Uncanny Tales – (099) Heart of Oak

 

It’s 1660 and after the death of the puritan tyrant Cromwell the monarchy has been restored under Charles the II.

In the south of England, the summer is fading as the land is hastened into autumn.

Jay’s and squirrels compete in the oak forests for the acorns both burying them in the rich earth in store for the winter ahead.

 

“It’s cold, very cold and wet” It said to itself “and I can’t see anything.”

This went on for some time although how much time it was unable to say as it had no means by which to measure.

On some days it was impossible to move as the penetrating cold held it vice like.

On others it is awash and almost floating.

Then things felt different it was warmer and it was changing, and a most peculiar feeling came over it.

There was a tearing sensation, and it was moving upwards, and it was getting warmer and warmer.

All of a sudden it wasn’t dark anymore.

The acorn had burst forth from the rich earth as a seedling oak.

The seedling felt fantastic and the feelings it was experiencing were like no others it had ever felt before.

Then came the time to survey its new surroundings it was in an open space surrounded by huge oak trees one of which had produced the acorn from which it emerged.

The ground was dappled with golden patches which moved from place to place.

Beyond the huge oaks were more open spaces and more mighty oaks as far as it could see.

In the other open spaces, there were more seedlings also taking in their new situations.

But apart from the trees there were creatures of various shapes and sizes from small things with lots of legs to large four-legged creatures and other that flew in the air.

Some creatures actually ate the smaller ones.

The very big creatures occasionally trampled the tiny seedlings, it was not looking forward to that.    

On the whole the seedling thought its new situation was very nice indeed.

However, it had not yet experienced rain, hail, wind, fog, frost, and snow.

 

It’s now 1760 and mad King George III takes to the throne where he remains for sixty years.

 

The seedling is now a strong young oak, young and in it prime and does not fear the trampling beasts of the forest.

Its view is still restricted to the surrounding Oaks and clearings although he now towers over the latest crop of seedlings.

Some of the once mighty oaks lay broken on the ground brought down by a combination of age and wind or the weight of snow.

These are now the habitat of the many legged creatures.

 

1860 and Queen Victoria rules the land and times they are a changing a revolution is taking place, the industrial revolution and this revolution is driven by great wood burning machines.

 

The oak is now middle aged and stout it is now among the tallest trees in its part of the forest though its view is relatively unchanged, for now.

The oak has noticed the air tastes different and there is a sound in the distance that was not there before.

Everything else remains the same the creatures come and go until one day a new creature arrives it is four legged but only uses two the oak does not like this creature. it smells different, it smells of death.

The two legged one was the first of many, but they all had the same smell.

 

1960 Queen Elizabeth II is on the throne and again the land stands on the brink of another revolution this time it’s the sexual revolution where the world dives headlong into a spiral of depravity.

 

The oak stands in a small wood he is the largest and grandest of the trees remaining.

The two-legged ones devoured the old forest for their machines which drove their revolution and their wars.

All those many years the oak craved to see beyond the other oaks and clearings now craved only the old views.

 

2005 Queen Elizabeth II still reigns the land, but it is now a land where the people have learned the value of what nature is are resolved to protect what they have left and if possible, add to it and are full of optimism for the future.

    

Our oak now stands a full 70 feet tall and proudly looks down upon a new forest, a young forest of seedlings and saplings.

Our oak is old and tired, but it is content that the forest which it knows it will never see mature knows all the same that mature it will.

One day when it has been felled by the wind or the weight of snow and it becomes the habitat for the many legged ones it will return to the enrich the earth from whence it came those many years ago.

It may well be that once the Jays and squirrels have competed for the crop of acorns it will again burst forth from the rich earth as a seedling oak.

 

Uncanny Tales – (098) Indecent Proposal

 

The Dulcets are a collection of villages and hamlets comprising of Dulcet Meadow, Dulcet St Mary, Dulcet Green, and Dulcet-on-Brooke, to name but a few, and of course Dulcet-on-Willow which was a large sprawling village beside the gentle shallow River Willow, which ran unhurriedly from the Pepperstock Hills to the more vibrant River Brooke.

Ryan Lansbury was a long-time resident of the village, and he was popular with many of the other locals because Ryan was young, tall, dark, and handsome, physically fit, well-toned and had a reputation as a ladies’ man, which was very well warranted.

He was 28 years old, and his father owned half of the Dulcets, and he was grooming him to one day take over the reins of his modest real estate empire, unfortunately for his father Ryan had no interest in the business as he was primarily interested in crumpet in all its forms.

Obviously, he didn’t restrict his conquests to just the inhabitants of the Dulcets he also cast his net far and wide as he shagged everything in sight.

