Single life sucks. But hey ho. It has to go on.Today was the ceremonial changing of the duvet day. I have only recently gone back to a duvet. They are quite unusual in the USA so I had a comforter, which equates to an eiderdown in the Uk, but I digress.
I have acquired a couple of new duvet sets back home in Blighty. It has never been my favourite pastime but it had to be done. And so.
First remove the old duvet cover, find dryer sheet from last weeks wash inside it and the sock I have been missing all week. Easy Peasy. Do up buttons on duvet to stop other washing ending up inside said duvet cover and place in washing machine along with pillow cases. I just do them separately as they are new and I reckon my rather garish choice in colours might lead to anything else washed with it taking on a black or purple tinge.
Smile in satisfaction and have a cuppa. Part one completed successfully.
Part 2. Get new clean duvet cover from airing cupboard and undo buttons. Find pair of undercrackers inside that I didn’t even realise I was missing
The struggle begins.
Try to get duvet inside cover. Give up in muck sweat after 5 minutes and retire, scratching head to finish off cold cuppa.
Attack task in a different manner. This time after a few minutes I realise that the duvet is on the floor and I am inside the cover. I stagger around like a demented multicoloured ghost encased in an ever tightening red and black duvet cover. A couple of crashes later and I escape, sweating profusely. I will win.
I pick up the broken ornamental vase I have broken from the floor. Bugger it. I’ll glue it up later.
I am not giving up and I attack the duvet cover again. Swearing seems to cow it into submission and I stand back with a satisfied grin on my face.
It is on… but inside out.
I sigh and go for a cuppa.
I decide on stealth tactics next and creep up on it. Grabbing both duvet and cover I grunt as I force the duvet into said cover. One button flies off and pings off my mirror. But it works.
Duvet is in cover… sideways. I retire, sobbing.
Finally through sheer bloody persistence I get it on. Not inside out. Not sideways on. Bloody perfect.
Remove washed duvet cover from machine. Buttons now undone and pillow cases hiding inside, a pathetic soggy screwed up mess. I put in drier.
It is only 11am but I pour a gin and tonic and sigh sadly.
This here’s ya old buddy Billy Bob. Y’all know me. Ah’m the one that took up with that danged vaping and ah hear people bin wonderin’ how the heck ah’m doing.
Well ah am steel enjoying ma steam and heah is a pic of ma latest tank and mod. Y’all can’t see the power source as ah have it wired into the local mains elek-tri-citi grid. Ah’m still using grandmaws old still connected to some old sewer pipe ah dug up somewhere. That’s ma uncle Billy Bob takin’ a heck of a good suck on my latest e-juice concoction of 50% nic-o-teen and 50% battery acid. Hell that do pack one helluva punch.
Ma latest Vape. Danged sturdy too.
Now ah was living in Nohope, Kentucky with ma sister Mary Sue n ar baby Billy Bob an here’s ar latest pic. As y’all can see Mary Sue is specting again. We are not sure but grandmaw reckons this time it’ll be a boy or a gal. We sure hope so only old Barack (he’s ma dawg ) has got awful keen on humpin Mary Sue’s leg lately and we don’t need no more puppies.
Me, Mary Sue n lil Billy Bob. She’s spectin’ agin.
Ah just got three new coon hounds and that is the danged limit as them n Barack are eatin us outta the trailer.
Ma new ‘coon hounds. Trying to train em not to hump the dang coons.
We have had ta leave Nohope, Kentucky now and we are livin’ with kinfolk in Mississippipipi. This is due to that danged sewer pipe I found and this is the story.
I was talking to grandpaw one day. Barack was a humpin’ his leg but the old feller didn’t seem to mind none, and we started a talkin’ about metal dee-tek-tors. Ah said ah’d like to do a little bit of treasure hunting and grandpaw said he had one of those danged dee-tek-tor thingamy jigs in his trailer.
So we plum went and dug it out. It looked ta be a fine peece of macheenery so we tried it out some.
We soon found some treasure. We found us a few nickles, lotsa beercans and we found three sets of grandmaws old teeth that she lorst yeahs ago. She was overjoyed, gave em a quick spit n polish and tried em out. They fitted jes great still. She was so grateful that she even gave Barack a set of em.
Don’t he look jest dandy.
Don’t he jest look so purdy.
