Looking like shit every Monday.

Monday is market day in Bakewell; the busiest day of the week by far.To Mecannylad the pervading colours of market day will always be a disappointing dark brown and olive green – the brown and green of animal shit as the local farmers and their stock come to town in their droves.

Every turn you make …. Shit, shit, and more shit.

Little hard raisens of fresh brown sheep shit …. huge steaming pats of green cow shit. Even the gentry farmers are sympathetically dressed in brown and green…… Tweeds.

They must go to their tailors and say, “I want to look like shit.”

Don`t take Mecannylad`s word for it. Come and see for yourself…. but mind where you step.

Babydoll Nighties & Goblin Teasmades

Mecannylass has been threatening that the ceiling will cave in on us one of these days unless I clear out some of our accumulated undusted wild shite from the loft. After watching wall to wall football on TV over the past week I knew I was decidedly short on Brownie points so Mecannylad felt obliged to redress the balance.

Ah; the memories at the other end of a loft ladder ! Take our beloved Goblin Teasmade for instance. Bloody useless!....can you remember them ? There`s something very Terry and June about a Teasmade. Mecannylass used to lie in her short babydoll nightie snoring like a captive rhinoceros on one side of me and the bloody Teasmade was on the other gurgling, spluttering, hissing and spitting like the Flying Scotsman at full tilt.

Those were the days!

Brothel Creepers & Fleshy Honkers

I realise it’s probably a Geordie thing to be derisive when what we mean to be is complimentary …. but frankly Mecannylad does find today`s fashion conscious young women who gratuitously flash their fleshy honkers in public rather too much for my liking.

I`m just glad I`m past it … I don`t think Mecannylad would be able to cope being out on the Toon these days. For a start; Mecannylass tells me that my brothel creepers (size 8, black suede) are now a fashion no-no and that the favourite purple C&A crimplene suit (plumb actually) wouldn`t go anywhere near me. I`d have to lose 5 sodden stones at least!

Oh, the ravages of time. The world Mecannylad grew up in has long gone.

From Sunderland (where else)

There`s this strange, rather unkempt little bloke who tries to infiltrate our company in the village pub on occasional weekend lunchtimes. Looks as if he`s had his hair cut by a comedian. I don`t know his name but I do know he`ll never die of being parched. He`s such a nosy and inquisitive tonk but at the same time deeply secretive and evasive…… and …… a bloody tight fisted prick to boot. (The sort who would ask for a loyalty card from the Dignitas Clinic.) I think he`s from Sunderland originally – say no more. Honestly, he would walk on grass verges as opposed to pavements … just to save on shoe leather.

He (I wish I did know his name) would probably make a bloody big to-do if he ever reads my blog …. but heh, I don`t think he`s into electricity never mind computers and iphones and such like.

By the way Sunshine, if ever you do hear about this, mine`s a pint.

Balls to Data Protection.

I`ve been trying to contact British Gas by telephone about an improved domestic tariff but they refuse to talk to me because our bill is in Mecannylass` name. I`m Mecannylad for f**** sake …. Mecannylass` husband of 30 odd years. 30 bloody years contracturally bound at the wallet. Still no!

If I had said I was her asylum seeker, pre-op lesbian, transgender, one-legged, vegan, black, Mohammedan partner (on housing benefits) no doubt I would immediately be offered a hefty discount….. back dated.

God save us!

Granny`s Fallopian Tubes.

For the life of me I don`t quite know what the hell prompted my interest in the first place but I`ve become quite addicted to family genealogy lately. Fascinating. It`s hard to believe that just three or four generations ago it was the norm for Mecannylad`s female forebears to each produce nine or ten kids.

Take my Grandmother on my mother`s side of the family - bless her cotton liberty bodice; by all accounts Grandad only had to unbutton his longjohns and dear old Granny fell pregnant. Poor bugger, her fallopian tubes must have been as busy as a wizard`s sleeve.

Balls in her knickers.

The girl from our local fish and chip shop has just got back from a couple of days shopping in Milan of all places. She`s been telling me all about it (well…not ALL!) and how she saw Caroline Wozniacki in the La Rinascente. Who the hell is Caroline Wozniacki when she`s at home; Mecannylad thought that she must have been some screwed up haute couture frock designer or something? But no …. Miss Wozniacki by all accounts is one of the world`s top female tennis players; a mere prepubescent bairn who no doubt can smash her first serve at 120mph with her second serve still jammed down her knickers in reserve. (How off-putting.)

