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The Sunday Roast – They Think It’s All Over …

December 29, 2013

Still harping on about Christmas.

I do hate it. Just for once it would be nice to do something I want instead of having to please other people.

Ahh, Christmas. A time when we should all worship our loving God. The same God who slaughters over 2 million of his subjects in the Bible. With friends like him …?

Take the nativity. Jesus is born and God sends a star to guide three wise men to bear gifts. Unfortunately, the star isn’t accurate and the men end up going to King Herod by mistake. So, having been sent the wrong way by God, the wise men blurt out the secret to Herod, thus instigating the massacre of the innocents. Hmm … Doesn’t sound very wise to me.

Sorry, couldn’t resist.

Because of God’s misdirection, dozens of newborn subjects, waiting to be brainwashed into loving God, are murdered.

There is a moral to this story. If ever in life you are lost and in need of direction, don’t trust God, buy a Sat-Nav instead.

Merry Christmas.

And talking of Christmas presents …

Earlier this year I did a piece about a two inch Hex/Allen key which came posted to me in a twelve inch box full of polystyrene shapes to protect the metal object. Well, one of David’s Christmas presents nearly matched that for over zealous packing.

There it is, a massive three-foot box to send a twelve inch toy train. And no bubble wrap … tut tut. It’s a good job my recycle collection came two days after Christmas.

And while I was shopping for the kids toys …

I’m glad my daughter isn’t into those bland karaoke singers from One Dimension (I mean … One Direction). If she was, she may have wanted me to buy her the replica dolls instead of the Gothic Dead Dolls she normally likes (Yes, I have children with strange tastes). However, while I was shopping for Clawdeen Wolf, Venus Flytrap and Viperine Gorgon, I came across the previously mentioned boy-band dolls.

Ahh … I’m kind of guessing Liam is the minger of the band who nobody wants. I almost feel sorry for him.

And the picture of the week.

When I used to post on Myspace, I only offered one photograph a week at first. It would always be something I came across while out and about. This one I’m sticking on now reminds me of the ludicrous things I used to see.

As I was climbing the staircase to make my way to a coffee shop, I noticed elsewhere in the building there was a CD and Record fair taking place. However, half way up the stairs, after kicking some puppet frog out of the way, I noticed a directional sign for the CD event.

I’m guessing they hadn’t a sign which catered for the stairs turning to the right so therefore had to put this one upside down.

Only in Walsall.

A short observation.

Also in my Myspace roasts, I would have a piece titled, Knob of the Week. Okay, this knob was a couple of weeks ago but I haven’t posted in that time so I really should give one final award and hand it to Lord Hanningfield.

Hanningfield has been in the news over the revelation he claimed £300 allowance for spending 45 minutes in the House of Lords one day.

Yet another example of the over privileged having positions of power in this country. In an interview, the Tory Twit stated he didn’t know what the fuss was about. He called it, “A storm in a teacup.”

Spending under an hour to earn £300, I’m surprised he had time for a cup of tea.

And a Happy New Year.

2013 has been the most difficult year of my life, and it had a knock on effect in my writing. As for the Sunday Roast, I hope throughout, people haven’t been offended by what I say. It really is, tongue-in-cheek.

I don’t actually dislike One Direction. I wouldn’t know their songs if they were blasting my eardrums. I don’t even hate Russel Brand, Sharon Osbourne or any of the other celebrities I’ve lampooned. Even the royals, I’m ambivalent about. So I’m truly okay with all I have a go at and none of the insults are meant. Well, apart from those directed at Iain Duncan Smith. He’s a complete cunt.

Farewell from the Sunday Roast.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – The Christmas Card Operation.

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December 15, 2013

Ahh … now I know Christmas is coming.

Christmas in my house would not be complete without the Stroods.

I imagine puzzled faces on those who have only read my Roasts over the last year. I shall explain. Mr and Mrs E Strood live a few doors down and over the road from me. Their house is one number different to mine.

