Viewing

A short while ago a gentleman called to the sheds where I work to have a look around and for a chat. I must point out that this is not unusual, as we are a charity designed for men living in isolation.

This gentleman was, in fact, married, and just wanted to see what we did. He was in his mid-seventies and was a very witty raconteur, and while we sat in my office chatting away, he told me many very humorous stories about his life and travels. Then he added that he had been booked on a very expensive cruise around the West Indies and that the evening meal required you to dress with black tie. This sounds a lot less like a holiday and more like torture to me!

He went on to explain that he didn't own any evening dress as, like me, he was more a shorts and tee shirt guy, so he turned to our friend Mr Google to help him buy some evening attire for his much anticipated trip. Now, this is where it became interesting to me. He typed in 'men, evening dress' without any connectives. He then just clicked on anything that came up, not really being a regular user of the internet. He said he was shocked at the things he clicked into. He then went on to describe some of them - mostly they were men in dresses doing things to other men in dresses. He then said “God knows what would have come up if I had typed women evening dress!" This sounded like a challenge to me.

I am, at the moment, in the middle of setting up a charity which helps men living in isolation for whatever reason. It is usually because of mental health or addiction problems, but not exclusively. If you have ever tried to set up a charity in Britain, or anywhere for that matter, you will be aware of the work involved. It's very tedious, but necessary. So after hours of funding and buildings insurance and lease holds, I needed a break, I usually play a frog game at times like this, as it requires no thought. But one night I decided to put this man's theory to the test and decided to look up "women evening dress". Because I didn't want to be hauled away by the police for anything to risky I typed in mature women. I decided only to click on things without checking on the first page only. Over the next month or so I did the same thing when I had moments of boredom. My new friend was quite right: your innocent (sort of) search for clothing quickly leads you to the world of older women with implements!

The interesting thing is that when you type in certain garments, you get just that, such as coats, I avoided the word knickers as that would be just to obvious. But what was interesting was tights. That is, all I got was sites selling tights. But when I changed it to 'panty hose', we were back in the world of triple x!

When you click into these sites you can see that they are set up for young men and are devoid of any emotion or feeling. Most are quite funny. There seems to be a lot of American 'mummies' telling their sons how naughty they have been. The man behind the camera who is supposed to be the wayward son is obviously a middle-aged man with a big beer belly,  and the belly is not the only thing that is big, by the way! But as you quickly click through these things your amusement  turns to sadness when you see these Russian sites where you get the feeling that mummy might really be mummy! I find these things quite distressing and sickening, so I stopped my little experiment: this is a world I don't want to venture into.

I have to admit though I knew what would come up on the screen when I typed in 'mature women, sausage' - and it didn't disappoint.

But it does raise the question about how we control the internet or even if we should control the internet? There are so many fraudsters and gangsters out there who use the net as their showroom and it's so easy to fall prey to these sites. I proved that just by typing in innocent words you can be taken to all sorts of sites. If you are very young or very vulnerable then you are going to be a prime target for these people, but do we want a world of total censorship? I don't! But then I'm not very comfortable with things such as these sites where people who are living in total poverty are being used for some sordid cheap thrill.

I also feel sorry for legitimate companies which are trying to sell their wares only to be looped into these other sites which makes you realise that you now have to be careful what you call your company. Speaking of which our charity is called Platform 1 because that is our address we are set up along side Huddersfield Train Station. We are growing very fast and will soon have a hundred men using our charity, where we not only help them develop personal and practical skills, but also have an education strand which helps them to find work and move back into society. But we need funding, so if anyone out there wants to donate or thinks they would like to volunteer please get in touch with me through this blog.

Finally when you think of the sites that are on the web please spare a thought for the problems that the Cockermouth tourist board must encounter!

Alvin Stardust's Glove?

I remember once in my late teens being at my parents' house one Saturday night. This may not seem anything out of the ordinary, but for me this was very odd. I can't remember why I was there but my parents came back after visiting the local working men's club. The title,'working men's to me always suggests that women don't work. Surely it should be 'the local workers club'? But I digress.

Anyway, when my parents arrived home they had with them a woman who I had never seen before or since. Not a clue who she was, or why she came home with them. Those of you with dirty minds can forget it - my parents were strait -laced Catholics. None of that threesome stuff, it was six hail Marys and a hair shirt for even thinking about masturbation for them.

This lady looked younger than my parents, which wasn't that difficult, as even my grandparents looked younger than my parents. The lady took over the whole conversation and announced that she was indeed, Alvin Stardust's dresser. I think she put clothes on him. She wasn't, as far as I could see, a piece of wooden furniture. Now if you don't know who Alvin is, he is famous for a song called, 'My Coo Ca Choo' in the seventies. Other songs of his were, 'My Coo Ca Choo' and of course who could forget, 'My Coo Ca Choo'. What a career! I'm just guessing here but I don't think he was christened Alvin Stardust, I think he was also known as Shane Fenton at one time but I'm guessing he wasn't christened under that name either. I could look up his real name but, if you have read any of my previous blogs, you will now know that I can't be arsed.

If you do know who the said Mr Stardust is or if you have looked up old photos of him in the seventies you will now be aware that if this lady that claimed to be his dresser she should have been sacked after her first day! Even by seventies standards his dress sense was appalling. Black leather or checked flares were his usual dress, but also long before Michael Jackson was white and wore the one glove Alvin just wore one glove on stage as he did two hours of 'My Coo Ca Choo'. And this lady from her humungous handbag produced a small black leather glove and in hushed and reverent tones announced, “this is Alvin's glove.” Then she added, as she offered it forward to me, “ would you like to wear it?”

I started to laugh as she made it sound as if she was holding the holy grail, I asked why on earth I would want to put the glove on, “because Alvin has worn it” she replied. Now at the time I was a long haired hippy-ish type that listened to Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin. To me, Alvin Stardust was about as exciting as a bible class!

“No thanks I'll give it a miss if you don't mind” I replied though I couldn't help but notice just how small the offending glove was.

This lady looked at me totally perplexed. She couldn't believe that I would turn down such an offer, then became really angry when I asked her if she knew anyone famous!

The reason that I'm telling you this is because today I found myself talking to a lady of a certain age who, for all intents and purposes seemed quite normal. She then without warning said to me, “I hear that you write for a living?” “Sometimes” I replied.

Then she said something so odd I had to ask her to repeat it, “I have Tom Jones's sweat in my fridge.” She laughed when I asked her to repeat what she had just said, “Don't worry, it's not in a bottle, I'm not some sort of weirdo, it's on my handkerchief”

I tend to put handkerchiefs in the washer when they have been used. I usually use the fridge for dairy products. I really don't care who wore what, where or when, let them keep them. If Alvin had been given the handkerchief, he could have sung, 'Aah Coo Choo!' See what I did?