CRAZY WORLD

A few years ago we were encouraged to buy Diesel powered cars. Cheaper fuel and better for the engines. Now higher charges if you drive these dangerous vehicles in London also it is muted that they could ban them off the roads completely..

It’s a strange old world. Take a product that I voiced a few years ago. Flora  boasts high in Polyunsaturates. Sold well until......a crazy American scientist told the world that it was dangerous to heath. Flora went down the drain.

Like some schools said that playing conkers was dangerous and the children had to wear goggles if they played it. Similar to T Blair who tried to ban completive races at schools ‘because children who didn’t win could suffer damage their self esteem.

What a load of toss. I never won a race at school. I’ve never won a prize in my job. But we were taught to soldier on.

In the seventies there cafes called Cranks. You may remember them. These place served  ‘healthy tea and special coffee’ and sandwiches that tasted like cardboard.  Once, with dreary church music in the background, I saw what must have been vegan mouse running about. That was the last straw.

Back to the pub for me. Jolly music, good company, laughs fags and lovely beer.

Alright I’m probably wrong . Certainly about diesel engines. Not sure about conkers, coming 2nd and cardboard sandwiches. Smack my wrist.

Experts say that electric cars are on the way and robots will be running everything. But the NHS is in a on the skids. What can we do about that? With medicine improving month by month people are living longer and old people are clogging up hospitals. 

I’ve always thought that old people should be supplied with a bottle whiskey, a hundred fags a day and it can’t be impossible in this technological world to create a night time pill for the older generation to dream happily of sleeping with Nicole Kidman or if they prefer Brad Pitt. Anyway there is alternative.... the electric car. Sleeping with a car !? No,no.

Old people get frail, wobbly, certainly not too quick on their pins and usually a bit deaf.

So match deaf old folks and electric cars.

They cross the road and then can they hear these silent assassins?

Oh, dear, electric cars and cardboard . What the hell is this crazy world coming to?    

Supermarkets

We all use supermarkets, don”t we? They are enormous and charmless.They can buy in bulk and consequently all the local shops can’t compete and and they have to close. And I miss the friendly faces.

Of course the supermarkets sell their goods a lot cheaper and shoppers love them.

But they are temples of destruction. Why are they so? Not just the little business that go under but the potential of bringing A.E. departments to bursting point. Why do I predict this?

Supermarket trollies. We’ve all seen them whizzing around piled high with food and the owner on a mobile phone. haven’t we? But have you ever had to leap out of the way when one of these juggernauts bears down on you? If you were a lorry driver on the mobile the police would slap him in prison. But these buggers are never touched.

So I have a simple solution. At the end of each supermarket aisle there should be traffic lights. So normal basket shoppers can cross safely.

But, of course, it would cost money and for these poverty stricken supermarkets might have to shell out and then they’d be FORCED to put their prices up. Any excuse.

Then maybe the local shops would be able to open up and we’d all be happy.

Dreaming

A dream. Well they’re looking for a new Dr Who. What about this: a very old, retired Time Lord trying to get a hip replacement. Then he finds himself in the Tardis. The wrong button has been pressed. He’s totally confused, doesn’t know what to do. Fortunately there is an assistant who helps him to fly the Tardis to sunnier climes where his aching bones can be eased. They’re attacked by Sun Rays. The only thing he’s got in his pocket is a pencil.It could be fun having a dopey old man trying to come to terms with the terrifying stuff he’s confronted with. What about dopey old me? Dreaming.

Or back to EastEnders. Say I went back as the twin brother of Joe Macer ( who fell out of a first floor window after confessing to Dot that he killed his wife Pauline Fowler), who’s corporate lawyer, and demands to get back the property that Ian’s living in. Dot would have kittens thinking that Joe had come back from the grave and Ian would have a nervous breakdown and my lawyer would become the pariah of Albert Square. That’d be fun.

The trouble with dreams is you always wake up.    

Wind and Rain in Ilfracombe

 got a taxi from Barnstable and arrived at the Carlton Hotel £30 lighter. Snow was predicted.

‘It only snows on Exmoor’ the driver said confidently. ‘You’ll be alright.’

But there was certainly rain. When I got out of the taxi it was like having a bucket of water chucked over me and the wind nearly blew me off my feet.

‘Mr Brooks.’ the Michael, who I’d spoken to on the phone, greeted me warmly. ‘Your room is 203.’ The room was comfy and so was the bed. The wind was kicking up but I had to get a beer.

All the pubs seemed to have closed down for the winter but then I found one that was open! It was a big warm place and I downed two pints lickerty spit and settled down to think about my show tomorrow night in The Space in wet Ilfracombe. I had to introduce my memory stick to the projector at 1.00 on the day.

Having slept well and having a jolly breakfast. I set off, with my books, for The Space. The rain had stopped but the wind was even fiercer. The Space was was in the basement of sort of church. Inside it was a hive of activity. People putting up seats, others fixing up lights and I was greeted by Robert, the overall boss of the place.

‘A lot of seats.’ I said.

‘Forty people have applied but only fifteen have confirmed. The weather, I suppose.’

Fifteen was alright for me, I’ve played in front of a lot fewer than that, but for the theatre not so good. Although they’s said they wanted just 40 per cent of the ticket price and I told them that they could keep it all. It didn’t seem like a lot of money to take on the gate.

That evening when I arrived it seemed full! The wind must have blown them all in.

The show went well although I left out a chunk in the first half (getting as bit carried away I suppose). ‘Ran for forty minutes, Ray.’ Robert, the stop watcher, announced.

‘The second half is shorter.’ I said pathetically. And it was.

Generally I was pleased and the audience seemed happy. They bought most of the books.  Then I took Robert off to the pub. Back at the hotel and Michael was still there but the bar was closed.

‘Do you want a drink, Ray.’ he said. Then opened the bar and brought a large red wine. ‘And I’d like to buy a book for our in our library/’ he bought a book then offered me a  lift back to Barnstable the next day.

And so to bed. Two books left, an audience of 47, then a text from son, Tom. ‘Very proud of you.’

The perfect end to a perfect day.