More marvelous manifestations

Not to be outdone by sporadic appearances of Virgin Mary, (the latest being on an old tired bit of banana), every other fruit and veggie worth its salt is joining the rush to be classified as holy.

Take for example this humble spud. To the uninitiated it appears to be an ordinary common or garden potato, an everyday humdrum example of Solanum tuberosum , but, if you thought this, you would be missing the point entirely. In reality, it’s a miracle.

For this is a Christian potato!

What next .. saintly spinach? beatific beetroot? canonical cucumbers? blessed blueberries? Dearie me, it’s lucky I ordered a new bottle of sherry from the local hostelry, I need a little fortitude while I inspect the rest of my vegetable basket. Heaven only knows what else I might find.

I did have the Virgin Mary in my kitchen once, but I’ve been a little tight-lipped about it after my Council Home Help girl dobbed me in to the Visiting Nurse.

Happy Birthday, Elvis

It’s a nice age, 72. A nice round figure, probably along the lines of his figure now. I’m quite sure he would have lost all those pounds he was carrying 30 years ago, (well he has, hasn’t he?)

My friend Reg who knows a lot about fillies is 72. It’s not a bad age for a man as long as they aren’t too fit if you know what I mean. Nothing worse than having some old codger try and chat you up, why some of them bother I’m sure I don’t know. I don’t know how some of them can live with themselves, all carpetslippers, cardigans and clacking teeth.

There’s an otherwise charming gentleman who goes to Bingo who keeps asking me out dancing -ha! I know what that means - a lady can always tell if a chap is being fresh.

But I forget what I’m writing about.  Ah yes, Elvis. I wonder what Elvis would be doing now if he weren’t 6 foot under? Singing awful Gospel songs? Now if he asked me out dancing I might consider it.

She’s back!!

I’ve been wondering where the BVM has been of late. It’s been a while since she was spotted lounging on a chocolate chip, loitering on a cheese sandwich or gracing a dish of rancid fat with her celestial presence. To tell you the truth I had almost forgotten about heavenly manifestations.

But my Council Home Help Girl, bless her, knows I love to follow the perambulations of the Holy Ones and brought me exciting news this afternoon.

The BVM on a banana chip!

Yes, Holy Mary appeared to Jonathon C. on a bit of dried banana. Jonathon, who very wisely does not divulge his full name, has made no mention as to whether or not he will be auctioning this item.

I had to sit down with a small glass of sherry and a box of kleenex to regain control of myself.

Slightly larger picture
Virgin Mary on a Spud
Virgin Mary in Grill Grunge

I knew my cat was dippy

More than half of all cats over age 15 are bloody senile!

Most, if not all, mammals, can suffer age-related conditions normally associated with people, and in the case of cats, the main difference is that a 15-year-old individual can be compared to an 85-year-old person. (About half of all octogenarians show signs of dementia.)

The Journal of Small Animal Practice states that behaviors associated with senility in cats range from acting disoriented to changes in their social relationships, to shifting sleep habits, inappropriate vocalizing, forgetting commands, breaking housetraining, pacing, wandering, sluggishness, unusual interest or disinterest in food, and decreased grooming and confusion.

Danielle Gunn-Moore, head of the Feline Clinic at the University of Edinburgh’s Hospital for Small Animals, also says “They get confused with things, such as forgetting that they have just been fed.”

So now we know, domestic cats develop Alzheimer’s, just like their owners.

I knew my old moggy was a bit dippy, he’s taken to stealing my fish oil capsules. It’s enough to make me screw the top on my sherry bottle tighter.

Plucky Pensioner at Large

This plucky pensioner led police on a low-speed chase around Middlesbrough, England - and then gave officers the slip.

The lukewarm pursuit started after he caused traffic chaos by crawling down the fast lane of a busy dual carriageway.

Police asked the stubborn senior citizen to pull over. But he defiantly cranked his battery-powered mobility scooter up to its top speed - 8mph - and somehow managed to escape their attention by zooming up onto a roundabout where he got away from the red-faced officers.

One onlooker said he couldn’t believe his eyes as he watched the chase unfold on the A1032 Newport Bridge Approach Road : “The police tried to pull him up but he issued them with a lot of profanities.”, said Ian, a common sense walker, “They asked us, ‘scuse me - have you seen a bloke on an electric scooter?”.

A police van joined the pursuit of the battery-powered scooter. and the cops eventually caught up with the gallant pensioner. He didn’t get quite as far as Pensioner Ludwick Z whose journey is still a mystery, but my hat goes off to this determined scooter rider.

I bet the cops who captured him are the toast of the nick.

Rubbish is in the eye of the Beholder

When you see people searching through rubbish bins you probably have one of two reactions: pity or disgust. Save your reactions. You could be looking at me.

I am a student of Neology, the science of going through what people have thrown out on the street. As a pioneer neologist, I have turned “field walking,” which is an archaeological term for walking over fields in search of ancient pot-shard dumps, into the new art of “city-scrounging” which is searching for hopefully whole pots.

In the old days I would spend hours rummaging around on building sites for a few bricks or bits of copper pipe - and in those days there were no safety fences to keep children out. Scrap was good business. “Where there’s muck, there’s money”. Collecting old copper tube, bits of lead (not always from church roofs) and even the odd discarded aluminium road sign brought in a few extra coppers. Many a time I had to whack a few people over the shoulders who tried to beat me to a good bit of brass.

Now, with the local government organising ‘hard waste collection days’ I have to sprint to beat the antique dealers and hold them off with my walking stick just to pick up a discarded china dog with a chipped ear.

How times have changed

Take a taxi instead

My Council Home Help girl has been going on and on at me about my excessive use of paper towels. Well, I ask you, what else does a lady of genteel upbringing do when she is a little incontinent from time to time?

But the blasted girl never lets up about me destroying the forests, polluting the atmosphere and sending countless species of cute wild life to extinction. I never complain about that nasty-smelling hippy tobacco she uses, I wish she would get off the subject of my flatulence too.

But I have the answer to her carping. I have discovered a way to save the planet on my own. I will stop walking!

Fortunately I found out that Walking damages the planet. You should immediately follow my lead and stop walking too.