The Week That Wasn't

First of all, thanks to those of you who took time to email or post your concern over my lack of posts this last week. Even those of you who disguised your concern as attacks on my personal integrity. Showing compassion can be difficult when mummy and daddy never told you they loved you, so I understand where you where coming from.

I needed to spend my 1 to 2 hours a day of time not spent working or sleeping doing things other than blogging and/or concerning myself with the ways of the world. Don't ask me what I did instead 'cause I can't remember. I did go to bed very early a couple of nights, and no, Mrs. Waring did not get lucky. At least not with me.

A lot can happen in a week. I'm tempted to make one huge post and shoot my proverbial wad in one go, but I will save some stuff for later. It's been a good week but one that ended on something of a sour note when I was hit on by one of the ladyboys in the club last night. Luckily, I am not the type of lad that responds to such advances by punching the offender full in the face. I rather took it as a compliment but politely declined the offer by telling him/her that I already had a boyfriend. That seemed to confuse Arthur (that's what I call her) for a moment as (s)he seemed to be considering coming clean and 'fessing up but obviously thought better of blowing their cover and just smiled and gave me a hug (!) instead. Why the fuck are there no dry cleaners open on a Sunday?

Anyway, yesterday I ventured out to buy myself a new black shirt. I'm a big lad, 6 foot 3 to be exact and so prefer to buy shirts at stores for big lads. I wear a 2XL tall, most regular stores do not sell 2XL tall or if they do, all such stock is bought within seconds of being put on display by 5 foot 3 hispanic or african american types. That just fuckin' kills me y'know. I see these little twats parading down the street wearing shit that is 10 sizes too fuckin big for them and I think "Where the fuck did you get that?" Whenever I go shopping for clothes all they have is small boys medium that I could barely get one arm inside. Little bastards.

So, as I said, I'm out shopping for a nice black shirt and I go to 'Casual Male XL' where I am amused to find a fellow shopper loudly procuring for himself some new threads. By the looks of this guy, he doesn't get out often without the aid of the fire department and a winch. He's a bit on the large side and has a voice to match. After 5 minutes of debate with the assistant over whether the 4X or the 5X would be better, he settles on the latter and proceeds to the cash register where he already has several items ready for purchase and where another customer was waiting in line. The conversation was priceless......

Fat Guy - "So, what do you do?"
Innocent Bystander - "I'm a draftsman"
FG - "What's that?"
IB - "I draw blue prints"
FG - "I did that in college!"
IB - "Oh....really?"
FG - "Yes."
IB - "Oh....okay....well....."
Awkward silence.....
FG - "I'm going out on a date tonight!"
IB - "Yeah...."
FG - " Well, it's not really a date....it's bingo.....OA bingo. You know what OA is?"
IB - "Ummm.....no"
FG - "Overeaters Anonymous, that where I met her." (I had to hide behind the suit rack at this point.)
IB - "Really?"
FG - "Yeah....I have an eating problem...."
IB - "Huh?"
At this point, fat guy has an afterthought and yells back across the store to the assistant "Do you guys sell swimming trunks?"

Thanks for the image you fat fuck....

Sadly, I had left my cell phone in the car. A picture would have told told a thousand words.

Remembering Uncle Charlie

Uncle Charlie was a good old lad. He liked a drink or two and would often get pissed then go and expose himself outside the bingo hall. Now and again, if some careless employee left the fire escape open, he would get inside and streak across the stage when the compere called out "2 fat ladies, 88". He was misunderstood by many, he wasn't trying to scare anyone, he was just lonely. Auntie Edna had run off with the coal man in '68 and he had never been the same since. He could be found most Sunday mornings in the park, chucking lumps of coal at the ducks. It was his way of coping with the loss and the loneliness and to get rid of all the bags of extra coal Aunty Edna had got (for free) from the coal man. Charlie had installed a gas fire after she left.

Despite all the trauma, he never let it get in the way of his true passion. Uncle Charlie was, for most of the 60's and the early 70's, more well known in Northern England than Jimmy Clitheroe. Wherever Uncle Charlie went he was recognised, parents would shake their kids and point him out. People wanted their picture taken with him, they wanted him to sign autographs and they said things like "Hey! You're him aren't you? That bloke. I saw you on the telly", and "The missus'll never believe me, your biggest fan she is".

Uncle Charlie didn't like all the attention, so he didn't go out much, except to expose himself at the bingo and to chuck coal at ducks. The fame was difficult for him, but even the fame, and the loneliness and the occasional incontinence didn't stop him doing what he loved. Uncle Charlie was a champion log roller, the champion log roller, the peoples champion and he had been for 8 consecutive years. He travelled the North to compete in log rolling competitions and would even venture into Yorkshire every now and again, despite his fear of Dewsbury. He had a mantlepiece full of trophy's and pictures of his triumphs. Pictures of him and The Beatles, pictures of him and Bobby Moore, Nobby Stiles and Alec Guiness. He had an album of newspaper clippings filled with reports of his successes and heroics.

He once rolled a log the length of the Leeds & Liverpool Canal, successfully navigating through the many locks and tunnels, skillfully avoiding shopping carts and the bloated bodies of dead cats & dogs floating in the water. Crowds turned out in their thousands to cheer him on from town to town. He would perform back flips and gymnastics along the way, doing handstands and juggling the live ferrets which he kept in his pants by wearing bicycle clips at the bottom. When he finally reached Liverpool, he was greeted by The Queen and Prince Phillip who awarded him 16 shillings and a new set of dentures. He kept the 16 shillings but sent the dentures back with a strongly worded letter complaining about sharp increases in the price of epsom salts.

Uncle Charlie was a one of a kind and died doing what he loved. He was determined to be the first man to roll a log from Dover to Calais and had tried several times before giving up due to high seas. On the day he died, May 10th 1978, the weather was perfect and the seas calm but Charlie had made some miscalculations when determining the best log for the job. His usual log, "Bessie" was deemed not to be up to the arduous journey and he had spent several weeks in Scotland searching for the perfect log. He thought he had found one and named it "Joan" after a woman who worked in the local pie shop. The log, however had serious flaws in the bark and split in half just 2 miles from the French coast. Charlie, whose faith in his ability was so unshakeable that had never learned to swim and refused to use wear a life jacket, drowned. A legend was lost.

To this day, "Bessie" is on display at the National Log Rolling Museum in Skipton, perfectly preserved inside a glass display case and the spirit of Uncle Charlie lives on. The museum is open Saturdays and Sundays from 10 - 2 and admission costs £2.50, all proceeds go to the Retired Log Rollers Welfare Fund, providing elderly ex-log rollers with cigarettes and other essential items.

Uncle Charlie & Bessie