I'll have to motor on this one to type it out in five minutes.
I was trusted, at the great age of nine, or thereabouts, to stroll up to the farm shop at the top of the road, to buy some free range eggs.
Money in hand, I walked up and had to pass the newsagents, they sold eggs too, and they were cheaper, so I bought some, plus, with the change, bought five bubblies, penny bubble gums.
Two went in to the face and they were chewed rapidly in the slow walk home, then I realised that I had the evidence on me, so the other three were pushed under the back gate of some neighbours house, panic was setting in.
The unblinking eyes gazed up at mother and swore that the eggs, complete with little stamped lion, had been bought at the farm shop. The reasoning didn't work and I was frogmarched up to the aforementioned shop where the lady insisted that she hadn't sold them, they sold real eggs, farm eggs, not that lion stamped stuff.
Then, logic was applied and mother frogmarched me, still protesting my innocence, down to the newsagent, where, that lady insisted that she had sold me the eggs, and with some amazing memory technique told my mum that I'd bought five bubblies as well.
I still unblinkingly insisted on my innocence, that it was all a set up, and there was no evidence of bubble gum on me, I was framed in a sinister plot.
It didn't go down well, and this at a time when mothers were not controlled against beating the bejeebers out of their precious offspring.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Interogation Techniques
There was no need for waterboarding in the Weldon household, because as little six year old David was honing his lying skills, my mother instigated a cunning plan.
It was pure parenting brilliance.
Mum told me, that it was obvious that when I was telling a fib, I would blink a lot and she could immediately tell.
So, I formed a cunning plan of my own, I would combat this blinking habit by making sure that when I was lying to her about anything, I would not blink, no blinking, eyes wide open, the unblinking truth.
It didn't work though, she always knew I was lying after that, I didn't know why, she was just good at those things you know.
I'll have to type fast on my next elaborate lying story.
It was pure parenting brilliance.
Mum told me, that it was obvious that when I was telling a fib, I would blink a lot and she could immediately tell.
So, I formed a cunning plan of my own, I would combat this blinking habit by making sure that when I was lying to her about anything, I would not blink, no blinking, eyes wide open, the unblinking truth.
It didn't work though, she always knew I was lying after that, I didn't know why, she was just good at those things you know.
I'll have to type fast on my next elaborate lying story.
Chipperfield Circus
The hoodwinking of parents is a very complex process, especially when the circumstances and evidence all point away from the obvious explanation of a bizarre moment in a youngsters life.
I think it must have been a discussion point as to the validity of allowing the six or seven year old David to take his Corgi Chipperfield Circus truck into school that day, however, it was allowed and a docket prepared for the variance in toy policy against the status quo.
The documentary evidence, at lunchtime, was that the truck no longer existed in this universe, and mother, trained to observe this type of phenomenon, noticed this immediately.
The explanation was simple, it was lost, or someone must have pinched it, stolen from my grubby little mitts, end of story.
But, of course, never end of story in the adult world when little David was followed back to school in the afternoon by said mother who raised hell with the school teacher, who raised hell with the class and the truth was uncovered.
David had sold the truck to another little boy for sixpence.
Then followed a long drawn out denial process and trouble.
I think it must have been a discussion point as to the validity of allowing the six or seven year old David to take his Corgi Chipperfield Circus truck into school that day, however, it was allowed and a docket prepared for the variance in toy policy against the status quo.
The documentary evidence, at lunchtime, was that the truck no longer existed in this universe, and mother, trained to observe this type of phenomenon, noticed this immediately.
The explanation was simple, it was lost, or someone must have pinched it, stolen from my grubby little mitts, end of story.
But, of course, never end of story in the adult world when little David was followed back to school in the afternoon by said mother who raised hell with the school teacher, who raised hell with the class and the truth was uncovered.
David had sold the truck to another little boy for sixpence.
Then followed a long drawn out denial process and trouble.
Mettoy
The typing of the word click at the end of each of these five minute blogs is costing me a second or two of valuable input time, so that's going to stop, a simple full stop will be the end from now on.
If I was using my 1962 Mettoy typewriter however, the time saved by not typing click would be considerably more, especially as, after the "C" the little dial would have to rotate all the way to the "L" and then back to the "I" and then back to the "K" and finally all the way around to the full stop, with a press of the big lever after each step.
Even in my young and furtive rotating days, that would have been more like ten or twelve seconds, which again, as a toddler was a significant portion of my life to that point.
In addition, I would expect that the letter "K" was never tested anyway, no need for that letter in early Britain.
So, no more Clik.
If I was using my 1962 Mettoy typewriter however, the time saved by not typing click would be considerably more, especially as, after the "C" the little dial would have to rotate all the way to the "L" and then back to the "I" and then back to the "K" and finally all the way around to the full stop, with a press of the big lever after each step.