The view from my window with the Stroods house on the corner and about the hundredth scrap van seen this morning

Since I arrived in 1997, I have had a Christmas card for the Stroods, wrongly delivered to my house from their friends, Betty and Bert. Now, how do I know it’s Betty and Bert? Ahem! I mistakenly thought it was for me and opened it that first year. Stupid, I should have known. I’m a miserable Bah Humbug bastard. Nobody sends me Christmas cards.

Anyway, the situation in my street is you don’t converse with your neighbours until the day they depart to a new house and then only if you’ve spent years nodding good morning at them. Therefore, every year I don the balaclava and mount a clandestine operation in the middle of the night to deliver the card to the correct address.

Now I know what you’re thinking, and it’s the same thing asked every year. Why the hell don’t I tell the Stroods and hand it personally? That’s just it. I don’t. Year after year, I carry out my mission. One occasion I got in trouble and set off two security lights, knocked over a wheelie bin and got chased by the dog. Then there was the year it snowed and I left tracks everywhere and had to go back with a brush to sweep them away.

As I say, I speak of this Christmas card every year as those of you who’ve followed me from Myspace will remember when the Sunday Roast appeared there. For people who can’t remember my roasts on Myspace – tough, you can’t see them any more as Justin Timberlake and his consortium erased all the blogs when they took over.

Back to the Stroods … and Betty and Bert. I always wait with anticipation for this card. You see, I get worried now. What if the Stroods move house and don’t inform Betty and Bert? Come on, in 16 years, they haven’t told them they’ve been sending a card to the wrong address, so it stands a chance. Then again, what if … what if … Betty and Bert … have died?

Nooooooo!

This was the major worry last year as (horror and concern) I didn’t get the card delivered to my house.

I was traumatised. Okay, there could have been the logical explanation that Betty and Bert had finally updated their address books, but come on, we all know that’s not likely.

However, I have the greatest pleasure to announce, yesterday. Saturday December 14, the card to Mr and Mrs E Stood – finally arrived … at my house. Its got glitter in it this year and I can rest in my sleep. At least I will once it’s past midnight and my in the dead of night military operation to deliver the bloody card is well and truly completed.

And a late tribute.

I know Nelson Mandela died over a week ago and he’s being buried as I speak, but I didn’t do a roast last Sunday so couldn’t comment.

I don’t think I have ever seen a person’s passing marked so universally with everybody I know, praising them.

When I see good folk dying young while scumbag tyrants like Pinochet, Mugabe and Thatcher live to a ripe old age, it reinforces my belief that there isn’t a God. However, here is one guy who deserved the long life they received. Below is a picture I posted over a year ago when he met David Cameron while perfecting the art of turning into a chameleon.

Yes, it’s a joke, but one I think Nelson would have laughed at as he did seem to have a cracking sense of humour. Must have done to describe meeting the Spice Girls as being one of the greatest moments of his life.

Stormy Weather.

There has been some terrible weather in the last week or so and much of the East Coast has been badly affected. I saw one piece where David Cameron visited the oddly named coastal town, Wells-Next-The-Sea.

I feel for anybody in a situation where homes are ruined, but feel for the local council. They are now going to have to change all their stationery to read, Wells-In-The-Sea.

Bad pun? I expect to get a flood of complaints now.

More sights you see about town …

Last time out, I posted a picture of a shop window displaying what I can only describe as decapitated heads.

Well, I saw another one this week which stirred my interest. Monsters from Doctor Who.

Don’t believe me? Look at this picture from the 1986 story, Trial of a Time Lord.

Hey, December 15 and I’ve only said, Bah humbug, once.

Twice, Damn it! Oh well, think of me tonight as I deliver the Stroods card … probably waking the entire neighbourhood in the process.

Cheers.

Nick

Tags: Antony N Britt, Blogging, Christmas, Christmas Card, Christmas cards, David Cameron, Doctor Who, Empty Souls, Flower head, Justin Timberlake, Myspace, Nelson Mandela, Spice Girls, Stormy Weather, Sunday Roast, Vervoid, Wells-Next-The-Sea, West Midlands Events

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The Sunday Roast – Is There a Doctor in the House?

