Can't Wait To See Pat!

  Just took my plate out to the kitchen, where I have a pot bellied stove I got to burn all my waste paper in. 

  Small bits go in the door. Cardboard and such I drop through the lidded, eight inch hole on the top.

  Wiped my Opinel knife off on a bit of blue roll and the barely conscious thought that I'll chuck that in the stove, presently, flashed through my head.

  Closely followed by the unbidden idea that: 

" I must tell Pat I shit in my stove! "

  Fuck alone knows where the hell That one sprung from! But, it's a cracker, isn't it? Best bit is, he'll never be 100% certain I was just fucking with his head! LMFAO!

  He was down here, the other week. He saw ~ and was quite impressed by ~ the fact that I now have sawdust on the floor, in here.

  Dingo Dog's a complete wreck now. He's entitled to be as he's older than my underpants. After chasing around with a mop and bucket of filthy water a few times, I had an epiphany! 

  I have a good, old fashioned, shingley concrete floor, in here. Just like Dad had, at the kennels. And, what did He do? 

  So, I brought out this big bale of top quality sawdust I had for the canaries. It's fucking great! le Ding has any little upsets? So what?

  I can even weave that into it. See; Dad had a sort of steel box, out back. Always seemed fucking massive to me. Probably more like six foot square though. Thigh high to a grown man.

  But, yeah, we dumped all the 'used' sawdust (And Dog shit, of course) into that. And it was eternally smouldering. Five years that I knew of, it had always been smouldering.

  And, that was it. Top it up, each day. It'd smoulder and consume the new stuff. I guess the wind blew the dry ash away?

  What ever, Pat doesn't need to know that much. Once I hit him with the off hand but, obviously quite chuffed revelation that I've figured out this great new method of waste management?;

  Then I can gush happily on to outline how my Dad used to do the same thing, with the kennel waste. Pointing out how my sawdust (Dog shit and puke) also goes in there. I then shit onto that, as it smoulders. 

  If I can figure a way of knowing when he'll be here, I'll shove a cardboard box of sawdust in there and spark it up. Be a good touch, having a warm stove with a trickle of smoke coming out that chimney.

  I'm sat here, belly laughing my fucking arse off about this! He'll fucking Believe me! He absolutely fucking certainly won't ever be able to get his head round any shadow of a doubt that I'm just fucking with him! 

  Give it enough time for That one to become part of the mental scarring I inflict on the poor cunt; Then, I'll passingly mention how I'd found my sink sluggish.

  That'll link, seamlessly, back to the stove one. And will set in stone his total conviction that I'm some sort of fucking savage! ROFLMFAO!!! 

  Ye wait till I tell Tommy about this one! He'll have to pull over, so we can both have a fucking good cry with laughter!

Laughing In The Face Of Adversity

  Ye've got to have a fucking laugh. I was at the Doctors, last Tuesday. Nothing to laugh about there.

   In fact, it wouldn't be entirely unfair to say that, what with one thing and another, I've really not had much to even fucking Smile about, lately.

  Ironically; One thing I can't stand is fucking inertia! And, if I'm down? What better circumstance to exacerbate that situation?!

  And, this tin of fucking paint has come to absolutely fucking Symbolise  my malaise. It's all I think about. Day in. Day out. Have been for weeks now. Banging my head against a brick wall with it!

  Let me explain ..... I think I've mentioned I have this snapper? Common Snapping Turtle (Chelydra serpentina). Fucking brilliant, he is! Love him to bits. 

  And, I bought him in the full knowledge that he'd soon grow huge and that no, normal, fish tank would be of use to him. I'd have to think Big.

  Hence I have three, 8' x 4', 3/4" sheets of exterior ply, outside my gate. His new, 'forever home' tank will be eight foot long and four foot wide.

 It'll have a glass front, so I'll be able to look across and watch him. I'll be building it myself. Ye paint the ply wood with special, resinous paint, see? Makes it as water proof as glass.

  Led me a merry old dance, tracking down a supplier of this, very exacting, paint did. But, I found it. Interrogated the shit out of the manufacturers. This is The Kiddie!

  Only, they say they won't ship to Eire! Fuck me; Who Will ship shit here?! 

  Believe me: Feed ye Amazon account an address ending in Eire / Ireland and see just how many cunts won't ship shit to it!

  I imagine it's the breath taking postal rates, to here. They either lose too much profit, covering it. Or, they suspect we won't want to pay it.

  What ever. I've learned to live with it. No good moaning. I bought the paint and had it delivered to my brother, in Portsmouth. Figured I'd then pay a courier to fetch it over here.

  Big Fucking Mistake!!! Basically ~ I have since learned! ~ Terrorists have now sussed how to make bombs out of Liquid! Thus, they won't let liquids on planes.

  But, the ferries, for what ever reason, don't give a fuck? Okay. Plan D; Get if brought over on a ferry! Except that No fucking courier company Ships by ferry!!!

  Jesus fucking christ! Can't ye just Feel my frustration?!?  Plan E was to hire a local bloke, who goes over about weekly. He brings anything back.


  I figured to have a courier fetch it north, to where ever he stopped for the night. He wouldn't go all the way to the south coast, for a couple of litres of paint, obviously.

  Turns out he's going no where. It wasn't financially viable and he's given up doing the runs at all, now!

  Finally, Plan F. Find some random fucker who's coming over here anyway. On the Ro Ro. Get it sent to them. They bring it to Eire and leave it somewhere I can send a courier to fetch it from.

  And, I'm explaining all this shit to Tom, my excellent, Irish, mate, on the way home tonight. I said how I'm now at the point of posting on fora, asking if anyone's coming to Ireland, on the ferry.

  I said how I had a possibility of a bloke in Holyhead, willing to have it sent to him, for collection by anyone taking the Dublin ferry from there.

  But, I explained, I really, as yet, had no idea what the person would then do with it, in Dublin. Leave it in a pub? I ventured. Somewhere the courier could pick it up from.

  A moments silence, as I thought about it. Then, I said; " Wouldn't be very clever, if they took the Liverpool to Belfast boat."

  " Imagine that, " I said. " Fucking stranger, walking into a Belfast pub with a parcel. 'Mind if I just leave this here, and go away? ' That'd go down well! " 

I sniggered. Tom chuckled. I giggled. Before long, we were both outright laughing. By the time we got home?

  Haven't fucking laughed so much in a long time!