Puppy class

My daily exercise normally involves walking the dogs around the estate with Nicki. It is, most of the time, a loop of about a mile or so. Not long, but certainly long enough with our three dogs.

Tinker, the biggest of the three is a twat, no, really, she is a complete arse of a dog.
It would be quicker to list things she likes as opposed to what she doesn't like.
The things she doesn't like consist of, Lorries, busses, dogs, cats, some (most) people, and the one that always winds her up, motorbikes. (This list is not exhaustive)
Well, anyway, while out walking just Tink yesterday we saw a friend of mine riding his motorcycle, cue the dog going mental.
Sorry, I shouted at my friend, she doesn't like motorbikes.
It's not a motorbike, it's a scooter he informs me, with a smile on his face.
We stand and have a chat for a few minutes about stuff, and nonsense, which we are both very good at discussing, he does the stuff part, I do the nonsense.
Well, anyway, after this revelation about it being a scooter and not a motorbike I have a very difficult hour and half at home with Tinker, trying to explain to her the difference between the two different types of transport. I think she did actually find my powerpoint presentation rather informative.
She sits, content, in front of me wagging her tail, tongue hanging out of her face, listening to me drone on about how she was wrong to assume it was a motorbike.
After being chastised and ridiculed for her absolute stupidity she goes back outside to bark at fresh air.
She is, without doubt, beyond help.

COVID-19.........n n n n Nineteen

Kids off school, their not in class
At home there's nowt to wipe your arse
The bog role drought of 2020
couldn't get a roll of Plenty.

This home schoolings beyond a joke
Its nearly driven me back to smoke
The way they learn, the things they do
I haven't got an f'ing clue

Will lockdown ever be relaxed
bikini lines to be re waxed
Cant strut about with too much flare
when your over run with pubic hair

Once more we trot off to the fridge
One piece of cheese, oh just a smidge
and pickle just the smallest smear
all washed down with lots of beer.

Im a Lockdown isolation drunk
Im a flabby unfit anti-hunk
An all alone sad alcoholic
I used that just to rhyme with bollock

Cant have it end though, not to soon
Look again, the end of June
We understand it might take time
Slowly slowly, it will be fine.

In the sh*t

With new experiences being a little, well, thin on the ground at the moment I thought, to keep my interest in blogging high I'd regale you all with some tales from years gone by.

Hopefully, if I wrack my brain hard enough I may even be able to find the odd amusing one.

One that springs to mind would have been mid 70s. I would have probably been about 13.
We always played football 'down the front', an area of grass in the middle of the estate where we would congregate, pick teams and play for hours, I mean, all day sometimes.
I was a goalkeeper, and I was pretty good too, even if I do say so.
Always a slightly risky position back then, when people didn't pick up their dog shit.
Anyway, this particular day we was halfway through a game and there was a dispute over a goal, did it go in or did it go over the post, a jumper?
Always a contentious decision, did it go in or not.
Well this particular day I must have taken umbrage with an attacking player over said problem, as I told him to f**k right off, not how it usually went, but I must have been sure this shot didn't go in, as I wasn't letting this go. It may have been more that a telling, it may have been more a shout.
After an exchange of profanity's the game continued, I can't remember if the goal stood or not, it matters not.
A minute or two later and one of the my mates informed me that my mum was at the corner calling me.
The pitch was a couple of hundred yards from my front door. There was a small tunnel through to my house and mum was standing at the mouth of said tunnel.
An instant feeling of guilt overcame me as I walked towards her.
When within 20 feet or so I immediately said, 'I didn't say it mum'.
What was I doing, she'd not said a bloody word yet and I had already admitted my guilt.
Mum didn't do cross, not real cross, she did 'disappointed' which is worse, she would just turn her back and walk off, I would follow, metaphoric tail between my legs.
Needless to say my part in the game ended right there and then that day.