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December 1, 2013

Happy Birthday, Doctor Who.

I’m actually four weeks older than the time lord. However, that doesn’t make me 1200 years old. I mean I was born a month before the programme began in 1963.

These days, I’m jealous. You get all sorts of lovely toys to play with. Look …

During my childhood, I had no such luxury. Do you know what I had to use my imagination on? The free cardboard figures you got off the back of a Wheetabix packet.

Yes, those. And I collected the lot. Wish I still had them.

And the same feeling of being short-changed is applicable to DVDs. I didn’t have a VHS video recorder until I was 20 so as a kid, the only way I could relive the adventures was by reading the classic Target novelizations (Yes … I do still have those).

Ahh, the memory of my childhood, trying to picture how the Tardis materialising looked on TV simply from Terrance Dick’s description of a blue box appearing to the sound of wheezing and groaning. He actually coined that phrase which has stuck down the years. These days, the only wheezing and groaning I come across is the old couple up the road having sex with the windows open.

And talking of Doctor Who merchandise …

You can’t half get ripped off. There are now limited edition replicas of props from the series you can buy. The latest is a cube from the Series 7 episode, The Power of Three. It retails at about £40.

Come on, it’s a frigging lump of plastic. The words rip and off come to mind, as does the the term, sucker … and I don’t mean the things which the Daleks use as an arm, either.

You wouldn’t catch me wasting money on something like that. Well, apart from my genuine Tardis key, that is.

Okay, so if I had the money, I’d get a cube.

Not mush-room left on the plate today.

A couple of times recently I have moaned about mushrooms, or the lack of them, especially when requesting extra.

Ahhh … The St Paul’s Crossing Restaurant, the only place in Walsall who know the true meaning of the words, more mushrooms.

The morbid sights you see about town …

Fascinating. Decapitated heads in a shop window. Enough to give you nightmares.

What a load of plebs.

The case of MP Andrew Mitchell (or pleb-gate) has been in the news again this week. Mitchell is the politician who was accused of having a run-in with police officers guarding Downing Street when he tried to cycle through a security entrance. He quite rightly, lost his job for his disrespect but has always maintained he never used the word, pleb.

There is no evidence either way what was spoken by Mitchell, or the plebs, but the MP does admit to arguing and swearing at them. Following investigations into whether officers lied about this, there have been calls for Mitchell to be reinstated in his job.

Now then, he denies calling them plebs, but he did swear at them. Hmmm … I call swearing at a police officer who is trying to guard your life, ten times worse an offence than referring to them as plebs. The enquiry team presiding over this seem to have conveniently forgotten that.

Poor old Andrew Mitchell, you have to feel sorry for him. I mean, he’s not done that much wrong in his career … apart from insulting hard working policemen … and lobbying to lift trade embargoes on foreign companies who gave donations to his parliamentary office … and investing funds into firms involved in tax avoidance. Yes, just the sort of person we want running this country, or rather one we should send on a holiday abroad and politely ask if they’d leave their passport at the door.

And here’s a man who should be called more than a pleb …

Hull City owner, Assem Allam is the latest in a long line of tosspot millionaires coming into the game and trying to rewrite history. He wants to change the name, Hull City to Hull Tigers. Now fans have complained to which the knobhead has responded by telling them to die. Hate to say this, Assem, these fans were there many years before you were, and they’ll be there long time after you have departed.

It’s like Cardiff City with a pillock of equal proportions in Vincent Tan. Using the football club as his personal plaything, the Malaysian businessman raised anger by changing the long traditional blue kit to his favourite colour. So, we now have a team nicknamed, The Bluebirds, playing in red.

Note to this and any other investor who believe in their own God Complex mentality. If you want to treat football clubs like toys, go and play with this.

Right, enough ranting …

I start two weeks of very long shifts tomorrow so probably won’t be a Sunday Roast next week. I’m going to watch Doctor Who … and maybe play with my sonic screwdriver.

Cheers.

Nick

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Three More Short Stories Available in Print and Online.

