Trellis praises Presley

Once again, Mrs T shows that she never misses a trick when it comes to topicality.
Dear Mr Priestley, she writes, I am so glad to be part of your fiftieth anniversary, although to tell you the truth, I thought you were older than that. I was never much for rocky roll, being brought up on the Gay Gordons and the Valeta, but I remember how excited everyone was when you won the Eurovision Song Contest with Volare, or was it Rocket Round the Cock? My memory isn't what it was, but I guess neither is yours.
I saw an interview on TV with your daughter this morning. My goodness, how she resembles you! Apart from that, she seemed quite nice, in an incoherent kind of way. It's none of my business, but you being so popular, have you thought about running for the US Presidency? I mean, you have all the necessary qualities: handsome, groin-oriented, televisual and braindead.
If you are ever in North Wales, do pop in and I will let you finger my harmonium.
Yours gracefully
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, Widow, Retired.

Duh

The saddest thing about asking the question "Am I talking to myself?" is that you don't get an answer.

The Grim Reaper

Holy Smoke, guys, I am afraid of the Grim Reaper and I am not ashamed to admit it. So many of my mates have died lately, all younger than I: from brain tumours, strokes, assorted cancers and general disintegration of their internal bits. I am 71 and a quarter, which is when me old dad had his first cerebral haemorrhage. He had two in the following year and popped his clogs, so I feel I have cause to be apprehensive.

Nowadays, every headache is the onset of a brain tumour, every tightness in the chest lung cancer, every stomach gripe a fatal ulcer, every heart flutter the harbinger of an impending cardial infarct, every tight fart the onset of something nameless and nasty in the colon and points south - if there are any points south of there.

I tell you, I am in a state. Let me say in my own defence, though, that I am trying to do everything right: I cook my beefburgers on the griddle, I fry my chips in corn oil, I avoid MSG except on Fridays when I binge on a Chinese takeaway, I am down to three pork pies a week, and I am keeping my alcohol consumption well in check, no more than two bottles of wine a day, and I buy lots of fresh fruit, which to be honest mostly gets eaten by the Blackbirds.

What else can I do? Oh yes, I recycle my plastic, paper, cardboard and empty wine bottles, and I worship Lorraine Kelly. If this isn't clean living, what is?

Oh ok, you want to know about my sex life. Am I overdoing it? Overdoing what, for goodness' sake?! As far as I know it's still vigorous, but living a completely separate life now. I haven't heard from it in a while, though I did experience a brief frisson this morning when Kate Alcock smiled at me in her decollete (Well, me and a zillion other viewers. My, what that girl knows about antiques! Makes her the ideal companion for a scrote's old age!).

So, mes potes, what I want someone to do is to tell me what I can do to allay my fears and to avoid a mortal slash from the scythe of the Grim Reaper in the near future. Oh, and while you are at it, does anyone have a recipe for Ginseng Fritters?

Poor Molly Metcalfe

Jack Thackray wrote: Shepherdess is a poor word for her! It is a word that gives me a picture of a well set up young woman, with porcelain skin and good teeth, a pretty pinafore and a cleavage. She was none of that, she was more a sheep minder. She had no family and was reared by neighbours and worked for them. She was sent to the moor when it was thought she could look after sheep, get her own food, count properly. This was at the age of seven or eight years - not unknown, that people used to use children like that in those days, and give them a chance, and they still will. Not a lot was seen of her until she was found years later in the way that a farmer will find a missed animal, dead, dying, rotten, rotting, scrap of bone, wisp of wool. It was calculated that she must have been twenty-five, twenty-six. That was the life, one end to another. This, song, Molly Metcalfe, is about her and others like her.

Old Molly Metcalfe counting sheep,
Yan tan tether mether pip she counted
Up upon Swaledale counting sheep
Yan tan tether mether pip she said.

Grow little sheep come hail come snow
Yan tan tether mether pip she counted
Fine warm wool for a gentleman's shoulder blades
Yan tan tether mether pip she said.

Over the heather when the weather is cold
Yan tan tether mether pip she counted
Stiff Molly Metcalfe goes bow leggedly
Yan tan tether mether pip she said.

Grow little sheep come wind come rain
Yan tan tether mether pip she counted
Fine warm wool for a lady's counterpane
Yan tan tether mether pip she said.

