Edward Hurley - Uncle Eddie - RIP

Three years ago today my Uncle Eddie passed away.

He was a "typical Hurley man" and that's the finest thing I can say, the greatest epithet that any of us could hope for.

I was greatly upset at the time, because I had been rushed into hospital and so was unable to get to his funeral and pay my respects to him.

I suppose my main memories of Uncle Eddie were at my Nanna Hurley's house in Fairwater on Boxing Day. Every year the Hurleys would all gather there to continue our Christmas celebrations, and exchange presents between the extended family. We'd all be there crammed into my nan's little house.

Many years I'd come away loaded down with gifts, both ridiculous and coveted. I recall a Jaws gift set in which the socks fitted me like stockings. Another was a gift set of soaps (red, yellow and blue) in the shape of speed boats - and they smelt "lush." I kept them for many years, always smelling them, never daring to use them for fear they'd wear away. It was years before I even dared to take them out of the packaging!

When we were up our nan's all the Hurley cousins would be there of course, and like any children at Christmas we would tear around the house (inside and out) and I'm sure we all drove our parents crazy being all hyped up on the excitement of Christmas. Many's the time a parent would hiss those words that all parents have hissed to their children down the ages at clan gatherings: "behave!" -- as they try not to be overheard, yet at the same time load the words with enough of a threat to stop their child running about like a mini tornado.

And many's the time Uncle Eddie would overhear and say "leave him alone - he's only having fun." He always seemed to have a twinkle in his eye that told you he was still a kid at heart. Perhaps because he never had children of his own he enjoyed the chaos and the company of all of us who brought our manic ways to Nanna Hurley's.

I recall him being generous too, pressing a secret fiver into a hand when mum and dad weren't looking, which could be secreted away in a pocket. You'd tell mum and dad later when they couldn't say "give it back" as in those days it was a small fortune (still is to me - just in case my children are looking in).

My dad often told us of the time Uncle Eddie went out to work. As the first of the Hurley boys to get a job (Uncle Roddy must have been older, but died in WW2) one of the things he bought was lemonade. As he drunk it, he would mark the bottle and warn his siblings not to touch it (you can imagine, can't you?). Anyway, my dad would laugh as he told us they'd swig at his bottle and then top it up with water.

Just a little while ago we had our wedding video converted over to DVD. It brought the memories flooding back. When asked if anyone wanted to say any other words by the MC only one person from all those tables of guests stood up - and it was Uncle Eddie. In his thick Cardiff accent (which you don't notice growing up as we all had them), he thanked us for a great occasion and then announced that he was too "het up" to say much more. He was clearly quite emotional.

People often say we don't appreciate what we have until it's gone and I think that is true. Some of our extended families we don't see now from year to year, especially as more move away, have families etc. Perhaps now it's just the occasional wedding, Christening etc.

The South Wales Echo

I just wish I could have seen my Uncle Eddie one last time, even if it were not to speak to as such, but to say goodbye at his funeral. Maybe one day, God willing, I'll see him again and he'll clip me round the ear and say "gercha" whilst pulling a mean face like he did when we were kids.

I know Auntie Evelyn was distraught to lose Eddie as he took care of everything. I can't imagine what she went through, but I do know that all of us miss Uncle Eddie for his wicked sense of humour, his generosity and for being a "typical Hurley man."

Rest in Peace Uncle Eddie. We all miss you.

Shaking the Tins for SPUC with a Flat Top!

I came across this little gem the other week when clearing out some old keepsake boxes in the loft. Dated 1988 it comes from the SPUC's famous White Rose flag day when they collect at churches and the like to raise funds.

Well in 1988 a few of us thought we'd shake the SPUC tins outside Woolworths in Roath, Cardiff and make it a bit more "public." It must have been a sight to behold because a few people came running over to accuse us of raising funds for this, that and the other. Either that or they were so used to the usual 'student-rent-a-cause' crowd bothering the shoppers so didn't know what to make of us.

