While standing in the playground at my son’s school this afternoon, I overheard a delightful conversation between two of the smaller children as they scampered past me, like a couple of terrier puppies, all energy and mischief.
“Be careful,” said the first boy thoughtfully, “he’s blind!” he continued, in that matter-of-fact way that we adults find so difficult to cope with.
“You what?” shouted back his friend, obviously keen for his pal to have another go at embarrassing his mother.
“Watch out, he’s blind!” the young lad shouted again.
“No he isn’t” retorted the second boy indignantly. “He’s just old!”
:-(
Talking of little s**ts, this weekend we in the bogsey household were watching one of those cheap ‘n’ nasty music video programmes when we discovered a little festive gem that had hitherto slipped under our radar – Mr Hankey, the Christmas Poo, featured in an episode of South Park – if you haven’t seen it you must check it out on Youtube. I can see that the little fella is going to be much talked about in our house this Christmas.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Oh, what a night!
Wow! In the words of the song, "Oh, what a night!" I'm still coming down from the buzz of it all. Over 180 people gathered at the second Dogs Dinner. And this time, apart from the organisers to greet them, there were also four of our four-legged friends; Laddie, a retired guide dog, a working dog called Fraser, and two youngsters still in training called Briar and Wallis. They must have wondered what on earth was going on.As soon as everyone was seated, a finely tuned plan was put into action. First, it was up to me to set the tone for the evening with a few perceptive, cultured and rather philosophical words, which I had cunningly disguised as filthy, sexist abuse. I think I got away with it, although I'm not sure my mother-in-law would agree.
Before long the guests were tucking into their meals and starting to work in earnest on reducing the European wine lake. A tough job, but someone had to do it.
Filled with jive-juice and chocolate pud, some of the dresses, and no doubt trousers, were holding back rather more than they were designed to and there must have been a serious risk of a button popping and putting someone's eye out, but thankfully we didn’t add to the waiting list for guide dogs.
This, of course, explains my appearance in what could be construed as an incriminating photograph of me with my hands all over the chest of a rather well-endowed guest. For the record, I was merely trying to prevent an unseemly spillage, which might have embarrassed some of the other guests. Again, a tough job, but hey, no thanks required.
By now we were well-oiled and nothing was going to stop us strutting our stuff in front of the jazz band who filled the room with classy toe-tappers.
Having filled the guests’ stomachs, we quickly emptied their pockets and as the music died and people made their weary way home, we got down to the serious business of counting up the proceeds, which totalled an amazing £4'700.
As I said, wow! What a night!
Filled with jive-juice and chocolate pud, some of the dresses, and no doubt trousers, were holding back rather more than they were designed to and there must have been a serious risk of a button popping and putting someone's eye out, but thankfully we didn’t add to the waiting list for guide dogs.
This, of course, explains my appearance in what could be construed as an incriminating photograph of me with my hands all over the chest of a rather well-endowed guest. For the record, I was merely trying to prevent an unseemly spillage, which might have embarrassed some of the other guests. Again, a tough job, but hey, no thanks required.
By now we were well-oiled and nothing was going to stop us strutting our stuff in front of the jazz band who filled the room with classy toe-tappers.
Having filled the guests’ stomachs, we quickly emptied their pockets and as the music died and people made their weary way home, we got down to the serious business of counting up the proceeds, which totalled an amazing £4'700.
As I said, wow! What a night!
Friday, November 14, 2008
Friday Night Fever
Yikes. Only a few hours to go before the big event - Dogs Dinner 2. The last few days and weeks have been manic. Having spent months planning how to do it, the last few days have been spent wondering why.
Nerves are clearly getting the better of me. The other day I was emailing the hotel to confirm the wine order. I was about to click on 'send' when I heard my screen reader read what I had written - "One bottle of red and one bottle of shite per table'. Fortunately I managed to change this request and hopefully it's not a bad omen. That's what I call a close whave.
In som ways it seems strange asking people to donate money, even to a good cause like Guide Dogs, when there is so much financial doom and gloom around. However, I think we are probably doing our bit to prop up the local economy, judging by the number of people buying new dresses, handbags, shoes, jewellry, manicures, spray-tans and the like. And that's just the men.
There's not much more that I can do now, except finalise my speech. With such a diverse audience I'm not sure how cautious I have to be. On the one hand I have to be careful not to offend anyone, on the other hand, who doesn't like a good knob joke?
Nerves are clearly getting the better of me. The other day I was emailing the hotel to confirm the wine order. I was about to click on 'send' when I heard my screen reader read what I had written - "One bottle of red and one bottle of shite per table'. Fortunately I managed to change this request and hopefully it's not a bad omen. That's what I call a close whave.
