I am getting very confused. I could have sworn that Alan Bennett wrote a play called “ Sixty Year On “ and then I checked and it was “ Forty Years On “ so I missed the opportunity to cross reference that twenty blogs ago. There is a song by Elton John titled “ Sixty Year On “ but the lyrics have nothing to do with what I want to write about so that whole bit of google research was a total waste of my time and yours. Anyway, I am “ Sixty Blogs On “ and still going. As we Jews say to each other “ May you live to 120 “ so am half way there in Blog Years.
There seems to be a lot of fuss about a bloke called Cummings at the moment. Until a few days ago the only Cummings I knew was e.e cummings the poet ( small letters are deliberate as I am sure I don’t need to tell all my intellectual readers that all his poems were in small letters. ) or Alan Cumming the actor ( but he has no ‘s’ , it seems ) I had seen photos of Bojo as I’d picked the paper off the front door-step with a man I had always taken to be the caretaker or cat minder or male nanny at Number 10. He was always in track suit bottoms and a grimy t-shirt ( that’s me being the pot calling the kettle black, by the way as I tend to dress the same way… only t-shirts aren’t usually grimy. They’re usually the Polo shirts I buy every year in South Africa which look very much like the real thing until you closely inspect the polo stick )
Anyway, turns out this Cummings bloke doesn’t live at Number 10. Just spends a lot of time there except when he does a daily drive to Durham ( or something like that ) I am beginning to learn a lot about him. Apart from the fact that he likes track-suit bottoms ( I mean, who doesn’t? ) he has a very strong bladder because he says he can drive all the way to Durham (and maybe back again as he seems to do a lot of that ) without using a public convenience. Perhaps the track-suit bottoms help or maybe he has a bottle in the car he uses for emergencies. Probably too much information. Or too much Cummings and Goings. To be honest, I don’t really care if he stays or goes. There are so much more important things going on in the world.
Like the big match in Germany tomorrow ( no, it’s not a reconstruction of World War II, it’s Bayern Munich versus my team, Borussia Dortmund ) or the fact that today is the day that Sam meets Wanda or perhaps it should be Wanda meets Sam. ( there may be one or two of you who have no idea what I am talking about… don’t worry that applies to 99% of my readers every day ) Anyway, as they say in the States “ In previous episodes… “ Sam is our grandson and Wanda is our grand-puppy. Today Nicky, older son, is taking her to Harrow to walk in the park and meeting up with Sam. The grand-cat, Tabitha is missing out on all this.
The bloke filling in for Chris Evans this morning said he had replaced a filling in his own tooth. We were at a zoom quiz and one of the other participants proudly removed a self-administered filling and then replaced it. I mean, why not? People are cutting hair who aren’t barbers or hairdressers so what’s wrong with playing at being a dentist. I mean, we all played at doctors and nurses when we were kids, didn’t we? No ? Was that too much information as well?
What I don’t understand is why the hairdressers are re-opening on July 4th, but not the dentists. Maybe the salons have had crash courses in hygiene to enable them to overtake the highly trained dentists in bio-security.
But, I’ve wasted far too much time on main stream news. There are far too many good stories around that I am guessing most of you miss by sticking to the main roads ( which will probably be mobbed today with reckless irresponsible hordes heading for the coast and the countryside. ) I mean what about the bank robber in Russia… I mean who would want to end up with a load of roubles anyway? Seems he threatened to blow up the bank with explosives in his back-pack, unless a meeting was arranged with his favourite pop star. Maybe I could try that in New Jersey and only turn myself in when Springsteen turns up. Seems that with this Moscow incident another customer entered, got chatting to the
robber and they ended up drinking wine together. The article doesn’t say who provided the wine, the robber, the other customer or the bank. By the way, the back-pack was found to contain noodles. Doesn’t say if they were pot-noodles or not. That’s the thing about journalists. Bloody lazy, the lot of them . Can never be bothered to dig down deep into a story.
One thing is for sure is that the wine wouldn’t have been provided in South Africa or Thailand ( see earlier blogs ) So, when I saw another little headline that said “ Minivan smashes into Liquor store “ I thought it had to be a desperate attempt by deprived alkies to get booze in one of the aforementioned countries ( why have they banned the sale of alcohol I wonder, anyway ? ) Not a bit of it. A little old lady in Florida had just left a parking area when she managed to drive her vehicle ( not sure why little old lady was driving a mini-van unless she was a Russian bank robber in disguise ) straight through the front window of the liquor store. I know that Isabella aged 94 likes her whisky so maybe this elderly driver was in dire need of a decent Scotch and decided to cut out the middle man (and the shop front ) to get it.
But, wait for it, the best is yet to come. I always read the obituaries in the paper ( as I always say, it’s just to make sure I haven’t died overnight ) Today in The Times an 84 year old passed away , having had a fascinating life. Born in Mississippi, deported before the war to Nazi Germany, bombed by the RAF ( between cricket matches, presumably… see yesterday’s blog ) captured by the Red Army, taken to Moscow and that’s where Saturn, the alligator finally died. As, I say, forget the likes of Dominic Cummings ( I just looked up his first name) Saturn the alligator is far more interesting.
You wouldn’t have wanted to track and trace him as he almost bit off the arm of a zoo keeper, but I think Cummings is hot on this track and trace stuff. I thought it was a substitute for the Olympics. Not Track and Field events but Track and Trace competitions. You race around the track and then all the runners go and hide in a nearby forest and other competitors have to try to trace them. To be honest, I am still not sure what track and trace really is. But back to Thailand and it seems there that if you are caught outside or are going into quarantine they just take your phone away and use it to…. yes, you guessed…. track and trace. I think I’ve got that right, but if I haven’t I am sure Jim will correct me.
I am growing to like this whole Junta idea so if anybody wants to join me in my coup please put a comment on the blog web-site. I’d prefer to be the Dictator, of course, but will settle for just being part of the ruling Junta if somebody will lend me a uniform. I wasn’t even in the Cubs or the Scouts or the Boys’ Brigade. In fact I doubt there is an army anywhere in the world desperate enough to recruit me.
So, first thing my Junta does is put this Cummings bloke on trial and I am not going to listen to his story that he really was just The Caretaker going to get his papers in Sidcup and getting lost and ending up in Durham. Pinter fans will know exactly what I mean by that. The other 99% of you, just google the play. This blog is always meant to be educational. Got a great response to yesterday’s when I taught you all you needed to know about Spanish Flu.
Anyway, the sun is shining, the garden and my book ( the one I am writing, not the one I am reading ) call. Stay safe and if we are spared, see you all tomorrow