Busking at the Victoria and Albert Museum

Years ago after I was asked to leave the Order of ST. Francis of Assisi ( Church of England). I went down to London to see the Queen, just like Dick Whittington. But Instead of being Lord Mayor, I lived in a cardboard box in and around Covent Gardens. I guess my down fall as a religious came from being asked to work with an all Girls Teachers College in Alnwick. I was as keen to get out of the "Habit" as they were to get into my "Habit". The only vow I could keep was "poverty" as "chasity and obiedence" went out the door. Hey I kept one!!!!

I then met up with some Aussies and Kiwis and went to stay behind the Kensington Olympia. We all were working for a Temp. Agency who hired us to deliver mail for GKN Sanky during the Postal Strike in 70. We used to have a pipe full in the morning afternoon and several times in the evening. It was very surprising that we delivered any mail at all. Got to see a lot of London from one side to the other.

On weekends I used to go Busking in the Underground or in the West End. One Saturday, I ended up in South London outside of the Victorian and Albert Museum. So as I had no idea where I was or why I was here I opened my guitar case and started to play on the street corner. I must of looked rather weird to most people. Standing out in the cold in sandals and my monks robes of brown and my Friars cape with its little hood. Long Hair in Braids and I was told peacock feathers in my hair. I must of stole them from a local Hari Krishna Shrine. I was making a lot of money, a couple of pounds then which would set me up for a day or two in beer and food.

I remember being forced to move by the local security or Bobbies , so I moved up around the corner. And started to play once again to my delight anyways. It was around then that this rather large Class A bus stopped about 20 feet from where I stood. The engine didn't want to start and the noise coming from the motor was awful. Not nearly as bad as the fowl language coming from inside the bus. Eventual some long hair chaps got out of the bus, with several joints in their mouths. I asked if I could have a toke or 6. As we were enjoying the last of the smoke one of the guys asked me if I knew anything about fixing starter motors. I said no. But I can say a prayer in Latin. So They let me pray over the bus. I leaned my hands on the bus , more for support at that moment than for religious reasons. I mumbled some prayer and sang some Gregoiran Chant I knew from the Friary.

Lo and behold the damn bus started. The guys turned around to me and asked me if I knew how to play rythmn and blues. I answered I have only being playing for a few months. If it was "A" "B" D7" "G" and "E". I could do that. So I was ushured onto the bus full of other musicians. I was now part of a Rock Band without even playing a note. I found out later that day that the guys were Deleany of Deleany and Bonnie and his band members. John Mayall, Steve Katz from Blood Sweat and Tears and a young Mick Taylor and later on I got to play with Eric Clapton as well( several weeks later). I never was very good but looked cool and sang very well so they put up with me. We were off to Maidenhead ( someplace that direction anyways) to do an outdoor concert. Where I got to play my beat up old Martin and sang melody on the stage with the rest of the band. The band members later became part of the Dominos for Derick and the Dominos.

Come into the light

Anything to avoid more photos of Hoff

It is a shame when you are forced to do something when you have nothing really interesting to say. But to avoid a major threat of more photos of the hoff.

The workmen have finally moved on to another part of the building and we can finally see the blue sky without looking out and seeing their rear end sticking out of their pants.

The work is painfully slow and more extensive than was first thought. As the front of the building had to be rebuilt and now they are running out of money and so probably come back to the dry bank account to bleed us a little more.

Well , it's only money!!

NEW HOME WARRANTY

For those of you thinking about buying a new Home or Condo. The words and document "New Home Warranty" is not worth the paper it is writen upon.

We sold our old home and bought a new condo, thinking that all the repairs and problems would be solved by a little piece of paper that says New Home Warranty. It is suppose to be good for all major flaws and problems for a period of 10 years. Who was to know that as soon as the document was given to us by the builder that , it was then worthless.

It gave us a real nice warm fuzzy feeling. To think that we wouldn't have to take good money and throw it away on home repairs. ( I realise the only fuzzy warm feeling; I got in truth was that of similiar to an overdose of Syrup of Figs).

