INDEX TO WEB SITE
KITE MAKING PAGES
CONTRIBUTIONS FROM READERS
STORIES AND EBAY SALES
1 AN OLD LAND ROVER
STORY 23 SELLING A PAIR OF OLD BOOTS ON EBAY
A tale of boot abuse, the Cloggies, the Hadron Collider and The Boots of Doom.
Below is a transcript of the description on the original Ebay advert
The reason for this sale is as follows
This pair of boots have been my constant companion for many years, truer friends you could not wish for. Be it muddy and wet, or dry and sun baked they have supported and protected me.
Cometh the hour Cometh the boot, they stood up, they were counted and not found wanting. They were always at the front ready to do battle in whatever element they found themselves. They stood their ground solid and resolute.
These boots were more than servants they were family, part of the furniture, part of me.
Yes; they have been used and abused, did they complain? No. Did they shirk their duty? No.
And now my heartless wife wants to throw them away, these boots that have served me so well she wants to discard as so much flotsam, to cast them away, forgotten. To moulder on some cold bleak rubbish tip as so much trash under tons of other trash. Oh that these truly noble servants should come to such an ignoble end, they that have served me all their days, I will not forsake them in this their final hour. I should be there for them in the evening of their days, just as they were there for me, never complaining, waiting patiently outside the back door tongues out eyes open, laces ready to be drawn tight and secure to go where I bid, asking no question or favour.
And why am I selling these constant companions, why? I will tell you why, its her, her indoors, because SHE who cannot “BE DOING” with clutter and mess and wants them gone.
Why is it wives who very rarely go into the shed or attic always on about clearing them out? If you suggest that they clear out their wardrobes or drawers you are met with the steely glare of someone saying “Just try it mate……and die”.
Take my garage for example, I do admit I horde stuff, I tend to bring more back from the local tip than I take. Before I scrap anything the minimum action is to cut off the electrical plug, normally every nut, bolt, washer, bracket, connector, and screw are taken off and put in boxes, saved for that rainy day. Any bit of steel that may be weldable and be fashioned into some unspecified use at some future date is put into the steel box. I have had stuff over 30 years that I have found a use for. My garage is me, it is sacred ground, when I walk into my garage I am coming home, and to the comfort in being somewhere I know and trust.
Then SHE walks in and starts rummaging through all the bits and pieces.
“Why are you keeping that”?
“It’s a mess in here isn’t it”?
And then those dreaded words.
“It needs sorting out”.
You try to explain to a wife why you should keep a 2ft length of 1inch square steel bar under the bench or a 6ft length of 4x2 wood, without using the words.
“It may come in handy”
“Its always useful to keep, you never know”.
These are words she is waiting for, she will steal them out of your mouth before the sentence is done. And like some circus knife thrower will hurl them back at you
“Come in handy”.
“So all this junk is because you “never know”, and it may in your dreams “come in handy.”
She says this as she is picking screws out of screw box and throwing them back into the bolt box.
And then those very very dreaded words
“You would not know if half of it went missing” ***
This is a real and ever present threat. Periodically I will go to my little bit of the wardrobe or the one drawer out of ten allocated to my clothes to get my favourite trousers, ripped jeans, or baggy tee shirt only to find them missing. When asked I get the enigmatic reply from my dearest.
“I don’t know, probably the washing machine ate them”.
“The Rag Man came and I had to give him something or he would have cursed me”.
So why my clothes, My wife’s dresses would make enough tents to house a Boy Scout jamboree, and make the ‘Rag Man’ ( Whom I personally do not think exists) very rich.
All this though begs the question, will she want the same of me when I am as these boots, will I be so much clutter she cannot “be doing” with, will she get a bright shiny new Foggydave to replace the worn out knackered old one. After all the state of my boots is only the result of the use and abuse I have put them to. So is the state of myself from abuse by her.
My wish is
I would like my boots to retire gracefully to a quiet dry shelf possibly in a garden shed to live out their life in tranquil seclusion, to be visited by the occasional spider or hibernating field mouse.
I would also ask that they be placed together toe in as they would be worn, and that the shoe laces be tied together boot to boot in an eternal knot forever binding them in the shadows as they were in the light.
Thank you for your kindness.
*** The only garments my Cosmic Mega Lump will not dispose of are my underpants, my Y front underpants. She knows I would buy boxer shorts and ever since she saw the advert with the young man undressing in the laundrette she has equated boxers with sex and free love. Love is never free as I pay for it every minute of my married life.