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November 17, 2013

No Sunday Roast this week. Spent yesterday at Foyles in London, pitching my novel, Finding Jessica to an agent from Curtis Brown as part of their Discovery Day.

However, I need to do an update because I have further publications to add to those already available.

First, online. My short story, Fetch, is available at Darker Times Fiction and you can view by following the link at the foot of this post.

Also from Darker Times, but this one in print, Sweet Revenge is included in Darker Times Anthology (Vol 5). You can purchase a copy from Amazon by clicking that relevant link, too.

Finally, a short piece titled, The Man in the Sea is in Sharp as Lemons, an anthology of Poetry and Flash Fiction published by Earlyworks Press.

Links to this and the others I have mentioned are below.

Click here for online publication of Fetch (Via Darker Times Fiction).

Get Sweet Revenge by purchasing a copy of Darker Times Anthology (Vol 5) , following this link to Amazon.

The Man in the Sea is available at this link to buy Sharp as Lemons, from Earlyworks Press.

Cheers.

Nick

Tags: Antony N Britt, Blogging, Curtis Brown, Darker Times Anthology Volume Five, Darker Times Fiction, Discovery Day, Earlyworks Press, Empty Souls, Fetch, flash fiction, Foyles, Myspace, Sharp as Lemons, Short Story, Sunday Roast, Sweet Revenge, The Man in the Sea, West Midlands Events, Writing

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The Sunday Roast – Parklife

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November 10, 2013

A stroll in the park.

Took a walk in mine recently. The Arboretum is my home town of Walsall’s premier park, with lots of trees. It’s had a multi-million pound makeover recently, but I’m hard pressed to notice any difference.

There is a refurbished bandstand, I’ll give them that. However, I can’t recall seeing many bands being advertised to play there so it remains locked up most of the time.

Next, we have the boathouse, fully restored to former glory, reminiscent of days gone by.

Looks just as I remember … apart from boats, which there aren’t any as I assume health and safety deem it unsafe to have them on the lake.

Oh well, if I couldn’t go on the boats or listen to a brass band, I thought I might as well have an ice cream, or a cup of tea.

That used to be a cafe, but it has now been hollowed out with only the frame remaining to use as shelter for a couple of benches. I suppose I could sit there and pretend I had an ice cream.

This was once the other cafe, but that also no longer serves refreshments. No, this building has been converted for the ladies bowls club to meet in one afternoon a week.

I gave up, took a look at the lake, and saw this sign.

WTF? Why have a sign with wording which can only be seen if you are in the lake, itself? I was curious, so I walked round and took this next picture at an difficult angle.

You may not be able to see properly, but it says no swimming or paddling. Good advice, if anybody could read it. However the only eyes which could, belong to the ducks. Word to the planning committee … Ducks can swim.

It makes one wonder who makes these decisions, and why has it cost millions, taking years to complete?

So we have a park with no tea shop, a bandstand with no band, and a boating lake with no boats. Not only that, you are in danger of drowning in the lake because the only creatures who can see the warning signs that it’s dangerous, are the ducks. Personally, I think the planning committee should be sent to this other park attraction.

And more planning madness.

I live in a pleasant little road with trees lined either side of the road. Unfortunately, some of them are very old and have grown so big, they take up most of the pavement, meaning you can’t get round. One such tree became so great a problem, it unfortunately had to be felled. Never mind, a young sapling was inserted in its place and life was reborn. But hang on … let’s have a look where they planted it.

What in the name of sanity? They stuck the thing in the middle of the path, meaning you still can’t get past with a pushchair, wheelchair or any other kind of chair. A couple of years from now, it’ll be as bad as the one they chopped down.

A side order of boil in the bag rice.

I noticed this commercial on TV for boil in the bag rice. Burning question is … why has somebody stuck Uncle Ben on a tiny stool?

Just how many autobiographies can one person milk from the system?

It’s a bit of a bugbear of mine, the way publishers ignore writing talent for cheap celebrity orientated trash. Who buys this rubbish? I read recently that Sharon Osbourne has a third biography coming out with the title, Unbreakable. You see, she’s obviously crammed so much into life since her previous efforts of 2005 and 2007.

