Let Me Just Check…

As some of you no doubt know (and if not why not!? I’ve blogged about it enough) we’ve just got back from America. Well, not just, but recently enough for me not to have prepared any new blog posts lately  – that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. So here’s one that I did the first time we whizzed off to see Kate’s clan over in Huston back in 2015. As you’ll see there was a different guy in charge back then so I’m safe from abuse by Twitter if Nelly The Elephant doesn’t like this blog.

Pardon – oh, Nelly The Elephant? Trump, Trump, Trump. Really, don’t you pay attention to anything I write? I might as well delete all my previous blogs right now!

Anyway, as I was saying – obviously this time things went according to plan (yeah right, you know me too well!) but first time? Here is, Let Me Just Check…

…Yeah, passport, tickets all present and correct.
So, now I’ve just got to check in, on line – I’ve joined the technocological age.
What’s this? How many bags? I don’t bloody know, I ain’t finished packing yet! We’ll call it two eh? What’s the worst that could happen? Well they might not let me on the plane for a start. I better make sure there really is only sodding two then! I wonder where the passport is?
No, I’m not getting stressed.
Eddie Black said last night I ought to allow more time to get to Heathrow. He can’t possibly be right. Can he? Now what did I do with them tickets?
Hang on. What’s that muffled screaming sound?
Well perhaps I shouldn’t have packed Kate – I only wanted to make sure I knew where she was. That’s more than I can say for the passport and tickets! I’ll swear I had them only a few minutes ago.
She’s not happy! Apparently it was a bit cramped. That suitcase ain’t as big as it looks. Perhaps I put the tickets in there too. I’ll unpack it again and take a look.
Do I need those shorts? It’ll be hot. I’ve taken them out and put them back three times now. Can’t say I like wearing them, not really my style. But still, the passport may be in the pocket – I’d better take them.
No really, I’m not too stressed. I wonder where the tickets are?
She’s still going on. Honestly! I had to unpack her stuff to get her in the case. O.k. I was going to leave most of it behind  – does she really need more than two tee shirts! There are after all only two cases we can take now.
I wonder if she’s hidden my passport out of spite?
Thinking about it, who the hell wants to know how many cases I’m taking anyway. British Airways? The U.S. government? Barack bloody Obama? Perhaps he’s got the tickets!
There’s only twelve hours left to sort this mess out. If I say two cases, does it really mean two? Surely there must be a bit of leeway in the system! You know what they’re like in American immigration, I could end up on death row!
I swear I had my passport. I remember printing out the tickets. What was the problem with the old days when they sent them through the post? There was never all this cowing trouble!
NO I’M NOT FUCKING STRESSED!!!!!

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Land of the acronym

So here I am another year older. I am now officially as old as God’s dog. Bloody hell, who’d have thought it? There are, of course, people older than me who would scoff and call me a spring chicken. And they would be quite justified in that. But just let me have a little reminisce before the ageing process goes too far and I end up in some depressing institution dribbling into my soup.

Yesterday – the day of the sixty second anniversary of my birth – I was lucky enough to spend at COTA. Yes, I’m in the good old U,S of A, land of the acronym ruled over by POTUS and FLOTUS. From listening to some over here the former could stand for President Orange, Totally Useless Shit. Others may have it as, Prosperity Over Trumps Utopian States. Just depends who you listen to. It’s a bit like Brexit without other countries being involved.

Anyway – COTA – Circuit Of The Americas, for those who don’t know about such things. Yes, I treated myself to the American Formula One Grand Prix. I’m over here visiting family, so it would be rude not to really, wouldn’t it. So resplendent in Red Bull team shirt and cowboy hat I ventured forth. In the rain! Now I should explain that when it rains here it does actually rain. It comes down all at once in galvanised buckets. Before you know it you’re up to your wheel trims in water. Pardon? No of course we don’t walk anywhere, that’s just not the American way. 


As luck would have it once we reached the circuit, God’s dog must have been looking down. The skies cleared, the sun shone and apart from Max Verstappen being cruelly robbed at the end I thoroughly enjoyed my treat.

