Not – Living with David (for a week).

Yippee! David is going away on an outward bound course to Bryntisillio in Wales next week. He’s gone there every year since 2006 and it’s going to be sad with him leaving school in July; this will be his last trip.

Fortunately for me, it is also the last occasion I have to contend with the little extra’s he brings home as a result of his expedition. You see, David is a kleptomaniac in terms of souvenirs picked up from the floor. Check his pockets every day and you will find, combs, pine cones, feathers … I even found a key belonging to some woman called Jane, the other day.

Really sorry, Jane that you can’t get into your house but David has your key and not only that, I don’t know who the hell you are.

The thing with him going to Bryntisilio, as I said, he comes back with far more than I pack in his case, namely pieces of Bryntisilio itself. I’m not sure they notice at the centre that their rear garden wall is missing half of its bricks. If they do and are puzzling over what has happened to them, I can explain. David visits you – regular. Last year, there was an entire carrier full of Welsh rock, and I don’t mean the candy variety either. It’s in my garden now, adorning the rebuilt patio.

It’s not just bits of Brynty he brings home either. I think I have mentioned on Living with David posts in the past, that anywhere he goes, he does the same. This is none more so that at the Black Country Living Museum in Dudley. That museum is one where old houses and buildings from the industrial revolution and the 19th century are restored and you walk around the re-created village. In his last two visits, he’s come home, coat pockets weighted with brick, stone and slate from the said museum. It’s got to stop or one day I’ll come home to find a fully functioning Victorian Chemist shop, standing in my back garden.

Who the hell put that there?

Take notice.

The other week, I reported that it was local election time and that stiletto heels had been banned from the vote count in the event of proceedings getting a little fractious. Well, as far as I know, there was very little bloodshed spilled and Walsall Council, as a result of the election, is in no overall control.

Oh dear. Does this mean our officials will find it harder to push through their intelligently debated and rational decisions.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaa!

Anyway, I jest as you see but the election did get my back up about one thing though. On the campaign trail, candidates come and canvass at peoples houses. However, if they come to mine, they will see this on the door.

Despite the notice, knock on my door, they did. Now please, tell me. If you cannot read a bloody sign, why the hell should I trust you to run a local council?

And talking of local authorities …

This one is Sandwell NHS, but it could easily be any local health authority hospital.

Took my mum to an appointment for a serious condition and despite being 84, she was made to wait over an hour in pretty uncomfortable and squalid conditions. Then, when we got out and tried to leave the car park, we found as usual. you have to pay for the pleasure of waiting.

As you can see, the first 20 minutes is free.

 

Yeah right. Don’t you start again. As if you’d be seen that quick. But anyway, after 20 minutes, you can see the cost starts to jump. We went into the second hour and had to pay more, but only because the hospital kept us waiting. It seems a bit rich when you are charged more due to the fact the hospital itself cannot keep a better schedule for its appointments.

Is there a talent contest going on?

Yes, thank goodness for that. Britain’s Got Talent has finished and I can channel hop once more without fear of confrontation from insipid dross which passes for entertainment.

I’m happy to say, I’ve not watched any on TV but did have to look it up on YouTube when I heard that final included synchronised swimmers.

Like what???

It’s true. Onto the stage, it seems, four women get into swim tanks and try to recreated the image of a 1960’s Butlin’s swimming pool.

Yes, those are the ones. Underwater windows where perverts could sip their milkshakes and peer at the young girls in the pool without getting their goggles steamed.

Anyway, enough sordid stuff and back to the main subject. Just like a Butlin’s talent contest, Britain’s Got Talent champions the ordinary, weird and wonderful, and none more weirder than the winner, a dancing … dog?

No, it’s not Snoopy, but give me strength. Talk about bottom of the barrel being scraped. Thanks a lot, Simon Cowell.

Still, it’s not the first time a dog has done well in Britain’s Got Talent.

Mind you, I shouldn’t be too hard. I have a lot in common with Susan Boyle. Let’s face it, we both look ridiculous in a dress.

Spooky nights ahead.

I’ve only gone and booked myself a place on one of these overnight ghost investigations which will happen in a couple of months. I was also looking to see the various venues the company have on offer and was intrigued by the title of one: The Lost Souls of Smethwick Baths. Why are they lost? Could they not find their way back to the changing rooms?

On the subject of ghosts …

I watched Amityville III, made in 1983, the other night. It was truly awful and before I started, I didn’t think I’d seen it before. However, as each scene appeared, I realised I had but still could not recall any of it until I had experienced it all again. Does that make it the most forgettable film I have ever sat through?

Best get packing then.

With David off to Bryntisilio tomorrow, I have loads of packing to do for him. I have also had a nasty surprise too. Handed to me on Friday, three days before he goes, was a letter. It stated that while away, the kids will have a themed party and he needs a costume.

Right, and the theme is … American Indians.

Are they having a laugh? Where the frig do they expect me to find a Native American costume at this short notice – off the rack at M&S?

Jesus! The things we parents have to cope with.

Cheers.

 

Nick

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