# My week,,,next week,,,maybe?



## dither

Well,
i'm not working next week, and i've thought about diarising it, but it really WILL, be a an absolutely "nothing week", my choice.
At such times, i lounge around the house, don't wash myself for days, and just slob it.

I DO, however, want to go to Northampton tomorrow which involves getting on and off buses.
Hopefully have a wander around, visit the library, and Fryin Brian.
I WOULD like to drag my arse over to an Asda superstore some time next week also, have my eyes tested and see about new glasses, but i doubt the chances of them providing me with suitable lenses, i get double-vision and need prism-lenses. To be honest, i'm penny-pinching, but opticians are are opticians where-ever you go, surely, aren't they?

Dithering...............................


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## amelhope

yes  they are 
any way good luck


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## dither

Thanks Amel.

We'll see.:neutral:


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## Pandora

Dithering sounds fun Dither. I hope you share a bit in this thread, it's fun for me, most especially learning more about your area of the world.
Home is my favorite place to be too Dither.


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## dither

#4279​


I SHOULDA STAYED IN BED.
and paying over the odds.
well,
tonight my MegaRiderGold runs out, i was wanting to return a book to the Northampton library, and i just love getting these runs on my MRG, so, i got myself up and out, nice 'nd early, and off i went. Within minutes of my bus my hitting the road, it was peeing down, great!
The bus was a good three quarters full, and yet quiet almost, amazing scenes i thought as i settled down with my newspaper, no snoozing this time, all the way to the bus terminal. After spending twenty pence ( doesn't have the same ring as " spending a penny" does it ) i took a steady stroll to the market to get some chips and there was no Fryin Brian, the shutters were down, now what? I huffed inwardly to myself, so, i wandered ( aimlessly, as a cloud,,ha'ha'ha, whatever ) and came across a chip-shop named Alibaba's, oh well, why not?,,,,,,Why not? I tell you why not. £1.60. for the smallest measure, of the most anaemic looking chips that i've ever been served, maybe they'd been steamed , not fried, that's why not. Oh well, moving on.
The market was empty but for a couple of die-hards selling fruit 'n' veg, people were coming and going, to and from the Grosvenor shopping center, and i returned my book to the library, i have scoured the book-shelves in three different libraries over the past couple of days and nothing, i have a book at home entitled "Forgotten Voices" tales from the first world war, and that's it.
It's been a dull grey drizzly sort of day and i just couldn't be bothered.
To hell with going dry ( without my beloved tramp-juice ) and i'm kind of into teacakes right now, no Aldi's here i'm afraid, back to the Grosvenor and Sainsbury's. A 3ltr bollie for four quid, and a pack of 6 teacakes for a pound sixty, not my usual fair but i just wanted to go home.
By the time i got to the terminal the weather was actually quite pleasant, no wind, no drizzle, and the sun was trying, but i still wasn't having any, home! In no time at all, that was where i was heading.
And so it was, here i am, 6 six teacakes light, and this juice aint bad.
​--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A bit more of my week;
From the outside, you might think that the window of my small box-room had a net curtain, you'd be mistaken. It is in fact a sticky-backed film, put onto the glass to give such an appearance, it lends some privacy.
Well, anyway, like me, it is old, fading, more than just a little bit  ragged, and falling apart at the joins, and i am able to peek out at the world beyond, right now everywhere seems still and calm, there's a blue sky, and swarms of minute bugs fill the air, good times for the songbirds that have young ones to feed.
I don't know if my neighbour has set his beans yet but all i can see is those canes, something to observe i suppose.
I WOULD like to go and fetch a newspaper, but to do that i should, at the very least, brush my hair, and wash myself, put some decent clothes on, and i just can't be bothered.
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Wednesday morning already, where did those days go?
Yesterday, i finished off that 3ltr bollie, it wasn't a bad slurp AT all, then, i just lolled and sprawled, a few pages of my book, a look in here, a lie down on my bed, back here, a few more pages etc. etc. And i see today being pretty much the same, DAMN! My chips. Put some oven chips in the oven some time ago, ha'ha'ha, but they're fine, cooked, but okay. I have a carton of chopped tomatoes with garlic to throw over them, that'll do me for today, then tomorrow i really must shake myself and get my feet in the street.

