I'm Sexy And You Don't Know It!

I have just seen a piece about the actor Brad Pitt on the TV. He was described as a 'heart throb' and the female presenter blushed at the mention of his name. Either that, or she had run out of hormone tablets!

Now I'm sure that he's a nice guy and could have his pick of women to play 'hide the sausage 'with, but is he really any better looking than most Hollywood actors? This also goes for Tom Cruise and Johnny Depp. I know someone who really has the hots for the latter, and she should know better! But who said that that these guys are the hottest men around? Did they have to sit a test to get the position? I might apply if you do. I, like them, am not in the first flush of youth. I do resemble something you would flush, though. I was once told that I was cute by a girl back in 1979! I remember the night well, it cost me £20 and a course of antibiotics! Could I use this on my CV, to become Yorkshire's heart throb?

What does the job entail? Is it just appearing in crap films and looking gorgeous? I could easily appear in crap films. Who are the judges that I would have to bribe, sorry, please, to get the position? When I became the poet Laureate for Calderdale, a title I've not had chance to abuse yet. I received a lovely glass trophy: would I get something like this to say that I'm an official heart throb?

Have you noticed that when the title 'heart throb' is mentioned, girls no longer are said to 'swoon' - they now get the 'hots'. Most women of my age get the 'hots', but there are patches they can wear to cure this. This is my check list to see if I'm eligible for the post.

All my own hair, just about, tick.

All my own teeth, except one, tick.

Six Pack, chilling nicely in the fridge, tick

Not yet incontinent, tick.

Don't wear jeans with elasticated waists, tick.

Know more than two words with more than two syllables, tick.

Doesn't get drunk and make a fool of himself, X. Fail!

I wonder what score you need to pass?

If you are serious about your profession, I'm sure no matter what sex you are, it must be quite annoying if people just go on about how you look all the time. People do this with me, but for all the wrong reasons! But when you see young women going on about being taken seriously, when they have two bouncy castles implanted in their chest, and enough Botox to paralyse a hippo in their face, you don't immediately feel much sympathy. They have to remember that looks do fade in time. I can testify to that! You have to have more if you are to survive in such a shark-infested industry as the films and TV.

I have to admit that I don't think that I have ever watched a film featuring any of the above actors. I'm not being a smartarse about them or their work, it's just that I don't watch films. The last film I went to the movies to watch was Men in Black 1. I only went to watch that because I was working (not one of my harder jobs admittedly).

I had a chat with a friend recently about heroes and villains and we both agreed that it's quite boring just having the good looking peeps as the lead in films and literature (although she's got the 'hots' for Johnny Depp!)

Take Quasimodo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Victor Hugo could have easily had him as the romantic lead, which he was, in effect. But they wouldn't let him get the girl. Why? Imperfections can be sexy - I tell myself this each day. If Quasi had a slight hump, a muscular body and a scarred face, he could have been seen as a heart throb. Remember the phantom in The Phantom of the Opera was supposed to be a villain, but now he's regarded as sexy (he's not my type, though!)

So I would like to put myself forward as a heart throb. It will make a change from my heart throbbing due to over-indulgence. I'm willing to appear in crap films and have women have hot flushes over me. I'm more Quasimodo than Tom Cruise though, but I can ring quite a mean bell! So, can you send me the registration form so that I can sign up for the post? And don't worry, I wont be the aloof type of heart throb that gives the impression that you can look but not touch, I'm far too needy for all that!

It's A Funny Old World.

After looking at the Charlie Hebdo cartoons and reporting that I didn't find them funny, this got me thinking. Me and thinking are usually best kept apart, but I did wonder just how different humour is around the world.

I didn't find the Charlie Hebdo cartoons shocking, or morally upsetting. I think there is very little that would do either of those things to me, but they were more like something a playground bully would say to taunt one of their victims. That's the problem with humour, it's like all art forms: it's very subjective. And before any of you art snobs scoff at the idea that comedy is an art form, have a go at stand up, then let me know how you got on!

I don't think that humour travels that well, except for slapstick. This is why programmes such as 'You've Been Framed' are sold all over the world: it appeals everywhere. I don't get American sitcoms, if I'm honest. I don't like British Sitcoms either. But I used to love "The Simpsons" and I love "Family Guy". Then I found out that most of the writers were British for both these programs.

When I have worked in Germany I have seen so-called comedy shows that were anything but! Having said this, the German people thought they were the funniest things on TV. Japanese comedy is all about sado-masochism as far as I can see, and you would have to be Japanese to find them funny.

I think that the Irish are naturally funny. Sit in an Irish bar for one evening and the craic is always good, before the arguments start. They have a wonderful way with language. I might think this because I have Irish family, I don't know. I also have Italian family and they are not funny!

So what is it that makes different countries find such different things funny? Why are some countries vicious while trying to make you laugh, where others are more subtle? I write and perform comedy on a daily basis. Whether its funny or not is not up to me to decide (there's something wrong with you if you don't like it, though!). I have had a thought. It would be wonderful, in the wake of the Charlie Hebdo massacre, for comedians, writers and actors from all over the world to get together and write the ultimate sitcom that lets us all poke fun at our differences. We could merge different styles of comedy from each country so there would be something for everyone to enjoy. Forget about who may be offended, and think about who will be happy.

After the things that have happened of late, and are still happening now around the world, why don't we use the legacy of Charlie Hebdo and create a world comedy without the sugary rubbish, but with cutting, funny satirical material written about people by people from all over the world. I even have a title:
                
Je Sius Drole!

Who Cares?

While walking through my local town centre the other week I passed a group of people who all obviously had some form of learning disability in one way or another. All were excited and shouting to each other. At the front of the group was a large, bossy woman with a pudding-basin haircut and jam-jar bottom spectacles. Her dress looked like something from the nineteen thirties. I couldn't help but think why do people who support people with learning difficulties dress them in this way? It may be their choice, but it does seem to be a uniform of disability! But can you imagine my surprise when later I saw the large bossy one getting everyone else into a minibus then driving it away? I later found out that this lady worked at a project which helps people with learning disabilities and she allegedly doesn't have any learning disabilities herself.

Now, this lady might be a fantastic carer. I don't know, but it does make me think about the care industry as a whole. It seems to be the cheapest provider that gets the contract! I know that there are lots of checks put into place, and it's my sister's job to make sure they are in place at our local authority. But having the correct pieces of paper ticked doesn't make good care. People are placing their loved ones into the hands of people whose only aim is to make as much money as possible from them, and this usually means cutting corners.

My wife worked in a nursing home where, on the whole, most of the people who worked there cared. But they started to employ more and more young people who had no qualifications or interest in the job. Remember, this was a nursing home, where lots of the clients were terminally ill. It got to the stage that if all the younger members of the team were to work on a Sunday morning, no one would turn up for their shift as they would all go out the night before, get drunk, then phone in sick the next morning!

