    Dad was national service RAF, dad stayed an extra year national service, and he was ground crew these lot, black arrows hunters. I joined, eventually, I was encouraged all sorts of things in the RAF, you’re not too old to be a pilot, at 23,  you can be an engineering air rank eventually easliy, and so it goes on. But, didn’t like the politics that I had to have to work for then, so left, and helped in my little way away at SAR Sea Kings developed now. Brian taught me a lot on the old modular system, tranistors in little quantities at company there, and I said, duplex, filter pulse protected inputs, etc. etc. etc..

    Dad radio tech groundcrew Hunter Black Arrows, brilliant flying, late fifties,

  • Ehtch


    Went down the papershop at half six this morn, and came across an old visiting friend at the side of the road, bought farm. Told the papershop if anyone inquires, it is a parrot. Even squeezed the nob at the cop shop reporting there is a dead body at the side of the road, half white half ginger.

    He/she/knackered undercarriage/ovaries out/ whatever, used to visit my garden, and fair play, left the birds alone, was just interested in mousing, which I got rid of mostly from the garden sheds and out buildings, snapped springs.

    RIP lad/other. Song, for whatever it was,

  • Ehtch

    If push comes to shove, I would have been glad to serve this corp, Legion Etrangère, death or glory, hit or miss, that is the chance, in life, fight to protect your brothers, alongside, in life, ’till last breath,

    I am a fighting man, me, psychologically total tested, but thankfully not needed to put into action, calm dying eye put behind the sight, behind any called machine of death. Don’t fuck with us, or I will have to come out to play, fifty years of fighting psychotical self-control or not. Where’s my cricket bat?

  • Ehtch

    Might as well post my two most favorite vids, Jeremy Clarkson-like, but well more Cotsworlds classy. Though, I am quite impressed Jeremy has bought a few acres, as you do rich, money for old rope, farming land near him in northern Wiltshire, or wherever, these overpaid beeb pricks exist on their downtime. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes car vids online top drawer,Jeremt. May will slowly no doubt agree with me.

    Bathurst 1960’s –
    yeh, fit in an old mini Jeremy

    Pike’s Peak Hill Climb 2011 –
    and yes Jeremy, he is a nip.

    Top Gear, fancy doing a feature on the Pike’s Peak International Hill Climb, or does the Lightning occassionally put you off health and safety reasons, you shithouse south-eastern England “beeb” companies? twats

  • Ehtch

    Would love to see Monster on Top Gear, driving a south korean cheap car, or is that too much to ask Jeremy, May, Hamster, beeb ee fucking cotsworlds cee?

    Just trying to help, you just over border from Wales c£$&s! Give me strength! tools!

  • Ehtch

    Did… did you want water?

    Sarah Miles that was married to Robert Bolt, Man for all Seasons, and all that,

  • Ehtch

    How about my friends from Brighton then – haven’t spoken to them for a while, as life. Island in an isle, as they say.


  • Ehtch

    Dave’s school bully, giving him calls,
    shouting have another glass of wine.
    No need to say on which what Balls,
    but Dave, advice, just do not whine.

    ach, too lazy today to add another couple of verses, maybe later..

  • Ehtch

    mongo only pawn in game of life,

    Mel Brooks the marvellous, at his best. Love his The Producers too, but I will leave that for another day.

  • Ehtch

    my gawd, that poem might actually fit on twitter – 144 characters is it? Feel free to remove the odd full stop if it doesn’t quite.

    I now declare free copyright for the World on that, feel free.

  • Ehtch

    Beast of Bolsover,
    Dave’s wolfed moor.
    never giving it over,
    until he told your score.

    “tremendous ornament”!!! – what a shit, picking on and bullying Flashman like but on old pensioners. How low can a PM of this country go? Churchill must be spinning in his grave, chewing on his cigar.

  • Ehtch

    Dylan said he finally finished this poem above, with photo looking dapper laying on a walking footpath of strangers, when he was thirty-three, his poem on his thirtieth year to heaven, and he used the excuse for the delay, “well, you can’t rush into these things, can you”.

    whoof, get’s better, doesn’t he?

  • Ehtch

    Posted a comment on whatsername vid the other week, forgot about it, and I was informed yesterday I am over 70 likes, and looked at it today and it is over now eighty likes. Yes, that is her, Ellen De Generas(sp!). This vid, and ok, so I wanted to have a closer look at Kacey Culceo Wotsername(sp!) from The Big Bang Theory, alright? Here it is,
    I am yippitydodah there in the comments…. : )

    And a song for Ellen, feel free, and all that, who cares? I don’t. (how patronising can a male man get?)

    don’t answer that

  • Ehtch

    Dark Charles Dickens couldn’t see the sun,
    in his dark London back passages hidden.
    Never ever in field in early morn mid-June,
    just in shitty hole watched deeped midden.

    Read his books depressing, left me scream,
    sun is in out of there, farmers maybe narrow.
    Fields healthy, hanky not required, nauseam,
    passages unlike town stinking warren burrow.

    sorry, invented the word nauseam above, unlike ad, a cross for a coal seam underneath mined, and the mines underneath of disgusting London Town then, basements used as shit cesspits, forget tomorrow. fucking disgusting. piss in fireplaces. up in steam and smoke.

    Dirty old city.

  • Ehtch

    blimey Campbell my man, I think I have reached the Dylan zone, and any other poet so, any comment comes out is full of alitertion and play on words and end rhymed words when required. This is interesting, I have rediscovered my young mind with farting about here.

    I am not talking bollocks here Alastair, it is true, but I suppose I had to devote and manipulate my life to get into a suitable corner to do so, as in live off inheritence, and live a poet’s pauper life, not being to afford to travel abroad, due to my personal adventure, in recent times.

    I am getting it back, lacking brainwashing I tried to conform, away from or to my god born norm.

    Anyway, see what happens. I’ll work on it, old without too much available young tit, just saggy ones. oh, I can’t stop….

  • Ehtch

    Robert Moog has had his seventieth-eighth birthday today analogue,  so google tells me today, play on search, as here, will be gone tomorrow,

    so a short poem for him, plus classic from then songed wailed, since I am ahem! are trained in sound unfamiliar op amp wails, here goes, off the cuff again.

    Robert, soldering iron and transitors down, come to bed,
    never fucking what can make music you put out you say
    Apollo saturn op amps, no, guitar accomponied drummed,
    not a technician hidden away square trangle waves away?

    Wendy/Walter Carlos, Moog mk.1ish,

  • Ehtch

    Sorry, wasn’t clear there. Google was celebrating his seventy-eighth, not himself, since he bought the farm in about 2005. A great technician, a genius – electro-pop would be nothing without him, what with using op-amp transitors developed for Kennedy’s trip to the moon in a bit of “musical” kit, digeridoo style, hippy-like.

  • Ehtch

    Insignificant, just a cog in wheel I feel,
    looking around unabound, people run.
    I visit, they praise then I variously say,
    well done, hope grease gives life fun.

    HRH Lilibet/Liz two.

    : )

  • Ehtch

    “october lay leaved with october blood” is the classic hard hitting imagination stirring main line, I think, Alastair.

    Pity about taffy was a welshman mentality then, he would be praised from coast to coast to this day otherwise, but that is our isle for you, class ridden, and biggoted, but there again, that produced him, yank President to this day loved. Quite complicated, life, you could say.

  • Ehtch

    vid for Lilibet, she likes her welsh Pembrokeshire/Cardiganshire corgies, ankle heel nipping,

    And a vid for her sister, and oh yes, it is about her sister, oh yes it is! Done in the best possible taste, within without reason, enjoy. Marge was alright, to me, quite a mover and shaker,

    So I am a royalist, so? for now……

  • Ehtch

    suppose I should mention, Princess Margaret was trained and armed with some derringer spouter in her legged nylon stockings, staid, just in case, you know, in her self-adventures around London Town. Need to know, and all that. nudge-nudge, wink-wink.

  • Ehtch

    I like Shane, liver in him grumbling, so a song for him with wotsishame, the lead singer for The Dubliners, god rest, yes, that is him, Ronnie fucking Drew, taught english in Spain he did, Franco like,

    The classic 1960’s cartoon The Dubliners with Ronnie Drew, The Simpsons-like,


  • Ehtch

    Fucking fuck fuck fuck, it reminded me of this yound lad and his lady from Boston, US, in appreciation to it, they tell me. PIRA, fucking calm down, for christ’s sake, will you want to be, let James McCann say what he wants, it seems to simple me,

    speak up Jim, I can hardly fucking hear you, where’s the hash coming in, what fucking irish airport…

  • Ehtch

    500 I think, no problem. That’s what you want in Britain, a can do sprit, and a tidy bit of madness.

    He is a fool and a tool in his own spanner tool box in his own shed within his head, so said Sid Waddell, maybe. : )))))))))))))

  • Ehtch

    so when you are in Kingston, Jamaica, and when someone says “telegram for Mongo”, the local brit embassey advises you to just laugh along, please, for gawd sakes!
    While I am at it , a song for Jamaica,

    mmm, ebony….

  • Ehtch

    Jeff Hurst scored, over the line,
    stop whinging krauts, it was in.
    Russian stalag lines at side said,
    it was in, you sausage eating Freds.

    Alf? What do you make of this?
    yeh, Stalingrad as goaline technology, yeh….

  • Ehtch

    BOLLOCKS! me looking for a gong in future, I fuck the vid posting up. bollocks! bollocks!
    Ok, a personal song for Lizzy. Matt, you remember him, tidy bloke, great singer. For you Lilibet, with my love (50!),

    Sweet Brit feeling.

  • Ehtch

    Grass and seeds, fall down with it,
    lungs pumping aflication of said,
    Wild flowers no problem biog twit,
    rapeseed unforunate name dread.

    bugger grass pollen. bastard!

  • Ehtch

    OK OK so I helped the Swiss Airforce out after I left the RAF for a short while, holiday job, il sommes well interesting, full off ex-Francais air force marvellous and sharp pilots, they were brilliant, no german was sprechen,

    Swiss Air Force in 1946, Stalin looking to visit,

    History, but not as you read it.

    Sveiss Melanie, ja, her, damme,

  • Ehtch

    I am suddenly sweating pints,
    upstaired dormer, glassfibre lagged.
    Winter over, warmth kept within,
    no excuse, I am sweating my cobs off here,
    god help me in July.


    where’s my bong…

  • Ehtch
  • Ehtch

    Hayley fach, with that one from Scotland,
    singing as like above us from the midst.
    Early morning, the day give us our call,
    looking out fresh eyed, life’s coming twist.

    Know the scottish one, but can’t remember her name at the moment, sorry Alastair.

  • Ehtch
  • Ehtch

    There is always Martyn Ware and Ian Craig-Marsh from Sheffield?

  • Ehtch

    “he is like a spanner looking for a nut” : )

  • Ehtch

    There is an emergency runway for the cold war RAF at the end of the M4, not many people have realised that, with a windsock at the side of the road unasked. Three laned between Port Talbot and Pyle, straight as an arrow, Vulcan nuclear can take, when home bases irradiated.

  • Ehtch

    London Olympics, mind of it’s own, isn’t it?
    Out of controll from us such mortals with it.
    Bolt on door, eastern europeans do vault,
    Kenyans and Ethiopians run fast far, Eiritreans too.

    Should be interesting.

  • Ehtch

    Howard went to Balliol Oxford, I believe, Met him in the Boars Head in Carmarthen one saturday luchtime, head behing a Daily Telegraph, a tidy man, Kenfig warren’s best.

    Song for him, Howard Marks, a hero,

    dutch shit is too strong…

  • Ehtch

    be seeing you

  • Ehtch

    Dylan Thomas’ liver?
    At least he had one,
    a giver, a perfect liver.

    Fernhill, a farm when he young stayed on, summer hols in deepest fox and dog barking Carmartheshire when young, farmyards away,

    genius, total absolute genius words, clear and cold and warm.

  • Ehtch

    As in here – my daughter was impressed with Portmeirion, she kept repeating “I am not a number, I am a freeman”, right round Cardigan Bay coast on the way home, until I said “yes Ok, but give it a rest darling, so I am number six”.

    “by hook or by crook” “you are number six”

  • Ehtch

    Clunky poetry I am involved,
    not from any school, taught,
    Just viewed, ok, bit of Dylan,
    life looking, fools life bought.

    At that, might as well post more Dylan daft, as life is some say,

    Bob Kingdom, doing an incredible Dylan Thomas, as he did, in the mid to late 1990’s, well remembered, it seems just to me. More prose than poetry, but that is up to poets these day to argue, or prosetic writers. Hope something happens in that England beeb, third channel of radio or not, for his 2014th hundreth year to wherever. Beeb 4 telly, you will make me especially depressed if you do not do something, that should be in planning, as we speak. I will be available for a short interview, if my liver lasts.

  • Ehtch

    as if their simple minds own them. Pillocks, simple tramlined followed pillocks.

  • Ehtch

    by the way all, this is as he said it in the early 1950’s on tour in the US, if the Rambo got you modern confused.

  • Ehtch

    Told my slim arsed lesser upper titted  new love,
    she reminded me of my wonderful grandmother.
    Went down as subliminal lead block in her mind,
    even though I backed it up, I am not shagging her.

    Dad’s and daughters is quite common, very common, song for them struggling with such, in closed eyes laid back, for England, in struggling mind love, split the two, for your happy life, that dad just wants,

  • Ehtch

    sorry Alison, so I had a visting girl from Croydon that came to bang me right out of my brains every now and then, made me squint it did, but I am sorry, please, it was just sex….

  • Ehtch

    For Alison Goldfrapp blodyn/flower, and yes, I am a bit of a Steve McQueen on the loud,

  • Ehtch

    Going up the stairs, pinching my bum,
    looking back to see that naughty look in her eye.
    Smile at her, know she is wetting herself,
    can’t wait to get to inspect my boxer shorts.

    Song, again, for Ashley, the very naughty girl,

  • Ehtch

    I am a Woolworths man online,
    pick and mix and choose, posts.
    Up to you Alastair, I won’t mind,
    it will still be profit within my till.

    Think I am clear there, love this site, and if posts don’t get posted, honestly, I really could’t give a fuck. The joy is writing them, mainly, honestly. Think Alastair understands me, I can tell he is a good bloke.

  • Ehtch

    Fy machlyd o’r amser,
    yn fy galwad yn galw fi yn nawr,
    i fi, ond unig fi, heddu,
    yn galw byw yn cyfrys,
    i plant bach, ie, i y bach.

    get on google translate….

  • Ehtch

    England. Ukraine and Poland coning up,
    are you going to play like children, or adults?
    Put yout mobile twitter phones down and concentrate,
    the job in hand, and I don’t mean any clit, indexed fingered,

    COUGH! song for england,

    god save the queen…

  • Ehtch

    Eyes, unreal colour,
    it seems just for me.
    increbible stunning,
    just only seems for me.

    More Matt,

  • Ehtch

    Might as well post a Little Boots, after a short poem, on her;

    Blackpool pier,
    I see her,
    five foot nothing.
    I’d save her,
    from under the waves,
    of life.

  • Ehtch

    Dylan ripoff,

    I awake early morn,
    to see neighbours arising,
    sun arising, ignorant to them,
    them awaking and rising again,
    the blind, for another of their day.

  • Ehtch

    this got me banned from the beeb in 2005, popcorn,

    On it’s rugger site, and others, disgusted from Tunbridge Wells and all that closed mind shit.

  • Ehtch

    Brawd or brother, in any language,
    we understand as we sit life’s shelf.
    Looking experiencing all around us,
    getting us up and down getting wealth,

    Looking forward to the Baabaas Wales game today, Alastair, 2pm ko, down the pub King’s Head, with my mate Alun, to bother Robbie the landlord, to give him problems. It should all be interesting. Boxing gloves at the ready, behind the bar……

  • Ehtch

    Anyway, Dylan had a concrete liver, it was his pancreas that gave him trouble, it seems his immune system decided to attack it, that with me studying him, and his young demise, always poetically troubled, as we all tend to be, at times, with a proper mind.

  • Ehtch

    local people do joke, oh look, here is Huw with his minder, Alun. He might be only five foot eight, but he is also across, steroid like, used to pump the iron like fuck he did in his twenties, legs thighs and biceps like flanks of meat. Tidy bloke, a great friend, and minder….

  • Ehtch

    Might as well post Gwenda Owen from Pontyberem, she is a few years younger than me, but she she was one of the several girls that fell in love with me when I was a dj in the Pelican in the early 1980’s. Loverly girl, and no, I didn’t shag it, but I am sure she wished,

  • Ehtch

    “and the unicorn evils run them through” jezzuz again, brilliant words,

    And good clip of his beautiful daughter here too, Aeronwy Thomas.

  • Ehtch

    Put the World to rights, yesterday,
    Wales winning rugger did help.
    Sorry Alastair, got slaughtered,
    but came home then to pray.

    Good day yesterday, people either tend to love me, or want to lamp me, darting those understandable life’s daggers.

  • Ehtch

    If you don’t win this, you will feck me, even though I am welsh. Spoke to the welsh actor last night, Dafydd Hywel,  jeezus, we are on different planets, but he never served in the armed forces, that where I think the problems lye, between me and he. Brilliant stuff he did though, but as actors tend to be, he is a bit nuts, but he wasn’t especially impressed, I think, with me.

  • Ehtch

    lego brix, mmmm. Anyone remember penny brixs from the sixties, I do. Bloke with a hat on?

  • Ehtch

    Siân was my first daughter. but if things had worked out, Caitlin would have been my second, and Hayley my third, just to give simple me right total sleepless nights.

    Song for daughter, I bang with that ball, in my underpants, not the other one, sons? bugger them.

  • Ehtch

    more darling Little Boots here, where Jools says “nice left hand” – don’t encourage me, you dirty old man,

  • Ehtch

    Fell in love with Little Boots when I saw her in her bedroom, years ago, as you do, doing naughty things with a tenorian,


  • Ehtch

    could become 2012 and my view of life now, eatern europeans and met art? Or will I get banned for today thinking again?

    Yes, another “more tea Vicar” moment. But it is on youtube, so safe.

  • Ehtch

    Amii from Oz Parralox too, mmm, sit on Uncle Huw’s knee too, please….

  • Ehtch

    oops, a bit top shelf newsagents, but it is art, to my eyes, mmmmm……

    ding-dong, I say!

  • Ehtch

    Siân’s latest photo on her Facebook page is in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. I have no idea what she gets up to these days, she is everywhere, and completerly barking nuts, like me at same age, chip off the old block, she is out of control, as I was,ân-Thomas/720165273

    One minute she is underwater with oxygen tanks in the Indian Ocean, next she is in Paris practising her french and no doubt getting up to “things”, with frenchmen. HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER FROGGIE!

    Thank gawd I have only one daughter, I will be in pieces if I had three, as I thought once I’d have.

  • Ehtch

    Calch, lime, as we tend to be well above the equator,
    but getting slightly brown on summer hols travelling.
    To visit all sorts of such people, with our white arses,
    virgin white for all to see, lads and ladies want visiting.

    Ach it’s summer, hope they all enjoy themselves – I did, ladies of all colours couldn’t leave my bum alone, and I enjoyed,

  • Ehtch

    Observations of life it seems all about,
    looking around how the land does lye.
    Yes, lie, caustic incomprehensable,
    start out without reason to live the lie.

    One verse is enough again. Feel lazy today again. Will have to string some of them together one day to make a bigger thing, with when with a load of mind taxing time spent self-editing to perfect. It’s all off the cuff stuff at the moment, few minutes work.

  • Ehtch

    That time I was sent to Piscataway New Jersey, and went down to New Brunswick on the pop, and ended up in this haze Rutgers animal house with a yank lady I met, it could have easily have ended up as eight in the bed with just me as the only male, or did it? : ) Shamless they are with the brits, especially us welsh, and especially when I started spouting Dylan Thomas. And yes, they were from that faculty, the english lierature arts one. It was lucky got I got out alive without my balls exploding.

    (comment – this could be true, up to you to decide, or imagine, and yes, I turned down puff the magic dragon of any sort, and trails of whatever, I only shop at C & A as I told them, cigarettes and alcohol, and they giggled, the loverly dirty sorts they no doubt still are. Shameless loveies.)

  • Ehtch

    I may be fifty year old,
    but aren’t we younger old these days.
    Adult teenagers with better food and health,
    getting old bold, after shackles of experience placed off.

    Song time I think, for all those young ladies I interest, fickering fingered swirling hair when talked to, next to ear,

    Could post something else much younger, but this will do, older age pervy, to show who they have to compete with.

  • Ehtch

    Suppose no difference to the marvellous Gilbert & George showing their cock and balls unshaven maybe in a work of art, I hope and suppose,

    Love G & G, they tell me something I do not usually have heard at any moment in my travels in life. Gilbert is from german speaking sud Tyrol in Italy, and George is from Devon, with no doubt despised their regular holidaying postcards, if anyone chances, pathetically.

    All quite mind stimulating, for those that want in life.

  • Ehtch

    Sorry Alastair, might well show my best clip of the remains of the 1930’s days England new dysfunctional then, with the less pink on the map brainwashed coming, but with two videos shown reality, that look and see today coming,

    Not quite what I was looking for, but it is in those film, aristocratic last days in 1930 treasoned black shirts that I believe was total true. Was looking for Stevens the Butler giving a series of questions by that ignorant public school aristocratic total shit, bullying him at past times, but it is in the film.

    As for Hope and Glory, still in love with Sarah Miles….

  • Ehtch

    Furthermore, the men with sense in 1936, aritocrats they couldn’t hang, fucking fascist shit bastards, science and technolgy with sort the human race not your cigar puffing late amateur pinky shit, fume fume,

    life history total twats.

  • Ehtch

    was offered, but I thought not accept, a tent in the sahara, maybe, that is for me to know the truth, by a daughter, for future things..

    eyes were stunning, depth of algebra and trigonometry within them, which I tried hard to deny myself, but I had to do, for my own sanity

  • Ehtch

    Another film translated as I see it;

    Suppose when you have a wife who agrees with you everything you do, and vice versa, yeh, she is an incredible lovely species for coming life after us, then you are onto a winner, until you die whatever way, I think. More another film I like, hanky for the woman, and yourselves male borrowed as well as you do, starring plastic James Bond ladies of all things,

  • Ehtch

    suppose it would be useless for me to mention to grab their total hair hard back, other arm round their both sweet thin wrists behind their back, and tell then to shove both their legs high right into the celing at at least 180 angle, as if they have never fucked before, singting high? Well, it worked for me young men, song for such,


    over sixteen year olds only….. especially if you are english and keep horses…….

  • Ehtch

    I take it Alastair you are having a day off today I sense, here is who I think is going down a narrow welsh hill, posted the other day, sheep danger and cowshit on the road, a great recent clip, supposed to be called in road-cycling lines around the midland and west and everywhere as the Grande Finale, now, nuts brilliant,

  • Ehtch


    OOPS, think went wrong there, or did I, no idea what was in my head an hourr ago. But I like, umm, what’s his name that has been omline for years, umm, much search….

    och can’t bothered, let you know tomorrow, gawd knows what,

  • Ehtch

    notice the error there?

    “accept if you are english and keep horses”, mmm, you dirty hay loft young ladies… It wasn’t me. honest, magistrate, she couldn’t stop riding me, ok she was fifteen….

  • Ehtch

    I don’t think I have filled between the lines enough, so here goes, as clean as I find it,

    what? You don’t get it?

  • Ehtch

    and that girl from Bordeaux, can’t remember her name, as you do, all over me topless standing in two ways, five foot and a bit, semi stacked, hips in perfect proportion, as I have become to like, on that beach in Hourtin La Plage on the Gironde penninsula. HEY!, penninsula I said, a geographic land feature….

    wash your mouths out….

    what was her name again, there has been so many, mmm.

    We took a trip up to the nudist beach just a kilometre up from there, trunks and her bottoms put into her flash french beach bag, me going on hanging, and her lippy.