I will have had two days of complete inertia, and i ache like stink. My back feels as though it might break, my ankles and my wrists, bugger being old.

THIS IS WEIRD/CREAPY;

Some time ago now, i got out of bed one afternoon ( i work nights ), went downstairs and the telly was on, nobody there, empty house, telly on, oh well, no problem, i switched it off and went about my business.
I DID mention it to the wife when she got home, she apologised, "had it woke me up?" She asked. No it hadn't no need for apology, it was just "on", that's all, "okay" she replied, and that was that.
Well, when i woke up earlier, the very first thing that i ever do is put the kettle on, followed by brush my teeth and make a cup of tea, this morning was no exception, and the tv  was most definitely NOT on.
I just went down to reheat some of those chips and the tv was most definitely ON.
It's not the drink and i don't have a problem with quiet empty house, i am not imagining this.

The Window-Cleaner just called, i went and hid in our bedroom.

It's just after lunchtime and i want to clean myself up and go out, just go get a newspaper or something, i want to i really do, but i feel so "Ugh! do i have to?"

Well, i went out, i got my newspaper, and it's a really nice day, i sat on a bench in the town ( such that it is ) center, and read my paper for a while, then some old boy came and sat beside me, so, not wanting to offend, i gave it few minutes and made my way home.

Have decided that i might not tell my wife about the tv, there's probably a logical explanation, the last thing i need is her becoming hysterical at sounds in the small hours.

Thin slices of Pilgrim's Choice tucked inside empty roasted potato-jackets, one helluva snack.:coffee:
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Thursday morning, eleven thirty'ish, just out of the sack, looking and feeling like shit, and i'm not sure if i heard someone knock the front door, the dog gave a single half-hearted yap but it might've been just one of those sounds of the daytime,i think about not bothering, i wonder if it might be important, but i don't know where i've left my keys, so i go out the back-door and through the sidegate to be greeted by a quite elderly couple;
"Hello, we were trying to leave you this" she said in polite and gentle tones, offering out a hand with a small leaflet in it.
Well why didn't you post it then?
Jesus army, OUTFIELDER-ALERT.
"How do you view the future?"
"Not good i think, look! you're religious and i really don't want to offend you".
"That's okay" she said smiling,
and with that they went and knocked my neighbour's front door.
They're not so pushy these days, they really did seem a gentle couple.
What people will do for some company and a cup of tea.
No harm done.

More coffee i think.

Just one more coffee.
I keep saying that, and i'm getting nowhere.

Well, i seriously thought about crawling back into bed, and yes, i dithered, but i was in need of some supplies, so i had a shower, cleaned myself up,  went out, and got myself a nicely chilled 4xpack of Barnstormer Black, oh yeah, and some spuds.
Now what was i saying about nicely chilled?
Oh dear, this stuff goes down like you would not believe.

Suddenly i have nothing to read, i finished my book, and right now is a most delightful blur.

Three cans down and i'm hitting the sack.
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Friday morning, a week gone already, and i want to go to the Asda supermarket in Corby, i really do, but it's all i can do to drag myself out of bed. Might make it into town for a haircut and that'll be my day done i reckon.
Resolved to phone them later to arrange an eye-test, we'll see.

