Freshly Spilled Thoughts

Don’t you cry for me
‘Cause I come from Alabama with a B-A-N-J-O on my knee

The Great Family Dance Off:

Me Being Silly On A Keyboard A While Back

I do amuse myself at times, Zippy…

I hate it when I inexplicably cannot remember someone’s surname.

I knew it.

It was there.

Now it’s gone… and it won’t come back. Like a shit boomerang.

So you’re left with a name that could be anyone, which you can’t do anything with.

Dave who?

Jackie who?

It’s no good to man, nor beast.

So you sit there saying their first name over and over hoping some neuron that has been drenched in alcohol is going to start firing again.

“I would help you but you drank beer and rendered me useless.”

There should be a spell or incantation which you can do that summons up a forgotten surname.

Why haven’t they invented this?

Side Note: Isn’t it brilliant, though, that when you’re doing something relaxing like chopping bananas, the name magically appears in your head again. It’s a wonder of nature. The relaxation response is actually a thing, which is why I used to get my best ideas in the shower.

I’ll tell you something else I hate…

When they make you change a password you’ve committed to muscle memory.

The password becomes like an old friend and then one day when you login you get this message:

“You haven’t updated your password for 180 days. You need to change it now in order to login”

I know I’m nit-picking, but nobody is going to guess Wagagoo743££”!!**54D^& are they?

Would you have guessed it? No. Don’t make me change it then.

(that particular password never actually existed it was merely a vehicle for elaboration)

Ah, the old coffee date gag (chortle)…

The legend that is John Reese once did a podcast called “The Wacky Mind of John Reese”.

Don’t bother looking for it, he pulled it off every podcast site for some reason.

This blog should be called, “The Wacky Mind of Dean”

I quite like the fact that John sort of disappeared before he was past his sell by date and as far as this blog is concerned, I intend on doing the same thing at some point.

Except I won’t pull everything when I stop posting – I’ll leave everything I have ever written on here as a repository of sorts.

For now I’m quite happy to let the good times roll as writing on here helps sharpen my brain for other things.

It is true what they say, writing is quite cathartic. I don’t quite understand why, but for some reason it just is.

Kenneth Williams had a diary where he basically slagged off most celebrities he ever encountered (lol).

My main purpose on writing here is a place that is an outlet without any commercial intent.

The same thing you’d get if you plonked yourself down in front of me with a drink and packet of nuts.

The only difference is that on here it’s more of a monologue (can’t be helped).

I suspect over the next few weeks things are going to get busy at this end, so I’m not sure how often I’ll be able to post, but I should be able to set aside the odd 20 minutes here and there to unleash an assembly of words onto the internet.

If this didn’t exist I’m not sure I’d write any kind of journal. Maybe I should. I quite admire people who do that and keep it private.

Sunday is here.

Soon it will be Monday and it won’t be long before people are scraping ice off their car windscreens in the morning.

But we don’t want to talk about that right now.

After all it’s Sunday and the weekend is hanging on by its fingernails.

There is still time to indulge in what remains of it, before the 2 day interlude from the mundane becomes a blur in the rear view mirror.

On Monday people will say predictable stuff to you like, “Did you have a good weekend?” (it’s up there with asking a taxi driver if they’re busy or what time they finish).

You can say, “Yes. It was good thanks. The numbers didn’t come up and there was no call from Camelot. Now excuse me for an hour, I’d like to be antisocial until the caffeine kicks in, if you please.”

(Of course, if you’re already retired none of this applies. You’ve won. Collect £200 and do not go straight to jail)

While we’re all waiting for 6 numbers to appear…

Let’s indulge in the whimsical and imagine for a minute that God worked in a bookstore. What if you could pop in and have a chat with him/her/the omnipresent one.

I talk about it here:

When God Lived In Kentish Town

There’s this bloke who I would put at near savant level (maths genius) who was asked about marriage/significant others and he replied:

“I have zero interest in that kind of stuff”

The guy interviewing him asked, “Why’s that?”

He replied, “So many things. It’s a 4 digit negative for just getting married.” (that did make me laugh)

I’ve heard some things in my time about marriage but someone saying it’s a 4 digit negative tops them all

When pressed further on this he said:

“It’s so far into negative territory that it almost rivals robbing banks.”

Ha ha… he said it so seriously as well. Stone cold.

I wonder what Bonnie and Clyde would have had to say in response to that.

Take a look at this…

At first glance it doesn’t look very sexy. There’s no sign of any stocking tops or anyone cavorting around in this image.

So what is it?

It’s a strategy game called Utopia that I used to play at my mates house when I was a kid. He had a computer called an Aquarius, which sounded somehow exotic to me back then.

