Another British Soldier

Another British Soldier dying in the Dust

Another British PM saying I must

Take war to the enemy

Despite it being a felony

Got to protect this liberty

Pursuing our democracy

Amongst the medieval peasantry

Holding advanced western weaponry

We kill them all with enmity

It’s our speciality

We can’t show no empathy

For the Islamic mentality

This Taliban pedigree

Their dying is heavenly

We call it blind zealotry

A murderous recipe

For war almost endlessly

But the bloody legacy

Is our soldiers dying helplessly

With newscasters breathlessly

Reciting the elegy

As the wives cry helplessly

That age-old melody

That scores the serenity

Of the politicians confidentiality

As they bow to the hegemony

Of wars cruel necessity

And the infallible cruelty

That makes children twitch hysterically

On the roads into Ghanzi

As they die so regrettably

By digital telemetry

Sending them to the cemetery

As we look on contemptuously

Not seeing the potentiality

Of leaving the country peacefully

And the children playing happily

Full of life and expectancy

But we know that eventually

Like the great Nations historically

Left Afghanistan unpleasantly

As their soldiers died steadily

On the plains of the Afghani

That our time will be presently

Let us do it now readily

Sooner not later preferably

Leaving Afghanistan is a must

Stop our soliders dying in that dust.

Flowers of the Forest again

Flowers of the Forest again

More war years

Won’t dry the tears

On the mothers sallow cheek

When soldier boys

Have lost their toys

And return in the brittle box

A folded flag

A political gag

Placed in the mothers hands

On dusty street

Sad mothers weep

For the children dead in arms

Across the sand

Come play the band

Flowers of the Forest again

Young women cry

Old men sigh

As they dip red white and blue

It’s freedoms’ stain

And Britain’s pain

As they go marching on…

Flowers of the forest video

The woman that I'm looking for...

The woman that I'm looking for

The woman that I’m looking for

Has got to have a pulse

A boon if she is breathing

And acts on her impulse

The woman that I’m looking for

Will have a working brain

Has strong opinions good and bad

Laughing like a drain

The woman that I’m looking for

Will have a sense of fun

She’ll like to play and mess around

And maybe call me ‘hun’.

The woman that I’m looking for

Ain’t looking for no jerk

Ain’t looking for no idiot

But maybe I’m hard work

The woman that I’m looking for

Is happy to understand

That at this time of life

Not everyone is bland.

The woman I am looking for

Will be sexy, hot and fit

Happy with her self-image

And flirts with grace and wit.

The woman that I’m looking for

Won’t stay at home and knit

Or sit focused on the TV

And just don’t give a shit

The woman that I’m looking for

Is relaxed and not to desperate

Laid back and nice to chill

If at times we are separate

The woman that I’m looking for

Don’t need to be jealous, hard or mean

She’s got to be my equal

And then she’ll be my queen

The woman that I’m looking for

Is stuck here in my head

The clichéd thing I really mean

Is, is she hot in bed!

I need to write poetry

I need to write poetry
Perhaps I'm needing therapy
I'm feeling kinda worse
Cos I'm missing my blank verse

I need to write a couplet
Ill be donning Shakespeares doublet
But I don't know if I've the time
To pen such stunning rhyme

Masters of Japan
Say zen haiku form makes clear
The writers hand is

Folded around the word to make
One think the world a better place
With beauty, style and insight
The sonnets scan the speakers soul

But perhaps my soul is empty
My writing hand is still
Perhaps my iambic pentameters
Have quietly become less shrill

So I could be needing therapy
I might be slighty ill
It might be slightly pyrrhic
Spondee or bacchius still

So there once was a poet from Plymouth
Not so sure he was good enough
So he saught therapy
From her by the sea
Now he's better than Roger McGough

Now a poets life is terrible hard
Said a lovely girl called alice
Be it Bejamin, Hardy or Larkin
They'll fuck you up with Malice

So its all becoming quite crazy
I think I'm losing my mind
The words are getting quite hazy
I'm think I'm going blind

So get me into therapy
Beard my bardic brain
Slow down the rhymes and rhythms
Please stop this poetic pain

Lull me with sweet lullabies
And the hosts of daffodils
Give me the succour of your verse
And keep me off the pills

Motivation - now there’s a word to conjure with

Motivation - now there’s a word to conjure with

I think I have SAD. I’m just weary and I can’t put my finger upon it. I look out of my window and sunny Plymouth is officially grey. I don’t think I even have the energy to write another word, that’s how tired I am. I am so tired I don’t even think that a gram of amphetamine mainlined into my central nervous system would wake me up. I am so tired that I can’t even think about a gram of amphetamine let alone spend the energy actually trying to buy the foul stuff.

I am feeling numb from the top of my head to the aching soles of my feet. I feel so numb that if someone where to beat me around the head with a 5 kilo codfish I wouldn’t notice. I am so numb that when I'm asked why my head and clothing are encrusted with scales I would just shrug and look numbly back at them.

I am fatigued. My muscles feel like they have been overworked and underfed. My greatest wish, should I summon up the enthusiasm, would be to lie in bed somewhere being intravenously fed with vitamin enriched lucozade backed up with a glucose drip. My fatigue is so inherent that should Kyle wish to attend and perform the bed bath upon me my penis would lay there like a sleepy snake at midday, mid Sahara.

I am shattered. My energy lies in shards around me, but like an ill matched jigsaw I just don’t seem to be able to pick it up and put it together again. I am so shattered that if the building were to burn down right now, at least my room would be warm for a while and I’d be comfortable. They’d find my burned and charred husk sitting with my blackened stumps upon my desk enjoying the heat, remembering those hot summer days when we are all so full of energy.

I am drained, like a can of peas after lunch; I no longer have any juice. I can’t make my pods go pop with any vigour. I feel slightly greenish and slow and sort of mushy. My vital energy has drained right out of me just when I wasn’t looking, like a slow puncture in my tire, I have been let down. Now I am desiccated, dried and demoralised should someone stand next to me and sneeze I would explode into a thousand million molecules and float around for eternity getting up peoples noses and giving them allergies.