  • Ehtch

    saying that, when I came into a village, on my horse/cycle, at hundred miles an hour and pulled up, if there was any spare fanny on the street, well yes, say no more. Flicking water when surfing on the coast into such always worked, the giggles, then invite into my caravan for tea. NO, they were all at least, ummmm, seventeen, one fitteen year old redhead turned up, and I sent hre packing. They grew up quick then, let alone now. Still know that fifteen year old red head though from then these days, Nicole. If only the law would allow….

    I am only playing around here, and making fun of english present day convention. But my mate did shag a thirteen year old….

  • Ehtch

    Beach strolling we  I see will see do,
    I see it, completely nothing required.
    Done it years ago, and I see it coming,
    down the coast in hot weather, as if nothing.

    Girls semi mammed, everything, as if it is nothing,
    ladies trimmed, lads big and small without shame.
    No shame, weather coming rain, no difference us,
    will become met art city predict, human life as perfect.

    Yes, I predict nudism will be nothing soon by all, by say, umm, say 2025 at the latest, could be earlier.

  • Ehtch

    sorry sigma delta or whatever, I just can’t remember, all I remember the look in their eyes that wanted to get into my brit boxers and inspect them, oh dear, how do I get out of here, I did thought? Song for those girls,

    jeezuz I survived

  • Ehtch

    We all do struggle whatever,
    some more than the other.
    I am on the struggling side,
    look over on ones nice tide.

    Wales u-20 beat the kiwis one just now in a bog in South Africa upland, in the JWC champs. Might be at a loss to describe how big this is to some.

    Robbie the landlord has invited me down the Kings to the Cymru/Oz game tomorrow morning, the total fool he is. He is opening early, half past ten, for eleven kick-off. If Wales lose, it will be a miracle, not to put too much pressure on the lads, as you do. : )

  • Ehtch

    have an idea for a local road/path cycle race – Cross Hands park to old Llanelli North Dock Harbour, put down on the old coal LMMR railwayline. Close the inlets, and I know them well, and speeds achieved could be quite high between that eight foot track. It is about twelve miles, so essentially it is a sprint, but you could an extra six miles or so to Kidwelly, and if you closed that lane to Ferryside past St. Ishmaels church, and extra five, and so on.

    Just a thought, local councillors.

  • Ehtch

    forgot to mention, we went up beach into the nether regions hand in hand. Sweet Bordeaux girl.

    Still can’t remember her name, as she no doubt french mine. maybe…

  • Ehtch

    Not saying anything here,
    but will oxbridge young,
    after mad interviews be,
    interested in my shit about?

    say no more…. : )

    song for oxbridge botherers,

    OK, not quite a song.

  • Ehtch

    I am going say this once, so listen,
    length of fingers, yes those fingers.
    Long and thin great love of any sex,
    short stumpy, they will ask arrived.

    Sorry, but is how it is, but long fingered are well cranky, you taking your life in your hands, if you mess, as I have found out. Something to do with sneezing body levels of histamine, a doc told me once.

    Anyway, song,

    Girls and ladies had orgasms in the 1950’s, present day ladies and girls, oh yes, when they asked, fiddle, dog yelping…

  • Ehtch

    Blimey, am I blinkered, or in denial? Good stuff. Although I haven’t been specifically classed as such, never been on the pills – sorry, that is me. Maybe I am a natural depressive that hasn’t depthed, due to something in my sonar control, who knows, I really don’t really know.

    Will have to work on an extended poem, but not for gongs and medals, just for anyone such, who chose to hear, if even if it is no one. I don’t mind, really.

  • Ehtch

    ah well, it was good while it lasted.

  • Ehtch

    Suppose I better not mention that five foot eleven 180cms lady I met in Blanes, Catalonia, up the road from Barcelona? OK, I will, mmmm, dark hair, stunning sea blue aquamarine eyes, light breasted, slim hipped, tight waisted, mmmmm, but still, can’t remember her name either. I am usless remembering names, but good at remembering faces, and bodies, and my experiences with them. Don’t worry, I wore my wellington, and went down to check her for crabs. song,

    might confuse people with my sexuality with that vid, which is nice. Her as in female, by the way, honest…

  • Ehtch

    Saying that, I have been offered,
    to not sit on my fence, but to be.
    Looking left and right I did think,
    thought better to stay where I be.

    HARUMPH! wimmin, know your places….

    you have to know ways to get young ladies excited on one – hello, knock on the door, what?, yet another is needing a good shag and sexual experience. Well, I suppose it is my social duty, to keep their husbands happy.


  • Ehtch

    going down pendine hill bonkers,
    overtaking careful cars,
    getting to the end, brake,
    before I go over the sea wall,
    in a mess.

    Blimey, the ride into pendine from the west is something, as like their young ladies, let me tell you that…. fathers knocking on my caravan door early morning asking if their daughter was there, and I said yes, and they said, ok fine, and left… I am that type of man.

  • Ehtch

    hand in hand. quite sweet, me swelling and her wetting, up Gironde coast. Tidy times.

  • Ehtch

    oh bollocks! such is life at times.

  • Ehtch

    I have been asked, by husbands, over the years, truthfully, if I could do them a favour, keep their wives happy, no questions asked, she wants, they have said, you are perfect, they say.

    Couldn’t do it, I told them, I might appear as a stag in the herd, but my mind would play with me, if I do such.

    The worst turn down, relative, was that beautiful blond five foot nine lady, a few years old than me, ok, ten years older than me. Looked like Linda Thompson the singer, an english look that has always made me melt, especially if she kept horses, as her,

    Yes, english ladies, if you look like Linda, there is a good chance I would like to inspect your underwear. Oh yes, oh deary yes.

  • Ehtch

    my maths teacher in the RAF was such, Vicky, Flying Officer Vicky, always gave her 100% on my papers, once discussed top of the pops with her, after one, and it was obvious she wanted to get into my boxers, met her a couple of years later, on a Tignes RAF ski trip, we played poker at the back of the bus, her new husband, Harrier pilot, looking on daggers, the ugly mug. She had the Linda look, which Vicky new I liked.

  • Ehtch

    she said, come on, let’s go free, or words to that effect, so I dropped them, and so did she. Glad I shaved that morning…. she was nicely trimmed, let me tell you.

  • Ehtch

    by the way, I told her she was nicely trimmed, and I touched it, and she gave that french giggle, as only french ladies can do. Had lips I like, exposed, if you get what I mean, bacon butty like.

    Oh dear, I am helping this site turn into some porn site – I need to calm down. It is summer that is doing this to me, too much sun.

  • ehtch

    her unability to say the rrr’s just makes her more sweet. Say, do ssssssomthing about that sssspeach impediment.

  • Ehtch

    Alison and Shirley, I remember you both,
    us seven year olds, first ladies I chatted up.
    If only we were ten years older,
    we could have had fun,
    with my tool to explore.
    Show me yours and I will show you mine,
    beautiful grown up ladies these days,
    still know, eyes light up when me seen,
    so still a chance, three in a bed.

    Yep, true story this, a song for Alison and Shirley,

  • Ehtch

    Beeb four, suggestion for 2014, plenty of background scenes, of his mother and father’s Carnartheshire scenes, Brechfa and Llangain, and a bit of magical Llyn y Fan Fach, and also rivers Towy and Cothi, making their way to the sea. Aberystwyth Uni too, which is underestimated with reference to his dad.

  • Ehtch

    and NOOO! I never mentioned Samantha Cameron – come on now, I know she is a good sport, but I don’t want to annoy her, my life would be hell….

  • Ehtch

    Froggies and the english,
    could be a dish.
    See what turns up,
    fence I’ll be, wish,
    to see a battle,
    no welsh bowmen,
    this time english,
    just hope again,
    you do not play,
    like pish.

    Should be an interesting game. Hope english get their shit together this time, despite Lineker and friends spouting media. Or is in on ITV, with that pug brummie? Must check the tv listings.

  • Ehtch

    Suppose I could work on a book, an inverted Jackie Collins for the new age, for one side written by the otherside. Or am I? I think I could do a good job of it, get the fluids going, in read.

  • Ehtch

    …by the way, have had to play the doc at times with the ladies I have met, and tell them about female hygiene, in the corners. Telling them to scrub right up there, and have a power shower fitted in their bathrooms and use it, it gets into places for a good wash. Discharge and candida is suprisingly common, and is easily controlled. Afterwards squirt cream up there the get rid of any problems, I told them. Some took my advice, some eyes bulged fuming, but where were their mothers….

  • Ehtch

    …on time-trialing stage lines obviously, as like car rallying – the best form of road cycling, I think. None of this pack nonse going on, and all that, bicycle pump put into spokes, and other dirty stuff.

  • Ehtch

    I was a Sergeant pilot,
    Spitfire, or Hurricane,
    not right school, accent,
    for gold crown on cap.

    But soon Flight, survived,
    needed they commission,
    too many kills embarrass,
    twang or not, field given.

    Quite interesting how Sergeant pilots had higher scores in training on average than public school automatic commissioned ones, and a higher survive rate in action, alledgedly. One of those old Brit Empire quirks of the Battle of Britain and beyond. The RAF learnt some great lessons from then, how to run themselves, that the Grammar School system is interesting, then, also the county tech schools/colleges then, especially in keeping the aircraft in the air.

  • Ehtch

    What I am saying, knickers and tight jeans in modern times play havoc with the, umm, that part of the body. It is self-cleaning, as long as you don’t wear the above, as when in stone aged times and before, when it was designed, free-going monkey style wear, commando-like. And then they understand me. It needs looking after in modern times, like cleaning your teeth, especially when you are always sitting on strange seats – the underground is the worst, where everyone sweats, especially in the summer. Always stand then, I advise.

  • Ehtch

    oops – maybe have given a marking and ad campaign ploy away there. to body hygene companies, from my sky blue in all ways thinking. Ah well, if it makes our ladies healthier in all ways, free advice I gladly give. I am that type of bloke. Might mean less workload for local GPs, which helps, alltruistically socially.

  • Ehtch

    Windmill keepers and yes,
    the sausage eating erics.
    At it again, WW whatever,
    in East Europe, grounds.

    Hidden anti-empathy abound,
    unlike Russia/Poland found.
    But these days swop edam,
    for sausage, all ways bound.

    Bob Hoped Amsterdamed,
    against Berlinesque city.
    Flowered tuliped powered,
    against past nasty shitty.

    nil-nil still, will be an interesting game, without aftermath nonsense, no doubt.

  • Ehtch

    like I saw in this classic cycling film, from the US plains, where some touring dirty italian cyclists stuck a pump in his spokes, when all he wanted to say is buongiorno, the nasty wo…, lads…

    : ) funny though.

  • Ehtch

    Having fun with an israelite at the moment at here – POEMS!, the laddie thinks of himself as a poet. All I did was quote Roger Waters in his final year in county paid primary school before getting army dead dad commissioned officer pension public school paid he went off to after, as sensed by and after war resented by his final year eleven year old teacher expressed, bigotted, or semi-preparing. Who knows then? I think the latter, trying to grow a thick skin on Roger, what will be coming,

  • Anonymous

    …as in,

    Hard cheese old boy, it was too many times, for them, unlike us naturals.

  • Anonymous

    Saying that, wouldn’t it have made some sort of absolute sense to get rid of the class-ridden public school system first in this country, before the Grammar School system? Seems obvious to me, looking back. But sense rarely prevails around abouts, I have found. As if some people are hanging onto something unsustainable, and sacrificing the best parts new in the last century. Just a thought…

  • Ehtch

    Swedish chef, meatballs or not,
    get yours folks out english men.
    The metal kind, not the electric,
    or plastic will do, just feed then.

    Get stuck in, ketchup at the ready,
    pickle or brown sauce, who cares.
    Pickle of the onion kind, not other,
    cut them up sliced, and no mares.

    Folked lighning from pitch please,
    mother nature cannot be blamed.
    If things go tits up, blame ‘selves,
    no lame excuse full time, whinged.

    Think that covers it – don’t want Lineker & co. at after match rabbit saying the usual “England can still qualify, as long as…”, stuck record from usual performances past.

  • Ehtch

    Swedish chef, meatballs or not,
    get yours folks out english men.
    The metal kind, not the electric,
    or plastic will do, just feed then.

    Get stuck in, ketchup at the ready,
    pickle or brown sauce, who cares.
    Pickle of the onion kind, not other,
    cut them up sliced, and no mares.

    Folked lighning from pitch please,
    mother nature cannot be blamed.
    If things go tits up, blame ‘selves,
    no lame excuse full time, whinged.

    Think that covers it – don’t want Lineker & co. at after match rabbit saying the usual “England can still qualify, as long as…”, stuck record from usual performances past.

  • Ehtch

    blimey, the english didn’t do any favours for themselves. But good top class goals, and scraped it, 3-2. Rooney the hair transplanted is back for the next, I take it english? He will do a difference to the whole side.

    So far so good, no Dunkirk moments yet, he says.

  • Ehtch

    Could tell stories of my old Caterham carpenter/builder mate on doing jobs at the local well appointed private school for ladies only, and when they turned up at eight o’clock in the morning with “ladies” lifting things in front of the window they shouldn’t have. A nun’s convent it certainly wasn’t. Think I have given enough clues what school I am on about here.

    Mixed-sex schools is always the way forward, anything other is perverse, as described.

  • Ehtch

    We find ourselves in these corners, troubling,
    for ourselves and find others, state meetings.
    Bloke with a wig saying you are here for such,
    social report and stuff in front of him with stuff.

    Wondering how I got into this part of our life,
    country’s life that should not be aired visited.
    Is it me, or the country bred me got me here,
    mirror how it is, get ones down to victimised.

    Jim Reeves, Four Walls,

    The prison population at the present moment of my country really pisses me off, and I simply no idea what to do about it, it goes back to 1979 Thatcher, is all I say, sending vast parts of our country into despair without work. Dexy, as here, 1980,

    Cause and effect I have seen – thank god my parents were doing ok around then, or I would be….

  • Ehtch

    I have heard a lot of english successful  premier footie players, with regards to rugger, follow the welsh rugger team, northern english ones especially. Could be an accent thing, oh-yah, nch-nch… : )

  • Ehtch

    I am a pissed off by blind BBC and ITV that that headed goal by Andy Carroll yesterday was the beast, incredibly powerful, ten foot leap, ever ever best headed score I have ever seen, better than what John Charles ever did, and that is saying something you SE penis breath english shites.

    You SE england media make me want to PUKE! You know shite!

  • Anonymous

    Mark E. Smith might have a view on it, he kept out of official trouble unlegal, dancing his patch of found life, with help from John from the beeb, altruistically, danger of becoming northern token, he no doubt asks himself, pint of lager please beeb, and I’ll be fine, as long as I put down into history my thoughts, my thoughts obviously don’t yet click with you establishment SE’s, it takes time for your lot to catch up, with provincial warblings.

    Anyway, Mark E. Smith with his The Fall, up in Oslo Norway the other year, some appreciated, and some though what the fuck, in no doubt Norwegian,

  • Anonymous

    In closed spaces, I meet, someone that seems have a problem with me, I dive right in to get to know them, and soon, it will all be, as long as if it is not my behind they are after, which is not usually true. Howard Marks did well when he was clinqued up in US prison, educated anyone, help teach many to read, and write their experiences to tell.

  • Anonymous

    local young lad got killed co-driving rallying this weekend in Sicily, met him a couple of times, navigating for an irish lad, doing brilliant they have been doing. 24, from Carmarthen, to say the local rallying community is a bit fucked off is an understatement. Their car went sideways, hit scenery on the passenger side, and his neck was broke instantly, or something like that, rumour and all that. Oh bollocks.

  • Ehtch

    march babies… spring food to then feed on tap mammed…

  • Ehtch

    For those that want to see it again, just watch it again. Fecking brilliant, will go down in history, headed goal. As I said, John Charles, rest his soul, would could only dream off scoring a headed goal like this. And I know my onions, I have seen enough, in my simple time.

  • Ehtch

    edit, they hit the end of a motorway type parapet, and entered his body from the passengerside, died more or less instantly, I have been put right, no neck. Freak accident.

    His driver Craig is in total despaire as we speak. Find strength Craig, please. I know no words can change things. He must have visited his worst hell, looking across the passenger seat and looking at a bloody mess. oh fucking shitting helll.

    Can anyone recover?

  • Anonymous

    jeezuz, he is up there nogging it, up in the stars somewhere

  • Anonymous

    oh fucking fuck Alastiar, what is going on, it looks ,,,,
    oh fucking hell

  • Anonymous
  • Anonymous

    I am a hard task master,
    sling your hook.
    My The Fall right tester,
    by my own book.

    Several pupils, several fails,
    my exam, marked.
    That what is what does sails.
    HMS not drowned.

    Looking around, charmed,
    words burned.
    Into ears, mothed closed,
    to into turned.

    Salford, smoggy, into eyes,
    hey you son.
    How ya doing, fair middling,
    into some fun?

    yeh lundhan cccan I do something for you…

  • Ehtch

    Plains of wheat,
    bread buttered.
    Basket of corn,
    or Odessa filed.

    What will happen,
    pressure coming.
    Pubs filled topped,
    all call a whipping.

    Crowded hostile,
    eastern curtain.
    Could be a win,
    rather uncertain.

    Ukraine have let themselves down with the Yulia Tymoshenko affair. Hope karma wins.

    Good clip of Ukrainians here, but pity about things,

  • Anonymous

    English against the Ities Sunday, bellissimo! How about some Benny Hill to get us all in the mood, ey? Mr Bridger told me to post this, and I always listen to him….

    But are you english going to make spag bol out of them, that is the question?

    And Itie ladies are big, big, Big BIG!!! oh yes.

  • Anonymous

    What happened to Benny Hill Alastair? Not a fan? Or did I mess up posting it? Maybe the later. Anyway, posted it with regards what is happening this Sunday evening, only for good fun purposes mind you. Always liked a bit of Benny, but that maybe goes without saying…

  • Anonymous

    The blonde in the middle front line at 3:10, and don’t tell me you missed her, in denial, appeared a year later at Llangollen in the winning folk group, first prize. Above came third in 2010.

    Vid of 2011 first place here,

    Nice girl….

  • Anonymous

    Anyone that wants to learn of the Pearls of Odessa of Ukraine, maybe English footie players that are out there at the moment, run and concepted by the marvellous lady Larisa Garbuz, have a look on their website, and have a look around there,

    Not bad, ey?

  • Anonymous

    Mrs Ward opposite, from nan and tatcu,
    1970 not a telly there ever seen.
    Slate floors, nor axminster has bothered,
    clock side, grand wooded, bonged.

    Lost her husband fifteen years before,
    whitewashed limed walls surround.
    Jolly faced, afternoon sat, look at time,
    quite happy, blackberries outside.

    Garden apple trees getting on fruiting,
    flour of wheat ready in tin.
    Loose, for hand maiden, turn to food,
    while men strive outside.

    Lady, Mrs Ward, an education in time,
    jolly faced, Vietnam whatever.
    Saying always, look after selves bach,
    forget, out end of street road.

    Always remember that grandfather clock in Mrs Ward’s house opposite, when my grandmother went visiting took me, slate floors for carpets, like I had visited the late eighteenth century of present life.

  • Anonymous

    Remind me of the Oz Seekers, short lady in the middle, keeping control of the boys….

  • Anonymous

    Saturday afternoon, Mick McManus,
    my tatcu fought with the best of them.
    Dickie Davies with his bow tie, on ITV,
    tatcu getting up and down rocking chair.

    Saying, jumping jesus, Kendo Nagasaku,
    you cheating buggering ‘ell.
    then Mick was robbed, by that
    while we all settled down for tea and new made cakes.

    Memories, ey?

  • Anonymous

    no, you are too ugly for her, it is me it is, I am from another planet. Pity I am two and a half times her age though, but you never know…. : ))

  • Ehtch

    Blyddy this mid summer,
    went down damp squib.
    Shit it was clouded ‘bove,
    sun my arse, unseen.

    Damp druids. all abound,
    even us numpties clowns.
    Saying, where feck is sun,
    jeezus time for a pasty, and a cup of tea.

    hope the PPIHC have beter luck next month, lightning mother nature put aside, but I will tell them not to hold their fecking breath,

  • Anonymous

    A poem for Cameron, and his closed mind.

    You feed the birds in winter,
    to get them by.
    Then spring comes insects,
    would you deny?

    But if spring does not come,
    what happens?
    Nazi starve jewish like Dave?
    to your ends.

    Nasty pasty, in large houses,
    deny one small.
    Shiney forehead PM liared in,
    with just one ball.

    Think that should do it.

  • Anonymous

    Nobuhiro “Monster” Tajima is defending his Pikes Peak International Hill Climb win from last year this year (8th July, Colorado) in an electric car.Should be interesting. Knowing Monster. he always has a few tricks up his sleeve. Good vid of the car here from a couple of weeks back – note the pixallated parts of the car in the video, hush-hush components, corporate spies about!

    Pikes Peak homesite here,

  • Anonymous

    good vid about it here, nice music, like,

    From official site.

  • Ehtch

    Moors left over,
    Iberian penninsula.
    Not on horse,
    this time.

    Mosaic tiled,
    Nor trig drawn,
    present day.

    Footie it is,
    port and wine.
    Battle of the grapes,
    foot and barrel.

    The inquisition,
    for us.
    Who will win,
    embarass battle.

    They will be yes,
    confused in passing.
    Not knowing what,
    yes what to do.

    Score a goal or miss,
    as rest of europe,
    just looks,
    and hiss.

    Will be a rubbish game – the portugese and castillians/spanish are too polite to each other, it will be a crap rubbish match, just a chance goal in it, scored by the Virgin Mary.

  • Ehtch

    jeeeeezus christ almighty, Portugal e/y Espanha/España, it is like watching paint dry. BORING! big time.

  • Ehtch

    Think Portugal and Spain are going to go ballistic in extra time, they in their perverted way let it be nil nil full time, by some sort of agreement. Just watch extra time, both sides will be going for it, big time, I can sense it. But I might be talking bollocks. Could see a few goals extra time.

    And by the way, why do Lineker & co sound as if they are speaking from a broom cupboard somewhere in Ukraine? Put some curtains on the sidewalls to muffle echoes, for gawd sakes beeb.

  • Anonymous

    i was talking bollocks. Iesus Christo, what a crap match from start to Fabregas’ spawney penalty. Would have had more enjoyment if I went to church, like my mamo wants.

  • Anonymous

    Oh dear, around Colorado Springs and Pikes Peak is being infested by lightning striked caused forest fires. But they have a week and a bit for Mother Nature to calm down, and decide to rain. Beeb news here – I like the beeb really honestly, just like to play the checks and balances at times, when they are disrespectful…

  • Anonymous

    WHOOPS! should have checked on their homesite before I posted the last – it has been postponed because of said. As long as it is not cancelled, I will, as well as many others around the World, will be happy. Their news release here,

  • Anonymous

    I am a cutural sponge,
    I seem to take it in.
    Looking at people play,
    my eyes grow widen.

    Anything goes to excite,
    even bedroom antics.
    All on level playing field,
    each understanding tricks.

    Sport and cars, and things,
    all does myself amuse.
    What we get up to with life,
    yes living, but some bemuse.

    It is a fun old short existence, isn’t it? Fart, and we are out of here, with time, on the grand scale. So fucking enjoy it while you are here, and think of your neighbour, for gawdsakes.

  • Anonymous

    over quarter of an hour of brothers and sisters visiting mother natures sceanary when they get it slightly wrong, and no sign of jeremy cee, which is nice for me, May maybe, hamsters on the road hoped,

    CARS! driven fast, my way.

  • Anonymous

    Ities vee the gemans tonight,
    spag bol and sausages confused.
    To us, how they get along,
    gawd knows, fascist fun?

    See what happens there,
    it will be an education for us.
    Diving Klingsmun like, and latin drama,
    head grabbed when ankles taken away.

    Should be interesting, in various ways,
    whether Europe has approached mature ways.
    Any dramatics Milan way, or maybe german opera,
    Ozil praise to Mecca ways, who knows.

