Don't Stop Me Now

Last Saturday Mr Horsehound, Mr Hairy Suit, Mrs Hairy Suit, little Hairy Suit and me went to the end-of-season disco at the Riverside Village. The theme was masks. Here is little Hairy holding onto my arm while I look at Big Hairy's moustache.

As soon as we arrived at 7:15 we got on the floor and danced immediately to classic disco numbers. By the time the other caravanners got tipsy we'd already done some major moves.

Young Hairy keeping guard in case his dad and myself fall over. At this time we were being oggled by at least 100 people. The more they oggled the more daring I was. Mr Hairy did his best to keep up. By the way as soon as Mr Horsehound tidys up a rather dark home movie I'll upload it.

Lets just say I was getting in the groove. I have no idea what Hairy was up to. It doesn't bare thinking about. Bless.

Here's young Hairy just before he embarked on some cool break dancing. His daddy is in the background wishing he could join in.

The oldies watching as young Hairy twists and turns. His mum can be seen in the near background wearing a black and white dress and red hat. Little Hairy fears nothing and throws himself into everything. He was much in demand on the dance floor.

Oh boy Mr Hairy cuts a fine figure. I, on the other hand, was lost in the music of my youth.

I can't describe how it felt letting myself go. No fear. I wriggled and jumped and wove my way around the dark wooden flooring without a care. I'd forgotten how good dancing makes you feel. I mean, I danced with Hairy and his son, then Mr Horsehound and Mrs Hairy joined in then I danced on my own, gyrating to Little Richard, Beyonce, Abba, Michael Jackson, Earth Wind and Fire, Robin Thicke, The Four Tops, The Foundations, Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis, even the Nolans and hundreds of others. I positively lunged and stretched, dipped and swivelled, bringing out from the closet of my disco memory the kind of moves I won presents for. Mind you that was a long time ago. But I was awarded a bottle of champers for my efforts on the night. One of the organisers saying "Here you go, you danced your a*** off".

As Mr Hairy and I rocked to Tutti Frutti an image of dad and mum swept infront of my eyes. They, especially dad, rock and rolled all their life, being happy young lovers in the 1950's. And as I wished for the music to never end I pictured dad throwing mum around the front room. "What do you think dad" I shouted breathlessly. Never heard his reply but I knew he was rockin and rollin right there with me.

It was a fantastic evening, Mr Horsehound doing his cameraman bit, Mrs Hairy Suit gently swaying to 'Build Me Up Buttercup', Mr Hairy Suit pleasing the ladies with his saucy moves. Me? I just let everything out.




A video will hopefully appear tomorrow..

I was right about him all along

Andy Murray has caused an online stir by his last minute show of support for the YES campaign.
Dirty rotten scoundrel.
British my eye.
Always supports anyone who plays against an England team, whatever the sport.
"I'm not playing for Britain, I'm playing for Scotland" he said
Lives in England, dating a pure English rose of a girl.

Lovely Kim Sears. Murray's long long time girlfriend. How?

Learned his tennis skills in England.
Etc etc....
Then at the last moment comes out in favour of Scottish Independence.

Leader of the Scottish National Party. Alex Salmond. Who. many years ago, never got over being given the elbow by his English girlfriend.. His nationalist fervour always coming first. Thanks Debbie...

And it doesn't stop there. Andy's mother, Judy, is taking part in the current series of Strictly Come Dancing. And Murray is horrified. What a son!

Judy Murray and traitor son.

There have been murmurs of next year's Wimbledon being even more enlivened by a bit of booing....
I could understand it if that happened. But we're English. Polite to the point of stupidity. I very much doubt Murray will get hissed.Probably just get online death threats.

In Other News.....
I, and other members of my fan club, are going to the end of season disco at the Riverside village where my caravan is.

Riverside. My spiritual home. Lovely caravans down there.

It's a themed affair. The theme being MASKS. Not having any in the bungalow, I bought a plain white papier mache one which I'll decorate nicely. A pic will be posted tomorrow.


Now I must fly but not before wishing a Re-United Kingdom all the very best.

This artwork sums up what I try to put into words. Its creator is 'anonymouscreative'

Tomorrow Scotland will decide whether to go it alone or keep the ancient union intact.....
.