I’ve just had enough and am all-in. If I had the wherewithal I would vote for the one day week and the compulsory Lennonesque 6 day bed-in. I am totally bushed, and have the energy levels of an inmate at Guantanamo Bay who has just been kicked shitless by the guards but given a weekend pass. I’ll pass. Mañana will do for me I couldn’t drag myself out on the town even if I was strapped to a herd of rogue elephants being teased by white mice.

I am just dead beat, like a deadbeat after a bottle of Thunderbird. A nice soft gutter would do me right now, an eiderdown of newspapers and a mattress of cardboard sounds like bliss. Take me to oblivion on a single ticket and shackle me to the railings. I’m sleepy, no hi ho’s will keep me awake, like drowsy, I’m six dwarves short of a snooze. My lids are drooping, and I’m drooling down my shirt like a bad Pavlovian experiment. I can’t write another word; my fingers droop over the keyboard, neither can I check the thesaurus for another, yet another, synonym – I am pooped. 

Simple steps to meditation

Here's something I wrote 10 years ago (blimey!)

Simple Steps to Meditation.

Walking the 100 miles of the Two Moors Ways between Ivybridge and Lynmouth takes about seven days. In those seven days one travels through the ancient landscapes of Dartmoor and Exmoor. Burial mounds, standing stones, hut circles and ancient trails punctuate the walk with the constant reminder that these places have always been special for humans.

Carrying a 20 kilo pack containing tent, sleeping bag, food and equipment forces one to practise one of the main tenets of walking meditation – that of moving the feet. Buddhists are instructed to be mindful of four stages in each step: (i) lifting the foot; (ii) moving it forward; (iii) putting it down; and (iv) touching or pressing the foot on the ground.

And step by step, as I travelled these ways, I entered the meditative state of mind simply by putting one foot in front of the other, or as some practitioners suggest ‘stepping, stepping, stepping’.

Walking the moors, one has to be aware of these actions because to put a foot wrong means a turned ankle or worse. By increasing our awareness of our bodies actions we also become increasingly aware of things outside of ourselves, objects we might trip over, other people we might walk into, and these are many other things outside of ourselves that we will be more aware of than when we are sitting –especially if we sit inside. These include the wind, the sun and the rain, and the sounds of nature and of humans and machines.

But as one finds the natural rhythm (and using a pair of trekking poles forces you into such a rhythm) you find that each and every footstep forms part of a natural mantra. And as the length of the walk progresses, it becomes easier to enter into the detached but aware state that walking meditation facilitates.

While walking long distances there will always be feelings associated with our bodies, from the niggling pain of the blister to a pleasant feeling of relaxation. There will also be feelings associated with the things we see and hear, and with all of the other sensory modalities that we experience – including those that are imagined.

In paying attention to feelings, the important thing is simply to notice them without either clinging to them or pushing them away. When we are unaware, it is very common for our minds to start grasping after experiences associated with pleasant feelings.

Many people say to me when I start walking a long-distance path that I’ll “be able to have some thinking time – to sort things out”, but it always seems to me that when walking I actually have very little ‘thinking time’.  My mind becomes attuned to the mantra of walking, my eyes to the path ahead and my body to experiencing the sensations of physical activity.  By experiencing our sensations, rather than thinking about them, we help to cut down on unproductive thinking and bring about more calmness.

Walking the Two Moors way allows us to ‘be in the moment’.  That moment where we can fill out mind with the richness of the experience of walking, leaving less room for daydreaming and fantasy and becoming deeply aware of our present experience, which becomes far more fulfilling than any daydream.

This detached state then becomes an integral part of the ‘Art of Walking’. The Buddhist monk Thick Nhat Hanh tells us that ‘If we practise walking meditation, we walk just for walking, not to arrive. We have to be alive with each step, and if we are, each step brings real life back to us. The purpose is to be in the present moment and enjoy each step you make’.

Walking alone through the wilderness of Dartmoor and Exmoor is a pure exercise in walking meditation and each step becomes a prayer and each mile dharma. 

(published in Connect Magazine October/November 2002 - Issue 15)

Garden meditation

The tadpoles in the garden

Are turning into frogs

The sun is shining

It’s too hot for dogs

The fruit trees are blooming

The country it is parched

Who could believe it?

It’s still only March

The sky is a deep blue

They’re swimming in the sea

People wearing shorts

And sipping cream tea

The weather is delightful

The sunshine is so hot

I gotta put a hat on

Before I lose the plot

It’s hotter than Venice

It’s hotter than Spain

The headlines in the papers

Make that plain

It’s hotter than Greece

It’s hotter than Rome

Who needs a holiday?

When you can stay at home

So I’m sitting in my garden

I’m watching bees buzz

I’m listening to the flowers grow

The dog just does

The fruit trees are blooming

Pink petals in the sun

I’m doing nothing

Just listening to the hum

Ommmmmmmmmm………

How I met my dog....

I have just submitted this article to an american pet magazine.  Theres no money in it or even a prize if one gets published. But I thought now I'm back from China I had better get this blog going again.  Some of you who know me might remind me what my Cocker Spaniel was called because for the life of me I can't remember, isn't that sad?  So I've named him 'Barney' for the purpose of this piece.


How I met my dog...

It was a sunny Sunday in May and I was taking tea on Plymouth Hoe. The Coffee Shack was, and still is, one of my most favourite places in the whole world.  Located on West Hoe in Plymouth one is able to dawdle over tea and look out over the spectacular natural harbour that has seen seafarers from Drake to Darwin sail away.

However, on that day in May, I was alone and was feeling in need of some sort of friendly company so I decided to leave my sunny spot and head off across town to see my friends Mandy and Dave.  I was surprised when I reached their place to be greeted at the door by not one Jack Russell but two!  I knew my friends had Toby the diminutive wirehaired scamp that lived with them, but they had increased their family by one with Molly, a friendly shorthaired Jack.