    Ah, bugger it, see what happens, hope it is better than that display of european shoite we had to watch and suffer last night, ey Alastair, and Alex? : )

  • Anonymous

    oops.forgot to post a song for our german friends, almost kick off, need to get on with it and all that, here goes General,

    Florian, by the way General, is one of the lead singers of a group, we are told, caled Kraftwerk.

    Yes, General, sounds nonsense to me too.

  • Anonymous

    Donna, by the way, is Italian extract, which makes my post, I suppose, mork barking. Used to talk to her online on youtube, yes, Donna Grimbaldi, few years back, liked her lemon shirt and thought, but fair play, Chris, the other half, Chris Blackburn, didn’t mind, well, I hope he didn’t.

    Here is them together anyway, in evening drinkies, after the fucking day. SWEET!

  • Anonymous

    Mario. with his brown breast,
    unlike red robin, Alastair.
    What do you have to say,
    messages I say.

    Knew it would happen,
    like a horse,
    with three legs,
    and a beautiful name.

    Could tell, instant,
    things will happen.
    Manch Gallagher,
    would see them right.

    Song for Mario, the spawney ******* chancer, wasn’t he, ey?

  • Ehtch

    Oh bollocks,
    the sun has turned away.
    Away from us for mind,
    with winter coming affects

    Jeezus, another crap time without it,
    getting up in darkness.
    Coming soon, only few months off,
    farting about in the dark.

    Christ, I really do hate winter,
    but snow helps, light reflect.
    Onto skin, help revive,
    but looks like rain and fucking rain again.

    Song and video about it, if I can find one, here I go search, know I WILL find appropriate, here goes, I won’t be long,

    ok ok, so it is a train on the US plains, Dakota or somewhere, somewhere around there in the World.

  • Ehtch

    People are pervertedly cruel to me,
    thinking I have it all, while I have nothing.
    All my life I have been blood sucked,
    parents, the whole bloody lot.

    Give, constantly give, with sod all return,
    and pretty pissed off like fuck with such.
    Looking around constantly advise, why?
    gets me to that planet of nowhere in life.

    Shits call me a fool, the numbskulls abound,
    where can I get appreciation of what I do?
    Simple advise I do, but where does it get me?
    I’ll tell you where, here, where I stand here now.

    Pissed off I am, at the present moment, nobody loves me, and shit… : )

  • Ehtch

    Would love to know what Mark E is like with wages, since has an over-healthy turnover of staff.

    Basic wages, is it Mark E, what your accountant agrees, hire and fire?
    Here today what tomorrow, I am coiney,
    you are off the street, me to be abused.

    What wages Mark E, coiney?
    not in your group so sackey,
    is not in your power grumpy.
    tell, royalties, sent honestly?

    Or fart about, pub accountant,
    boozer economics in pints of short
    changed up your way, used system,
    hope get away, hope no complaints.

    I fucking know how you carry on Mark E, and you are chaos. How you get these fools to play with you is beyond me, and I know they get paid pennies Mark, don’t bullshit me!

    all above alledgedly, but when all is said and done, I do love the bloke, but however it is well known, he is a right cunt.

  • Ehtch

    I recommend a vit d twice the daily strength intake pill, a low strength 500mg capsule and a 200mg vit c pill, a few days a week during winter, not every day, say three to four days a week. Will keep the winter blues away. As I told Vicky Hesketh a few years ago when she was suffering with such, off tour, and also with too many nightclub spending playing the act,

  • Anonymous

    oops, low strength evening primrose oil capsule, 500mg I meant. Helps the immune system.

  • Anonymous

    With train snow ploughing in around that part of the World, it doesn’t always go to plan, a big fat fail, initially,

  • Anonymous

    The Dylan Moran Germany vid I posted somewhere else here somewhere I posted here, somewhere, I sent a couple or three of comments to a German, saying don’t feel too bad about the hitler-hitler-hitler thing, just say to the english slavery-slavery-slavery. as in west coast africa where the english made one enormous wad of cash in the early nineteenth century.

    And then I got onto the Spain thing where they shipped away enormous tonnes of pre-latin central america gold artifacts in the mid last millennia. Also said every gold ring that you at a jewellers buy anywhere in the World has a morsal of Aztec gold in it via Spain, after repeated melting downs over the last five hundred years, but I am guessing there, trying to create an urban myth. But it could be true.

    So I said to this german fella, don’t worry, people will soon forget, Germany was just trying to catch up in Europe, how to be total cunts, that is all. : )

  • Anonymous

    All this above reminds me of Glenn Campbell and his Wichita Lineman song, but here with a brit twist from Sheffield from the early 1980’s, BEF (British Electric Foundation, and NOT brit expeditionary force as per Dunkirk, honest…), but better known as the lads from Heaven 17,

    Nice E-type white Jag, and blonde driving it…

  • Anonymous

    Posted comment in Italiano of on and at above vid, with as usual help, from Google tradurre, quote,

    “Tre non hanno sentito l’amore. Essi non hanno vissuto la vita, come, noi, hanky sempre pronti per un altro amore perduto, nella vita, in tutti i modi – madre, padre, o un vecchio amore una volta nelle tue braccia, una volta, quando eravamo giovani, si lasciò sfuggire di distanza. Come posso dire a nessuno che la giovane che è la vita? Sì? Torture giovane …

    Again, love from Wales/Cymru. ”

    fill that hanky again with tears, ho un modo con le parole, spero solo si traduce sentimento, he says…

  • Anonymous

    Just to give an insight to how some drivers approach attacking this course, they connect their gps to a pink light right in front of them when there is a big drop at the side, to act as such, in doing pouffy oh-my-gawd driving, in not to give it too much, in case they fall off the side, a few hundred yards/metres down to wherever…

    another urban myth, maybe… : )

  • Anonymous

    tidy. 12th August it is now. Tidy sorting out , with no doubt a hopeful meeting with Mother Nature. Hope she doesn’t let everyone down.

    Glad now I didn’t book tickets and flight for this year. Got to go and see it some year, but I know, I wouldn’t come back, and end up in Colorado Springs, when a nice high-hilled lady get’s a hold of me.

    Yes, that is how it will no doubt turn out, I can see it. When I mention Tom Jones, that will be it, all the lads will be introducing me to their 35+ recently divorced sisters, I can see it now.

    The official press release,

  • Anonymous

    right, rallying is right in my blood, since young, but the scene in above at 6:16 is incredible! low flying aircraft! They was obviously following at full speed in the dust of the car in front, and didn’t notice anyone that was trying to tell him to slow down.

    Better than anything that Hollywood telly could ever produce – HE TOOK OFF! and it is actual real life. Everyone knows the risks, and they live with them, marshalls and followers, as well as of course the competitors. Better than drugs…

  • Anonymous

    Watched a film yesterday/Tuesday for the first time – I tend never to go to the local cinema, I temd to let critics feed through in a three or four years ao actually judge to watch. Anyway, it came on telly Tuesday, and may I say it, rilliant, just simply brilliant. Truman Capote? Knew the bloke that played him, but didn’t click at first who he was. last time I saw him on telly was playing a fella in Cornwall in that jewish violinn Lavender ladies think. And yes, keep away from west end poncing shite too, unless they send me cheap tickets.

    Anyway. Jones, or whatever his name. in marvelloue film, full of appearing stars, bulocks, paltrowess, the alien, jefferey dando, daniel crap. they were all there. Clip,

    Better clip,

    brilliant filum it was, oh yes, good dose of americana that I certainly like, oh yes dear…

  • Anonymous

    Dylan Moran, the irish came over with their spades and shovels and bilt enormous amounts of RAF Stations and aircraft runways. Mowlem cement
    mixers were on non-stop, oh yes paddies bechyd!.

    Statistics shows from the time, treacle Guinness was a big seller in these times, in south west of the UK, landing strips of american aircraft. And don’t get me started on irish land beacons for Vickers Sunderland flying boats pointing them, go away, to Pembroke Dock in West Wales?

    So you won’t as neutral as you think, just kind of neutral, Eire…. : )

  • Anonymous

    Brilliant documentary with Michael Johnson, the ex-american sprinter, tonight, on his racial history, on Channel 4 earlier. Always liked the bloke, very intelligent fella, noticed that very early when he got noticed. In no way your typical whoopie eh-hah US american. An excellent chap.

    If you haven’t seen it, get onto Channel 4’s iplayer for a looksee, I well recommend it. There should be more programmes like this on – people are too pants afraid usually, I am not, always like to bring things well out into the open. That IS the healthy way.

  • Anonymous

    Just remembered, should have posted Ronnie Drew’s song with the Dubliners called McAlpine’s army, as in McAlpine’s civil engineering company, and their contribution from paddyland to the WWII effort, even if third party. All still history – think Beeb 4 should do a documentary about it, the civil engineering side of it, if they haven’t already. They did something like it a couple of years ago, or was that Channel 4?

    Anyway, the song, brilliant it is,

  • Anonymous

    More stuff from them here – all this sort of stuff was well up my street in my late teens/early twenties, and onto now, still. Couldn’t get enough of it. Decline of the West? yeh, and we are talking about 1981 here! Incredible forward looking group of people, and I saw it too.

  • Anonymous

    Haven’t been in touch what Vicky has been up to lately, so decided to check half hour back, she has been up to things, after having a while off.

    This is a good remix of her latest, few weeks old, reminds me of mid-1980’s cocaine sniffing-type Studio 54 times. wharrrt? It was, wasn’t it? anyway, like the girl and the stuff she produces, lives in the London smoke these days she tells us, but no doubt gets back to Blackpool now and then for a recharge,

  • Ehtch

    Another brilliant clip from said film, my dears, and look at the distinct lack of whelm when John Huston the filum director is mentioned from the americanaplainums, quite disturbing.

    But Bogie and Jennifer Jones got them wetting and coming in their terrylene mid-west panties, oh yes,

  • Anonymous

    Always puzzled me why motor manufactures don’t put airbags in the engine compartment at the front, and in the boot, too. That would cushion the human cabin more, I think.

    Lateral engineering thinking see!

  • Anonymous

    Knew a bloke, a right crazy rally driver, who often visited the scenery, but who always managed to patch his car up before the next event, and whenever he became unstuck, got out of the car, and pissed over it, literally. True story that. It was a kind of superstition of his, after when he went off for the first time, when he was apparently bursting for a piss, and relieved himself over his tyres and bonnet in disgust at his chariot. And he is still alive, so there must be some sense in it.

  • Anonymous

    jezzus, somebody stop me!

    Just posted on said vid on youtubby, again, a joke, so thought I would post it here, since I think it is quite funny, my humour, quote,

    “A german and an englishman and a welshman get on a plane. They take off, and after an hour the captain comes over the tannoy and says “Both engines have failed, all two of them, strap in and prepare to die”.

    The german starts crying saying “I will never see my fatherland again”

    The englishman starts crying saying ” I will never see Wimbledon tennis again”

    And the welshman starts laughing his box off saying “This will be good, seeing these two cunts die”

    boom-boom. ”

    I am good at writing jokes too, well, I think so. But can be quite dry, and not many people get it, hardcore torys usually, I have found.

  • Anonymous

    Wished i took my paternal grandad to the pub,
    when he became old.
    But there was some shit going on with my dad and mam,
    mam bitchy.

    Father without some balls, mam with trousers,
    fucking pathetic, bit my dad’s nose.

    Yes she went, and I did, in fucking hate, then,
    almost try to break me, his pathetic way, made of pren.

    Social involment, it became, me in a police cell, social report,
    went down local, to have my mind checkedout.

    Turns out I have been through a lot, tested, agreed top psycho doc,
    all points to my dad, a fucking self self coward creep.

    He hasn’t, in all my life, helped anyone, including his two sons, in how to “get on”. We have been held on an emotional fishing line by this self-centred idiot, and when I try and discuss it with him, he goes balistic like a simple child.

    Song for my dad, the manipulative twit he is, and he is doing it to this present day,

    Death is too good for him, he was a cunt to me young, not thinking I would actually grow up, and tell him how he was so a twat. Been through hell trying to hold myself back, but I over that hump, and when it its him he appologises. He is still a mark human living selfish cunt though. My problem.

  • Anonymous
  • Anonymous

    point of order for mysel’, it was a Shorts Sunderland flying boat, Belfast contantly reproduced. Got mixed up with my Wellingtons, as you do. : )

  • Anonymous

    bastards, gone nuts with my dad again this evening, he dadn’t phoned up for gardening to be dome in his house again, I am not prepared to do it again, since he talks to me as shit.

    I will soon either move away and more or less wipe my hands of him, as I should have years ago, disown him and leave him and the house to the state, or tajke a long walk on a short pier, with concrete boots, as I felt a couple of hours ago.

    He is a crap dad and a shite human life. The things he came out on me was nowhere sensical and deserving at all, me who helped drag him back to health after cancer. And please don’t say it is because he is getting old, it isn’t, he has always been the same, on his opwn blood sucking planet. Me and my brother had two granddads, but no father. I was a father to my younger brother. Last week yes, I have been on breaking point with him, him trying to be clever, but he can’t get anyone in to cut the lawns, since he doesn’t even ask me, as I I have cut it in previous years. But this year no more, he has said this is his house once too often, even though it is quarter mine, effectively.

    I can see it getting worse, so I think I might soon have to jump ship, and let the total overgrown child get on with it on his own, and his sisters to help him. No doubt it will be a month or two before he gets picked up as vulnerable by a doorstepper and gets his cash ripped off.

    Yes, this is the sort of person I have got to try and talk sense to, and I am at the end of my tether.

  • Anonymous

    There is also Gordon’s G n’ T they did, when they were still friends, as The Human League, from Sheffield, before the dancing ladies appeared, asking, quite ironic, for a couple of G n’ Ts?

    The dancing ladies left A level upper school ladies talked to go around Europe, as here, by Phil,

    woo, woo, wooooo fucking woooooo

  • Anonymous

    However, liked the stuff Phil did with Martin Rushent with ladies, starring here incredibly with Joannna Lumley and David McCallum, clips from their 1970’s/80’s ITV spooky series. Yeh, sent the shits up me, as fucking if! save me, we are being taken. But do they mean torys and their friends then subverting brit life then? Is that the question they were asking then, yes?

  • Anonymous

    Used to go manting (slang, wel-eng – going around quick) in mid wales when young, before helicopters and speed cameras – remembered in my MG Metro tooned hitting 120mph down this b road with an early Honda Civic hot hatch just about keeping up with me, after I overtook it, so after about an hour, I put my hazards on for a sec, then indicated left for a sec, and stuck my hand out the window to say pull in and have a laugh what we have been up to. We got out of our cars, he had his misses with him, who also got out of their car, but her legs looked understandably wobbly. And the bloke shoke my hand, and said, you are lucky I am off duty, I am PC whatever of West Midlands police, traffic division, and he said I drove ace. And I said thanks, you did well to keep up with me. But when I told him I was in the air force in Cosford made him even more not mind, to tell you the truth. 1980’s for you.

  • Anonymous

    1.5 hi lift rockers, twin 1 3/4 SUs, ported head to suit, Avonbar exhaust manifold and system, and a nut behind the wheel, and i don’t mean the one that keeps the steering wheel on, I do mean me. Could go round that Top Gear track with those front wheel car in quick time, left foot braking as I doo with go carts back whheel drive.

    Jeremy, let me show you, I would only use the accelerator and the brake, the clutch would be redundant as I crash boxed my lap. I would easily be top, well easily.

    Learned left foot braking when very young, driving a mini at fourteen, on welsh roads, yes, fourteen. Copper local thought it interesting,

  • Anonymous

    I am a big big big Human League/Heaven 17 fan, with their BEF intricacies, you might have noticed, so more them banging on,

  • Anonymous

    Not spoke to Tone, for many years, he is well into as me this stuff, so posted John Foxx, he no doubt appreciates, hope he replies, it’s been a couple of years, or is it three, or four. Christ, I think it is six!

  • Anonymous

    Might as well explain myself to young ladies around these days looking around, new puzzled on life, me and men like me are harmless. we like to see you skip in young life, that is all Grace. Ask your dad and your grandmother, they can see it. Your mam would no doubt say to you Grace, he’s a strange welshman, a shitty stick I recommend, but come on Alastair, I compare ages, where nothing ever changes within mind, just the scenery, which thankfully at the moment is quite serene, at the moment, at the moment.

    So it is up to blokes like me and your dad to try and keep it as such, Grace, we will do our best, but if we fail, please don’t blame us, it just means that there is too many cunts about for us to cope with.

    Song for you Grace, and your mam, and your grandmam, the one from Ayr,

    Sorry if I am being a bit forward, Alastair, just practising my psycho fuckheadedness to help the next generation, which I have been told I am good at, usually concerntrate on sports administrators, but it is trickling down, to the boot room, slowly. But didn’t work on Murray, but I left that project very late. 2012 six nations for Wales was a fuckhead latest result. Been working on Gavin Henson in the last week mainly, think he grasps what I am barking on about, so far.

  • Anonymous

    somebody sent me a message saying that I should post this, Grace and Alastair, and who am I to complain, they usually talk sense, into my simple mind. Made in Britain is all I have to say all, mam and Ayr Grandma included,

  • Anonymous

    A huge Pigeon has been visiting my backgarden,
    these recent morns at half past five.

    Incredible thing, a Wood Pigeon obvuiously,
    scaring all the Collard Doves away.

    Size of an Arnold Swartz iron pumping pigeon,
    oh yes, scares the buzzards away.

    Not a racer, it is obvious, more bouncer, plumpness,
    even Robins give him respect of the day.

    Been thinking though, my mate with a shotgun invite,
    down to make some delectable Hugh Fernley-Whitinstall,
    pigeon pie.

    Hmmm? What do you think Hugh, should I do it? Tender meat, I have heard Hugh.

    Maybe next year, maybe…. and then I will start on the crows, ten and twenty blackbirds, in a fine crusty pie, with plenty of lard enveloped in it’s folds, tom ake rise just marvellously. And then I will start on this east european recipe I was given, swan pie… They say it taste so good, it should be illegal, in polish…

  • Anonymous

    OOPS, suppose I should post a vid for the bolshy, maybe, or no doubt, lads, Alastair, not that I don’t know indoor behind closed door family politics with a small p, as not doubt in their bedrooms they might have called you a right pee at times. Anyway, Grace, a song for “THEM”,

    they don’t fit you behind brother, but maybe in front…. : )

  • Anonymous

    Think bigger picture, young lads and ladies,
    this summer different than last, so stop MI5.
    They know what is what, give them respect,
    what?, minibus of kenyans turn over naive?

    Wake up you twits, young people look forward,
    as they tested you ready last year, and failed.
    Yes, state didn’t come up then to standards,
    but by gawd, youngsters, in gear for so stalled.

    Funny how inner Brit life helps at times, when they see a fuck up, as Olympics with this coalition, is going to happen, and they put them into gear. Anyway, there are several other places you can buy a bed and a sofa in Croydon, I am sure of it, even if Alders have gone bust. Ey Matthew Wright, Croydon boy.

    By the way Alastair, thought I remembered Matthew from somewhere – didn’t he turn out for John Fisher old boys cricket club when I used to play for Selsdon Cricket Club, who plays next door to them at Warlingham Rugby Club, where we built a cricket square from scratch there, back when I lived in the Croydon area, in the early 1990’s.?

    Ask him Alastair – I am sure I recognise his ugly mug from around then. : )

  • Anonymous

    Must have posted this link before, but if not, here it is. About the lads from Sheffield in the mid to late 1970’s and on, in different Thatcher forms. A brilliant read all the way through, with it’s intertwined links, of how us lot coped with the bonkerness that was going on in Britland then. Oldies then, it was generally thought by under-25s then, should have been sectioned ubder the mental health act. Things never change – now they say I should be….

  • Anonymous

    If anyone gets the wrong idea, I have to say, the above is semi-autobiographical, when taken account of other peoples experiences, included. But my parents were the definitive Super Mac “never had it so good” generation of 1958, so you might understand what I am on about, the HP generation, few shillings a week.

    As I said, or did I, it takes a lot to look at the bigger picture, when you notice you are being bought. And then it tumbles down, due to them, in here today, forget tomorrow, politics. As per 1968ish Brit devaluation monatary, due to 1958 keep spending and borrowing.

    Credit card culture was a bit bonkers around the 2000 year mark, wasn’t it? Self-perpetuating personal debt, emporer cloths style. Until a child says “oh look, he is in the buff”, and everyone then realises and laughs.

  • Anonymous

    Put the world to roights,
    over a pint.
    Encoraged barman to say.

    The government is rotten,
    to the core.
    Don’t get me started they say.

    And another thing these illympics,
    yeh shower.
    Full of shoite the telly be next couple week.

    Saying so and so brit, has failed winning line,
    with crap excuse.
    Yes, it will be purgatory friends, with english spouting shoite.

    Spike Milligan, : ))))

  • Anonymous

    If I have confused anyone with my swan reference, this might explain it. Heard Hugh is fighting hard for this law to be repealed as we speak, no doubt, maybe, but maybe not.

    Always remember one on his early wild food early programmes, climbing up a tree to farm crow chicks that had a few weeks earlier had one of their legs tied to a branch so not to fly from the nest, in an ancient rookery. Used to be quite common, my faming ancestral past family used to do it, my great-uncle once told me,–does-Queen-birds.html

  • Anonymous

    I must be reaching a PhD in youtube,
    been bothering it so long.
    Looking creatures, showing features,
    barking mad in total song.

    Clicked with me, instatantly, visited,
    seeing shit, world abound.
    Yes crap may say, but don’t see it,
    people bonkers me found.

    Yes youtubbies, strange creatures,
    invented themselves.
    Posting the most bizzare crap road,
    like hidden garden elves.

    Suppose that sums up what I think of youtubb, and might as well post one of the earlier songs that got my attention, out my back door,

    Reposted several times it has, but still there, y’all.

  • Anonymous

    Said it before Alastair, feel free to allow my comments and shit to be used, there is loads times zillion in my head, if anyone wants to edit and wotsit whatever it is called again, to put into a publication, on say randomness in the modern age. Got a hell of a load of other ideas, so it won’t be a one off.

    For instance, has anyone thought of human race was here several times in the billions of years of our Earth, obviously archaeolgy lost, due to scraping geology and ice? Ok, then, just a couple of times. The microchip could have been invented before, a while ago?

    Too philosophy? Could be.

  • Anonymous

    Might as well post one of my favorite welsh jokes, here goes…

    A cockney bloke comes down to Wales to work on a road bypass of a welsh village, working on one of those earth-moving excavator machine things.

    After the first week, he gets home to his digs, pissed off, and his landlady notices it and asks him “What is up luv?”.

    And he says “All the welsh lads are taking the piss ‘art of me, bat they are all speaking welsh, and I kent understaaaand a fuck they are saying”.

    And the landlady says “Don’t worry love, I will teach you all the welsh you need to know this weekend, and then you will be alright”.

    So monday morning comes, he walks down the hill to work, sees the milkman, says “Bore da” to him, then sees the postman, and says “Simae, sut mae’r hwyl?” to him.

    Then he sees this bloke, pushing his motorbike up the hill, straining his guts out, so this cockney fella says “Bore da” to him, and this bloke just turns around and looks at him, and says, “Fuck off you welsh cunt”.


    : )

  • Anonymous

    Good photo of them here, and article, Sapphire and Steel.

    Brilliant clip of Joanna in vid above with shit-scary full eyed brown contact lenses in.

  • Anonymous

    So many ladies on the shelf,
    I just can’t choose.
    That one, no that one, or that,
    oh, can’t make mind up.

    Aisle not travelled, now obvious,
    best man not picked.
    Girl close wedding dramas seen,
    with me spare prick.

    Yes, I just simply cannot chose,
    all the ladies in life.
    Scared I suppose if I do send,
    me into some strife.

    Don’t think I need to say more, still going along the top shelf, pick and mix, woolies sweetie style, with the bucket of my mind. : )

  • Anonymous

    Ancient mariner I am,
    woman each port.
    Travel around venture,
    meeting all sort.

    Leave a shilling here,
    then there,
    New shoes or skirt,
    for young bare.

    All colours, then hat on,
    GB tide come in docked,

    Dylan Thomas and a seamans life, oceans on floated, stormed, got to make the best of it, with ladies, bigotry practised, but with what law?

  • Anonymous

    oops, bigamy even, but could be the other, if international.

  • Anonymous

    Husbands scared, when I am around,
    so they should be.
    Their ladies eyes noticed dilated large,
    when I am in see.

    “He’s not married?!” I hear them say,
    from their powder office.
    “Is he gay?” “never way his eyes stripped me”,
    “must be bi then, both orofice”.

    Better keep my husband away then, in that case,
    bag of spanners face or not.
    Hang on, he’s started on Dorothy, can sniff money,
    cash hunter see, smelled out Dot.

    Yep, can see me being webbed by a wealthy woman one day, say ten to fifteen years younger than me. Millionairess – already know loads, Boots for instance, but she is too young. Still pick and mixing still.

  • Anonymous

    Time passing, when young, you don’t notice,
    following a slug.
    Then becomes quicker, say nineteen, tortoise,
    winning against the hare.

    Life moves on, seeing monsters through thighs,
    own, or owned, no difference.

    Then life really starts to sprint, outpacing yourself,
    jack rabbit like, with side-steps.

    And then wheelchair time, and “have you taken your pills?”,
    christ, bring back that slug, he was a friend.

    Time and life, seeing youngster children very young make a century from a year, you can tell, eighteen year olds look at fifteen year olds as dummy-suckers, and fifteen year olds look at twenty-one year olds as decrepit, and well past it, brains and body in a dustbin.

  • Anonymous

    Move over, you are past it,
    hear what I say?
    Life is for the young, forty,
    don’t go shirty, way.

    You have had your chance,
    so accept it, spent.
    It is up to us now you know,
    future push to went.

    Sent same lines as you all,
    to find conclusion.
    That time conquers us all,
    not your confusion.

    That is your problem today,
    tomorrow us we say.
    Hoping it does not come,
    when, like you, we fray.

    Tried hard there the rotational thing of life to show, being self-imporant and non-generational thinking sends you on selfish pills. Bollocks to it, live your age as best as you can, but don’t be bothered with thoughts that you are falling behind, it is thought by all, everyone.

    Dylan Moran on yankies, and they are supposed to be the most forward in the world….. at going backwards….

    Wonder where Pocohantes comes in this, I thought, ey?

  • Anonymous

    I showd her, how to get pregnant.
    but what thanks, do I get?
    Carrying on clever, with my daughter,
    thinking, I have to accept.

    Dragged her from her family, dysfunctional,
    ask her now, time past, she won’t complain.
    Glad to hear it, her cuckoo mother, complaing,
    is now totally six foot, under.

    Two sons, spouted mad out of there, but may I say,
    stunning two sons, jeezuz, brilliant young kiddies they are,
    and I am not bullshitting, it as if, in some peculiar way,
    they have a perverted bit of me in them, met them several times,
    and my gawd, they really liked to meet me. Song for Curtis and Callum, promised whatever happens they told me, at such a young age, when I asked them, will look after my Siân.

    Ok ok, so there was soma alturia motives for them to say such. the dirty young lads. : )

  • Anonymous

    Self-perception, I find it hard to find,
    in ladies horse-flied around them.
    Lads like tomcats, or dogs lost their way,
    sniffing all over, intense looked, at your back door.

    Bucket of water, nothing to see here, go away,
    they say daughter, sniffing I am after, shotgun time to play.
    Blast their arse with twelve shot, as I see them bouncing over hedge,
    and daughter, if you are putting yourself out there, for gawd sakes,
    learn to kick them right in the nuts, in the goolies daughter, until you find the right one, or the local police sergeant will be here everyday, warning me on the local doc is overloaded with work each morning, picking lead out of the arse of your admirers.

    Daughters, ey? Who’d have them, ey? Flies round horseshit.

  • Anonymous

    Kiwis in a different form,
    coming to Cardiff to win.
    Against GB NI ladies tho’,
    wimmin, put them in the bin.

    Should be interesting, heard,
    good crowd there to make.
    Tickets as we speak selling,
    as like a tidy hot welsh cake.

    40 thou they say will be there, as we speak, but there is excellent hope for a fair sized walk up crowd, dot com last minute.

    4pm KO, live on beeb one.

  • Anonymous

    The more realise that depression is a way of life,
    rather than become covered in pills.
    Be sooner rather than later as we modern life bestride,
    on a horse called hope, galloping ahead.

    Looking back, does I think does it more, back door,
    but in front of us blinkered, striding trying ahead.
    Yes, clampering over the midst of humanity, think,
    when you you could do it, but no more.

    BS, and wotsername from Friends, picking her out of a crowd, fucking total set up it was, shows yanks then Reagun what they were. So BS the chancer I take with a pinch of salt, he is not never to be trusted what comes out of his yank gob,

    Still give Monica, fat or thin, one. But BS is a right c$$t, I think.

  • Anonymous

    we go.

  • Anonymous

    BS dodged the Vietnam draft, didn’t he? Went to Canada, or something?

    I could be wrong. But if right, sums the selfish cunt up. Never liked the bloke, at all, something about him just gives me the creeps, can’t put my finger on it.

  • Anonymous

    Deliberate or thick, or didn’t look up wikipedia? What came up on the screens came from Londres.

    Think it was english deliberate, with all this independence scottish thing going on, I think. MI5 SE English up to their games again, as if no one can guess. Idiots.

  • Anonymous

    Vaginal hygene, do ladies get taught that,
    in their tight jeans, lacking air?

    Think not, on what I have seen and been,
    fanny wash, bidet ten times a day.

    Sorry to be forward, but sense prevails,
    candida attacks, within those trails.

    If ignorant, so what say is succinct, it seems,
    mothers not knowing, how to taught.

    Power shower, get it up in there, forget hymen,
    fungal up there, get rid wash, you dirty.

    Smelly fanny, now so sunny, easily done,
    simple things, up there.

    I am old enough now to say the honest truth, and we are not talking about knob cheese here, unlike jew, circumsised.

  • Anonymous

    Metart, it is a biological lesson, for obviously for males, mainly, top shelf paki corner shop money saviour and saver, to see what you look like, when in situation, I get in there, eventually,

    More tea Vicar? Her name is Janet A, by the way, Vicar, if you are interested….

    I agree, Father/Vicar, oh yes…

  • Anonymous

    Should have done a Jimi Hendrix, who accepted his fate, and he did, “do Vietnam”,


  • Anonymous

    Always puzzled me our germs killed them – what the fuck about their germs?

    As if we have a patent on human germs. But it could be true, syphilis came into europe, from them, it is told, as Henry Eight supposedly found out with that barren spanish wife, as barren as a breeze block she has been described as, changing our counrty’s religion until as we speak, Father Ted and the paddies for instance. Catherine could have been a slag before Arthur, her first husband, eldest son of Henry Seven?

    What do you say, Father?

    yes, as I thought, fecking Rome!

  • Anonymous

    Absolved, we always hope from fathers,
    then are those just pawns.
    Us Europeans can say at that,
    tell you what, fuck off?

    We were cunts, going around, travelling,
    no doubt about, don’t blindely deny.
    History past, my village was burnt,
    asIi went to west Wales, to hide.

    Again, hope Syria sorts it’s shit out, us welsh, who covered the whols of ehgland and wales and southern scotland, has been through the same shit, in time. 667, Battle of Chester, with the Saxons, is distinct, in my peaoples memory. Monks heads cut off before us lost, spectating.

  • Anonymous

    Did well to get it up to 700, ey Alastair, when I originally conservativelly thoght five hundred was my distance. Watching looking, at this present moment, my friends, RAF, going over there ahead.

    Opening ceremony.

    Yes, Alastair, I am in the RAF club, a modern served airman, and crickey, it is interesting, when I post something like this,

    Ja!, oh fuckin’ ‘ell, Ja!

  • Anonymous

    615(circa) even, Battle of Chester, when we were cut off from y pobl o’r hen gogledd – the people from the old north, namely Cumbria and Strathclyde, Strathclyde which includes the Blue land, better known these days as Glasgow, and the scottich borders too, Hawick and such, down to Carter’s Bar.

  • Anonymous

    What is my wish at the of the day I think,
    for you gobshite will get out my face.
    Leave to die, in peace, without facing,
    to shit giving me misery, sent me here.

    Carry on, simple talking, I am sceaming,
    no one at home, aliens seem to me, family.
    Tried to talk, perverted cruel, silence door enter,
    eroding any sense, I see in life at all, within me.

    Three daughters, four ladies indoors, what hope?
    one man against god whatever chatting balistic.
    Might as well become knackered, balls cut off,
    faced with generational cruel, bitches dalmational.

    But hope, Betty, the only one in there not psycho nor nuts,
    keeps humouring everyone there, head down.
    Going mad in her own way, but still sane still,
    family dysfunctional, survive still, with a will.

    Ah.bollocks to it, had a guts full of my father, and my mother. I had shit total parents, and don’t tell me anything different, I am old enough now that they were total numbnut selfish crap parents. Fucked me right up. Use to have this repeating dream, where something was given to me, then was taken away, then offered to me again, and then a chair was kicked from beneath me, and trying to run away, but I was running on a spot, trying to get away – that is how fucked up my parents are. First headmaster at my first Primary School, Priory Street School said I was the most clever child he had in his school for a while, and that was the worst thing he could have said to my idiot selfish parents. Best friend of mine parents later told me when older, wondering what the fuck happened to me, expecting me to run a space mission or something, but I think I have explained enough.

    Priory Street Primary School, Carmarthen, as here,

    Brilliant headmaster is top left above. Still remember him, even from a young age.

  • Anonymous

    Notice the yellow paint under the engine is to tell your own ack-ack not to fire at you, and the yellow coloured rudder at the back was to tell any “friendly” aircraft following you that gets on your tail not try try and blast you out of the sky, oh ja!

  • Anonymous

    Might as well post this, to just say all differences resolved, more or less,

    We read history in this country, what is fed us, but not so much how the otherside was, for it to happen.

    As they say, there is two sides of the arguement, and I think I have a grasp on both.

    As was said several times, the US turned up late for the two world wars, and now they are trying hard to turn up early…. : )

  • Anonymous

    George W. Bush was a draft dodger too, plus. How the hell he became President of the US is baffling. Not only did he avoid going to Vietnam, he didn’t turn up for his aircraft flying training with the Texas rangers home guard, or something. Baffling.

    Came across a list of them, some artists and musicians and consciensious objecters, that no doubt Bruce Springsteen was, but he didn’t want to become the President of the United fucking States! Can’t find that list on googleing again, will look again, some other time.

    George dubious Bush is as described -dubious. He is to blame for dragging Blair into a total land of shit with Iraq. But what could Blair do? There was no talking sense to the yank fella, his mind was set, and we had to go along, to try and keep him fairly sensible.

  • Anonymous

    Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket, filmed mostly on old London Docklands before Canary Wharf and things, and on an RAF base, alledgedly, is definative psychlogical mind of yankies of then that were drafted into a war their young minds were confused with, even much more so, when they arrived back, pilloried by even more confused, on what they got dragged into, semi-willing. Praise to them fellas, and MASH type ladies post-Korea, too, trying putting bones and intestines back in their right place.

    Good clip here of said film, when the shit starts in their personal lives,

    Not the clip I was looking for, but that will do, for now.

  • Anonymous

    Trying hard I am, ey Alastair?,
    to shock, when looking upstair.
    To find that certain line to say,
    get those gobshites to say pray.

    Will get that certain line one day,
    yes no doubt, for commotion done.
    It will no doubt be interesting both,
    on two sides, them twits, me rum.

    think that covers it for today, us lacking megals, as Muttley,

    There Olympics are becoming more Whacky Races to us Brits, I think. Been telling the beeb for months to leave our athletes alone to get on with training, let alone those carrots fed by advitisers. Didn’t you realise they had to train for the Olympics 100%? Or are just stupid, or maybe selfish, and forgetting the bigger picture?

  • Anonymous

    Someone asks me for a fight,
    but I can’t go halfway.
    Trained to kill instant, no,
    not ever half way.

    Defend, stand back, watch,
    as long as it takes, darting.
    Then grab wrist twist, turn,
    hold head full back wring


    Don’t think that would go down well in the local, when they say he only accused you of shagging his wife, and it was a case of mistaken identity, honest gov.

  • Anonymous

    If I have lost anyone under thirty on Wacky Races, an episode from it might clear up things. This is what you get when late 1960’s animators are also bob hoped doped and pop lsd, and that, hippies, what they no doubt got up to then,

    You might agree, it certainly shows they were out there, man!

  • Anonymous

    …furthermore was told to improve my swimming, people from New Addington at their excellent pool outside Croydon remember me turning up there to swim an hour back and for early morning and lunchtime too, the lady life guards especially, when I cut my finger on a sharp end poolside tile, and she giggled, before my lithe body, as she put a plaster on, first-aided.

    And no, I didn’t shag it, though I suppose she wanted, and I suppose I should have.

  • Anonymous

    just checked, good to see NA pool is still going strong. Interesting place, New Addington, an all ways – well, it was then….

    The Croydon Tramline changed NA a lot, I have been told. Labour councillors of Croydon had a big big hand in getting that up and running.

  • Anonymous

    I was a cyclist when I was then fifteen,
    thighs and calves squeezed into jeans.

    Shoulders bicycle bar triangle backed,
    slim upper body, keep weight ratio right.

    Downhill, keep the pedals level breath take,
    knees inside underneath cross bar, head down.

    Remembering to service bike for such every month,
    pull those metal balls out and grease on spindles, and chain.

    That is what I used to do – the local lads thought I was barking, and when they saw me freewheeling past them downhill when they were pumping, they still didn’t “get it”. Get your tub of grease out lads, and sort your balls out! : )

  • Anonymous

    Good grief, a year since his blog thread was posted.

    I must have posted on average 1.85 posts a day to this, roughly calculating. Good grief, there must be something wrong, or right, with me. But it has been emotional.

    Pointless saying enough is enough, and move on, because no doubt a string of words and semi-rhymes will suddenly appear in my mind, uncontrolled, and have to attack here again, with whatever grabs my imagination that day.

    I just can’t help myself, to a certain extent.

    Anyway, might as well keep it going though the Olympics, even though the arrows and shootahs are coming to a finish, and now it will be wall to wall athletics, and boxing, until the end. Boxing is funny in the Olympics, isn’t it? Seems to last most days of an Olympics fortnight.

  • Anonymous

    Gold rush in a day, non-Klondyke,
    in UK this day, perfick totally like.
    Kent hop fields, Mariette strutting,
    seems that, know one where putting.

    Like, say, around the neck, attired,
    hanging lowering neck with weight.
    You deserved it love, head struggle,
    to keep up gold heavy, face in toilet, celebrating suddenly…

    : )

    ralph and hughie into a pan after celebrating – I know it goes on. Ach, get off love, your breath stinks of stale sam bucas and tequila shots, you’re totally wasted, gold medal or not, get orf out of my face.

    Darling buds, by the way, Mariette, very, umm, lovely like, mun, cushty, like,

  • Anonymous

    I didn’t write properly, you know, proper,
    since I lacked total confidence to express.
    Thinking I must be doing something wrong,
    but now finally, I couldn’t give two fanny shits.

    Wish I was like this when young, without mould,
    encompassing me suffocating me what they told.
    Glad now finally I can express myself, not told silly,
    and can just come out with what I see and perceive.

    Hard road I know, some could say I created for myself,
    which is a point, a journey taken observing before write.
    So swings ‘n play yard and roundabouts could have been,
    and was me that was taking life with a pinch of salt and seen.

    Yes, been told I was such, but maybe possible, as Roger Waters of Pink Floyd described himself, one has some sort of amazing powers of observation, that certainly puts most people on their back foot when you open one’s gob. Ah well!

  • Anonymous

    Alastair – was a little disappointed that you didn’t post my Dai Brush and Harvey Smith post (that is if it got through the internet oether, that is, if not, nevermind), but I sensed the equestrians would have done well today, and they have, another gold in the saddle sidebags, back to Dawson City, Yukon Klondike style.

    They did alright, didn’t they Alastair, for a bunch of predominantly fifty-pluses? There is hope for us, come Rio!

    : )

  • Anonymous

    Holy mackeral Alastair, did I write that this morning? An healthy sub-conscious comes out with succinct things, feel free to re-post to whoever, I give you my permission, it is yours to use in any way. Only took quarter-an-hour at most to write from the storage box at the back of my brain.

    But there again, it could be crap, and naive, but I think it is, in a mature way – better to grow old silly, than too proud, I think.

    Anyway, when all is said and done, I have impressed myself there, using the sloping technique from Dylan’s Map of Love poem and all that, as a 45rpm short pop music record technique, ripped-off, to get into the charts. 

  • Anonymous

    Got a friend, that was on pills, when he went through things when his wife and he says his life left him. I ask him, do you take them still, and he says no.

    And then he adds, I take sleeping pills only for a good nights sleep.

    Well, build your unnatural serotonin levels up then during sleep, I thought, that affects and blunts and smoothes off the sharp ends and edges of life of what us unlike you see during the a natural day. You are a pharmaceutical company dream, I thought.

    But I didn’t press him, since I, unlike him, can spot an user…..

  • Anonymous

    Alastair, been working on some sort of worked for a few months now, for an actor that lives nearby, Dafydd Hywel, about sixty now, he doesn’t know it yet, but talked to him several times, and in our sorry to say dreamed ale’d state, got a line of thinking on a mono for him, before a camera, but it is still in personal wotsit/development state, as they say, yes that is it, pictured wotsit, you know, frame by frame in a book or whiteboard, but done by a single fella, me. Called, There once was a mind.

    There could be a mind, but not mine, I am at the side. As we are all, as we go on our way we call life, turning our corners, yes those corners, these days now those modern corners. Yes, we didn’t see them did we? Hopeless we are when things turn up. We try and get involved, thinking we are keeping up, but the fact of the matter is, we are left well behind.

    Animal man changing, before my sad for myself and spooked eyes, remembering when I was young, when everything was in front of what we see, with our own eyes.

    ….and so it goes on Alastair, something like that. As I said, in development, but it is on about changing life but without saying anything obvious about it, which is the trick I am trying to do, and it is hard work. Like saying pictures seen after a few days (as in film cameras personal) you come across them now, if you are at the right viewing place, now available anywhere – and things like that. Have the thread of it all more or less sorted, but intense monologue words is the factor that makes it work, otherwise it sounds rubbish. And, of course, there are tracks of it in the welsh language, witch I have to get right as well, since it is based around here, and to reflect changing times, where the welsh and english language spoken around abouts have a strange love hate relationship to each other.

    Ach, this will take me years, I can see it….

  • Anonymous

    “tracts of it”, even. My spelling is rubbish, always has been, and that is quite time-consuming, the self editing, when mind expressed is galloping ahead of any pedantic english school teacher in it. But I have a bizarre use of grammar, which some people find baffling, but I use it for intensity, to stir for a repeat, if first when flown by and missed.

  • Anonymous

    The Olympics is more to be excited about it, isn’t it?
    School sports first school almost is from my memory.
    Tunnelball, and those strange rubber rings exchanged,
    running around in circles to just try and win, against anything,
    Cross Hands 1973, we did win, tore the local valleys oppostion, apart.

    I can remember running around like a bluearsed fly telling everyone to go for it, but my best moment was Brian Beynon doing an Usain Bolt, winning the senior 70 yard sprint – he just slaughtered them.

    Memories, ey?

  • Anonymous

    Another memory, back at our primary school trials for mentioned such sport event, we were lined up for the seventy yarder, and to be truthful, I doubted if I would qualify.

    I lined up alongside my old mate Balbini – his dad sold icecreams – the whistle went, and off we went, and after twenty-five yards, when Brian Beynon was kicking up dust we ran into, I turned to my mate, Balbini, who we were neck and neck at the time for fifth place or something, I asked him “how you doing?”, and he broke into giggles, and then I did, we totally corpsed, and we came in joint last.

    Great times. Brian Beynon was electric!

  • Anonymous

    Bags of leather,
    shoved into faces.
    Bunch of fives,
    done in good sport.

    Ducking and diving,
    in your ring.
    Dancing non-club,
    cha-cha, ‘ave it!

    Points scored head,
    sternum coughed.
    Three rounds pant,
    keep them up, won!

    Boxing has different views and affects on people, but I think it is whether you’re above the sand, or under it, I think. And ostriches make good taekwondo fighters I think, what with their feet….

  • Anonymous

    Case of bursitis again,
    hot weather brought on.
    Immune system grumbling,
    thankfully, just only that.
    Left heel this time, not knees,
    could hardly walk, semi-hop.
    Not rheumatoid arthritis ta,
    what killed my poor crippled ma.
    Great aunt and uncle same side,
    of family it haunts and infests.
    The cartilage of ribs is the worst,
    when attack, eye-crossing cramp.
    Guts and lungs mucous membranes,
    also grumble, cough or runs at times.
    Yes, immune system is a strange thing,
    said evolve suitable, against parasites.
    Yes, woke up thurs morning, and my left achillies was shocking, and this weeks warm weather has brought it on, getting my immune system too excited. What buggers me up the most, is whenever I over do physical excercise these days, the outside of my knees complain, especially when going downhill. It’s a bastard, but thankfully this all only started in my early thirties, when playing footie for excercise with local side, saw me going down the stairs on my arse, with ankles and knees dysfunctioning, on sunday morn.

  • Anonymous

    Oh large huge big bollocks Alastair.

    No need to say more, isn’t it Alastair?

    frightened me to death when this happened after I mentioned them, really paranoidically freaked me out it did. I have got to put it down to coincidence, or I have some forward looking power of some sort, which is totally absurd.

    Maybe I have the ability to capture a mood, which the dark depths of my mind seems to find. Christ, I am spooking myself here Alastair!

    shit sandwich all the same.

  • Anonymous

    Walls closing in,
    sorry, it is me,
    can’t describe,
    myself, fright.

    Need air, out,
    country, plead.
    Let me about,
    where I am.

    City life, tried,
    not for me.
    Cars and man,
    bark own way.

    Sorry, but I am a country pikey – got any problem with that? Do ya?

    So you watch it – evcen though a pickey did a crap tarmac job for my6 dad, weeds coming up in no time, have a lot of time for my friends, when things needing sorting, and it only takes a few hundredweight of scrap to deal with, so watch it. By the way, Cross Hands is the old trail, and I am one of the buggers that have to keep it such, works both ways.
    Ahr no lads, is wos only saying feck, na all.

  • Anonymous

    Heel back to normal. Funny, after recovery, do not get any other joint pain for a few weeks, as if the immune system is satisfied for a while. Hope the tipping point for full blown never comes though. Yes, have this inherited lurgie within me, but that’s life, I’ll get by with whatever comes, MS or RA or whatever.

  • Anonymous

    why am I not allowed to post a line between lines, no matter how many times I hit return carriage? Is someone trying to get me to post less poems? Not you obviuosly Alastair, but someone in the dark shadows.
    I pick these things up quick, like this, hit it a few times, and….
    This happens.

  • Anonymous

    91 years old, with all his teeth,
    hanging on with his fingernails.
    Had his innings, time declare,
    hang his bat up, Wally Hammond.
    Prince a miserable git, above station,
    talking babbling crap in background.
    Always putting foot in puddled crap,
    Lilibet? how hell did you put up with it.
    Song for the him, he is on his way out, won’t be long now, another health failed hurdle, and even the doctor of god won’t be able to keep him alive. Come on docs, your flogging an old horse here, let Lilibet actually enjoy her last years, without you lot scaffolding him up!
    Comes to us all Phil,
    Let it go, when the time comes, don’t try to hang on – when you are called, you are called, accept it, and go into the light you see, at that perfect time, of past, Phil.

    • Ehtch

      Always amuses me with the beeb in the extended vowels they use when reporting anything about the royal family, especially at times like this, as in – we go over to Witchell wotsisname, what is the latest Witchell wothisname?
      “well, I am staaaanding outsiiiide the hooooospital aaaat the moooooment, and the doooooctors are saaaayiiing his kidneys are fuuuuucked”…..
      : )
      It will be a comefest for the beeb if he does pop his clogs, that is all we will hear from them, and the Olympics would be long forgotten. But no doubt Phil really enjoyed the Olympics – plenty of sailing and horses success to get him excited there. So he’s happy. Good gawd – what would have happened if he cashed his chips in during the Olympics? Blimey, that would have been interesting!

  • Anonymous

    Dandy is in my young genes,
    more than Beano.
    Topper and Beezer too,
    but not so much.
    Korky the Cat is engrained,
    1947 annual I possess.
    Hard cover, paper shortage,
    from my young mind.
    Beano annual, 1969,
    swordfish submarine.
    On cover, and Dandy too,
    with huge turles on a pacific island.
    Quite a stab in the guts in my older age that they are struggling to sell at the moment, Dundee’s best, but hope the cake will rise again, when in future look backed,
    Viz is brilliant too – Felix and his unfeasible Amazing Underpantsants was my favorite, stretching them over the goalposts when the crossbar broke, in a footie match, is a classic memory of mine from Viz, when I was, ahem!, 23!

  • Ehtch

    Mercury and lead put into one,
    I want it no more.
    Petrol fumes and dentists said,
    it was the core.
    Sending me barking mad and hatters,
    leaving life that I saw.
    When I was young, young body,
    nothing in my core.
    No need to say more about lead and mercury, and I hope your dentist reads this!
    Still, used to sniff lead in my old trade, being a practising electronics technician, soldering until the cows come home, Little Boots, aka Victoria Hesketh, from Blackpool, five foot nothing, searching for a laser harp,
    What makes you say I like this Vicky too, ey? Three in a bed? ok then…

  • Anonymous

    got it, to get over this sudden difficulty, Alastair, I will do this…
    or this
    or even this
    that will do for now.
    : )

  • Anonymous

    Alastair, just to show I don’t always talk bullshite, Beano’s 1969 cover from their that year’s annual, with the bash street kids and their teacher, getting up to surreal things – brilliant artwork it is, genius in fact.
    Hippies again from then, drawing after a night out, again!

  • Anonymous

    We choose to sleep, at night, why?
    I don’t get it, non-circadian rhythm.
    I can be awake and sleep at any,
    time when choose, day and dream.
    Call me at any time when to be alive,
    and I will be, you name it, eye’s open.
    Looking around bright as any morning,
    may poacher stir within me, at dawn.
    Ladies from Greece at dawn, mmmm, care, non-asked,

  • Anonymous

    Closed beds, in closed homes,
    I cannot cope with, smothered.
    Out open I want to be with love,
    fresh air coming across us, calm.
    Morning out of house, that feeling,
    not enclosed as not should us be.
    Internal allergenes, damp fungus,
    vargina and knob cheese whatever.
    Double glazing? Put a couple of jumpers on, and open the back door, get the fresh air in, minus whatever,
    More Ollie here, when he was down Torquay Torbay, in the early 1960’s, with Jane Merrow,
    Saw Janice Rule in a film yesterday on telly – she is another that gets me going from past, denying time, became a top trick cyclist to the stars in NYC, qualified when her acting was coming to an end, incredible intelligent lady, I have heard. Janice Rule here,
    And Janice in that Burt Lanchaster film, The Swimmer, when his mind bought the farm, brilliant acting,
    Barbed life, I have spotted it, living, my life.

  • Anonymous

    more Ollie, with an indian elephant he got friendly with in the late 1960’s, with his old mate michael wotsit winner restaurants, No need to say alastair, I am on fire on spreading brit moving eye and audible crafts for those that see what I post, posting the way, just watch and shoot friend, I have amazing results so far, one world village, the only conclusion at the moment we can make, Alastair, Sorry, apologies for being so ahead, of our life.

  • Anonymous

    I am usually alive, but wake up as death,
    takes couple hours to get up and running.
    All the dread you can think asleep occurs,
    in morn or whenever I try stare life coming.
    Two hours of mental state I battle, to see,
    that things are not so bad, my night fuming.
    Cup of tea some say, and then you be better,
    cup of tea? next they say smallhouse peeing!
    Ach, something happens to my metabolism when I am asleep, wake up the devil himself, all through my life, has an affect that you do not choose to want a kip!

  • Anonymous

    So. Harri has got his fishing tackle out in front of a camera phone? Was bound to happen these days.
    He is a case though, as us welsh describes us characters, a star, getting his marbles out for diplomatic reasons with the yanks.
    Hope he reeled in some ladies there, is all I hope, to make it all worth while for him. As long as he didn’t lose his camera phone, after then he took pics…
    Song for Harri fach, from Wales – for him to have a look around and ideas next time he down in Carmarthenshire with his da at his holiday home, we will be glad to see your shrapnel and banana down by here, the ladies are saying, and some gents too, apparently, don’t know why myself,
    Got names and addresses for them all Harri – and Wills, behave yewerselve, you are spoken for now, so keep your tackle in your bedroom boxers.

  • Anonymous

    We stroll around, fooling ourselves,
    when the end is coming.
    Think we love our children eternaly,
    in our selfish boxes.
    We are here for us, it seems, just us,
    fannying around modern crap.
    You couldn’t give two shits about tomorrow,
    using your son and daughter,
    for your today.
    Suppose I am clear there, a vid, from youtubby, appropriate, I think,
    Up to you oldies, if you choose to live in fantasy land, that your children will live, in your knappy mess, after you go into the ground, and do nothing now. They would spit on your grave, looking back at history.

  • Anonymous

    Nice use of the word knapp, as in flint, even though I say it myself, fire lighting…

  • Anonymous

    I have to grow my dad, last ten years, from behind his sofa,
    he will thank me, when the light comes, in his eyes.
    Hidden away, anyone behind he can find, had to put up myself,
    all my life, thinking, how is this people are like, found no.
    Dragged all his entrails of his mind out exposed, not recomend,
    it was just me, to find his end, for him, and me.
    Barking mad it has been, up and down in insanity, the kitchen dustbin dropped kicked into the garden by me, and grabbed shirt buttons popped, and my head drumbed by myself into the nearest wall.
    I could have gone away and done and dusted my hands, but I knew he needed family, and that is me, in his own asperger-like causing upbringing, noticed.
    A repeated chapter, all across our modern land, unlike celtic old.
    Dan who?

  • Anonymous

    Funny, finding out your friends, when they weren’t,
    as you really knew, always suspected cannot be trusted.
    Ah well, fool I was to think, you could say with sock puppets,
    ask them how they are, never asked my daughter.
    Twits to the side of me, twits to the left, it seems, as go on,
    but I have always had broad shoulders, to no care.
    Can explain it, it is my start, it was not good, say no more, it was bad, only my intelligence born won me through, but won as in relative.
    Time for another song, something special for all, here goes, will try and find, follow links from my specials to something new, and hopefully magical.
    WELL! that didn’t take long, thanks electronically yours, yet again,

  • Anonymous

    There are man women, and women men, basically straight,
    but of course following their rails.
    Horses we all are how we are, discover what we want told,
    told inside of us untold ourselves.
    Find what you want, it is out there, others same, forget say,
    there are just same out there, for you.
    Gareth Thomas (rugger) I told, who I have got to admit, knew he was gay since the late ninties, but it took him a while to come clean, and he regrets it that he didn’t come earlier, out of the closet that is.
    Song for Gareth, and why not?
    like dancing with gays – good dancers, but crap at northern soul spinning, which is a little disappointing.

  • Anonymous

    Playing at the edge of life,
    some of us do.
    To be tripped up not want,
    control but who.
    Life’s natural occasions,
    unnatural to undo.
    Will have to stick or bust,
    either mind in stew.
    Life, don’t talk to me about life – I have a pain right down my side, in my diodes, but do I complain?
    Marvin, the Paranoid Android/Douglas Adams.
    Go in peace! Peace? don’t talk to me about peace….

  • Anonymous

    Saw the marvellous Felicity Jones (as in Flashbacks of a Fool) again friday night in Soulboy, a 2010 northern soul film, an underground culture that I think will take off mainstream, just wait for Landahn nightclubs having nights of it soon. Felicity is going places, actresstorially, I have no doubt about it. If only I was twenty years earlier….
    And in another clip of flashbacks of us fools, you could say,

    vagina!?! what’s that? : )

    Don’t worry, no stalking, Felicity is a librian I have read, had enough of them in my life, and it is always without rule a disaster to us capricorns.

  • Anonymous

    Our summer? It has been ghastly, as it always is every year.
    That was the weather this summer.
    Marvin, your long term weather man/bag of nuts and springs and transistors.

  • Anonymous

    Discovering female part,
    vicar didn’t tell me that.
    How marriage should be,
    said go into darkness thee.
    Into bed at the first night,
    creature panting by side.
    Thinking what do I do here,
    then grabbed hand, oh dear.
    Travel her down under bedclothed,
    find a female bulb on my fingered.
    Tiny, is that your desire, she gasped.
    asked, then grabbed my Eifel Towered.
    VICCCCARRRR! oooo. Tidy!

  • Anonymous

    Watched a brilliant vid about Soulboy yesterday, about the oldies crooning about it, and appeared in it dancing, in the background, as you do, when you are knocking on, but can I for the life of me find it today? NOOOO!
    Will try later, with different search words, with one lot that got me there. Could have been somewhere else.

  • Anonymous

    Might I say something slightly “Frankie Boyle” almost-like Alastair. Stay with me, this might make sense – why don’t they have a Paralympics for those that were actually born disabled, like the marvellous Ellie Simmonds from Walsall Midlands, now trains and lives in Swansea, West Wales, and another Paralympics games for those that weren’t, so to avoid any drama dramatics giving bad publicity to the kosher ones?
    But Pretorious is a borderline case I suppose, what with him being born without fibulas, but still! They do spout off a bit when some of them don’t get their way, ey? Testing it is.
    Calm down grannie, Willy died years ago, that is why he doesn’t come to see you anymore, even if he wasn’t grandad….
    : )

  • Anonymous

    Alastair, just now said to him, for a Christmas box, to my dad, I will buy one of your autographed books, the one “It’s all in the Mind” for him, and phone up that Waterstones off Hampstead Teeth for one, but I will let you know in advance if they are autobiographically sold out, so you could do one on the side for me and my da. Anyway, fecking xmas and his reindeers are months off. We’ll sort it.
    Anyway, a song, not about selling xmas, honest,
    YO!, etc., an’ all those things.

  • Anonymous

    Sorting out family problems – You are young, he and she is old, and ne’r the two shall meet?
    Sorted then? Good.
    This being a social worker is money for old rope, it really is.

  • Anonymous

    Sorting out family problems – You are young, he and she is old, and ne’r the two shall meet?
    Sorted then? Good.
    This being a social worker is money for old rope, it really is.

  • Anonymous

    Impossible control, of the young,
    uncontrolled, when young found.
    The visions we saw, oldies infested,
    didn’t involve them, in future saw.
    Years pass by, and we lament, slowly,
    on what is only a slug trail on our path.
    When we were young and in power,
    oldies, never us again future discover.
    Another song found, sharp end young life, as it always is, even if us oldies fool ourselves. Kick the football for us, when we are gone,

  • Anonymous

    Don’t think the Beeb music arts section “get” the above act, as can be read here from their review from a couple of weeks ago of the coming album/download/whatever you want to call it, but what is new, ey? The commenters there at the bottom generally lambast the beeb fella that did it, and so they should. It is quite refreshing stuff, I think.

  • Anonymous

    Yes, iamamiwhoami are quite refreshing, even with a tongue-twisting name. Here is their last anon taster before they “came out” and released their album,
    Right up my street, and the vid and music feeling reminds me of Siouxie Sioux from Happy House from thirty years ago-ish,

    Yes, fashion does go in circles, as it always has done. This iamamiwhoami stuff should be in possession of anyone under 25, since it is different, and could soon become the fashion. Sharp-end today it is.

  • Anonymous

    Might as well say that the perfect age for being a sharp-eyed, kill without remorse, soldier, is nineteen. Many many military psychological research projects have confirmed it.
    Makes you think, ey?

  • Anonymous

    Can see now, after recent self-education, why there was no clickable pic for that third vid, where a five year old was explained by a loving mother neighbour not to say the word cunt, at the start,

    That’s better.

  • Anonymous

    ok, ok, so you have to fast forward to the end of the previous part, when a five year old young lady asks “what does cunt mean?”, as they do,

    Last twenty seconds it is. But the last several minutes, with their kitchen talk, is seriously funny, I think, as well.

    Wimmin together, ey? gawd knows what goes on there, us blokes always say, and guess.

  • Anonymous

    Jonna, get yourself stuffed full of pregnancy, you have got to do it sometime so why not now? Better thirty than forty?
    Ey? Niki too. Yes, get it over and done with, the emotions and body shape alien building, and the after affects, mams sucked on too, as like on a wildlife gorilla documentary.

  • Anonymous

    I’ll admit it, I’m a mystery,
    even to myself.
    Keep my head down about,
    like a wooded elf.
    Observant people in my time,
    have observed.
    Float about with eyes in mind,
    me being eyed.
    Fence sitting as a hobby,
    cannot be taught.
    It must come natural within,
    not shelf bought.
    Yes, many people have observed on one, asking what is going on upstairs, but as I said, even to me, it is a bit of a mystery. Ey, Toyah?

    Thssay love, do something about that thspeech impediment!

  • Anonymous

    And no, honest, when Niki refers to dragons, I have absolutely nothing to do with it, as she calls my name, Huw, as in here, honest,

    It is good to be economical with the truth, at times. Royksopp was the conduit to Jonna and Niki with this, when the two fellas from Royksopp said to me, about six years ago, nice ideas, and there we Scandanavian go, even if I am from Wales.

  • Anonymous

    Royksopp as here, with another fine lady, from Sveigne, Robyn,

    Royksopp are Norge, by the way, to even more confuse things.

  • Anonymous

    Blimey, JK alike or what, but maybe Rowling picked up her ideas from such like one, dark depths of a mysterious past, say, 615, or maybe 616, who knows?

  • Anonymous

    Sit my dad in front of a computer,
    saying watch this.
    He says what am I watching,
    in front of his face.
    Your life I say, can’t you see,
    no he says, difficult.
    It’s there I say, staring you,
    sorry son, can’t get it.
    Shall I make it more simple, Dad,
    better do son, my eyes are blind.
    Someone take my dad back to the 1950’s, please, the fucking beatnik he is,

    At least I try to be multi-generational well interested, even if some of the young fucks call me an old fool, and some pensioners….

    whoops, youtube and Cliff Mitchelmore seems to be difficult to click there, but there we go, that’s life.

    Try clicking this instead, and click ahead,

    nope – think youtubby is going through one of these upgrades, again. Sorting their servers out, and all that.

  • Anonymous

    Minimal human contact,
    that is what I want,
    Pass the day with locals,
    all I ask and can’t.
    Modern life, infiltrates,
    denying that.
    Bump into allsorts,
    what a prat.
    Send me somewhere slow,
    where I can catch up.
    Not here and now galloping,
    not knowing what’s a stirrup.
    The horsey english have always got me puzzled, their fascination of it. At least queenie is into west wales corgies, and believe it or not, something called dorgies. Remember cardiganshire and pembrokeshire corgies that lived in a house, rather than a farm, always having a fascination of running after cars, and nipping their tyres, as in cattle hooves, which they were originally bred for.

    Queenie, if you are looking for a welshman to sort your west wales corgis out, just give me a shout. Bluddy dwarf dogs, a good smacking I would do to start it off, and they will be right there, Lilibet, right next to you, knowing I am gnarling and showing my teeth at the side. Animal psychology it is, better than queen Victoria Stilwell!

  • Anonymous

    Ah yes, link works alright now.
    And it is quite ironic that New Quay these days promotes itself, and relies for wealth, as a place for modern day such people to holiday at, what with surfing and such, longer the male hair the better. Funny how things turn out, ey?

  • Anonymous

    It is good the surf wiki at times on dark ages stuff, it gets updated quite often, The work this doctor (of medicine) is quite interesting.
    Discussed genetic archaeology with various people since the late 1990’s, on it’s abilty to fill in historical gaps, when word-of-mouth, generationally, records then were only kept.

  • Anonymous

    With my gorilla reference, Titus I had in mind, who I watched the wildlife docu of on the beeb again, the other day,

    A must watch, if you are that way inclined, well interested in wildlife, and I don’t mean an overgrowth of mice and rats in your home – sorted out a mice infestation here when I moved back, my dad not having a clue what to do. Damp cheap white bread scrunched into a ball in a traditional spring trap, set up carefully to easy spring, and you’ll sort it.

    But hope they help out the Scottish Wildcat, that we are told are in crisis at this very present moment. Sad to hear that. Link,

    Yep, it doesn’t look good for that pussycat. damn and bollox!

  • Anonymous

    This is brilliant interactive link, of past man in the last couple of hundred thousand years, done in co-junction with Oppenheimer below,

  • Anonymous

    Creating corners for oneself, some of us have to,
    back up and look around what is in front.
    But not to be recommended if one is not built,
    a scrum or tackle not to enter, to be blunt.
    Enter at the side, and if you see, give kicking,
    no rules in this game looking being brunt.
    Yes, kick in the testicles I always recommend,
    no fannying, give it right in the male “part”. : )
    Do you agree Brian Moore?

    Hard luck Argies/Pumas against Oz yesterday morning, our time, thought you had it, 13 points ahead with 20 mins to go, but like against Saffa at home, you could have won, if you held it together, As Brian Moore would no doubt agree. I like the bulldog I do.

    My old Forest Hill London landlord got in touch with him years ago, about adoption records and that sort of thing, since they were both adopted children, hoping Brian would be a future spokesperson. But Brian was not interested then, maybe he could be now. “Who do you think you are” telly episode, beeb? You never know with Brian.

  • Anonymous

    Spread thick as in sandwich I knew I wanted to be,
    not dart around online thinly spread.
    Talk about things as on a soap box Hyde Parked,
    standing still saying coming dread.
    The end is nigh, sign above head street walking,
    in paths of aether though instead.
    Tins of rice and large bags of flour get into there,
    need disaster, make simple bread
    Many “irrational” people in various remote parts of the US are into disaster management, but I follow the Sheffield line, from Human League/Heaven 17 – bring it on, if you have to,

    Hard to believe these days that that was conceived in 1981, in GB, to some. Marsh/Ware were cracking onward lookers, and have thick MI5 files, I have heard, on rumour control, due to The Thatch.

  • Anonymous

    Council spannerheads, finally reply,
    not hardcore engineer as one.
    Stable income, unlike as some fight,
    corrupting such like rotten plum.
    And Dave and George and Vince,
    say up manufacturing right up!
    In what way perchance my friends,
    with arse biscuits h & s twup.
    Hard task recover that certain mood,
    where banking wanking better.
    Make things again? Good luck twits,
    not happen first place, tory nutter.
    Yes, got a reply from my old mate that runs a council ski lift, eventually, the other night. Bluddy coward council workers!
    1979, yes, be an estate agent, or a banker, or a politician/councillor, but whatever you do, don’t work in the engineering industry, or you will be sent from pillar to post with company foldups with those tory cees then.

  • Anonymous

    Blimey Alastair, that was one of my deep ones, from the depths of my mind, but true, on semi-simple observation.

    Cracking blokes them those from Sheffield though, always admired them since when first heard, back in the end of the seventies. It must have been all that steel making in their families, knives and folks, which makes what they say so clear.

    Another from them, same film track, but different musical track,

    As Preacher Eli Jenkins said and prayed in Dylan Thomas’ Under Milk Wood, “save me from these knives and folks”, but he meant it in a non-engineering way, in an environment way.

    Heard they all are not interested in national gongs too – but there should be unofficial OBEs and MBEs etc. I think – now there’s a thought….. ey Alastair…. O-non-BEs and MnBEs, ey Alastair…. : )

  • Anonymous

    furthermore Alastair, since you like France, another track from them, since at that time Alastair, I sense, you might have been working your socks off, and might have missed it, so a track from them on the gay Parii Chonse-e-lyseee… (sp!) : ), an old goat from Sheffield picking up a young french student, as you have to do…

    Got friendly with a Bordeaux student on the Gironde, we got on well, well, really well, and invited her to visit me in Slurrey, in Caterham, but bollox, she went elsewhere.

    That’s french girls for you….

    and sorry Alastair what I said earlier, she was five foot three and was not slimeline Kate-like, but not to be put in a milking shed though, she was an exception, on the beach laying next to me only downstairs briefed, they were blamonge moulds, like my mam made when I was young for birthday parties, but she was 21 then though, gravity may have taken over by now though. Ah well, ce la vie, and that!

  • Anonymous

    Al Davies, Andy Evans, brains size of a planet,
    same maths class I was in.
    All got out with A grades, but that was my strain,
    theirs was just everything.
    Andy Prof now up Aber Uni, many physics papers,
    Al been HK Tokyo, moneying.
    And Mike Balbini, knew he would go far, Pablo,
    half italian dad said is coinying.
    Money and wealth and fame, ey? In lifed timed?
    suppose best make of it, soul win.
    Poem for the schoolmates I was in the same year with, and fascinately, the same group class from the start. They used to be a bit frightened with me, when I looked into their eyes, saying to do their homework, or you will have my wrath…

  • Anonymous

    Glenn, their lead singer, lives near you somewhere Alastair, I think, married to a Belgian lady – perhaps you might have bumped into him in your local newsagent or that bookshop?

    Liked his Honeyroot project in recent years, started about six years ago or so, made impressive vids of each track.

    This is an example,

    Another one, year or two earlier,

    The first one is a bit cut-throat yourself, but it was an appreciation track for Ian Curtis of Joy Division from Manch, with his early demise, dark alleyed walked.

  • Anonymous

    Might as well post a greek Marsheaux track, of Human league music covered, vid done by a NYCer, Prof Odd, a few years back, on Ian and Martyn of H17, with their then lead singer also from Sheffield Phil, of later don’t you want me baby fame, who contractually held on to the Human League name, but that is record company english London living lawyers from then for you. Think I posted this a week or two ago, but never mind,

    Bugger it, might as well post the original Human League track, in case Martyn, Ian and Phil read this. Artists ey, and their tantrums?

    Cracking vid made by Prof Odd, ey, but it is nice to hear the original music from circa 1979 too, isn’t it?

  • Anonymous

    My first early lessons was in first year of Grammar school of meeting a photographic brain. Andy Evans in art class, when outside doing a cross-valley watercolour. But before we could finish with the charcoal outline, it started pissing down, and were sent inside to finish it.

    I, as you could might have guessed, produced something abstract, while Andy it was like a photograph, down to a leaf on a tree.

    Many of his close friends he spooked in later years in pubs, when they asked him what was said half-an-hour earlier, and he then said, including any punctuation, what everyone said then. Incredible bloke.

    Was our head boy in last year Grammar. Al Davies, his deputy.

  • Anonymous

    Oh Alastair, a docu of Sheffield via H17, in six parts, and I will now attempt to post all. Done by the beeb agents for the beeb a couple of years back.

    Well worth a watch Alastair, if you have an hour to spare, on a train to Burnley or somewhere. Or ask someone else to look at it, and ask them for their thoughts. Grace maybe, younger or elder?

    GOOD GRIEF!!! all clickable pics turned up – well done Disqus, I take it all back. : ) but remember, at the moment, the last cickable pic is part one, and the first the last part, back to fronts Disqus…..

  • Anonymous

    Might as well post my favorite ever ever ever H17 track, I’m Your Money, one of their first, very underground, never in the charts, and was done in the contractual period between The Human League/BEF/H17, so never has seen the popular light of day really. Has that mid-european HQ thing as well going on with it too, germanic,

    With a third party vid by another USAer, I think he is, if I remember right, Arthur Schlott or something, who I used to talk to on youtubby years ago, with vid done then mid 2000 noughties, on materialism. Brilliant photo based vid.