Tennis leaves me cold, although Mecannylad should really admit to having been to Wimbledon for strawberries and cream many moons ago. Frankly the only bloody thing I can remember about it all was stumbling across a prominent politician as he staggered rat-arsed out of the BBC hospitality tent at half past midday ….. Deuce indeed !

I wonder; whatever happened to him?

They say the word `apparently` allows you to get away with murder …. lets hope so.

I wish a certain rotund, dark and difficult post-mistress in a certain Peak District Post Office would slip into something more comfortable occasionally  ...  like a good mood.

She is apparently so intense all she thinks about is bloody money. Money, money, money. She`s apparently as tight as a mermaid`s tampon.

It was her daughter`s wedding a while back and she apparently sent the invitations out as emails including the bride`s bank account and sort code details …. no doubt, apparently, to make it easier for guests to consider cash donations as gifts.

I should be safe with 4 `apparentlys` don`t you think ?!!

Shocking habits from Mesopotamia.

Not only do we get overun by tourists but now the most obscure of EU nationals are picking off Eyam`s finest properties to actually live here permanently.OK,Mecannylad knows this may appear to be rather rich coming from a Geordie boy who has flagrantly deserted his fatherland to plunder the riches of the Peak District …. but heh, it`s not on.

Take the latest insurgents around us for example; we`ve now got Amadeus from the barn conversion behind the pub pissing about in his rusty vintage Trabant and his partner Anna Phalaxis with her shocking habits from the concubines of Mesopotamia. Some say they add a certain richness to our community. 

 Bollocks.

Dead People`s Glasses.

What the hell am I doing slaving away writing daily posts for this compulsive bloody blog of mine. …. I only have myself to blame. Mecannylad is an object lesson in thwarted aspirations, a prime example of why the lower order should never be educated. Believing myself to be a wisp away from acceptance into the Royal Society of Sleazy Literature, where infact I would be better off - happier even - if I spent my time on something less demanding.

Something perhaps like flogging dead people`s glasses in the local hospital charity shop.

Welcome to the Incontinence Centre.

Even at my age Mecannylad still hankers after being a businessman – I could see myself as a sympathetic shopkeeper extraordinaire.

Mecannylass has heard on the grapevine that there`s a nice little retail unit smack bang in the middle of a village not far from me coming up for re-let next month; it would suit my business model down to the ground thankyou very much. The Incontinence Centre I would call it. It would be chock full of the latest discreet pads, breathable adult nappies, whisper quiet plastic panties, duvet protectors, pillow protectors (well, dribbling is a form of incontinence!) and such like.

Exactly what the Peak District`s ageing population wants …… What do you think ???

Are bras banned in Bakewell ?

Mecannylad wants to know why is it that the womenfolk of this genteel Peak District market town all seem to have huge swinging udder like appendages and bulging biceps. Surely in this day and age it is not borne out of carrying yoke upon yoke of overful milking pails.

……. there also seems to be a shampoo shortage in the town.

Us Brits seem to be overfond of a minutes silence at our football matches these days; Mecannylad even half expected Wembley to fall silent for Titanic the other day.

I have ranted about this sort of thing before and I make no apologies for blowing off again.

What`s this about the crowd at a big FA Cup game the other weekend showing their appreciation for an Italian second division footballer who had suffered a fatal heart attack. Bugger me; if the shoe was on the other foot can you see the Eye-Ties in the San Siro putting their hands together for a poor sod of a centre forward from Chesterfield. Not bloody likely.

Coping in Guantanamo Bay

When my laptop gave up on me recently I had this grand idea of asking a friend of a friend who is in IT at the County Constabulary HQ if he would mind taking it to work with him and see what could be done with it. After all, if the police computer people can dig deep enough and decode Al Qaeda emails then they should be able to recover Mecannylad`s blog ramblings without too much trouble.

Oh shit, on second thoughts …. have I made a massive error of judgement …… have I alerted myself as a potential terrorist …. how will I cope in Guantanamo Bay?

A surprisingly enjoyable beaver.

Mecannylad likes his women clean, simple and tidy; going beyond that is only inviting trouble.

So you can imagine the state I was in having to spend the evening in the company of one particular lady resplendent in her finest beaver fur wrap. What sort of small-talk dare I resort to? Could I possibly resist a double-entendre compliment before the night was out? I couldn't trust myself an inch, I was thinking in loops all evening; actually Mecannylad couldn't help but enjoy her company despite it all.