My surprise and astonishment at being met by two very friendly dogs jumping and wiggling around my feet was increased when I was ushered into the kitchen to peep into a cardboard box where 6 little pug noses were being pushed out to greet me with little yips of excitement. Mandy and Dave beamed at me.

I should have been more aware!

Well, of course, everyone loves a newly born puppy and I am no exception. I had owned dogs in the past but having lost my last two dogs somewhat tragically I had not renewed my relationship with mans best friend.  My last two dogs had been faithful companions. Rosy was an English Springer Spaniel of advancing years I had saved from certain death when her former owner had announced he was leaving the country; she was ensconced on the settee, in front of the fire, that very evening.

Barney was a Blue Roan Cocker Spaniel from good stock that I had from a puppy.  As he had such good, prizewinning parents, I had decided that I would enter the dog into various shows and see how he did.  I thought that this would probably be a good and new hobby that would get me out and about, meeting new people, and of course I knew I had a ‘good’ dog so it might be fun too.

Living and working in Cornwall is a wonderful place to have dogs. There are so many places one can go and with Rosy and Barney I took full advantage until one day I noticed that old Rosy was making heavy weather of her usual walk. Springer Spaniels are full of energy and just want to work. She would always be ahead of me, quartering the ground ahead; doing what she was bred to do, flushing game.  But now she was panting and lying down every few yards, not a happy dog at all.

That week I took her to the vet as she just didn’t improve so she clearly wasn’t just under the weather.  It was bad news. Her heart was failing. The kindest thing was … unspeakable, but it was done. I was distraught.

Within two days, my young energetic Cocker Spaniel was showing symptoms of something; he was lethargic, off his food.  Pining for Rosy we thought.  But he got worse.  More visits to the vet. The vet was nonplussed.  Barney got more and more ill. The vet diagnosed a blood problem and even used his own dog to provide blood for Barney. But to no avail.  Ten days after Rosy had gone, so too was Barney gone.

The house was empty of dogs; except for the phantom dogs I could hear jumping off the beds upstairs.  There was no one to eat my apple cores where once upon a time two pairs of bright eyes were locked on my every movement whilst I ate the apple.

Now two new pairs of eyes were locked onto mine.  Two bright sparkly eyes, attached to a friendly little face, a button nose and markings that gave her kohl around the eyes and huge eyebrows – a seductress! I still wasn’t sure I wanted a dog. I hadn’t had a dog for years.  I worked in an office for goodness sake.  Mandy and Dave were teasing me, goading me on. But I still wasn’t sure.  Yes, we all love puppies and the one that was cuddled in my hands was no exception. And yes she was very beautiful.  But what was that? She was born on March 4^th?  But that’s my birthday too!

‘Oh go on then’ - it was obviously meant to be.

I still sit on Plymouth Hoe in the sunshine, drinking tea, looking across the beautiful harbour. But now on my lap, sharing a biscuit, is Snooks, my constant companion. 

..................................

Just adding the photo for illumination and extra interest

I am going to China

Soon I am going to China
An adventure in my later years
Escaping the tedium of the office and salary and the 9 to 5 slog

Before I get too old
I am going to China
I'm leaving my old life
And my daughter and my dog

And I can't sleep 
I lay on my bed and think
Let the doubt work into my head and kick off the quilt with irritation

My daughter on the settee a metre away snores gently
Supportive but scared of losing her daddy
And he scared 
Questions the reason of the decision

I am going to China
And now I cannot sleep
Not like my daughter is sleeping innocent and trusting
But with guilt writhing in my head

And soon the roar of the jet plane with fill my ears
And the smell of China fill my nose
And my daughter will cry her tears
I think of these as I lie, awake, in my bed. 

Danny Baker

This is my Danny Baker story. I'm writing it simply because I am pleased that Danny is still with us after facing up to cancer.

I once taught sociology at the University of Exeter. It came to my attention via the usual sources that the students had nicknamed me 'Danny Baker'. I'm not sure why as I don't think I particularly look or sound like him. Although I do recollect that at an OU summer school disco I was asked if I was Danny Baker by a rather nice looking girl. Obviously stupidly I answered in the negative and will never know if I could have got a shag out of a positive response.

Back at Exeter ( the obvious choice for student that had failed to get into Oxbridge or Durham) I carried on through the term knowing that these bright sparks were still calling me 'Danny' (perhaps it was my working class roots, or my accent which many placed as London but not cockney although I have spent all my life south of Bristol in the west country)

Throughout the term I planned my revenge. The last lecture of the year is the one where the lecturer might give BIG hints as to what might come up in the exam which he himself had written. So a full turn out was expected.

On the day the students hung on my every word, taking copious notes trying to decipher my words for the much needed exam hints. At the end of the lecture I summed up with - 'Now if there is just one thing you need to take from this series of lectures, the most important thing is this......the students sat, attentive, rapt, their pencils poised for my most important insight.

I switched the overhead projector on (yes it was a few years ago) and there in all his glory was a picture of Danny Baker!

'That is' I pointed at the picture 'Danny Baker, a big cockney twat' and 'I' I said, pointing at myself 'am the guy that's going to mark your exams!' I kept a serious slightly pissed off look on my face

There was a stunned silence in the room, lots of nervous eyes and shuffling, until I smiled at which everyone laughed with relief and the lecture series came to a happy end.

So that's my Danny Baker story. You can follow Danny on twitter @prodnose

Thanks Danny - keep on keeping on!

Six Nations Rugby

Six nations rugby
The power and the glory
The blood and the beef
The thrilling knife-edge story

The kick and the pass
The maul and the ruck
Body slamming tackles
The nip and the tuck

Of the winger and scrum half
The push of the pack
No 10 sometimes the hero
Safe hands, the full back.

