There was a dreadful union between the giant immortal Typhon
And
the black fearful eyed Echidne, Half serpent, half woman
The
terrible result of this unnatural union was the dog Orthrus
A
two headed dog almost as vicious as his brother Cerberus
The
Drakon Chimaera was in love With Orthrus her own brother
And
spawned the deadly Sphinx and the Nemean Lion together
Used
by the giant Geryon to guard his fabulous herds of cattle
Who
at the hands of Heracles, was stuck with a club dying in battle
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 practice 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 first-hand 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.
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 cab and 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 realizing 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 their 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.
Does anyone know is Barbara Bach?
Does
anyone think is Cilla Black?
Does
anyone know is David Batty?
Does
anyone think is Jacque Tati?
When does it start?
And
how
Does
someone flick a switch?
Is
it like that?
There
must be a beginning
Everything
begins
This
must begin with a cell
Just
one dying
Then
another
Cell
by cell
Until
it happens
And
you notice something
Something
Not
quite right
Names
said wrong or forgotten
You
dismiss it
But
something’s not right
The
one day
You
see a look of vagueness
Of
alarm
Then
the realization
The
person you have known and loved
For
a lifetime
Is
looking at a stranger
And
the stranger is you
It’s
only short lived,
The
first time
But
it happens again
Because
cell by cell
It
steals their mind
Steals
their dignity
And
takes away their personality
Perhaps
the cruelest twist
Is
the body stays healthy
As
the brain is afflicted
And
for you
There
is no happy ending
When
decay takes the mind
And
for you
There
is no redemption
For
you there is
Only
the hope you dare not mention
Hope
of a merciful release
To
have the one you love at peace
The summer of eighty-eight
What
a holiday it was
Me,
tottering Bob and Metaxa Mary
On
the Greek island of Andros
In
the chain of islands
Known
as the Cyclades
We
would sit on the beach
Or
some beach front café
Like
the medusa or the koala
Watching
the semi naked femmes
And
not just that but fit too
Apart
from Mary
She
was more interested in the Geraniums
Which
grew seven feet high
We
enjoyed the Greek cuisine
Such
as it was
Stuffed
vine leaves, Calamari
And
Mousakka mainly
Not
forgetting
Greek
salad and Feta cheese
Washed
down with cheap booze
And
plenty of it
Everything
was cheap on the island
Not
just cheap fags and booze
An
old man called Stavros
His
skin the color of leather
Hand
made me a pair of sandals
For
under five pounds
Our
favorite haunt was the medusa
Owned
and run by Pandelis
And
his accommodating daughter Cath
Although
we had a brandy or two
At
the Paradise bar most nights
Just
as a night cap
But
it wasn’t the location, Or cheap booze
The
herb fragranced breeze
Warm
sunshine, Semi naked women
Or
accommodating waitresses
That
made it a great holiday
It
was the people
The
warm friendly locals
Fellow
Brits on tour
And
of course, Bob and Mary
What
a holiday it was
The great thing about
Not
being a foreign Johnny
Is
when on trains and buses?
Rug
sellers do not approach me
Nor
do half the passengers
Ride
on the top for free
The first sign of childhood ending
That
you can remember so far
When
you are too tall to be allowed