We (all the tenants had to fork out over 300,000 dollars to fix problems that should not have happened to a 4 year old building. The Builder went bankrupt and so you cnnot sue him, although he is building still under another company name. The Atlantic New Home Warranty people went bankrupt because of all the claims. It will cost us more money to go after the Insurance company who underwrote the New Home Warranty people.

They do not cover for water intruison caused by negeligence caused by poor building practices. As they do not consider it a structual problem. What's not structual!!!!

The Walls were all ripped out from the outside brick to the gyprock
on the inside and had to be rebuilt. and they consider that not structrual. All support beams and joists also had to be replaced. Give me a F@@@ing break.

So beware any homes under 10 years old are probably built inferior and that is because of the council cutting down on the building inspectors from 8 visits and inspections at a building site to 4 visits.

So the new Home warranty is only useful to wipe your arse on, as it only covers
about that much % of your investment.

SOME RUDE LAD!

It has been a while since my last entry. I know you all have been waiting with bated breath for more of my ramblings.

Many years ago during the time of the Norman Invasion of Britain. I lived a quiet life with my grandparent's in a little town called Collingwood, Ontario.
I blamed everything that went wrong whether I caused it or not on some "Rude Lad".

One week was particularly memorable, as "The Rude Lad" was in trouble more than usual. My Grandfather was a very proud English Man from Crewe, he was one of 8 children who came over with his parents from Stafford shire to a new life in the wilds of Canada. He was a Ridgway one of the Ridgway Tea and China ilk; although I believe a his father was one of the younger sons who got nothing but the name. He and his Brothers and two in-laws all served in WWI and they all came back to Canada. He was also training to go into the Priesthood (Vicar) , so he was a Proud Protestant and a member of the local Orange Lodge in Collingwood. My Grandmother was a Heis, she was of German descent a direct relative of the Kaiser and she was Roman Catholic.

My family might have been the stuff that the "Irish Rovers" Wrote about in their "Orange and the Green". Who knows. It made great sport for half of the Family jeered the other at "St. Patrick's Day" marches and when the "Orange Men" marches the other half jeered them. Then they all got together for a family dinner and then went to the local Legion for refreshment.

Now back to the story a, before I put you all to sleep . My grandfather who was John by the way. Loved to deck himself out when he went to a Lodge meeting and to put on his best Fedora. Which he kept safely in a hat box in the bottom of his cedar chest with a lock on it. He would take it out with white gloves on; then brush the rim very carefully and make sure the feathers were all in place and admire himself in the mirror, before venturing out in the night air to the Lodge. If it was raining he would cover up the hat with some thing to keep it from getting ruined and do the same ceremony to put it back in place when he got back home.

Needless to say one day Granddad forgot to lock his cedar chest. The "Rude Lad" discovered this event and took advantage of the fact. Although so I understand as I was told by the "Rude Lad" of what transpired with his Fedora.

Grand Father came down the stairs with his face awash in disbelief and I think shock and dismay as well. He took his hat out of the hat box to show my Grandmother and the rim was torn in half the whole thing looked as though it was chewed up by a dog and crushed beyond recognition as to what it was. It took him several years of saving up and having it shipped from the Old Country , so he loved this hat.

He looked me straight in the eye and pointed at me. As if I would know what happened to it. I told him directly without flinching that I didn't do it Granddad. It was some "Rude LAD" that did it. He patted me on the head and said" I know you wouldn't do this , It certainly was done by a; "Rude Lad" do you know what happened to my best Fedora?"

Well Grand Dad. The "Rude Lad" saw that your cedar chest wasn't locked and took your hat box out of the bottom of the chest . He was looking for sweets and when he didn't see any . The "Rude Lad" opened your hat box to peek and see what was there. It wasn't me! It was the "Rude Lad". He then put it on his head and started to jump around the room and "Duke" came running in (Duke was our Great Dane). That only followed orders from a 5 year old. He knocked the "Rude Lad" over and the hat tumbled to the floor and rolled. Duke then grabbed hold of it and started to chew it up. The "Rude Lad' quickly grabbed it and tried to get it away form Duke. Who thought it was a game and held on to it even harder. So it was pulled and yanked and torn up.