The trys and conversions
The full bore drop goal
Playing for their country
Mind, body and soul

The stadiums are singing
The anthems and songs
The flags and the mascots
The shirts say I belong

The players are our Heros
Their courage is unbowed
To proudly play for country
To thrill the watching crowd

The six nations rugby
An immense sporting event
Boys get out on that field
And play with passionate intent!

Lazy Sunday...blues

It's a lazy Sunday morning
I'm sitting on my ass
I'm even saving money
By turning off the gas

A massive jug of coffee
A pile of bagels, cheese
I'm just doing fuck all
Doing as I please

Just got the Sunday papers
A forest full of news
Ones gotta keep upto date
To have some valid views

Got my iTunes spinning tunes
Got my tv on remote
I'm drinking so much coffee
My teeth may start to float

I'm not doing any housework
Not doing any chores
Ain't polishing my knickknacks
Ain't hoovering my floors

The washing up can wait a while
While I lie here on my back
I made my mind up recently
Today? I'll just be slack

Not gonna run no five miles
Not gonna hit the gym
Today my energy levels
Are set right down to dim

So pass the chocolate biscuits
Break out the carrot cake
When I hit that sugar coma
DO NOT prod me awake

It's way past Sunday morning
Still lounging on the couch
Just wile away the hours
I admit that I'm a slouch

Only eight more hours
It's slack, I know, I said
But hey just don't bug me
Cos soon I'm off to bed!

Journey

I'm sitting on the train again
Outside it's very grey
On my way to London
A businessman today

Yesterday I was daddy
To darling daughter girl
Eatin chips and fizzy pop
Sugar popcorn till we hurl

In the evening I was Rob
With daughters dizzy mum
Coffee n cakes and laughter
I think we we're having fun

Tomorrow I'll be worker bee
Lost in the mindless hive
Head stuck in my computer
Count the seconds till I leave

I really don't know who I am
And where I want to go
But it's not where you are going
But the journeys none stop show

Sometimes I might be static
Sometimes I might be lost
Sometimes I need a helping hand
To fix the fences crossed

With no handy map or compass
I'm going with the flow
Because on this mortal journey
You just never bloody know.

Where are the geeks?

I hate my job
I hate my desk
I hate my office
I need a rest

I hate my boss
I hate the place
I hate the smile
Across her face

I hate her words
I hate her tasks
I hate the people
Behind their masks

I hate the gossip
I hate the smarm
I hate the rules
I might self harm

I hate this pencil
I hate this pad
I hate that mouse
I might be mad

I hate my pc
I hate my phone
I hate my laptop
Don't leave me alone

I hate this morning
I hate the wait
I hate the supportdesk
The geeks are late

I hate my keyboard
I hate my water cup
I hate them mixing
My. Computers. Fucked. Up!

mademoiselle stalker

Im writing a poem for my stalker
I know she's reading this
Its probably gone past midnight
And shes probably a little bit pissed

Shes checked my dating profile
And gone to my staff page online
She been following me on twitter
As she sips sweet white wine

She got onto my facebook
Via a family friend
She notes down from my diary
Events i'm going to attend

My post its always being tampered
My parcels expertly unwrapped
Sometimes in my kitchen Im feeling
That Im just a little bit trapped

Changing my mobile number
Is not a solution for this bitch
Within the hour of changing numbers
Texts tell me its pointless to switch

My blog is not infallible
She knows Im live online
and if MSN is working
She can messenger me real time

No more a friendly 'Hi There'
No more a winking eye
Just jagged threating wordscapes
Telling me how I might die

Im in an electronic prison
Captured in a virtual hell
And my stalker, she knows, I know it
shes one twisted mademoiselle

Christmas Poem

Ho ho ho it's Christmas Eve
There's nothing on the tele
All that's left for me to do
Is contemplate my belly

I'm having Christmas Home alone
No festive fun for me
No tinsel baubles shiny bright
No poor sad dying tree

No turkey death on the plate
No turnip, spud or sprout
No Christmas pud in alcohol
No relatives to chuck right out

Oh I've got my loverly choc Brazils
And my mighty mincey pies
Ive got the cheese and biscuits
Not telling any lies

I don't believe that Jesus said
Go get yourself in debt
Force feed yourself with Turkey
To honour what my life beget

I'm not even Christian
But would much rather see
A Christmas that was spiritual
It's got to be the key

So let's think peace and happiness
And goodwill to all mankind
And make those wishes happen
I think that we will find

That the revolutionary message
That Jesus bought to us
Would make the world a better place
So to all and everyone I wish a Happy Christ-mas

Broke Down blues

Woke up this morning
My car it didn't start
So I rang up the garage
To quote me for the part

I got the broke down blues
The broke down blues
My car it wouldn't start
I gotta use ma shoes

Went down to the garage
It's all down the hill
I gotta get the car there
Don't worry bout no bill

Yeah got the broke down blues
The broke down blues
Gotta get ma motor running
The mechanic needs his dues

Well the man with the spanner
He say the engines shot
Not gonna get it running
And it's gonna cost a lot

I got the broke down blues
The broke down blues
Can't get to see ma baby
Ain't gonna get me no flooze

So listen hear now people
If you don't want to pay
Don't be getting your hot wheels
From an auction on eBay

Oh I got the break down blues
Yeah the break down blues
Got no wheels a turnin
Got the broke down blues

Revolting students

The students are revolting
We said this all along
But are facing big bad coppers
With a slogan and a song

They want an education
They don't want some hopeless debt
So they've taken to the streets
To face up to the Met

The students are revolting
Some barely in their teens
Are taking it to Parliament
They know what anger means

They face the armoured bully boys
To try to tell Nick Clegg
Now that you've all lied to us
We're gonna make you beg

The students are revolting
By dancing in the square
All they ask of parliament
Is to make the choices fair

These children of the nineties
Can only make you proud
As you stand there amongst them
That dedicated crowd

The students are revolting
They're just your kids and mine
Let's make sure they've got a future
So stand with them on the line

The students are revolting
I'm proud they made the stance
Let's sing their higher praises
And join them in the dance.

