UNFORTUNATELY MY BLOG DOESN'T

HAVE A BREATHALYSER, hic,

I have only had half a bottle of Rose (mixed with water, what a philistine) hic, I am such a lightweight these days.  Figuratively speaking of course. 

Do we get wiser as we get older, or do we just get nuttier.  I am finding it increasingly more difficult to keep my trap shut.  In the past, I would have thought, well my hair doesn't look that great, so I don't want to draw attention to myself.  Now, even if I have got at least a 3 inch growth of pure white hair middle parting (a long story, and one I haven't got the heart to go into to), I just have to open my gob.  I don't see many people, my sad life is much discussed, lol, and not disputed I might add, so if I find myself in the Co-op and spot a bargain, I can't help telling everyone in the queue about it.  It does me no favours, I know, from a logical 'there won't be any left for me tomorrow' perspective, but I like spreading sweetness and light.

I'm thinking about My dad tonight, I should be thinking about my mum, because its her birthday (never proven), and I know she will laugh at that btw.  My dad was what I would call a learn-ed man.  That is he was a man of knowledge.  When he got his first job in a factory at the age of 14, he committed himself to purchasing a set of encyclopaedas - paying weekly, and eagerly awaiting each volume in the post.  They have now become an heirloom and treasure.  I remember being bedazzled by the black and white photos from the Gunfight at the OK Coral - it was a Sunday afternoon, and the film had just been on the telly.  

Meloncholia, I expect, a symptom of my illness, or the half a bottle of Rose - correction, three quarters, hic.  As I sit here now, questioning myself over the best bit of advice he ever gave me, my head is overloaded, if I were a computer I would crash.........   He had no qualifications until later in his life, once he had made sure, we his kids, were OK.  And we were, and we are, and we got letters after our names too.  

Who do you vote for?  Who teaches you, your politics?  In my day (I always swore I would never use that phrase, but thanks Big Lynn) schools did not, or dared not, teach politics in any way, shape or form.  It may even have been written into the law books, teachers must not influence pupils.  I went to a catholic girls school, so the law may have been mis-interpreted, suffice to say, I was a pompous little Sue Ellen/Thatcher wannabe for the first 10 years of my adult life.  I was always a rulebreaker though, and got away with it while I was gorgeous, (not so much when I put on weight) but after I got educated (like Rita) I discovered why I was at odds with the world. It was an awakening.  It was as though I had been let into a great big secret that alluded so many of those that were around me.  Why had I been so naieve, (sp), why had I voted for Thatcher?  I'm in confessional mode tonight, wait til you read the dog blog, you will be in tears)     

But back to my beloved Dad.  Labour are for the working class, and the tories are for the rich.  He was always able to say in a couple of sentences, something that would take a Guardian writer 6 pages.  He had the gift of the really, really, clever of being able to explain in the most simple terms, the major and minor political and historical events in a way that I, as a child, could understand. The best example would be that Tom Hanks film, 'explain it to me as though I am 4 years old'.  Its a great philosophy and I owe everything I know about greek mythology to a Puffin Book (aged 4-8) and my first dabble into history, to Carry On films.  Even with this limited knowledge it is possible to blag your way through conversations with experts.  Just throw in references to Hercules and The French Revolution and Sir Rodney Ffing (aka Sid James) and you've cracked it.   

To my shame I would oppose my dad, mostly to be contrary it must be said, but it was partly teasing, because I think secretly, he loved getting up on his soapbox.   I even wore a Star of David after reading Exodus just to defy his political stance on Palestine!   Bless him, we quarrelled in the days before he died.  I was going on an 'Anti War March' and he wanted assassins to murder Sadam Hussein. It was such a silly argument, well not silly, in the greater sense, our arguments would make us go away and learn more about said subject, and come back for round 2.  I still delivered his shopping and inordinate amounts of Sarson vinegar.  The last thing he gave me was a book entitled 'Vinagar Cures Everything' for my cold, and told me to wrap up warm.  Strangely, when I logged on to tell family, friends etc, my first message was 'Vinagar Cures Everything' from 'anonymous'.  It was spooky, yet reassuring at the same time. 







Ps.  Note to Bev.  my dad would have given you 1001 ways in which vinagar would cure your cold, but trust me, go with the brandy..................