10 Sept Day 2 of auction
I know there is someone out there who can find it in their hearts to take in these boots in the twilight of their lives.
Don’t think of these as just an old pair of useless boots. Oh no. Let’s think outside the envelope, open your minds.
You could think of it as a business opportunity.
You could start off giving sanctuary to one pair of boots, but with a little canny advertising could attract more, and then start charging. Maybe become a charity like those animal sanctuaries that look after pit ponies and beach donkeys, which too old to offer good service are given a peaceful corner of a field to live out their days. In this case it’s not animals but boots. No less deserving because they are inanimate objects, for they too have given of their all during a hard and gruelling life. Often bending to the will of a sometimes unthinking and intolerant master.
In this case it would not be a field but the corner of a garden shed, or if you attract a lot of customers a full shed with row upon row of old boots and shoes. If business gets really good you could have several sheds, each themed to the environment the boots worked in, ie horticulture, engineering, building, Goth. The list is as long as there are uses for the humble British boot. Why stop at British, this could be a global enterprise, think international, think big. All it would need is for you to get a pair of David Beckhams old football boots, advertise the fact, and all the other old football boots would beat a path to your door.
You could, if you grease enough palms be eligible for a wedge of lottery money.
So am I.
All you have to do is take the first step, and that is to bid on this pair of boots, so simple. You are just the click of a mouse away from fame and fortune. Go on you know it makes sense.
You could be the next Sir Allen Sugar just think of that, after all this is how he started from humble barrow boy to a millionaire with designer stubble. Who knows what doors this simple purchase may open? As my aged Grandma used to say (when she had her teeth in)
“Out of little spawns do big croaks grow” She had a thing about frogs.
There is always an alternative and lucrative use for anything just go to my web site and look at previous auctions i.e. selling a High Vis coat or selling goal posts. You just have to let your mind wander….. as mine often does………frequently.
Its twenty years into the future.
You are walking down a long hall, to each side shelves full of boots, all tagged and labelled with names of the rich and famous. With you on this walk will be your one millionth visitor eager to view what is the most famous collection of old boots in the world, your collection. This is a private viewing and the gentleman is paying a lot of money. You reach the end of the hall where stands in a reinforced plate glass cabinet the first boots you bought, these are the boots that started this fabulous collection, the envy of many. These boots will be my boots that because of your business acumen and foresight you bid for and won.
You know it makes sense.
Later day 1
10 Sept 2008 remember this date
My wife said the earth moved for her today (Not guilty Milord) I did though have a panic attack just at the thought. No she says the earth or WE have moved four dimensions to the right and one up. When she says WE she means the universe.
Could it be this experiment they are doing with the Large Hadron Collider
My mistress of the dark thing says the view from her Scrying eye has changed (This is the take it out at night, scrape it and put it in a glass of water eye) and somehow we are slightly different, this is only a subtle change as there are millions of universes but she says we must be alert as the experiments are in their infancy.
She has just gone off mumbling about people meddling in things they don’t understand and t)hey should leave well alone.
Sooooooo anything bad that happens that is my fault I can blame on the Large Hadron Collider. because its not me but another me in a different dimension thats to blame. Does this mean that with each experiment our dimension shifts slightly and I become a different person........ I wonder when my wife will change to Ursulla Undress................No there arent that many universes.
This opens a whole new world.
Its weird I should say that as it’s what the wife said.
So it is true.
11 Sept Day3 of auction
Delores of Soho has warned me of a sub culture of boot abusers based in Cheltenham who regularly attend illicit boot orgy shows. This is a despicable place where boots are just piled high in the middle of a room, and whipped with their own laces to encourage them to perform lewd acts on each other. Also they chain pairs of boots in a pit and then let plimsolls or even worse wellingtons loose to attack them, taking bets on how long the boots will last against the onslaught.
Oh the degradation, the shame. Have these monsters no standards? We look back at the dark age of the Roman Empire when Christians were thrown to the lions and Gladiators fought to the death. Is this any less barbaric? Has man not evolved at all? I now ask myself. Do I want to sell my boots? I would hate them to fall into the hands of these vile people and suffer such a cruel fate.
What have I uncovered here? All I wanted was to find a home for my boots, and have inadvertently lifted the lid on a whole world of boot abuse. A world of cruelty and pain, where the silent screams of a boot in agony and despair are not heard. Surely there must be a government body that takes care of these things? If not, why not? I will write to my local MP. I think he lives in Surrey. This has got to stop.