But ah digress some. We carried on dee-tetoring with grandpaws macheen an all of sudden that dang thing starts a squeekin’ an a squawkin like that danged duck of grandpaws did jes last month when his dawg Bo tried ta hump it.
Bo duck luvvin’
Anyways we got our grandpaws backhoe and dug that dang thing up.
Grandpaws backhoe. Sturdy.
It turns out that it was a lovely long piece of alu- min-na-mumumum pipe and ah thought “Dang that’d sure make a mean peece a tubing for ma vape pipe an if nobody else needs it ah’ll halp maself.”
And ah did. But …
Turns out that danged pipe belonged to the Town of Nohope, Kentuckys’ water department. It was one of thar danged sewer pipes.
Oops. I’ll be danged.
Well ah didn’t know that and boy o boy did tha shit hit the fan (well actually it hit me n grandpaw). We got in trouble with grandmaw coz we smelt so danged bad, well ah did, not grandpaw as grandmaw said he actually smelt better than he did before. And we got in trouble with the sherriff. He sed ah could keep tha pipe but ah’d have ta leave town and that’s why ah’m now living down in Hellhole. Mississippipipipi with ma kinfolk.
Heres a few pics of em’ they sure is a great family.
Ma Mississippipipipi Kin folk.
An’ this here is cousin Billy Bob. He wuz trrying ta use one of my vapo-rizer do dabs but he couldn’t quite git tha hang of it.
Cousin Billy Bob Vaping as only he can.
Uncle Billy Bob said ma cousin wuz a bit slow as he got dropped on his head by the nurse when he was born due to her hi intake of Uncle Billy Bob’s moonshine as a pre-natal tipple. But dang he still enjoys himself bothering Auntie Mary Sue’s sheep.
Anyways me and ma family have settled in well. Me Mary Sue and lil Billy Bob even have our own annex by their trailer and it is pretty dang fine as soon as we finally git all tha chickens out of it. The eggs will come in danged handy tho.
Our new place. Sure is cozy.
Anyways. Finally. We had a visit from a couple of ma other cousins the other day. They sure are fine lookin’ boys. Ah’ll have ta watch em with Mary Sue as she thinks they is danged sexy.
Billy Bob and Billy Bob. Ma Mississippipipipipipi kin folk. Danged handsom boys.
We had a great time on the lake barbi-cuing possum.
Mmmmm. Barbie cued Possum. Dang that was sweet.
Then we went back to their place. They are doing purdy danged well for themselves. Hell those boys even enjoy multi-level living. Ain’t that jest doggone amazing.
Fancy Penthouse Living.
And they even have one helluva sporty set a wheels. Billy Bob even fitted it with a sports spoiler all by himself.
Ain’t she sporty. Hooowey. Ah want one.
But anyways ma cousins suggested we try that thar ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. Now we dunno a lot about Al or his challenge but it sure was a hot dang day and the idea sounded purdy danged good. We looked about for a bucket but danged if we could find one. Great uncle Billy Bob was using the nearest thing we could find to a bucket for his yearly bath so that was no dang good.
Takin’ a bath.
So anyways we im-pro-vised with a fire hydrant and a stick of Billy Bob’s best gelignite. Ah think personally it went danged well although I believe the sherriff is talking bout gittin me and ma cousins ex-co-moon-icated or sumpin up to Ohio.
Cooled me n the boys off nicely for our ice bucket challenge thingy. Still dunno who Al is tho.
I am currently honing my latest project with a view to patenting it. I have been working very hard on it but I must admit it hasn’t been that easy. Let me start at the beginning. Me and my Raven were eating out the other day. I can’t remember where it was now but you must know the feeling. You are enjoying a nice bit of foodage when it starts…….
Kids bawling! Don’t you hate it? Can’t parents control the little bast.. sorry I mean little dears. Aren’t you sick of some wee apple of mommy’s eye going into full nuclear meltdown because he can’t get a cookie with din-dins? And so as usual my brain slipped into ‘what if?’ mode.
How can we control these miniature banshees from disturbing us while enjoying luncheon? Is it possible? Well yes I believe it is. Obviously we need something to control the little blighters and if the parents are seemingly unable or unwilling to control them then it is up to us my friend. Yes it is in the hands of us poor souls to tame the little thugs.
LADY! QUIETEN THAT CHILD.
We need some kind of remote tamer and so I went down to the laboratory and dug out my Bumper Boys Electronics and Exploding Devices set. It’s been a while so I re-acquainted myself with the bits and bobs and got to work.