Winter from a train

GeoTagged, [N50.89934, E3.37280]

It's icy on the outside
The fields go flashing by
Dark skeletons of tree branch
Against the darkening sky

White fields of icy sculpture
The grass an icing froth
Sheep huddled gainst the hayrick
The lakes a solid broth

Ghostly shapes emerging
From the riming mist
Bushes sparkling brightly
Whitely blushing, frost kissed

Quilted horses blowing steam
Above the icy stream
Trains hot blasting
Through this winter dream

England in the winter
A monochromatic view
From my speeding window
On the train right back to you

Landrover

Hey ho had to sell the landrover. Slight waterleak but to much to repair for me. £400 plus. Too much to put in a vehicle that only cost me £420. But with the work I did I got £750 back!

Winter train poem

My feet are slightly frozen
My nose is going blue
I've got a wooly hat on
I hope you've got one too

Cos the train is bloody freezing
It's getting rather cold
No heating in the carriage
The excuses are rather old

Can't understand why Its not working
Other carriages are warm
But hey this is Great Britain
And Great Western have got form

So a sub standard service
For a mighty mighty price
So we all sit here freezing
My toes are blocks of ice

No free hot coffee or chocolate
No refund of monies paid
Just blind indifference always
That's how profits are made

The temperature is falling
The windows covered with rime
There only one thing left to do
Men, I might be gone some time....

And now some good landrover news.

So the good news today is that the disco went to my local garage for a cambelt change, plus a replacement fan belt and alternator belt. The quote was for about £300 - which was reasonable a friend told me she was charged over £600 at a local garage.

But when I picked up the disco the bill came to )230 - result!

Well done Mark and team at Malborough Garage St. Levens Rd. Plymouth. I've used em for the last 5 years and they have never let me down. 5 stars from me.

Beware the Cowboy - a lesson learnt

More electrical drama with the disco.

So Jason fixed my land rover by sorting out the electrics for me and charging me £100 for the pleasure and looking under the bonnet it seemed like he had done a good job. All the wires were nice and tidy and of course it was going so I could drive it again.

Unfortunately I was struck down with a kidney stone and didn't get to drive the disco until last friday when I had to go up to the Hospital to pick up some medicine. On my way home I noticed that I seemed to be driving in a cloud of smoke. I soon realised that I was creating the smoke and yes once again it was coming from under the bonnet!

I stopped opened the bonnet and quickly noticed that I had a fire in my engine bay - yikes - panic!

So I swiftly ripped off my tshirt to put the fire out before it got out of hand (note to self - buy a fire extinguisher - quick)

Burnt tshirt

The cause of the fire was the shoddy workmanship of Jason the 'auto electrician' that had routed the cable over the exhaust manifold. - What a dickhead!

Here you can see what I failed to see

And this was the consequence

Jason, the professional that he is, once having been told about the fire and the damage, refused to answer any more of my calls or txts asking him to come and fix the damage cause by his stupidity. And I did ask him politely and I wasn't angry - despite the fact he could have killed me and my dog and burnt my disco to a cinder.

So fortunately I guy I know a bit is an ex military auto sparks and he did the job for me last night.

So the disco is back on the road and is booked in for the casmbelt change tomorrow.

Lets hope the dramas ease off for a while.

Costs so far:

Alternator £55
Battery £80 ish will dig out receipt when I have a minute
Electrics £100
Repair burnt electrics £30

Electricity clean simplicity!

No this isn't some sort of Modern Art this is the burnt wiring that caused my Disco panic last week when clouds of smoke poured out of my dashboard.

These are the wires that caused it. Not much plastic insulation left on them - most of it has melted.

Caused according to the sparks that sorted it by wires rubbing against stuff in the engine compartment and finally shorting out causing said plumes of smoke and stalling engine.

He also said if the circuit was a continuous one ie on all the time I would basically have been left with a pile of smoldering aluminum. As fire would have been a certainty.

That and the loads of seemingly diy wiring in the engine compartment. Now, of course, nicely squared away and shipshape like what they should be.

I'll take a picture when I can and post it.

So rolling total of spend on the disco

Alternator £55
Battery £80 ish will dig out receipt when I have a minute
Electrics £100.

Happy motoring!

Well who'd a thought it....

I've still got my Landrover!

For better or worse I guess. The story is this. Obviously the landrover was on ebay the last time I wrote and that was because it had an electrical fault. And the last time I wrote I was in the thrall of the ebay auction - should I take cash offers, should I let the auction run?

The bidding was creeping up and I was hopeful of getting a good sale what with 24 people watching the auction and well over 500 actually having a look at the page.

But DRAMA!

At the 20th hour, the auto electrician that had come on Saturday at the behest of a mate to give my Disco the once over txted me and asked me to call him.

So I did.

Turned out his mate had bought something else so was no longer interested in my Disco (remember they had bid £500 cash on Saturday - but I had decided to let the auction run) so he could come and fix the vehicle for about £100.

Result I thought.

So I took him up on his offer and closed down the auction. This morning I left the keys at a local garage (the one I usually use by coincidence - the electrician is a mate of the owner) and before lunch I had a call that my disco was fixed - all the electrics tidied up and bingo I'm back in business.

That I am pleased is a bit of an understatement.

The End Game

So the Land Rovers on eBay and we're entering the end game. There's 1 day 14 hours left as I write 21 people are watching the auction and someone has started the bidding at £400.

BUT I've had some one come and look at it for a mate. He was an auto electrician and he had a good poke around. Did some jiggery pokery with a wire and we started the engine. And even with the little I know it's a good engine. Only done 100k.

So his mate rang up later and offered £500! Someone else has emailed and tried the old well it's fucked I'll give you £400/450 for it. Well someone had already bid the £400 for it on eBay - duh!