I have Googled my MP,s address and he has a flat in Cheltenham. I have a bad feeling about this but will send him an email. Surely every one in Cheltenham cannot be involved in this?
I have just had a thought with regards to the Hadron Collider. Was this boot abuse happening in the universe that was yesterday before the experiment? And more importantly will it be the same situation in tomorrow’s universe after the next one? Will I in fact be me or a Woolly Mammoth? I find all this very perplexing. It’s all very well shooting atoms at each other at the speed of light but who knows what will happen. My beloved says that the shift in universes is that because of the experiments the old ones are just disappearing. My only worry is that she will not turn into Ursula Undress before the last universe is used up.
Tasha of Gloucester says that people make wine out of them, and it tastes very nice. ................. FD Oh yes Tasha of Gloucester, and how would you know of its taste, and don’t give me the excuse that it was forced upon you under the guise of Dandelion wine. The depths some people sink to never cease to astound me. Oh and isn’t Gloucester next door to Cheltenham
Major General Clutterbuck Smythe VD and scar. Of Cheltenham has phoned and assured me that no such culture exists, Delores is wrong, and Cheltenham is a clean and decent place to live in, apart from outside Spud U Like where there is a slight litter problem. He went on to say that should he find any bounder practicing such perversions he personally would pull his pants down and horse whip the blighter. He would also be run out of town. That is unless he liked whipping in which case he would be invited to join the local bowls club dance held on Thursday nights. Dress optional but boots must be worn.
FD On further questioning about whose pants would be pulled down and about why boots must be worn. He started mumbling saying he had said too much and “they” would be angry, the phone then went dead.
Curios I must say.
I have just rang Delores who had been kind enough to send me her business card and telephone number. I think she has something to do with Spanish dancing and singing lessons because the card reads ‘Personal Services. Oral and Fellatio a speciality’. Sounds very exciting I must say, makes me want to get my maracas out and start shaking them. And here’s me thinking she was a lady of the night.
What I learnt when I told her of my telephone conversation with the major was even worse than the boot orgies. She said there is an arm (or should I say foot) of the boot cult that worships the great God ‘Martin the D’. They practice a rites of passage to manhood which normally occurs on the coldest night of the year.
You have heard of the stories of people drinking champagne out of a ladies shoe. Well the initiation starts with the acolytes spending hours polishing the boots to a high gloss finish. They then fill the boots with lager and as one drink it down in one go. After doing this many times and consuming vast quantities of lager out of their boots they then put them on and completely naked apart from the boots, prance around a camp fire, the reflection of the flames dancing off their polished toe caps creating a dazzling display of light until in a trance like state still naked and only wearing the boots they go yomping off across the moors. Their goal, to reach the Indian Restaurant four miles away where still naked they partake of the hottest Vindaloo again quaffing large amounts of lager and berating the staff.
Well all I can say is that it takes all sorts
What all this tells me is that there needs to be a refuge where the defenceless boot can feel safe, protected from the putrid tentacles of these monsters. A place untainted by the base evil of men and women whose only aim is to satisfy their sex crazed perverted lust.
I must point out that should the winning bidder be from Cheltenham then a rigorous background check will be made before the boots are despatched.
During the course of my auctions I normally ask for an alternative use for the items but in this case will not as the suggestion may involve cutting or mutilation of some sort and I just could not bear to hear of such things.
Someone has asked what on earth I am talking about with The Large Hadron Collider.
We are told that many billions of years ago there was a void from which we and all matter were created This time of creation was called the Big Bang when one atoms travelling at immense speeds collided with another atoms, a chain reaction was formed and matter was created. The universe has been expanding ever since. The Hadron Collider is trying to re create this moment in time by speeding atoms up to the nearly the speed of light and allowing them to collide with other atoms. It is not known what the outcome will be. As my wife would say it is best left alone as we cannot comprehend the forces we are dealing with for we are playing with time itself. One of the things they are looking for is the smallest particle known.