One chap who waved on jovially was my Italian barber who had just given me my first ever "flat top" haircut (hey, it was the 80s) and was thrilled to see me wearing it in public. After so many years of crew cuts and shorter, it was quite an audacious move to go for the flat top. I think the barber was secretly thrilled to be doing something more worthy of his skills.

As a youngster (I would have been 17) my friends and I used to have have such fun promoting the Pro-Life cause in Cardiff. Once a few of us went to a SPUC meeting in St Patrick's in Grangetown only to sit directly behind a mum of a friend (she and my mum were good friends) and her chums who were pleased to see us there.

On another occasion we went fly-posting with SPUC posters supporting the (parliamentary) Alton Bill around Cardiff. I think it was the first ever time SPUC posters appeared in the city, and on popping them on the metal boxes near the lights at the big junction between Albany Road and Newport Road, by Summers Funeral Home, I turned around to see a police car queueing at the lights. I gave the WPC a cheeky wink and a smile and pottered on to join my chums. She either agreed with the message or wasn't too concerned as we carried on our merry way, unmolested by the long arm of the law.

On another occasion me and my friend Paul went to the LIFE headquarters, which was then in one of the many arcades in Cardiff town centre. We wanted to give them a donation and pick up any leaflets or similar they might have. On seeing two young men with short hair etc. they were all flustered. It seems they thought we were the aggrieved boyfriends of pregnant young ladies out to give them some stick. We all had a good chuckle once they realised we were there to show support.

Perhaps best of all was when we organised a noisy counter-demo to a pro-death march led by Ann Clwyd MP... That was a noisy and fun event!

Ah they were innocent and fun times. Paul died a few years later in a tragic accident, just before I left Cardiff - for good it would transpire - so when I came across this little piece of paper (signed by the inspirational Paul Botto, who still organises SPUC in Cardiff) it brought all the memories flooding back.

A Living Saint Passes Away

I was sad to hear that Fr Hugh Thwaites passed away recently. I met him at my Best Man's wedding (see here) quite some years ago (he's not getting any younger you see).

He was a Jesuit priest who bucked the 'trendy' trend which has beset the Jesuits of late. He was a traditionalist priest who celebrated the Tridentine (Latin) Mass.

As I told my best man (best man available), it was a wonderful occasion when I met Fr Thwaites having heard so much about him... and the wedding was OK too.

Please remember Fr Thwaites in your prayers.

And Bilbo's Off Across the Seas to Pastures New...

Sad news this week really.

I finally dug out my old LOTR poster of Bilbo's last Song (you know... at the end of the book when he, Gandalf, Frodo and the elves all go to the Grey Havens and set off for the West?).

I bought it in the early 80s as a young, handsome and devilishly rakish whippersnapper with the world at my feet (OK, let me dream...) and for many years it bedecked the wall of my bachelor pad (er... teenage bedroom).

Well this week I finally got it down from the loft and sold it. It went to a gent (of great taste and distinction) in Sweden.

I like to think that I have spread the 'good news' of Tolkien rather than sold an heirloom, but it was creased, a little ripped and what with re-roofing etc. etc. was in danger of getting further damaged.

So goodbye Bilbo! Like dear old Sam returning home to his Rose afterwards I am not ashamed to say I shed a manly tear for my old friend as it set off on new adventures without me...

Now I shall go and listen to the song on my ipod in the last episode of LOTR and shed another manly tear (dear Lord! - it's getting a bit too "Elton John" round here!).

Goodbye dear Bilbo!

Now where did I leave my Lembas Bread?...


P.S. Can't wait for the film to come out!!!! Take that Smaug the Oppressor.

Baby Fish and Exam Results: Celebrations All Round

Some great news from the garden. Our goldfish have had more babies. Not sure how many, but at last count there are at least seven wee black bairns in there (each about 1cm long). There may be more under the lily pads.

The 'older babies' (if that makes sense) are now about 3 - 4cm long, still black but eating the floating pond sticks that we feed the "grown ups" with.

It's great that we're now getting our own fish. And not a penny given to the big chain pet shops! Yippee.

I've also seen at least 3 grown-up frogs in the pond, so I suppose they'll be having their own babies soon enough... be great not to have to catch tadpoles from old quarries and have to "bring them home" next year.

We had a good crop of peas this year, though towards the end the slugs and snails went a bit bonkers on them. After a slow start the potatoes shot up too, so I think I'll be digging them up any day as they're just starting to wilt. The weather really hasn't helped this year.

So I suppose that's the garden up to date.

This last week or so we had happy news, with the AS and GCSE results in. Our eldest got an A in AS History which is what he plans to do in uni, and our second born got an A in GCSE Geography which is what he's going to college to do at A Level, so both did well and seem to know what they want to do...

What with O Levels becoming GCSEs and now the media saying the children get lower grades for the same percentages... I just wish the government(s) would stop fiddling with the exams so we could just know what the children get, they earn -- and can be compared like for like, year on year. But hey, what do I know?

Big Business Call Centres

If my call is so VERY important to you - how about answering it?

If you experience a high volume of calls so regularly (like 99% of the times I call) why not employ a few more people?

If you must make me go through 1001 options and permutations before -- eventually -- answering, why am I them so regularly redirected to another office who then tell me that I've come through to the wrong place?

And if you make me key in or (even worse) pronounce my details to a machine that only seems to recognise American accents, why when I reach a human being (after 2 months waiting) usually called Keith or Susan, yet with a suspiciously Asian accent, is the first thing they ask me for the very thing I just spent 48 hours tapping in or shouting at the phone?

So to recap: SORT IT OUT YOU TIGHT-FISTED MONEY-GRUBBING SCUMBAGS.

'I am not a number. I am a free man.'

18 Years and One Day

I survived yesterday. "Why so?" you ask!

Because it was Monday? No.

Because two lots of software were playing up in work? No.

Because it was the start of Week 2 of the kids' school holidays? No.

All these added to the occasion of course.

No I survived yesterday because it was our WEDDING ANNIVERSARY!

18 years ago in St Peter's Church (yes that one! -- in Cardiff) myself and herself ("Mrs H") tied the knot, and we signed the marriage documents as Ave Maria was sung.

Now here we are 18 years later and our eldest has just turned 17 and is taking his driving lessons, with another child just leaving high school and another just leaving junior school.

We've lived in a few different properties in three different countries (England, Scotland and Wales) and there's been lots of ups and downs, excitement and anguish along the way.

So here we are, 18 years on. God willing there'll be another 18 years and more.

So thanks Mrs H for putting up with me.

What a week! Birthday, Driving, Proms (oh and a Dead Chicken)

Going grey - me and George! (there the similarity ends)

This week we've had or will have:

• one child's (16th) birthday.
• one child started his driving lessons (second one today).
• one child's prom for leaving junior school.
• one child's prom for leaving high school (as Head Boy).
• one child's participation in a school music concert.
• and (just into next week) a Grade Three violin exam.

On top of all the other usual chaos of family life (and preparing a first VAT return! yikes!)

And we lost one chicken at the end of last week to a fox (tunnelled into the run, broke off the 'egg basket' lid - now nailed down). It was one of the speckledys...

It's been quite a busy time! if I have a few more grey hairs than before, well, no surprise.

And the baby goldfish in the pond are getting bigger - about an inch and a quarter long and now more grey than black.

Chernobyl Diaries: OK but Disappointing

Went to see CD last night with Mrs H. To get the important matters settled, we took in our goodies. I refuse to pay £20 for a fizzy pop and a bucket o' popcorn.

I even won a cup of coffee (for Mrs H) in a £1 for charity lucky dip (coffee cost £2.49rrp) in the Coffee Emporium across the street. We were off to a good start!

Anyhow onto the film. Quite good. Not really scary (though Mrs H hid in her jumper a few times in a 70s Dr Who stylee saying "tell me what happens") and too short. It ended just when you hope it would get going, spin off into an X Files style govt cover-up plot or final big fight scene etc.