I looked this game up again recently to relive it in some way and it looked so basic, I wondered how we stayed so enthralled by it back then.

But it hooks you in, like a novel with a shit cover which you dismiss at first, but when you start reading it you just can’t stop.

I’ve got a feeling it would be the same today. You see, form is temporary and class is permanent.

You don’t need to be flashy to have class, you just need the right ingredients.

Utopia had this. It may not look like much now, but back then it was a well spent Saturday afternoon.

If you found all that really boring, perhaps I can interest you in Jennifer Lopez being an absolute perv instead…

In a funny way, this post had something for everyone 🙂

On that note, have a great rest of your day and Happy Halloween. I’m outta here.

Do you believe all good things come to an end?

Do you believe in life after love?

(just an excuse to throw in a Cher song line there)

Do you believe that it all depends on what you believe in?

(Desmond Dekker that time)

Do you believe that if you can conceive it the mind can achieve it?

Do you believe in marshmallows? (someone’s got to)

Do you believe in not taking life too seriously because ultimately we’re all food for worms anyway

(Dead Poets Society that time)

Do you believe I’ve never been beaten in an arm wrestle?

Do you believe that Santa drinks alcohol and then irresponsibly delivers presents whilst under the influence?

One more thought after this and I gotta go for the night. Time waits for no man.

I love Autumn. I love Halloween, and I love things that go ‘bump in the night’ 👻🦇.

“See you on the broom tonight“, my mum would say.

My grandmother used to agree and say the same thing, so as a little kid I half-wondered if she had some flying superpowers she wasn’t telling me about. Was my nan a witch? 🧹lol

I used to ask my grandfather what happened to all his hair and he’d reply, “Oh, your grandmother ate it while I was asleep.”

I knew he was joking. Surely. Wasn’t he!?

Have a spooktastic Halloween.

Trick or Treat? 🎃

Side Note:  Don’t give apples to kids, if they ring your doorbell tonight. They’re only there for the sweets 🍬.

I gave an apple to a kid one Halloween, when I’d run out of cavity chobblers.

“Here’s an apple, it will keep the doctor away“. Might as well have given him a bottle of disappointment 🙂

A few years ago now, a family member of mine went to a music class. In the class there was a bloke who had penned a few songs himself in the past. Not only that, he was once the lead vocalist in a group you may have heard of…

Duran Duran.

This guy later got replaced by Simon Le Bon, but he had a hand in writing the hit “Girls On Film” and possibly “Rio” as well.

Back in those days, this guy just wanted a new keyboard so he signed a waiver to any rights he may have otherwise had for about 600 quid in £50 notes.

As far as possible future riches went, he was done up like a kipper. They even paid him to give Simon singing lessons, which is like paying the sorceror to train the apprentice so he may replace you.

The Moral Of This Tale:

In life if you’re not the pigeon, you’re the statue.

Let’s play this out with a bit of Girls On Film…

What’s that? A chink of sunlight, no less.

You’ve made it to Thursday and somehow the day feels lighter.

Hump day Wednesday is now a blur in the rear view mirror as you change from 3rd to 4th gear, racing towards the weekend.

It’s still a long stretch of road ahead, but you’re well on the way.

On Days Like These by Matt Monro begins to play.

You put on your Ray Bans and smile. Aint nothin’ to it but to do it…

This is an old video of a guy in Tynemouth who was clearly having a mental episode at the time of a quick shopping expedition (and for that he certainly has my sympathy so I’m in no way making fun of him). Absolutely one of life’s characters who just needed a bit of help.

I’m only posting it because he somehow still manages to walk the line of classic comedy…

Lines such as:

“are you going to put it on the dark net”

“all I want is some some cat treats”

“I’ll set the cats on yer” (you can’t tell me he wasn’t aware of the comic genius in this riposte)

and

“what’s it got to do with you big ears?”

Are priceless lines. They should give him a knighthood (he also looks like the long lost twin of Vic Reeves)…

Here’s what I thought of this video when I first saw it back in 2020…

I had a strange dream last night. I’d been away for a few days and when I came back I went out to check on rabbits (which I don’t own). The rabbit hutch (which doesn’t exist in real life) and the front was missing off it. WTF.

The rabbits were happily doing what rabbits do and no harm had come to them, so I put the front of the rabbit hutch back on again (as you do).

I then thought to myself, “Who’s been feeding these rabbits in my absence? They need food.”

Logically these plans would have been made before going away, but this was a dream, therefore no rules from the mortal realm applied.

In my dream I had to go and get food for them. It was at this point I thought, “Well, where would I go for such a thing?”