I think the vote will be as close as a Scot is to his wallet.

I wouldn't mind if the Scots lass and tv personality Lorraine Kelly got swallowed by the Loch Ness Monster.
I wouldn't bat an eyelid if Andy Murray came out.
I'd be chuffed if the Scotland football team got a goal.
I'd love to hear that Scotland's First Minister Alex Salmond was lying when he said he likes England.
I do a jig if Billy Connolly made me laugh. So far nothing.


However...



I'll worry if a new found independence will seal the fate on the Haggis. For centuries it has escaped Scotland managing to find its way over the border onto the plates of us English. Aye, we'll miss the tasty legless brainless meatloaf .


I'd be sad if our Union Jack lost it's blue.

"But let here be spaces in your togetherness"

On Saturday, after ordering new glasses, I, along with Mr Horsehound and Mr Hairy Suit, travelled the length of Rayleigh High Street looking for charity shop gems. Mr HS found shoes and a jacket, Mr H enlarged his DVD collection while I met up with an old friend, the Lebanese poet and philosopher Kahlil Gibran. 'The Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran'  was wedged between a gardening book and atlas. I bought it immediately.

When I was a young teenager I'd bought a copy of  'The Prophet'. I didn't understand it of course I was only 13 but was impressed by it. It's a collection of prose poetry about all the things in the world  Clothes, eating, drinking, marriage, death and self-knowledge etc etc....
Rather like a blog infact. Only Kahlil, knew how to write. And comfort. And make a lasting impression.


So with the book in my mitts and dying for tea I left the shop.

I must admit that lately I havn't been tip top, dying my hair didn't help, I went spiralling out of control thinking about mum and dad and cash and peeling paint and genes and hereditary illnesses, you know what I mean at any rate I felt down. The downness sent me over the edge falling blindly headlong into the lap of my local chemist.. What an idiot. I'd been joyfully embracing the grey then, for some reason known only to my demons, I dyed it. And dyed it again.
Then undid it by using a colour remover. And, as a result, am now the depressed owner of a head of strawberry blonde hair. I loathe it. People though say it 'suits' me. It does not. What 'suits' me is 'me'...Greying mousey hair perfectly in tune with my English colouring... This reddish mop framing my face is hideous. So later this afternoon my hairdresser, the very blonde Lisa will see to it by cutting it off.

I've rambled enough......



"I am bored with gabbers and their gab; my soul abhors them....
Is there in this universe a nook where I can go and live happily by myself?
Is there any place where there is no traffic in empty talk?
Is there on this earth one who does not worship himself talking?
Is there any person among all persons whose mouth is not a hiding place for the knavish Mister Gabber?"

Kahlil Gibran


(Good, isn't he?)

David Beckham. We Need You.

I will gobble my pollock so I don't miss any of the exciting thrilling mood enhancing moments of tonight's televisual feast...England v. Switzerland.

A qualifier for Euro 2016.
Euro 2016.
Seems aeons away, but it isn't. After a couple of christmasses and a watery summer big football will again be upon us.
I do wish Becks was still playing. I think the team could do with not only his exemplary ballmanship but his thorough love of playing for his country. That above all else makes him a giant amongst his fellow pros, who, I felt at times, didn't give a fig about wearing the England shirt. Beckham though wore it like a second skin. That's why I've always loved him.

In an interview with the Mail, 39 year old Golden Balls said he'd like nothing more to be needed by his country. Oh we need him alright, it's just finding the right spot for him. He's uninterested in going down the manager road but surely Hodgo could find him something to do in the dressing rooms. Something akin to a WiseMan, a sage. A fine still youngish man who, given the chance could instill in the younger players a sense of "Oh Yeah, it's fantastic, I'm playing for my country and there's nothing better than that".

Tonight ITV 19:15 hrs

I, along with David, will be hoping......

St Francis and friends

Help

Unsure how much more I can take





After walking the streets looking for work yesterday I'm now faced with more hell



What to watch tonight


The Great British Bake Off

or


Captain Rooney leading England out to play the Norwegians tonight at Wembley.

"Head up captain, Gloria has chosen YOU"

"I'm THAT close to thumping Horsehound. Rooney rather than ME!"