Even in my young and furtive rotating days, that would have been more like ten or twelve seconds, which again, as a toddler was a significant portion of my life to that point.
In addition, I would expect that the letter "K" was never tested anyway, no need for that letter in early Britain.
So, no more Clik.
Monday, January 21, 2008
An old tune
Thats a good example, some story that your mother used to tell people about what you did when you were little, or when you were bigger, but some story that really did not have a punchline or an ending, a sort of story just about, well, just about life.
You know, when he was a little lad he used to pretend he was Ringo Star and play the drums, he used to play with the hosepipe in the back yard, he used to dress up as a pirate and smoke your fathers Players extra strength in the back yard.
That sort of thing.
The thing is, when your parents are gone, lost in time, it would be nice to sit and listen one more time to all those lovely none stories, hear the music of your mothers voice, laugh at the melody, not the punchline.
A five minute moment would not seem so trite if it was played by the original characters in your life, it would not matter about the outcome or the meanderings of fact, it would be just magic.
Click.
You know, when he was a little lad he used to pretend he was Ringo Star and play the drums, he used to play with the hosepipe in the back yard, he used to dress up as a pirate and smoke your fathers Players extra strength in the back yard.
That sort of thing.
The thing is, when your parents are gone, lost in time, it would be nice to sit and listen one more time to all those lovely none stories, hear the music of your mothers voice, laugh at the melody, not the punchline.
A five minute moment would not seem so trite if it was played by the original characters in your life, it would not matter about the outcome or the meanderings of fact, it would be just magic.
Click.
Big Ears
If you grew up at the time and place where I was evolving, your mother, if she was fortunate enough to have a black and white television set and electricity, would have plonked you in front of it daily when "Watch with Mother" was on so she could have a break, tea and a biscuit.
A daily afternoon program, for the development of the young British child, as solid as a Farleys rusk and as entertaining as a finger in a three bar fire.
The delights varied, from Andy Pandy, Bill and Ben (the flowerpot men), Muffin the Mule, which at that time was not a sexual offence and of course other delights which if my memory serves me well, did not include Noddy and Big Ears.
I had a Noddy Tricycle, little three wheeler with a boot (for you American types, thats British for a Trunk, although in my book that's at the front of an elephant, not the back of a bike).
Anyway, one minute left and the story goes that one day, little three year old David cycled with his brother up to a building site and filled the boot with concrete. Thats the way the story evolved, although I have no recollection whatsoever of any amputation of said container, so I have to assume that I filled it up with rocks and sand and that was that.
A sort of none story, a little bit like.....
Click.
A daily afternoon program, for the development of the young British child, as solid as a Farleys rusk and as entertaining as a finger in a three bar fire.
The delights varied, from Andy Pandy, Bill and Ben (the flowerpot men), Muffin the Mule, which at that time was not a sexual offence and of course other delights which if my memory serves me well, did not include Noddy and Big Ears.
I had a Noddy Tricycle, little three wheeler with a boot (for you American types, thats British for a Trunk, although in my book that's at the front of an elephant, not the back of a bike).
Anyway, one minute left and the story goes that one day, little three year old David cycled with his brother up to a building site and filled the boot with concrete. Thats the way the story evolved, although I have no recollection whatsoever of any amputation of said container, so I have to assume that I filled it up with rocks and sand and that was that.
A sort of none story, a little bit like.....
Click.
Grinding
The internet as an entity is a strange place, log on, type some drivel, read it and believe you can connect to someone, resist the porn and check the stock market, or was it the other way around?.
The blogosphere, a place to record ones life or the daily tedium, to relate to others that probably will never read what's written, a secret diary that's available for all to read.
I started writing my diary around 1975 when things started to get interesting in my life, work, money, alcohol and girlfriend, note the singularity. As Supertramp mentioned, take a look at my girlfriend, she's the only one I got, not much of a girlfriend, never seem to get a lot.
Well, if it wasn't for the knee that insisted on grinding into female crotches during slow dancing I may have actually had one sooner, instead of holding a quarter glass of gin and tonic when my potential partner visited the ladies room, never to return in this short lifetime.
Ah, the early days, KC and the Sunshine Band, Rum and Coke, odd shaped trousers and an easy choice when it came to a lift home from Tiffanies night club or my first shag.
It was the lift home of course.
Click.
The blogosphere, a place to record ones life or the daily tedium, to relate to others that probably will never read what's written, a secret diary that's available for all to read.
I started writing my diary around 1975 when things started to get interesting in my life, work, money, alcohol and girlfriend, note the singularity. As Supertramp mentioned, take a look at my girlfriend, she's the only one I got, not much of a girlfriend, never seem to get a lot.
Well, if it wasn't for the knee that insisted on grinding into female crotches during slow dancing I may have actually had one sooner, instead of holding a quarter glass of gin and tonic when my potential partner visited the ladies room, never to return in this short lifetime.