It wasn't me, Granddad it was Duke and the "Rude Lad". The "Rude Lad" then stomped on it to keep it from duke who also trod on it. He then jumped on it and squished it all up and put it back in your hat box and closed the cedar chest and put the lock on it. So you wouldn't notice what he had done.

Granddad, I was told was almost busting out with laughter at the very bold face lie I was telling him. He then patted me on the head, told me I was a good boy and not at all like the "Rude Lad". He put the Hat on his head the brim hanging around his neck and the rest of the hat in tatters and boldly strode out to the Lodge meeting. I am not sure but I thought I heard laughter coming down from the street as he walked up the road.

The Dog was found a new home the same week, I never really figured that out until years later. The "Rude Lad" had no supper that night, I am sure; and a sore bottom.

Duke had already that week destroyed my Grandmothers white and purple polka dot dress. That was hanging on the washing line and as he was asleep on the washing line stand. The dress blew upon him once too often from the wind and he ate the sleeves. We also destroyed one of my Grandmother's favorite quilts playing " El Toro" and he ate his way through that as well. A 120lb. dog was a little much for my Mother's pocket book to keep replacing damaged things.. I imagine she was looking for the receipt to send me back to Eatons as well. ( Please look at earlier story).

BUT IT WASN'T ME!!!! IT WAS THE " SOME RUDE LAD".

More and More of the Past Disappears

To Blog or not to Blog? That is a good question. Is it more noble to be rude on someone else's space or to retire to that dusty corner in the attic, where all the the family archives go.

It's like that Christmas cake you get and not eat ,so you pass it on to someone else. And a few years later it magically appears back in your keeping.

When you get older and it comes to us all. You start to think about your mortality and what will happen when it's your turn to go. This happen's after you lose your parents or close friend's and you inadvertently open a box or old tin full of family photos that you having no clue as to who they are or where they were taken.

It's sad each generation that passes, we lose so much. Not just in the lack of really skilled craftsman. Eg. The Cathedrals, there are no skilled people who would take several generations or centuries to build something; it is totally unheard of today. Its the reason these beautiful buildings exist today. Not some knock-up that last for 20 or so years. We are so busy, that everything has to be done now or yesterday.

I remember vaguely trying to be interested in the stories both my Mother and my Grandmother told me about the photo's and their lives. Instead I day dreamed of going out playing with my friends or watching the Telly. So now that I am much older, the family oral tradition's are getting to be very important to me. As many of you have reasoned out by now that I am the Mermaid's sire.

So if my blog turns out to be boring and full of ante dotes, it's because I do not want these stories to be lost forever when its my time to go. With MM over in the UK and me here in Nova Scotia, it feels good to blog to each other. I kind, of get the feeling of how she is doing and know when to call and when not too. I miss her writing, if things haven't changed for a few days as then I start to worry whether she is OK.

Now if only someone could help me figure out how to post the picture from my desktop to the blog. I keep getting post URL , try and get nothing. I can get the photo in the text of the post but want it up on the comments page. The master must become the student.

So if any of you have the time to teach this old dog some tricks of the information age. MM and I worked at it for a long time to no avail. Perhaps I need to change something in the tools section?

Help and Thank you

Tire Swing and Cigarettes-Life in Stephenville NFLD

We lived on Maxwell Street in StephenVille, NFLD. in the mid -to late 50's. In those days there was only about 30 miles of paved road in the whole province. Newfoundland had only just entered Canada as Great Britain got rid of her poor cousin.

It was a small and dingy 2 bedroom, kitchen and living room combination. It had a shared bathroom with the front unit. My dad put in the bath tub and the indoor plumbing as the place didn't even have running water when we moved in.

The roof leaked and the window sills let cold air in. The only thing that lived in the house before us I think were the roaches and mice. It was the 2nd house on the right side of the road and we lived next door to the Gallant family.

