Eulogy To A Van

My husband’s van has died. It is deceased and this has been verified by two able body-specialists whose independent prognoses were, ‘It’s f*****!’

Apparently, the engine runs beautifully, the workings under the bonnet are a joy to behold and the silver exterior is looking pretty neat.

Underneath, however, is a whole other story. Very important parts that I know little about, called suspension and springs, are rusted to buggery, and this makes the vehicle beyond economical repair.

Today, it will find a new home in a scrap yard where some willing and knowledgeable entrepreneur will disassemble all valuable components and sell them off for profit before crushing the carcass of this once fine van.

It has served as an able work horse, transporting all sorts of equipment about to many locations, thereby enabling my husband to replenish our ever-revolving bank account.

It has conveyed vast quantities of camping equipment to strangely wonderful places while I have followed, knuckles gripping whitely on steering wheel negotiating new roads. Once there, people have looked on in wonder where the emptying of said van has rivalled the contents and spectacle of Mary Poppins’ carpet bag.

The demise of this van will have far-reaching consequences. Children, in my neck of the woods, may soon be observed running for the hills and screaming as they realise that the money tree may have to be severely pruned.

They will, of course, accept this with their usual aplomb, recognising that a roof over their heads and food on the table are infinitely better than cinema and treats. It may take a while for the process of grief to move through its many stages. But, it will come.

Meanwhile, my grief for this dear friend and invaluable source of income will extend to coming up with such culinary delights as beans on toast and egg on bread.

Alas, poor van, it is no more. My husband is removing all personal effects and will return shortly with a sum of money from the scrappy to be lodged in said voracious bank account while it speculates where future deposits will come from.




Quasars, Black Holes and Worm Holes

There is a black hole in my house. I am not entirely sure, but, I think it is under the dressing table in my room. It must have many worm holes connected (if that’s what they do).

No matter where I leave something, it usually ends up under my dressing table or appears in one of the connected holes.

‘Under’ is favoured highly for location. Many scientists may not know this. They have been looking ‘up’ for years, to detect this phenomenon.

Under is a better place to look. Under chairs, under tables, even under fridges and cookers and other major household appliances.

I am carrying out further investigative work on this matter, called hoovering and mopping.

I will keep you informed of any further developments. I have, for example, noticed on one or two occasions, where the hole has appeared ‘on top of’.

This is a new and worrying trend and I am trepidatiously venturing off to explore and see what can be discovered under and on top of.

If I do not post again, you will know where I have gone.

A Good Man,……

……they say, is hard to find.

This is most probably because women have an unfortunate habit of looking under stones and in crevices to find them. Understandably, these women imagine that the natural habitat for a man must be with other spineless organisms or insects.

Sometimes, in fact, these women will succeed in finding one of the male species hidden among the debris. Should this happen to you, you have several options.

1)   Stand on it.

2)   Put the stone back into position – firmly.

3)   Run away – screaming.

4)   Wrap it up in a tissue and flush it down the toilet with the rest of the crap and the goldfish whose concentration span exceeded one of these low-life.

NOW. To my initial point.

A good man is not always so difficult to find. Searching in the wrong places greatly reduces your chances of finding one, however. So, avoid all locations where night crawlers dwell.

Certain characteristics mark out a good man from the other type.

Not all characteristics will appeal to all women.

But, many women – amazing women – have come to recognise valuable traits in a good man.


He is kind – Not, necessarily, with money, although miserable bastards are to be avoided. No, his kindness will be manifest in his dealings with others and with you. This may easily be observed. If you need me to point this out, you do have a problem with being attracted to leeches.


He is considerate – He may not remove your stilettos and massage your weary feet, but, a cup of tea and a choccy biccy show some measure of consideration worthy of a second glance.


He is generous – Again, not necessarily, in the fiscal department (but do remember that earlier warning). He will, at least, ensure that your orgasm happens before or simultaneously with his. After is not really an option, unless well…..just unless.