Ah, the early days, KC and the Sunshine Band, Rum and Coke, odd shaped trousers and an easy choice when it came to a lift home from Tiffanies night club or my first shag.
It was the lift home of course.
Click.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Budgies
The taxi drivers sons mother, was of course Dorothy Weldon, and she told the tale of the mad budgie.
The cellar had a front room, that had four big cages where my dad kept budgies, I have very little recollection of that room, or anything to do with the cellar. Well, yes I was scared of the room where the coal was dropped into, called coincidently the coal cellar.
The mad budgie incident happened when a mother of three or four chicks went postal and decided to take it's lifelong frustrations out on it's offspring. Mum said that there was absolute carnage, all of the poor little buggers took it face on, eyes, beaks, heads all mutilated.
A sorry tale, but, they were not killed, that was the unfortunate and heartbreaking aspect of it all for my mum, who had to put the little chicks out of their misery.
It was the early days of gas ovens, before natural gas, which I believe is non lethal, so, mum placed the chicks in a little cake box and gassed them with real gas.
Whenever mum told that story, which was probably only once or twice, she cried and said that she had never felt so much sadness, perhaps remorse about something.
Click.
The cellar had a front room, that had four big cages where my dad kept budgies, I have very little recollection of that room, or anything to do with the cellar. Well, yes I was scared of the room where the coal was dropped into, called coincidently the coal cellar.
The mad budgie incident happened when a mother of three or four chicks went postal and decided to take it's lifelong frustrations out on it's offspring. Mum said that there was absolute carnage, all of the poor little buggers took it face on, eyes, beaks, heads all mutilated.
A sorry tale, but, they were not killed, that was the unfortunate and heartbreaking aspect of it all for my mum, who had to put the little chicks out of their misery.
It was the early days of gas ovens, before natural gas, which I believe is non lethal, so, mum placed the chicks in a little cake box and gassed them with real gas.
Whenever mum told that story, which was probably only once or twice, she cried and said that she had never felt so much sadness, perhaps remorse about something.
Click.
The Flood
One year, one hot summer in Liverpool, we had a major flood, mainly because it rained solidly for hours and hours on end. I can remember being caught in Botanic Park, in the kids clubhouse at the back of the park, near to the dogs home.
Anyway, we had a flood and the basement, or cellar as we called it back then was awash with about four foot of water. The place was a mess, floating bird cages, damp french polishing equipment and of course, a damp dog.
Sooty was a black Alsation dog, not 100% black as he had a little spot of white below his chin. I think he was my dog, looked after by my dad of course, but my dog as I'd requested an Allerton station, or so my parents told me, when I was younger.
The flood was a shock in my young life, I had to run screaming back across the park, to a neighbours house, the Coldocks, they were flooded too, I think all the homes on Botanic Road had a problem that day.
The cellar was never the same after that.
Click.
Anyway, we had a flood and the basement, or cellar as we called it back then was awash with about four foot of water. The place was a mess, floating bird cages, damp french polishing equipment and of course, a damp dog.
Sooty was a black Alsation dog, not 100% black as he had a little spot of white below his chin. I think he was my dog, looked after by my dad of course, but my dog as I'd requested an Allerton station, or so my parents told me, when I was younger.
The flood was a shock in my young life, I had to run screaming back across the park, to a neighbours house, the Coldocks, they were flooded too, I think all the homes on Botanic Road had a problem that day.
The cellar was never the same after that.
Click.
Click
The clock is ticking and this is the first blog of the Taxi drivers son, David Weldon, son of Arthur Weldon, who was a taxi driver, an ice cream man, shop owner, breeder of budgies, wedding car driver, landlord, french polisher on the White Star Line and a purveyor of shirts and socks to the ladies who worked at the Meccano factory, Binns Road, Liverpool in the mid 1950s in between checking the paint quality.
Why click, well, this blog is about five minutes of my time, hopefully every day, but we'll see about that. Some days we'll play catch up and some weeks we may be missing, off enjoying the planet. If there are spelling mistakes, well, I apologize, but, hey, five minutes to get thoughts down, that's not very much to proof read as well.
That was my five minutes, this blog will be about snippets of my life, their life and hopefully will connect in some way with your life, hope you enjoy this as much as I expect to.
Talk to you soon, and quickly.
Click.
Why click, well, this blog is about five minutes of my time, hopefully every day, but we'll see about that. Some days we'll play catch up and some weeks we may be missing, off enjoying the planet. If there are spelling mistakes, well, I apologize, but, hey, five minutes to get thoughts down, that's not very much to proof read as well.
That was my five minutes, this blog will be about snippets of my life, their life and hopefully will connect in some way with your life, hope you enjoy this as much as I expect to.
Talk to you soon, and quickly.
Click.
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