Many years ago, I worked with young people with learning disabilities. It did seem to me that, when I attended courses, there always seemed to be what I called 'Bingo women'! I know that this make me sound like an incredible snob, but they would turn up shouting the most inappropriate things. They were boorish and would ask the most inane questions, making these tedious courses last twice as long as they needed to be!

One of my friends told me of a conference that she had attended at a large old stately hall in South Yorkshire. She, like me loathed these things, but we had to attend them from time to time. She said that it was quite interesting, but there were the usual 'bingo women' there dominating events, much to the anger of the women delivering the workshop. The subject of sexuality and sex in an institutional setting arose. The bingo women started making jeering noises and laughing, when the woman delivering the workshop spoke about sex between minors and what to do if you found that a minor was being abused. Then one of the bingo women shouted out, "I had sex with a minor once, 'e were a right randy git!” The room fell silent. The woman in charge asked nervously, "I'm sorry what did you just say?”

“I 'ad sex wi a minor, 'e worked at Caphouse colliery.”

It was then that her friends burst out laughing, “That's a miner, you daft cow!” one of them shouted to her.

“I know, that's what I said. 'E owes me money as well,” she replied in her broad Yorkshire accent.

“She's” the other woman said, pointing to the woman in charge, “She's talking about 'aving it off wi kiddies.”

The first woman looked shocked and replied, “I wouldn't 'ave sex wi' a kiddie! What do you think I am, a hermaphrodite or summat?” Again people looked on, puzzled, when one of the other people on the course, who was also suffering these idiots said, “I think you mean a paedophile?”

“What?”

“An adult person who has sex with children, is called a paedophile.”

“What's an hermaphrodite then?” asked the brain donor.

My friend said that she had started laughing by now as it was one of the best comedy sketches she had seen in years. Another woman gave a deep sigh and said, “Hermaphrodites are inter-sex people that have both male and female reproductive organs.”

The bingo woman fell silent for a few seconds then turned to the room and with a look of confusion replied, “I thought they were called gays?”

The woman taking the course promptly asked this halfwit her name and where she worked.

Would you want her left alone with your vulnerable loved one?

I know that there are a lot of hard working and caring people who work long hours for little money to look after people in a care environment. But because of the nature of the shifts and because it's low paid, it also attracts people who don't care, which is why there are so many cases of abuse being reported. The whole industry needs to clean up its act and pay a decent wage to people who are properly trained and not just given a Mickey Mouse course to go on. We are talking about people's lives here.

So if you work in the care sector and you are offended about my comments about 'bingo women' and men, then it's probably because you are one, and others will be nodding their heads in agreement!

Us And Them.

It is no secret that the establishment hold us, the great unwashed, in contempt. They think that we are all mushrooms. Why else would they keep us in the dark and feed us shit?

The so-called elite are only regarded as this because they have created a a world where they and their offspring become ever more wealthy, while we, the worker ants, become poorer. I have just been listening to the radio about quantitative easing. This is where the government prints money that it doesn't have, to pretend that it will stimulate growth in the economy. The money will be given to banks to pay off their debts which will leave them free to lend money. Thank God for that: we can trust bankers to be totally selfless. The money goes to the establishment, making them even more obscenely wealthy, while we can't get a mortgage for a house to live in! The government could have done something quite radical to stimulate growth. There is no certainty that quantitative easing will work, the banks probably won't lend the money and people will not spend, which will shrink the economy. But the money that has been printed will have to be found somewhere, so we will be even worse off (if that's possible?)

The money that they are proposing to spend in order to make rich people richer is the equivalent of £10,000 per head for each British citizen. Why don't they just give £10,000 to each citizen instead? It may seem a crazy idea, but just think about it. They are spending that amount anyway, it's just going to obscenely wealthy people instead of obscenely poor people. If they did this, people could pay off their debts. They might even have enough for a deposit on a small house. The money will be spent in the economy, and surely this will stimulate more growth, both in banking and in retail? Even if people squander the money, it will still be spent and create more wealth! Just a thought.

This week the Tory MP James Arbuthnot claimed that he was coming out as an atheist, and that because he wasn't standing for election, he felt he could come clean. What a load of bollocks! Britain is on the whole a very tolerant country and also very secular. I would go as far as saying that Christians get a harder time than other religions and atheists. Ed Miliband announced years ago that he was an atheist, lots of other MPs have said that they are not religious. It makes no difference what religion you are, as long as you put the British people first and not yourself. This is what this idiot is doing right now, as it has given him press coverage and he is soon to be out of work!

Also, the Pope in response to Charlie Hebdo releasing their latest publication, said that if someone insulted his mother, he would punch them on the nose. What a dick! Does he not think the situation is inflamed enough? I was unfortunate enough to be brought up in a Catholic household. I seem to remember something about turning the other cheek? I'm a trained fighter and I wouldn't hit anyone for bad mouthing my mother, and I'm an atheist (I'm not up for re-election either).

I'm sure that Mrs Pope is quite a nice, understanding old lady (I don't want to get punched on the nose). She does, after all, have a son who wears a dress and says he represents an invisible being! But what if his mother sanctioned people being shot in the street? What if she thought it a good idea to protect paedophiles? Should we call her then? What if she didn't want girls to have an education or for women to have contraception, could we call her then? What if she claimed that gay people were a sin against God and should be killed for this? What if she said that it was wrong to marry someone who was a gentile, surely this is racism, is this not wrong? Maybe sometimes it does us all good to sit down and have a good long look at our families. Just because you're related to someone, it doesn't make them good people!

Back to the Charlie Hebdo magazine, is it me, or are the cartoons not funny? I have looked at them, and they do seem to be offensive for the sake of being offensive. We need to have satirical publications poking fun at the establishment: this highlights the stupidity of both them, and us for putting up with them! But the skill of a good satirist is to make a point with the use of humour. The Charlie Hebdo cartoons do seem to be more like a playground bully, just criticizing for the sake of it. Politicians and religion are very easy targets. They could at least make it funny?

I see that prince Andrew is alleged to have had sex with an underaged girl. When the allegations were put to him this week he responded with, “My focus is on my work”. Good, that's sorted that then! Why do the people of this country hold these inbred parasites in such high regard? If someone had made that allegation about me, I would be arrested. It seems like nearly all the entertainment industry of seventies Britain have had their houses and their lives turned upside down by what, in lots of cases, have been vicious lies. He gets accused and the Palace says no, he didn't do it, then sends him away until it all blows over and all is forgotten! Why is this, is he above the law? I do remember my father once telling me that the Queen couldn't be tried in one of her courts. Does this extend to her larvae as well? I thought that Ollie Cromwell made the royals accountable to the people, sorry, aristocracy. Just looked it up and it's correct. The queen cannot be tried here because it would be, 'Her Majesty's Advocate V Her Majesty'. But the allegations against him are in America, so good luck with getting him deported.