Well, i eventually caught a bus into town, wandered for a while and strolled into hairdresser's salon, and sat down on a nice soft black leather sofa.
"You are wanting a haircut?"
Asked a slim young woman with polish sort of accent.
"Yes please".
Her lipstick looked like it had been applied by seven year old, no matter.
She pulled out a diary from behind the counter,
"I can do you at about 3.30 this afternoon?"
Could she indeed? Well, maybe her lipstick Wasn't THAT bad.
"Nah, don't think so, bye!"
So, again, i wandered, and walked into another salon, all i was wanting was the "half-cut", that's as near as you can get to having your head shaved without actually having it shaved, very short stubble.
This female hairdresser was making such a meal of giving some bloke the cut  i was wanting, combing, and snipping, then massaging some liquid into his scalp, what was left of it, and i couldn't see a price-list, i found that troubling, so i exited in rather a hurry, onto the next one.
Via Aldi's for Taurus top-up.
I counted five salons in less than two hundred metres of road.
Anyway, the next one "graduate" said the sign outside, there was one woman customer having her hair washed and whatever else,
"Can i help you?"
"Erm, well, i'd like a haircut, have i got to make an appointment?"
She tried not to looked flustered,
"The other girls have just popped out for a spot of lunch, i'm sure they could fit you in, you couldn't come back in about fifteen minutes could you?"
I liked the look, she seemed okay, and English, not that that's such an issue nowadays.
So, a gentle stroll to Morrison's and back, and within minutes i was in the chair.
"I think they call it the half-cut, just take it all off?"
"Okay," she replied nervously " i'll just take a few good chunks out with the scissors first."
Probably to make it less work for the clippers, whatever.
"Are you SURE?"
She asked more than once.
"I'm sure." I assured her, smiling." I've declared summer".
And in no time at all i was as bald as a coot, and feeling a whole lot better for it.
The price-list said gent's haircut £8.00.
She asked for £5.00.  i haggled and said "call it six", "thank you" she said with a smile.
Lovely girl.
When you get to my age, all young women are girls.
I tend to form opinions of people in a matter of seconds, i liked her, i don't think the money went into the till, least i hope not. Good luck to 'er.
Well, i can forget about shampoo for a while, but now i've got a lot more face to wash.

And that was that, home with my Taurus top-up, and would you believe it? I couldn't have been at my stop much longer than a minute, literally a minute, when my bus showed, four hot cross buns snaffled on the way, walked straight past the damned library, and went home.
Realised when i'd got home, no matter i thought, i'll go back with the book that i've just finished, got there and they were closed for lunch,Ah'ha'ha'ha, would you adam and eve it? Again, i wandered, returned with my book, found nothing that took my fancy, and now here i am.

SHIT! My jacket-spuds.
Runs downstairs.
No worries.

Tomorrow, Asda's, it really is a must-do.
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The swifts have arrived, been here a couple of days, and my mother says she heard a cuckoo last week, summer is here.
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SATURDAY MORNING;

it's about eight o'clock,  there are more jacket-spuds roasting in the oven, enough for a couple of plates, to be eaten whenever, and i need to get myself moving, a week gone and i still haven't made it to Asda's.
Dithering or what? He says to himself with raised eyebrows.

Midriffs,Bosoms and Brioche;
The ladies have declared summer in spectacular fashion, although maybe the word "fashion" might be a tad misleading,anyway,
Saturday morning arrived, and i was up and out, bright and early, ish, first stop my local Tesco-Express, i was short on reddies, hole in the wall, cash machine i thought., out of order, ah but i'd considered that possibility and had a plan B, i had enough money for a new MegaRider and that would do until i got to a local branch of my bank, sorted.