There is Sharon exploding when I blew her up last year. Not so unbreakable, now. For somebody who has made millions by having no talent whatsoever, perhaps Unbreakable is the wrong title. How about calling it, Thank God for my Psychopathic Husband?

Turning 50 – update.

First crisis of the ageing process was on the day after my 50th. I left my keys on the kitchen table and locked myself out the house. Oh dear, this is the beginning of the end. I need to lie down.

Cheers.

Nick

Tags: Antony N Britt, Blogging, Empty Souls, Myspace, Sharon Osbourne, Sunday Roast, Tree Middle of Pavement, Uncle Ben Commercial, Walsall Arboretum, Walsall Arboretum Bandstand, Walsall Arboretum Boathouse, Walsall Arboretum Boating Lake, Walsall Arboretum Stocks, West Midlands Events, Writing

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The Sunday Roast – After a Month Off

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November 3, 2013

Back with a Bang.

This is a sample of the fireworks I’ve bought specifically to annoy the neighbours.

Okay, that may be a lie. The fireworks are for David’s 21st Birthday. However, they will still annoy the neighbours. And that’s a shame because most of my neighbours are nice. In fact, the only one I would want to annoy is deaf and wouldn’t hear the bangs anyway.

So what have I been doing during my month away from Sunday Roasts?

What do you mean, you hadn’t noticed I was gone?

Yes, I took October off. It has been a trying year and I (a) needed to regroup, and (b) didn’t have much to write about. However, I did take a holiday.

That’s Aberystwyth, as seen from the castle, if you can still call it a castle. Another lovely weekend break with family. Good company, and good food. What could go wrong?

Now then, remember my mushroom moan from a while back on a previous holiday, and the fact many places seem to discriminate against them? This time it was Wetherspoons in Aberystwyth. What it is, I hate fried tomato and beans and don’t want them on my plate. My breakfast already came with one flat mushroom, so I asked if I could swap the tomato and beans for more mushrooms. And this is what I got …

Note to Wetherspoons. One extra mushroom does not represent a fair swap.

And the breakfast was cold.

And I would have complained had they the courtesy to ask if everything was all right with my meal.

Picky … me?

Ahh … Aberystwyth.

Got to love a shop with the name, Rickety Ramshackle.

On turning 50 …

Yes, you heard right. I have passed the dreaded number. Many people say I don’t look it and want to know the secret. All I’m saying is, there’s much truth to vampire stories and drinking the blood of virgins. Still, it can’t last. I live in Walsall. How many virgins do you think we have in the town?

Now I tried to keep the birthday low key. That was the motto. Mind you, it was a lovely surprise to receive a cake which somebody special got up at six in the morning to make for me.

However, it wasn’t as much a surprise as she had when I extinguished the candles and the dusting of icing blew up in her face like a volcanic ash cloud.

Oops!

So … Low key! On my birthday, I thought going to a quiz with my family would manage to maintain that status. Unfortunately, the quiz was an event with the Aldridge Musical Comedy Society and I ended up having happy birthday sung to me by the entire company and sixty more of their friends.

I just don’t do discreet.

My birthday meal, proper was the next day, seeing as I was at the quiz. For an Indian, we usually go to the excellent Golden Moments in Walsall, but for a change, the family tried Five Rivers Restaurant in the town. Apparently, the chef cooked for the G8 conference years ago.

It was okay, but a touch overrated. Not only that, do you call these poppadoms?

Really? Well I don’t. They’re like giant Walkers Skips, and nothing more. And note … that’s a small plate.

The place is described as À la carte. Not too up on my French, but I now assume À la carte translates as meaning, small portions.

Yes, all very fancy, but why serve a dessert on a plate which was bigger than the one for my main course?

And would you like to see the main course?

What in the name of sanity? A stupid shaped dish with a hole in so when I poured the rice on, it fell through the gap and went all over the table.