We have an election coming up soon. Why don't we do what we should have done years ago, and make the bastards accountable? We want cheaper fuel. Gas and electricity prices should fall when they fall for the companies. We want open and accountable banks that work to spread the wealth of the country evenly, and not just to one percent of the population. We want a national health service that is full of doctors and nurses and not middle management! And we don't want any more blame culture: you run the country, you are to blame. The buck stops at the top!

Why Lust And Me, Were No Teenagers In Love!

It seems to me that everyone seems to have a song from their teenage years that reminds them of a lost, innocent love. The song that was playing when you first met, or the song that caused you heartache when the romance was over.

I'm now hoping that none of the girls that I went out with, or had a fling with, ever reads this, but I don't. I would go as far as saying that, when I was a teenager, I would have told a girl anything she wanted to hear if it meant that she would sleep with me! I don't think that I was the only teenage boy in the whole world that thought like that! But whenever I 'fess' up to this, women really give me earache about it, saying what a horrible creep I must have been. Can't argue with that. But it doesn't change the way I felt at the time. The songs that the girls loved, from Donny Osmond, David Cassidy, or David Essex were not for young male consumption. I liked prog rock, you can't tell a girl that 'The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway' is our tune! So I usually plucked a song from the charts and told them a lie.

The reason I'm telling you this is because I have a sneaking suspicion that lots of girls felt the same way that I did. In the 'seventies, girls couldn't openly admit to loving sex and feeling that they needed it, this wasn't the done thing: there were names for girls like that back then. When I was a teenager, girls wouldn't ask a boy out like they do now. They played hard to get, but told their friends to let you know that they were interested.

There was a protocol to observe. A young man could only dream of meeting a girl who would have sex with him on the first date. First dates were for holding hands and kissing only! After a week or so you could touch a breast with clothes on, but you had to work up to getting inside the bra. The promise was enough to keep a young man interested. I didn't have much of an attention span, I'm afraid. I tried to get as many girlfriends as possible at the same time, to hedge my bets. I have since talked to women that did the same thing with lads that I did with girls. Why didn't I know them then?

Although there's lots of songs from those days that mean quite a lot to me, none of them is associated with a romance. But what does bring out the nostalgia in this old cynical heart is theme tunes to the TV shows we used to watch as kids. Thunderbirds and its iconic opening countdown. Stingray and 'Marina'. The Banana Splits, and the ultimate, Batman. The old 'sixties TV show of Batman was the thing that my mate Mick and myself waited for all week. I thought it was a serious thriller when I was an eight year old. I thought my father was a seriously sick bunny when he would often laugh at the predicaments that Batman found himself in. And who could forget 'Indestructible Captain Scarlet' and the Mysterons; this was really scary shit to an eight year old boy from Northern England! If I hear any of these theme tunes now it immediately takes me back to those days and makes me smile. There were other programs that I remember, but not the theme tunes. I wonder if anyone else remembers, ' Four Feather Falls, which I think was one of Gerry Anderson's first shows before Thunderbirds?

Our parents had the Saturday morning cinema, with shows like Tarzan, etc. We were the first generation to have TV. Each generation will have their own programmes. My son's generation loved the Ninja Turtles and the first Power Rangers. My granddaughter will no doubt wax lyrical over Peppa Pig and The Night Garden, which is one of her obsessions. When she hears these theme tunes, like the theme tunes from my past, she will be transported back in time to when she was young. That is the power of music: it can make you laugh, cry, think or just 'party down'! Once we have registered it as part of our lives it is with us for ever. We all have songs we shouldn't like but do. Mine's 'Matrimony' by Gilbert O' Sullivan, but whatever you do don't tell anyone!

My teenage years were not really about love for me, so the songs that I remember were more about being rebellious, Matrimony wasn't one of those songs, by the way! I like this song because it reminds me of one particular drunken night. You see, that's the power of music it has the ability to give you back a brief snapshot of your former self. There are of course songs which can reduce you to tears. Some that were favourites of people no longer here can have me in tears with just the opening bars!

Most of the women of my age remember songs because they had a crush on the singers but with the exception of Lynsey De Paul and Kate Bush, I can't remember any other female artists that I really fancied. I might have been a creep, but I wasn't a fool. I know that I would have had no chance with them, so why waste my time?

So when you've finished reading this, think back to your favourite tune, and hopefully in these austere times it may bring a smile to your face, as writing this has to mine.

A Lesbian Utopia!

'A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle' is the phrase that I have had thrown at me many times since it was first uttered by Irina Dunn back in 1970. You may think that, though it is quite witty, it's totally untrue. But it seems it is, in some cases, a fact!

I have been reading this week about parthenogenesis. This is not a Greek prog rock band, but a way of animals giving birth without a male. We all know that you need the 'X' and 'Y' chromosomes for an egg to develop. The woman has the 'X' and the man has the 'Y'. But it seems that, in some species, mainly reptiles, this doesn't need to happen. What happens is the female uses some of its own cells to form the 'Y' chromosome.

Quite recently, an anaconda gave birth to two healthy little Anna's in a zoo, and it had never had contact with a male in all its life. There is a colony of whip tail lizards in Mexico that are all females, they don't have any males at all, but still reproduce, using parthenogenesis. Though they do still go through the motions of mating, it's just that its now 'Lady Love'. It must be like living in Hebden Bridge! 

This small former mill town in Calderdale is supposed to have the most lesbians living there. I was struggling to write that last piece, as no matter what I wrote, it sounded quite offensive. I don't know what the collective noun for a group of lesbians is? I would imagine its a 'Haircut!' that seems to fit, a haircut of lesbians! Come on, girls, it is like a badge of honour isn't it? Do you all use the same barber? A friend of mine told me that she kept her hair long to disguise the fact that she was gay. Not that she was ashamed of it just that it was no one else's business who she slept with! When she first told me that she was gay I think I replied with, “I didn't know it was supposed to be a secret?” She asked how I could tell? Lets just say that even the most hardened homophobe knows the dress code of the average lesbian.

Having said that Hebden Bridge is lesbian central, I don't have any proof of this. It is a fact that lots of my friends that are gay quote to me. I am actually the official Poet Laureate for Calderdale (get me!) and I don't know of anyone who is gay who lives there. I work there quite often, as its quite an arty little town, but its very middle-class and dare I say quite boring. We need diversity of all sorts - that's why a woman does need a man! Even if you don't find men sexually attractive or even mentally stimulating. Seeing an opposing view of life helps you to strengthen your views, or even see life from another perspective. I must confess that I do prefer women's company over men's. I spend most of my life in female company, and on the whole I quite like it. But there are times when I need to meet up with male friends to, as one of my friends says, 'Talk Shite!'