But his father controlled the purse strings, so he was often restricted to the villages, which he didn’t mind as he actually loved it, it was a beautiful place, it was quiet and the air was clean and the women were as attractive, friendly, and willing as any city girl, and there were more than enough to keep him entertained, both new conquests and frequently flyers. 

Among the local villagers, lonely widows, desperate singles, even more desperate divorcees, and the bored house frau’s he was manna from heaven, and he was very indiscriminate in spreading himself around, but he made an exception in the case of Goldie Vaghese.

She was neither a widow, a divorcee, a frequent flyer, or a local cougar, what she was, was the vicar’s daughter and she was only 17.

Goldie had been trying to get into Ryan’s bed since the moment she turned 16 but he had resisted her allure.

The reason for that was not that she wasn’t attractive, she was very, she was a petite blonde, with a beautiful face and tidy body.

Nor was it her age, he had bedded plenty of 17- and 18-year-olds in his time and would doubtless have a good many more.

His issue with her was the fact she was the vicar’s innocent daughter and he thought it would be a step too far, so he kept dodging her less than subtle advances.  

He managed to keep her at arm’s length for more than six months without too much difficulty, but she became bolder and bolder until one day when he had been for meal at the Pub in the village and walked over to his car and found Goldie sitting in the passenger seat.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I was just passing” she replied.

“You have to stop doing this” he said and got into the driver’s seat.

But when he got in the car, he noticed she was wearing a pale blue top but was completely naked from the waist down.

“Can we go now?” she asked and put her left foot up on the dashboard.

“For God’s sake Goldie cover yourself up”.

“Why, don’t you like what you see?”

“That’s not the problem” he said, “Someone will see”.

“Then take me somewhere else” Goldie said coyly.

“How many times do I have to say it, no” he said.

“Now cover yourself up and I’ll take you home”.

“I don’t want to go home” she replied “but you can “take me”“

“Stop!” he snapped.

“Why? What’s wrong with me?” she said angrily.

“You have absolutely no morals whatsoever and you shag anyone and everyone” she retorted “So why not me?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You don’t need to get defensive; I know you’re shagging half the women in the Dulcets” she said matter of fact-Ly “and so does everyone else so don’t bother trying to deny it, I even know who a lot of them are,”

“I think someone has been spreading rumours” he said defensively.

“If they were only rumours, I wouldn’t be interested in letting you shag me” she said.

Ryan went to speak but Goldie stopped him by asking.

“So why not me?” she said angrily.

“You’re too young” he said.

“Rubbish I’m nearly 18 so it’s not illegal”.

“And I’m 28 so it may not be illegal but it’s certainly immoral” he pointed out.

“Why? It’s not as if I’m a virgin” she said, and he looked shocked.

“What? you thought because I’m a Vicars daughter that I was all virginal and pure?” she scoffed.

“Well yes” he said.

“Really? Well, I haven’t been a pure Christian maid since I was 13” she confessed.

“So now can we go somewhere and shag?” she asked and

Ryan replied by starting the engine.

Uncanny Tales – (097) The Call of Duty – They’ve Got Us Surrounded

 

Being a man of a certain age, I have always been a great admirer of the generation ahead of me and there resoluteness in the face of adversity.

Their resilience and fortitude during the Second World War when ordinary men and women donned the many and various uniforms of the armed forces and stood up to be counted.

In the beginning it was a voluntary system, and you had some level of choice as to what arm of the forces you wanted to go into but once you chose your preferred service there was no guarantee that you would get it and once in you had no control as to what you would end up doing.

Now obviously some roles were more dangerous than others but nonetheless I still think they were very brave.

There wasn’t really a cushy number to be had you were all in the firing line to some degree.

And it wasn’t just those in military uniform who risked their lives.

Police, Firemen, ARP, fire watchers, Observers and the merchant marine were just as brave.

 

If it were me joining up back, then I’m not sure which service I would have preferred.

But whatever service you ended up with or the role within it there were some more hazardous than others.

Some so hazardous that it was like wearing a target along with the uniform.

The peril that some of them placed themselves under was truly astonishing and there are a number who deserve special mention, so I have picked one example from each service and one civilian occupation to illustrate the courage that was commonplace.

 

Paratroopers

 

Finding a candidate from the Army was quite difficult as it is such a broad church.

With many suitable examples to choose from but after some little thought I settled on the paratroopers who I once heard described as the “umbrella danglers”.

In army strategy one of the cardinal sins is to allow your forces to become surrounded or cut off from the main body.

I remember reading about an American soldier from one of their airborne divisions, it was after the Germans had broken through the Allied lines in the heavily forested Ardennes region of Wallonia in Belgium which is perhaps better known as the Battle of the Bulge.

The soldier was reporting to his officer on the situation and said.

“The Germans have us surrounded sir”.

The officer looked directly at the young soldier and replied.

“We’re paratrooper’s son, we’re supposed to be surrounded”.

And that kind of sums them up really.

Uncanny Tales – (096) The Call of Duty – Above Us the Waves

 

Being a man of a certain age, I have always been a great admirer of the generation ahead of me and there resoluteness in the face of adversity.

Their resilience and fortitude during the Second World War when ordinary men and women donned the many and various uniforms of the armed forces and stood up to be counted.

In the beginning it was a voluntary system, and you had some level of choice as to what arm of the forces you wanted to go into but once you chose your preferred service there was no guarantee that you would get it and once in you had no control as to what you would end up doing.

Now obviously some roles were more dangerous than others but nonetheless I still think they were very brave.

There wasn’t really a cushy number to be had you were all in the firing line to some degree.

And it wasn’t just those in military uniform who risked their lives.

Police, Firemen, ARP, fire watchers, Observers and the merchant marine were just as brave.

 

If it were me joining up back, then I’m not sure which service I would have preferred.

But whatever service you ended up with or the role within it there were some more hazardous than others.

Some so hazardous that it was like wearing a target along with the uniform.

The peril that some of them placed themselves under was truly astonishing and there are a number who deserve special mention, so I have picked one example from each service and one civilian occupation to illustrate the courage that was commonplace.

 

Submariners

 

Unlike the other branches my candidate for the Navy was a no brainer there can be no braver section of the Senior Service than the Submariners.

Most Navy men devote all their collective effort to keep their vessel afloat, but the submariners deliberately submerge themselves.

Even sailing in a submerged boat during peacetime was a dangerous occupation.

But in wartime it was necessary to spent prolonged periods under water and for that you have to be a special type of person.

At the dangers were many, Enemy Cruisers spewing depth charges, Submarine hunting aircraft, strong currents, minefields, and submerged hazards.

And should any one of those result in damage to the sub no one was going to come and find you.

Uncanny Tales – (095) The Call of Duty - On A Wing and A Prayer

 

Being a man of a certain age, I have always been a great admirer of the generation ahead of me and there resoluteness in the face of adversity.

Their resilience and fortitude during the Second World War when ordinary men and women donned the many and various uniforms of the armed forces and stood up to be counted.

In the beginning it was a voluntary system, and you had some level of choice as to what arm of the forces you wanted to go into but once you chose your preferred service there was no guarantee that you would get it and once in you had no control as to what you would end up doing.

Now obviously some roles were more dangerous than others but nonetheless I still think they were very brave.

There wasn’t really a cushy number to be had you were all in the firing line to some degree.

And it wasn’t just those in military uniform who risked their lives.

Police, Firemen, ARP, fire watchers, Observers and the merchant marine were just as brave.

 

If it were me joining up back, then I’m not sure which service I would have preferred.

But whatever service you ended up with or the role within it there were some more hazardous than others.

Some so hazardous that it was like wearing a target along with the uniform.

The peril that some of them placed themselves under was truly astonishing and there are a number who deserve special mention, so I have picked one example from each service and one civilian occupation to illustrate the courage that was commonplace.

 

Glider Pilots

 

Finding a candidate from the air force was quite difficult as I have always thought that military pilots in wartime were very brave whether in fighters or bombers, on the attack or in defence and I hold them in the highest esteem.

But my greatest admiration has to be reserved for the glider pilots.

As such you need to be every bit as competent at flying powered aircraft and a bit more.

These pilots had to fly into enemy territory normally at night and land a fully laden aircraft of equipment or soldiers, and land on a precise spot in the dark or at best half-light.

And if you manage to avoid being shot down on route by enemy fighters or blown out of the sky by anti-aircraft fire or crash the glider on impact.

You then stop being a pilot and become a soldier and fight with the men you were carrying.

So, if you were carrying a glider full of Royal Marine Commandos you had to join them to their objective and fight as a Commando, what a daunting prospect.

Uncanny Tales – (094) The Call of Duty - For Those in Peril on the Sea

 

Being a man of a certain age, I have always been a great admirer of the generation ahead of me and there resoluteness in the face of adversity.

Their resilience and fortitude during the Second World War when ordinary men and women donned the many and various uniforms of the armed forces and stood up to be counted.

In the beginning it was a voluntary system, and you had some level of choice as to what arm of the forces you wanted to go into but once you chose your preferred service there was no guarantee that you would get it and once in you had no control as to what you would end up doing.

Now obviously some roles were more dangerous than others but nonetheless I still think they were very brave.

There wasn’t really a cushy number to be had you were all in the firing line to some degree.

And it wasn’t just those in military uniform who risked their lives.

Police, Firemen, ARP, fire watchers, Observers and the merchant marine were just as brave.

 

If it were me joining up back, then I’m not sure which service I would have preferred.

But whatever service you ended up with or the role within it there were some more hazardous than others.