So what to do? My instinct is to let the auction run and see where it goes. If I only get my £400 back - well it's a lesson to be learned.

I'd hope to break even ie get what I paid and the alternator and battery back.

Best case - make a little profit.

But we'll see.

Landrover disaster

Oh no! So I've put the new Alternator on. The got the battery tested. Need new battery. So put the new battery on. Drive off.

What's this the oil light is on. So check oil - that's ok. Hmm wonder what that is?

Get home. Sit outside with the engine running thinking about the oil light when the engine stalls and lots of smoke comes out of the dashboard.

Oh no - fire! What's that? Panic

No fire. But the disco don't start. :-(

I don't think I've got the ability to sort that and I think it could be expensive.

So the new Landrover Project is now back on eBay.

Sigh

:-(

The return of the Alternator 2

So here's the disco ready for the minor surgery I was preparing to perform on her on Bank Holiday Monday the traditional day for tinkering around with the house or the car.

I had all the spanners laid out and my latex gloves on. First it took pictures of all the important bits

Which I will add here

Then proceeded to remove said Alternator. This is pretty easy procedure although the nuts are a bit fiddly to get to with normal spanners even with a ring end. I need to invest in a set of sockets. (I did have one can't think where they have gone)

One I had taken all the fittings off the alternator still was attached by the wiring. So I took a pic of that too

So then disconnected the electrics and fitted them to the new alternator. Together with two black boxy things that were not on the new alternator but I guessed they should be.

Getting the alternator back on was pretty straight forward.

The whole thing took me about 1hr 20 minutes

The disco started - which was suprising as I thought the battery was down BUT it didn't seem to be charging (I've got a extraneous battery charge gauge on the dash)

Took it up the local quik fit andctheyvtold me the battery wasn't charging and the alternator was only putting out 11 volts. I'm guessing the belt was still a bit loose

So I got it home and tightened the belt BUT despite me topping up the water in the battery it hadn't enough charge to start the motor.

So the story stalls here until I swop the battery from my Rover 416 to see if I have cured the alternator problem but have got a duff battery !

The ALTERNATOR 2

GeoTagged, [N50.37694, E4.14095]

So this is the new Alternator for my Land Rover Discovery 200tdi bought from my local Alternator and starter motor shop. It cost £55 brand new unused.

So the Alternators from the carbreakers online cost £40 plus carriage. With a 90 day warranty. So that's gotta cost about 50 quid or more with the carriage.

So why buy a scrapper when you can buy new for about the same price.

So I went into Halfords in Plymouth City Centre to buy a new belt for the alternator. But left after a few minutes figuring that if the guy on the till cannot workout how to use the till to find the correct belt any advice or help I was going to get would be suspect. And this isn't a new till guy. He's been there a long time but the till was still beating him. Then in the middle of serving me he started to help someone else.

So I'm going to a proper motor factors place with proper grease monkeys on the till

Now I want to fit the Alternator I'll take pictures and post them here

OOOppps I just bought a Landrover Discovery 200tdi

Yes I did, I did it I bought a Landrover Discovery 200tdi with my own money, nobody forced me. I just blooming well did it!

Why you ask?

I did it because I was pining for my old land rover like a Norwegian blue pines for the fiord's. And it was a cheap bargain O'Bargain.

A picture will be posted later of course, because at the moment all I have is a picture of the Alternator.

O well if you do really want to see the Land Rover part by part here's the alternator.




But it will not be The Alternator for much longer because The Alternator 2 will be coming to a Land Rover near you soon. So enjoy while you can.

Tomorrow - the new Shock Absorbers, they're green and they are MEAN!

Yes I bought a Landrover Discovery 200tdi J reg (1991) the last Disco I had had to be sold to finance the D.I.V.O.R.C.E. and to keep the solicitors in Porches and Ferrari's for doing next to no work. (And nice work if you can get it I might add - much better than having an 'ology like me(

And it was cheap. £400! with tax, mot and off road wheels and tyres extra as well as the full set (5) of alloys. Diesels not smoky and runs great, leather seats. The inside trim is a bit ropey and mucked about with, the indicator indicator(?) is not working, but other things seem to be.

Its been lifted 2 inches and has front front protection things on it an all.

Of course the Alternator needs replacing but still that's only £55 new from the local Alternator shop.

So here start the adventures of Dr. Rob and his Red Land Rover.

Oh and I bought some trim wipes in the pound shop too.....(£1)

Mouthwash

57 Channels and there ain't nothing on

Stonehouse Plymouth

I bought a bourgeois house in the Hollywood hills
With a trunkload of hundred thousand dollar bills
Man came by to hook up my cable TV
We settled in for the night my baby and me
We switched 'round and 'round 'til half-past downT
There was fifty-seven channels and notin' on (Springsteen)

Revolution Baby - Whatever happened to the Heroes?

You say you want a revolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that it's evolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world

But

As soon as you’re born they make you feel small,
By giving you no time instead of it all,
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all,
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules,
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years,
Then they expect you to pick a career,
When you can't really function you're so full of fear,
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV,
And you think you're so clever and classless and free,
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see.

Words and lyrics by the Beatles/John Lennon over 30 years ago. But given the economic crisis we find ourselves in why aren’t people taking to the streets. Where have all the revolutionaries gone?

Whatever happened to Leon Trotsky?
He got an ice pick that made his ears burn
Whatever happened to the heroes?
Whatever happened to the heroes?