In som ways it seems strange asking people to donate money, even to a good cause like Guide Dogs, when there is so much financial doom and gloom around. However, I think we are probably doing our bit to prop up the local economy, judging by the number of people buying new dresses, handbags, shoes, jewellry, manicures, spray-tans and the like. And that's just the men.
There's not much more that I can do now, except finalise my speech. With such a diverse audience I'm not sure how cautious I have to be. On the one hand I have to be careful not to offend anyone, on the other hand, who doesn't like a good knob joke?
Monday, November 3, 2008
Regeneration Application
Open letter to Director General of the BBC
Dear (in more ways than one) DG,
Re: Time Travelling Vacancy
Following the recent news of David Tennants planned departure after the next series of ‘Doctor Who’, I wish to apply for the post.
Apart from the fact that I would be considerably cheaper to employ than Mr Tennant (my referees can confirm just how cheap I am), as a partially-sighted licence-fee payer I think it’s about time the BBC started to fulfil its duty under the Disability Equality Duty by including more disabled people in leading roles. Did I also mention how cheap I am?
Rather than seeing a non-seeing Doctor as problematic, why not use the vastly creative skills available within the BBC (you know, the ones who give us the flair, innovation and originality of programmes like ‘Strictly’ and ‘Weakest Link’) to use the VIP as a USP. For example, I could fight off the evil monsters with my sonic symbol cane and surely K-9 would make a fantastic guide-dog. Together, the metallic mutt and I would be an unstoppable pair.
Talking of which, I should point out that I would need to be intimately involved in the casting of any young Doctor’s assistant. I like to take a ‘hands-on’ approach to assessing the attributes of my co-stars and, before you get carried away with this liberal diversity nonsense, no, I don’t think it would be a good idea to introduce a male assistant at this time.
Perhaps my introduction could mark a new direction for the show. How about a new name, such as ‘Doctor Who-said-that?’ or ‘Doctor Where?’
My qualities for taking on such a role should not be over-estimated. I am accustomed to wearing slightly geaky clothes and appearing somewhat barking at times. I am also a seasoned time-traveller. Only a couple of weeks ago I travelled back a whole hour without anyone noticing. I also have experience of working in a higher education institution, so travelling back 20 or 30 years should present no problems to me.
I understand you may have reservations about taking such a big gamble. Perhaps you could use a day’s interest earned on Jonathan Ross’s unpaid salary to give me a trial run?
Yours hopefully
Bogsey.
Dear (in more ways than one) DG,
Re: Time Travelling Vacancy
Following the recent news of David Tennants planned departure after the next series of ‘Doctor Who’, I wish to apply for the post.
Apart from the fact that I would be considerably cheaper to employ than Mr Tennant (my referees can confirm just how cheap I am), as a partially-sighted licence-fee payer I think it’s about time the BBC started to fulfil its duty under the Disability Equality Duty by including more disabled people in leading roles. Did I also mention how cheap I am?
Rather than seeing a non-seeing Doctor as problematic, why not use the vastly creative skills available within the BBC (you know, the ones who give us the flair, innovation and originality of programmes like ‘Strictly’ and ‘Weakest Link’) to use the VIP as a USP. For example, I could fight off the evil monsters with my sonic symbol cane and surely K-9 would make a fantastic guide-dog. Together, the metallic mutt and I would be an unstoppable pair.
Talking of which, I should point out that I would need to be intimately involved in the casting of any young Doctor’s assistant. I like to take a ‘hands-on’ approach to assessing the attributes of my co-stars and, before you get carried away with this liberal diversity nonsense, no, I don’t think it would be a good idea to introduce a male assistant at this time.
Perhaps my introduction could mark a new direction for the show. How about a new name, such as ‘Doctor Who-said-that?’ or ‘Doctor Where?’
My qualities for taking on such a role should not be over-estimated. I am accustomed to wearing slightly geaky clothes and appearing somewhat barking at times. I am also a seasoned time-traveller. Only a couple of weeks ago I travelled back a whole hour without anyone noticing. I also have experience of working in a higher education institution, so travelling back 20 or 30 years should present no problems to me.
I understand you may have reservations about taking such a big gamble. Perhaps you could use a day’s interest earned on Jonathan Ross’s unpaid salary to give me a trial run?
Yours hopefully
Bogsey.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Dirty, stinking northerners
I heard this week with some interest, and some disgust, that a recent survey found disturbing results concerning the cleanliness of the male population in this part of the country. In particular, the research found that over 50% of men in this region had faecal matter on their hands. Apparently our friends down south are not nearly so mucky.
I wonder why this should be the case. Perhaps it's like herd immunity in reverse - maybe we have a critical mass of dirty buggers and no matter how clean the rest of us are, those sticky-fingered individuals make it difficult for the rest of us to avoid it.
It's reassuring to know that, as this region is also famed for the friendliness of its people, visitors from the clean south of the country will of course be welcomed with a hearty smile and a warm hand-shake.