On her back in the bracken with frozen bones
Yan tan tether mether pip she counted
Daft Molly Metcalfe singing alone
Yan tan tether mether pip she said.

Grow little sheep come death come dark
Yan tan tether mether pip she counted
No such wool for old Molly Metcalfe
Yan tan tether mether pip she said.

Tonight is National Moth Night

It's a bit like Transcendental Meditation, whereby, if we all do it together, we can influence world events. So, traps set and mantra intoned, I am ready to do my bit for NMN. My only worry is that nobody has told the moths, so it's likely to be a bit of an anticlimax.
Sorry. I tell you what, would you like to see me do my impression of a One-Armed Flautist?
No, I thought not.
Philistines.

Meme

There is something both compulsive and stupid about memes.
I fill in the following, and what am I going to do with the information? Nothing
What are YOU going to do with the information? Nothing, or maybe cross me off your Christmas card list.
On the other hand, completing memes is marginally better than vandalising telephone kiosks or molesting postpersons (bearers of acres of junk mail).
So here goes:

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought? I thought:
With a face like that, you should have kippers for breakfast

2. Favorite planet?
I only know Earth, but Saturn looks pretty.

3. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone?
I never miss more than two calls.

4. What is your favorite ring tone on your phone?
Diddly da doo doo da dee da dee dee. Do you know it?

5. Do you “label” yourself?
What am I? Marmalade?

6. What does your watch look like?
I never wear a watch nowadays. One small compensation for giving up work.

7. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Sorry, I wasn't awake at the time.

8. What did your last text message you received on your cell say?
Greetings from Istanbul.

9. What's a word or phrase that you say a lot?
Alone, fuck. In company, good gracious.

10. Last furry thing you touched?
A mini teddy bear given to me by my granddaughter to keep me company nights.

11. Favorite age you have been so far?
Ten and under.

12. Your worst enemy?
Myself, isn't that true for all of us?

13. What is your current desktop picture?
Two naked women fondling each other's breasts. Ojala!

14. What was the last thing you said to someone?
"If I catch anything interesting, I'll give you a call". (reference: moth trapping)

15. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly what would it be?
With a million bucks, I could fly wherever I wanted. Dumb question.

16. Are you in love with someone?
No, but I am open to offers

17. The last song you listened to?
I sang it: "If I were a rich man", etc

18. What time of day were you born?
0300 hours, not that I really minded.

19. What's your favorite food?
Yes.

20. Where did you live in 1984?
Cambridge.

21. Are you jealous of anyone?
No, but I envy one or two people whose sight and hearing is better than mine.

22. Is anyone jealous of you?
I hope not.

23. Where were you when 9/11 happened?
I was buying fish in the fish market in Sakarya (Ankara, Turkey).

24. Do you consider yourself kind?
Yes. And lovable. And available.

25. If you had to get a tattoo, where would it be?
I would have a gecko tattooed on my arse and let it out after dark

26. If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be?
Russian, I love the liquid consonants, and Russian women driving tractors.

27. Would you move for the person you loved?
Fortunately I have a king-sized bed so the question wouldn't arise.

28. What's your life motto?
Is this it?

29. What's your favorite town/city?
Too many to mention, but I wouldn't mind dying in Florence, preferably after lunch.

30. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper and mailed it?
To my motor insurance company, protesting that I DID have a noclaims bonus, you bastards.

31. Can you change the oil in a car?
Yes, but I've got a guy fixes that kind of thing for me.

32. Your first love:
Margaret Benbow: only 5, but a stunner, red cheeks and long white legs.

33. Do you collect anything?
I love to buy notebooks but rarely use them. I hate to defile the first page.

34. The last time you dressed fancy, what did you wear and why did you dress fancy?
Black gear for a funeral. I seem to be doing that a lot these days.

35. Have you been burned by love?
Not since I was......., no, that's not true, it was, hell, I don't know......Ask me an easier question.

Everything ventured, but nothing gained

We are out of the pheremone business, boys and girls. Lady Eggar did her best but had no takers. Honestly, I don't know what the male sex is coming to these days. She put out for them, and they, well, I don't know, maybe they just stayed in and watched the snooker.
Poor Lady Eggar: I dropped her into her favourite food plant, and just hope she finds true love before a hungry Blackbird finds her.
As you can imagine, I am in a sombre mood this evening.