But they cooked for President Clinton, I’m told. Yeah, and did he get served micro poppadoms and have to wait an hour between main course and dessert?

And a final note to Five Rivers. If you no longer serve a Bailey’s Bomb for dessert, take it off the bloody menu.

Golden Moments, I shall see you soon.

Football Crazy.

It is crazy, how the media go all gooey over certain footballers. Recently, every time I switch on Sky Sports, I hear pundits wetting themselves over how fantastic Luis Suarez is playing at the moment. Yes, Luis Suarez, the Liverpool striker. Or rather, Luis Suarez, the cheating racist thug who should have been kicked out of English football if Liverpool FC had any decency about them.

Here we see Luis, having a mid-afternoon snack of Branislav Ivanovic’s arm, earlier in the year.

There is simply no dignity with some football clubs.

And finally, in the garden …

I have done my last lawn trim of the year, cut the hedge and buried a cat. But I never expected to find what I did, living in my shed.

Possibly can’t see it, but top left of the pool of water (yes, I have a pool in my shed) is a frog. The pool is there because despite paying some guy last year to re-felt the roof, he missed the corner as it was difficult to get to … and now it leaks, and foliage grows, and I get frogs in residence.

It could only happen to me. But I think I shall keep the frog. I’m calling it Nimon.

Cheers.

Nick

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A Write Honour.

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October 25, 2013

Okay, forgive the pun in the title. What I refer to was the pleasant surprise waiting when I attended my first meeting of the Walsall Writers’ Circle for months. As some will know, things have been a struggle recently and meetings either clashed with work, or some calamity. Therefore, I was delighted on October 10 to discover my diary was free and I could slip nonchalant into the room with nobody asking where I’d been.

Now the secret in maintaining a low profile, I now find, is not to receive an award for continued success during the previous year (and then have to accept said award to much applause). But this is exactly what happened.

I am highly honoured to have collected the Norrey Ford Cup as recognition for my endeavours of recent times. I will say, the message is, if you don’t submit stuff, you’ll never get an acceptance. So get writing, and get it out.

Norrey Ford was a Walsall writer of many romance novels whose legacy includes the forming of the Walsall Writers’ Circle of which I am proud to be a member. Encouraging writers since 1966, the circle meets monthly to share writing experiences, take part in workshops and talk about writing in general. And they’re an awfully nice bunch, too.

Pictured below is myself being presented with the Norrey Ford Cup by Margaret Woods.

I am so glad I was not wearing an offensive tee-shirt for once.

Cheers.

Nick

Tags: Antony N Britt, Award, Empty Souls, Myspace, Norrey Ford, Walsall Writers Circle, West Midlands Events, Writing

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Latest Short Story Available Online at Darker Times Fiction

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October 5, 2013

First off, there won’t be a Sunday Roast tomorrow and probably not next week, either. I need to take a step back and cut a few things at the minute … and the Roast is one. I shall return, though.

Secondly, I have another short story online. Sweet Revenge got an honourable mention in the Darker Times Monthly Competition for September and is available on the Darker Times Fiction website by clicking the link.

Link to Sweet Revenge (Via Darker Times Fiction).

Cheers.

Nick

Tags: Antony N Britt, Cake Decorators, Darker Times, Darker Times Fiction, Empty Souls, Murder, Poison, Short Story, Sugarcraft, Sunday Roast, Sweet Revenge, West Midlands Events, Writing

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The Sunday Roast – Smart Phones, Scary Dolls and Sacked Sunderland Managers

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September 29, 2013

A weather report.

Hello, and welcome to a bright sunny day, as it was the other morning. Although, not according to my new phone.

That’s a screen shot of the weather report which said it was foggy. In fact, I had the same every day for a week, even when the weather was bright. I’m not up on all these technical things, it took me half hour setting it up to get past Language = English. Therefore, I’m sure something is going wrong when calibrating these weather settings. You see, whatever I’ve done, my smart new phone now believes it exists in Victorian London.

Living doll.

Mannequins, dolls, they freak me out. Ever since Doctor Who.