Some so hazardous that it was like wearing a target along with the uniform.

The peril that some of them placed themselves under was truly astonishing and there are a number who deserve special mention, so I have picked one example from each service and one civilian occupation to illustrate the courage that was commonplace.

 

The Merchant Navy

 

I was spoilt for choice in the civilian occupation, the mere fact that you are unarmed and for the most part non-combatants qualify as brave in war time, but I think my candidates are beyond brave.

 

If you joined the Royal Navy in wartime, you could rightly expect to face danger and discomfort no matter what sized vessel you found yourself in.

Battling with enemy warships, risking submarine attack or Dive bombing went with the territory.

In short, they were a highly trained body of men manning state of the art vessels.

I certainly wouldn’t want to diminish the image of the Senior Service and the life of a Sailor was certainly hazardous enough, but my admiration is with the Merchant Seaman.

 

These men were often ineligible to serve in the armed forces either because of age of fitness yet they risked their lives on a regular basis in order to deliver vital materials to our beleaguered island.

The Merchantmen consisted of vessels of every size some as big as a heavily armed Battleship, physically and literary as big a target as a warship, but without the means to defend yourself apart from light antiaircraft defences.

Crossing a vast ocean like the Atlantic in a convoy, carrying vital supplies for the home front in the foulest of conditions at the mercy of the elements and the wolf packs of hunting U-boats.

 

These were brave men indeed who frequently ran the gauntlet on our behalf and when they had a ship sunk beneath them there first thought was to sign on with another ship.

Uncanny Tales – (093) Rewriting History One Fact at A Time # 3

 

If there is one thing that irritates me more than any other, it has to be historical inaccuracies in film and TV scripts.

Now I’m not talking about things like Braveheart or The Battle of the Bulge or countless other attempts by the Americans to rewrite history.

No, the things that irritate me are the little things, the small easy to verify things, the things that they just can’t be bothered to do right.

 

For example, take the 2006 movie “the Holiday” with Cameron Diaz, Kate Winslet, Jude Law, Jack Black, and Eli Wallach, which. I particularly liked.

It has all the ingredients required for a great Christmas film, engaging characters, humour, pathos, romance, cute kids, and a happy ending, or in this case a multiple happy ending.

That aside the Grinch in me won’t forgive the unpardonable sin of a glaring error and a failure to research correctly.

Eli Wallach’s character, Arthur, asks Iris played by Kate Winslet

“What part of England are you from?”

To which she replies “Surrey”

“Cary Grant was from Surrey” Arthur says.

“That’s right he was” Iris confirms.

No, he bloody wasn’t from Surrey he was from Bristol.

How did they not get that right, why did they not check a simple fact like that?

If they wanted to keep the Cary Grant reference, Iris could have answered Arthur’s question.

“What part of England are you from?”

By saying, “Bristol”

Or if they wanted her to be from Surrey, why didn’t they pick another internationally known actor from Surrey such as Bill Nighy, Colin Firth, Edward Woodward, Julia Ormond, Julie Andrews, Laurence Olivier, Peggy Ashcroft, Peter Cushing, or Ronald Colman.

How simple would that have been “Laurence Olivier was from Surrey” Arthur could have said, but no they had to ruin an otherwise perfectly good film.

Uncanny Tales – (092) Rewriting History One Fact at A Time # 2

 

If there is one thing that irritates me more than any other, it has to be historical inaccuracies in film and TV scripts.

Now I’m not talking about things like Braveheart or The Battle of the Bulge or countless other attempts by the Americans to rewrite history.

No, the things that irritate me are the little things, the small easy to verify things, the things that they just can’t be bothered to do right.

 

For example, in the American hit TV series NCIS there is a character, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo played by Michael Weatherly, who, apart from being a special agent also considers himself to be a bit of film buff.

DiNozzo is constantly either quoting from movies or is making endless film references to accompany any given situation he is in or indeed crime scene he is at.

In one episode he is drawing a parallel between his own situation and that of the characters in the 1938 classic “Angels with Dirty Faces” with James Cagney, Pat O'Brien and Humphrey Bogart.

And the afore mentioned parallel would have been quite apt, had he not made a serious faux pas, well I think it was serious.

He referenced to the fact that Rocky Sullivan and Jerry Connolly grew up as tough kids in Hell's Kitchen, the toughest part of New York, and their destinies were set when Rocky got sent to reform school and Jerry escaped the law and went on to becomes a priest.

So far so good, but where DiNozzo went wrong was to say that the Father Connolly character was played by Bogey (Humphrey Bogart), who was in the film, when he was in fact played by Pat O'Brien.

Quite unforgivable when DiNozzo is supposed to be an aficionado of film.

