Are we sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.

There was once a nice Irish man who wanted to build an airport very close to where I live, in the land of the smiling mule. The local people complained bitterly, shaking their fists they cried “but this is a National Park”. The nice Irish man said “if you let me build my airport I’ll also build a golf course, and the shiny planes will bring lots of foreigners to your land for you to rip off”. The people said “oh, OK”. But it wasn’t OK because the nice Irish man was put into prison, and all plans of airports, golf and euros were scrapped.

Here in the land of the smiling mule lives a man who we’ll call Alfonso. Alfonso is the mayor. Mayor Alfonso has been in office for over twenty years now, but strangely nobody knows anybody who actually voted for him. The people think Mayor Alfonso is wicked and greedy, and Alfonso thinks the people had better watch out.

A long time ago it was decided that every time cement was used within the land of the smiling mule that Alfonso would get paid. Over twenty years that’s a lot of cement, a lot of money. However, even money grabbing fascists get old, so Mayor Alfonso decided to retire. “Just one thing before I go” he said, “there is still the matter of the site designated for the golf course, what shall we do with it?” Another nice man came to the rescue and declared, “I will build five thousand houses on that land, badly”. “Hoorah” said Alfonso, “that will double the population of the town, and all these new people will need somewhere to shop, somewhere to send their children to school, and that all takes lots of lovely cement.”

Sometimes its best not to know what’s going on.

I’m always on the lookout for ways to help this World of ours keep on spinning. If I’m honest I have to say I’m always looking for things I can do which involve the least amount of effort or commitment, I suppose I’m an armchair activist.

A few months ago I decided it would be a really good idea to have a compost bin. Well it would, wouldn’t it? I should mention here that Palacio Andaloo is a very, very small house, and my “garden” is on the roof, and I don’t know the first thing about compost. So, I got the metal bin and drilled ventilation holes through it and started piling in the “compost”. After a few days it started oozing some foul smelling liquid through the ventilation holes and onto the new floor tiles. I cleaned it up and sat the bin in a plastic saucer in case it happened again. The following day the saucer was full with brown liquid which smelt like it may have passed through an animal. I emptied the saucer, cleaned it and put it back, and have been doing this daily (as if I haven’t got enough to do) ever since.

On Saturday I was on the roof, and realised I’d got used to living in a fug of putrid vegetables. Enough. The thing had to go, and it had to go right away. There was only one place it could go, the community rubbish bin at the end of the street. So, I cleaned the saucer for the last time and sat the evil smelling bin on it. I then covered the whole thing in plastic and waited for the siesta. Once I was sure everybody was asleep I crept out, and between the two of us we managed to carry the mobile farmyard to the end of the street.

This morning the other Andaloo took some rubbish to the bin and came back smiling. Apparently somebody had taken the compost bin, but not the bin-men because the saucer and plastic cover were still there. But? Who…? Why would anybody…?

This is one I really don’t want to understand.

If I were a friend of Charles and Camilla, which I’m not, and should they have invited me to their wedding (pronounced “widding”), which they didn’t, I’d have been pissed off (pronounced PISSED OFF!).

The invitation would probably have sounded something like this;

Dear Friend,

Camilla and I are thrilled to tell you to come to our widding porty. As I’m sure you’ve seen on the tele’ (Gord, I hate, hate, hate those tele’ people) there was a bit of a glitch with having the bash at The Hiyse because of Mummy being Head of The Church Of England or something, so we’ve had to go for the bloody Guildhall in Winsaw. Seeing as you’re just a friend, and not an important one at that, you will not come to the Guildhall, but will go straight to Mummy’s. 

Park at Winsaw Cricket Club, where little coaches will collect you and bring you to Mummy’s castle. (The coaches were Cam’s idea, she’s SO good at this kind of thing being a commoner.) St. Georges Chapel is in the shape of an “L”, that’s “L” for LURV… another Cam’ joke, but anyway. Being an unimportant person you will sit in the long bit of the “L” whilst all the family, and the ceremony itself will be out of sight to you in the small bit of the “L”. Tip: Remember to set your video before you leave so you can see what went on! (Thanks again to Cam’ for that.)

After the widding there’ll be a bit of a dooo at Mummy’s which you can come to, and at which we’ll at best patronise you and at least ignore you. Do come, it’ll be a hoot!

Do I dare show my face around here after so much time away? I’m afraid I do.

Thanks for all the messages. I’m fine, but for various reasons haven’t felt like writing for a while.

All sorts of things have been happening since my last post. I am now at one with snow having spent time face down in it. Nuff said. I drove an automatic car for the first (and hopefully the last) time. No, let me rephrase that; I went for a ride in an automatic car. Manual cars have to be driven, changing gear up and down as needed. Automatic cars take you from A to B while you sit there willing your left leg to stay put while screaming abuse at the engine because it has decided you’re not going to overtake the car in front. Every time I wanted to change gear or stop the car my left leg started waving around of it’s own accord, trying to find a pedal to push while my right hand drifted mid-air above where the gear stick ought to be. All this was accompanied by Jenny shouting “right hand back on the wheel, THERE IS NO GEAR STICK, left foot on the floor, NOW, do it, where is your left leg going? -  look at it, put it down and forget it.”

We got where we wanted to be eventually, but strangely enough Jenny offered to drive home.