Which led me to thinking. Over the years, who stand out in the memory as sportsmen I have seen in the flesh. No, not naked madam, I’m not some sort of changing room voyeur. It’s a bit like those lists you get on Facebook. I’m sure you have your own. These are mine.

Top of the list has to be The Holy Trinity. Yes, Best, Law and Charlton all on the pitch at the same time. I have to say that most of my footballing experiences were down at West Bromwich Albion’s ground. Back in the day that was hard enough to get to, let alone what must surely have been a three day trek to Old Trafford. Strangely they drew two apiece. United were losing in the first half two – nil. At half time Matt Busby must have said give the ball to George. They did, and someone sprinkled magic football dust on the ground. Bestie swayed and shimmied as only he could. Law headed in and Bobby Charlton struck a ball (not the flimsy plastic things of today) from twenty yards out which hit the back of the net like a thunderbolt.

At the same ground I saw that other trinity, albeit individually, Hurst, Moore and Peters. In another two all draw I witnessed first hand why Martin Peters was called ‘The Ghost.’ Across came the ball, no one was there until I swear that a trap door opened in the ground, out popped our man and headed home.

Cricket. Ah yes. On Saturday mornings Dad went to work. In doing so he had to pass Edgbaston, home of Warwickshire County Cricket Club. He’d throw me out on the way and pick me up coming back. I saw the legend which was Godfrey Evans playing for the Cavaliers in the swan song of his wicket keeping career. Other great names from the past, the two Fred’s, Trueman and Titmus, Bob Willis, Dennis Amis, Farouk Engineer, Gary Sobers. So many, but the one that stood out for me was the great West Indies player, Clive Lloyd. I always loved watching him, such a charismatic figure and I even played my own part in a test match, England v West Indies. The match, on Saturday as usual, was underway. All was going well until play was suddenly stopped. The crowd began to boo and jeer. I could make out cries of ‘sit down!’ through the din. Clive Lloyd was waving his arms, seemingly in my direction. Some idiot, it appeared, had wandered in front of the sight screen – a huge white board which shielded the ball from the crowd so that the batsman could see it coming. ‘How was the match?’ asked Dad when he picked me up. ‘Great.’ I replied, wondering if I blushed as much then as I had when I sat down with indecent haste that sunny afternoon.

At Cosford in 1981, Sebastian Coe broke the world indoor 800m record. I was there with my Dad and brother. Dad had been a racing cyclist in his youth. Both of them ran marathons for ‘fun.’ That gene thankfully missed me!

And so, back to the Grand Prix, at Zandvoort in the era of Mansell and Senna but perhaps more memorably my first at Brands Hatch, not perhaps for the race but for getting there. My Morris 1000 broke down on the way, but after a quick pit stop (and hastily joining the AA) I arrived in time to see Emerson Fittipaldi beat Jackie Stewart. The next year at Silverstone nearly half the field were taken out when Jody Scheckter crashed at the end of the first lap. What names though! Some still here but most long gone in pursuit of their sport. Hill, Peterson, Lauda, Hulme , Amon, Reutemann, Revson, Oliver, Ickx, Cevert and the never to be forgotten Jean-Pierre Beltois if only for the fact that I got his autograph even though I had no idea who he was, except that he must be a driver because he wore overalls.

So – thanks for the birthday wishes and allowing a sad old git to reminisce for a bit. 

I wonder what I’ll do next?

Trouble’s brewing…

I have a terrible confession to make. One that jeopardises the very essence of my being. In fact I’m not one hundred percent sure that I’m willing to share this shocking revelation with you, my blog loving readership, although I have in fact alluded to it in an earlier blog – I was just hoping that the situation might resolve itself.
So perhaps I won’t tell you after all.
I do find it quite embarrassing.
Pardon?
Oh, you want to hear it.
Are you sure?
Well I agree I have ‘dangled the carrot’ as you so eloquently put it.                                       Do stop giggling at the back, madam.
I suppose you’re right and after all I can’t unsay it now, can I?
I’ve gone a bit too far.
Okay, here goes.
Perhaps you should sit down.
Ready?
No no, I’m not prevaricating – again.
Here goes.
Ahem.
Sorry, just clearing my throat.
I don’t like tea.