Cash shortage dealt with, i walked along the bus-stops looking for the number9 bus-stop, when i found it there was a bus sitting there set to go but this damned bladder of mine, it would have to be the next one.So, twenty pence spent, and bladder relieved, i waited, Sun-crossword finished all bar one, where the hell is the Taj Mahal anyway? Yes, i know it's in India , but where abouts exactly? Four letters, doesn't matter, it's a scorcher of a day, and i didn't have to wait , Asda here we come.
"Are you going to Asda mate?" I asked as i boarded "Yup". "I haven't a clue where i'm going, will you let me know when we get please". "Oh you won't miss Asda", came the reply, ( he wasn't wrong)okay then i thought, Asda's.
Off towards the Crematorium ( one day, i thought to myself as we passed by), past a Travelodge, onto the main road, and that was that.
I'd never been out that way on a bus before, once we got back into country-lanes, i felt as though i'd died and gone to heaven.Wide verges with thick lush grasses, a riot of Cow Parsley and Dandelions, and occasionally my old friend the hawthorn still dripping with heavy white blossom. Where one could see over the hedgerows fields of crops rose and fell, dipped and rolled, with the contours of the land, i saw very little flat level ground, and then the village of Rushton, (an absolute jewel as it turned out ) appeared almost out of nowhere, we rounded a bend in a dip, and there it was. The bus stopped at a crossroads to let people on and off, and there in full view, right next to a recreation ground, a bowling-green complete with club-house, and the place was busy, men and women all of a certain age, dressed in white, bowling, how English summer is that? Amazing.
I'd had this nagging feeling at the back of my mind that the Optician's might not be open on a Saturday, i would soon be finding out.
At another village, i saw men in whites playing cricket on a field next to a church, i was in raptures, England oh my England, had i somehow fallen into a time warp? I had to pinch myself, and the sun shone.
Finally i got to Asda's, and like i said, the driver hadn't been wrong, it's huge.
So, having found the Opticians, open, and lingered at not the greatest selection of frames that i've seen, not that THAT matters, the least of my worries, i managed to catch the eye of a shop assistant,"can i help you sir?"
"Erm,yes, i've come ask about getting my eyes tested, it's been a while"
"Okay, shall we take a seat?"
At a table with a pc.
"I'm a bit, i mean, i'm not sure about the idea of getting glasses from "Asda's"."
Emphasising the word "Asda's".
"But Opticians are Opticians right? Where-ever you go".
"We're all qualified Opticians sir. Okay, let's see what we've got. What would suit you?"
So, we oooed and we arrrred, and i'm booked in for an eye-test a week today at 2.00.pm.
Right then a bit of shopping, a gentle stroll around, no rush, the size of that place, the range and variety of products, Heinz baked beans with garlic and herbs? Come to daddy.
I looked for hot x buns and teacakes, and settled for Raisin Brioche Buns, what on earth is Brioche? LOOK! I'm an old fuddyduddy, okay? Well anyway, mission accomplished, i had nibbles, and i was feeling pretty good about things, so far, bus-stop, erm, yeah, well, it's out there somewhere , not much more than an hour previous, i'd walked away from it, it WAS, out there. Setting off in the wrong direction didn't help, row upon row of parked cars and sheltered ranks of discarded shopping trolleys, interspersed with small trees and shrubs, if you've seen one retail park you've seen them all, but i got there in the end, man that sun was hot, i dug into my Brioche, not something to fill an empty stomach, but it was okay, not sorry that i'd tried it. And again, i didn't wait long for my bus, funny how things work out some times.

And i had THE most idyllic ride back into town. Cricket, Bowls had given way to tea, tea and scones, oh i DO hope so, i found myself fighting an almost irresistible urge to jump off at the Co-op and buy them all an icie, a paddock filled with Buttercups, riding-ponies, and  those cottages, oh my.

In no time at all, we hit the main road again, Travelodge, Crematorium, bus terminal, i was feeling peckish again and Brioche wasn't on the menu this time, i needed something a bit more substantial, Frydays!
"Chips? With salt and vinegar? Open?" Asked the brown girl with the red painted finger nails, and with a smile, for a moment i felt like i was home," yes please", i didn't ask how much? She didn't need to tell me, i put the one-forty into her hand and went looking for some place to eat.
I sat and ate my chips, and as i put the last one into my mouth, literally the last one, i couldn't believe it, my bus.
Now i was starting to get suspicious, i had had a wonderful day, too wonderful maybe,was life about to bring me back down with a bump? What could possibly go wrong? I wondered, almost agonising over the possibility, well, nothing COULD, nothing WOULD, and nothing DID. I'm home, all dithered out, and i can't wait for next Saturday.
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Re: "Nothing could would did.

Maybe.

There was a letter from the NHS waiting for me when i got home, i don't get letters from the NHS, something about a "do it youreslf, at home" screening-kit for bowel-cancel.
Gasp!
Dread!
Shock!
Horror!
Yes it scares the crap out of me, and yes i'll do it, but........................

And those ferals up the street, don't know when it finished i layed awake listening to it for ages, such is life, could be worse i suppose.


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## dither

For what it's worth, i put that in pointless posts yesterday.


I don't know about home being my favorite place Pandora, talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place, it's just some place to run to, y'know?

SANCTUARY! yelled Quasi Modo  from high up in the tower Notre Damme ( please excuse spelling ), at mob below, only it isn't ( sanctuary i mean ) an Englishman's home ISN'T his castle any more, and who can repel the storming of the mind?

