The One-Hundred-Year-Old Man…


Little blue books are becoming a thing with me. It could be a newly-found addiction. Next week I will try something that is already read.

I read this book a while ago. No, that’s not quite right. I started reading this book a while ago and finished it sometime later. My book reading is strange and  I can often put a book down for years whilst in mid-read and come back to finish it off much later. This book was not like that, but it did take some will-power to see me over the rump of its initial appeal.

I happened upon the novel by way of my neighbour and former cycling companion. He had started reading my blog and was interested in some of the stuff that I had been reading. He never gave me any feedback on my own writing, but I expected as much (or as little). The Hundred-Year-Old Man came as part of a bilateral book exchange. He got Graham Swift’s Waterland and I got this. At first, I thought he had the best out of the deal. On second thoughts, I think he got the best of the deal.

This little blue book is knowingly amusing. It plays with the genre of the ageless protagonist not only living through world-shaping events, but also playing an unwittingly major role in those seismic changes. It is amusing and annoying in turns in the same way that Forest Gump was. It does, however, keep its true soul to the end when the author speaks, Jonas Jonasson, and this left me with a rather enjoyable bitter-sweet aftertaste.

It’s not something that will live in my memory for all time, even now it is fading, but it was worth the read. I am, however, looking forward to getting Waterland back and must build a bridge to reestablish contact after a number of very quiet months during this endless winter.


Now, to work…

Molly Bloom And Her Dirty Tongue…



I heard myself talking today. I was discussing the gratuitous sex in the early Game of Thrones series.

Being one or its original converts, I have recently felt a little aggrieved that the wagon that I was travelling on, with but a few, has now become a bandwagon. Every Wight Walker in the Seven Kingdoms is now a Game of Thrones fan.

Well, here is one man of the north who says,

“Tis mine and my like’s. The final season is coming!”

So back to a conversation that I was having about the ridiculous nature of modern day culture that confuses television with actual culture. The conversation started with an outpouring of sadness for a television presenter who just happened to crash into a car with a three year old girl inside. The line of the narrative went, “I think the public really feel sorry for him.”

My line was different.

Anyway, back to Game of Thrones which is not television but a documentary of immense importance. I was bemoaning the fact that the documentary makers had included earlier scenes of such a robust sexual nature that they existed merely as titbits for an audience incapable of following an epic narrative; fisting has no place in fact-based fiction.

And then I got to thinking about Molly Bloom and her monologue at the end of Joyce’s Ulysses (his little blue book).

“…when hes like that  he cant keep a thing back I know every turn in him ill tighten my bottom well and let out a few smutty words smellrump or lick my shit…”


This was high art in my day and I loved it.

The years have censored me.

How Dildos And Stockings Can Save The Day…


A ray of sunshine has fallen across our Saturday morning. Outside is dull and damp, but in doors there is a spot of hope.

Saturday morning started off as all Saturdays tend to do. Lucy, our cat, came gently meowing into our bedroom. The weather is grim out there, but that didn’t stop her from wanting, nay insisting, on going out. I crept out of bed, descended the stairs, opened the front door, and she was gone into the gloom. I went back to bed; it was five o’clock.

Later, we were awoken by the sound of our middle daughter moving around. We ignored this and feigned sleep. After about half an hour, my wife’s phone started to do the buzzing thing that has replaced the traditional ring. It could only be one person, our eldest daughter in France. I listened for a short time to the conversation and then went to make the mugs of tea that are so much a part of our awakenings.

Saturday mornings always follow their own traditions. Tea, talk, sample the news, and the porn; property-porn.

Property-porn has been part of our lives for over twenty years. In the early days it meant leafing through the Yorkshire Post property pages. Then it progressed to the internet where property porn is tailored for everyone’s predispositions and quirks. We originally went the French way as old houses and gardens were still the norm for most people’s tastes. After that, we went Spanish: new-builds, sea-views, and pools. Spanish properties are plentiful, although sometimes they tend to lack the aesthetic.

We can spend up to an hour luxuriating in this debauchery until the real world calls us back. The real world needs finances and I have managed to spend the main part of my life avoiding this hefty consideration. My pension-pot is puny as I thought that I would be a famous writer by now. I am not. And the wife is not overly impressed. Therefore the morning, that started off so well, the porn not the cat, started to slide downhill a little.

“Why can’t you write a bestseller?”

“I know. I wish I could.”

“But it would have to be something that people would want to read.”

“I know.”

It was still slipping downhill and towards a precipice when my wife suggested, sex.

“Sex sells.”

“Perhaps I could write some erotica?”

“I don’t really think it’s you.”


So, I am officially a sad old git who can’t get it up for a swift chase of chapters that would titivate the secretly saucy.

“Dildos and Stockings!”

The morning was starting to look up again.

“Why don’t I set up an internet shop and sell dildos and stockings? Buy a pair of stockings and get a dildo, of your choice, free.”

She had my attention.

” I think that you have something there.”

The idea had begun to harden in our minds.

Dildos and Stockings. It’s great name.It could just work.


At last, things are looking up.

Property-porn, here we come.  

Words of Wisdom…

images-518 images-520


I was struggling for something to write this morning. I knew that I wanted to write, but understood that, if I pushed it, it would sound trite. I found these two instead.


I like them…


I hope you do too…





How I Use This Blog…


It’s nice to come home to the blog at the end of a working day. It’s good to sit down and see what has been going on. It’s wonderful to enter a world of imagination and self-reflection. 

Oh, my lord, I sound like a tree-hugger. 

Just got back in from work where I have wrestled the very soul of young humanity for the twin prizes of teaching and learning. The kids have been disruptive, argumentative, and obstructive. The word disobedient no longer holds meaning. I expect a rough time and that helps me to plan for it.

In Japan, they expect earthquakes. In some island states, they expect land-swallowing tides. In the United States they expect Trump to be dismissed from office for being a genetically-developed bullfrog with the mind of a greedy five-year old at a birthday party. The reason why his skin looks so orange is that he ate all the cake and jelly and trifle and drank all the fizzy drinks.

My blog is a stop-valve. It gives me chance to say something without having to announce myself to my fellow man. On I am semi-invisible. Having said that, I try to keep my deepest thoughts out of reach as my wife thinks that somebody will get hold of them and use them against me.

“What? Like destroy my teaching career?”

My blog keeps me company in the good and the dark days. I shouldn’t say this, but there are many things that I write that I find to be good work or that actually make me laugh. There are times when I think back to something that I have posted and try to find the part of it that I believed was a specific nugget of humour or wisdom; and then I repost it.

I repost frequently as I have a website that resembles a local authority tip. I just throw everything in there and hope for the best. I am a hoarder. My refuse I can not refuse.


Look at my stuff: