Just a note from me (and the dog) to thank all those who have sent good wishes since the car accident. As has been previously established the dog remained intact and unharmed throughout the ordeal, but would like to personally thank all the doctors,medical staff, insurance call centre operators, Policemen, and assorted supporting cast of wellwishers who after hearing the gory details of my hit and run experience immediately asked after his welfare
For the final time ..........
the bloody dog is FINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! its me thats not
Monday 16 August 2010
Wednesday 21 July 2010
Commercial Break
Friday 30th July 2010
If you follow this blog, along with having been blessed with impeccable taste, you will be aware that a collection of misfortunes have been visited on me in recent weeks.
To generate some cashflow, and associated happiness in the Bank/client relationship I have decided to have a Summer Sale evening on Friday 30th July 2010 where we will be offering artwork from our own stock at discounts of up to 50% off. If you are interested in picking up an art bargain including Traditional to Contemporary originals and signed limited edition prints, make sure you are at the Gallery between 6pm and 8pm
See www.galleryinthesquare.net for directions, location etc. Please come and buy, its for a good cause.........
Me!
If you follow this blog, along with having been blessed with impeccable taste, you will be aware that a collection of misfortunes have been visited on me in recent weeks.
To generate some cashflow, and associated happiness in the Bank/client relationship I have decided to have a Summer Sale evening on Friday 30th July 2010 where we will be offering artwork from our own stock at discounts of up to 50% off. If you are interested in picking up an art bargain including Traditional to Contemporary originals and signed limited edition prints, make sure you are at the Gallery between 6pm and 8pm
See www.galleryinthesquare.net for directions, location etc. Please come and buy, its for a good cause.........
Me!
Hows the Dog?
Like one of those Saturday morning cinema dramas, I cunningly left you with a real eastenders duff duff duff duff moment, keeping you on the edge of your seats - you probably havnt slept, your nails are down to the quick and you have probably been so preoccupied that you havnt even given Kerry Katonas new romantic tryst another thought.
I was hit by a car!
I know what you are thinking.
Having been hit by said car and dragging myself to the nearest house, the occupant I woke with my persistant banging asked the question.
The nurse that triaged me asked the question. The rather too polite Indian Doctor who examined my xrays asked the question, even the porter who wheeled me around asked the question. My Mother asked the question, the Policeman who took down the details and told me that it was officially an incident and not a crime, asked the question. I havnt told the man who cleans our wheelie bin, but I would lay money on the fact that having heard my story he would also ask the question...............
Hows the Dog?
Well hes fine. Obviously hes not being hampered by his arm being in a sling, or his foot being in a cast, or his body being black and blue, or his every move causing pain and unreasonable discomfort, but hes absolutely fine...............thanks for asking!
By the way, if you were driving a small black car at 7am on Thursday 15th July in the lane around my house, and you want to confess to hitting me, please feel free.
I was hit by a car!
I know what you are thinking.
Having been hit by said car and dragging myself to the nearest house, the occupant I woke with my persistant banging asked the question.
The nurse that triaged me asked the question. The rather too polite Indian Doctor who examined my xrays asked the question, even the porter who wheeled me around asked the question. My Mother asked the question, the Policeman who took down the details and told me that it was officially an incident and not a crime, asked the question. I havnt told the man who cleans our wheelie bin, but I would lay money on the fact that having heard my story he would also ask the question...............
Hows the Dog?
Well hes fine. Obviously hes not being hampered by his arm being in a sling, or his foot being in a cast, or his body being black and blue, or his every move causing pain and unreasonable discomfort, but hes absolutely fine...............thanks for asking!
By the way, if you were driving a small black car at 7am on Thursday 15th July in the lane around my house, and you want to confess to hitting me, please feel free.
Monday 19 July 2010
Where theres blaim theres a claim
Firstly following my last post I was mildly rebuked by JonnyB for describing him as ruddy faced, apparently whilst there is no doubting that he has a face it is apparently devoid of ruddiness.
