bigjohn

There is many a good tune played on an old fiddle.

  • Warning! Elderly Person Blogging

    elderly1.jpg

    Creative Commons License
    This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

    t-blogger.jpg

    lion-2.jpg

  • Awarded by Terri. Click below for 'Island Writer'.

  • My Life and Times

    I was born in 1939 BC. That's 'Before Computers'. Luckily I survived the following events in my life, such as World War II, The London Blitz, Rationing, and worst of all... Archbishop Temple's School.

    me-poster.jpg

    me-r-book.jpg

    a-b-t-1.jpg

    During the mid 1950s I was enjoying Rock 'n' Roll and being a first generation teenager, when suddenly, just like Elvis, I found myself in uniform during 'The Cold War'...and then

    copy-me-rr.jpg

    me-w-badge.jpg

    wed-baby.jpg

    I became 'a family'. Which meant that I sort of missed the 'swinging sixties', but still managed to look a complete prat in the 70s, just like everyone else.

    copy-of-70s.jpg

    me-pit.jpg

    golf-dinner.jpg

    During the 'Thatcher Years' I lost my hair and a lot of people lost a good deal more. My career fluctuated to say the least as I was demoted, promoted, fired and hired a number of times, but still I managed to stagger on into a welcome retirement and to celebrate 50 years of happy marriage.
  • December 2006
    M T W T F S S
    « Nov   Jan »
     123
    45678910
    11121314151617
    18192021222324
    25262728293031
  • Meta

  • RSS Validated.

    valid-rss.png
  • Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 54 other followers

My Sunday morning stroll.

Posted by Big John on December 31, 2006

On most Sunday mornings I like to take a walk before having a couple of beers and sitting down to a traditional roast lunch.

At this time of year I often choose a route that takes me past the deserted caravan (trailer) park and over the little wooden bridge which crosses the brook, where the ducks have been replaced by a rusty bicycle frame, a couple of traffic cones and a supermarket trolley from ‘Tesco’. I note that the water has now turned back to it’s normal colour from the bright orange it had been a few weeks ago.

church.jpgI walk along the muddy path stepping over a couple of  overflowing bin bags and pass the local scout hut, nearly slipping on a used condom, as I try to read the colourful graffiti on the heavily shuttered windows.

I reach the small churchyard and pause to listen for the sound of a familiar hymn. Instead I hear the cry of …

 “F**K OFF REF !”

…   from the field behind the church, where once I heard a skylark sing.

Yes, it is winter and the Sunday morning football (soccer) league is in full swing. The game in progress seems to be a bit above the usual standard as most of the players are running about, rather than walking along with their hands on their hips, spitting on the ground as their beer bellies heave between each wheezing breath. The ball hits the back of the net, the keeper rolls on the ground clutching his groin and a heated fracas breaks out as the referee points towards the penalty spot.

football.jpg

I drag myself away from this exciting spectacle and procede along the narrow path across the marsh towards the seashore, dodging a group from ‘cycling for the visually impaired’, and avoiding the attention of ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ as he tows some silly old cow through the puddles towards me. “Please stop! There’s a good boy!” I hear her cry as the brute drags her off towards the large sign which reads … ‘DANGER! Soft Mud!’

tank-beach.jpg 

The waves are gently lapping on the beach and empty beer bottles bob in the foam, as I look toward the horizon, being careful not to tread on any discarded needles hidden in the pebbles, where a huge windfarm has become the latest tourist attraction along this part of the coast. I take a deep breath of sea air and soon discover that the wind is blowing from the direction of the nearby sewage works.

I head for home and pass the large seafront houses owned by those with a few bob more than me, and am stopped in my tracks by the sight of a pair of our local ‘gendarmes‘ infringing the ‘human rights’ of a bunch of picturesque ‘pikey’ travellers who have decided to set up their combination camp and rubbish dump near the yacht club.

2-x-travellers.jpg

As I pass the local pub, where once I might have stopped for a pint, until it became a ‘family friendly’ restaurant. I watch as the 4x4s and SUVs disgorge their gangs of little hooligans as they prepare to tear the place apart. 

I arrive home. I open the street door and smell the roast beef cooking as I hear my wife mixing the Yorkshire pudding …  Ah! Just what I need after …

…    such an enjoyable stroll.

About these ads

5 Responses to “My Sunday morning stroll.”

  1. Terri said

    I’m still chuckling…..lol
    Hmm, do I detect that there have been major changes in your area? And not for the better? Sounds like the best part of the day was that roast and Yorkshire pudding! Thank goodness for the comforts of home.
    Here’s wishing you a very Happy New Year, John! May your crustiness continue as you observe all the annoying things that surround you….and may you continue sharing your wit with us.

  2. Oscarandre said

    Ah, you paint such a compelling picture, Big John – I was almost there, picking my way through the discarded syringes…

  3. Libertine said

    My mother used to make Yorkshire pudding, but I never liked it much.

    And it’s hard for me to imagine trailer parks in the UK.

  4. Chris said

    What a beautiful rural idyll you live in. No wonder they used to call this the land of hope and glory eh?

  5. Big John said

    Welcome Chris. Yes it also makes you want to sing a verse or two of ‘Jerusalem’. ;-)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 54 other followers

%d bloggers like this: