A Flat Refusal

After unceremoniously troughing Tuesday evening’s dinner yours truly spent half hour or so listening to a section of an audio book written and narrated by comedian David Mitchell. A move significantly lightening the tediousness borne from washing up pots. Incorporated among Mitchell’s very funny and insightful observations was a mischievous swipe at the Flat Earth…

The Capricious South Carolinian

Yesterday evening I made the following satirical observation on one of my social media timelines:- “I’ve just read on Twitter that South Carolina senator, and person who can fit into very small cupboards, Lindsey Graham has contracted COVID-19…. Bearing in mind he’s had his head stuck up Trump’s ass for the past six months, this…

Getting A Word In Edgeways

As part of today’s three hours respite from being my mum’s carer, I’m sat writing at a White Rose Shopping Centre (WRSC) coffee house. This treat afforded me from midday every Monday when I hand over my metaphorical carers baton to Maggie’s sitter Janine. Consequently, each Monday when the clock strikes 12 noon I dash…

Probably…….

Yesterday afternoon, while rapaciously quenching my thirst with a chilled Carlsberg lager during dinner preparation, my eyes were drawn to a message on the beer can announcing ‘Cheers to football this summer‘. How kind I thought upon reading such magnanimousness. This sight of a Danish brewery wishing the UK’s national sport goodwill over the months…

A Load Of Old Pony?

Due to my ingrained curmudgeonliness, along with an indifference to most events other than athletics, I’ve not seen a great deal of the Tokyo Olympics’ TV coverage. Apart from video coverage of GB medal winners on daily news bulletins, the time I’ve spent viewing the tournament’s been minimal. That being said, the other day, while…

Happy Yorkshire Day

Whether they’re bah t’at, or wi’ t’at, I’d like to wish my fellow Tykes a Happy Yorkshire Day. For the uninitiated who’re maybe thinking “What are these strange expressions ba’ t’at ,or wi’ t’at, of which you speak, Gary?”, they’re references to lyrics within the unofficial Yorkshire anthem On Ilkley Moor Bah T’at. The singer…

Goose Gingrich’s Gottle of Geer

During a quiet period yesterday, I pondered what’d constitute a good topic for a new writing project, along with what pen name I’d utilise should I wish to afford myself author anonymity. After deliberation, yours truly decided it might be fun to employ the pen name Goose Gingrich for my newly spawned idea of a…

Ugly Mug

One of the strangest symptoms consequential of my mum’s dementia is a her new found love for a china cup she recently found at the back of a kitchen cupboard. “Nothing weird there, Gary!….. Lot’s of people, especially those in their dotage, are very fond of a brew in a fine bone china cup.”, I…

No Friend Of Mine

Today sees the continuation of yours truly’s new daily trend of writing blogs prior to 6am. This novel practice a consequence of habitual insomnia; an affliction which ordinarily kicks in at around 4am every morning. The catalyst to this new reveille routine an irksome brew of one, two, or all, of the following;- Overheating due…