I thought the smallest thing in the universe was my wife’s sex drive (Which given her numerous skin complains and other bodily ailments is not a bad thing) but it happens to be a Higgs Boson and like my wifes sex drive when they find it they will probably wish they had left well alone. One though must question the academic who thinks up these names. To name something A Higgs Boson is nearly as bad as calling it A Fred Smith or A Boris Crud. It should be something with a Q or a Z say a Quandiot or Zentine but A Higgs Boson just does not press the buttons for me
Another thought on this Hadron Collider. Say one of the experiments goes wrong and we get caught in a time anomaly where time is a constant loop. This auction could go on in-finitum and my wife would not turn into Ursulla Undress. A positive is that it is chip day today so it could be chip day every day mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
12 Sept Day 4 of sale
I have just had an email from my local MP
Dear Mr FoggyDave.
Thank you for your email of the 4th inst which is receiving our full attention and will be fully investigated fully.
In the mean time may I assure you that as far as the government are aware there are no issues concerning boots of any sort or gender, but should such issues be forthcoming we will rigorously root out the perpetrators of such crimes and prosecute them to the full extent of the law.
We in the Labour Government take these things seriously and consider your concerns are our concerns. Just look at our record on global warming…….and tax….and…..er other things.
I would though caution you that you would not find it in your best interests to pursue this matter any further, and would appreciate it if you would not publish such alarmist views. Should you disregard this directive we will take further action in the interests of pubic safety, global warming etc etc etc.
Yours etc etc
It seems this boot abuse thing may be bigger than a big thing, even a Woolly Mammoth.
Yes and what’s more I will not shirk from my public duty, the world has a right to know
What, about Woolly Mammoths?
No. About boots and the abuse of boots, who knows what other abuses are not taking place and what other degrading things are being done to our cast off clothing.
You mean hats and things?............ What about Toupees?
Yes even as we speak a humble toupee which has given its owner much service by giving him confidence and youth may be being abused.
How do you abuse a hairpiece?
Tell it you can see the join
13 Sept Day 5 of sale
Well day 5 of the auction. I haven’t heard anything else from………..Oh theres someone at the front door, who could that be, lets have a peek………………………….mmmm men in dark suits…………………They are insistent………….maybe they will go away………..mmmmm the knocking is getting very loud ………………………..They look like Jehovah Witnesses
I am open to all religions, preferably those that choose not to visit me. Because of my age I tend to hedge my bets just in case, and having lost many loved ones, I hope someone is up there to meet, greet, and say have a nice day. Although I suppose I could be going down not up. Many are the discussions I have had on my doorstep talking of event horizons, the cosmos, more galaxies than grains of sand etc to sadly closed religious minds. Well I say sadly closed, to me it’s sad, but I often think the happiest people around are those that believe so strongly, that any event, mishap, catastrophe, what to buy for Uncle Ron on his eighty first birthday etc. Are all answered and explained by an omnipotent being, the explanation being that it is this deity’s will. Does this mean that you are not to blame for the consequences of any decision and action that are taken? When I tire of the discussions I bring the wife out, and with a very big stick point out all the various examples on her anatomy that evolution in our case has changed, but in hers has not i.e. body hair, open pores, odour, and baleful animal stare.
Today though the wife is out doing sheep worrying or some other hobby so hopefully they will just go away……………………….no still there…………….back soo………………………..
Oooooon ………Sorry faulty full stop key.
Well that was a weird experience , I open the door and sure enough they were JW’s they then start going on about what a bootiful world this is and how the devil was booted out of heaven and many other subliminal references to the boot. They ended 5 minutes later saying how this bootiful existence could be cut short if we do not toe the line, tread carefully and listen to those in upper authority. They wished me a bootiful day and left.
My suspicion is aroused because they did not try to sell a copy of Watchtower or Awake…………..mmmmm.
my wife would not turn into Ursulla Undress. A positive is that it is chip day today so it could be chip day every day mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
(I notice bits of day 3 auction keep on cropping up. Could it be an echo from a previous universe?)