Uncanny Tales – (091) Rewriting History One Fact at A Time # 1

 

If there is one thing that irritates me more than any other, it has to be historical inaccuracies in film and TV scripts.

Now I’m not talking about things like Braveheart or The Battle of the Bulge or countless other attempts by the Americans to rewrite history.

No, the things that irritate me are the little things, the small easy to verify things, the things that they just can’t be bothered to do right.

 

For example, there was an American sci-fi series in the 90’s called “Babylon 5” which I much enjoyed, and if truth be told I liked it more than the Star Trek equivalent of “Deep Space 9”.

However, in one episode, “Comes the Inquisitor”, there was a character called Sebastian, who it transpired as the story unfolded was in reality Jack the Ripper.

When his true identity came to light during the story it was announced that in the late 1800’s Jack the Ripper plagued London’s West End.

No! No! No! Jack the Ripper did not stalk the theatre district he was too busy amusing himself killing prostitutes in the East End.

It was a simple mistake that just shouldn’t have happened, but it did and there really is no excuse for it this day and age when research is such a simple matter.

I find it difficult to comprehend that such a basic error made it to the airing.

Surely one of the writing team or production staff or even one of the cast, would have asked “Are you sure it was the West End?” but apparently not.

 

Last Christmas my wife bought me the boxed set and when we were watching the relevant episode, we both braced ourselves for the fateful moment and then laughed when we discovered it had been rather amateurishly dubbed.     

Uncanny Tales – (090) There’s More to Life Than Being Young and Fit

 

Now I’ve left middle age behind me in the distance I occasionally hark back to my youth when I really was as young as I felt, to the days before my six pack became victim to too many six packs, I suppose my current physique I have to confess is not so much a six pack but rather more a party seven.

(If you don’t know what a party seven is then this ramble probably doesn’t apply to you).

The thought of my girlfriends of the day with their firm buttocks, flat stomachs and gravity defying breasts stir my loins with more than a sense of nostalgia, and part of me wants to return to those carefree days of youth but I have grave reservations about being a teenager again or worse being myself amongst teenagers.

Having shared a train carriage with four teenage girls only a day ago and having endured the incessant and inane jabbering for two long soul-destroying hours, when they had exhausted their limited vocabulary within the first 10 minutes, the thought of repetitious teenage pillow talk fills me with dread.

How is it that with all the many means of communication at their disposal they still have nothing meaningful to say?

There is a lot to be said for being with a woman who is wrinkle free and supple and of limited sexual experience, carnal knowledge was so much fun to learn, and all this reminiscing leaves me with a certain longing.

But the price is too high to pay, it is so much better being with someone with life experience, someone you can have a proper conversation with in between the love making or indeed instead of it.

It doesn’t have to be deep and meaningful converse just a bit more than he said/she said init.

It can be as simple as a common history or shared knowledge, someone who knows the name of the dragon in Ivor the Engine, or someone who watched Brief Encounter and didn’t think it was funny.

Someone who remembers being able to play music at the wrong speed and who remembers having to wait for the black and white TV set to warm up.

Just someone who understands what you are saying and doesn’t stare vacantly at you when you mention an event that happened pre-1990.

Uncanny Tales – (089) Its Official, I’m An Old Man

 

I was sitting in my car, which was parked in a side road behind the church where I was waiting for my wife.

It was a “no through road” and its primary function was as an access road to the shops and its double yellow lines were designed to deter men from waiting for their wives but at six o’clock in the evening, we were there in numbers without fear of causing an obstruction.

It was a warm late afternoon/early evening in June and the bright sun beat down on the car and subsequently we were all sat with our windows down to benefit from the light breeze.

I was leant back in my seat, eyes closed against the sun, listening to the world cup chatter on the radio when I heard a car horn.

This was not an uncommon occurrence, there was always someone honking for something, I myself was no stranger to the use of the horn, so I didn’t open my eyes and continued to listen to the radio.

Then came a prolonged blast which did open my eyes and caused me to turn to see where it was coming from.

I had to crane my neck to see the source of the noise which was behind me and to the right.

A woman in a large salon car who was trying to exit a car park was waving her hand in an exaggerated gesture which I took to mean “can you move the car back”.

I arrived at this interpretation mainly because she shouted rather forcefully out of her open window.

“Move back, move back”.

Despite the fact I was not level with the entrance nor was I blocking it in anyway and had she got her positioning right she would have made the manoeuvre effortlessly,

I pointed out to her quite politely that she was only driving a saloon car and not a tank, but this fell on deaf ears, so she repeated her demand.

“Move back, move back”.

I acceded to her request and reversed back out of harm’s way but as she was making the turn she stopped and shouted to me through the passenger window.

I was expecting a thank you but instead she shouted in a voice somewhere between Caroline Langrishe and Margot Ledbetter.

“If I didn’t have my daughter in the car, I would have something to say to you, you silly old man”.