Men can rib each other without anyone taking offence, 'You fat bastard!' is a common and affectionate greeting between men. I don't think women could tolerate anyone in their circle of friends using such language. Men can spend hours talking about unimportant things that are of great importance. Such as sport, bikes and cars and whose round it is! Conspiracy theories, about aliens and governments, are also high on the agenda with some. We don't need to talk about important things we have women to talk to about those. Although we do like our politics, beer politics is the most heated type of debate. All men know how to put the world to rights, it's just that when we get a chance to do so, we cock it up!

I think it must be the way that society says we must behave that makes us so different, as I can't really see why we should act so differently through genetics. Women are far more tolerant than men and this is probably because they have to put up with men. They are on the whole far more adventurous than men as well. All the macho types now will be scoffing at such a claim, but lots of men quite like routine, going to the same pub, and the same place for a holiday. Of course, this is a generalisation - lots of men, including myself, can't stand that way of life. But on the whole it is that way.

I know lots of women that have travelled abroad by themselves, in fact, some women I know have travelled the world by themselves. I only have one male friend that does this. Women are the first to try different foods, men tend to stick to the old favourites. When we had the first wave of mass immigration, back in the fifties and sixties, women were far more welcoming to people than men were. When people go out in mixed groups, men tend to gravitate to each other and so do the women. We have different priorities. I don't care who did, said what to who. I don't want to know who's going through a hard time with their kids or who has bought what. When I'm out I want to eat, drink, have a laugh and 'Talk Shite!' This is what I'm good at.

But having said all this, we need a balanced view of life and people, no matter what they are or where they come from, or what they believe or don't believe, or what their sexuality is, all bring something to the table. And for me this is what makes life interesting, this is why I love to travel. Uniformity is boring. We should celebrate our differences, accept them, laugh at them and even argue over them.

You see, to have a lesbian utopia would be like lots of people's ideas of utopias, it would be filled with like-minded people with the same hair cuts, clothes, views, likes and dislikes. Although I do regard myself as an honorary lesbian (I dress like them, have a similar hair cut, and I find women attractive) I don't want to live among my own all my life. It's a big world out there, and I want to see it, experience it and enjoy it. So whether you like it or not, girls, you are stuck with us boring, puerile, macho, clever, witty, stupid, timid, ugly, handsome, selfish, caring men.

Go on, admit it, you like us really, don't you?

Tits And Teeth!

When I was in my late teens, a friend and myself started to travel the entire coast of Britain in a little tiny minivan. We were in the Lancastrian seaside town of Morecambe, when we passed a municipal hall of some sort. Looking inside, we saw a dance troupe being put through their paces by a rather imposing woman with a large stick. She also had a cigarette sticking out of the corner of her mouth. Being like most eighteen year olds, when confronted with a group of attractive young girls we stood and watched, and tried to get their attention. Because we were two skinny, scruffy oiks, they chose not to be impressed (their loss). The teacher, or whatever she was, saw us, and announced to the girls, “For God's sake girls, smile, look at the lads, and give them what they want! Remember, tits and teeth!” She was nearly right, but I don't remember being impressed by their teeth!

The reason for me telling you this is because last night I watched a program on TV about cosmetic surgery that had gone wrong. What is up with these people? Why on earth did they feel so ugly that they had to mutilate their own bodies in such a way? And where did they get the surgeons from? Had they written their phone number on the back of a toilet cubicle door? I love to cook, and can carve up pieces of meat quite well, and I reckon I could have done a better job than these so-called surgeons. These people had industrial filler pumped into their faces, breast implants that looked like meringues and dental work that looked like it had been done by a blind javelin thrower. The reason they do this, is, of course, because of low self-worth and the media telling us what we should look like, and what we in turn should like. Just like the dance teacher thought that we were interested in the dance and not the dancers!

I have written before about what we find attractive and about love. There is no order to this subject, no rationale and no reason. The truth is, you can fall in love with anyone of any colour, creed, age or sex. Love and lust are indiscriminate they strike when you least expect it and sometimes in the most peculiar circumstances. I have known people who are straight, who have fallen in love with and had passionate affairs with people of the same sex. But they have no interest in any other person of the same sex except the one they are in the relationship with. And when the affair is over they they have gone back to being totally heterosexual.

Quite a few years ago, I worked on a project for a couple of weeks. I have to be careful here not to reveal people and places. But while working on the project I met a lady who, I would guess, was in her early sixties. She was intelligent, witty, full of life and quite attractive, but not in a "tits and teeth" sort of way. She worked alongside a young man who was in his early thirties. They obviously hit it off. It was plain to see the chemistry between them both. It was a meeting of minds and they obviously felt totally at ease in each other's company. One day the students had finished but were due back to give a performance later that evening. 

So this lady and myself went out together for a bite to eat. She wasn't her usual vibrant self and was quite withdrawn as we sat and ate. I asked her if everything was OK and not to worry about the evening, as everything would be fine. A little later she put down her knife and fork turned to me and said, “Gez (that's my name you know?) I have a friend..” We all have in our lives found it easier to discuss our thoughts by use of a third party.

“This friend seems to have got herself into a bit of a pickle. She seems to have fallen head over heels in love with a young man half her age.”

“It happens,” I think my glib response was. To be honest I just wanted to eat my food get on with the evening and go home.

“My friend is thinking of telling this young man just how she feels,what do you think, should she?”

I really didn't care either way, other peoples lives are their concerns, not mine.

“Is the 'friend' married with a family? Is the young man married with family?”

“She is married with grown-up kids and he has a partner and a small child” 

It's funny that, because this was the exact same circumstances of her and this young man.

I told her that, really, it's up to her friend to make her own decisions, but she must remember what she has to lose. Her husband, respect of her kids. And who says the young man has the same feelings? He might be horrified by your friend's advances, especially with the age difference. So she might even loose his friendship. I thought it would be best for her friend to keep quite and maybe try not to see this young man as much. She agreed with me and fell silent for the rest of the evening, She seemed to have taken my advice quite badly on her friend's behalf.

I worked again with this woman and the same young man a few years later. They were flirting with each other and laughing and were incredibly happy and this created an ambience of happiness for all involved. I later found myself again eating alone with this woman (I must stop doing this!). She started to tell me something that no one else should ever know. This is what she told me.

“I don't know if you remember the last time we met, but we had a conversation in the pub?” 

“About your friend?”

“That's correct, but I have a confession to make, it was really about me.”

No shit, Sherlock! She should have said something to me or at least given me a clue it was about her!

“The young man I spoke of was …. (no names). Well, two days later, one of the students had a fall and ….. and myself took her to the local hospital. While she was having her arm bandaged, a woman walked from a cubicle, crying uncontrollably, as her husband had just died in an accident. She kept on saying, how much she loved him and she should have told him this. Both … and myself were so moved. Then without warning he turned to me and said, “I love you!”.

By now I was losing the will to live, I really didn't want to know any of this.