I found out yesterday that my dream trip to Eastbourne isn't impossible for me after all, yes i still have to go through St.Pancras, but there isn't a change-over in London, it's simply train to train, there are of course a couple connections to make but i reckon i can deal with that, wish i'd known earlier.
Well, anyway, the Eastbourne gig is most definitely ON, my next week off shall be geared to precisely that. I could i suppose, just pack a few things, hop on the next train, and be out of here, but that's not how i operate, who knows? Christmas maybe.


As for today, it's going to be a nothing day, probably a nothing week, i DO want to get my hair cut "some time", and i shall have to go shopping Friday, but between now and then.......................................dither

April showers, in May, whatever.


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## amelhope

well good luck (again)


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## dither

Thanks Amel.


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## Pandora

Your writing dither, I smile, a few tears, I have an overwhelming feeling I want to be there with you. See what you are, have some tramp juice and listen to you read out loud. I hope thats not too creepy, your writing makes me feel familiar. Oh how I wish your part of the world was on my agenda in this life. I don't know if it is in my blood, my parents both having English ancestors. It just feels so right. Even a dreary drizzly day sounds wonderful dithering about. I spent three years homebound after my injury and I still live my life like that. Similar to you, I think many of us as we age do. It feels comfortable and secure to me. Going out often disappoints me but I don't share that though.

Thank you I'm enjoying your week dither, I guess cause I get to know you better.:smile:


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## dither

Pandora,
you say the nicest things.

I try to express how i'm feeling, the swings are terrific and quite sudden ,  at times it almost  makes my head spin, almost.

When i'm out and about, i can be so relaxed seeing so much like i'm seeing it anew and it's like i'm filled with awe and wonder, other times, like Monday, there can be so much going on around me and yet it seems as though a house could fall down and i might not notice, and another time i'm so "on a mission" almost, everything carried out as accurately and as speedily as possible at these times i really do have my back to the world, that's when even the hawkers steer clear of me, it's funny how sometimes people just seem to know.

I don't go out to be mean, it's just that i tend to bottle things up, y'know? And i never thought i'd say this but the drink DOES help, i won't, i'm sure, ever lose control of that, ( famous last words huh! ) i've had this regular 1x2ltr bollie + a 4xpack weekend routine for god knows how long.It's how i get off, and it works for me.

Y'kow? It's funny, as i lie on my bed dozing, my mind wanders, and i daydream, don't we all? I suppose. Well, imagine myself making that journey to the east coast, things i might do, experiences, things, people, situations, that might befall me, and i almost dare to wonder, could i write something? A short story? Based on hopes,  dreams and desires? A little romance perhaps. Well hey! I might be old but i'm not dead. Yet. I think.

Maybe all is not lost with the world, there's a site that i regularly take a look at, show's news clips, and there's just the nicest story, of a pro footballer, lifting up a young boy fan with down's syndrome from the crowd, and doing the lap of honor with him, the team having played their last game and celebrating being league champions, now that DOES bring a tear to the eye.


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## Pandora

We are much a like dither, I like that.


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## dither

For what it's worth, i shall continue to edit the above posts, might be best left unread until Monday.


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## Pandora

I look forward to more dither.


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## dither

Pandora said:


> I look forward to more dither.



Pandora, you amaze me, what on earth do you see?

Hoping, well, intending, a long bus-ride between now and Saturday, and then of course there's my weekend shopping-trip, we shall see eh?


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## Pandora

Oh boy dither where did the week go! Vacations go by way too fast. I wonder why you ever give your writing a second thought, I adore it when I'm lucky enough to get full blown accounts, stories like this thread. Edit away and please keep it coming. I wish you could see me smile and know how it all makes your readers feel. I saw you happy, I cried and laughed, feels so good to feel you happy! We are much alike truly. The hair salon day, awesome storytelling. The sights sounds and tastes, mmmm, I enjoyed! I feel my ancestors, what they experienced though long ago. I learn, love the words I must google to be sure I know exactly what you are experiencing. I want to sit on a park bench, watch the world go by and read a newspaper. That is vacation! Never time for simple things like what you have described dither. Thank you for this thread, I will keep and reread the next time I am feeling the humdrum blues. Sometimes I forget the simple stuff is the best stuff. I'm not sure what Barnstormer Black is but I'm fixin' to find out! You make me happy! Thank you dither!