  • Anonymous

    Full 12 inches 45rpm version of I’m Your Money here too, for that bit extra, with the backdrop of their capitalism-rub-chin Penthouse and Pavement album cover from 1981,

    They ask questions with that album, which nobody then wanted to hear – certain people just ignored and carried on talking into their house brick phones, with carrying the battery pack in their other hand – remember them Alastair? How times changed – technology see, as found out in 1987 Black Monday bust, a short while after when the big bang electronic stock buying and selling was introduced.

  • Anonymous

    This is some of Andy’s recent work, freely available on the web. Hmm, yes, I see, mmm, what? See how many pages you will get to Alastair before start getting foggy brained,

    But got to say, being a taught oily-spanner engineer, get most of it, sort of…

  • Anonymous

    Time to explain, have you got it,
    usually some just say orders.
    Succinct time and day youngers,
    available school bus boarders.
    No further explanation be given,
    get on bus with dinner monied.
    Asking yourself, what the farck,
    old idiots with cars and chinaed.
    Them, boxtick family upbringing,
    pays the bills and golf clubbed.
    Forget the basics of it all all liffed,
    yes us, us the little ones futured
    Tried to get something there, about modern life, used to be called the rat race once, popularily, but not so much now, where the fight of the fittest though, slowly became included of our weak youngers, being treated crap.

    Yes Clegg – thin apologies mean nothing now, you second generation Brit immigrant.

  • Anonymous

    Might as well, as well, post one of my favorite Glenn singing tracks, gargling his voice box, with their BEF album, patronisingly humourously called, Music of Quality and Distinction, Vol.1, and Wichita Lineman, a Glen Campbell country and western eeh-hahrrr yank rip-off, done in a different way, as you have got to do, in 1981,

    Brilliant album cover again, white e-type Jag, bonnet bulge to show it was a 4.2litre V12, James May, and things, like a single cylinder blonde lady, twin carbed, also…

  • Anonymous

    Furthermore, seems to be an appreciation track that for their hometown/city, Sheffield, with the boom-boom sound of the drop forges of their city, heard when upbrung young, as mentioned in the docu more above. As well as the train sounds at the end, taking coal in and steel product out, early morn and late night goodsed, to miss the railtrack commuter traffic, to ports and from mines.

  • Anonymous

    More Glenn here, featured singer, as you do, a few short years back.

    Yeh, banging, yeh, tidy.

  • Anonymous

    Put me in the fire,
    I don’t want to hear it.
    Waste of wood for me?
    box burnt I want you twit.
    Ashes over bridge into river,
    Carmarthen, St. Peters’ boy.
    Feed the trout and sewin, me,
    how can I deny, feeding their fry.
    Put me in the burner, let me roast,
    couldn’t give a damn, then, of course.
    Shove me in, turn temperature right up.
    and watch me smoke, another smokers dose.
    Sorted the problem I had here, Alastair, seems was ip internet protocol address directed to me, but I can take it, as today, and sorted it, but watch out upcoming 2015, it will be fun and games then, let alone Mitt and his rich pals now, which I think it came from, but that is me, being healthily paranoid.

    peace bro, and things, etc.. duck and dive mate.

  • Anonymous

    And by the way environmentalists, had all my mercury fillings removed about fifteen years ago, replaced by some white ceramic gunge – cost me a fortune to have that done – so it would be safe to drop what’s left of me in the river.

    But not sure of built up lead though, and also air exploded nuke strontium 90, since being ’62 born. But I am sure the fishies won’t mind – well, they won’t get on the phone to the local EH council department, will they?

  • Anonymous

    Even furthermore, they, H17, released an excellent album/cd of remixes done by third party, Retox/Detox it was called, twin cd, where I believe whenever they were contacted with the question “can we…” they always replied “feel free”. And they then eventually put it on a twin cd release of what everyone done, and split the royalties fairly. That is the way to do things.

    Think this one was the most popular, got in the dance charts and all that and became quite popular with djs and punters in clubland, US especially,

  • Anonymous

    …furthermore, re. Retox/Detox, album/cd cover here, with example of nuke madness, but not the one I like, not the one with sirens at the start – that was a remix done to At the Height of the Fighting original track, if I remember right,, WWII-type sirens howling at the start. But this will do, of course,

  • Anonymous

    Athletics for the liver,
    some of us do.
    Or did, if mind did,
    did mind did do.
    Strange situations,
    intoxicated self.
    Wake up in beds,
    next to rabbit elf.
    No, she/it/he all,
    not Harvey.
    But Ok could be,
    me being barmey.
    Clip of the filum, James Stewart, who I reckon was never pissed in his goddarn life, I can tell – has too much of that self-control, which frightens the rest of us,

    Always liked James Stewart, but to me, there was always something Vulcan Star Trek about him, not from my planet at all.

  • Anonymous

    OOPS, of course, there is this brilliant site, conceived in 2000, as you can tell by the basic internet pages, but updated regularly still, on their earlier musical life as The Human League from Sheffield,

    Fascinating intertwined site, if it is up one’s street, as one.

  • Anonymous

    OK, I have kept my mouth zipped for a couple of days on this, but this guest starring James Stewart film “Harvey” is a total ripoff of the oscar winning performance of Ray Milland, from Neath, South Wales, in “The Lost Weekend”, from 1945. See what I mean about the James Stewart-types? Jump on the band wagon of imaginatives, who don’t really get it.

    Ray here in it, and see what I mean,

    And Ray with Roger “eyebrow” Moore and the late great Susannah York – liked her I did – in that South African based film, Gold,

    And Ray’s performance in Columbo is one of that series classics too, as well as playing the shit dad in “The Love Story”, New England based.

  • Anonymous

    Ray Milland playing the shit dad in “The Love Story”, as a reminder – hanky time it is,

    And of course Andy Williams too, who sung that, last week passed, but at a sufficient age, as we all hope for.

  • Anonymous

    Just to reinforce it, this clip, if I can find it, again,

    Ray Milland in New England, by the way, in the US, MassiveChutts, or however you spell it…. BOSTON!

  • Anonymous

    …Boston, New England, as here, with their old irish, doing same such, young present day – you can lead a horse to water…… : ))))

    Should be up to 800 here now Alastair, ey? Looking forward to seeing my Scarlets play Benetton Treviso out in Italy near Venice this early evening, 6:05pm our time KO. Will be watching it on italian telly, online pirated, as usual.

    By the way Alastair, saw a cracker of a match last night, Connacht slaughtering Leinster, the HC euro champs, on Irish Gaelic TG4 pirated telly channel – quite a party on the field after it. Quite a result. After seeing Cardiff Blues getting totally humiliated at home just before against Ulster, it was quite refreshing.

  • Anonymous

    Carpets and curtains,
    put them in the shed.
    Love, not want them,
    put them in the shread.
    Fine air want breath,
    not dust ridden scum.
    Stones walls and floor,
    bleach occasionally rub.
    As outside or as cave,
    I want to live happily.
    Not allergen city inside,
    coughing mind barkingly.
    Carpets and curtains and other soft furnishings should be banned, ladies, for sense, and you can’t tell me different, you stupid ladies! No wonder blokes go a bit cuckoo when inside, as well as some ladies…

  • Anonymous

    oops, “in the shred” I mean, spells, again…

  • Anonymous

    There was always wotsisname with wotsername, in that Las Vegas fim, umm, always liked her from Back to the Future film, five foot one, umm, that is her, Elisabeth Shue, in part two, and yes Nicolas Cage, who was related to that director and changed his surname to keep his own acting identity.

    Yes, Leaving Las Vegas, where Elisabeth plays a prozzie, as some do. Nicolas a terminal lush…

  • Anonymous

    furthermore, Elisabeth Shue as here,

    Both depicting living in the wasted parts of life, lost.

  • Anonymous

    Good grief! Put St. Peters Boy into google and a thread I did for a rugger site about two and a half years ago came up. Got complaints I was using too much bandwidth or something, so left. I was known there as DeeEff, short for Drowned Forest, which I used in other rugger sites before this. Drowned Forest as in welsh beaches with oak roots in the sand, at low tide, deep roots.

    Link from there what I am barking on about – nice pics of churches/old celtic Llans from sudo paganism, ey, Alastair? All history see,

  • Anonymous

    Back to the Future part two, Elisabeth Shue, in typical mid-eighties strides/trousers/pants, as they did then,

    mmmm, met the mother of my daughter when in a set of them…. barking mad she was, but couldn’t live with it, sadly.

  • Anonymous

    Left to my own devices,
    suppose I am.
    Too travelled before born,
    like a lamb.
    Born with vast whatever,
    scare doctor.
    In a clinic smiling, months,
    strange factor.
    Grow up, become a case,
    to all view.
    Concerned whatever, not,
    voyeur new.
    Watching people dance about,
    sitting at side.
    Loving everything see, mostly,
    without pride.
    Seven deadly sins or whatever it is called, personal pride is caustic, creates too much trouble. So that is why armed forces training knocks it out in a week, at bootcamp, fella!

    Are you calling me a scumbag, Private??

  • Anonymous

    Another of one of my favorite filums, Paris, Texas,

    Harry Dean Stanton film in always watch, also Steve Buscemi, as here,

    All my type of Americana, miles from the sea.

  • Anonymous

    Vincent D’Onofrio, who plays Private Pyle in that, Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket – top top actor. He’s in that Law and Order – Criminal Intent tv series these days, as that mind probing trick-cyclist-like detective. Quite impressive he is in that too.

  • Anonymous

    Dusty books too, that is why libraries should be air conditioned, to keep air clean and at less than 60%RH. Keeps allergens well down. Remember going to the local town’s library before it got modernised, within five minutes I was sneezing nose streaming coughing my guts up, due to book dust.

  • Anonymous

    After bullshit talk, as a Sarge, I would have suddenly bodily attacked him and flattened him, as in a brit rugger game, before he had a chance to draw up his weapon, Stanley Kubrick, but I suppose I am a brit, and have common sense to any situation, you yank numbnuts Sarge!

  • Anonymous

    Know I have posted this before, but a lady from Oz I like in strides, Amii, here is a couple of her,

    Ok, three, with help of her mate Jonny from Melbourne, in the name of Parralox.

    Any good, unimaginatives? : )

  • Anonymous

    and said, to Private Joker on night fire security duty, “don’t stand there watching numbnuts, Private Joker, make safe the fucking weapon, while I hold down our fat buddy, who is in mind trouble”!

  • Anonymous

    Posted this before, somewhere, but more Amii, with different colour/color hair, at her funeral,

    Right up my street, vouyeristically.

  • Anonymous

    Cerebral music we discover,
    some of us.
    Of present day presented,
    born thus,
    Like 1962, discovery, them,
    then they saw,
    Still to us up front impressive,
    Beatles did knaw.
    The first song I sang, when at about eighteen months old, to the great amusement of my Auntie Wendy, when I sang it to her, in very young truth,

    Sorry to say, my Auntie Wendy was born seriously lacking upstairs, but I did and still love her, even now she has gone, no doubt now is upstairs. There was not a bad bone in her simple body, never.

    Wendy gave me an Elvis Presely single, Rubbernecking Baby, worth a fortune now, I have been told, original brit release 45rpm single of it.

  • Anonymous

    ok, so the looker was in part one, see if I can find her…

    Claudia? oh I give up, you yankie pedantic train spotters! still smash her too, given half a brit chance : )

  • Anonymous

    Sense? better not make of it,
    not too much around here.
    You will be described abouts,
    trouble maker by here.
    Standing watching all around,
    what goes on in your eyes.
    Will make you the devils breath,
    to ones that stands asides.
    Got to be brave to say, our friend,
    in our World of stupid vision.
    Seeing it we as say, unfortunate,
    our future after us, mission.
    Can’t stick our head in sand wishing,
    it will be our death after us.
    Looking to help now after us gone,
    hand on five fingers and plus.
    Ach, damned it, I might as well be talking to a wall with oldies today. selfish bastards.

  • Anonymous

    What happened to my 4G/3G generational technological poem, Alastair? I must have clicked the wrong button here. But 4G is a big jump coming, technologically, let me tell you that for nothing Alastair, just watch and shoot.

    And buy one of those iPads with a mobile phone separate contract small dongle to shove in it’s side, and you will be flying, wherever you are, let me tell you that for nothing, specs on or off… : )

  • Anonymous

    This Elvis single. Wendy nicked it from the DJ from Tumble Hotel, one Friday night, decades ago, no doubt. She was a case.

    Tidy 1960’s yank ladies in that, ey? mmmmmm, time machine, time machine…

  • Anonymous

    Those certain male cheekbones,
    have been chancely born.
    With those strange green olive eyes,
    turn blue into light sunburn.
    Not my fault, chance of genes,
    brain also to consternation.
    Put in the special class, don’t you,
    not looking at causation.
    I am just like the rest of you all,
    when strip my front paint.
    Beating off ladies, and men, sigh,
    still alone I look and wait.
    Bit self-involved that poem, but had to be said. And shut up saying “oh I am so sorry for you”, ironically! Come and wear this skin suit and try, if I could do. Could make loads renting it out, no doubt a millionaire within a month, but I mustn’t quibble, must get on with it, and things…

  • Anonymous

    That fella above reminds me of a youngish welsh lad when I was on a weekend bank holiday’s bender at Robbie’s pub in Capel Hendre, King’s Head, a couple of miles away. He went to bed first, fifteen years younger than me, slaughtered, and I followed to share the bed a couple of hours later.

    Anyway, he woke up in the morning, and I heard him say “oh fuck”, and I said “how you doing young pal?”, and he said “we didn’t do anything, did we?”. And I said to him “I love you son, but don’t worry, not in that way”. And he said “oh, that is alright then. What actually did happen last night?”, he said.

    Brilliant fella he is these days. Happily married etc.. I must have been one of his sages, for life. He was almost as good looking as me, but it was touch and go… : )

  • Anonymous

    No doubt no need to say that the nun in light blue is right up my street! ok ok ok, so they weren’t actually nuns, just actors, but still, she looks kooky, my type of girl… time machine, HG Wells-like, required,

    Always liked Rod Taylor, tidy pre-Mel Gibson Ozzie actor.

  • Anonymous

    No doubt no need to say that the nun in light blue is right up my street! ok ok ok, so they weren’t actually nuns, just actors, but still, she looks kooky, my type of girl… time machine, HG Wells-like, required,

    Always liked Rod Taylor, tidy pre-Mel Gibson Ozzie actor.

  • Anonymous

    Calm down woman, I understand you,
    with your histamine mind.
    Stand your back to me and hold you,
    I’m different, not so blind.
    Let me pull you in and hug you to me,
    knowing what with upstairs.
    Can see all the storms there looking,
    no need you for any prayers.
    Perfect beauty I can see outside mind,
    disturbed chemicals with brain.
    Sit down, let’s talk about it, ’til cows home,
    yes you are, beauty, real drain.
    Might as well post Gene Tierney again,

    Met loads of them, the ying and yang of female life, wish to marry one, but the other was more sensible, and you are left stuck in the middle.

  • Anonymous

    Calm down woman, I understand you,
    with your histamine mind.
    Stand your back to me and hold you,
    I’m different, not so blind.
    Let me pull you in and hug you to me,
    knowing what with upstairs.
    Can see all the storms there looking,
    no need you for any prayers.
    Perfect beauty I can see outside mind,
    disturbed chemicals with brain.
    Sit down, let’s talk about it, ’til cows home,
    yes you are, beauty, real drain.
    Might as well post Gene Tierney again,

    Met loads of them, the ying and yang of female life, wish to marry one, but the other was more sensible, and you are left stuck in the middle.

  • Anonymous

    Dr Sheldon Cooper, from the Big Bang Theory, bumping into the Morlocks when he didn’t want to – OH NO! eat him, eat him….

    Stupid physicists.

  • Anonymous

    OK Alastair, a right dorty poem, here goes;

    Polar expedition, we all hope,
    with an ice cool maidened.
    Ice creams at the ready lick,
    into our arctic trousened.
    Do same please, she does beg,
    had to do with my extra leg.
    So get down to it, bacon butties,
    discover bulb, no need plug.
    Ach, I am a dirty old man, and needs shooting, but I am proud to be so, even what Vicar says, supping and coughing over his tea, when visited. Phallic symbols? Have some of this!

  • Anonymous

    There is this book of limericks I have, which I bought when young, when I was about thirteen. This is the best out of it, you might agree…
    There was this man from Leeds,
    who swallowed a packet of seeds.
    Great turfs of grass,
    shot out of his arse,
    and his cock was covered in weeds.
    Not bad, ey? Quite amusing, ey?

  • Anonymous

    Basically, I tend to, am into, extended limericks, sort of, short poems, condensed and succinct, a sharp shock type of thing. But do occassionally do write War and Peace type poems, but I am too lazy to type them in here, especially with my spelling. Last one was a week ago, done on paper in long hand, was on about Worms, as in society, “high class” worms, that is, and their ironic spielling, constantly, from their soapboxes.

  • Anonymous

    I’m an instant results person,
    within a year.
    Like a farmer growing corn,
    seeing ears.
    Not this long term thing talk,
    green shoots.
    Calves coming out, to suck,
    shitty boots.
    Harvest in time not coming,
    is frustrating.
    With people in cities barking,
    talking thin.
    Country life with John Craven,
    misty specs.
    Not true reality, food and meat,
    Another countryside poem, the proper non-BBC countryside.

  • Anonymous

    And I was not on about Eric Pickles there, honest… Anyway, he comes from Bradford, or near there. Anyone remember what he alledgedly got up to there as a councillor during Thatcher? Well, I do, at least. Very rub-chin it was.

  • Anonymous

    bugger it, a poem just for you Alastair.

    He will not ban me,
    not in DNA.
    See’s something in me,
    some bizzare.
    Talk rubbish year now,
    does care,
    Knew it, test it, exercise,
    laid bare.
    Passed the test, knew it,
    him and me.
    But him been places,
    serious bee.
    Me, just man on street,
    foot after other.
    But Alastair, oh gawd,
    Clint, up zipper!
    Always liked Soft Cell, from Leeds, from times past, so a song from them from me Alastair, just as an online modern day warped thing, we suddenly suffer with, and you have with such, bumped into with many others, as you have no doubt twitter discovered.

    Marc, and his mate then, Ball,

    Hope Grace likes it, Fiona too, I hope… Hope Grace gets into politics, eventually, in distant life. Tell to work abroad as a translator, or something what she does, overseas, and see life before returning at about thirty plusish to spank those torys then, if they are still around, which I hope not. I am all for extinction theory, if it is the torys. Should be interesting, ey Alastair, when we are old and dribbling, in our care homes, pissing in our pants… : )

  • Anonymous

    Saw that irish actor in an interesting 1930’s americana filum, you know, that irish actor that was trapped in a phone box in another yank filum, Colin Farrell, yes, that is him.

    But a clip of the one from last night – quite interesting it was,

    Full film available here, in parts, nine of them, summarised in about less than an hour, it looks,

  • Anonymous

    Yes, turn you around once,
    seems like spin.
    Held to me, hardcore outside,
    but feel life thin.
    Can do it so while in timed,
    while we young.
    But things take over inside,
    mind on wing.
    Hard to hold onto in stride,
    with life, bring.

    Say no more, great young love…

    hanky please…

  • Anonymous

    Looks like the price of porridge oats is going to sky-rocket, as it did a couple of years ago. And everything else too. If we have another couple of wet summers seriously reducing harvests, we will be in big trouble. Might be better to have paddy fields and grow rice.

    Wonder what the torys/coalition is doing about it? Hope they are exploring and planning for worst case scenarios, and stop playing silly stupid games. Cameron on tv earlier, in the Imperial War Museum, announcing some sort of street party in 2014 to sort of celebrate the start of WWI a hundred years ago – he is not quite all there, is he? Get off the TV everyday, Dave, with your shallow PR nonsense, and do your actual job.

  • Anonymous

    Ah yes, that nun in light blue, Jane Elliot, became a daytime soap-goddess in the US, and is a good capricorn girl too, which is nice,

  • Anonymous

    Jane Elliot, the nun in light blue,

  • Anonymous

    Not trying to make a fool of you,
    just us all.
    Blinkered creatures no sideways,
    eyes stall.
    Just simple vision, humanity explored,
    hard core.
    Look and learn, if want inside one self,
    total bore.
    Money mind diverted, in our stall of life,
    oats eaten.
    Carry on then son, with your shackles,
    gum beaten.
    Have some of this!

    Gum beaten as not you Alastair, Dave and Georgie Porgie pudding and pie I mean, but you should know that by now.

    Thanks again to Electronically Yours for the link there, again.

  • Anonymous

    original full, Yazoo,

    Hopless editing previous since this –> downwards < ---

  • Anonymous
  • Anonymous

    WE WANT TO HEAR SOME MUSIC, for gawds sakes Canvey..

  • Anonymous

    oh gawd help me, just watched the latest episode of Counrtyfile/Countrylife (see what the beeb did there!) – if anyone finds a deep hole somewhere in our countryside, could you please drop Julia “airmiles” Bradbury down it.

    Can’t stand the cow – her body language is terrible, her voice is insincere, she moves like a city type lost. She is a chancer, and I can’t stand her fucking guts! Typical BBC crap we have to introduce their programmes. Scratch her skin, and we all know what we will find – perverted nothing! She’s a gobshite.

    Oh yes forgot, as with beeb misty eyes, when Julia was introduced to young collie-type sheep dog pups in that programme, you can imagine the crap she came out with. Does she realise the ones not needed are put down. And sheep dogs at the end of their working life are put down, because if they don’t herd sheep when old, they escape and without a shepherd attack them, so have to be locked up. And they also go totally psychologically nuts when retired not working, so putting them down is the humane thing. But the beeb country nonsense will never tell you city types that, will they? Oh no. Prats!

    One Man and his Dog! MY ARSE!!

  • Anonymous

    This is what S4C on welsh telly show as countryside, slightly different and more in touch I think, in true full colour reality, Dai, and things, o’r fferm Llaniler,

    Dai, yng Nghanada/Canada,

    bois bach, beth sy’n digwydd ma te?
    trans – fucking ‘ell lads, what is going on by here then, mun (roughly trans) : )

    ti’n fel fwrchyn, y’i ti? (you are like a “cee”, aren’t you?)

    Hope this helps english vets that come down this way to work, no doubt scottish ones too… : )

  • Anonymous

    Vince again, but with another of his mates, Andy,

    Always liked Vince, for an Essex lad, and noooo, not in that way, only musically, honest, ladies…

  • Anonymous

    Standing at the sidelines,
    a fair totally cop out job.
    But have to say I feel self,
    stealing your wind I rob.
    What goes downstairs, tea,
    doesn’t seem fair to me.
    It seems sand digging done,
    for those them feel “free”.

    Nice view from my fence, and then I turn around and see The Horrors…

  • Anonymous

    Newsnight at the moment,

    Aldi’s and Lidl’s, MD pushing,
    where managers have no shame.
    See them as shelf stackers,
    class war does not occur within here.
    Stack them high, sell them cheap,
    PR director even on the till.
    Customers come in and see and buy,
    trollies over spill.

    Say no more Brits, see sense.

  • Anonymous

    OH JEESAAS chroist, I need to spend less time on you tubby, where I post trimmed abbreviated links. These below are those mis-quoted links with clickable pics, but I had my cousin Fiona in mind, so mind me,

    The one before, with Vince Clarke from Essex and one of his mates Andy Bell,

    did that work, I ask myself.

    Oh dear, computer say no. Rates have gone up on disqus for such links, I take it Alastair. No probs, just got to click on it and same, no bother.

  • Anonymous

    Mitt and Obama head to head’s;

    Fragile humanity to be seen,
    Mitt and Obama laid bare.
    On stage before all in the buff,
    strutting their stuff in snare.
    Nowhere to hide, nowhere to go,
    just there in front stuck gargling.
    Spit it out what you think and feel,
    but ‘tween lines makes the reading.

