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> Home Made Tales, The journey
peter.howden
post 29th Apr 2019, 10:37am
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My Chronicles 29/04/2019

There is no doubt, Aunt Becky is continuing to shrink, however, we have decided it would be better once Becky moves to her new residence, in June, to buy her some new cloths nearer her size. Becky’s fragile appearance is a little deceptive, for although Becky, who is almost in another dimension, seemingly reasonably happy…if I’m collecting the right vibes, but she has never been a shrinking violet, possessing an inbuilt feisty and furtive nature.

Regrettably, this inner peppy has resulted into two incidents, where she has lifted her hands…struck out. Once with an unknown staff member, and the more sombre, with another resident. What actually took place, has not yet been determined, nevertheless, the injured residence for safety rules, was taken by ambulance to the hospital. The elderly lady later returned with no problems reported. In the next week or so, we will learn the next steps…fingers crossed!

I’m amazingly fortunate having such good close friends, plus two long standing, ‘China’s’; who I meet up with when time makes it possible. Jim Hendry, I can manage travelling down by train to Ayr near every month. Wetherspoons is our destination for the casual rendezvous …. For two old grumps enjoying beer, fixing the world in three easy phases, but mainly bursting into ridiculous instant laughter at the drop of a hat…and we care not a toss who’s hat it may be.

My other China; Keith…no longer stays in a lazy medieval village in rural France, (strong fond memories of yearly visits), both Keith & Lizzie now reside in Fife. The point about ‘China’s’ is simply, not the amount of times seeing them physically, but knowing they are there, for silly stuff and serious matters. We had not met for some time, as he, and the lovely Lizzie made plans to come home. Once established we arranged a reunion dinner, last Thursday in Glasgow. Rebecca and I, enjoying every moment of grand company, as the hours just disappeared from the clock…it’s good to talk with lovely people.

It is a special year for ‘She who must be obeyed’ and I, as it is our 'Golden Anniversary' in October. When we were newly married, we did talk about growing old together, going to the post office, collecting our old age pension as a couple, however the rest of the fifty years we never anticipated by any means. I cant believe time has raced past so quickly, but one thing I do know, the success of our marriage is…Rebecca, my life’s, ‘She who must be obeyed’, and if I was whizzed back to the third of that month, in 1969…I would say…yes please….
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peter.howden
post 3rd May 2019, 09:27am
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Benghazi Mice; John;

The ‘Benghazi Mice ‘origins were in 1987, within a Pollokshaws Turkish Suite, but Benghazi Mice mark two, rose like a phoenix from the ashes of the former. Within the safety of steam and hot water sauna, in Dollan Aqua, East Kilbride, sustained the loose band of cantankerous old brothers, sorting out the world problems in three easy lessons. The free membership’s theme and purpose did not waver, unless out in field manoeuvres under the disguise of day trips visiting Labour railway clubs

It was a normal Saturday morning when John, almost stumbled in, with a face of a man who forgot his personal ticket to a nudist ‘Mardi Gras’. Obviously touchy, he began ‘how could I have been so stupid with money’? looking around for some support or words of comfort, however, disappointingly for him, they never came. A voice in the corner called out these immortal words… “you crick your neck, while hurting your hand going into your pocket?” but no one owned up as being the author.

John let out rather bitterly, “It’s are right saying you will never be conned, but these guys were so authentic!”, making all the audience sit up and listen. “I was in the garden, when this Irish fella asked if there was any work needed done, it was obvious the man saw doubt in my face”, stuttered John…then continued his woeful tale….“He said to me; I’m sorry sir, I know there are dodgy people about, but we are here doing Councillor Rowan’s garden, thought we could obtain some extra work around the area at the same time”. Still in a rage John added, “the man was so bloody sincere…and ‘Rowan’ is the councillor for our area!”.

The big Irishman worker added, “it’s only right no monies cross hands until the work is finalised!”. With this assurance, John showed where he could do with help, agreed to a sum, £300 on completion. No sooner had this hand shake taken place, the Irishman, and two helpers, set to the job with feverish effort. John retired inside, quite chuffed with his negotiation skills. About half an hour later, John’s wife May, inquired if the workers needed any tea.

Opening the front door, He stepped out hearing a mobile phone ring, then parts of the conversation, which ended with the Irishman looking worried. The lead worker woefully muttered, ‘I have been really daft, I promised Councillor Rowan to lay an extra-long path, then repair her flood bridge work where I have no stores to do so’. ‘I never gave a second thought, he said almost in a whisper, ‘for I have no funds with me to buy the goods needed so my team can start first thing tomorrow’.

“All I need is a wee bit of time, just collect the gear, place it in Rowan’s property ready for the next day’, I could be finish with yours tonight if I worked a few extra hours!”, said all in one breath. John, firmly asked, why He could not give the monies to allow him to complete the two jobs. At first the big man strenuously refused… but seemed quickly talked round to John’s proposal.

John counted out the money carefully, at the worker’s request, then along with his mates, jumped into their old lorry. The head worker explained, he needed the other two as the purchases were heavy and he was not quick on his feet. Then they were gone.
The fraud worker was wrong… about the agility of his feet…as he, and his sharks were never seen again.

John looked so down, and self-hurting, cursing his stupidity for later it was proved, Mrs Rowan, never laid eyes on them. One Benghazi Mice explained, how easy it is to go to any library, look at the voter’s register, gain names from the target street, and a prominent person to be used as bait. Tell the police, was the communal advice, to stop some other person being robbed, but John was totally unwilling

Bobby, still wearing a ponytail, was the old hippy of the group. With a twinkle in his eye, called out… “Not to worry mate, you will be able to catch them next week!” The look of surprise, and astonishment, could not be hidden from the rest of the group, as John clutched at a straw for a drowning man.

‘How can I manage that’ inquired John, whose desperation was obvious, even in the steamy room. Bobby took a deep breath and said very clearly… “when they come back for the V.A.T?”
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peter.howden
post 7th May 2019, 05:49am
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Jon’s rambling words

As a young boy In the turn of the 50s,our family home was in the ‘infamous Gorbals St’, noted for being slum gang land territory, which the district could not shake off. Compared to other districts, it was enclosed by obvious poverty, rough schools, even flashes of brutality from all quarters, yet, there was dignity among most residents holding a sense of pride, making the best of very little they possessed, and this adopted personal credo, I have no intention shaking off.

Moving home, then to a posh school, appreciating the hard knocks reality of life for some time afterwards. A slight minority, outwardly charming, but devious tyrants together, inflicted malice in darken corners, where no witness could be found. Learning to defend myself, by any Spartan means at my disposal…regrettably, my etiquette is still rumbles now and then?

I don’t believe in being a Brigand,’ (Glaswegian Chancer) …yet this was my peers’ presumption, so I adopted the persona, ducking and diving around the edges quite a few times, scraped from one place to another! I bluntly confess my inability to shake off this façade…even from myself.

While young, there was no fancy of growing old, due to bloody silly dares, crazy macho imitations from a fresh adolescent, then pretty close to being bloody idiot, winding through the years, addicted to foreboding temptations life seemed to offer…in the dark side”. Misplaced moods. still hooked…nowhere to go. These enticements were stubborn to shake”

A few friends slipped through life’s short cycle, influenced by drugs & alcohol impaired their reason, one then swam in treacherous Loch Lomond…another dived into the Clyde, believing it was a shortcut to Anderson … lost forever…but these memories wont shake.

Today, summing up, it’s been fun most of the time, though now…It’s as if I’m descending into another party? “Perhaps the entrance fee is ownership of natural flamboyancy, keeping membership of all closet cells within the brain, however, right now, there seems to be a wary mental contortionist, unable to recall why the hell I’ve climbed these f…ing stairs in my home?...

If I shake a bit, perchance I’ll remember?”
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peter.howden
post 9th May 2019, 10:53am
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The healthy walk.

Being regularly informed by his peers, how he was in desperate need for healthy exercise, Angus seriously contemplated what was possible without too much perspiration, considering he was somewhere between late autumn, closer to winter of life. He had observed how every so often, the physical training fad, in huge ‘Gyms’, housing tortuous vessels of tears, obliged unfit customers to sweat… more than one way, as fees always sky rocket through the roof.

In the old days, no town’s high st premises, specialized in amateur bodybuilding existed, yet… few persons would be classified as fat, or nickname tubby. Angus remembered four pals in the B.B… one was always referred to as being ‘Tubs’, his actual name, could not be recall? Angus decided for the best of the best, (which just happened to be the cheapest) would be, sensible nourishment, plus, ‘Shanks’s Pony’, So he prepared hot malt Ovaltine, a chocolate rusk, then off early to bed to be ready for the next morning’s pathway to instant health.