“We have been having an affair ever since (Her and him, not me and her!) and we are deeply in love. We also love our partners and don't wish to hurt them, so you are now the only person who knows about this (and, now, the people who read this blog.)” I don't think she realised just how complicated her life had become, but she was incredibly happy, so who am I to pass judgement?

The point that I'm trying to make is that looks are not the most important thing about relationships. There is no one size fits all. Some people like big people, while others prefer the opposite. The thing is to be comfortable with who and what you are. Don't worry what others think about your choice of partner. The relationship between the couple I have just spoken about seems a little too complicated for me. They only see each other in works time and sneak kisses and cuddles, but this is enough for them. What they do give each other is peace and comfort: they feed each other intellectually and they are totally comfortable when they are with each other, which is something most people can't find.

So, it doesn't matter what the new vogue is, whether it be tattoos or big bums or large breasts. Just find someone who cares about you and makes you feel good about yourself. You do not need to mutilate yourself to find this, because your looks will be of no importance when you do find it. So like whatever you like, dress however you wish and stuff those who wish to criticize you for your life choices.

Now, a confession from me. I know that if you read this blog you will be thinking that I'm a young, incredibly good looking, witty man about town? Which of course is true, but others seem to see me as an ugly grumpy old git! I have decided that the grumpy old git bit can't be remedied I'm afraid - I'm stuck with that. But does anyone have a number for a cosmetic surgeon that could do me a face lift for thirty quid? I'm sure that it would improve my confidence no end!.

Do Rights Ever Make A Wrong?

Since the dreadful scenes witnessed in Paris of late, lots of discussions have taken place over the rights to free speech. 

I have argued, and always will argue, till the day that I die, that freedom of speech in a democracy is of the utmost importance. We cannot move on as a society or species unless we debate, learn and change. This of course will upset people, that's the way of the world. I get upset every time I see a Tory party conference, but I don't insist that they are stopped because they have a different ideology to me!

This is how it is if you have a religious belief. You will have no doubt put a lot of time and energy into your particular belief and, yes, it is offensive when someone comes along and mocks it. This is tantamount to them saying you're stupid for holding such opinions. But what you have to remember is that they are your beliefs. That's it. You have a right to believe them, but they are of no more worth than believing in fairies. You shouldn't have any special privileges, just because you believe in a supernatural being. I'm not talking about religious persecution here, that is as stupid as hating someone for liking a different power ranger to you.

What ever God or deity you choose, it will require you to be totally subservient. Now you're angry because this is not true, God loves you and wants you to be free. You can now trying to fit a large square peg into your tiny little round hole! If God knows the past, present and future, your life has already been mapped out: you cannot change it, he already knows the final score. Start shaving your peg now with your answer. If your God is a supreme being of vast intellect and tolerance why do we need blasphemy laws? Why can you not criticise the prophet Mohamed? Can his ideology not stand up to scrutiny? If God is religious? If so which religion is he? Keep on whittling those pegs!

Why, if God loves you and you are his children, does he want you to keep your women covered from head to toe and away from society? Why does he want you to mutilate the bodies of your children with circumcision? Why, if this benign loving being cares so much about you, does he have you die? I know it's so you can sit at his side, does he need a test for this to happen? Why is it that people with no faith such as myself can lead a full and happy life and luckily so far free from illness, while my lovely sister who was a devout Catholic, died a horrible death through cancer? Is your peg round enough now?

All the knowledge you have about your particular God will come from a book. You have never had a two way conversation with him. If you have, then you need to see a doctor for some tablets. If I were to stand in an airport and shout "Oh Great Elvis in the sky, come down and save me!" then prostrate myself on the floor, then stand up and repeat the process over and over, security would be called, and no doubt I would be removed from the airport. Change the name from Elvis to Allah, and now you are starting to squirm. How could I make such a comparison? Why not? At least we knew that Elvis was a real person. We have special rooms in airports for people to pray: why is their requirement of belief any different to someone who claims to be a Jedi? They are both just supernatural belief systems, and they are both personal belief systems, they should have no sway over any society.

I personally don't care what you believe, as long as it doesn't effect me and my life. But all belief systems affect us all. From Sunday trading laws, to religious holidays, to the more extreme examples of being burnt on a stake or gunned down in the streets. Is not the threat of death for not believing in a tolerant loving supernatural being an oxymoron? I know of a man who thinks that crystals can cure you of all ills and make you stronger. He has a theory, it makes sense to him. If it makes him feel better about his day to day living, who am I to criticise him? But if he were to have children, and they were to develop some hideous medical complaint such as leukaemia, and he refused to take them to a hospital, preferring to treat them with his crystals, then, my friends, we, as adult human beings, should be able to step in and tell him that he is a stupid retarded idiot and have the child get proper treatment. 

Now change the word "Crystal" for "God"! This happens all the time. No doubt if you have a belief system (if you are still reading) you will no doubt have your peg nice and round by now with your answers, but remember all you know about your God was written in a book thousands of years ago then re-written and re-written again, to suit the politics of the day. Even now the Catholic church, when they are not protecting paedophiles, sacks saints they can no longer defend because the claims are just too stupid. When the world was flat and "there be dragons" over each hill, it was quite easy to believe in such things, but now we have pieces of hardware flying around other planets. God didn't do any of this! We witnessed this week what God wants, he wants bitter, twisted misogynistic, sectarian, bigoted, unthinking, unquestioning servants.

Now you are probably sharpening the end of your peg to stick in me. I know that lots of people with religious beliefs are loving, tolerant and intelligent human beings, who do lots of good work for not only their own societies, but for people around the world. My wife is religious and she is far more caring and gentle and understanding than I will ever be. But that doesn't make your God real! These people would be like this without their God, because they come from a loving understanding backgrounds. They are also intelligent, it's just that they cannot shake off the indoctrination they suffered as children, although they, of course, don't see it like that. When I first married my wife and we were making our first Christmas lunch together she informed me that when you prepare the sprouts you peel them then make a cross in the base otherwise they will not cook properly. Not being a sprout expert I did as I was told and sure enough they cooked perfectly. I did this without question for a few years then one day I cooked the sprouts without the cross in the bottom and guess what? They cooked perfectly. When I asked my wife why she put the cross on the sprouts she said because her mother had told her that's how you cooked them, she was told by her mother. The Christmas meal is all about ickle baby cheeses and his birthday but for some reason the implement that killed him is now used to celebrate his birth hence the crosses on the sprouts. You may now think that I have now lost the plot, in fact you may think I lost it many years ago, but this shows you how easy it is to develop such learned behaviour without questioning.

You can try to intellectualise religion as much as you wish, you can theorise about everything from what the book means to where heaven is situated but it's all just blind belief. It is all just mind custard. 'If you want to make a good man do bad things give him religion!'.