He is hospitable – Glaring at your friends and muttering , ‘oh, fuck, not again,’ when your family calls are not signs readily equated with hospitable. A cup of tea and that choccy biccy will go some way towards demonstrating hospitality to your family/friends before kindly helping them on with their coats.


He is humorous –Laughing at you does not bloody count. OK? Big thundering grunts and guffaws are a bit of a turn-off too. The ability to amuse and be amused with a suitably demonstrative manly laugh will more than suffice.


He is handy – This may be interpreted in many ways.

a)   Ability to massage – a definite plus.

b)   Knowing which side of a screwdriver is up – another plus.

c)   Recognising that he has fingers on his hands – yup, yup, yup.

d)   Living locally helps.


He is patient – not so’s you can walk all over him but enough that he doesn’t start a foul-mouthed rant because you’re taking too long to get ready.


There may be some others I’ve forgotten.


Oh, yeah, loving, passionate, attentive, intelligent, good with kids……


What he should not be.

1)   A psychopath (this works equally for women).

2)   A bastard         (   ditto     ).

3)   A complete tool.

4)   Lazy.

5)   Slobby.

6)   Ideally, he will not dress up in your clothes unless this works for you.


So, not too hard to find a good man at all then, eh?

Happy hunting.


So. There’s an amazing woman out there. And it’s not me. But, being one myself, I can recognise a kindred spirit.

Her amazingness is similar to mine in many ways. And, also, quite dissimilar.

All the amazing women I know are like that, strangely enough.

There are characteristics in amazing women that anyone with eyes might observe.

An aura of amazingness radiates, nimbus-fashion around their head and sometimes around their whole being.

They appear to be lit up from inside, sending fingers of light beaming from their pores.

Not everyone can see this. That’s a bit of a shame.

It means that many amazing women are out there glistening like sun on water and being overlooked by those who constantly stumble through life wearing sun-shades.

While those sporting light-diminishing wear think this makes them look cool, it, actually, only succeeds in obliterating opportunities for them to encounter and recognise amazing women.

There are amazing women with strength and courage to rival Samson and David; women whose determination to go on, despite life’s experiences, grants them entry to the Sisterhood of Amazing.

There are children who constantly look upon amazing women and call them by that widely-acknowledged synonym for amazing – Mum.

There are fathers out there who look with love upon their amazing daughters and wonder if there will ever be a man worthy to gaze upon her let alone court such symbols of amazingness.

Some brothers even recognise the amazing characters known as sisters. It is unusual but it happens.

Many sisters gaze lovingly in amazement at the amazing splendidness of their own sisters. This one can take time to grow.

Friends, everywhere, are looking at each other in awe at the amazing properties inherent in the natures of their amazing friends.

Not all women are amazing. Some of them are dead. Then they’re saints. Which is pretty amazing too, I suppose.


Just removed the tongue from my cheek. Ouch!

I know. There are some real biatches too!

I may do a post on how to avoid said women.

A Woman’s Work……..

Is done. At least, as much as I’m doing. I gave in and recognised that the kitchen floor had reached epic proportions of clattiness. It is now beautiful – ish.

Several other chores have been done with my usual enthusiasm for all things pertaining to housework.

I can now return to blogging and writing with an easy mind.

If truth be told, I have paused the hoover, dropped the mop, removed the rubber gloves and penned a couple of posts in between.

I can’t help it.

I don’t know what’s happening. Everything I think and feel and do is popping into my head already phrased and full-stopped.

So, I’m going with the flow.

I will, of course, attempt to ensure that our house does not fall into a state of muck and mire.

With kiddies now more independent and lots of free days courtesy of a teacher’s summer holidays (I know, see,, I have more time on my hands than maybe even WordPress can cope with.

But, hey ho, it’s off to work I will go in a couple of weeks so I daresay the stream will dry up.

I hope not. But, in the meantime, I’m making hay while the sun shines – with intermittent rain and occasional thunder.

To paraphrase the lyrics of Bryan Ferry. ‘It’s my blog and I can post if I want to, post if I want to, dum dum de dum de de de de de dum.’

Now to post. And post. And………