I have just found out my blog is inactive because I didn't post anything for months......

What if? What now? What next? 

Apparently no one reads blogs anymore. In fact most people don't even know how to read road signs so we shouldn't expect too much of the general public. I don't mean road signs that tell you to moderate your speed or what speed you should be doing. Hardly anyone obeys those, well at least not here. I mean road signs put up by the builders in front of where we live just after they have plonked down loads of cement that say NO PISAR! or if you need a translation, DO NOT WALK HERE ON THIS FRESHLY LAID CONCRETE! The barriers put in place to prevent people walking on it were removed, said sign was read with disbelief and scepticism, and citizens started gingerely walking up the road leaving footprints behind that I imagine in a thousands years time archaeologists will look at, scratch their heads and say, ''those 21st century folk were a bit soupy''. Talking of dense, the UK seems to to be throwing up quite a few folk who can be loosely described as numbskulls. Switch the television on, have a butcher's at Twitter and there they all are, ruffling feathers or making them fly, alternatively going straight for the jugular. How do they find the time? It's taken me months to write anything as I have been too busy trying to stay alive in summer temperatures that now seem like a frenzied dream, keep the wolf from the door, and just generally cope with my insane family. More about them when the time is ripe.......

STOP PRESS!! The glasses have been found!! By me. I went back to the huerto still feeling a bit ruffled from the previous day's events and during the course of the evening decided to scramble up to the reservoir and take in the view. On the way down where the abandoned allotments are I saw my glasses. So people, is it possible for a pair of glasses to levitate and fly off course about 20 metres? Could a magpie have purloined them and then thought better of it? Has the huerto got pixies? Yours Columbo. 

Hello people. I'm not on here much these days but I can assure you I am doing my best. Not sure there is much room for improvement but we must strive!! Anyway...someone stole my glasses while I was down the huerto. I have no words. I had to cycle home half blind and now need to get new ones. I have no space for anger. I am past all that. Really. However, I do now have to contend with the fact that there are two people on the huerto I can no longer trust. And this is a terrible thing. It goes against the spirit of the man who set up the foundation, Daniel Calasanz. All I have to hang on are my mother's words...''they will never have any luck...'' And they won't. Mark my words people, don't fuck with the good guys. They always win. In ways that are often difficult to comprehend. Cos if they didn't, none of us would still be here. 

I had a dream about Jack Nicholson. He was an extra in a film we were both in. I was one half of a Siamese twin if you please. My first thought when I woke up was, ''Jesus, he hasn't died has he?'' The dream involved a scene that was in a London mews house, with a smokey atmosphere, opium and cigarettes and 1920's decor. Just glorious. I even remember the name of the street. Langston Mews. In the dream I thought it rhymed with Langston Hughes, the writer. Nicholson played a character that would never join the rest of the guests in this house and would sit alone drinking tea, dressed like Dirk Bogarde in Death in Venice. Why Nicholson? What has he done to deserve to be in my dream? There are realms written on why we dream of staircases, eagles, intruders. The appearance of a famous person is said to symbolise qualities the person has that you wish you had, or that you admire or envy them. I rack my brain and remember something. I am pretty sure our friend Vicky saw him in a nightclub and kept asking him to dance with her. Then another friend, Claire, saw him in the street, shouted, ''Jack Nicholson!!'', and did a stupendous high kick with her lovely long leg. 

It's all go here. Managed to survive the tapas and wine competition and am now deciding whether my Christmas tree lights are on a ''slow fade'', or perhaps a ''steady on!

So many people trying to convince the rest of us they are paragons of virtue. Yet still we forgive. What goodness and patience we have, but there are limits. Doesn't do any harm to tell them to f#ck off once in a while. God they are trying. 

It's quite difficult to comprehend that Philip Sallon the beautiful socialite was an influential figure in my so called formative years, wait for it....40 years ago!!! Happy belated to him wherever he is. Hope to bump into him on my next visit to the motherland!!

Laura Kuenssberg is on the TV and she is saying it's not all doom and gloom and that according to NASA we could be living on the moon by the end of the decade and that you wouldn't be blamed for wanting to get away. Speak for yourself Kuenssberg!! I'm happy here, you lot can fuck right off into space! 

If I have to capitalise on the unacceptable face of capitalism, I will make sure that the victims of that capitalism will capitalise on my winnings. WATCH THIS SPACE....

IGNORANCE IS BLISS

I don't really know any of Kanye West's songs but then I don't know anything about Girls Aloud or Ed Sheeran or Jay Z or Drake or Bruno Mars or pretty much anything about 21st century contemporary music good or bad. I watch Graham Norton and listen to the artists he gets on the show and I think out of the hundreds who have performed I only liked Stormzy. You probably think I live a monastic life or that maybe I have been high on drugs in prison, or maybe on another planet. It can get embarrassing, mainly for the other person. Not me. I have no shame when it comes to ignorance of popular culture. I watched a programme called Saturday Night Take Away with someone called Ant and Dec earlier this year which had lots of pranks and so on and it ended with some kind of party with a lot of familiar famous faces. Everyone seemed to be having a lovely time and it all looked like it had been a great success. I turned to my sister and asked her ''do you think they will do this again, it seems like it might catch on''. Turns out the show has been going since 2002. 

DOGS ARE THE BEST

Those close to me, those who really know me know I am solid as a rock. An unbending tree. Devoted and faithful. Loving. Adoring. If pushed I will be at the front of the crowd leading like a warrior defending the right to have a good life for why else are we here if not to be alive and loving. On that note I believe I should have been born a dog.

Since being ill I have felt rather tired, washed out even. Not all the time but especially when I have been out and about on my bike. I've been finding it more and more difficult to cycle up anything remotely resembling a slope or inclination. Today I noticed the back wheel was making a funny noise so I took it into the local bike shop so the bloke there could have a butcher's. Turns out I haven't got long Covid I just needed my tyres pumped!

As some of you know, we were ill recently with something akin to or maybe affiliated with Covid. One of those old school viruses or bugs that leave you with a throat full of broken glass and no strength. One of the other  symptoms was weird dreams. Mr van de Ven assures me all my dreams are weird and he should know but these were characterised by a fever rather than the usual nervous excitement nonsense. I had a week of dreaming about famous people. People I am not remotely interested in kept popping up. Isabella Rosellini offering me her coat as I felt cold. Sir Ian McKellen insisting I was talented at something and shouting, ''well when are you going to do something about it?!'' Playing some game of words with Rowan Atkinson and Paloma Picasso. Random shite. On and on they went until I found myself in an old pub one night with Oliver Reed. The pub could easily exist somewhere like the New Forest, all old beams and layers of history. I was given some task to do which involved writing out Christmas cards to more well known people with instructions from Reed that I had to be, ''active aggressive''. A kind of reverse, ''well that's him/her off my Christmas list'' threat. More a, ''Dear Jacob, what's your f#cking problem?'' kind of style. Mentioning things like, ''money is your God'', and, ''want want want, that's you all over''. Not very Christmassy at all. And then, the best bit. I signed them, ''yours, Mick Lynch.'' 

Day seven or maybe nine of being ill and bored. ...Mr van de Ven has this habit of not remembering famous people's names correctly. This is how it has been forever and now it's affecting me. For example tonight I was trying to remember the name of the bloke who thought the queen was a lizard and the first thing to pop into my mind was David Lynch not Icke. Then we were talking about Dame Edna and how she would invite 'guests' onto her chat show, introduce them stage right, and then abort proceedings by opening a trap door, with said 'guest' never making it to their chair. Typically, we couldn't remember the name of the Austrian who Dame Edna got rid of just as he started to walk along the podium, the one who also had some kind of memory loss. But there is a big difference between the ex secretary general of the UN, aide-de-camp with the Nazis, and us not remembering his feckin' name.  
-You remember, Klaus Wunderlich.
- That's not him, he was a German easy listening organist.
-Klaus Barbie? 

-Nope. 

-It's on the tip of my tongue, Klaus Kinski....

-Just stop it, he wasn't called Klaus.

-Nomi?

-It began with a K.
-Klaus Waldheim?
-No! Kurt for f#cks' sake!

To everyone who asks me how I'm feeling about the Queen and all that.....

H is watching something called My House. He has just asked me, "who is this bloke? Isn't he from the Hairy Mondays?" I have a butcher's and I'm guessing the bald bloke in question is Shaun Ryder.

Let's just say we got quite emotional at the Killer Tomato Festival, what with all the delicious food and the presence of the local mayor et al. We decided to refrain from the tomatoes as I have enough growing on the huerto and decided to buy some lovely goat's cheese, which goat we are not sure, some tinned tuna, not any old, plus some local type of bread that we carried round swinging in the air, proudly displaying the origin via the bag they put it in. Then onto a couple of taverns and finally dinner resulted in us leaving said bag of delicatessen behind on a chair but not to worry!! One of the waiters located us still going strong, outside some other bar and politely informed us that said goods were now languishing in the restaurant fridge and we could pick them up tomorrow. I love having faith in the human race!

If you ever visit us you will notice there are plenty of books lying around plus lots of notebooks and pieces of paper with ideas, jokes, schemes, half finished film scripts and novels and so on. On top of this I write letters to people. I sometimes send them but they often end up being burnt in a dramatic manner thanks to some advice my mother gave me years ago regarding cleansing your soul from other's bad vibes and protecting yourself from psychic vampires. Good ol' mum! However, it is not a nice thing to come home to said pieces of paper before they are consigned to the funeral pyre and thinking that maybe, just maybe they are directed at you.  I got a phone call while chilling out down the huerto from none other than Mr van de Ven. His voice was faint and not his usual exuberant self. ''Is this addressed to me?'' he asked. ''Dear arsehole, YOU SUCK ALL THE JOY OUT OF EVERYTHING, have you ever asked or wondered why your life is like this? You know, one shitty drama after another, and then you have the nerve to say to me.....(indecipherable)...who are you all of a sudden? F#cking Buddha?'' He thought, mistakenly, that he had found a so called Dear John letter. You know, a letter writtten to a man by his wife to inform him their relationship is over. Suffice to say it was not directed at him. If it were I would be long gone. Who was it directed at? Well, all will be revealed. If you wanted me to write something nice about you then you should have been less of a c#nt.