In my conscious state, the answer is obvious of course: “A Pet Food Shop”… as I write this now, the most basic of solutions is mentally displayed in bright neon. Why do dreams play you like this and cast you as an extra in Dumb and Dumber? 🙂

Even someone as thick as me in a dream, realised that I couldn’t actually have rabbits if I didn’t know where to get the bloody food from.

“There’s a bloke sitting at a bus stop, I’ll ask him“, would have probably been my next port of call.

I woke up from my semi-lucid dream, sporting a dead arm and a hand that felt like it had been stitched on by Dr. Frankenstein. There’s nothing more warming to the cockles, than that of a limb which no longer responds to you until circulation kicks in again.

If your hand was called Gordon (why would it be, I know.. and if it were what would the other hand be called? It raises more questions than answers) you’d start shouting something like “Gordon is alive“, as your hand once again began responding to the power of thought. Obviously, you’d shout this rather quietly so as not to wake up anyone else.

Let’s all have a bit of decorum around here.

And so, here I am. I’m not going to look up why I am dreaming about rabbits, but there is surely a reason.

Time for coffee.

I did my big exertion experiment and so far it seems like it paid off. That’s the thing with exertion when you’re under the weather, it’s either going to make you worse or it makes the immune system rally.

I proved this point about 10 years ago when I was incapacitated for 15 days (long story). When I had enough strength to walk further than half a road, I went training. Most people would have regarded this as sheer lunacy, but it worked and something in my system kicked in again.

A few days later I was more or less back to normal after being completely out of the game for nearly 3 weeks. I’m talking ‘holy shit, this thing is never going to end’ level of incapacity.

I have this theory that nature knows, you see. You either serve a purpose in the grander scheme of things or it makes room for something else.

There’s a guy called Greg Valentino (funny guy) and he tells people to ‘jerk off’ because nature knows. Normally I would laugh, but I actually think there is some sort of logic in the ‘no filter’ comedy.

At the time of writing I feel human again.

It’s always fatal going to the shops afterwards though as my brain then believes I deserve a reward. Lions think they deserve a gazelle and I think I deserve raspberry yoghurt lollies. Surely you burn a gazillion calories in 80 minutes anyway, right?

Well, I’d like to think it’s gazillion. It’s probably more like 300 calories, which you put back on after eating anything more than what Twiggy used to shovel down her neck for brunch.

As Joanna Lumley said, “Instead of burning off the cake, just don’t eat the cake.”

Now I love Joanna, but not eating cake makes Jack a dull boy.

I’m embracing the whole yin and yang concept. Anyway yeah, good – exertion is currently winning.

I’ve had one of those annoying colds that doesn’t make you feel really ill, but still stops you from doing things requiring maximum exertion. Women call it ‘man flu’. I call it, “the end of the world as we know it”.

For example, whilst suffering with such an affliction, if someone said, “Do you want to climb Mount Everest today, then when we reach the top we can pound our chests and swiftly run back down to the bottom after consuming Red Bull?”

I’d reply with, “Not today, but I wouldn’t say no to a stroll at a leisurely pace if it involves a cone of chips as a reward at the end.”

That kind of thing.

The local doctor is a bit like Mr. Magoo on a bad day. If you go to him for practically anything, he just tells you to breathe in the vapours of menthol crystals or he gives you amoxycillin.

I am sort of convinced that to be a doctor all you need to do is be able to spell amoxycillin (apparently that’s the UK spelling anyway). Since I can do this, just call me Dr. Dean.

Going back to the supposedly qualified ‘quack’…

If your leg was hanging off he’d tell you to do the same thing.

“Doctor. I seem to have lost a leg and I’m not quite sure where I put it, but I’m sure I had it this morning.”

“Try these crystals. Breathe them in and let the healing powers of them wash over you. After that just spin anti clockwise until you are so dizzy you can’t find your way back here.”

“Thanks Doc. I’ll let you know if I regrow a new leg by Thursday.”

So rather than go to him, I filled a bowl up with hot water and used Olbas Oil instead of crystals, which is the next best thing.

I wasn’t expecting much, but it does work to a degree. I had the best nights sleep in ages and today I am going to risk exerting myself later. Wish me luck.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll want to settle down. Until tomorrow I’ll just keep moving on…

What if The Littlest Hobo just couldn’t find his front door keys.

“There he goes again, without his keys. Thanks for your help, Littlest Hobo. Don’t forget you’re contracted to do 12 episodes.”

Gooodd morrnninngggg Vietnam.

You got a window? Open it.

Or if that’s too cold for you at the end of October, hug a gorilla instead…

I’ll leave it with you.