Plastic dolls, I hate them. Pure evil. I mean, who could not be scared by this?

Brrrr. So, imagine my horror when I saw the new adverts for Swedish flat-pack furniture store, Ikea.

Arrggghhh! What are the Scandinavians trying to do, freak me out? This doesn’t belong in a furniture ad, it should be in a horror film.

Some people should not be allowed to run a football club.

Paolo Di Canio, say what you like about him: Total fascist, or the lesser charge of simply being obnoxious. Whatever you decide, I think he had a raw deal at the hands of Sunderland Football Club’s incompetent owners.

So we have the scenario a few months ago. Sunderland in huge trouble. They sack their previous manager and bring in a guy (Di Canio) who has had modest success. An unpopular decision with many but over the past few months, the Sunderland board allow him to sell their best player and buy a dozen or so new ones which were to his liking and style of play. Then, when things are going wrong after five games, the idiotic board sack the man they lavished all this cash on, leaving them with the prospect of a new manager having to work with a load of players he doesn’t want.

Football chairmen … Most should stick to playing this.

Still, not a lot of sympathy for Paolo. He doesn’t seem a very nice person.

Beliefs … Sometimes I can’t believe them.

I watch the news about the surgeon who lost his entire family in a house fire … and I want to cry. I then hear the grieving man draws comfort from his faith and religion … and I want to scream.

Meanwhile, in a land down under …

So they have brought back Prisoner and renamed it Wentworth. I have to admit, I used to watch a few of those Cell Block H’s late at night. Vinegar Tits and the Freak … right?

However, it wasn’t my favourite Aussie soap. If you wanted the bizarre, who remembers this?

Yes, Sons and Daughters, the show where I think in five years, every character had fathered, given birth or married every other member of the cast. Confusing? I needed to write the permutations on an A1 flip chart to keep track. Talk about ridiculous. I do miss it, though.

And talking about re-inventing old stuff. …

It could be you …

Remember the slogan when the National Lottery first launched?

Yes, the magic finger pointing to the lucky winner. Well, Lotto is being given a facelift and launched as a new game next week. I’ve had a look and it seems to me … same game, new double the price of a ticket, and not only that, less money for some of the higher paying prizes, too. Still, for three numbers, you now get £25 instead of £10. Hmmmm … somebody will be rich as a result of this redeveloped prize fund, and it won’t be the people buying the tickets.

Note to my lottery syndicate members … We need to talk.

Wow!

I actually wrote this on a Sunday for once, about half hour before posting. I wonder what I should do for the rest of the day. Shall I check the weather on my phone and see if it’s worth going out?

Partly sunny. At least it’s not fog.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – A Midweek Break in Llandudno

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September 22, 2013

Well, a sort of break, anyway.

I spent a few days last week taking David on a holiday to Llandudno. You all know David, don’t you? He’s my autistic son who I write about in Living with David posts. Well, I’d promised him a stay in a hotel and you know me, what could possibly happen?

The Great Orme Tramway.

First thing David wanted to do was take me up the Great Orme Tramway. I believe it’s the only functioning one of its kind in the country and yes, it was a good experience, until time to go down. You see, there is a connection where you get off one tram and embark on the other which travels on the road. Not a problem, until I saw this history board in the exhibition.

What! Tragedy? You mean people have actually died on this? Nobody blooming told me that, and I still had half the journey to complete.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhgggggghhhhh!

Thankfully, we reached the bottom in one piece, but some of my stomach contents remained at the top.

Holiday’s are meant to be fun.

Why, why would anybody do that?

Yes, I know what’s a good idea, tow a mini version of my own house around with me and do as much work as if I hadn’t left home. I mean, it’s so much better to return to after a day’s sightseeing than a nice comfy room like this with clean towels and my bed made each day.

Never understood camping or pulling a caravan.

And a trip on the Welsh Highland Railway.

This was David’s request for day two. It’s a lovely railway which goes through Snowdonia and sounded excellent. Well, it did until I saw the train we were going on.

Still, there were some nice views.

Yes, she did have a lovely backside, and those in the other train taking pictures obviously thought so too, but that’s not really what I meant.

There, that was the kind of stunning view I was referring to. Phew! That was taken at Porthmadog. And the scenery elsewhere is the only good thing to be said about Porthmadog.

And some stranger views.

Welcome? This has to be the most hideous and unwelcoming thing I have ever seen outside a hotel. Weird, or what?

The language barrier.

I know there is always the chance of communication problems in Wales, especially if the natives speak local, but only I could have a misunderstanding when both myself and proprietor of an eating establishment talk English.

It was a nice little cafe, but we only wanted a drink, despite being offered the full menu. Therefore, I gave my order. A simple tea for me, and a can of coke for David.

The waitress turns to David. ‘And what would you like?’

‘The coke’s for him,’ I reply.

She looks puzzled. ‘So he’s not having a drink?’

My turn to be bemused. ‘Yes, he wants a Coca Cola.’

She tries to work this out. ‘So, you want a tea, a cola, and a carrot cake?’

What? How the bloody hell can asking for a can of coke be construed as requesting carrot cake?’

Next time I’ll write it down.

And talking of food …

The breakfast at Brewer’s Fayre is described as all you can eat. As much as you like. And that seems to be the case … unless you ask for mushrooms.

Every day, I said, ‘Loads of mushrooms. Give me two, three portions.’ I even said on the last day, ‘If you can’t fit them on the plate, bring them in a separate bowl.

This is what I got each day.

Grrrr. Since when does seven mushrooms constitute all you can eat? Discrimination against mushroom lovers, that’s what I think.

Out shopping.

Went into Rhyl and bought six books for a tenner. Yeah, as if I need more books to read. I then gave David a choice. ‘What would you like to do?’

‘Go to Wilkinson.’

He’s easily pleased. Still, he directed me as he is more familiar with the town from his time at college. However, I was a bit dumfounded when I tried to get in.

There is no door. What the hell is the point of a frontage with a store sign if you can’t bleeding well get in?

The answer is, you have to go a couple of hundred yards round the corner to a main entrance on the high street. This picture was the rear of the building. But why have it appear as though it is a front?

The Welsh try to confuse me at times.

And home … eventually.

Arrived back after a longer than anticipated journey where traffic kept slowing to 30mph. And we all know the reason, don’t we.

Yes, lorries taking two hours to overtake another lorry thus hogging the middle lane and restricting the amount of vehicles which can pass.

Arrgghhh! Come the revolution, they will be exiled to the near lane, along with those irritating caravans.

Cheers.

Nick

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Finding Jessica

Finding Jessica

Tag Archive: Empty Souls

Still harping on about Christmas.

And talking of Christmas presents …

And while I was shopping for the kids toys …

And the picture of the week.

A short observation.

And a Happy New Year.

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Ahh … now I know Christmas is coming.

And a late tribute.

Stormy Weather.

More sights you see about town …

Hey, December 15 and I’ve only said, Bah humbug, once.

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Happy Birthday, Doctor Who.

And talking of Doctor Who merchandise …

Not mush-room left on the plate today.

The morbid sights you see about town …

What a load of plebs.

And here’s a man who should be called more than a pleb …

Right, enough ranting …

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A stroll in the park.

And more planning madness.

A side order of boil in the bag rice.

Just how many autobiographies can one person milk from the system?

Turning 50 – update.

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Back with a Bang.

So what have I been doing during my month away from Sunday Roasts?

Ahh … Aberystwyth.

On turning 50 …

Football Crazy.

And finally, in the garden …

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A weather report.

Living doll.

Some people should not be allowed to run a football club.

Beliefs … Sometimes I can’t believe them.

Meanwhile, in a land down under …

And talking about re-inventing old stuff. …

Wow!

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Well, a sort of break, anyway.

The Great Orme Tramway.

Holiday’s are meant to be fun.

And a trip on the Welsh Highland Railway.

And some stranger views.

The language barrier.

And talking of food …

Out shopping.

And home … eventually.

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