My first idea was an exploding Teddy Bear that auto-detonated when a certain decibel level was reached. This could be handed to children as they enter the restaurant. Refusal is not an option. Take the Teddy or eat elsewhere. Imagine the pleasure of seeing the explosion when the little dears go into manic mode. But no I decided this may be counter-productive to enjoying a peaceful dinner. The prototype turned out to be a little unpredictable too.
And so onto the money-maker which I am hoping to patent. It is the Bacon-Butty Mk 1 Brat Pacifier®. It is fully programmable and basically it is a bracelet that is issued to each kid as they enter the restaurant or maybe even a store. Again refusal is not an option.
It can be programmed thus. 1) By sound level in a similar way to the exploding Teddy Bear. The brat gets beyond a certain level of annoyingness and the bracelet sends a non-lethal pulse of electricity through the kid. The bracelet can be worn on the wrist, ankle or my personal favorite around the head.
2) It can be set off by diners in the restaurant where special buttons will be set into each table. Rather than an embarrassing set-to with the little sh*t’s parents, diners could anonymously send a wee shock to an overly loud junior. This could also be done for personal pleasure even if the kid is being quiet but you just don’t like the look of it.
3) The administering of the electric shock could be left to the restaurant management to oversee. So anyway there it is and I hope you like the idea. Let me know what you think after I return from the patents office.
It was too easy ya know. One day one of my friends took me too a vaping session. Ah had always promised mama that ah’d never get hooked on the demon vape so ah was con-fi-dent ah wouldn’t but ah did.
Ah started innocently enough just a few puffs on a buddy’s vap -oh- rizer but ah was hooked. Ah plucked up my courage one day helped by a jar of great gramma’s homebrew and walked into my local to-bac-oh shop. Ah wore grandpaw’s best wig so nobuddy would recargnise me and ordered one of those thar e-lec-tronic doo dabs. It was one a those de-spose-able ones. It was called an nJoy ah think.
Wouldn’t do any harm I guessed. Just a few puffs and ah’d git rid of the dang thing after ah’d tried it.
But ya know what? Danged if I didn’t puff that thang dry and go buy another one. Ah soon had a habit and ah was puffin’ away on ma old steam stick all day long. Ah hid it from the folks of course but ah was soon a ten a week dude. Man I was suckin’ on those babies like cousin Emmy’s kid on her teat. (Ah rememba that well. Ah think she was in fifth grade at that time.) Grandpaw denied it was his and we tend to believe the old buzzard as Grandmaw says he’s been firing blanks for years.
Now ah had always been warned that those danged e-lec-tronic doo dabs could lead to harder things and ah needed to up the steam. Those nJoys just simply wasn’t cutting the danged mustard. And ah was purdy well hooked by now so ah went looking for some of that doggone harder stuff.
Ah bought me one of those Kanger eVod thingummy jigs. Ah bought the darn thang on-line so no-one would guess ah had a habit. Goddammit that thang sure hit the sweet spot. Ah would often load my dawg up in ma truck and head out to the top 40 to enjoy my steam. Shucks. You jes can’t beat it. Ah was as happy as ma dawg Barack humping my leg. Ah don’t rightly know what breed he is but Grandpaw reckon’s he’s a Mississippi Leg Hound. He sure do like to eat too. We often find old Barack ass up in the garbage bin looking fa scraps.
Ma Dawg Barack.
He even got the blame when our neighbour Mary Ellen’s dawg disappeared last year. She had one of them thar little fluffy things. Ah think she called it a Shit Sue. Damned if ah know why but I know Barack was shitting hairballs for three days after the lil critter went missing.
Last Known Pic of Mary Ellen’s Shit Sue
One day ah was up thar sucking on my favorite juice mix at the time (80% nic-o-tine, 10% bourbon and 10% anti-freeze) when I bumped into Grandpaw. Barack was so happy he went to greet the old-timer. Grandpaw let him finish then came and sat beside me. Turns out he’s a dang vaper too. “Ya know what Billy Bob he says. That bunch a no goods up thar in Wash-ing-tun are trying to outlaw this vaping. It’s downright un-a-murcan if ya ask me. That Prezeden O’Bama … he sure got a lot to answer for. You jes can’t trust an Irishman I swear.” Grandpaw spat to show his displeasure.