It wasn't boring like Transformers or Avengers Assemble, but was definitely missing something. Too formulaic in parts (stay in the van and turn the flipping lights off!) but moreover just not enough plot/back story etc.

Mrs H gave it 9/10 but she is easily pleased (she married me!) - I'm sticking to 6.5/10.

I wonder if a docu-film about the background to Chernobyl, Fukushima, Bhopal etc., cover ups and mistreatment of locals, and the UK government plans to bury tons and tons of nuclear waste in the Lake District, the tax-payers' bank-rolling of nuclear big business, and associated cover-ups and 'green-washing' of nuclear power for dubious ends might be more worrying/scary.

I Wonder if Hilaire Belloc Liked Viennese Whirls?

Just had a Viennese Whirl and a cup of tea in my Hilaire Belloc mug.

Does life get any better?

The blog is in danger of becoming a food fest.

Mrs H has retired to read a book. I think she has a deep loathing of football. And she's not even a rugby fan!

Happy Fathers Day to Old Pa Hurley (and Reflections on Sweets)

Coconut Rolls

You know it's Father's Day when you open your Liquorice Allsorts (other brands are available) and there is a preponderance of Coconut Rolls!

Mmmmm. My favourites.

Sprogs

Luckily Mrs H loves the sprogs (jelly-ish ones) which I do not really like, and the youngest Hurley loves the plain liquorice ones which are pretty hit and miss for me.

So there we are. Like Jack Spratt and his wife, the 'plate' (as it were) shall be licked clean.

Happy Father's Day to all Dads. Especially my dad, Old Pa Hurley who is officially the best dad in the world. I would probably swap a skip load of Coconut Rolls for him. Now that's filial love!

Greater love hath no man than to give up his Coconut Rolls for his dad.

Luckily for me Old Pa Hurley seemed perfectly sated with a big box of Bassett's Wine Gums (other brands are available).

I did try and find a pic of a skip filled with sweets... but no joy. Just how much use is the internet?

Reflections on Birthdays and Death

There's a famous text that goes "in the midst of life we are in death" or somesuch. Well it's certainly true.

This time of year is "birthday season" in our house when the little Hurleys have their special days clustered ('tis a conspiracy to skint me out). There's also a lot of revising and exam-sitting going on.

Mix in birthdays, exams, parties, school etc. and life is at its fullest. To a backdrop of the Jubilee, Euro 2012, Leveson, Olympics -- the whole world seems "busy."

With this in mind I found out an old friend had passed away unexpectedly tonight.

Just today I was rushing about town doing various banking, bill paying, etc. stopped off to get my hair cut and even picked up some supplies for Mrs H from the food emporium.

It's weird because you get so wrapped up in daily life, rushing about to get chores done, then when you hear a friend has passed away it does make you stop in your tracks and remember the fleeting nature of life.

Someone you can be speaking to one day can be dead just a few days later.

Very sad, but c'est la vie, in every sense.

Today I've gone from the excitement, balloons, streamers, cake and candles of a birthday tea to the memento mori of some very sad news.

Life is a roller coaster, I guess that's something Harry Redknapp is reflecting on tonight.

The Hurleys: Common as Muck

A lovely family moment yesterday, one to cherish for generations. Mrs H and the littlest H were in London to see Shrek the Musical on stage in the West End. Oh yes: we Hurleys are posh and can mix it with the top knobs of the West End. Next step is surely an invite to a garden party at Buckingham Palace?

"For Services to the Blogging Community: Gareth Hurley, accompanied by Mrs H."

Oh yes. I can see it now. Top hat and tails. That's Mrs H sorted. I could go for a floral print. A bit of retro 50s Laura Ashley.

Or maybe not. Maybe yesterday's family moment has scuppered my dreams of cucumber sandwiches on the lawn (though I hasten to add my preference is for pork pies, victoria sponge and a builder's mug of tea).

So what was this event that's sent shock waves through the upper echelons of the British establishment - to shake BuckPal (to use the modern parlance) to its very foundations?