    As Des said the otherday in another thread, it is a circus – roll-up roll-up, see what you want to see.

  • Anonymous

    We look after dogs and cats displaced,
    and ignore humanity death,
    Shove biscuits into their canine mouths,
    while other like us last breath.
    Sad case in human hood we are strutting,
    thinking charity do good for some cause.
    Barking mad if you ask me, and any child,
    asking you all to slow down and pause.

    Paid girl’s school, by fantasy fathers,

    Withering daughter attacks by daughters on men/dads, if you have never heard one of them, you have never lived. Quite interesting it was. : )

  • Anonymous

    Latest pic of my daughter on facelessbook Alastair, taken with her best mate from schooldays in Redhill visiting her, and some other “friend”, somewhere around the Mediterranean it looks, where she no doubt was working, maybe still, she doesn’t tell me where these days, it changes every six months, so it gets confusing for an old fella like me. She’s the blonde one, with the teeth, by the way. She’s got a cracking “fuck it” attitude to life, which is nice. Yes, she inherited my potty mouth, amongst other things. She’ll go far.

    Tell her to send me postcards, and she asks “postcards? how old are you dad!”, and things. Pic,

  • Anonymous

    but think her mate needs to get down the gym – she has got some serious bingo wings developing there. That is the trouble when you are stuck in an university. Latin extract though, as you might can tell, she doesn’t want to fill out too catholic soon, but I suppose some men down there like that, so who am i to advise?

    Song for Sophia, but before that, her facebook front page photo, she is in the middle,

    Song for her, since she is a good friend to my daughter, and BEHAVE!, that is all, honest,

  • Anonymous

    clickable wotsit, for scenery,

    la-la-la-lah, Sophia, you can be my latino gurl, la-la etc. etc..

    : ))) only joking about dads, as you all in your mind have, between words in thoughts of daughters friends, I do, I admit it, do so too. No shame in it, just makes us look like silly old fools, a brilliantine male trout going up river to nowhere.

  • Anonymous

    OOPS, photo here,

    Siân’s friend here Sophia in the middle with her uni Edinburgh friends.

  • Anonymous

    At least eight hours of fresh air,
    some of us should have.
    The glare of clouds or sunlight,
    some us our fare, love.
    If not, indoor allergies complain,
    our bodies subside duly.
    Not stone age developed evolve,
    without bodies on furrily.
    Being inside, not out of our hovel,
    some complain rationally.
    Get the dyson out not really works,
    tell ones office comfortably.

    Knew I should have been a farmer, those always been going indoors to sleep, with them described it as purgatory, and the docs never tell you that, do they, even if you do go nuts. Stick your anti-histamines where the sun don’t shine, doc. Evolution is going on here, where the office workers are winning the race.

  • Anonymous

    By the way Alastair, brilliant brilliant Cefn Gwlad episode just by Dai here, on a farmer on sandy soil in Anglesey – notice how he bows to Prince Wills as he flies past in his raffa Seaking above.

    And the amount of different sheep and cattle breeds he and his son keeps! And his other son studying to become a chapel minister too. One of the best Dai has done, methinks, full of farming welsh comedy, and to think his dad was from Liverpool

    Click S then english – for translation. Available for the next 32 days on S4C’s version of their iplayer. Click for full screen too, top quality it is, unlike the beeb…

    Will be seriously disappointed if you don’t post this Alastair, but of course, with technology feck ups allowing!

  • Anonymous

    Corner health shop stuff I take this time of year, per day, as follows;
    only 200mg Vitamin C
    1gramme or two Evening Primrose oil
    8 times daily RDI Vitamin D

    Works for me, but it took me years to perfect the recipe. Nothing else, apart from food, lowish protein though, about 60g per day. But everyone is different, remember that.

    But been slow to take it this year, due to self-laziness I suppose, but started this week, and an incredible difference it has made again. Who needs drug companies?

    RDI is recommended daily intake, by the way, which is a nonsense for differently evolved people.

  • Anonymous

    Better say, I only take Vitamin D eight times RDI for two months, that is enough to last until the sun returns. Any longer could be illadvised. Vit C and EP oil can be taken all year round, but miss a week per month, so body does not get too reliant on it.

  • Anonymous

    At the link there has the latest Dai ffermio Cefn Gwlad episode, and impressive again, it gets better and better, yn wŷr. Charlois incredible cattle. And the fella says when you get in a field with them, better bring a bag of feed with you to stop them knocking you over.

    Get that hikers? Have a small bag of cattle feed in your rucksack at the ready, just in case – AND LEAVE DOGGIE AT HOME!

  • Anonymous

    I am not a facilitator,
    I am an exfoliator.
    Take my skin off me,
    observe and be thee.
    Not stuck in sand,
    give in your hand,
    Say what you want,
    any old pant and rant.
    Keep quiet is the sin,
    say what is in within.
    Head in sand be not,
    leave that beach blot.
    In bikinis and trunks,
    say what want repeat.
    Don’t suck mother’s teat,
    milk what you can reap.
    Motivation see, get up and mouthing.

  • Anonymous

    Beelzebub is screaming in my ears,
    this night entranced, more this year.
    Do not know why, anti-Christ I say,
    while some do kneel down and pray.
    Think it is the funk of life, out of step,
    with that is inside us of past, no prep.
    Future now, is the horror show, to all,
    stuff it, one way traffic, so don’t stall.
    Yes, the present is what keeps us up at night, with it’s near future, that is what halloween is all about. But I suppose we are not as ignorant as we were, or are we? Now then!

  • Anonymous

    bastards frisco gay numbnuts, you ARE playing games

  • Anonymous

    I try and make sense of my past,

    put into my lap before me.

    But what it could be though in lap.

    humanity carrying on free.


    Overused bollocks, beeb promoted,

    yes ey all, in our closed country.

    I feel what I always feeled, with about,

    perverts about controlling contrary.


    World order, suck on this,

    Welsh song,

  • Anonymous

    Expound, implode, talk sense, scream rubbish,
    it is all the same, relatively, when you look at it.
    The view from where you are, is what you see,
    abound around with all games of child with wit.
    Sixty year old blokes and ladies still trying to win,
    get ahead of who? You ask me, them devil twit.
    Self involved, no society here, not even my family,
    son nor daughter comes into it in this life bullshit.
    Just tory and republican free, I want to be me self,
    without hangers on my coat tails or any other kit.
    Me me, tick boxed tory, family box tick second one,
    what it means, don’t pray church nor sing, so I sit.
    Like a little shit.
    Hate the torys, I do. Can’t stand the smell of them, and a strange smell it is.

    DOWN BOY!, that is just Mr Williams passing, as he does every tory saturday night at this time, and my doggie nods and says fair enough, when I remind him, of no danger.

  • Anonymous

    Wallpaper of life we stare at,
    bedroomed, when thinking.
    When young homeworked,
    stared reflections us coming.
    Positive thoughts how it all,
    yes, should have been done.
    Before us pyjamas swotting,
    watching all about old drone.
    Getting older, well older life,
    nudge things on like a slug.
    Thinking discovering mortal,
    only putting in a large plug.
    Song, Norway, Royksopp,

  • Anonymous

    Tory fascists wanted me for scenery,
    since they already checked up.
    Intelligent for good bum measure,
    slim arsed and not too plump.
    Looking me up and down as market,
    face young and cheery, glowing,
    But saw the eyes behind, bend stupids,
    me clever from hidden frowning.
    Lieutenants spotters under them look,
    noticed again to my book greasy.
    Intelligence they have not usually found,
    within a fine bum, brain not so easy.

    Song for said perverted public school drop soap tory schooled, that I spotted when super intelligent young, you idiots with your perverted games,

    And that doc that asked me to cough holding my balls for my medical before joing the RAF was a complete faggot, when he said afterwards “Thanks Blue eyes”. Honest! Would I lie? Or was he testing me if I was gay? Who fecking knows. As if I would shag a russian and sell state secrets! : ) as long as she is female, maybe…

    No, sorry, that is really silly, sorry, this should be more we want to hear, oh yes,

    Yes, that is better. and tell that man I want him to come and clean my boots, around midnight. regimental sergeant-major….

  • Anonymous

    Tory fascists wanted me for scenery,
    since they already checked up.
    Intelligent for good bum measure,
    slim arsed and not too plump.
    Looking me up and down as market,
    face young and cheery, glowing,
    But saw the eyes behind, bend stupids,
    me clever from hidden frowning.
    Lieutenants spotters under them look,
    noticed again to my book greasy.
    Intelligence they have not usually found,
    within a fine bum, brain not so easy.

    Song for said perverted public school drop soap tory schooled, that I spotted when super intelligent young, you idiots with your perverted games,

    And that doc that asked me to cough holding my balls for my medical before joing the RAF was a complete faggot, when he said afterwards “Thanks Blue eyes”. Honest! Would I lie? Or was he testing me if I was gay? Who fecking knows. As if I would shag a russian and sell state secrets! : ) as long as she is female, maybe…

    No, sorry, that is really silly, sorry, this should be more we want to hear, oh yes,

    Yes, that is better. and tell that man I want him to come and clean my boots, around midnight. regimental sergeant-major….

  • Anonymous

    This is an interesting vid, with music, lyrics from BOC – Blue Oyster Cult, clips from Quentin T film, with Brad Pitt, Inglorious B’s,

    “The power of voice is the power of reason”, someone/s said once. Seems that is our only hope, as long as those geo-stationary satellites stay healthy….

  • Anonymous

    Bugger it, might as well post more lights, tealights, that burn holes in plastic baths in Brighton, and in other student pads around the country. I have been there and seen them, in bath….

    Friends from Brighton, with a bit of help fron a Yamaha or whatever japanese musical electronic instrument, a tenorian (i will post a second vid with a close up of a tenorian, by my other friend Vicki, from Blackpool, for the musically modern uneducated),

    Ms. Hesketh, playing in her Blackpool bedroom, back in the day,

    She takes her while at the start, pre-musical coitus, I suppose you could call it.

  • Anonymous

    Alastair, if you or anyone is thinking that above is BOC singing, it isn’t, it is again my friends from Sheffield again, H17. Have you bumped into Glenn yet Alastair? I asked you that months ago, he lives near you, has a belgium misses and etc.. Said you might have bumped into him in the local newsagents or that Hampstead Teeth bookshop you bother. Anyway, latest pic of him, google image search allowing,

    He’s on the right, with his mate Martyn on the left. OK, so they both look like a couple of child botherers, but don’t let that hold you back to say a simple hello.

  • Anonymous

    OOPS, sorry Alastair, think Glenn got divorced from his Belgium wife decades ago. Must have another one now. Thought I’d check my facts, and I got them wrong – sack me!

    Brilliant The Hour part one on the beeb last night, followed by part two of Secret State on C4 right after. Good tv it was, but yes, it was only dramatic alternative history tv, not real life Alastair. Watch it if you can, and laugh, no doubt. But I like the late 1950’s “never had it so good” Macmillan type stuff with The Hour. See where my parents got their brainwashing from.

  • Anonymous

    Suppose I could say, tory Super Macs “never had it so good” speech left us right open to have rampant workers strikes after, for a couple of decades or three.

    See, Alastair, lateral thinking, see! : )))

  • Anonymous

    Might as well post a vid to this, with Johnney Vaughan pointing to his forehead and saying as he does “genius see”, with Denise van Outen – DOWN BOY!

    NO, sorry, Mr P Nurse, : )

    Remember working at this company, and there was a 17 year old covering lunchtime telephone switchboard, so some immature thirty something engineer ask her to call over the factory floor tannoy foghorn – phone call for Mr Hunt, phone call for Mike Hunt….

    MEE? Ok, it’s a fair cop gov.

  • Anonymous

    I am a service industry,

    but to who?

    There seems no one left,

    Seliing poo?


    Well educated, hoping clerk,

    but to who?

    There no one left to check pay,

    just goody-whoo.


    At night we might as well be,

    walking around my Britland.

    Ghosts of passed ask me,

    I’m back, far off land.


    What as happened they ask me?

    if you won’t here, it would make no sense.

    Saying we were stuffed from above wihout God,

    moneymen south-east, looking for coin, or pence.

    Song for above the Portland and The Wash line, in that England, they would understand as well, with me, those out of the pub, or getting stoned.

    New Order,

  • Anonymous

    Loyalty has become a loss,
    in this day and land.
    Selling yourself to any boss,
    say see any wand.
    Thin gumption of people today,
    looking at their mobile.
    Blinkered from old human play,
    arse breath load of pile.
    Song for them, today,

  • Anonymous

    Sounds like this fella from the brit eighties, when young, that is if he has moved to Sweden, but wouldn’t put it passed him, after that his land, and time, and space,

    d-notice in music 1984, apart from Savile?

  • Anonymous

    We gave them a free hand, to play their games,
    sitting back, if that’s what you want.

    So produced, and they did, and let’s look all us,
    more debt that careful grannies bought.

    More debt that Jesus Christ, more debt since salt,
    more debt that planet Earth could imagine, if taught.

    via Melbourne, Oz – this Sat, don’t ask, Alastiar – I’ll talk about it later in the week, if I am allowed.

    Ok ok ok Alastair, so this song sounds like when I am trying to talk to you Islington and Hamstead Teeth stuck up right in your arris’ cunts, SO! Give a welshman some slack!

    Well Alastair, sorry to say, I do have that affect on ladies. Keep Grace away from me, whatever you do.

  • Anonymous

    Song for Grace, if I may, Alastair. A story, true story, she’s from Sweden Niki, gave her the outlines for english lyrics, on youtube communication a few years ago, but I wasn’t expecting her to say my name Huw several times in it, when it actually came out.

    She is lost now in music industry, so can’t give her a good telling off, since I am a quiet unfussy bloke and don’t need that. Might as well follow it by another that Grace might like as well, Carole King, when I was ten abouts it came out,

    By the way, that is me across the pond, in the first vid, Niki told me. Bet she tells all the boys that…

  • Anonymous

    Are you going to Guido’s Xmas “piss up” gathering Alastair? Says it is in SW1 somewhere, up west. Tempted, but see how I feel when he announces the date, by his usual convoluted ways. Near Queen Vicky station I suggested, as a compromise for Paddy station, but why the fuck would he listen to a suggestion from a taffy?

    Song for Guido and his mad blog site, whoever they all are that make it up, but it makes sense to me, these days – FOOOTTTIEEE!

    More tea Vicar?

  • Anonymous

    Interesting vid ey Alastair, and of course music? Different approach to viewing the world of footie today you could say?

    Always liked Hot Chip – they look like a bunch of nerds, but that might be their appeal. Started off based in Brighton, as those Katsen, the vids of I occassionally post. This Hot Chip stuff is their classic, their breakthrough I believe it is,

    And might as well post another bit of Katsen – remember the plays for today/Wednesday/month etc.. on telly in the sixties and seventies Alastair, which seemed to have morphed into telly soaps like a plague these recent decades? Katsen here,

    Corry Street has a lot to answer for…

  • Anonymous

    …furthermore, this ad appeared on Hot Chip vid just before, as yewtubby do before at such occasions – it’s not quite walking the doggie occurance on Hampstead Teeth I think Alastair, but quite amusing. Oh yes, it’s an ad for buying a fourth generation mobile phone, whatever one of them is, old boy…

  • Anonymous

    I manipulate my environment just for me,
    hoping close by all agree.
    View life that us see, some see differently,
    all things exposed, to me.

    Hope I do not spanner send, into true teeth,
    to positive thought chip free,
    Barking onlike dog online seems at time fine,
    but what we say is it really.

    Song for Wills and Kate – congrats, egg meets sperm, finally – sweat off establishment,

    OWW, sweet ey? well I think so Alastair, you miserable old fecking git! : )

    Heard she could be a virgo girl, yes girl Alastair, could be two of them O-O , so no probs from me as a capricorn star joined from future queenie, when I am 188… and outlive Wills as well of course…. : )

  • Anonymous

    Love to have a proper tomcat and a dog, balls intact, and see what come may – them disappearing for ages in them seasons, and dragging themselves back to me, to put them physically back together and give them yet again another telling off, hopelessly.

  • Anonymous

    Bugger it, might as well post a bit of Ena Sharples from Corry Street to educate the present day fecks, ey Alastair? Think you are in agreement with me here pal, if not friend, go and sling your hook orf! : )

    Ena? She’s a ledge!

  • Anonymous

    A vid I have come across again, which I would like to post for Clegg the orange – very ironical, what they say, The Human League from 1979, with this third party vid much latter, and the way he is ignorantly carrying on the way he is with Cameron and friends,

    Yes, via Sheffield, where the stainless steel cutlery comes from Clegg, old boy – remember Sheffield, Hallam Town?

    See what pie in the sky shite Georgie Porgie puddin’ and pie will come out with today, ey Alastair? Hope Balls is fully armed and loaded, with springs tight!

    Feel free to send this vid to Ed B in the morning, to give him extra motivation to point to those Lib Dem MP shitehouses on their arses on those back seats in front of him.

  • Anonymous

    Super absorbent mucous membranes I have,
    suck everything in from life.
    All toxins we are exposed to in days behave,
    giving us their breaking strife.

    Say Ok is not good enough for them, playing,
    they want more, border blood.
    Keeping heads down from them about looking,
    hoping coming not the flood.

    Shucks Alastair, will not make it to thousand here for Xmas. Blame Guido and his site, based in Ireland, republic, my diverted attention, that Westminster is getting their knickers in a twist over, Harriet even, now.

  • Anonymous

    Harriet as here, link,

    And the vid clip of on Daily Politics from the other day,

  • Anonymous

    My poem for Colm, for what it is worth.

    Introspection is good, at times,
    but does gnaw at your bones.
    Looking before, what is behind,
    with life with all it’s left over rind.

    Life belief, whatever it is, places,
    family or situations, given heaped.
    Something would not think to reap,
    just praise the gift before with weep.

  • Anonymous

    Think I got something there Alastair – as Dylan’s grand-daughter, the other day, when she was just told before, but did well to hid it. Hannah bach the marvellous, from a year or two ago,

    See you there, somewhere, Alastair, you London living Hampstead Teeth culture vulture… : )

  • Anonymous

    Got to tell you another story Alastair, when I was on the piss at the Brown’s, at said Pendine times of myself. I was boozing with this bloke, and had long missed the last bus, so asked Tommy for a taxi home – and who was the bloke that was the taxi driver? Yes, that bloke I had been boozing with most of the day.

    But I got back to my bayside caravan safe, though he couldn’t stop talking on the way, as he followed the white dotted lines in the middle of the road to Pendine, at half past four in the morning, or something it was, my eyes on frightened stalks, while the car weaved.

  • Anonymous

    Us old brits, are the best inviters,
    come in, as we stand aside.
    Come see our land, life all about,
    carry on feel free, with pride.

    Make the isle yours, wipe your feet,
    treat as treat, what you see.
    Land tilled for food, with due respect,
    animals fed and vet, they be.

    But Normans, calm down again call,
    talking chess games pervert.
    Shell like in your ears again from Brit,
    but like tit, they attention divert.

    Henry Seven, welsh/cymraeg, tudor times,

    Any good Alastair? I think it is, even if it is me saying it myself. Merry X and all that pal, and to the lads, and of course Grace and Fiona. Manch U at home for the Swans on Sunday – should be interesting. Might as well start the mind games – Fergie has a ruby red rose nose – next job for him will be Father X ! Scottish? I don’t think so anymore : )))

    By the way, in the vid above, sung by a welsh group in old french, think that is Mary One on the left, and Lizzy One on the right, with modern alternative history, with modern times – a cath and prot, looking through the same window. But no need to say, that is another story, involving several wives from H Eight. Got to be said, he was an interesting bloke. If only he could have chucked out a load of sons, history here and now would be different. OK OK ladies, if his several wives chucked out a vast tribe of sons, non-bastard, actually officialised, by the state then.

  • Anonymous

    Might as well say Alastair, I watched that Mr Chips wotsit movie again, but the modern one, not the Robert Donut one – the modern one by that fella, what is his name again? ummm, must search… ah yes, that Clunes fellow – he did a good job, all considering.

    But thought it is all a bit flakey, since the modern olde public school system should have been put in a bin years ago – it holds us back as a nation, with their decrepid games.

    Robert Donut, or Martin Clunes – which makes the better Mr Chips, headmaster?

    Donut, stand up!

    Now you Clunes, get up boy!

    Public School system should use this comment as an advert, NOT! It is all crap from such, and far from their closed mind scum truth. They leave their schools and constantly think, “our school education was in a sterile bubble”.

    Ey, Alastair? Even Fiona?

  • Anonymous

    Met the love of my life Carmarthen at 24, in ’86,
    but not now the same creature, from as then
    Boils at my sight, saying I ruined her, in her mind,
    but all I tried to do was platonic educate, growing olden.

    Gave her my wisdom that I then sort saw young,
    about playing life.
    Returned that it was my mind,
    with present life, strifed.

    Blamed for why the world is flat,
    blamed for why do we die.
    Blamed for why we not rich,
    and stuggle on the plain, on lifed.

    Song for her, in sometimed no doubt prozaced mind, from a lady, that is a split of her mother, from Derry Town, also,

  • Anonymous

    Suppose I should say, Alastair, several poisonings went on there at court, and of course syphilis carried, to Henry 8. That is why Lizzy one the intelligent was almost paranoid about arranged “things” for the night. She was clear of the pox, born, via the marvellous Anne Bolyne, of Hever Castle. Unlike Mary one, and Edward six…

  • Anonymous

    Croydon is an interesting town,
    but seems to be falling down, as we speak.
    Taberner House I know well, being infested tory,
    for their new games, to us all, pray and glory.

    Song for my first true love, from there, Ash, a proper love song, that I just hope she will like. 48 she is now!

  • Anonymous

    Only by luck we had Lizzy two, ey Alastair, ey Eddie Eight?

    Modern song for Lizzy Two, semi-semi-history, her on a night off from |Charles and Anne, seeing what her sis Marge gets up to,

    I am glad somehow genetics got into the score, as with Kate – but I do think she is still shitting herself – morning sickness is just another symptom.

    Calm down Katie bach and just say simply fuck it – I am here, with all these bells and institutional whistles, but so? Calm down bach, a welsh song for you – strahge it might seem, but strange is strange seen, and I have seen some sights bach!

    Song for you Kate, to show to Wills, with all our understandable love, in this madness of royalty,
    yeh, get up Kate – drag that fella Wills around that room.

  • Anonymous

    oh fuck, what did i do now – non-self edited previous, hope it turns out ok, Alastair, and Kate, and of course Wills….
    There goes my possible gong, ey Al… : )))

  • Anonymous

    Got to tell you another story Alastair – I was a profuse walker of the Carmarthenshire and Pembrokeshire coast path, and about ten years ago bumped into a young lady walking the Saundersfoot to Tenby section – tiny she was, in her early twenties. And when I saw that vid above realised who it was – it was Hannah. Couldn’t remember her name she told me at that time – there are so many – but I never forget a face. Must be when she was on holiday from primary school educating post-grad diploma.

    We passed the day with each other, and I can never forget that infectious smile, pointed out Caldey Island and the monks, and Tenby from a coastal distance Balamory-like painted, but she never let on she was DT’s grandchild. Glad she didn’t, to be truthful Alastair, otherwise I would have dropped to my knees, and spent the rest of the day trying to pick my jaw up from the floor.

    Good poem about her Hannah’s maternal grandparents here, tongue in cheek, which will I think will amuse her, wrote by her grandad,

    And oh yes, when we passed rabbits in the field, pointed out that Beatrix Potter when young lived just down the road from the path and meadow, which was a surprise to her, and especially when I pointed out the blue plaque outside the house, when we entered Tenby, to show I was not bullshitting, and not speaking a welsh form of blarney, which we tend to be good at, at times. But this story is true, as lord is my saviour. Can never forget a face. Only didn’t get friendlier, because it was obvious I was a good couple of decades older, at least.