But ah digress. Ma habit got worse. Ah needed more steam. I started building ma own vaporizers. Now those danged things are tricky. Ah kept settin’ fire to thangs. Got ta be so bad that the Local Fire Department would station a fire truck perm-a-nent-ly outside our trailer. Ah set fire to it, to the garage, to the truck and even to Grandpaw once. But ah think ah have the hang of it now.
Dang, This vaping is dangerous.
Ah needs plenty of power for ma vaping habit so I use four Chevy Truck Batteries in series connected to ma tank which is one of Great Grandmaws old whisky stills. Ah have re-fined my juice now to 50% nic-o-tine and 50% rocket fuel. Dang that sure hits the spot. Ah have to be careful tho. Last week I wiped out half of the town after the dang thing exploded. Luckily ah was out in the truck shootin’ varmints with my cousins Billy-Bob and Billy-Bob at the time but hell that fireball sure was spec-tac-u-lar. Yessir, Barack even stopped humping Billy Bob for a minute when it went up.
Ah got kicked outta town after this one
Ma cousins Billy-Bob and Billy-Bob
Ah have had to move to another State now. The Sheriff run me out so I am living in a fine trailer in Nohope, Kentucky with ma sister Mary Sue. That’s her in tha picture with our baby Billy-Bob. She sure is purdy aint she?
Me n ma Sister Mary Sue with our lil Billy-Bob
But ah still have my vaping habit. It has got so danged bad now that I sit in small dark rooms uploading How To Rebuild Your Vap-o-rizer in-strucshun-al videos to YouTube. Ah even had ma hands tattooed special like by Mary Sue but the I LOVE BARACK one seems to be gen-er-ratin’ me a lotta hate mail. Shucks he’s ma dawg guys.
So all you potential vapers out thar. Beware. This here vaping is kinda a-dic-tive. Ah should know.
I was talking to my baby the other day as she was driving. As usual I was grasping the ‘Oh Shit’ handle as we hurtled our way along the freeway. Now I cannot understand American drivers. They switch from lane to lane at a whim, sometimes cutting across several lanes at once and it seems as if they do it for no reason at all. I presume they must be drunk or on crack. Who knows?
My baby is by now is finding my frequent cries of Oh My God and Oh Sheeeeeiiiiit to be a distraction. The screams and bouts of hysterical crying are starting to get to her too. I cannot understand why American drivers drive so very very close. I mean, it’s not as if the darned roads aren’t big enough. Plenty of room for all but still I find myself pumping away at an imaginary brake pedal frequently as some idiot with a death wish squeezes into the minuscule gap in front of us … again…
I try to think of a solution … This is it … American roads are too damned big and too damned wide and there are far too many lanes on them. The same goes for American cars. Why do they have to be soooo huge? Maybe we should do something about it? “But the USA is so big.” Says my baby. “We need lots of big roads to get around.” Do you? No you don’t. I suggest moving all the cities to one state. Pack all the cities into one big conurbation, maybe call it New Francisco or Los Orleans or something and bulldoze the rest. Then only a few roads would be needed. Dig up the surplus ones. Solved.
New Style Freeway
Now with present day cars we would have problem on the new mega city roads so we need to make cars smaller and less needed. Most freight would have to be delivered by rail or even canal. Bingo. Lorries taken off the roads and beautiful scenic canals winding through the city and countryside to deliver goods. Our mega city could become a giant beautiful version of Venice. Another problem solved. How am I doing? … Good so far?
A much more suitable size.
The commute could be so much easier.
OK so what about the rest of the USA I hear you ask? Well how about returning it to a wonderful unspoiled wilderness full of bison, alligators and other nature. We could extend the railways and canals to reach several key holiday regions where people could get back to nature. No roads or cars except for maybe a few small electric ones.
Even small sporty cars.
Great lil run-a-round.
Cycles horses and mules could be used of course so another problem solved. Americans would be fitter. Now I know there would have to be some small towns for example for mines, holiday resorts and rednecks but my solution would be no roads linking them. Brilliant eh. You’d have to fly, float or hike in. The whole west coast could become a road-free series of beach resorts and movie studios. Florida could become a large theme park. Rename Jacksonville Disneyville. Again. No roads and no cars.
A new style of transport for all.