I was so taken aback by the superciliousness of her comment that I laughed.

This was not the response she was expecting which seemed to fluster her and she missed her gear.

“Are you not even a little bit embarrassed that you can’t manoeuvre yourself out of a car park”?

She eventually managed to find first gear and lurched forward but then found herself tight up behind the car that was parked in front of me before I moved.

I couldn’t resist the temptation and leant out of my window.

“Would you like me to ask him to move as well”?

She reversed back quickly then lurched forward again only to find she still couldn’t clear the parked car, so she threw it into reverse again and quickly shot forward.

To my shame the child in me applauded as did the driver of the car in front.

Then a jewelled hand appeared from the drivers’ window and extended a single digit and from the passenger side a smaller hand appeared and gave a thumbs up.

Then the brake lights came on as she violently braked sharply, at first, I thought she was going to engage us in some witty repartee or that she had noticed her daughters’ supportive gesture but no, it was just that she nearly ran down some poor unsuspecting pedestrian.

The driver of the other car and myself exchanged knowing looks and I chuckled to myself and was still chuckling when my wife arrived and got in the car.

Uncanny Tales – (088) On the Way to Maybury Hill

As a young man, H.G. Wells had spent an unhappy time living with an aunt in Horsell which was then close to Woking and is now part of the overall sprawl.

So, when he wrote his great science fiction novel, The War of the Worlds, he had the Martians land on Horsell common, in sight of where Wells had once lived.

This enabled him to have that area of Woking become the first to fall victim to the terrifying invaders weaponry.

In the novel the hero of the tale, having witnessed the first meteor fall to earth, was pursued by the merciless tripods from the common and along Maybury hill.

Were the invaders to land today they would have to negotiate a huge six-way roundabout, dissect a one-way system, a no left turn, a no right turn, two traffic light junctions, three pelican crossings and two quite appallingly designed mini roundabouts.

I think faced with the product of 21st century traffic management and in particular Woking Borough Councils ill-judged town planning, that the Martians would have given up and returned home long before they were exposed to the pathogenic bacteria that eventually saw them off.

The world saved by the ineptitude of local government, what Irony.

Uncanny Tales – (087) The Lady Mondergreen

 

Everything nowadays has a name every illness, every condition has a pigeonhole, every hobby or pastime, every job and occupation and there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, after all that is one of the functions of language.

Names and definitions enable us to know what someone else is talking about as well as feeding the habit of those interested in trivia.

I like trivia myself all those interesting facts about just about anything, the origins of surnames, inventors, adventurers, sporting events, who did what to who and when.

In fact, my head is absolutely full of useless bits of trivia from irrelevant facts to complete rubbish I even know the origin of the word trivia.

All of which brings us neatly to the purpose of my rambling, namely that all of us at one time or another have listened to a song and got it wrong and completely misheard the lyric, sometimes just the first hearing and sometimes every time you hear it.

I’m sure that everyone has a list of their own that they can recite but one that always sticks in my mind is from the Queen classic “Bohemian Rhapsody” the correct line is “spare him his life from this monstrosity” but I always hear “spare him his life from his Walls sausages”, I know it makes no sense but that’s what I hear.

I once heard Billy Connolly telling one of his tales many years ago, which happened when he was working in America, it was about a little girl in church who instead of singing “Gladly the cross I bare” sang “Gladly the Cross-Eyed Bear”.

Now I’m sure that you all have far better examples than the two that I have mentioned.

All this leads me neatly to the point where I impart my little piece of boring trivia, a little gem of trivia which just happens to be the name to describe a misheard lyric, that word being ‘Mondergreen’.

The word “Mondergreen” is derived from an old folk song that was released on a record in the early 1950’s which contained the line “They laid him on the green” but this was misheard and was thus misinterpreted as “The Lady Mondergreen.”

Now wasn’t that an interesting bit of rubbish.

 

I would be interested to hear your own examples of Mondergreens.

Uncanny Tales – (086) I Don’t Like Mondays

 

Journal week ending 23rd May 2008

 

In the words of the Boomtown Rats classic song title, I don’t like Mondays.

Now I know I’m not alone in that dislike and I hate Mondays on several levels, and I know I’m probably not alone in that either.

There are some Mondays I like more than others such as any Monday that falls during my holiday leave, providing I’m not at home, and Bank Holiday Mondays for example are on the whole quite painless and in a week which boasts a Bank Holiday Monday I don’t like Tuesdays, but I don’t think there is a song about that.

 

The reason that I dislike Mondays so much, apart from the obvious one’s, is that Mondays are our designated refuse collection day in other words it’s when the bins are emptied.

Now I am well aware that the collection of household waste is an essential part of life, and I certainly wouldn’t want the practise to stop after all I do pay handsomely for the privilege.