    By the way Alastair, his poem above is about his mad aunt in the asylum coming to stay, officially, he said, but we can tell there are hidden lines in between, about his wife, Caitlin. She was a bit bonkers, artistically, and bohemiemically, is that is a word.

  • Anonymous

    clickable pic for wotsit, yes, small review,

    bluddy disqus arse breath twaddle, ey Beatrix?, ey Hannah?

  • Anonymous

    Suppose I better not say when Wills pulled up alongside me on his bike one day years ago – heard through the grapevine what he was riding those days and heard he was in west Wales, and I put my window down, he looked at me then away, and I said “alright Wills”, and stuck my thumb up, and he did same in reply, with Harri closely following on his scooter, catching up.

    And of course some strange bikers with pistols with him, of course

  • Anonymous

    Good pic of balamory Tenby here, but not from a distance, not from that point on the coast path, before you get to Waterwynch/Waunwynch Bay,

    By the way Alastair, stalking yout twitters, you’re up Scotland for the hols. Pity about the wind and Noah’s rain – the weather is going bonkers, and that is all the tories can talking about is this twatchell nonsense.

  • Anonymous

    Well, one all for the Swans Alistair today/yesterday. and Fergie your mate losing his rag with the ref again. Next time you see him pal, tell him to grow a pair, and not carry on like a whinging female teenager. Sad it is to see, a future Father X losing his marbles.

    : ))))

    Song about Swans, when he was still in his managerial nappies,

    Not many Manch songs by Oasis for Fergie, ey Alastair?

  • Anonymous

    …furthermore, as with,

    Shut the feck up Fergie!

    Song for him,

    Aw sweet – sit on santas brass knobbed knees… : )

  • Anonymous

    Not my primary art or sullen craft, I tend to be too jack of all trades, but might just be life exploring, I suppose, I might just be just playing with it, as I sometimes doubt myself with a true vocation, alongside others, playing their part of doubters, without the surname of Thomas, Alastair. But again the bloke that gave it his all, in suggesting such are insomniacs of life, at night bothered, with life’s games presented, on stage, or pitch,

  • Anonymous

    Possiblities that I could have done,
    like going with that six foot woman,
    She could have chucked out childs,
    make proud any garrison of roman.

    But tried careful, with normans about,
    tread thin ice with them sorts around.
    Think too many times of self-preserve,
    through time and it’s fannying abound.

    History can be truely told, from the ones that were here, earlier.

  • Anonymous

    Suppose I could say, as a close DT observer, WWII killed him – he aged a litetime in them six years. And when those two hot bombs dropped in ’45, it accererated it. And being in NYC and Buffalo and places later, he must have thought he was dancing with the devil, and so on.

  • Anonymous

    Just come across this Alastair, when cruising – it is nectar pal, enjoy,

    Treat the church as an also ran.

  • Anonymous

    must post here with fickle ones, my friend, their judgement is just theirs,

  • Anonymous

    Must post here my friend – their fickle judgement is just theirs, not ours. Our eyes see different.

  • Anonymous

    Tidy – cheers Ali. Didn’t mean anything with about fickledome – just a joke, honest, a bit of leg pulling. Well, that is my story and I will stick with it.

  • Anonymous

    “Where will you go to now Blackbird?” is the proper translation.

    Funny that female blackbirds are brown, ey?

    Male blackbirds are right characters, if you haven’t noticed. But female blackbirds rule the roost, oh yes.

  • Anonymous

    And fox hunting rears it’s head again, always on the beeb this time of year – are the tories barking mad?

    Get Simon Cowell (not that one) from that Wildlife place in Leatherhead on the fecking case. You’ll have to visit there Ali, next time you get down to Slurrey, just outside sarf-west Lahndahn.

  • Anonymous

    Le reynard et l’enfant tres bies, qui?

  • Anonymous
  • Anonymous

    Twenty-thirteen coming,
    tories talking dirty.
    Clegg near back passage,
    being Dave flirty.

    Year of a thousand cuts,
    non-chinese given.
    Stand back and be ready,
    it’ll be nation riven.

    Can see it now, clearly as standing in my fallen down glasshouse. And yes, the end section of our glasshouse has fallen down, last night, in the wind – crashing glass that woke our next door neighbours up, as if a sign of things to come. Fucked for tomatoes next year…

  • Anonymous

    A harp has always been designed to be played outdoors, away from all those internal hovel/house allergies, fogging the brain.

    That is why religious places have the minimal of carpet and curtain furnishings and is cleaned regular – it creates a clean thinking mind environment.

  • Anonymous

    More here, via somewhere, hot and air conditioned indoors – classic welsh paganish hymn, reaching overseas,

  • Anonymous

    And don’t worry Alastair, just tell our daughters it is a freak of nature to play like that when they get jealous, as they do – just tell them it must be one in a few hundreds of thousands, at least, to have that talent. And tell Grace if she gets jealous, tell her to simply grow up, as I tell my daughter when I talk of other young ladies talent, god given by surprise, especially to their parents.

    Happy 2013, by the way pal – spent it watching Jools on the beeb – nice to see Kevin “Dexy’s” Rowlands and Petula Clarke on it. Bothered Guido’s site as well at the same time – posted a load of shite on that tonight, as I tend to do on pompous stuck up their own ‘arrises sites like that.

  • Anonymous

    You know Alastair, what with daily cartoons in newspapers these days, why don’t they have a daily poem, as like the shit I post here? Only has to be eight to a dozen lines long, at the most. Any longer and it becomes a bore for those not inclined.

    Just a thought.

  • Anonymous

    Been bothering Guido Fawkes for a good month now,
    and may I say Alastair it has been “quite strange”.
    How fellas and ladies hang on to what goes on there,
    their open ears and eyes open for all such pillage.

    Mentioned in papers, even the Daily Wail, directives,
    not in dispatches, since that would be war-like ’bout.
    But in, press the morning mobile buttons to find ’bout,
    and for them to say, oh my god, did he, she did, trout.

    But it is about forty days observation and posting inane there myself Alastair, and I can gladly report that Guido’s site is “mostly harmless”.
    : )

    I shall continue there, since it is damned good fun. Right up my street, etc..

  • Anonymous

    She needs to do a solo version, away from the orchestra – that is why she sounds flat at times, it is when other instuments come in at that times, in the semi-circle, at the side.

    Six nations tomorrow KO Alastair, ey? Heard Jim Telfor from Hawick has been bumping his gums off at the english and us welsh. We are lazy? Could be some truth in that.

    Six Nations is the best Brit/Irish/Euro sporting event there is, I think. Paddies at home for us tomorrow, and you away after against the, AHEM!, the sassenachs!! Get stuck in lads.

  • Anonymous

    Oh bugger! We were wastrels in the first hour, then managed to wake up.

    But brilliant win by the Ities against the frogs in Rome today Alastair – really enjoyed that match, with what hair I have got left after yesterday. Think the Saes/English will Grand Slam this, but they have to meet us Taffies in the last match, in Cardiff. That should be interesting.

    And yes, Dalai Lama – very strange. Up the Swans Dalai!

  • Anonymous

    Link for harps – Llandysyl on the Ceredigion and Carmarthenshire/Sir Gar border seems to be the capital in the world for harp buying, like the Italians and their violins,

  • Anonymous

    Henry Seven came along with french britons,
    and some welsh of course.
    To sort out Dicky of York the Third bad backed,
    to end the Roses morose.

    Midland they marched tackle England festering,
    on horse and by foot light.
    Onto a field of battle with it’s total chaos affair,
    by night Dicky was blight.

    Stuck under a tescos car park all these years,
    still looking for a horse.
    Then came trolley containing pickaxe and spade,
    when found his source.

    St Anne’s head Henry Seven landed from France to advance, near the mouth of present day Milford Haven. Channel 4 documentary the other night was a bit loose with history, as in the documentary on Mercian Saxon gold the other year, when briton smiths slaved were involved.

  • Anonymous

    link to plaque, at Mill Bay, St Ann’s Head, Pembrokeshire,

  • Anonymous

    Coogan and Brydon on their take of such historical events of past, amusingly, when discussing such in Steve’s car/Range Rover, one morn, driving through some sticks of Britland,

  • Anonymous

    Bretagne leader brits that is, who moved to french Brittany, and to old Atantic coast Iberian seafaring friends Gallicia when advancing saxons approached, into Hampshire, Dorset, Wiltshire, Somerset, and of course Devon, and maybe Cornwall too, retreating from the mad fools, in mainly about the seventh century.

    Get on the case Tony Robinson, with your Channel 4 Time Team, with non-english propaganda, hopefully. Just the non-misinformation non-tory-fooling historical truth, please Tony.

  • Anonymous

    Rhodri Morgan, retired MP/AM/Welsh Assembly leader on his thoughts with such – quite sharp on the beeb, and the olde englanders media, you could say, in today’s Western Mail, the national paper of Wales/Cymru,

  • Anonymous

    TIDEEEEEEE! Alastair.

    That was the most disciplined performance by a welsh rugger side I have seen for a long while – they have finally realised, the lads today that play for us – Cymru finally realise that they have to go on the pitch against sixteen men. And Clancy, who gave all fifty-fifty decisions to La France, the irish funny handshake merchant, sit on this middle finger of mine and spin on it that it didn’t turn out for you and your mates.

    As I said Alastair, a right tidy performance in gay Parii by the lads. Fine quality le cheval steaks, with salad, and chips, on me tonight lads. Nose bag it up.

  • Anonymous

    Went into a Bretagne chuch in Lannion once, near the north coast of Bretagne, not far from it’s pink granite coast, and the Vicar, or whatever they call them, was there, and so I asked him “Parlez vous anglaise?”, and he said “Peitit poir”, and the I said “Cymraeg?”, and he said “Ah, petit poir grander!”. So we discussed “things”, in a mixture of english, welsh, bretagne and french.

    Quite amusing it was for the both of us. But if I talked to him today, I would simple say, 16-6. Discussion over. : )))

  • Anonymous

    There is talk that Trinity newspapers are going to shut down the Western Mail, and here is talk that the AM’s in Kerdiff are going to save it, and return it to totally welsh control, subsidised, but with the premise that it will have total jurno capitalistic free reign on what they want to say.

    Something like that anyway.

  • Anonymous

    We blight our life what is right,
    in our simple times,
    Get back in touch, you silly sort,
    dad loves and pines.

    Down in Oz, I have been told,
    but why not me, closer.
    In age one genetic your time,
    email no, one worrier.

    Song for my Siân where my first cousin’s wife had to tell me which part of the workd sge was in,

  • Anonymous

    BOLLOCKS, hit something wrong, and things disappeared, as per usual. Excuse the spelling mistakes previous, by the tossing way.

    As i said, song for my Siân, and just for her, now in Oz, with those disgust male Ozzies sniffing her behind, no fucking doubt. GET ORF MY DAUGHTERS ARSE!! you kangaroo buggerers.

  • Anonymous

    rip their ozzie male pervy head orf if they do bad to my daughter, like I do a wild rabbit from my back field for the pot. I’ll be on the next Quantas if I hear so…

  • Anonymous

    …but saying that, I hope Siân meets a right tidy Labor supporter in Oz, as long as he doesn’t come from Melbourne. Lady even – as I said, haven’t heard from her in months, so gawd knows what her pecadillos are these days, one could say. But I won’t mind, not much chance of becoming a grandad, though, I suppose.

    Song about such, one fooling if one is or not, ladies, kick with the other foot or not, confused, I suppose Siân me daughter, if so,

    But she does scuba diving with sharks, so I am left to simply guess.

    So it might be Sydney then… I’ll let you know when I hear more.

  • Anonymous

    Yes, Sydney it is, at the moment. Here is her latest pic on her facelessbook front page, on top of it’s harbour bridge, with it’s opera house in the background. She’s 22 in ten days, and I think a little bit crazy as me at the same age, to tell the honest truth.

  • Anonymous

    Have no idea if she is working there at the moment, Sydney Harbour Bridge, with the climb staff there, but it wouldn’t surprise me, she is fearless with heights and depths. The blue teeshirt might be the giveaway, wot they wear there.

    Remember her when about twelve taking her to Stackpole Head in Pembrokeshire to see the red beaked choughs there (or was it Solva to see St, Elvis the saint buriel cairn of old, it could be), and when my back was turned, she was half way down a cliff looking into rabbit holes, to see where they lived, with a sheer two hundred foot drop right next to her. I went scrabbling down there, dragged her back onto level land, and gave her a good clip around her head, and told her “What would mam have said if I had to do a two hundred foot dive into the atlantic ocean to save you, if you slipped, EY?”

    Gave me kittens it did. But I might as well have been talking to a wall, or a dolphin, or something.

  • Anonymous

    And by the way, she has been offered a diamond stud several times for her lower lip (as in the pic, if you look close enough), but she has turned them all down, so far.

    Sense see, awaiting for the right one, money or not…

  • Anonymous

    Might as well post another song from Goldfrapp and Gregory, her big mate, on what I feel is the nonsense about the de-militarlisation totally by Cameron and co. of the UK search and rescue setup.

    So who is available Dave to save shot down RAF/RN Fleet Air Arm pilots if things suddenly go on, in say, Falklands, or other parts of the World, ey lad? Ey, answer me that one. Think I said already I worked in an MOD contract factory in it’s research and development department for the SAR system, outside of Croydon in New Addington there, with the mid-nineties new built Somerset Sea Kings SAR then, and I am not impressed Dave, to say the least, with you wanting just to bin them now. It is almost indicitive how you have approached everything since May 2010. You’re a knob – the true conclusion.

    SAR song, for me it feels, from Will and Alison, going far out into the atlantic, get there, all with special spex on night vision, to look around, to try and just simply save,

  • Anonymous

    Been trying to get a message to her, not to be so nig-nog british, even try to get a photo with David G, from Walkabout fame, if you get me, and meet the true locals, and she said she will try. And she will, without predjudice, I hope.

    Met a lovely abo young lady back in ’01, in Brisbane, she was a stunner, and we spent half an hour discussing things, her giggling, me laughing, about english brainwashed ozzie imports mainly, if you get me, with their cultural ignorant minds.

    And no, we never did the dirty, but I did with Marnie, the oz blondie, and the way I was feeling then, to tell you the truth, I felt as if I was shagging my own sister.

    Made her puzzled, and then laugh, if she was named after the Hitchcock wimmin controller as in above film, when I explained it to her. Way into a ladies knickers is so easy, that has now become quite a bore…. ; )

    By the way, Marnie the ozzie version was a five foot nine sex goddess, but I had to gave her signs that i was only there for a few days, before I flow back to Singapore, where I was working then, not to string her along, and be nasty, when such times ask, for ladies and their simple hearts.

  • Anonymous

    More ozzie here, Agutter getting her young titties and fanny oot for the lads aboot, in a classic film, for a change… : )

    Like a bit of Agutter me, as if you haven’t noticed. When she was in her early twenties, half an excuse, and off they came. TIDY! railway children, oh yes

  • Anonymous

    Remember my daughter telling me once when she came up from a dive, and there was these english amateur divers on the boat with them, and when she was taking off her wetsuit, she had an upper swim suit crisis, and her friends were exposed, with lads looking at her goggled eyed, so she turned to them and said “Do you want to suck them as well?”, giving them an eyefull.

    Or something like that it was.

  • Anonymous

    More banging song from Parralox from Melbourne for my Siân, since I might have been too daddy caring paranoid. Heard she likes this sort of stuff, oz laddies and lassies,

    bugger it, might as well post their pagan one as well,

  • Anonymous

    More banging song from Parralox from Melbourne for my Siân, since I might have been too daddy caring paranoid. Heard she likes this sort of stuff, oz laddies and lassies,

    And pagan me and her, maybe, from same, down there, interestingly,

    Shame always the numbnut mother I say, trying to destroy things, just for their own warped reasons. That is why Eshes my daughter is the other side of the world at the moment, to get away from that day to day constant poison. And look at her mother on facelessbook now, still trying to play games with her, as she has with everyone in her life, everyone is wrong of course, not Eshes’s mam, ever. PATHETIC LIFE.

  • Anonymous

    Yes Ashley, for gawd sakes, leave her alone for a while, and let her make her own mind up about things, you screwed up, Dallas JR, totally unfit mother.

    There, I told her, finally. Whenever I tried to help her education when young sensibly, she fucked it. But she used it as an arrow for me, as them sorts tend to do.

  • Anonymous

    Ladies like vouyerism, don’t they Alastair, ey? Well fuck off out of my life ladies, I am not fucking Coronation Street – please piss orf ladies, with your over back garden fence bothering gossiping, causing local problems, shallow.

    Had to be said Alastair, sorry.

  • Anonymous

    One has to, mainily, live one’s life within head,
    from young to older ungainly.
    Then reach one to enter head, without gov warn,
    some mind tampax ungamely.

    Drag you in, make out they total understand you,
    until past peel the banana.
    Then the chickens of their mind come home roost,
    say oh bugger, a wankaa.

    Nightmare female past associations, and yes, I fell into it’s life simple trap, so of course, it is all my fault, as it is always.
    Song about it,

  • Anonymous

    bollox to it, got to post some Swansea Badfinger again – from their film they made, in the north Downs of Surrey, or was it Hertfordshire… I forget.

    Happy St. Valentine’s Day all, by the way.

  • Anonymous

    Reckon she will get spliced with an ozzie – hope the wedding coincides with the lions tour, so to save airfares, via Singapore/via Amsterdam Malaysian Airlines, one hopes.

    Otherwise it will be mortgage the fecking house, on Qantas!

  • Anonymous

    Guido said enough is enough,
    I was even too mad for him.
    Him barrels of gunpowder,
    therefore then I got banned.

    Might have been tempt him,
    no doubt I was cellared.
    To see where he actual stood,
    and got good answered.

    Song for Guido Fawkes and your shite online town, you pathetic chancer, just using a name from our history, for yews sell.

  • Anonymous

    Blind humans on a plane, eyes jolly forward,
    not actually realising what they are doing.
    An ungodly act going on their hols something,
    humans front hoping they know controlling.

    Out into without wings of self, sailed, air fed,
    some not looking out of window valiumed.
    Rest us grinning and thinking thirty thou feet,
    think be not up here really, could goosed.

    Song for such transport, non-Boris red bussed,

    And that goes for short euro hops too, and between US cities. If god meant us to fly, and etc..

  • Anonymous

    Soloed in a glider when in the RAF, Bannerdown Gliding Club when they were flying from RAF Hullavington, the otherside of the M4 from Chippenham in Wiltshire, and they wanted me then to fly a Jaguar or Harrier or something, single seated since they thought I was my own boss. Didn’t interest me, for “reasons” but my mate Merion from Anglesey, who became a Hawk and Tornado pilot, wanted at least for me to be nav behind him in a two seater, but I still said no. Could have done well in copters though – stunned some people when I landed a toy model copter on a spot remote controlled, from horizontal total speed, and tipping it almost vertical to cut speed, and land it safely on a spot, as in the hollywood films.

    But if I was about twenty in about 1960, would have been going for it to drive this machine, without Thatcher about, her untrustworthy,

    And a song for Argentina gliding, what with the nonsense going on again, since we of course, are suffering a tory government again, with their usual caused food scares, as we speak, welsh Aberystwyth processing plant being victimised by the civil service tory Cameron FSA,

  • Anonymous

    Harrier single seater, as here, spooking yank ground forces, in such lands, head sctratching politically entered, for the fun of it.
    AND, for the northern lads of from us about there,

  • Anonymous

    Sod it, while I am at it, might as well post the three german Luftwaffer piloted Tornados doing a fly past, NATO like, at an air show over there – heads down Herrs,

  • Anonymous

    And talking of Eastleigh and Hampshire, here is some woos BBC Hampshire reporter, or could be ITV TV South, getting close to a Supermarine Spitfire, which they produced there in Soton, once upon a time, when really needed,

    Think Soton airport is where they produced Spitfires, the Supermarine factory. Also produced the Sunderland flying boats too for then, as well as RJ Mitchell’s Schneider Trophy winners too in the 1920s.

  • Anonymous

    But I might as well say Jenny was only nineteen in clip above, or even eighteen even, which makes it even more then back neck slapping for me, as you doo, when I was about ten then.

    And I wouldn’t put it past her that she was even seventeen. Can hear her now “Clothes, clothes? What are they for I ask”. nooo doubt..

    Like a bit of Jenny me, as I have already said. Innocence is when you can show how you are to all, underneath.

  • Anonymous

    Broke the RAF record for running down a cliff at Barmouth, at their outward camp near there, in ’86, fixed rope pegged up top, with just me controlling how fast I wanted to run, almost vertical. Easy peasy it was, put the brakes on at the end, as a corner, with the RAF PTI’s looking at me goggled eyed with my controlled fearlessness.

    I avoided to call them also rans in life…

    Snapped back on the rope schapel, turned my body to land on two feet at the bottom, looking up at amazed eyes, with all my blonde teeth looking up and grinning, with a look of “that is how it is done, pals”. Only two of us volunteered to attempt it, I was easy for it, Meirion was the other, and he was fucked off that he should have gone quicker, when I slaughtered him. He was second.

    PTI said I was a natural, and should be in the Paras or SAS, osciffer or something… He actually used to be, so he did know what he was talking about.

    By the way, RAF rectrutment used my photo when I was climbling said cliff when their RAF official photographer was there, in their recruitment booklets about RAF life and that, since I was, and still are, hopefully(!), a male oil painting.

  • Anonymous

    Angels one five, come in Septic…. please……

  • Anonymous

    Suppose gliding impresses the ladies, he says….

    giving my secrets away here, for free… OK OK, have them, and yes, don’t say thanks, you kiddies today…

  • Anonymous

    Link to such, union jacks all over the place then in first place, Dave “plastic briton” Cameron,

  • Anonymous

    With the argies and us, what comes to my mind is share, but Cameron is just a trouble maker, as tories bubbled in their own minds have always been since WWI with thier loss of empire, via death duties, David Lloyd-George sensibly told them. And ’47 india was the last nail, AND so they all came back, and worked for Shepherd’s Bush BBC, with their warped talk, since no other job was available for them.

  • Anonymous

    Supermarine Sunderland flying boats were very successful posted during WWII at RAF Pembloke Dock – one of the very few RAF bases that officially had a slipway into our seas.

    Bollox, Shorts in Belfast produced it, but heard it was designed in Eastleigh area, that is one’s excuse, for now,

  • Anonymous

    More Steve McQueen, the big crash, and ladies included, La France 1971,

    Link is timed advanced to the part of the movie – hope it gets you there, with the brilliant build up to it euros, with the yank winning it of course, as they do in films then mon amis, as they always did in life then.

  • Anonymous

    Females when chance born,
    must be pooping when discovered.
    That they are required sometime,
    to poop out something beach balled.

    Christ, I have it easy, stonker required,
    to see my lady explode in size.
    With thinking if sooty or sweep is inside,
    hands wringed held sheet, prize.

    been there, seen it, done it, seen the crowning – still think I should have been bottom of the stairs, awaiting cigar.

    Song for such ladies, god given straining,

    …pooping out a melon.

  • Anonymous

    Gliders – already got plans and workshops researched to do the job, for even glider pop up battery powered lightwelght propellers to take off, even small rocket propellers, as they put in missiles, but in this tory Cameron unimaginative, no one is fucking interested, as usual. No imagination see, with the torys.

  • Anonymous

    Sod it, Nord Italliano, Torino airportee, or however they spell it,

    Scusate il mio inglese, italiani, che è dovuto perché sono gallese, accanto a loro, alla ricerca ….

  • Anonymous

    Could post Leeds agaist Juve Torino in past days in past, and why not again?

  • Anonymous

    Italiano further, heve to go and see Enrico in

    oops, NOO, not that one for Enrico, this one,


  • Anonymous

    To be a father is to be alert,
    step back from the dirt.
    Watching shooting required,
    the crows that fly by.

    No sense in me telling thee,
    up to you to look and see.
    The maggots that infest life,
    our lives that always be.

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