Che (photo taken March 4th 1954 (my birthday!) by Korda)

The economy is down the toilet, we are in recession, the gap between richer and poor has widened and is widening rapidly, The banks have collapsed but the bankers are paying themselves huge bonuses while some people live on less than one dollar a day. Petrol prices are going up. Our politicians of all colours and in most countries seem to be bent, crooked, sex fiends, Nazis, Fascists and downright loony’s. We're fighting wars in the Middle East against what seem to be Medieval warlords and warriors with AK47's and an endless supply of IED's and we're losing. And who gives a fuck except the oil barons and the warlords who will taken any money off anyone and in the meantime we, you and I are paying for it. Plus the State is using all of this to tighten its grips on us at home in the name of security against terrorism. Hmmm, 20 years ago when the IRA were successfully exploding bombs all over the place as and when they wanted to I can't remember being stopped from taking photographs in London and other places because of 'national security'. And I guess even this blog might be picked up by some secret eavesdropping tool and my name get put on a list for even raising the subject.



The Stranglers (above) are right to ask where are all our heroes? Where are the soapbox revolutionaries like Lenin and Trotsky, the unnamed trade union, leaders of the close past that roared and fought for workers rights, people like the Tolpuddle Martyrs who were sent to Australia for the crime of 'association'.

Why is no one complaining about the state of affairs we find ourselves in? Is it because as David Bowie sings: The workers have struck for fame, 'cause Lennon's (or Lenin take yer pick) on sale again.". Is that a fortunate look into the future - to our reality where people are doped with religion and sex and TV (lets add the internet here also) and everyone thinks they are going to be famous and win the lottery or win the X Factor or Britain’s Got Talent (has it?) because its 'their life' - 'their dream'. So we don’t really care that the worlds down the tubes and we are still getting exploited and downtrodden whilst the fat cat Bourgeoisie bankers salt it away as long as some fat bird can hit a high note or a celebrity can dance?

Once upon a time I would have happily simply seen the Monarchy dissembled Let HM go and live on a nice estate somewhere and let’s use all that money for something else. I wouldn't want to go as far as the revolutionary Comrades did in Russia. And do away with the Monarchy. (and before you complain lets get this straight the revolution in the soviet union was a middle class revolution - it was not a Marxist revolution - there was not an industrial proletariat which is what Marx argues was needed for a revolution - that’s why we needed a 1st World War to stop the proletariat rising let them massacre each other in the fields of France - and by the way, Lenin’s Bolsheviks were a bunch of middle class academics as was Lenin himself ) Anyway where was I , yes lets not send the Monarchy to the guillotine they deserve to understand what its like to live on a council estate and eat £1 ready meals from Iceland.

As a political class we HAVE been emasculated, even the very act of voting and the electoral process has become a farce - just look at the way our politicians preen themselves and try to present themselves - not a single useful thought or policy amongst them . And I’m sorry to hark back to past thinkers but Lenin (or was it Marx) was right in telling us that democracy and voting is worthless, political parities simply vie to manage capitalism - they only offer us a different way to manage the same thing - Capitalism. And over a hundred years ago Marx told us that Capitalism was going to collapse under its own momentum - and it is. Marx must be rolling in his grave laughing his ass off as he watches the US becoming bankrupt - all the Western States are bankrupt - the whole system is based upon a house of worthless promises we call cash - we've seen it happen just in the last 12 months - its a House of Cards - worthless. Paper and promises that are worth nothing once confidence is lost. Notice not cold hard cash or gold, no confidence in whatever it is we call the economy or even those sheets of paper that tell us are worth five or ten pounds, if we lose confidence in the promise then we are lost and will go the way of Zimbabwe and its currency (and don't tell me the Mugabe is in any sense following a Marxist model - purleese)

I'm not even advocating a Marxist revolution by the way (Special Branch please note as this is important). What I am wondering is why o why is nobody shouting this from the streets, a hundred years ago we would have had riots in the streets about MP's expenses. Lynch mobs would have been out - the strongest critique of all these idiocies seems to be Steve Bell cartoons in the Guardian. And the 'disgraced' MP's probably will buy the original to hang in their homes , paid for, painted, moated, duck islanded, lightbulbed, protected, window cleaned, used as love nests by us - yes us - our money is simply being used (as always ) by this political middle class/aristocracy and NO ONE IS DOING ANYTHING ABOUT IT.

Is it really this?
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV,
And you think you're so clever and classless and free,
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see,

That we are so fucking comfortable in our MDS settees drinking Stella wife beater watching our 46 inch Samsung surround sound TV's that churns out tat like Eastenders, Coronation St, X Factor , Britain’s Got Talent ect eating delivery pizzas so that we can't be arsed to drag our fat asses out to the barricades and shout about the state of things.

If this is it. If this is the End of History - then I want out.

Making you aware of the state of things
A little introduction to the state of things
I'm making to sing about the state of things
They never taught you at school about the state of things
I'm telling you straight about the state of things
1-9-8-4 state of things
Cuts me wide open, the state of things
I am the reverend, I'll tell you about the state of things (Thank you Reverend and the Makers)

It takes a revolution to make a solution;

Too much confusion so much frustration, eh!

I don't wanna live in the park

Can't trust no shadows after dark
So, my friend, I wish that you could see,

Like a bird in the tree, te prisoners must be free,
Never make a politician grant you a favour;

They will always want to control you forever, eh!(forever, forever)
Thank you Mr Bob Marley

Happy Birthday Snook Doggy Dog

Happy Birthday Snooky. 2 today!

Tis the eve of my birthday.

Tis the eve of my birthday
And I'm lieing in my bed
If the year was really 1710
I'd probably now be dead

But now we Live forever
A hundred years or more
I've only got some 44
It sounds a wretched bore

So I'm now not even middle aged
Just over blooming youth
Tell that to my aching knees
And this niggling bitchy tooth

Tell that to the ladies
Or should I call them women
No all us hearty single men
Are obssesed with looks and slimming

Am I really all that bothered
Should I really give a shit
As I wait here for my birthday
I suppose a little bit

But this birthday time I'm single
Got no one in my bed
I tell you what I think I'll do
Is paint the bloody town red!

Happy birthday me!