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## dither

Pandora said:


> Oh boy dither where did the week go! Vacations go by way too fast. I wonder why you ever give your writing a second thought, I adore it when I'm lucky enough to get full blown accounts, stories like this thread. Edit away and please keep it coming. I wish you could see me smile and know how it all makes your readers feel. I saw you happy, I cried and laughed, feels so good to feel you happy! We are much alike truly. The hair salon day, awesome storytelling. The sights sounds and tastes, mmmm, I enjoyed! I feel my ancestors, what they experienced though long ago. I learn, love the words I must google to be sure I know exactly what you are experiencing. I want to sit on a park bench, watch the world go by and read a newspaper. That is vacation! Never time for simple things like what you have described dither. Thank you for this thread, I will keep and reread the next time I am feeling the humdrum blues. Sometimes I forget the simple stuff is the best stuff. I'm not sure what Barnstormer Black is but I'm fixin' to find out! You make me happy! Thank you dither!



Pandora, Barstormer Black is a quite strong cider, best not to go there maybe.

Thanks Pandora.


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## dither

Double posted, sorry.


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## dither

dither said:


> #4279​
> 
> 
> I SHOULDA STAYED IN BED.
> and paying over the odds.
> well,
> tonight my MegaRiderGold runs out, i was wanting to return a book to the Northampton library, and i just love getting these runs on my MRG, so, i got myself up and out, nice 'nd early, and off i went. Within minutes of my bus my hitting the road, it was peeing down, great!
> The bus was a good three quarters full, and yet quiet almost, amazing scenes i thought as i settled down with my newspaper, no snoozing this time, all the way to the bus terminal. After spending twenty pence ( doesn't have the same ring as " spending a penny" does it ) i took a steady stroll to the market to get some chips and there was no Fryin Brian, the shutters were down, now what? I huffed inwardly to myself, so, i wandered ( aimlessly, as a cloud,,ha'ha'ha, whatever ) and came across a chip-shop named Alibaba's, oh well, why not?,,,,,,Why not? I tell you why not. £1.60. for the smallest measure, of the most anaemic looking chips that i've ever been served, maybe they'd been steamed , not fried, that's why not. Oh well, moving on.
> The market was empty but for a couple of die-hards selling fruit 'n' veg, people were coming and going, to and from the Grosvenor shopping center, and i returned my book to the library, i have scoured the book-shelves in three different libraries over the past couple of days and nothing, i have a book at home entitled "Forgotten Voices" tales from the first world war, and that's it.
> It's been a dull grey drizzly sort of day and i just couldn't be bothered.
> To hell with going dry ( without my beloved tramp-juice ) and i'm kind of into teacakes right now, no Aldi's here i'm afraid, back to the Grosvenor and Sainsbury's. A 3ltr bollie for four quid, and a pack of 6 teacakes for a pound sixty, not my usual fair but i just wanted to go home.
> By the time i got to the terminal the weather was actually quite pleasant, no wind, no drizzle, and the sun was trying, but i still wasn't having any, home! In no time at all, that was where i was heading.
> And so it was, here i am, 6 six teacakes light, and this juice aint bad.
> ​--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> A bit more of my week;
> From the outside, you might think that the window of my small box-room had a net curtain, you'd be mistaken. It is in fact a sticky-backed film, put onto the glass to give such an appearance, it lends some privacy.
> Well, anyway, like me, it is old, fading, more than just a little bit  ragged, and falling apart at the joins, and i am able to peek out at the world beyond, right now everywhere seems still and calm, there's a blue sky, and swarms of minute bugs fill the air, good times for the songbirds that have young ones to feed.
> I don't know if my neighbour has set his beans yet but all i can see is those canes, something to observe i suppose.
> I WOULD like to go and fetch a newspaper, but to do that i should, at the very least, brush my hair, and wash myself, put some decent clothes on, and i just can't be bothered.
> ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> Wednesday morning already, where did those days go?
