Are You Drunk, Sir?

God, I hope so.

I’m lookin’ at you, Jimmy,  and if that’s what you look like a’ the time I dinna want to sober up.

The business of being drunk is a curious one. At one time it seemed to be the most frightening and disreputable state of being that you could experience. It was not hard to get to the edge of it when I was 17 –  a small glass of 4.7% Swan Lager was enough to do it to a youth unused to alcohol. Fortunately my parents were smart enough to pour this for me before or during a family dinner and I could be induced to recognise the effects without being out in public or on the road.

Drunk is a relative word – as the police are not your relatives, they apply a more stringent definition of it than the family at a Christmas party, but the basics of it are an altered sense of balance, perception, and thought. When you have altered these enough to be herking on your shoes, you have gone too far, but it is possible to stop before then. And at the prices that they demand for rum these days, you will be straining to get anywhere near the footwear.

I value the afternoon tot of whatever is in the cabinet as a release from the cares of a morning spent not caring about anything in particular. That is the benefit of retirement – you can hand the need to worry to others and then wander off. But that little burst of ethanol opens the hatches and lets the air in and the fumes out. It must have been dreadful when the Royal Navy stopped the rum ration. I’ll bet the Russians issue vodka from a tub to this day.

There are a lot of posts written post-tot. They tend to be brilliantly funny at the time but are censorable the morning after – that is why I never send them while they are fresh. Some survive the editing process next morning and can be transmitted. Some are trashed.

Both you and I are better for that.

Make-Your-Own-Meme Kit For Sale – Hardly Used

I am putting my Paul Hamlyn Make-Your-Own-Meme Kit up for sale on Gumtree next week. I purchased it when the social media craze started with the intention of changing the world. As it is now I am not sure I could change my underwear with it.

Oh, the kit is all there, and the memes have hardly been use. Many of them are wrapped in their original prejudices. The right buyer could have hours of fun with it. I had minutes…

It may have been my failure to research my market. Most of my Facebook friends hate Donald Trump so the patriotic memes supporting his campaign never did well. The Clinton ones fared a little better until the would-be Facebook Democrats realised that she couldn’t get elected for dog catcher, and then they all went silent. I would have put out Bernie Sanders memes but here in Perth we used to have a hamburger joint called Bernie’s and everything I wrote just seems to have the odour of fried onions and ketchup.

The feel-good inspirational ones were actually a lot of fun to write – though to be honest most of the ones I posted were taken out of pamphlets that people on street corners hand out. I always take a pamphlet, as I feel sorry for them.  Mind you, when they get enough money together to buy a computer and start to bombard me with the same crap in emails I could cheerfully strangle them.

I have tried to get our cat to be amusing. Or dour. Or anything. I am fairly well convinced that he does not have a mind, so there’s not a lot of theatrical value to be got. Mind you, I am pretty sure he would have voted for Clinton, because he does like the smell of fish.

The memes I wrote that seem to have done the best, if the writs are anything to judge by, are the ones encouraging class warfare, race hatred, and social anarchy. I’ve ensured myself against legal repercussions by putting a smiling emoji in the vilest ones and then writing ” Just sayin’ ” and ” Geddit ” at the end. Plus I have registered this computer as belonging to the Dalai Lama if anyone comes looking.

So the meme kit is up for sale. I will also consider trading it for a well-made picketers’ sign and a box of crayons. No sense dropping the Democrat college market entirely. Something may turn up.


Personal Goals…And Most of them Are Offside…


I have decided to bear my sole. A couple of hours stitching claws onto the shoes and it should be complete. The footprints in the sand at the local park should make for some memorable police reports…

On another note, I am commenced upon a process of reform. Once I have arranged my life in perfect order I shall be doing the same for others. As with all revolutions, it will be necessary to have secret meetings, cells of conspirators, and passwords. No, actually, scrub that last idea – I cannot even order apps because I cannot remember my Apple password. Adding more will just lead to further chaos. When I want the door to the plotter’s secret lair opened I will just shout out ” Open the @@#*!! door. “.

Okay, to start with, I need to list my life goals:

a. Become a hazard to shipping in the Channel.

b. Go deer hunting with the Dalai Lama.

c. Eat my weight in chili.

d. Invent a word that eventually gets banned from the New Oxford Dictionary after a personal protest from Gordon Ramsay.

e. Bring back steam trains. Between continents.

f. Introduce a new invisible component to food – one that is so exclusive that only rich people can afford to become intolerant to it.

g. Live in the 18th century for a year.

As you can tell, I am ambitious, but not impossibly so. I realise that revitalising steam trains will be a big-money quest and I am not nearly scientific enough to actually invent a new food chemical. But I am resourceful enough to invent the fear of it, and that may be all that is needed to create a culinary reign of terror. What I have to do is pick a mild disease and attach the food to it and let the publicity machine do the rest.

Now with the Dalai Lama, as soon as I get him to admit that there is a better cartridge than a 45-70-500 we will start to make some progress. He’s a cheerful sort, but set in his ways. Not everyone wants to shoot buffalo rifles.

As  far as the 18th century goes, this would be perfectly fine in many northern countries that had architecture, science, literature, arts, and conversation in the 1700’s. Australia had only the convict settlements and the brutality of  a frightened colonial rule. Not a great deal of fun re-living it. I should remove myself to rural England, France, or North America and take a small cottage in an area that had no electricity  – the Amish country would probably be suitable. A housekeeper and day servants would be all the  help needed and the diet, habits, and daily routine could be adjusted to the period. I should have no books or prints newer than 1799, and no music but what might be made by live musicians. Ah, but what might be written in pen on paper…and painted on canvas…

Note – I should choose a country cottage with scheme water and an WC. I am not a fan of 18th century disease.