Well, left with instructions for the day by Mrs H (as usual when she's away) we found ourselves in one of the smaller supermarkets. I won't name them for fear of upsetting my sponsors (Ranjit's Corner Emporium) but suffice to say we Co-Operated to get there.

One of the items on my list was 'toilet rolls' and never one to shirk my responsibilities I decamped to the isle containing these daily necessariums. The remnant of the Hurley children followed.

On reaching the large range of 'paper essentials' I announced to the children that we needed to calculate the prices and quantities to work out the optimum product. Cue much moaning and rolling of eyes from those who are used to spending my money! How naughty.

So I scanned the shelves for the special offers and there was a sumptuous quality branded product - let's just say it was 'velvety' - at 9 rolls for £3. OK, I lodged that in the spending receptacle in my cranium.

I then turned to look at the cheaper options including the own-brand and the (pardon the intentional pun) bottom of the range items.

At which point, one of the Hurley boys spoke out, against my perceived "tightertudiness" or "skinflinterfication" (which is purely fictional of course) by announcing, for half the patrons of said establishment to hear:

"You don't want to buy that cheap rubbish, your finger will go through it."

Talk about 'painting a picture!' Bless him. From the mouth of babes (and teens) etc.

At that point I decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and that the velvety brand was indeed the best bargain, grabbed the 9-pack and got to the till asap, in record time no less!

So there we go. Just as I envision grandeur and being part of the aristocracy, a Hurley child brings me crashing back to earth.

Oh well. Humility is good for the soul.

Perhaps I should seek an audience with the makers of the velvety option paper and sell them a new slogan, a distinctive style of marketing: "Try Our Velvet Tissue: It's Posh and Your Finger Won't Go Through It."

Could be a USP (Unique Selling Point) they haven't thought of!

We Hurleys are nothing if not forward thinking. Besides which, if a success and the velvety tissue goes viral, we might get a BuckPal invite 'For Services to Industry and Exports' as The Queen (as we all know) doesn't use the loo, she may not see the murky side of the advert campaign, just its multi-billion pound results.

Mission accomplished.

I await a call from the velvety brand makers.

Does God Believe in Atheists? Ed Miliband's Atheism

So Ed Miliband says he is an atheist. Hardly a revolutionary act in today's Britain where the governments "don't do God" (ref A. Campbell).

On a Radio 4 piece today he also said he turned to God (he's Jewish) before his dad died.

Seems he wants to have his cake and eat it. Whilst nothing is beyond God, even Catholics know that the Good Lord "giveth and taketh away" according to His own plan.

Besides which, as many priests have told me, God always insists we do all we humanly can. When doing His miracles Christ always insisted his helpers filled vessels, cast out nets, distribute food etc. He didn't have to have their help - but the lesson is there.

So if Comrade Ed wants to jettison the errors of his parents (they were Marxists too) and get to Confession he may have a better chance...

But we all of us, atheists or wise, should not try to second guess the Good Lord. But remember one thing: one day we shall answer for our actions and inactions. Even Richard Dawkins, no matter his protestations!

He may not recognise God; dread the day when God doesn't recognise him! Gnashing of teeth, etc.

Still he's got time left and everyone can get to Confession, even Prof H.

Anyway, it's raining again, the chickens are looking most bedraggled and it's time for tea! Yippee!

As Old Pa Hurley used to say (and still may for all I know): "I could eat a baby's dirty nappy with mustard on!"

Not that I'm a fan of mustard, but you get the idea.

Politics, religion and food: it really is an exciting day! I just need to mention Cardiff's change of strip (again) to shoehorn sports into the agenda - and hey presto! (reference for the atheists methinks) it's a perfect storm!


===


Postscript:

Tea was a homemade turkey, brie, bread and cranberry burger in a bun! With orange juice. It was remarkably tasty and satisfying. Yum.