> Yesterday, i finished off that 3ltr bollie, it wasn't a bad slurp AT all, then, i just lolled and sprawled, a few pages of my book, a look in here, a lie down on my bed, back here, a few more pages etc. etc. And i see today being pretty much the same, DAMN! My chips. Put some oven chips in the oven some time ago, ha'ha'ha, but they're fine, cooked, but okay. I have a carton of chopped tomatoes with garlic to throw over them, that'll do me for today, then tomorrow i really must shake myself and get my feet in the street.
> 
> I will have had two days of complete inertia, and i ache like stink. My back feels as though it might break, my ankles and my wrists, bugger being old.
> 
> THIS IS WEIRD/CREAPY;
> 
> Some time ago now, i got out of bed one afternoon ( i work nights ), went downstairs and the telly was on, nobody there, empty house, telly on, oh well, no problem, i switched it off and went about my business.
> I DID mention it to the wife when she got home, she apologised, "had it woke me up?" She asked. No it hadn't no need for apology, it was just "on", that's all, "okay" she replied, and that was that.
> Well, when i woke up earlier, the very first thing that i ever do is put the kettle on, followed by brush my teeth and make a cup of tea, this morning was no exception, and the tv  was most definitely NOT on.
> I just went down to reheat some of those chips and the tv was most definitely ON.
> It's not the drink and i don't have a problem with quiet empty house, i am not imagining this.
> 
> The Window-Cleaner just called, i went and hid in our bedroom.
> 
> It's just after lunchtime and i want to clean myself up and go out, just go get a newspaper or something, i want to i really do, but i feel so "Ugh! do i have to?"
> 
> Well, i went out, i got my newspaper, and it's a really nice day, i sat on a bench in the town ( such that it is ) center, and read my paper for a while, then some old boy came and sat beside me, so, not wanting to offend, i gave it few minutes and made my way home.
> 
> Have decided that i might not tell my wife about the tv, there's probably a logical explanation, the last thing i need is her becoming hysterical at sounds in the small hours.
> 
> Thin slices of Pilgrim's Choice tucked inside empty roasted potato-jackets, one helluva snack.:coffee:
> ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> Thursday morning, eleven thirty'ish, just out of the sack, looking and feeling like shit, and i'm not sure if i heard someone knock the front door, the dog gave a single half-hearted yap but it might've been just one of those sounds of the daytime,i think about not bothering, i wonder if it might be important, but i don't know where i've left my keys, so i go out the back-door and through the sidegate to be greeted by a quite elderly couple;
> "Hello, we were trying to leave you this" she said in polite and gentle tones, offering out a hand with a small leaflet in it.
> Well why didn't you post it then?
> Jesus army, OUTFIELDER-ALERT.
> "How do you view the future?"
> "Not good i think, look! you're religious and i really don't want to offend you".
> "That's okay" she said smiling,
> and with that they went and knocked my neighbour's front door.
> They're not so pushy these days, they really did seem a gentle couple.
> What people will do for some company and a cup of tea.
> No harm done.
> 
> More coffee i think.
> 
> Just one more coffee.
> I keep saying that, and i'm getting nowhere.
> 
> Well, i seriously thought about crawling back into bed, and yes, i dithered, but i was in need of some supplies, so i had a shower, cleaned myself up,  went out, and got myself a nicely chilled 4xpack of Barnstormer Black, oh yeah, and some spuds.
> Now what was i saying about nicely chilled?
> Oh dear, this stuff goes down like you would not believe.
> 
> Suddenly i have nothing to read, i finished my book, and right now is a most delightful blur.
> 
> Three cans down and i'm hitting the sack.
> ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> Friday morning, a week gone already, and i want to go to the Asda supermarket in Corby, i really do, but it's all i can do to drag myself out of bed. Might make it into town for a haircut and that'll be my day done i reckon.
> Resolved to phone them later to arrange an eye-test, we'll see.
> 
> Well, i eventually caught a bus into town, wandered for a while and strolled into hairdresser's salon, and sat down on a nice soft black leather sofa.
> "You are wanting a haircut?"
> Asked a slim young woman with polish sort of accent.
> "Yes please".
> Her lipstick looked like it had been applied by seven year old, no matter.
> She pulled out a diary from behind the counter,
> "I can do you at about 3.30 this afternoon?"
> Could she indeed? Well, maybe her lipstick Wasn't THAT bad.
> "Nah, don't think so, bye!"
