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HarbalHarbal Blog (115)

2,248 Forums2,153 Blog Comments115 Blog115 Blogs49 Threads16 Poems16 Poetry3 Polls2 Videos1 Music

Dear Mr. Tesco

Will you please stop putting sliced potato in your moussaka and replace it with more aubergine? I will gladly pay the few extra pence this will cost you.

Yours in anticipation, Harbal.
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Misconceptions

I’m far from being an expert on what impresses women, but, over the years, I’ve picked up a little knowledge of what doesn’t. Maybe I’ve even got misconceptions about that in some cases where I’ve been the victim of a double bluff. As naive as I may still be, I’ve certainly come a long way since my teens when I thought that motorbikes with very loud exhaust pipes worked like an aphrodisiac. Then, when I got a bit older, I remember having to shed my belief that having a thorough knowledge of standard timber sizes and the relative merits of hard and soft wood made me irresistible to the opposite sex.

I don’t think we ever get too old to stop making prats of ourselves by barking up the wrong tree when trying to show off, so I’m always eager to learn what other misapprehensions I might need to get rid of.

Suggestions welcome.
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Cancelled

I received this email from the Secretary of my walking group this morning:

Hi Ramblers
Please see message below from Nigel. 
 
“Owing to severe weather warnings for the weekend it is advisable for safety reasons, both travel and walking, and with much regret the walk tomorrow has been cancelled.  Nigel.”
 
If you were planning to wear your funny hat, please feel free to wear it to next Sunday’s walk instead.
Regards
Sue.



This means that the decision not to go on the funny hat walk has been taken out of my hands, which I find disappointing. Not only that, now all the other Ramblers will never know that I wasn't going.

I can't help feeling sorry for those who bought a funny hat especially for the occasion.
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Mr. Trump.

All you hard core Trump supporters, you think he is good for America, fair enough. But do you like him as a human being. Do you think he's a nice person? A good person? An honest person?
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Things I Don’t Do Anymore

I used to fix my own cars until they started making them so you have to be a computer expert to figure out what’s wrong with them; or at least that’s the reason I gave myself for stopping. There was barely a DIY job I wouldn’t have a go at; no matter how daunting. I don’t own a house anymore so it’s easy to justify why I gave that up. Sex is a third thing that has been consigned to the category of erstwhile activity.

It’s an age thing, really, I just can’t be bothered anymore. I certainly don’t miss lying underneath a jacked up vehicle covered in oil and grease, and the thought of never drilling another hole in another wall carries absolutely no regret whatsoever. As for sex; apart from the odd day after I’ve had an erotic dream, I can’t really say I miss that much, either.

God! I’m getting old.
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The best things in life are free

Some years ago, when I was working as a building labourer, I was parked up in the pickup on the outskirts of the village where we were working, eating my lunchtime sandwich. On the stone wall right next to me a robin was coming and going and bobbing about looking for food. I pinched off a piece of bread from my sandwich and held it out in offering to the robin and, to my sheer delight, it hopped onto my hand and took it. The incident was over in less than a second but that one little event absolutely made my day.

I still think of that little robin from time to time, even though it must be ten years or more since it happened. The bird is probably long dead now, but, before it died, I wonder if it thought of me, once in a while.
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A Secular Hymn

Ever feel left out in Church? Here's a little something to take along with you on your next visit.


All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful:
Atoms make them all.

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
All due to natural selection,
It made their tiny wings.

The purple-headed mountains,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning
A freshly baked bird* pie.

The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,
Laws of physics made each one.

The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
Biology, I’d say.

We evolved eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell
How great is evolution,
Which turned out pretty well.


* Don't ask me, take it up with MiMi. dunno
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Hurrah, it's Black Friday

It's Black Friday and I'm so excited. I've been looking online and I'm absolutely buzzing. The offers on some electrical goods are amazing. Laptops with 20% off, TV sets down by as much as 25%, and all manner of computing accessories at giveaway prices. There are coffee machines with ? off and toasters at ½ price. I've seen hair care and shaving gift sets at ridiculously low prices, and scented candles and aromatic oils.

If only I needed, or even slightly wanted, a laptop, a TV set, a coffee machine, a toaster, computing accessories, scented candles or aromatic oils; if only I wasn't pissed off by all the emails from Amazon and Ebay and God knows who else warning me not to miss out on this Black Friday extravaganza; if only I weren't a grumpy, irascible old git who just wants to be left alone, what a fantastic day it would be.
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Thoughts of Barnsley from Abroad

On their journey to Italy, after secretly marrying in September 1846, Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett travelled through South Yorkshire and rested overnight in the picturesque market town of Barnsley. Although their stay there was the briefest of visits it was long enough for Browning to completely fall in love with the place. After living in Italy for some time Browning became increasingly preoccupied with recollections of “that rustic jewel set in Yorkshire’s Eden”, and his longing to again see the town finally manifested itself in one of his most well known poems.
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The Wishing Tree

The house I grew up in backed onto the local park and, as kids, my chums and I were intimately familiar with all its nooks and crannies. I’m talking about the nooks and crannies of the park, of course; although I was also familiar with the nooks and crannies of the house I grew up in. In the park there was a tree that stood on its own; it was a hawthorn tree and split into two trunks immediately after it emerged from the ground. The legend that had been handed down to us was that if you stepped through the fork of the tree you could make a wish, and, presumably, it would come true. I seem to remember that we all frequently stepped through the fork but I can neither remember any wishes that I made nor whether any of them came true.

One day, having become bored with continually stepping through the split in the tree, one of our number, Steve, decided to take things a stage further and climb it. The rest of us stood on the ground watching as Steve shinned his way up one of the trunks and disappeared into the thick canopy above. After a period of time when something should have happened but didn’t, we started shouting up to Steve, but answer came there none. We must have hung around the bottom of that tree for a good hour or so shouting and throwing sticks up into it. Why we threw sticks I don’t know; I imagine we thought we could dislodge Steve if we were lucky enough to hit him with one. Anyway, we eventually got bored and wandered off.

Later, we decided to go round to Steve’s house to see if he had gone home yet. We knocked on the door and it was opened by his mother. We knew it was his mother because we had all knocked on that same door countless times before and asked “ is your Steve in”, and been met with the response “yes, I’ll tell him you’re here”. But this time we were met with a blank stare and the question, “who is Steve”? She didn’t even show any sign of recognising any of us. At school it was just the same; no one seemed to have any knowledge of Steve and there was absolutely no sign of him ever having been there.

We did return to the tree in the autumn when the leaves had fallen but there was still no sign of Steve. We even rummaged through the pile of dead leaves at the base of the tree but found nothing resembling the remains of him. We continued going into the park but we never again went anywhere near the Wishing Tree.


In fond memory of our friend, Steve.

Embedded image from another site
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A Restless Night

I think it may have been because I was frustrated at nothing interesting happening on the site last night that I ended up in one of my funny moods. The kind of mood where I feel like picking a fight; only a virtual fight, I wouldn’t dream of getting myself involved in a real one. So, anyway, I went into the forum and did precisely that; I started on someone I didn’t even know just because he didn’t wholeheartedly agree with something I’d posted.

It obviously annoyed him and he did fight back but I don’t imagine it caused him any distress. It did cause me some, though. I went to bed feeling guilty about it and it took me ages to get to sleep. When I did eventually drop off I was plagued by very uncomfortable dreams; one of which woke me and, not being able to go back to sleep, caused me to get up and have a cup of tea.

So, if anyone reading this blog finds me having a go at them for no apparent reason, sometime in the future, you can take satisfaction from the knowledge that it will hurt me more than you.
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A Summary of Your Case

I was reading through Track’s thread about marijuana legalization, in the forum. There were a few comments about the relative effects of pot and alcohol. I know very little about marijuana and it’s excessive use so I can’t comment on that, but I can give an idea of what you might expect if you let alcohol get a grip. I suppose everyone has the right to fcuk up their own life, but, with alcohol, that's very difficult to do without fcuking up the lives of others. wine


At first you dismiss the suggestion that it might be becoming a problem as ridiculous, and the suggester as a killjoy, even though it isn’t actually bringing you any joy. When it does become a problem you remain the only participant in it who doesn’t see it as such. Your worsening hostility is not the result of your “recreational” activity, or so you say; it’s the understandable consequence of being nagged about it.

Your ability to spot sinister motives behind the most mundane of situations is getting sharper, and your conclusions are often so preposterous as to astonish even those who have become used to them. The hostility now expresses itself in physical violence; although the damage done to the subject of your anger is usually less than the damage done to yourself by crashing into things when you fall over. You hardly eat anymore.

By now the scenes you’ve created and the arrival of the odd paramedic and police car must be making it obvious to the neighbours that all is not well, but exactly how much detail they are aware of must remain a matter of speculation to those involved in the drama; leaving them uncertain about exactly how much embarrassment they should be feeling. Fortunately for you, you are long past feeling embarrassment about anything. You’ve never been in more need of help, and never more determined to reject offers of it. When you can’t be lived with any longer, you see it as desertion.

Now you live alone, but at least you have family to be concerned about you and check on you; someone to find you when you are unconscious on your blood stained carpet. The hospital stays have become more frequent; this time it’s a broken hip, and of course, the usual detox. Unfortunately, cleaning you out can’t undo the damage already done to your liver and brain. Your wrecked body is struggling to deal with the infection your lungs have picked up.

The people who used to mean the world to you don’t matter so much any more, except inasmuch as you depend on them to run around after you; you are as disinterested in the devastation you have brought to their lives as you are in that which you have inflicted on your own. If you continue as you are, you know you won’t be here much longer, but you will continue as you are; although, in a sense, you left quite some time ago.
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