So yes, we should have total free speech. Not persecution, not libel, not racism and blind hatred, but the ability to have a rational discussion about the world, its differences and its wonders. Beliefs are just that, they are no more viable than the tooth fairy, and she owes me money!

Live long, live happy, be tolerant to those that are tolerant, but don't be afraid to question and stand up and be counted.

Now go on put your square peg in its hole, now you've shaved it down until it's nice and round!

Old Skool!

Usually when you see the above title, it's in reference to dance music of the nineties. Like all things nostalgic, I wasn't keen on the stuff when it was new, but I do have a warm affection for some of the better tunes now.

What I wish to talk about in this blog is actually about school days. Were they really as good or as bad as you remember them? Were you the cool kid, or were you the punch bag and butt of all jokes?

Did Monday mornings strike fear into your heart? Or did you plan all weekend for Monday mornings?

I had the strange experience of visiting my old junior school lately. I, in my capacity of superstar writer visited as many schools as possible in one day for children in need. My junior school, St Joseph's, in Huddersfield, was one of them. I was shocked how small it was. I suppose like all things as you get bigger your past gets smaller. 

I have to say that I loved being at school when I was at the juniors. I can even remember my teachers, which is strange, because I often can't remember people I met last week. Mr Bowland Lee, Mr Dunkley; Miss Benzy was the teacher all the lads fancied. But I loved Miss Kennedy. She was small, sweet and had the patience of a million mortals. I wonder what happened to her? I was an 'A' grade student until leaving junior school Then I don't know if it was the hormones or sexually repressed nuns that finally put me off school for life!

From my very first day at secondary school I knew that school was no longer for me. I was never bullied, owing to my love of fighting and my psychotic tendencies. But I hated how impersonal and cold secondary school was. We were taught by nuns. Some were evil, and I used to think, 'For Christ's sake just have sex, get it over and done with, and leave me alone!' They loved to torture. One little bundle of joy who always reminded me of a cricket ball because of her rotund figure and leathery skin, actually stuck a compass through the hand of my friend for writing on his desk. He told his father what had happened and instead of a lawsuit he received a slap around the head and was told to behave in future! I hated RE and was often told by one of the nuns who I always suspected of actually being a man in drag, that I was nothing more than a 'heathen child'! She/he was accurate in this description, as whatever belief I may have had previously, they beat it out of me, along with the love of learning. But fortunately for me, unfortunately for other schools they kicked me out, and I moved on to a different school.

I do look back at my school days with a lot of affection, though, mainly because I never went after the age of thirteen. The hormones also gave me a superiority complex which caused my to think there was nothing anyone could actually teach me! My wife claims that I haven't changed! I loved history and I was designed for PE. I did however want to do cookery. I know it's not known by this title now but that's how it was known when I was a kid. I was told that this subject was for girls only and that I should do metal work! I didn't, and still don't see the point of this. I learned to make a small garden trowel. Now, as an adult, I could plant dandelions in the most fertile of valleys and they would refuse to grow. I have never ever had the urge to run out and purchase a forge and scrap metal to fashion myself a small gardening implement, but I have, however, had the urge to eat since leaving school! What a waste of everyone's time. I now sell recipes to various people and have a few published in books too. But as of yet, there is no sign of any metal work projects on the horizon.

I know it's common for people to claim that they are crap at maths, and I'm quite good at the basic four: adding, subtracting, times, and dividing. But what the hell is algebra about? I seriously don't understand it! Because I visit schools on a regular basis now,. I have made friends with quite a lot of teachers. Some maths teachers have tried to help me with my lack of understanding, but alas to no avail. I just don't get it. I am quite embarrassed about this, as it seems that I have some sort of mental block over the subject.

I hardly remember any teachers from secondary school. Except for Mr Howe, who was my English teacher. I wrote about him in my book The Man In The Skirt. My publishers said at the time that I should get in touch with him to see that he was OK with it. I didn't know where he lived and he had retired from work. So I asked my brother if he knew where he drank. The plan was that my wife and I would meet with my brother and his wife in the town centre, have a meal then go to the pub where we believed he frequented. When my wife and I got on the bus to go to town, I went to pay the fare and my wife sat down. I walked on and sat with my wife, who was laughing. She, too, had gone to the same school as me, so she knew Harry Howe. I asked what she was laughing at and she pointed to the seat next to us. By such a strange coincidence he was actually sitting on the seat next to us how's that for strange. He didn't remember me (I didn't go to school often enough) but he was cool with being in the book. 

This I suppose brings me full circle, as when I did the Children in Need event, I visited a secondary school and the lady that had booked me to go in was actually Harry's daughter in law! 

Strange old world, isn't it?

Je Suis Charlie!

Once again, people with an unproven belief system feel it's their right to kill opposing ideologies! 

The horrendous slaughter at the Charlie Hebdo offices in Paris has shown once again how dangerous belief without intellect can be.

We are led to believe that respect should be shown to people's belief systems, but it's seemingly a very one-way affair. Is their God so defenceless that it has to send in disaffected youths to maim and kill those who wish to criticise? If we are to show respect to people of all beliefs, then they, surely, should respect others who don't wish to be part of a restrictive ideology.

At least the Christians in most countries stopped hanging and burning people for not believing in their ideology years ago, they just moved on, into child abuse.

These imbeciles, whose parents moved to France no doubt to get away from a oppressive regime and poverty, don't have the intelligence to realise the importance of free speech. I know that there is no such thing as total free speech, but in France they were free to live the life they chose. They were free to worship which of the three main gods they wanted, and any other lesser gods, for that matter. All this was given to them as a basic human right: the very thing they wish to take away from others with different ideologies.

I know that these idiots don't represent the majority of Muslims, but the majority of Muslims must step forward and condemn such actions. We can only call ourselves a true, free, civilised democracy when people are free to think and worship without persecution. We have a situation that is escalating all around the world which, if we are not careful, will result in another holocaust, where millions will be killed because of their ideology.

As I type this, the news has just come through that the French authorities have killed the perpetrators of these mindless murders. This of course was inevitable, because the idiots who carried out these mindless acts believe they are to be martyred. I have never understood the concept of martyrdom. Does a supreme intelligent power who is the epitome of love, tolerance, and understanding really want to reward cold blooded murders?

It is also sad that such a thing could happen in the birth place of Voltaire, who advocated freedom of religion, and freedom of expression, as Evelyn Beatrice Hall wrote in Voltaire's biography. 

“I disapprove of what you say, but I would defend to death your right to say it”. This is often attributed to Voltaire, and even if he didn't actually say it, is something he would wholeheartedly agree with.

These retards even killed a brave Muslim policeman, who will be remembered as a man true to his faith and beliefs. A man that was helping people of all faiths live together in peace. I have said it before, and unfortunately I feel I must say this again, but all the puppet masters that corrupt the minds of these young, ill-educated, disaffected youths want is for people to live under their complete control. They are cut from the same cloth as Pol Pot, the lunatic leader of the Khmer Rouge, who took Cambodia to the brink of destruction with his mindless ideology.