A seemingly unbelievable course of events have conspired this week to test my resolve on the theories of Karma. They are so unbelievable that I feel more like a writer of fiction than that of a blog, and it is probably going to end up sounding like one of those stories that newspapers run when there is no real news "hilarious insurance claims!", or like a synopsis of the next three episodes of "My Family"
I booked a holiday for myself and my two daughters to sunnier climes (so far ,so good). A week out i develop an abcess in my gum and aquire a large area of swelling to one side of my face - I am half man half Hamster, cue much attempts at hilarity at the engagement party we had rsvpd
to attend.
Then came the death of the family rabbit, too gruesome too detail in a family blog, but suffice to say it was enough to cause a damper on the excitement of the upcoming holiday. But we are made of sterner stuff, we can suffer rogue dental inflictions with stoicism, we can face bereavement with Churchillian spirit. So the day of the holiday arrives.........
I walk the dog, and get hit by a car!
A seemingly unbelievable course of events have conspired this week to test my resolve on the theories of Karma. They are so unbelievable that I feel more like a writer of fiction than that of a blog, and it is probably going to end up sounding like one of those stories that newspapers run when there is no real news "hilarious insurance claims!", or like a synopsis of the next three episodes of "My Family"
I booked a holiday for myself and my two daughters to sunnier climes (so far ,so good). A week out i develop an abcess in my gum and aquire a large area of swelling to one side of my face - I am half man half Hamster, cue much attempts at hilarity at the engagement party we had rsvpd
to attend.
Then came the death of the family rabbit, too gruesome too detail in a family blog, but suffice to say it was enough to cause a damper on the excitement of the upcoming holiday. But we are made of sterner stuff, we can suffer rogue dental inflictions with stoicism, we can face bereavement with Churchillian spirit. So the day of the holiday arrives.........
I walk the dog, and get hit by a car!
Wednesday 30 June 2010
Sex and Bowls
I have long been an admirer of privatesecretdiary.com, a little bit like Bridget Jones, if Bridget Jones was a ruddy faced Norfolk man who specialised in bowls, pool and the keeping of chickens, not to mention the keeping one step ahead of the LTLP. I have marvelled at his passion for bowls and long wondered about the day when oldness would creep up on me and cosh me with a sensible jumper. I am still a boy, and bowls strikes me as the sort of pastime that your only suited to once the mid life crisis has come along and knocked you about a bit.
However, this good weather has allowed me to sit out in the Beer Garden of the village pub, which previously, in the bad weather, was solely the domain of the desperate smoker that once made the great British pub great (allegedly). It is here that I have come across petanque, a hybrid of the great crown green tradition and the game that is always being played behind Judith Chalmers when shes extolling the virtues of some hidden jewel in Provence. Here an assorted collection of varying shaped men resplendant in ill fitting Welsh Rugby shirts can be witnessed chucking small silver balls up and down a gravel pit, while providing an increasingly louder commentary on their prowess to the onlooking crowd of three (and a dog)
They are one short - they invite me to join. I think I will wait for Judith Chalmers to arrive!
However, this good weather has allowed me to sit out in the Beer Garden of the village pub, which previously, in the bad weather, was solely the domain of the desperate smoker that once made the great British pub great (allegedly). It is here that I have come across petanque, a hybrid of the great crown green tradition and the game that is always being played behind Judith Chalmers when shes extolling the virtues of some hidden jewel in Provence. Here an assorted collection of varying shaped men resplendant in ill fitting Welsh Rugby shirts can be witnessed chucking small silver balls up and down a gravel pit, while providing an increasingly louder commentary on their prowess to the onlooking crowd of three (and a dog)
They are one short - they invite me to join. I think I will wait for Judith Chalmers to arrive!
Tuesday 29 June 2010
Did you miss me?.....anybody?
My blog posts are now entering the parallel universe inhabited by major sporting events i.e. every two years. This has not been by design, I have no plan to conquer cyberspace by leaving irreverant, or possible irrellevant messages on this blog every four years, reminded to do so by the four yearly under achievement of our national team at the World Cup.
