Waymarkers Welcome

Hi to all you waymarkers who venture past this way. Leave a comment then I'll know who you were.

Schoolday Sweets.

Thought about sweets I used to have when I was at school.

Kola Cubes, Pineapple Cubes, Rhubarb & Custard.

My favoeites though were probably Sherbet Pips! Easily retrieved from a blazer pocket and surreptitiously eaten during lessons. Mmmm!

Of course, when I say easily retrieved, that was until they solidified in the bottom of your pocket and mixed with the ever present fluff that was generated in school blazer pockets. Come jacket cleaning time I don't think they were my mums favourite sweets!

What were your favourites?

Heavy Leather Balls

So, yet more talk in the media about the behaviour of footballers. This is the problem when you pay peope too much money and they start to think they are important. I know it's a tactic to try and harass the refere but it's not a particulrly positive one.

How I long for the day when a goal was celebrated by jogging back to the halfway line with nothing more than a handshake with your colleagues and perhaps a pat on the back to encourage a young player.

Players with short back and sides, long shorts and simple unbranded jerseys, shinpads, boots that soaked up the water, along with a leather laced up football that left imprints on your head when you headed it.

Modern football players wouldn't survive in that environment. Diving wouldn't have been tolerated had anyone bothered to be so ungentlemanly as to have tried it. Stud marks up and down your legs were part of the game, not something to roll around on the floor as though death was imminent.

Heigh Ho, those times are not coming back, pity though. And yes, I know the argument is that the skills on display are so much better.

Immaculate conception?

I have mentioned before amongst these ramblings, my step-sistes Erica who lives in San Francisco and is of a Sapphic persuasion.

I hear today that she is pregnant. I suspect that Debbie, her partner, is not the father! This modern life! It's all too confusing for an old timer like me.

When honour means nothing.

In present day Britain, honour, duty, bravery and courage mean nothing. The heroes of the day are overpaid footballers, the women who hang around them and anybody who once appeared on television, preferably either drunk, swearing, having sex, or even better, all three.

The Gurkhas however, have all the qualities that Britons were once known for.

So what happens now. We let anybody from the EU into the country regardless of their lifestyle, financial or criminal status, and those who come to cause terrorrism and the overthrow of our country, but we want to deport generous, polite, well mannered, dutiful, brave, loyal, servants of our country. Many of whom have given their lives, and the rest being willing to risk them, in our defence.

Of course, the Goverment will try to deport them. It saves them a small amount of money and The Gurkhas will not cause any trouble, it is against their principals. I wonder if the Government knows what principals are?

If you can take 5 minutes to e-mail your MP or do something else to show your support, please do.

Of course, if you don't have time to do that because you have to rush out and get this weeks copy of Heat magazine to find out how many times Jordan has thrown up this week then I quite understand.

Too fat for Bluetooth.

I have given in and bought one of those bluetooth thingies so I can walk round with a flashing blue light in my ear and talk to myself like an idiot. There is only one problem. If I put the phone in my right hand trouser pocket, (where it lives), with my earpiece in my left ear, (the best one for hearing with), my stomach breaks the line of sight and I lose the connection.

How embarrasing!

Past images.

There's a photographic exhibition in Leeds showing photos of Armley and Burley. My mum grew up in Burley, and I know Armley from family holidays.

From the few photos I've seen from there so far, they could have been from the 40's or 50's but in fact were taken in 1969. Kids sat on doorsteps, playing in the street, ladies stringing their washing from one side of the road to the other, etc. I find it quite emotional to look at them as they remind me of my grandparents who lived in Armley.

I'm going to go take a look and I'm half inclined to see if mum fancies going too. It'll be like a road trip!

Do The Funky Gibbon

I've been invited by a mate to Go Ape!

I quite like the idea, and I have agreed to it. The problem is I'm scared of heights. Even quite low heights.

When I swam for the school I didn't like it when we had to use racing blocks because it seemed way too high above the water to dive in. As for diving boards, whoa, forget it.

Luckily they have people who come and rescue you if you get stuck, although embarrassment might mean I stay up there for some time. It doen's fill me with confidence that within the safety instructions the word fatal appears more than once.

I've spent many a year telling people I'm possessed by a gibbon, now it's come back to haunt me.

The other problem I've been thinking about is will I have to paint my bottom blue?