And those mega-cities? Build ‘em big but use minimal space. Smaller homes, smaller restaurants, smaller offices in fact why not make everyone work from home? Brilliant. Factories would of course be fully automated and could be buried under the city. There would be a lot less of them too. No car plants for a start. Oil refineries would be minimal now of course too with little need for gas for the cars. In fact I believe my mega-cities could be totally self-sustaining for energy. Solar power, wind power, geothermal power, and burning the crap and ahem… ’exhaust gases’ of 200 million people would certainly help too. I did well didn’t I?
One of the new mega-cities
New style smaller house.
A snug fit for a family.
Nascar would have to change of course.
Getting away in the new USA. So much more economical.
No garage required. Just drive up to your 350th floor apartment.
First of all thanks to all the people that have been viewing my blog. My hits have rocketed recently and it’s mostly due to my little friend Faffy the Leprechaun. What started as just a little bit of fun has turned into an avalanche of readers.
And so I have decided to launch Faffy as an eBook. He has been tidied up a little and expanded also. It is still only a short novelette but well worth the price.I set the price at the absolute minimum that the publisher would allow barring making it free. It is launching at the incredibly low price of only $0.99 … begorrah.
Here’s the blurb for the story:-
Imagine turning up for work one day to find the place in chaos. Deliveries have gone to the wrong addresses for no apparent reason. It has to be sorted out … and quickly. You need help and you need it fast but it comes from an unexpected quarter. Enter Faffy the Leprechaun and his helpers including a Zombie from Yorkshire and various other strange characters.Can it be done even with the help of Faffy’s poteen?
I am also launching Faffy as a print version. It is done but I am awaiting the first book to arrive from the publishers so I can check it for errors before releasing it. It will be a bit more expensive at around the $6.00 but still well worth it.
So people go get your $0.99 ebook today. It is available in all flavours (Kindle,Apple,Nook,PDF, etc etc).and prepare to be shilelaghed by Faffy.
In case you were wondering… a shilelagh.
Faffy the Leprechaun is available at Smashwords. Click here to be taken to the site.
Hoping you all had a great Christmas my friends and that Santa was most beneficent to you all.
I actually received a pot of Marmite from my baby this Christmas. It was not my only gift from her. As usual she spent far too much on me but the Marmite was certainly the most unexpected of her many gifts to me.
As you may know I am an Englishman living in Ohio and it seems that one of the things that Americans do not have nor understand is Marmite (they sadly do not have Vegemite either). Now it seems to me that the more you haven’t got something, the more you desire it. That is how it is me. Sometimes I dream of hot buttered toast spread with the deliciousness of Marmite eaten in front of a log fire preferably.
Yummy Yum Yums
I have seen Marmite here, but only in the speciality stores and by gum do they want some wedge for it. I must admit it was getting close to the point where I would gladly have sacrificed my children for a jar so it was wonderful to find a bottle of the brown nectar in my stocking yesterday.
I have already christened my little jar enjoying some of its contents this morning with toast. I washed it down with a cup of Starbuck’s Tazo Joy tea. (another excellent prezzie from my baby).
I am looking forward to trying the brown nectar again soon with Bagels, muffins, crumpets (mysteriously known as ‘Nooks n Crannies’ to the colonials) and in any other way I can think of.
Marmite and Vegemite have a distinctive dark colour (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I thought I’d finish with some of the wonderful attributes of this heavenly nectar.
1) It is full of healthy vitamins such as the ‘B’ type ones. It is so healthy that people who live exclusively on Marmite and toast have been proven to live beyond 120 years of age.
2) Chuck Norris is a huge fan of Marmite and puts his superhuman strength down to eating at least one bagel a day spread with it.
3) It is a proven fact that it helps the libido. Cialis and Viagra are actually produced from Marmite.
4) It is now believed that it was spread liberally on the bagels by Jesus at the last supper.
5) The Greek word for ‘Food of the Gods’ is ambrosia. This is actually a mistranslation of Marmite.
6) Spreading lashings of Marmite over the skin is proven to cure Acne, boils, and disfiguring scars within hours.
7) It is also known to vastly improve the IQ. Einstein admits he would never have found out that E=MC squared without his daily ration of yeasty loveliness.
Anyway guys I am off for a little bit of toast with Marmitey Magic. Have a wonderful day.
PS. Does anyone know where I can get Piccalilli in the colonies?