One of my best friends was Jackie Gallant who lived in the back unit while his grandfather lived in the front. Jackie was one of 7 or 8 kids in the family , I do not remember if he was the oldest or youngest. As it was about 50 years ago, when I first met him. I looked over the fence and he called me some name, I jumped over the fence and pounded him some good. We became best of mates.
Jackie's family were RC and went to the Catholic School on the main Street. While I went around the corner to the regular school.

We had a large dog named Toby, he was part Great Dane and part German Shepard. So he was rather large and lots of teeth and mean but liked kid's. We used to give him Dog Cookies, "Milk Bones" I think. As they were in different colours. My Mom and Dad figured Toby ate these rather fast and bought him a lot of boxes of these things. He was around 120 lbs. So he did eat a lot of food.

One morning, early around 6 a.m., Mom was by the door and heard children's voices outside in the front Hall. We had just let Toby out and put out a bowl of food (Gravy Train) and a bowl of milk Bones. She peered out the door and saw Jackie and his siblings outside eating the Dog's Cookies. She heard Jackie say to his brothers and sisters. " Mrs. Girard is real kind to us as she leaves these great cookies out each morning for us to eat and take to school. Mom really likes the green ones and I prefers the black ones." So the dog just lay ed there; while the neighbourhood kids filled their pockets and mouths with the dog's breakfast. She never stopped buying the cookies and the Gallant children always had cookies in the morning for school.

I was 8 years old when my parents bless them, bought me 2 cartons of "Buckingham Cigarettes" for my B'day. It might have been two packages; it could have been two boxes for all I know. They were trying to get me to stop smoking. I had to smoke that brand and I couldn't smoke their "Players" and I had to pay for my own.

I smoked for almost 30 plus years and was up to almost 4 packs a day when I quit. I was the envy of the Gang and I was the only kid in school that had a note from his Mother that gave me permission to smoke. In those days they were the worst and the strongest cigs. you could buy and cost 38 cents a package. I used to sell them for 5 cents each to the kids at school so I always had cigarettes and was the leader of the local gang, thanks to Mom and Dad.

Think of it an eight year old who could smoke in front of his parents and behind their backs and had a note at the Sweetlands Corner Store giving me permission to buy only "Buckingham's". Every time the school took the smokes from me, Mom would call them and I get them back with a promise not to smoke on school property or sell them to the kids on the premises. So I waited off the school grounds or went to the RC School where I wasn't a student and peddled my cigarettes.

Now, for the real reason for the story. The Tire Swing. Dad put up a tire swing in our back yard or side yard in an old maple tree. The fence divided the property between the Gallants and our house. As I mentioned earlier Jackie's, Grandfather lived in the front and didn't talk to his son who lived in the back. The local kids used to hang out at our place and play on the tire swing.

Jackie's grandfather always complained to Dad about the tree that it cast a shadow on his home. On night we heard an almighty crash and thought it was thunder so Dad went back to bed. He was snapped on home brew anyways as was per normal for him.

We woke up next morning and the entire tree was missing , stump and all; just a large hole in the ground and the tire swing and rope were left on the ground. The fence was broken down and the yard was all torn up.

In Mr. Gallant seniors yard was the tree all cut up into firewood. Dad was going to call the Mounties but as he had a "Still" in the garage and "Home Brew" in the baby's crib in my room on the go. I am the only child by the way.

They did some strange things to hide the illegal booze from the RCMP in those days. Dad, decided that bootlegging was more important than getting busted.

About a week later Jackie's dad and my father got together over a few drinks and stole the wood from the old man , we had enough fuel for the winter. Life was weird on Maxwell Street, but never a dull moment.

Harry Potter Ending- What a Crock!!!!

For those of you who are thinking of buying the book. Do not bother. She lets him live. It shows you what a dumb ass this woman is. Do I think she has any talent. NO, none what so ever. What's with the bit 19 years later? Potter and his wife take their rug rat to the train station to go to Hogwarts.

Rowlings will be trying for a sequel. Save yourself, more crap from this writer is on the way. Dosen't she realize , she is going the way of the "Beanie Babies" and will become the Hack that she is.

I went to Walmart, looked at the ending and saved myself a lot of money for Rubbish.

So shoot the messenger. It will save me the trouble.