I got away with a stroke in the end. Memorable.

Do I sound as though I have a vagina?

Regular readers of this blog will know that Mecannylad hates Call Centres with a passion.

“I am sorry all of our operators are busy at the moment and you are being held in a queue. Your call is important to us and may be monitored for training purposes.”

Here we go again. All I wanted was a replacement seal for my wife`s very English tumble drier manufactured 45 miles from where we live …. but I still had to talk to some person on the Indian sub-continent, 4,500 bloody miles away!And another thing; why does Sanjay from Siliguri insist on calling Mecannylad madam…….for Christ sake, do I sound as though I have a vagina ?

“We regret we are unable to offer Handel’s Water Music at this time because of the hosepipe ban and hope you will be happy with Englebert Humperdink`s Greatest Hits Vol XXII. Have a nice day”

Wankers, the lot of them.

1001 uses for a Bird Bath.

Have you ever eavesdropped on someone else`s conversation and just wanted to either butt in or ask a follow up question? But of course you couldn`t; or wouldn`t dare !

“That bird bath we bought last year has paid for itself already.” said one pensioner to another as they browsed around our local Garden Centre.

Cheezuz Christ ! … I need to know! … What are they doing with a bloody bird bath for it to be so damn economical !!! Please someone put Mecannylad out of my misery.

Chim-chiminey, Chim-chiminey, Chim-chim, cher-ee.

It`s funny how even forty year olds can make Mecannylad feel ancient by comparison.We were talking about pre-decimal money in the village pub the other day.You know what I mean; half crowns, ten bob notes, tanners and so on. 

It was only 1971 when we went decimal not 1871 ………… but cheezuz, don`t these young bucks have the uncanny knack of making you feel like a Victorian child labourer who has just come down from the chimney for a breath of air !

In the boudoir with Herb Alpert and his Tijuana Brass.

I firmly believe that the secret of a happy bedroom in the golden years of a relationship is tolerance and understanding. Take Mecannylad and Mecannylass for example. With a tendancy to snore more in our old age and an inclination towards more sonic farting, a lack of any understanding in the boudoir would be disastrous. Thankfully we have become quite relaxed about the reality however.

That said, if ever we were burgled at night and the intruders broke into our bedroom they could be forgiven for thinking that they had disturbed Herb Alpert and his Tijuana Brass in their rehearsal rooms!

But can he clean a dirty oven ?

Contrary to popular belief Mecannylad doesn`t mind lending a hand with the domestic chores now and again. I do insist however on the old fashioned approach. This jack-flash Juan Sheete bloke on the TV adverts with his miraculous paper towel gets on my tits. You can`t beat putting your back into household cleaning. You know what I mean.

I was given this fancy Apple and Redberry cleaning foam to do the oven with the other day. Bugger me, what is Mecannylass expecting me to do … make a damn fruit salad or what ?

I tell you;I like my bleach to smell like bloody bleach.

Viva la Conquistadores !

Our lovely little village high street was awash with six coach loads of shifty looking sullen tourists this afternoon. Honestly at around 4 o`clock the place looked,felt and smelled like a Central American Latin Republic. OK,I know; it`s the Easter holidays and Mecannylad shouldn`t be so intolerant.

I keep telling myself that deep down tourists have to be sufficiently well meaning to want to come to Eyam in the first place. Well meaning but statutorily ignorant…… Now will you all p*** off home and give my regards to Papa Doc.

A touch of the Crabs.

Mecannylad hates sleeping in an hotel bed. I even find it bad enough staying over at friends….. but sometimes you`ve just got to do it.

Mecannylass and I had dinner with old friends the other evening and stayed over. A lovely couple; both in the medical profession. I had the usual,what seems impossible, job of getting myself to sleep in strange surroundings. In the end I had to resort to reading the bedside book left in the guest room; The Official History of the Genital Wart.

What a thriller …. but it worked; I scratched myself to sleep !

Popeye the guitarist.

A couple of forty-something males from the US have rented a cottage not far from us for the duration of the summer. Now that’s pretty unusual in itself; taking a six month let on a holiday cottage I mean.

Village gossip has it that they are singer/songwriters searching for inspiration! Now who am I to cast aspersions …. and of course Mecannylad is never a one to judge ! But shhh …. I`m convinced that both of them are partial to a jab of collagen filler or two.