Ben had to sit down. He thought. Then he thought again. How the hell was he going to tell his boss, Mad Mick, that bloody Santa Claus was delivering their mail now? “Faffy!” he whimpered, holding out his mug. Faffy obliged with a slug of poteen. “Don’t worry Mr Ben sorr. Santa has never let us down with deliveries before although no doubt a few people will be surproized to get mail down their chimneys sorr.”
As Ben took a slug he heard the sound of small explosions. “What the feck!” he cried, looking suspiciously at his coffee mug. “No sorr, it isn’t der coffee. It’s Robert (Not Bob) dealing with the Fook Up Faeries.” Said Faffy.
“Huh?” said Ben.
Ben and Faffy re-entered the warehouse. Ben’s nose prickled as it picked up the smell of … what was it he thought? Ahh yes, gunpowder. The place smelt like a bonfire night party after all the fireworks had been let off.
Robert (not Bob) ambled towards them. At least the smell of explosives masked the smell of zombie thought Ben.
“How are you doing Bob? Chuckled Faffy, it sounded loik you moight have found them?”
“Eeeeee baa gum I did Faffy and stubborn little buggas they was too. Over thirty of them there were. A reet battle it was but I think I got them all.” Robert turned towards Ben.
“ Does tha appen to have a stapler Mr Ben?”
Ben looked confused. “A stapler?”
“Yes lad, a stapler. Ah needs to fix me hand back on.”
Robert held out his hand. He literally held out his hand. It had come off. His other arm just smouldered slowly in the space where the hand should have been.
Ben shrieked and slowly backed away. “Don’t be a pansy lad, laughed Robert, just get me a stapler and it’ll be as good as new.”
Ben got the stapler. He looked away as Robert (not Bob) performed surgery.
“Eeee that’s better lad.” Smiled Robert waving his newly re-attached hand around.
Faffy re-appeared and proffered Robert (not Bob) a large mug of steaming tea and a hot currant bun. “Thanks lad, grinned Robert, food of the gods aye. Has it got …?”
Faffy interceded. “Yessir Robert. A triple measure of poteen and ten sugars. Just how ya loik it.”
Robert (not Bob) slurped contentedly and munched slowly on the bun. “Well lad, Robert looked at Ben, I’ve done my job here. Tha shouldn’t get any more trouble with those little pests again. Everything should be tickety-boo. I’ll just sup oop and I’ll be on my way back to hell.”
Ben grabbed Faffy and took him aside. “Err Faffy, he asked, is that right? Is Robert (not Bob) from hell?”
“To be sure he is Mr Ben sorr and it is a cold dismal place of no hope where poor souls live a life of misery. You know it as Huddersfield.”
Ben sighed and leaving Robert behind he and Faffy returned to the dispatch department. Ben cringed as he heard Mad Mick shouting for him.
“Ben! Ben? Where are ya fella? I need you.”
“I’m here Mick. Shouted Ben sounding happier than he felt.
“Well done young Ben. Smiled Mick. All the deliveries have arrived already although we’ve had a few reports of them dropping down chimneys. Which delivery service did you use?”
Ben swallowed and prepared to explain but Faffy jumped in quickly. “O’im glad you is pleased Mick. We used an old family business to deliver them. SDS is their name and although they can be a wee bit … how should oi say … unorthodox … they get der job done quickly.”
“Well fantastic news Mr … errr Faffy? Although Mr Smith in Devon was so shocked at the packages arrival down his chimney that he has now gone to a better place.”
Ben looked shocked. “You mean…”
“Yes Ben, continued Mad Mick, he has gone to the village pub. The Ferret and Firkin, I think it’s called where he is currently downing large rums and muttering something about reindeer?”
Faffy grinned. “Pay no heed sorr. Oi am sure he will be OK. Now if you are happy oi think oi’ll be on my way. Mrs Faffy will be wondering where oi am.”
Mad Mick agreed and returned to his office.
“Well Mr Ben sorr. Moi work here is done. Every ting seems to be running smoothly. Oi’ll be on me way. If youse needs us again just give us a call.”
Ben was speechless. He ran out through the warehouse. The DeVito’s had gone. Robert (not Bob) also had gone. He ran back into the dispatch department… Faffy had gone. The department seemed to have returned to normal. The Anglo-Irish document centre staff were working away normally preparing the next delivery.
“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” Muttered Ben.
Ben slept well that night and awoke feeling refreshed. As he drove into work he thought back to the previous day. It all seemed a little vague now. Leprechauns? Zombies? The DeVito’s? Ha!
