where art collides philosoperontap

There’s a metal sign in our garden. It’s black and heart shaped and has the number 18 painted on it. It’s a hangover from our daughter’s 18^th birthday party. Not hangover in a bad way you understand, as if we had drunk too much. It was put there on the day of the party and there it has stayed. When I look at the sign it makes me smileJ

She’s away at university now and still comes home during the holidays, unlike her older brother who only comes back when his mother cracks the whip. I don’t mind. I’m sure I used to spend a lot of my time away during the holidays. I once persuaded mam and dad to fund an extra week’s hall fees so that I could “do some work”. I spent the whole week in the pub and it was only on the Sunday night that I decided to knuckle down and actually do something. Ten minutes after I had sat down at the desk there was a knock at the door and there were mam and dad. “Surprise! We didn’t think we’d actually find you working”. As a treat we headed off to the Black Bull in Beaumaris for a slap up steak dinner. It was many years before I told them the truth.

I graduated in 1983. 30 years later our firstborn is about to do the same. His time at University has been productive. Not too much work though probably significantly more than I did. Having said that I did an engineering degree which had 27 hours of timetabled work in the second year. That’s a full time job.

I lived a two minute downhill sprint from the engineering department. I had everything timed to perfection. Get up at the last possible minute, swift breakfast then a sprint down the hill. I used to  have the same thing for lunch every day. Breaded lamb cutlet and chips from the chippy on the High Street. Why change a winning recipe?

When I finished my degree I didn’t particularly want a job though I did apply for an engineering position at the Beeb.  I went for a look around the local BBC studio and the guy there told me every single question that I would be asked at interview. It took several months for the offer of an interview to come through by which time I had forgotten everything. Ah well. The roll of the dice.

If you’re gonna gamble make sure you use your own dice. Words of wisdom. Must have been some really streetwise geezer who thought that one up. Probably a mobster or similar though I imagine a mobster would just point his tommy gun at you and tell you to hand over your wallet. There’s a lot to be said for electronic money. You can’t hand it over though someone could hack your account. Be careful not to disclose your passwords to anyone. Even your mam. She wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway. At least my mam wouldn’t.

It’s my dad who spends the time on the computer. They were fairly advanced in signing up for a broadband line when they retired. Now dad is on Skype and Facebook though I doubt he ever uses it. I signed him up for both. He has the iPad apps and could sit there chatting to his grandchildren. It will take time but he’ll get there. After all he is only 79. My grandmother was 89 when she died so in theory he should do better.

Imagine a 79 year old’s school report. Must do better. Shouldn’t have left his homework on the bus. Number 79 from Carmarthen to Llanelli via Cross Hands. Might not have been a number 79 though there is a finite probability that it was. When dad were a lad they used to go on a charabanc every year to Aberystwyth for miner’s fortnight. The miners would be in the pub from very early on departure day. Things haven’t changed. Two weekends ago I went to Twickenham on a stag weekend. The beers were opened at 7.45am. It was a steady day of it. Nobody got drunk. We’re too old for that sort of thing now.

I did see something on Facebook this morning. BBC Lincolnshire asking what were the signs of age that fans had seen. For me it was having to have varifocal lenses in my specs. Cost a fortune, partly because my prescription is so strong I have to pay extra to get the thinner lenses. Otherwise I’d be wearing jamjar bottoms. At the barbers this morning, Antonio’s on Burton Road, I noted the fact that once my specs were off I was in Antonio’s hands. Couldn’t see a thing. There’s a trust relationship a punter has with his barber (or hairdresser, hairdresser is fine, not my cup of tea but who am I to comment). We even started talking about where I was going on my holidays! Wtf?

That isn’t a blokey thing to talk about. Problem is I don’t want to talk about football. I doubt that Antonio reads the same stuff as me though I’ve never asked him. I know that in his youth he was a singer in a band in Lincoln. Not bad. It only came out because when I was waiting one day I heard him discuss it with another customer.

There are two barber’s chairs at Antonio’s. Him and a sidekick whose name I have never gleaned. Antonio is fast. The sidekick is slow. You want Antonio. He can’t pay the sidekick that much I’m sure. None of my business. I like a number two back and sides with a trim on top. Zzz, zzz, snip, snip and done.

These days I shave in the shower and I’ve noticed that the sideburns on the left side of my face grow longer than on the right. This is because I shave right handed. I don’t actually have sideburns but by the time it comes to the next haircut I very much have a left side sideburn. No worries. It’ll be trendy one day.

Some of my clothes are so old they will soon be back in fashion as well. When I was a kid I desperately wanted a pair of parallels. I think my mam relented in the end. Probably as they were going out of fashion.

3rd Law Part 36 here

3rd Law PArt 38 here