Trees on the campus of University of Plymouth

To the trains

On the train poem

I didn't rite a poem
I thought that you were bored
But now that you want one
How my heart has soared

Shall I rite about the train
And of my little trip
Or shall I be all arty
And rite something really hip

Or maybe just a love poem
But valentines has gone
Let's see how many to rite to
Er yes oh right just none

So I rite a rustic poem
About the country fair
As it flashes by the window
Look there and there and there

I'll rite about the cows and sheep
And all that rustic stuff
And rabbits in the greeny fields
Little grey balls of fluff

I bet with all this riting
You really are quite bored
But really rustic poems
I'm not a poetic fraud.

Sent from my iPhone

Train poem - en route to London

Oh I've seen some little piggies
Wallowing in the mud
Did you really know
They make sausages from their blood

Now a few more horsies
And a farm just by a lake
And some trees and grass and stuff
And a wigwam goodness sake

It's all very exciting
The journey on a train
There's a browny river
By a little country lane

And now a barn in a field
And haybails on the grass
A great big stoney chimney
On the left as we pass

And then a little cottage
Flying past so very fast
And then a lovely Norman church
Reminders of our past

A White van making deliveries
Then a wooden style
Over a wooded footpath
That meanders on for miles

So this is what I'm seeing
On the outside of my train
The beauty that is England
In the pouring rain

Sent from my iPhone

Train poem 1 - on the train

I'm sitting by the toilet
I can even hear it flush
It's also a bit pongy
Of that bluey chemical slush

I might just eat my apple
And my can of pepsi coke
I'll be very very careful
In case I start to choke

The countryside is beautiful
I've seen a sewage farm
And horses in their coaties
Doing no one any harm

I've seen lots and lots of cowies
Standing around and farting
It's really them I blame
For all this global warming

I really should be eating them
To teach them a big lesson
But then I have to shoot em
With my great big Smith n Wesson. ( difficult rhyme there)

So there's another poem
I hope it brings you joy
And I'd better get a txt back saying
Brilliant brilliant boy!
X

Sent from my iPhone

Who has made the decision that we are all STUPID? SpecSavers?

Who has made the decision that we are all STUPID?


Ok so I have taken all the advice and I did go to SpecSavers (that my employers divies up some cash for my computer specs is nether here nor there)

But who has given the order that every customer must be treated like an imbecile or is it the fear of litigation that makes them spell out every little thing as if I have never worn glasses ever in my whole life? (I am 56 and have worn glasses since I was about 8 - so I have some experience)

First I'm told that I need varifocals (well they've been telling me this for years but I have resisted mainly on the grounds of pure vanity). So OK vanity is for Chavs and teenagers so I go with the suggestion of varifocals. But its not simple is it. First I have to have a demonstration. Hang on I gasp, a demonstration of what - of how to look through glasses apparently.

I tell the young lady that no demonstration is necessary just lets order the lenses and get on with in. No, Im told its procedure, she has to go through with the demonstration. I relent a little bit - she puts some plastic abominations on my face and asks me to look around. I do. Well? She says. Well what? I say. Any problems? She says. I say, no Ive been looking through glasses for nearly 50 years and have managed quite well without any training - please can we get on to purchasing the glasses. No, the demonstration isn't finished. I remonstrate and get the manager.

The manager takes me through a short explanation of varifocals which finishes with the advice that the varifocal lenses will cost another £150 over and above the £140 Im paying for the frames (BoGof)- Ah ha - thus the need for the 'demonstration' its to lead you to the finale and the payoff - another £150 in their pockets.

I refuse and get what I wanted in the first place. Two pairs of distance glasses one tinted for the sun and one pair for my computer vision. Sorted.

So today, I am back at SpecSavers. For my fitting. They have lost my glasses. The woman spends ages faffing around looking in drawers, telephoning people up (remember I am meant to be in work) until another woman opens the same drawer and finds the three pairs straight away - Oh how we laffed!

Then I'm fitted. This is what the consultant optician told me (and he gave me a leaflet)

1. Clean lenses with the appropriate Specsavers cleaning spray and micro-fibre cloth. He added don't use pullovers, shirts, handkerchiefs and so on. Obviously the advice of a man who has never worn glasses in his life! No, pants are softer - but not women's knickers because they have crinkly lace all over them - socks are good to btw.

2. Avoid putting your glasses face down on any surface - this is advice always followed to the letter for oh at least two days with new glasses - then who cares - get in to bed take them off sling them onto the bedside table, floor anywhere as long as you can reach them in the morning with out having to look. Why? Cos most of us are verging on being nearly blind and having to search for your glasses on a cold morning in ones underpants is not pretty.

3. Use both hands to remove your glasses to prevent undue stress on one side of frame. eh? Its often been the case when I have been in a romantic clinch that warming up very nicely that I have had to stop the proceeding's to remove my glasses with both hands (thus having to remove them (my hands) from some very warm and naughty parts btw) and then find a safe place to put my glasses remembering of course to avoid putting them face down.

4. Keep your glasses in the case provided whenever you are not wearing them. This will further reduce the possibility of scratching, protect them against breakage and will help maintain a comfortable fit - Duh. I've tried wearing them whilst they are in the case, but this has ended up with me scratching myself and breaking my nose from walking into things because I COULD NOT SEE. And who wants to carry around three boxes, Ive got my distance glasses, my computer glasses and my sun glasses. And anyway that's what the top of your head is for - to perch your other glasses on. Then all you have to do is to give them a wipe to remove the hair wax with the sleeve of your pullover or the leg of your pants or a table napkin what evers easiest - because usually I haven't bought or ever owned any SpecSaver cleaning spray and I lose the free micro-fibre cloth after about three days.

5. Avoid leaving your glasses in extreme temperatures. I never leave them in the oven - they flavour the pies - but I am worried about the four eyed brethren amongst the intrepid Antarctic expedition, what do they do? - or do their glasses fall apart at -30? Perhaps they just leave them in the box.

Yes being speccy was once a sign of being swotty and intelligent whats happened?