14 Sept Day 6 of sale
As I type this there is a lot of activity in my street many vans have started to arrive. There’s the Telephone people working up the pole. The water board are digging a very small hole next to the gas board who are digging a very big hole……….Now there is an organ grinder with his monkey…..Oh and a flower seller with hairy arms. This is all very strange especially as they all keep talking to their collars and looking at my house……….Now a black Transit van has arrived it has ‘Surveillance is Us’ on the side……whoops its gone down the big hole………The driver has got out and is now pushing the gas man, the water men are looking on and clapping……Now the flower seller, a hairy fellow dressed up to look like a wizened old woman is hitting the water men with his flower basket. The water men seem have a thing against organ grinders, or is it the fact the monkey is throwing its empty peanut shells at them…….Now the van is trying to get out of the hole and has run over the organ grinders organ smashing it into a thousand pieces, the grinder is not amused and has dived into the vans cab, pulling the driver out and wrestling him to the ground. WOW a geyser of water 20ft high has shot up into the sky. The van must have burst a pipe, Oh no it must have burst a gas main as well because a huge sheet of flame has erupted from the gas excavations…….Oh this is exciting…… The vans on fire and the flames are licking up the telegraph pole towards the man on top who is frantically shouting into his collar….. What is this collar thing?........The flower seller is now getting in on the act…very active for one so wizened….He, or she seems to be taking on the whole lot as they writhe around the now muddy and wet road in some gigantic wrestling competition……Oh now the organ grinder has found a pair of step ladders climbed up and jumped off landing on the flower person who was hitting the gas workers around the head with a chair. Ahh at last here come the police blue lights flashing…….they are coming rather fast…….dont they know there is wet mud on the road…………There’s going to be…..oh my, the police car has applied its brakes and has gone sailing by the whole throng and ended up smashing into the telegraph post……. The worker on the pole now shouting into his collar has fallen onto the top of the car smashing the blue lights and denting the siren, but he seems ok…….The police are angry, they are getting out and hitting people with their truncheons and knuckle dusters……..This is really exciting you should be here………..Mrs Throat from number 7 has come out with her ironing board and joined in the melee…..She’s dressed in a black costume with a mask on….Wow I didn’t know she was a trained Ninja, she sure twirls a mean board cracking skulls in all directions not bad for a ninety year old………The water has now put out the fire ………….. Whats that roaring noise……. The main water pipe has fractured…. its sending a huge tidal wave of water towards the fighters….They are all being washed away down the road apart from Mrs Throat who is surfing the crest on her ironing board with the monkey on her shoulder….. You have to see this to believe it……She is now doing a hand stand on the board…..some ones put a Beach Boys tape on………Oh this is great fun……. They are all being swept into the Co Op car park. …….. I can just see in the distance a line of shoppers holding cards up ………Oh that’s quite amazing they have each scored Mrs Throat a full 10 points….
Now its not every day you see that sort of thing is it?
Well after all that excitement I must be off to work….talk to you later.
15 Sept Day 7 of sale
Well it seems all quiet at the moment. When I got back from work all the mess had been cleaned up and it was as though nothing happened.
On the auction front all seems to be going as per normal that is no activity what so ever, although on this sale I am not to bothered if no one bids. From what I have learnt in the last few days I think the boots would be better off staying with me.
Johnny (but I have hair) of Bath tells me that recent excavations at the Roman baths have uncovered wall paintings depicting boot baiting in the local coliseum……
So this has been going on for a long time then…..He went on to write…..
As soon as the discovery was made a large fence was put around the site. The next week I walked by to find the whole lot had been demolished and a Tesco store had been built in its place.
Seems like someone is trying to hide something
I have searched long and hard for an answer to my dilemma. I then prayed to the great God Wikipedia and was told of a mythical tribe from the North who developed a fighting method using the humble boot.
They went by the name of The Cloggies This particular variation of the art involved two teams dancing towards each other in formation, followed by each attempting to cripple their opponents with gracefully executed knee- and foot- moves. Thus the Forward Sir Percy, a synchronized low-level knee attack, the Double Arkwright wi' Ankle Lever, the Heckmondwycke with Reverse Spin and the ever controversial Triple Arkwright. Other routines included the Half Arkwright with Groin Action, the Erotic Elbow Drive and the match-winning Flying Arkwright, performed to cries of, “Keep them knees stylish!”
The Cloggies were undisputed champions of their ‘sport’, usually inflicting grave injuries before repairing to the nearest pub. Their capacity for beer was legendary; their home venue, the Clog & Bells, Blagdon, where Doris the barmaid was always in a welcoming mood. There were also unorthodox activities involving the use of ferrets.
The Cloggies were selected to represent Great Britain in the 1966 International Folk Dance Festival, beating the USSR in the final despite Wally’s double hernia, and returned victorious to Blagdon ith the Gold Boot of Strichtenstein. They were persuaded to turn professional by their new manager, Morris ‘Zip’ Fassner (later Shufflebottom) and embarked on a World Tour before once more returning to the Clog & Bells and rejoining their local league. Their opponents included the Bull & Veterinary Surgeon, the Rat & Goldfish, the Horse & Shovel, the Truss & Slagheap, the Fox & Pervert, the Grunting Duck and Gridley’s Soap Works.
The team consisted of:
• Stan (captain), later ennobled as Lord Stan of Blagdon
• Albert (second boot, with his false teeth)
• Neville (third boot; trilby and glasses)
• Arnold (fourth boot)
• Ted (fifth boot, with the grey socks)
• Wally (sixth boot, later deceased, replaced by Norman).
• Norman (bearded).
If anyone could cut out this cancer in our society it would be these men. They may now be old but they believe in the strength of the boot, they hold the secret. I will search them out.
The journey begins with the first step. I will start my quest at first light; prepare my horse, my first destination, those dark satanic mills of Lancashire and The Clog and Bells in Blagdon. Don’t smoke me a Kipper I won’t be back before breakfast but a toasted tea cake would be nice for lunch.
16 Sept Day 8 of sale
As I woke up with a thumping headache I have decided to put the quest off until later plus I have to go to work.
How come hero’s never have to hold down a full time job but just go off hero’ing.
At work I put in a request for a weeks holiday with the reason being ‘To go on a holy quest’ this was rejected as I had no more holidays left, as what I have I am saving to go to Skegness next month. Do normal heroes have to ask for time off work or do they just go off and do the business?
In olden times they did not have the pressures we have today. They just got up one morning and said to the wife, “Well I’m off on a holy quest see you in a couple of years”. Their wife’s would only ask what they wanted in their pack lunch and would it be ye coffee or ye tea in the thermos. I could just imagine what my peg legged one would do if I said that. Asking what I wanted in my lunch box would be very low down on the agenda after much physical and verbal abuse.
Still I must make plans, and maybe throw a sicky at work for a few days.
Now what I need is a hero type name like.
The Dark Ferret.
The bounding Burp.
I must think of a name, one that explains my quest………………………..
In the meantime…..
I wonder if The Cloggies are on the internet, I could just send them an email.
We live in a society composed of layers. We tend to live our lives in our own comfortable layer, never straying or needing to stray. Some of these layers we can observe, others are hidden, if we choose to lift up the carpet we may find them but if we are sensible we leave well alone.
Its all to do with standards, ones that apply to each layer, what is acceptable in one is found abhorrent in another. Should we accept this as a fact of life and wearing blinkers just carry on, after all what can one person do against such odds.
No I will not accept that nothing can be done, one day soon I will find a way.
I have just got to wait until next year when I get a new allocation of holidays.
Later day 8
I have just had an anonymous telephone call from a “Well-wishing Morris Dancer” who just said “Look at the strips”
I will feed this information into my steam driven computer and see what comes up………………………………………..
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm Eureka!!!!!!!! The answer it would seem lies in the cartoon strips of The Cloggies, The exploits of the Cloggies were immortalised in a cartoon strip in Private Eye by the great Bill Tidy, and although at the time we thought it was just an amusing comic strip, it was in actuality a manual on the fighting techniques perfected during their competitions. It would seem the Cloggy dance was just a pale representation of the true fighting power, the same as Ti Chi represents Kung Fu.
I will study these cartoons and hopefully armed with the knowledge therein defeat my foe and dash his perverted schemes into the mud to be ground underfoot like the stinking, vile, rotten, contemptible, base, sickening loathsome hellish and sordid monster it is………….
Wow did I say that?
YES YOU DID.
17 Sept Day 9 of sale
I had the weirdest dream last night. I had spent the evening poring over the old cartoons trying to understand the technique used by the Cloggies. I went to bed with my brain whirling. In the dream I was at the head of an army of black boots and in front was an opposing force of wellingtons and Hush Puppies. The events in the dream are a little hazy but the one thing that stood out was that just before we were to be overrun by a flanking movement of wellingtons a voice boomed out across the battle field. In a Northern dialect it said
“Use tha force ba gum yu sad whippit, use tha force”
I looked around but could see no one
“Tha boot lad, use tha boot remember tha Single Leg Arkwright, but use it wisely, wit style, alars wit style”
In what seemed slow motion I bought my boot up to the standard Single Leg position, feigning a Heckmondwycke lunge and just before the down stroke changed it to a Full Arkwright with Twist. This was copied by all my army and in one stroke we had decimated the foe that now lay in tatters on the battle field.
And then the voice said.