 

I should point out that I do have an issue with the manner and means of collections that have been imposed on us.

Which is this, although we do have bins emptied weekly, we do have to suffer fortnightly collection, so general rubbish is collected one week and recycling the next and so on.

If you have the same arrangement in your area, then you know what I mean and if you don’t then you will have firsthand experience soon enough.

 

However, my chief gripe about collection day stems from a need to get from A to B without hindrance.

In other words, being able to get about without having to wait an indeterminate period of time for the dust cart to reach a point whereby the immeasurable queue of cars can continue their short journey.

You may think me petty or prone to exaggeration or both, but this is a reoccurring problem.

It’s bad enough when it happens on a main thoroughfare but at least they only block on side of the road under those circumstances and the traffic can still flow albeit in a restricted form.

But when it happens on the access roads to a housing estate, they block the whole road and make no attempt to find a spot where cars might be able to pass.

 

Take this Monday for example I was on my way home having been to the shops in town and turned onto my estate to find a dust cart blocking the road.

The road had cars parked down one side with hardly any spaces to pull in so fearing a protracted wait on this particular stretch of road I did a u turn back out onto the main road and drove another mile to enter the estate from the opposite end.

As I did so my heart sank as I could see 100 yards ahead another dust cart blocking the only other access road to my destination.

I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw two other cars that had made the same discovery as I had.

I drove on as far as I could, about thirty yards from the obstruction, and tucked into a gap between two parked cars and waited.

I looked down the road at the driverless vehicle with its busy orange flashing lights which are supposed to warn of some kind of activity apparently not in this case.

I turned on the radio and amused myself by listening to Ken Bruce’s “Pop Master” quiz on  Radio 2, shouting out the answers and berating the contestant when they got it wrong.

Five minutes passed and nothing changed apart from the additional cars taking positions in the available gaps behind me.

The second combatant took her turn on the quiz and just as they were about to choose their bonus subject, I saw activity ahead.

A man in protective clothing moved towards the truck and opened the door.

The protective clothing consisted of safety footwear so they can kick your bins without hurting themselves, a Hi-visibility yellow coat so we can see them not moving very fast and Gloves to stop them getting chapped hands in the winter,

He climbed into the cabin after a few moments the truck started to move slowly in my direction.

As it did so the driver started making exaggerated hand and arm movement for which I could give no explanation.

As he got closer to me, he became even more animated and then he leant out of his window.

Still unaware of what the problem was but realising he was looking at me I wound down my window,

“You’re in the way” he shouted and pointed beyond my car “I need to get to those bins”.

Now although I find collection day to be a huge inconvenience, I put up with it, I don’t really have a choice but for him to start having a go at me rather pissed me off.

“What do want me to do about?” I responded.

“Where exactly do you expect me to go?”

“You should have hung back further up the road” He shouted again.

I didn’t point out to him that if I had stopped further up the road one of the cars behind me would be parked in the space now occupied by me instead, I said.

“So, I should have to park half a mile up the road because you’re inconsiderate”.

“Inconsiderate” He bellowed “Inconsiderate you’re the inconsiderate one mate”.

I took a deep breath before saying “One of us is blocking the road and it isn’t me, should I draw you a picture or do you get it now”?

“You’re the one blocking the bloody bins” he retorted his face a rather unattractive purple which did not go well with his yellow coat. 

“God forbid you actually have to wheel the bins an extra six feet” I replied “Mate”.

At this point a woman stepped off the curb and walked over to truck and looking up at the funny purple man made some enquiry about collection times for the coming holiday weekend.

“For god’s sake don’t distract the dustman now we’ll be here all day” I shouted to her.

The driver bristled visibly at the mention of the word “dustman” and ignoring the woman he drove slowly off followed by seven cars and there disgruntled drivers.

Only then could I continue my journey and although I had missed the end of “Pop Master” I felt I had acquitted myself well and struck a blow for the common man, figuratively speaking of course as he was younger and fitter than me and more purple.

Uncanny Tales – (085) An Unsuitable Candidate

 

It was a beautiful June evening when Ian Livesey was sat by the river in the beer garden of the Mulberry Tree in the village of Brocklington, about six miles downstream of the River Deighton when Angie Faulkner, who carried a torch for him, joined him at the table. 

“Hi Ian” she said, “I’m looking for a date for the Summer Ball”.

“You’re leaving it late” he said, “I can’t believe you’re struggling to find someone”.

“I was hoping it would be you” she said and smiled.

“That’s a terrible idea” Ian retorted.

“Why is it?”

“I never take a date to the Ball, I always go Stag, for obvious reasons” he pointed out.

“But you wouldn’t need to pick up a woman if you took me as your date, and then you could have me” Angie said. “So be my date”.

“No”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I am not dating material” Ian replied.

“But you’re my kind of material” she pleaded “You’ve always been the one for me”.

“I am not a suitable candidate for you”.

“Your perfect to me” she said.

“I’m a womanizer Angie”, Ian said “I’m not the boyfriend type”.

“But I’d be really happy if you were my boyfriend and wouldn’t care about your infidelity as long as you never touched my sisters, or my mother.”

And then almost as an afterthought she added, “Or my Aunt Agnes.”

“Isn’t she the one with the moustache?” he asked, and she laughed.

“Yes, but she has great tits” she pointed out.

“Fair Comment” he agreed.

Her sisters were six years old so were far too young to be candidates for his lust, but he hadn’t considered her mother or moustache Pete for that matter, although her mum was still quite fit, so under the right circumstance he might.

He was just digesting what she had said when he caught sight of one of the barmaids, collecting glasses and at that precise moment she bent over to pick up an empty glass and he could see up her skirt to her thonged womanhood.

“All I would want is your undivided attention when we were together” she said and punched him.

“Sorry” he said.

“That’s ok, you can look at her nonny” she said, “as long as when you got an erection, you’d give it to me.”

“Well, I’ll give it to someone” Ian said.

“Why not me?” she said angrily “Why can’t I be a notch in your headboard?”

“Because you’re better than that, you can do better than that”.

“But I want you” she said urgently. “I love you”.

“You might be happy to put up with my peccadilloes in the beginning, but a time would come, probably sooner rather than later, when you wouldn’t be” he said, “And then love will turn to hate”.

“But…” she began.

“I would just make you unhappy” Ian Said

“Save your love for someone who will cherish it, who will cherish you”.

Uncanny Tales – (084) Code Named Epping

 

I had occasioned this week to visit a close friend in hospital and while there I ran into another friend, Sheila who I hadn’t seen for about a year, who is a nurse.

She was on her way to get a coffee and as I had finished my visit and was on my way home, she suggested that I joined her so we could catch up.

So, half an hour and two cups of coffee later and having filled in the blanks of the previous twelve months we were joined by Karen, another nurse.

As we sat their chatting over another cup of coffee I was intrigued as to why Karen kept referring to a third party as “Epping” for example “Epping did this” or “Epping did that”.

Finally, my curiosity got the better of me and I asked who Epping was and they both laughed, Karen almost hysterically, then Sheila explained that “Epping” was what another nursing colleague called Su Monks.

I thought for a moment what the reason for calling her Epping might be, aware as I was that medical staff were famous for putting codes on patient notes such as NAB which translates to “needs a bath” or PITA “pain in the arse” I tried to decode Epping, the girls looked at me in amusement as I struggled, I even tried to find a link between Epping and the girls name but try as I may I could not translate Epping into anything so I had to ask.

“Alright I give in, what does Epping mean”?

They both laughed again and then Sheila said, “We call her Epping because she’s just past Barking.”

Uncanny Tales – (083) A Blank Canvas

 

In the southern town of Abbottsford, the biggest in Downshire, the administrative capital, seat of the Downshire government is the location of the Abbotsford Regents Hotel, where twice divorced Vicky Wey was staying, and she had just celebrated her 40th Birthday and as a special Birthday present to herself she seduced 19-year-old virgin Hotel Employee Jamie Pullen.

He wasn’t her usual kind of prey, but he was good looking, physically fit and she could bend him to her will.

She saw Jamie as a blank canvas for her to paint with lust, so she lured him to her suite and took him to paradise.

Uncanny Tales – (082) Rejecting the Nanny State

 

The town of Shallowfield sat on the southern edge of the Finchbottom Vale and it had always relied largely upon forestry and agriculture for its prosperity, sitting as it was sandwiched between fertile farmland and the Dancingdean Forest.

This was reflected in Addison’s Cafe where Forester Paul Dyer was having breakfast with his farm labourer girlfriend Ellie Dyke.

Paul had just started tucking into his full English breakfast when Ellie finished her second bowl of muesli.

She had her phone on the table in front of her propped up against the flower vase and she was reading an article.

“Apparently today is “Eat What You Want Day”” she said.

“That’s good, because that’s just what I’m doing” he retorted.

“Yes, but you do that every day” Ellie pointed out.

“Quite right” he agreed.

“Shouldn’t everyone’s day be like that?”

“I don’t think it’s about prohibition” she said.

“It’s more about awareness.”

“Well, I’m aware it’s about the Nanny state” he retorted.

“I think it’s more about getting people to think about their health and wellbeing” Ellie said in her best patronizing tone as she patted his hand.

“Well, my health and wellbeing would be served by not trying to make me feel guilty about food all the sodding time?” he replied and laughed out loud.

“I’ll get you some more toast, shall I?”

“Yes please” he replied with a grin.