So I send my love and deepest sympathies to the families of the people who were brave enough to practise free speech and pay the ultimate price with their lives for doing so. I also send my love and deepest sympathies to all the families of all the victims of this mindless, stupid act of murder.

I think if Voltaire were alive today he would have been an avid reader of Charlie Hebdo and would have been out on the streets, saying what all people of all beliefs are saying to these mindless thugs.

“Je Suis Charlie!

The Parents' Handbook of Failure

I don't think there's a person alive who, when finding out the news that they are to be a parent, thinks “Good! I'm going to try to be the worst parent alive!” You may have doubts about your ability, but you will still want what's best for your new little bundle of problems.

Handbooks and celebrity parents are the worst form of information when it comes to being a parent. They make it all sound so easy and they seem to have everything all sewn up! But, in reality, books are written by people who glean information from government, and celebs usually don't write their own books, and if they do, they all usually have nannies. Trust me on this, everyone is clueless when they are faced with the prospect of parenthood for the first time.

It doesn't matter what a famous pop star says about how they feed their little mite, That is not your baby, and no two babies are the same. My son's feeding habits were totally different to his daughter's feeding habits. Her behaviour and likes and dislikes are completely different to what her father's were at her age! Think about it. You think you are unique and have your own likes and dislikes? Then why would you expect your child to be any different? The truth is that young babies take up a lot of time: they are very demanding. But as long as they are fed, loved, and kept warm, you are doing a good job. I don't care what the books say! And as for getting your figure back, remember if you can afford a nanny and a personal trainer, stylist, and holidays in warm foreign climes without your offspring, then the chances are you will look a lot better than a single mother trying to cope alone, in a bedsit, on benefits.

When they become toddlers, the golden rule is the same as with babies, but remember that at this age everything that can be found is tested with the mouth. So anything that is sharp or chemical should be out of their reach, also all ornaments should be nailed to the ceiling and all fires should be put under armed guard. If you do all this, you are doing all a parent should: it's not rocket science. Your toddlers will suddenly develop a diet that they prefer. Use this to experiment, and feed them as much fresh food as you can afford. It's usually cheaper than buying ready meals. You can have a toddler and still cook - your parents, their parents etc did, and so can you! No excuses! This is a great time as a parent because your little cherub is now developing their own personality. Give them as much encouragement as possible but remember you are the parent, not them. You are in charge and with lots of patience and love and stubbornness they will learn to accept your leadership. Remember they are not toys, accessories or belongings they are just little people: treat them with respect, but also expect the same respect back from them.

As they get older they will develop more personality, so just enjoy their difference, and talk. Communication is the greatest tool you will ever have as a parent. Keep them away from crap food though, I'm a firm believer that crap food causes lots of problems for a developing mind and body. Don't think they are clones of you and have all the same hopes, dreams and aspirations that you had. And don't try to live your failed dreams through them, they are not, never will be, you!

When it comes to the teenage years, good luck, you are on your own! You may think you are quite a reasonable, patient person - ha, you wish. You will be confused at how a loving, reasonable little adult can turn into a snarling, withdrawn, monosyllabic bundle of hormones. But the same applies as with all parenting: talking, consistency, love and time is all you have to give. In return you will receive love, and a lot of heartache.

Then they leave home. Now you worry if they are OK. What they are up to? Who they are with? Let go. If they have decided to go out into the world and find their own way without you funding their every move, then you have, my friend, succeeded as a parent! You can do no more: they are now fully-formed people with a mind of their own and dreams of their own. It's time for you to get out there and enjoy life. All the things that you put on hold are now there, waiting for you to come along and embrace them.

They might call back with the news that they themselves are about to be parents. I suppose it's down to the circumstances whether this is good news or bad news. All I can say is for my wife and myself our little granddaughter is the best present anyone could have given us. To say that she is loved is an understatement. Because we don't have the responsibility for her everyday needs, we only get the best bits. She has given us a new lease of life and brought us all even closer as a family. But remember it's not your child and you don't have a say in how things are run. But it's our job as grandparents to sneak in the odd forbidden treat, even though it means getting a telling off later.

So, remember; if you love your children and use common sense about things, then you are doing fine. It's OK to ask for a bit of advice and need a bit of assurance from time to time - this doesn't mean you are a failure, it means you are human. Enjoy the good bits and try to ride above the bad bits. Let me know how you did this if you are successful, I would love to know.

Your child is a unique human being with needs and wants of his/her own. Don't beat yourself up because others seem to have things more together than you. They, too, will have the same doubts and fears that you have. Of course, all I have written here is about my own experience, so you are free to scoff, and mock all that I have written. All I can say is that this worked for me.

Just remember that everyone's life is full of highs, lows, pitfalls and gains. No matter what the books and glossy magazines tell you!

Going Back To The Old Country?

The above title was told to me this week by a man who I have known since my infant school days. He's not a friend as such, just someone who went to the same school as me. This is why I was a little baffled by this comment. Does he think that our home town of Huddersfield is a country? Or is he one of the many people that I speak to, who adopt their parents' place of birth as their country? I'm afraid the latter is true of this man. He thinks and talks as if he is a native of Connemara in southern Ireland, he has the Connemara walk, which is part 'Gangsta' and part New York pimp. And he constantly referred to the British as 'They'!

He, like me, has Irish ancestry, but then,who doesn't? If you were to travel into the deepest Borneo jungle and encounter a yet unknown tribe, there would be one little guy with bright ginger hair sitting there in the tribal hut. When I was younger, it wasn't very cool to claim that you were part Irish, as the IRA was bombing the hell out of Northern Ireland and mainland Britain. Strangely, in Southern Ireland, where my Mother comes from, they knew little about it. But now it's cool to claim Irish ancestry. My Grandfather, who was born in County Clare in 1896 and lived to the ripe old age of 96, fought alongside Michael Collins for independence: we have the photos and the stories to prove it.

The thing about the older generation of Irish men was that they were fantastic story-tellers. The stories they told you were probably untrue, but they were so good, you wanted to believe them. My Grandfather would tell of his daring encounters during that time, and he made it all sound like a boys' own story book. I'm sure that he might have encountered an off-duty soldier posting a letter but when the story was re- told to us many years later he would regale the whole room with stories of how he beat off a whole platoon of 'Black and Tans', armed with nothing more than a broken bottle and a rusty penknife. The closing line would always be where some grateful 'Colleen' would ask him to stay and tell him just how brave he was, to which he would reply, “Sure I did what any man would have done in the circumstances. But now I must be off, before they come looking for me, as it will be dangerous for you, for me to stay." Then he would ride off into the sunset on his push bike. I don't care how much truth was in those stories - not much, I would guess - but I still want to believe them, as he was known as 'Big Paddy' and was quite a brawler in his time. 