By the time he arrived at work he was convinced it had all been a dream and his suspicions were confirmed as he entered the Anglo-Irish Document Clearing Centre. All was as normal. His staff were chatting idly as they enjoyed a last swig of coffee before starting their days work.
He grabbed a quick coffee himself from the canteen and settled down at his desk to read his emails.
He sipped the coffee and was disappointed that as usual it tasted of mud with a hint of caffeine. He sat back in his chair and sighed. Just a dream. Oh well let’s start work. Lots to do. He thought sadly. He opened his desk drawer to find a pen. And grinned. Nestling in the drawer was a bottle. The label read. ‘Poteen’. He poured a large slug into his coffee.
THE END … possibly!
Faffy has been expanded and is now available as an ebook here. Only 99 cents too. Begorrah!
Toronto Pearson International Airport (YYZ/CYYZ), Mississauga, Greater Toronto, Ontario, Canada (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Here we go again I think to myself. It’s Border Patrol time. I’ve just landed in Toronto and I have to clear US immigration here before I board my flight to the USA. Every time I pass through I get pulled out and sent to ‘secondary investigation’. Will it be different this time?
Here we go again.
Things have changed since my last visit. Normally I have to collect my luggage before I enter immigration but this time I am told it will go straight through to my flight to Ohio. Brilliant I think, maybe I will too?
I have to scan my passport and boarding pass and I am given a number. That is new too. My name comes up on the board and I can go through to immigration. Only a short queue at least.
I arrive at the desk. The officer actually seems quite friendly. That is a definite change for the better. Normally I get guys who I think have had a sense of humour removal operation. But … the result is as I feared. The guy knits his brow and looks at me quizzically. He scans my fingerprints. I can see the secondary investigation section. I look over to it and he follows my glance before nodding and smiling. He gives me my passport etc. in a file with a red SI written on it. “It’s OK. I know the way.” I say.
“Good luck sir.” He grins.
I enter SI and soon realize that they still have the guys in here that have had the ‘sense of humour removal’ operation.
The ‘meet and greet’ officer scowls at me as he takes my paperwork. He takes it across the room and dumps it in a pile of similar files. “Take a seat.” He growls. Some woman a couple of seats down is unwise enough to take out her phone. She is pounced on by an officer. “Not allowed ma’am. Please switch it off and put it away now.”
I smile to myself. I am busting for a cigarette and wonder what his reaction would be to me taking a puff on my electronic fag. I decide not to.
Now luckily I allowed about 5 hours between my flights. You can get tied up for hours in ‘SI’. I sit and wait watching the other ‘detainees’. I sweat a little remembering the time before last here. My entry was refused (apparently I had returned too soon after the visit before) and I had been marched into Canadian immigration who being a far more laid back crew just stamped my passport and let me into Canada. I had to book a flight back to the UK the next day. A very expensive day trip to Canada that had been.
But my wait wasn’t too bad. About an hour, maybe a little less. I was called over by a Danny De Vito lookalike officer. I was immediately alarmed when he asked me to follow him to another section. That had definitely not happened before. I had to sit while he disappeared into an office cubicle. There were posters advising me that I could not leave the section until I was told. EEEEEK!
My spirits fell. He emerged from the cubicle and I received my grilling. I was asked the usual. Purpose of visit? (To visit Raven) My job and what I did? (I fibbed a little telling him I marked University Exam papers. Not strictly untrue I suppose). He disappeared back into his cubicle.
He returned and said he had asked for my luggage. I bet that pleased Air Canada but it arrived quickly. He returned to his cubicle. I heard papers rustling and a stamp being used. I dismally imagined it was my entry refused stamp.
He came out again. I am sure he smiled slightly as he saw my gaily patterned luggage. “Are you carrying any drugs sir?” he asked. Like I’d say yes? But I wasn’t. Not the unprescribed kind anyway. Perhaps drug smugglers were known to use gaily patterned luggage? I didn’t know. “No.” I replied in what sounded to me like a very guilty voice.
My luggage… Well I like it…lol
He ran my cases through the scanner then just opened my tote bag. “No weed sir?” he asked. I nodded my head. “No.” He just ran his hands around the edges. That was it. Never even opened my other bags. “Thank you Sir. Have a pleasant stay in the USA.” He handed me my passport and boarding card. That was it. I was through. He even helped me carry my bags through to departures. I even shook his hand. I was on my way to my baby…..