I have a new follower on Twitter. A man unknown to me. On looking at his profile, I Found that he follows many people named Gary Moore.
I’m unsure as to whether I should find this creepy.
Category Archives: Weird
Vans
A few days ago, I had a pretty strange dream. Naturally (Freud), Dream Works had kicked-in, so I only remember a little. My dream involved my second in command and I having to travel to somewhere (I know not where) with haste (I don’t recall why either). We went by car, although I’m sure I had my travel card. Once in the car, I noticed that the passenger front window had been replaced with cardboard; secured with duct tape. And then I realised that the car was blue rather than white. Metallic blue. Somehow I could see the exterior of the car while inside. The blue, metallic, car was suffering from a bad case of corrosion. Really bad. Well, it was an old Ford, so that was understandable. I couldn’t quite make out the model, but it was wedge-shaped.
When I questioned my second in command, she informed me that Daisy, our car, had been exchanged for the rusty metallic blue Ford wedge.
And, minutes later, we were in a very much rustier, white van. Apparently because I’d complained about swapping Daisy for the blue rusty Ford. So we proceeded on our way in a rusty white van. To where, I’ve no idea. Or why.
Gary Moore II
Yesterday evening was spent mainly in the Dun Cow, in Bournmoor, in the company of old men.
It was an excellent evening which, as usual, passed too quickly. While the beer was questionable, the company and conversation were exceptional. My cab home delivered me to the Tuns for a nightcap. Which became three. Well, the fruit wheat beer and rhubarb cider were too nice to resist.
While there, I bumped into Lewis, the mate of the other local Gary Moore. He found the selfie my namesake had taken the night we met, on Facebook (which I don’t use), and mailed it to me.
My namesake is the one taking the picture, then on the right are Lewis and Fred.
Gary Moore
A weird thing happened today. I met another Gary Moore. A real one, in Gateshead. So there are (at least) two of us.
He seems to be a nice bloke too.
Hats
My second in command’s average daily headwear. All of them.
Wanka & Son
Found an old picture from a few years ago. Taken in Germany. A builder’s van.
They may have some connection to asphalt, car parks, or both.
Hoppity II
While in the Dun Cow (the one in Bournmoor, not Sunderland) with old gentlemen the other night, I showed my companions a picture of Sara and Hoppity. This one.
Their reaction was along the lines of:
What the fuck’s that?
That thing looks evil
That’s disturbing
It’s wrong
They were astonished to find that this has been a children’s TV programme. At first, they couldn’t remember it, but as soon as I mentioned Sara Brown, one of the gentlemen recalled the full name of the series. And, after he sang the first line of the theme, another joined in. Our youngest companion claimed not to recall the series, but he probably didn’t want to acknowledge his age (he’s certainly old enough to have been a regular viewer). And, there wasn’t anything else to watch at the time, since there was just the one channel. Or were there two? I must check.
Fixed … and broken
I finally got around to replacing the broken bathroom light fitting, so our bathroom now has light again.
Unfortunately, it appears that, when something is fixed, something else must break. My second in command’s foot, for example.
She has a brand new cast on her foot and crutches.
Football boots
Right now, I’m in my local watching football. Liverpool and Southampton. Liverpool are winning 2:1 coming up to half time. Exciting, isn’t it?
Oh, it’s now 3:1 as I type. But, no, it’s not exciting.
My mate, Ian, is telling me (by text) how good this is, as is my second in command, but I just don’t get it.
My grandmother once bought me a pair of football boots. They were on the list of things I needed when I started secondary school. I’d survived primary school without such footwear, so I couldn’t understand at the time why I would need football boots. After all, I’d successfully avoided football up to the age of eleven.
Anyway, I did appreciate my very expensive boots. I may not have worn them more than twice, but I really felt grateful for my grandmother’s gesture. The boots were the most expensive item on my school list.
But I don’t get football. I never did and still don’t. I know that my team are ‘the reds’, but I don’t really care whether they win or lose. Because I just don’t understand it.
I may have another beer, it might help me understand the game.
Alan
If my second in command hadn’t been rubbish today, I wouldn’t have met Alan.
The former went home after work this afternoon, even though she was supposed to meet me in town. So, I may have sat in the Split Chimp a while before I realised that my significant other’s communication skills, or lack thereof, would prevent our meeting.
And, as for Alan. Well, he fell asleep in Wetherspoons, after a bottle of wine or, most likely, a couple.
I’m sure he just needed a rest, but apparently it was deemed that he’d a medical\mental issue. I have to say that the man simply looked tired and in need of sleep.
But, no, the staff felt the need to call an ambulance. And, when the ambulance arrived, tests needed to be undertaken.
The end result, surprisingly, was Alan being taken home in the ambulance.
And that, in my modest opinion, is a huge waste of NHS resources. In my day, bar staff would’ve thrown him into a cab. At his cost.