The discrapancy across the country is fascinating, and it makes a change for those of us in the north to be the haves rather than the have nots. It would be really interesting to do some further research into the reasons behind these differences, but it will have to wait as I have a lot on my hands just now.
I wonder why this should be the case. Perhaps it's like herd immunity in reverse - maybe we have a critical mass of dirty buggers and no matter how clean the rest of us are, those sticky-fingered individuals make it difficult for the rest of us to avoid it.
It's reassuring to know that, as this region is also famed for the friendliness of its people, visitors from the clean south of the country will of course be welcomed with a hearty smile and a warm hand-shake.
The discrapancy across the country is fascinating, and it makes a change for those of us in the north to be the haves rather than the have nots. It would be really interesting to do some further research into the reasons behind these differences, but it will have to wait as I have a lot on my hands just now.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Points Deducted?
The markets seem to have reacted well following the G7’s announcement of a new 5-point plan to rescue the leading economies and banking systems of the world. Personally, I was a little perturbed.
If they had come out with a 4-point plan, or a 7-point plan, I’d have been reassured, but a 5-point plan is worrying to me. You can imagine the scenario…
Spin Doctor: “Excuse me Mr President, but would you mind dropping the last point of the plan? I’m sorry but all our research shows that a six-point plan just doesn’t sound quite right, and it’s all about instilling confidence in the market isn’t it?
George Bush: “But we’ve spent the whole weekend negotiamating this plan. Every point is crucial!”
Spin doctor: “Mmm…any chance you could come up with four more points? Ten point plans are good.”
My guess is that each of the G7 would have had a key point each, so I reckon at least two got ditched in an effort to make the plan more pleasing on the ear. I hope they weren’t the really good ones.
If they had come out with a 4-point plan, or a 7-point plan, I’d have been reassured, but a 5-point plan is worrying to me. You can imagine the scenario…
Spin Doctor: “Excuse me Mr President, but would you mind dropping the last point of the plan? I’m sorry but all our research shows that a six-point plan just doesn’t sound quite right, and it’s all about instilling confidence in the market isn’t it?
George Bush: “But we’ve spent the whole weekend negotiamating this plan. Every point is crucial!”
Spin doctor: “Mmm…any chance you could come up with four more points? Ten point plans are good.”
My guess is that each of the G7 would have had a key point each, so I reckon at least two got ditched in an effort to make the plan more pleasing on the ear. I hope they weren’t the really good ones.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
If only my head was smaller
I know it’s a corny way to start a post, but a very strange thing really did happen to me today. Well, to be more precise, it was a weird thing that was said to me.
I was having lunch with Jes and Mrs Tips, and we were depressing ourselves with serious talk of financial meltdowns and shrinking savings when Mrs Tips says, “I’ll show you my little hats once the custard is out of the way.”
Yes, you read it right, and no, she wasn’t drunk. I just sat back and drank it in. Lifted from the gloom of our discussion, I sat and marvelled at the unpredictability of a life that, just when you are not expecting it, throws something like that at you, as if to say, ‘ha, what do you think of that then?’. It was a beautiful moment. No-one has ever said it to me before, and never will again. In fact, I could spend the rest of my life researching bizarre conversations and not come up with anything better.
If it all gets too much for me and I pass away in my sleep tonight, then let it be known that I died a happy man. In fact, put it on my headstone:
‘Once the custard had moved
He got to see the little hats. RIP.’
And what lovely little hats they were. Once Mrs Tips had checked my hands for custardy remnants, I was even allowed to fondle them. Like little egg-cosies, all different designs, all soft and woolly. Apparently they are to be worn by smoothy bottles in a promotion to help the aged. Of course, why didn’t I think of that? For a moment, I thought the world was going mad.
I was having lunch with Jes and Mrs Tips, and we were depressing ourselves with serious talk of financial meltdowns and shrinking savings when Mrs Tips says, “I’ll show you my little hats once the custard is out of the way.”
Yes, you read it right, and no, she wasn’t drunk. I just sat back and drank it in. Lifted from the gloom of our discussion, I sat and marvelled at the unpredictability of a life that, just when you are not expecting it, throws something like that at you, as if to say, ‘ha, what do you think of that then?’. It was a beautiful moment. No-one has ever said it to me before, and never will again. In fact, I could spend the rest of my life researching bizarre conversations and not come up with anything better.
If it all gets too much for me and I pass away in my sleep tonight, then let it be known that I died a happy man. In fact, put it on my headstone:
‘Once the custard had moved
He got to see the little hats. RIP.’
And what lovely little hats they were. Once Mrs Tips had checked my hands for custardy remnants, I was even allowed to fondle them. Like little egg-cosies, all different designs, all soft and woolly. Apparently they are to be worn by smoothy bottles in a promotion to help the aged. Of course, why didn’t I think of that? For a moment, I thought the world was going mad.
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