“Were reet proud of ye lad and henceforth or fifth ye shall now be known as……………
King Kong on Loud Kettle Drum roll reaching a crescendo
Quasi Modo on bells
J Arthur Rank on gong
Roy Rodgers on Trigger galloping into the distance
Mowgli on a woolly mammoth crashing through the jungle
Twenty French horns on a diminishing chromatic scale
And then the breathless voice of Julian Clarey
“The Boot Hunter of Doom”
Noisy business this hero naming I wonder if Evil overlording is quieter
There would have been more but the alarm clock went off, and I awoke to the wife hitting me around the head with her wooden leg in an effort to get me up to make the tea.
And so I am now known as “The Boot Hunter of Doom” With a name like that I am bound to succeed. I feel I have known about cloggying all my life. I must have been born with the talent. Now I need some magical object that I can produce at the last minute to confound my enemies and win the day. A mythical ring or artefact that when held aloft will summon help of some kind. I just hope these people have not read my Evil Overlords List or I may be in trouble (see website, ‘Other stuff ‘).
I have just searched the house for something magical and all I have come up with is a stale ham sandwich and an old cd of Val Doonican……...…..I need more………………………………..Its staring me in the face, I know, boots yes my shiny brand new ones, that’s all I need, Believe in the power of the boot for there lies the force. That’s what the dream meant. I suppose a good pair of laces would not go amiss either.
Mmmm….Boot Hunter of Doom, sound really grand does that, you could do some serious questing with a name like that.
When you get a hero name it makes you feel really….well…….big…….sort of strong and invincible……as though you could be master of the universe……….
“I am the Boot Hunter of Doom I will not be vanquished, with a strong heart and fortitude this evil tyranny will be no more. With my Boot Hunter of Doom Super computer I will take the art of Cloggieing to greater heights. Be afraid, be very afraid”……….
“Did I say that”?
“Tremble all who stand before me for I am your judge and by the powers I give myself will surely be your executioner. Bow low all you feeble mortals The Boot Hunter of Doom demands obedience, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha you are but my slaves, I hold your lives in my hands. Know how thin is the thread your puny existence hangs by. I will not be denied, my leg is long my boot heavy my retribution swift and terrible. Do not ask for mercy nor for forgiveness they are but hollow words I hear them not, Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.”
“Should you think to deny me what is rightfully mine the Boot of Justice will descend and squash your sorry lives, for the Boot of Justice is big…… it is a size 15”………
“I know I said that. I heard myself and it feels soooo good”
“In my kingdom all will wear boots………………………No all will wear plimsoles, I will be the only one to wear the boots then I can tread on your puny toes Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ………………………………..
Today Cheltenham tomorrow the world. This is my destiny, I will not be denied.
It is written in the stars I am the chosen one and any who oppose me will be blown away as so many dead leaves in an Autumn park.”
This is really exiting I feel like a real supreme being………Hang on who’s that?.........
IT’S THE WIFE.............
Hello dearest……What shouting?……Me?…….Oh no it must have been the cat……….What, mad hysterical laughter?…….Nooooooooooooooo you must have imagined it………….. You must be tired my love can I get you a cup of tea?…………You want a cake………There aren’t any but I will go to the Co Op and get you some even though its raining cats and dogs……..No problem my love……….
Being master of the universe is ok till you meet someone like my wife and then it can get pretty scary…………
You know this Master business could go to your head if you weren’t careful, not me though
My brain hurts so I am going for a lie down. I might start questing tomorrow if the wife does not want to go to shopping.
18 Sept Day 10 of sale
See additional picture eggs in the pan.
I wasnt going to update this auction any more but a strange and wonderful thing happened last night. My Mistress of the Sweaty Armpits was cooking my normal Wednesday fry up when she broke two eggs and got two doubles. Now I do not want to spread alarm but they are doing those Hadron Colllider experiments and I think this may be a direct effect. There is an old Foggydave family saying.
Two in the pan with one from the hen,
Thats quite normal its ok then.
Four in the pan with two from the hen,
The end is nigh but I dont know when.
It could be soon...............................
The boots sold at the last minute to a gentleman in Wiltshire. I am not sure what will happen to them but hopefully this will be a new and exciting chapter in their lives. Its only 60 miles from Gloucester but lets hope all is ok.
So why do I feel a little guilty about selling them then? No had they remained here the Toxic Pickle would have destroyed them or worse still used the threat of destroying them as a lever in the daily battle we call living together