How to Stop Nuisance Callers: Beware the Men in Black

I was walking Patch the Dog (PTD) this morning, as Mrs H who normally does the morning walking duties is away in Caernarfon accompanying our youngest at yet another Urdd National Eisteddfod! It's become almost an annual event that one of our offspring makes it through to the National Eisteddfod (and gets on TV!). And to think I couldn't even get a first prize in my school Eisteddfod!

Anyhoo, there I was walking back to Hurley Towers with PTD, gaily swinging my bag of dog pooh, when I spotted them! In their long dark coats, clutching their files and cases!

You are wondering who they are no doubt. Could it be a Bourne film - are they CIA or MI5 operatives looking to "take down" PTD and I?

No.

Who were the MiB?

Might they be the fabled Men in Black? Would they ask me weird questions (about UFOs and the strange man across the road who seems unkempt, shuffles in his baggy-arsed jeans and is too large for his small car) before wiping my memory?

No.

Might they be debt or rent-collectors, the Rackmans of the 21st Century out to  take my hard-earned money for some outstanding bill overlooked in the chaos of everyday life?

No.

Might they be spies for some enemy agency? Perhaps scouts for Rugby League teams out to bribe me to start supporting strange Northern teams and betray my beloved Wales? Or agents from London Pride or some Burton-on-Trent based brewery out to offer me free beer in return for turning my back on Brains glorious brews?

No.

Perhaps they were secret RSPCA agents out to confiscate my frogs from the pond or the chickens from our run?

No.

Perhaps they were Anglicans out to canvas my support for women priests, pooftahs in the clergy, and to shake my belief in Transubstantiation and the Real Presence?

No.

It was worse.

These were indeed enemy agents in our midst. They would send shivers of fear up the most hardened and resolute spines. As I passed them I saw the literature sticking out of pockets, fists and cases: these were Jehovah's Witnesses! On our Holy soil!

I was rehearsing my speech to them as I continued home and got PTD in. As Mrs H was away I could really let fly without fear of (another) clip around the ear for being just so outspoken.

I gave PTD his treat for (semi) behaving on our walk, and put the kettle on. I am nothing if not cultured. Oh, just in case I should say that I put the bag of dog pooh out the back in our special bin, then washed my hands. I don't want you thinking I act nonchalantly or in a lackadaisical manner when it comes to handling dog faeces! Perish the thought.

I made my tea. I even popped some bread in the toaster. I am nothing if not extravagant with my celebration of life: no dour Presbyterianism in Hurley Towers. No siree.

I waited. sipped tea. And waited. Munched toast. And waited. Gave PTD a crust. And waited... But knock there came none.

The lesson here is clear, for all men of goodwill and anyone who doesn't like CIA-Men in Black-Rackman lookalikes knocking on their door at all hours of the day. And I, in my status at Captain Charitable and Mr. Caring-Sharing 2012 am willing to divulge my secret to you all (fees are discretionary, if you wish to send me a fiver - no problem).

HOW TO STOP JEHOVAH'S WITNESSES KNOCKING AT YOUR DOOR

When you open the door to Jehovah's Witnesses do not:

• Fling it shut
• Say "sorry I'm busy"
• Mumble something and close the door.
• Say "no thank you" politely.

These are fatal errors. They will see you as a "challenge" and mark their little notebooks as such, and try and get you again when they next swing their infernal machinery of proselytising into town. Any of these replies/responses or similar will guarantee you another visit from those promoting error and annoyance.

This is what you have to do. I know because I did it and they have never knocked since:

You ask: When was your church started? They answer (19th Century or some such).

You ask: Do you believe in Jesus Christ? They answer (yes).

You then say: We are Roman Catholics. Our Church was founded by Jesus Christ who made St Peter the first Pope. You are promoting heresy and a false church founded by a conman. Plead forgiveness from God, convert and get to Confession. You are in danger of losing your souls by promoting heresy.

You do all this with a firm, almost stern look on your face so they know you are deadly serious and far from joking.

They will mark you in their book as a 'lost cause' perhaps, or maybe they will view you as dangerous and a possible means to lose some of those they send on their missions to subvert the goodly people of these lands. Either way, it seems they will not send another heretic to your door.