Mecannylass and I passed them strumming away on their guitars sat by the village tea rooms the other lunchtime. A very odd couple indeed. Every time one of them sang a high note his baseball cap fell off backwards. And the other; I never saw him blink once and he could only seem to mutter out the side of his mouth, a bit like Popeye.

It`s a dead giveaway says Mecannylass …………………… ?!!

Susan Boyle`s stunt double.

I`ve heard the occasional parochial old timer in our village hint that both Mecannylad and Mecannylass have never had it so good. People think that we, as ex Townies, should feel forever privileged to live here in the stunning surroundings of the Peak District.Be that as it may, but let me take this opportunity to rubbish such scurrilous generalisations. Actually if the truth were known, roses have never always been the things that our life`s a bed of.

Even now for example, when Mecannylass is mistaken by tourists as Susan Boyle`s stunt double you have no idea how hard her poor life can be. And me? Admittedly a tad on the porky side these days, I tend to suffer in silence ….. from fat people`s problems; like when I cough I suck my boxer shorts up my arse. Damn uncomfortable.

But heh ho …. we`re not the sort to complain. Leave us be; we are doing no harm to anyone.

Feeling liverish lately ?

Ah, the memories; I didn`t realise that Andrews Liver Salts is still available in the shops today.

My old Granny back on Tyneside used to swear by it. She was a liver salts addict. She used to down a half-pint glass of `Andrews`, as she affectionately called it, first thing in the morning and then last thing at night …. and whenever she was was feeling liverish (whatever that means) in between. Mecannylad remembers her obsession with this horribly fizzy stuff went beyond just drinking it. She even used Liver Salts crystals as a cleaning agent; sprinkling them dry around the underside of the toilet rim!

I don`t think Granny`s odd toilet habits ever actually made it any cleaner or more hygienic for the follow on users ….. but, by God,it did give you a bloody fright when you went for a pee after her !!

`I`m a lumberjack and I don`t care.`

On my way to buy my morning newspaper Mecannylad usually passes this bloke walking his dog. Admittedly such occasions are rarely conducive to incisive soundbites but for Christ`s sake this particular rural raconteur hardly has the vocabulary of a stammering budgerigar at the best of times. Without fail, come rain or shine, all I get is a “ Good morning old fella” …… every single time.

Cheezuz; do I look as if I chop down bloody trees ?

There is no place for mass Emotional Incontinence in the UK.

Unless you have spent the last few weeks on the moon you will be aware that a not very famous professional footballer here in England suffered a cardiac arrest while playing in a game the other weekend.

Thankfully the guy is now recovering. But hey ….. what`s with this hysterical wave of public concern which has swept our country over this incident ? Mecannylad thinks there has been such a spectacular loss of perspective here.

Come on, please, what about the good old fashioned and beloved British qualities of self-restraint and reserve ?

Ladies and Gentlemen; the star of the show ... is not here !

Pardon me for smiling but I was in the pub the other night at the same time as the annual awards dinner for the local bowls club was being held. There was a special achievement award for the club secretary to recognise the fact that he had attended every single committee meeting over the past ten years.

Unfortunately however this particular bloke was indisposed and regrettably unable to accept his prize in person that night !!!

You couldn`t make it up.

Seven game old birds in fish-net tights.

Mecannylad accidentally walked in on a rehearsal for the upcoming Village Association`s Queens Diamond Jubilee Concert today. Seven game old birds, all in fish net tights, attempting to tap dance and mime to `Nobody loves a fairy when they are forty.` Not a pretty sight. I was paraylised with incredulity when I totted up in my head that the sum total of their ages was close on 500 years.

I mean 500 years ago ! … cheezuz King Henry VIII was in his prime then !

Self harming with cocktail sticks.

We`ve had our first neighbourly barbecue already and it was still only March. I ask you, what IS happening to our climate? Mind you I hardly think it was worth it, the following morning Mecannylass was intent on making my life a bloody misery showing off her `puncture wounds` as she puts it from the marauding, blood sucking, early season insects. In March?!! Here we go again! If the truth were known I`m sure she`s been self harming whilst under the influence … with some of those sharp umbrella shaped cocktail sticks.

Never mind; we`ll be piling logs on the fire again next week and so she`ll be able to rabbit on about the risk of chilblains again.