Fat Bloke on a Bike

I'm up early today, beavering about the house, getting the breakfast stuff ready, rubbing the bum cream on my bits early cos ma boys have complained all night of being stuck next to the snoring mega sore arse dinosaur next door.  Both London Alan and South Side Mark agree that sex with my shower is really rather good.  That's a nice shower, Wayne says London Alan again just before he pops out to polish his fanny who I guess is thankful that she's not going to be ridden today on the long drive home.   South Side Mark is late out of bed.  He descends the stairs with a groan.  Good morning I shout, invite them both into the kitchen and with a TAADAAA! sling open the fridge door which stands there proudly pushing her bits out showing off her mega contents with a big bright LED white Colgatey smile!  😃 'Bacon and eggs everybody? Bacon and eggs? Yes?  Yes?' London Alan being quasi European politely says, 'No thank you, a bowl of All Bran will do for me'. ...

That was a lovely meal last night.  We met up with Hairy Jane, you know, the Bingley Fakir and his better half Fi, his partner come ex-private nurse.  Phwoarr!  A private Nurse!  Say no more, say no more eh John me lad, ma boy, me old cocker, nudge nudge wink wink know what I mean?  Say - no - more! Bingley is an old cattle town on the banks of the Rio Grande (the river Aire actually).  We're in the Brown Cow saloon, famous for its extensive collection of meat pies.  I grab the menu and spot the pie.  Mmmmm.  A proper cow pie.  Yum.  Cow pie everyone?  Cow pie?  Yes?  Yes?  Except for Hairy Jane who whilst perusing the menu spots the freshwater crab, calls her over and asks her to describe the whole bloody menu and the contents of her drinks cabinet too.  Which, for some reason reminded London Alan to wash his fanny before he uses it again.   For me it's a cheesy mess starter or something, followed by s...

It was a grand night out last night.  Hello Ian [my ex boss and first rate Halloween party organiser in Preston] picked us up from the guest house in his Creepy Coupe, an east European Dacia tank, for a curry night on the town.  He's an arty 'frying tonite!' type who works on manufacturing life size Star Wars character models with his mega 3D printer in the garage.  He'd just finished creating and re-animating his latest Star Wars figurine of Boba Fett.  It involved a lot of string and the remains of Jeremy Bulloch which are now hung up in his garage.  I've got to say the old boy has really taken to retirement with a shine.  He's thrown out all of his bright Hawaiian clothing and now has a wardrobe full of beige camouflage.  He needs to be careful though as it'd be easy to lose him in town.  Or on a beach.  I wouldn't ever take him to Saltaire, a sandstone edifice named after the fat Victorian philanthropist, Sir Titties Salt - a memorable pl...

Don't ever say you learn nowt from reading this blog.   "Go West young man, go West", was allegedly an expression first published in the USA by John Babsone Lane Soule in 1851.  It appealed to Horace Greeley, an American journalist who reported extensively on the US Civil War and who rephrased it in a newspaper editorial in 1865 to "Go West young man and grow up with the country".  The phrase captured the imaginations of people returning from the Civil War, many of whom moved west following in the footsteps of that other famous American - John Wayne - to take up a homestead and shoot the locals.  Fact innit? So like the village people go west we did.  There's not really any other direction one can take if you plan to ride your mule of a bike from Blackpool to Scarbados and you’re setting off from York. We arrive into Blackpool on the COVID cross country stagecoach loaded with folk on their way to a rough mix of Paris and Las Vegas which had been chucked into...

It's the day before we are due to set off.  South Side Mark, my blues brother, greases up onto the drive in a rather swanky Bluesmobile; well a black three litre BMW slippery thing with go faster stripes and an old Prospect Police Precinct M Sport badge on its side.  Quickly followed by London Alan in his champagne cocktail Audi TiTtieS special fanny magnet which is splattered with dead minges drawn to his car during the long journey north. Mark takes his super lightweight bike off the back carrier and I swear I hear his greasy BMW let out a gentle 'aaahhhh....'.  Nice.  London Alan, being a Londoner, stares at his fanny, pulls down hard on the peak of his flat cap, rips open her boot and un-sexily proceeds to perform what must be the equivalent of pulling a camel through the eye of a needle.  AAAAGGGHHH!  You have to feel sorry for his fanny as that's no way to treat a lady.   Nonetheless, he says again that his bike 'has been fettled' by his local sh...

On the morning of the 10th August 2021, my sister Barbara passed away.  She had fought chronic pulmonary disease for many years no doubt caused by the fact that she smoked most of her life.  Whilst other health damaging habits after the loss of her husband Dennis several years earlier had been conquered, the continued addiction to nicotine just could not be overcome.  And now she's gone... I've had a few days to reflect on the years and feel proper ashamed that I have little to remember about Barbara.  No, I cannot spout on about the fantastical family holidays together, the birthday parties, the growing up or her children and of the many happy times that no doubt happened over the years.  Whilst I knew that this year Barbara would have celebrated her 70th it is only this week that I learnt from another sister, Gloria, that her birth day was the 11th October 1951. Barbara was one of five older sisters.  She was probably at home still when I was a very young...