There you have it.
What?
You were expecting something a bit more risqué?
Well I apologise, but it concerns me.
Greatly.
After all it goes to the very root of my ‘Englishness.
As a native of Shakespeare’s sceptred isle I should probably be swimming in the stuff every day before breakfast. As a Brit I’m supposed to like it.
And I used to.
Until they ripped out my still beating heart and replumbed it before thrusting it back and stapling up my chest cavity.
Sorry madam? Yes, you go and have a lie down. I’ll try not to be so graphic in future.
Anyway – perhaps it was something to do with the anaesthetic.
Put me right off. I can’t even bear the thought of drinking a brew now.
Proper tea of course.
By ‘proper‘ I mean the stuff that you might call breakfast tea, builders tea or something like that. Tea to put hair on your chest madam.
Tea to stand your spoon up in.
Tea as thick as custard.
Not that wishy washy tea that the Queen no doubt gets served on a daily basis. I’ll bet a pound to a penny that Madge would like nothing better than to wrap her regal mitts around a nice steaming mug of good old Tetley instead of that crappy green gunk she’s given.
Tea worth fighting our former colonial territories over.
Good old British tea – made in India, or China.

IMG_0149
And that brings me back to my point.
If I no longer like tea, am I no longer a dyed in the wool Englishman?
Don’t get me wrong, if there’s a game of cricket going on I’m all for lounging around by the boundary rope and applauding politely when a wicket is taken or the bowler is struck for six.
I can deride Johnny Foreigner with the best of them.
I know the main verse of the National Anthem and am quite comfortable with the last verse having something to do with giving those damned rebellious Scots a good crushing.
I do my best to keep my upper lip as rigid and untrembly as possible.
I’ve never tried, but I have no doubt that I could probably pole a punt with the best of them.
Wha..? No madam, with a ‘P.’
I live here, in Blake’s Jerusalem in the heart of the country that gave industrialisation to the world, the land that Constable and Turner painted, that Dickens wrote about in the language spoken by most of the planet.
But I now don’t like tea.
I feel like a traitor.
Perhaps they’ll drag me to The Tower, lop off my worthless head and mount it on a pike outside Westminster Palace as a warning to others not to be so fickle.
Or suspend me upside down over a vat of steaming Typhoo and dunk me like an unworthy digestive.
I’m supposed to go to the States in a couple of weeks, after this shocking admission I’ll be surprised if they let me back into the country of my birth.
I’ll be forced to live a life in exile in some coffee growing republic.
It’s been nice knowing you.

Isn’t copy and paste wonderful…

I know, I know.

Don’t keep on!

‘If I carry on like this I’ll never get anything done.’

Whinging on like that!

I’ll log out in five minutes, o.k?

…hang on, just got to…

…well, did you ever?

I’ve never seen one that shape before.

Have you?

I didn’t think so.

What?

Yes, I’m coming. (not in that way madam, you’re on the wrong blog site! If you want that sort of stuff I think you press ctrl, alt, delete and ask for Tarquin).

Where were we?

Ah yes, you were trying to get my attention.

And I was…

…any minute…

…hold up!

Did you see that!?

Blimey! She’s extremely flexible.

For someone with an Adams apple.

Yes I know.

It’s an addiction.

My name is David J Robertson and I’m a social media addict.

Extreme measures are called for – I really should write out one hundred times:-

I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.
I must stop procrastinating, get on with my WIP and ignore my social media accounts.

Ah now – where was I?

Oh yeah, have you seen that guy with the banjo and the goat on Facebook?

I must leave a comment.

‘Lol!’

And share it!

Funniest thing I’ve seen since…

Whoa!

What’s this?

Oh no, not the ice skating chimp with the puppy and the kitten again!

Some people!

Seriously, I’m going to have to unfriend them.

I’m just so sick of this cutesy stuff!

It just makes me want to chuff up my dinner.

But before I let them drift into social obscurity I’m going to comment,

‘FFS!’

Just to show them.

Bastards!

 

I wonder what’s happening on Twitter?