I blame Gordon Brown and the Dog, no not for our elimination in the last sixteen, but for my failure to engage properly with this blogging business. I thought self employment meant earning money for yourself, keeping it out of sight of the taxman, buying a caravan in Tenby, or if you were really good at it an impractically small studio apartment in Fuengerolla. I have been conned. It appears that I have been working for Mr Brown, single handedly supporting the NHS, MPs expenses and our annual humanitarian aid hand outs to struggling overseas nations like the Isle of Wight. This toil has left me bereft of good humour, money and probably self respect, in short, the Dog has risen above me in the pecking order at Chez-nous, and its time to fiight back.
Whilst I have been barren in the blogging stakes I have been treating the Dog on our morning walk to a full discourse of what is going wrong in my life, the sad, the lighthearted ,the pithy and the pissy and I am beginning to believe that he has created his own blog for which a book deal must be on the horizon.
I blame Gordon Brown and the Dog, no not for our elimination in the last sixteen, but for my failure to engage properly with this blogging business. I thought self employment meant earning money for yourself, keeping it out of sight of the taxman, buying a caravan in Tenby, or if you were really good at it an impractically small studio apartment in Fuengerolla. I have been conned. It appears that I have been working for Mr Brown, single handedly supporting the NHS, MPs expenses and our annual humanitarian aid hand outs to struggling overseas nations like the Isle of Wight. This toil has left me bereft of good humour, money and probably self respect, in short, the Dog has risen above me in the pecking order at Chez-nous, and its time to fiight back.
Whilst I have been barren in the blogging stakes I have been treating the Dog on our morning walk to a full discourse of what is going wrong in my life, the sad, the lighthearted ,the pithy and the pissy and I am beginning to believe that he has created his own blog for which a book deal must be on the horizon.
Thursday 14 February 2008
writers block
At the risk of being a prolific blogger, I have left a little time between posts. Maybe eight months is a tad cautious, but I dont want to get hooked, me having shown signs of obsessive tendancies in the past. I am going to attribute it to writers block ( rather than laziness) as that sounds a little more creative.
Actually faced with relaying the trials and tribulations of my life to an uncertain readership filled me with a certain angst. What if I poured the innermost details of my day to day life into cyberspace, and no one was there to read it and say "there, there". No, I thought, write the initial post, sit back and bask in the admiration of the waiting masses, people on whose happiness depends on reading my thoughts, people who are just waiting for the latest installment of the soap opera that is my life, people who want to empathise, and sympathise, and fall at my preverbial feet........people? ........................anybody?
And so thats what happenned. I posted my first pithy bit of prose, launched it in to the world and it hasnt landed yet!
I bought a balloon once, in one of those" whose balloon goes the furthest wins the prize" competition at the local school fete, mine scagged on the corner of the release net and never fulfilled its ambition - to fly across continents, touching the hearts of those onlookers that glanced heavenwards as it passed, willing it to fulfil its destiny, its reason for being, its ultimate prize (the £50 trolleydash through the mums who go to Iceland for me). I know now how that little balloon felt, scagged on the release net, my first blog post in its pocket so to speak!
Actually faced with relaying the trials and tribulations of my life to an uncertain readership filled me with a certain angst. What if I poured the innermost details of my day to day life into cyberspace, and no one was there to read it and say "there, there". No, I thought, write the initial post, sit back and bask in the admiration of the waiting masses, people on whose happiness depends on reading my thoughts, people who are just waiting for the latest installment of the soap opera that is my life, people who want to empathise, and sympathise, and fall at my preverbial feet........people? ........................anybody?
And so thats what happenned. I posted my first pithy bit of prose, launched it in to the world and it hasnt landed yet!
I bought a balloon once, in one of those" whose balloon goes the furthest wins the prize" competition at the local school fete, mine scagged on the corner of the release net and never fulfilled its ambition - to fly across continents, touching the hearts of those onlookers that glanced heavenwards as it passed, willing it to fulfil its destiny, its reason for being, its ultimate prize (the £50 trolleydash through the mums who go to Iceland for me). I know now how that little balloon felt, scagged on the release net, my first blog post in its pocket so to speak!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)