When my father returned to Ireland, married to my mother, my grandfather took him to a local bar, which was full of  'regulars' who didn't care much for the English. My father told me that Granddad slammed his fist onto a table and the bar fell silent. He then announced to the whole pub, “This is Peter Walsh from England. He's my son-in-law. Does anyone have a problem with that?” the whole room, as one, announced that they indeed had no problem with that. Then the room burst back into life again. My father said he was so scared at what had just happened that he felt a little tortoise head appear in the seat of his pants!

Ireland has changed out of all recognition since my many summer holidays there as a small child. My mother was born and bred in Galway, which, as a child, I remember was a dull backwater, but now has grown into a vibrant seaside city. I would walk from my grandparents' house at one side of the city to my aunt's house at the other side on Sunday mornings when I was a child, and I would be lucky to see two people. Try that now in Galway and the city centre is full to bursting! I hadn't visited Galway for many years: the last time I went back to see my family there was in 2007 and I didn't recognise the place. I couldn't even find my way to where my uncle now lives, which is my grandparents' house. But I do love the old Ireland, which is fast disappearing.

In the late nineties, my wife, my son and I visited Clare to see one of my aunts, who lived in the family home. There are two cottages where all my mother's paternal line lived for generations. One of the cottages was no more than one room. I had a distant relative who still lived in it when I was a child. The room had a table a fire and an old iron bed - that was it! Stone floor, thatched roof and a big, old home-made door. My grandfather, eight siblings and both my great grandparents lived in this house. How they did it, I will never know!

When we arrived, my aunt, who lived in a refurbished three-bedroomed cottage across the road from the other house, was in Galway working. She had left us a key out and told us to make ourselves at home, as she would be back the following day. We did indeed make ourselves at home, and that evening we walked up to the tiny village near my aunt's house. The village was a handful of houses, a small shop, and a couple of bars. We trotted into one of the bars and I ordered a drink. The landlady of they bar gave me a huge smile on hearing my English accent and duly served us. Later she came over to where we were sitting, and like most of the country folk in Ireland was very friendly and incredibly inquisitive about us. After the small talk about where we were from and how our journey had been she asked, “And where would it be that you're staying? Is it in the old holiday cottages over the way?”

I told her that we were actually staying with my aunt, to which she asked, “And what would they be calling your aunt then?”

“Patsy Brady” I replied. The woman smiled, then walked away from the table, only to return minutes later. She grabbed hold of my hand and opened my fingers and placed something into my palm. With all the charm and grace she could muster she smiled sweetly, then said, “I think I might have over charged you a little for the drinks!” and there in my hand was the difference.

The next day, my aunt came back from Galway with my cousin: it was lovely to see them both. My aunt asked what we had done the previous evening and I told her we had gone for a drink in the bar up in the village the first thing my aunt asked was, “How much did she charge you for the drinks?” I told her I think it was the going rate, to save any fall outs.

The one thing that Irish are famed for is their ability to drink. I'm Irish/Italian, so I have double the ability. My wife is quite a lightweight when it comes to drinking. The following evening, we again went up to the village for a few drinks. This depends on your interpretation of 'a few'. It was a wonderful night. The board outside the bar advertised a night of 'The Craic' I thought this was a local band, until I realised it was the Irish spelling for what we would pronounce as 'The Crack' which means having a laugh and joke.

There was a middle-aged woman there, who must have been a stunner in her time, but it seemed that life had caught up with her. For her, fashion finished in 1964. She had a beehive hairstyle, a short skirt, and tan tights. Her hair was peroxide blonde. She had a serious eye shadow problem, as she had painted her eye lids bright green, but it didn't seem to stop at her eye brows and continued up to her forehead. All the men of a certain age seemed to fancy her, but though she was strangely pretty in a curious sort of way, she was now quite portly and was showing signs of disrepair. She constantly put sixties music on an old record player then danced around the room as if she was fifteen once again.

Men would try to dance with her, but she would scorn them. I got the distinct impression by the way that the men were behaving that once she had consumed enough drink she became very vulnerable and they were all out to capitalise on this. My aunt would sniff at her and snort, “Silly old whore” which saddened me. But, as I have written about before, I have a 'weirdo' magnet on my person somewhere that attracts people like this woman. She kept on beckoning me over to dance ,which I kept on declining, but my wife and my cousin found this funny and encouraged her to ask me again and tried to pressure me into dancing with her. I finally gave in and danced with this woman, I think it was dancing, but it could have been foreplay, the way she touched me. My wife found this extremely funny, but she wouldn't have laughed so loud had the woman been twenty years younger.

The night went well, and all had a good time. My wife was so drunk at the end of the night we found her asleep in a wheelbarrow at the back of my aunt's house. The next morning when we woke up, all, except my wife were in good spirits. My aunt realised that she had no bread and asked if I would walk up to the shop in the village and buy some, she added, “And buy some rolls and I'll make us all a bacon sandwich.”

My son and I walked up into the village, stopping to look at the local graveyard to see any family connections that might be in there. The family name is 'Sexton' and I have a sneaky feeling that up until a hundred years ago my family, like the aristocracy, was quite inbred, because the graveyard was full of Sextons!

We entered the shop and I was quite surprised to see my dancing partner from the night before working there, and she was no worse for the amount of alcohol she had consumed the night before. She gave me a big friendly smile and an unnerving masonic-type wink.

“What can I do for you today?” she asked, with a mischievous grin on her face.

“Could I have a loaf of bread and five rolls please?” I replied, trying not to look scared . She bent below the counter to get the rolls, then stopped and her head slowly reappeared she smiled at me and asked, “I was just thinking, would you like sex?”

My hairline receded half an inch at this question. I tried to smile, but I could feel that my top lip had gone above my gum line and looked like a snarling dog! My mouth had gone instantly dry. The fact that my twelve-year-old son had just run from the shop to find his mother to tell her that daddy was about to start copulating in the local shop with the fat woman didn't help.

I replied in a feeble little pathetic voice, “No thanks, just the rolls." She looked at me with some confusion, then said, “What the feck are you talking about?”

“I just want the rolls.”

“I know you want the fecking rolls, but if you have sex, I can do it cheaper for you!”

I was just about to tell her I would rather pay for the bread when it dawned on me that she was just talking numbers, one, two, three, four, five, sex, seven... I managed to stammer that five would be quite ample as there were only five of us and my wife was quite ill from the night before and probably wouldn't want one, never mind sex!

I loved my time there, but it has now all changed the locals have moved on somewhere, I don't know where. The village is now full of city types and, strangely, quite a lot of Germans. It's always sad when part of your life disappears, but I suppose it's inevitable that things change. So for me I can never go back to 'the old country', because, for me, it no longer exists!