And who knows - when castigating them, your charity may reap some reward by planting the seed of Truth in their minds. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day.

And: you need never fear getting that knock on the door the next time you're in the bath, up a set of ladders, changing a baby's nappy, putting the finishing touches to a great work of art - or otherwise indisposed.

Here endeth the lesson.

Damn Those Disney Films - They Hastened Our Demise

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

It's called "pop music" m'lud

Last year 'The Hurley Family' won the quiz shield at our local school. Our name was the first one engraved on the shield. Perhaps the fame and adulation of our peers went to our collective heads... because this year we came second!

Oh the shame. The ignominy. The humiliation.

In our defence I must say that last year's questions were academic and some of the questions quite cryptic. This year there were a lot of multi-choice and a whole section on 'Disney Films', one of the children suggested it epitomised the dumbing-down of the education system.

C'est la guerre. Next year we'll have to swot up on 'popular culture' -- like High Court judges finding out what Top of the Pops is. New struggles, new vistas, new opportunities.

Olympic Torch in Wales, Corporate Sponsors and Freebies

Went to see the Olympic Torch this morn, despite my misgivings over the whole Corporate nature of the games.

Are Coke, McDonalds and Cadburys (all USA companies) really the food of Olympians? If I follow that diet can I break the four minute mile? Or the four minute shuffle to find the remote?

Well this morning I gave up all my principles (again!) to leap forward when the Coke lorry went past to seek the freebies. Panic broke out when they were too slow and I didnt get a bottle. Two of the children did, but luckily as the Coke people (?) fumbled to get more off the lorry they dropped one and I got to it. Bingo!

Of course I handed it over to our youngest, but getting a freebie still left me with a warm glow. I could sense that somewhere down in West Wales (on his hols) Old Pa Hurley had a deep sense of satisfaction knowing that somewhere in his family freebies were obtained.

Sadly when the Lloyds Bank bus went past there were no freebies. I had hoped they would fling bank notes in the air from sacks full of them. It was not meant to be... Shame on them!

As for Samsung, no, again sadly no freebies. No printers, tvs, dvd players or other accoutrements. Very sad. And they wonder why the London rioters ransacked shops? They should set a better example via dishing out freebies.

The Samsung bloke with the microphone even got the name of the town wrong. And the less said about the "gent" with the pea whistle and the gyrating hips the better. In my experiance a whistle and wiggling hips quickly moves to asumptions being made about a person's "sexuality" - as the terminology goes these days. All best avoided.

So I have partaken in the Olympic experience and received gifts from the largesse of the Corporate sponsors. I feel somewhat sullied... But not that much.

Our Speckledys: And Calling on the Charity of a Celeb

Yes! Speckledys. According to the eggsperts (groan!) the Speckledy "is a modern hybrid and comes from a Rhode Island Red crossed with a Maran."

Our three Speckledys (Speckledies?) are variously coloured - one has a darkish mostly black head, one is half black and half grey, and one is mostly grey (like the various ages of Old Pa Hurley). I must get some pics of them for you.

So now you know all the new hens we have: Belgian Black Bantams, Silkies and Speckeldeys. They all seem to live together, sleep together and play hopscotch together very well. OK, I made that last bit up, but you know what I mean.

They're not all laying yet, but we are getting eggs most days from the Silkies and Belgians. As with our last ex-battery Warrens, these new chickens are ideal for clearing most scraps from the table (they love spaghetti, old chips, bits of bread, pie crusts, rice, peas, cake and virtually anything else left over).

Our peas are steadily growing up the natural wood wigwam I made for them and this year's spuds are just coming through in the space I dug over for them next to the compost heap.

As we do more in the garden I think it would have been marvellous if we had a smallholding. We would love to have pigs, goats, ducks and more besides, but in an ex-council house with limited space there's only so much we can do... oh well, c'est la vie. I suppose until we win the lottery we'll just have to keep dreaming ;-)

Watching West Ham v Blackpool in the play-off final, it's much the same. Keep on dreaming.... that one day... maybe... 