Angus could be found guilty of daydreaming, yet very seldom having the ability to remember dreams while sleeping. That night, whatever invaded Angus mind, is, and was a mystery, yet, somehow corrupted a foreboding dream, so tangible lifelike. ‘The kingdom of hell’, illusion began with him walking towards a lane entrance beside the local chapel. Because of council work, the pavement was barred from community use, forcing the public to walk on the busy main road.

From the corner of Angus’s eye, a gang of four, maybe five ugly youths, furiously running towards him, bawling their heads off, waving various weapons head high. Closer and closer these marauders pushed forward shouting aggressively gaudy…suddenly he was awake, retaining every minute detail, in a clammy uneasy state.

Angus lay quite a while before taking a shower, then returning to kip. Next morning, just after dawn, feeling O.K, decided to take his first step to fitness, dressed and walked out the front door with no destination in mind. Sauntering aimlessly, he came across road workmen’s gear blocking the pavement, a sign telling pedestrians to move onto the road.

A cold moist chill ran down Angus’s back, seeing the left a chapel in front of a lane. More than slightly hesitant, Angus took several more apprehensive steps along the road, only to realize, out of the corner of his eye, a group of wild screaming youths, brandishing weapons, heading for him. He froze on the spot, totally scared out of his wits… then absolutely nothing…total blankness.

Next thing for Angus was waking up in hospital, with tubes everywhere…one between his lips. Bizarrely he felt nought, no pain…nothing. He lay, motionless, in a funny peculiar state of ecstasy beyond harm, with daylight peeping through venetian blinds.

A white coat female approached the bed, checked the apparatus next to the bed…leaning over, through smiling lips clearly said, “how do you feel?”. Taking his pulse, she kindly continued, “you were extremely lucky! if it hadn’t been for those young ramblers heading for morning mass, you could have been seriously injured, or even worse”.

Surprising Angus, she winked, then spoke even softer, “fortunately you saw them frantically waving their walking sticks, stopping you dead, as a big articulated lorry, on the wrong side of the road, would have knock the living daylights out of you!”

She smiled caringly …then sweetly asked…” the rambling boys are waiting outside…will I show them in?”
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peter.howden
post 19th May 2019, 10:00am
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Strictly Private

I confess, presuming to request for clandestineness with the knowledge of the ensuing personal information, may seem idiocy well over the top, by placing the following information into a social media slot, but before you continue to read this prior undisclosed document, you must swear not to broadcast a single word(consonant or vowel) within this message, even to your closest, sometimes dearest, especially ‘Her indoors’… she already thinks I’m a bit touched wacky… wheesht now, she might hear!.

Once concluded, delete every single line, and dot contained within the pronouncement. The following exposé, is in the category portrayed in the cult western solenoid movie ‘Winchester 73’, many decades ago, though more emphases on today’s manufactures enormous illegitimate monetary gains.

Throughout the world’s chequered history, marketing man-made goods has always existed, either displayed in public places, or word of mouth, if wished, the public could disregard altogether. Today’s adverts relentless promotion of all perceivable type, invading every means of communication, in or out of the home, almost in the air we breathe…ignoring such persistent pressure is nigh impossible.

The sour cream of the crop of faceless institutions, are promoting a incurable virus… way beyond public consumers useless contrary struggle with bare faced muggers akin to, ‘Life and property’ insurance brokers, calling each product as 100% perfection, better than all the rest, with guaranteed satisfaction, yet, none of those fashioned articles live up to their created reputation. Within a short span, they instantly generate a new miracle, claiming the exact same for the next life changing embroidered phenomenon.

Manufactures and their promoters, don’t wish anything they produce to be faultless, because of simple maths, having perpetual possessions is not good for business economically.

If they hear a whisper, of an absolutely perfect piece of equipment, the castles of commercial powers, by fair or foul means, will stoop to skulduggery regaining it, then locking deep into their vault’s tenure. To study the product, break it down its basic particles’ construction, learn in what circumstances, in global proportion, was allowed to happen…to make absolutely sure…this catastrophe will never materialise again

At this precise moment, protected by a purpose made pinny, what makes me feel of top of the world with pride, in par with James Stewart, is this once in a lifetime ownership of a piece of equipment exactness…way beyond imagination, which has lasted… nigh near 9 ½ months of rigorous use and abuse…my egotism personified ….an exceptional, green dishmatic exfoliator scourer
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