Mrs H always says, whenever some celeb is in the news for taking drugs, why on earth they don't just use their money to get a little farm and stop being silly. I guess some do - they just don't make the headlines.

So hey if you are a celeb (we all know the celebs, utility bosses and dotcom rich look in here from time to time), bored, wondering what to do to break that boredom, how about buying us a farm? You could pop in whenever you like for tea and biccies, and we could certainly bung eggs, milk, cheese and bacon your way gratis. All for less then some people pay out on cars that depreciate when driven off the forecourt.

So come on! Chad Hurley? Sir Phillip Green? Sir Tom Jones? Simon Cowell? Or maybe Prince Charles? We really don't mind! Anyone who would like to help us have an organic small family farm... I shall be waiting for the email!

40 Little Friends

It's been another rough day.

I was just starting to think that my/our recent run of bad luck was coming to an end.

The roof was finally fixed after years of problems and recent leaks, holes and storms (rearrange that order if you like).

We are in that pleasant period when the roof is snug and dry but the builders' bill has yet to land.

Anyways, after an 'orrible toothache the antibiotics the dentist prescribed actually worked and even work this week has been (relatively) problem free: a rarity in and of itself!

I should have known I was being dragged into a false sense of security!

My usual outlook is one of, expect the worst and anything else is a bonus. I think I've become pessimistic after being deflated so many times when in a good mood. Sad but true.

Today was a perfect example. Just perking up and then: BHAM! (I mean as in wham or kappow - not shorthand for Birmingham, like Brum).

"We" lost £40. I wont go into details, but the money was misplaced and lost...

Now bear in mind I get upset if I lose £1 or even if I have to break into a tenner. So the loss of £40 was felt very hard.

That'll teach me to have a sunny disposition of an afternoon! A lesson learnt methinks.

I'll be wearing my black armband again tomorrow it seems. Perhaps with the numerals 4 and 0 chalked on it.

I just hope Old Pa Hurley doesn't find out! The shock of such a large loss in the family could see off even the hardiest of octogenarians - even a Battle of Britain veteran like him!

The Avengers Assemble? Spend Your Money on a Bottle of Highland Park!

After a week in which everything that could go wrong seemed to go wrong, Mrs H suggested that we (her and I, the grown ups if you like) should take some time out and go to the cinema.

So we did. The only film that seemed suitable, half decent and not a cartoon or similar was Avengers Assemble.

I'm a mug for a nostalgic film

So we bought our tickets then went for a bite to eat and a drink. I had a beer with my vittles. The drink cost £2.70. If Old Pa Hurley is reading this he might well have fallen off his seat. No, not from imbibing too much Brains Dark, but from such a cost. To the rest of us it seems quite a normal price.

The idea - as passed into law in Scotland - that there should be a minimum price on beer would hit people like me, who enjoy the occasional beer or a wee tipple at home a couple of times a week. Even moreso those who do likewise who are struggling on limited incomes, a small pension etc.

I know binge drinking and problem drinking is a problem, but as with speed bumps placed through towns, this all seems to hit the many and the law-abiding just because a tiny minority can't behave themselves.

Anyway, we went off to watch the film. Hmmm. Don't even get me started on why oh why we have to sit through almost 30 mins of adverts (including some films I now know virtually the entire plotlines of, and a series of local authority adverts - tax money well spent???)

A couple sitting in the same row left after 60 mins. We left after90 mins. It was painful. Like Power Rangers pretending to be for grown ups. X hits Y who then fights Z who starts to argue with A, who doesn't want B to lose his temper, who then fights C, who's taken out by X.... and so on  ad infinitum.

All the special effects etc. just made it a mind-numbingly annoying boredom.

Why is it when I want a break from the woes of daily life, the trials and tribulations of the week, I never get to see a thoughtful, inspiring film?

The last film I saw that made me think, was nostalgic, had real characters and was equally happy and sad, was the Iron Lady. She certainly beats the Avengers into a cocked hat! I'll drink to that.