> So, again, i wandered, and walked into another salon, all i was wanting was the "half-cut", that's as near as you can get to having your head shaved without actually having it shaved, very short stubble.
> This female hairdresser was making such a meal of giving some bloke the cut  i was wanting, combing, and snipping, then massaging some liquid into his scalp, what was left of it, and i couldn't see a price-list, i found that troubling, so i exited in rather a hurry, onto the next one.
> Via Aldi's for Taurus top-up.
> I counted five salons in less than two hundred metres of road.
> Anyway, the next one "graduate" said the sign outside, there was one woman customer having her hair washed and whatever else,
> "Can i help you?"
> "Erm, well, i'd like a haircut, have i got to make an appointment?"
> She tried not to looked flustered,
> "The other girls have just popped out for a spot of lunch, i'm sure they could fit you in, you couldn't come back in about fifteen minutes could you?"
> I liked the look, she seemed okay, and English, not that that's such an issue nowadays.
> So, a gentle stroll to Morrison's and back, and within minutes i was in the chair.
> "I think they call it the half-cut, just take it all off?"
> "Okay," she replied nervously " i'll just take a few good chunks out with the scissors first."
> Probably to make it less work for the clippers, whatever.
> "Are you SURE?"
> She asked more than once.
> "I'm sure." I assured her, smiling." I've declared summer".
> And in no time at all i was as bald as a coot, and feeling a whole lot better for it.
> The price-list said gent's haircut £8.00.
> She asked for £5.00.  i haggled and said "call it six", "thank you" she said with a smile.
> Lovely girl.
> When you get to my age, all young women are girls.
> I tend to form opinions of people in a matter of seconds, i liked her, i don't think the money went into the till, least i hope not. Good luck to 'er.
> Well, i can forget about shampoo for a while, but now i've got a lot more face to wash.
> 
> And that was that, home with my Taurus top-up, and would you believe it? I couldn't have been at my stop much longer than a minute, literally a minute, when my bus showed, four hot cross buns snaffled on the way, walked straight past the damned library, and went home.
> Realised when i'd got home, no matter i thought, i'll go back with the book that i've just finished, got there and they were closed for lunch,Ah'ha'ha'ha, would you adam and eve it? Again, i wandered, returned with my book, found nothing that took my fancy, and now here i am.
> 
> SHIT! My jacket-spuds.
> Runs downstairs.
> No worries.
> 
> Tomorrow, Asda's, it really is a must-do.
> ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> The swifts have arrived, been here a couple of days, and my mother says she heard a cuckoo last week, summer is here.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> SATURDAY MORNING;
> 
> it's about eight o'clock,  there are more jacket-spuds roasting in the oven, enough for a couple of plates, to be eaten whenever, and i need to get myself moving, a week gone and i still haven't made it to Asda's.
> Dithering or what? He says to himself with raised eyebrows.
> 
> Midriffs,Bosoms and Brioche;
> The ladies have declared summer in spectacular fashion, although maybe the word "fashion" might be a tad misleading,anyway,
> Saturday morning arrived, and i was up and out, bright and early, ish, first stop my local Tesco-Express, i was short on reddies, hole in the wall, cash machine i thought., out of order, ah but i'd considered that possibility and had a plan B, i had enough money for a new MegaRider and that would do until i got to a local branch of my bank, sorted.
> 
> Cash shortage dealt with, i walked along the bus-stops looking for the number9 bus-stop, when i found it there was a bus sitting there set to go but this damned bladder of mine, it would have to be the next one.So, twenty pence spent, and bladder relieved, i waited, Sun-crossword finished all bar one, where the hell is the Taj Mahal anyway? Yes, i know it's in India , but where abouts exactly? Four letters, doesn't matter, it's a scorcher of a day, and i didn't have to wait , Asda here we come.
> "Are you going to Asda mate?" I asked as i boarded "Yup". "I haven't a clue where i'm going, will you let me know when we get please". "Oh you won't miss Asda", came the reply, ( he wasn't wrong)okay then i thought, Asda's.
> Off towards the Crematorium ( one day, i thought to myself as we passed by), past a Travelodge, onto the main road, and that was that.
> I'd never been out that way on a bus before, once we got back into country-lanes, i felt as though i'd died and gone to heaven.Wide verges with thick lush grasses, a riot of Cow Parsley and Dandelions, and occasionally my old friend the hawthorn still dripping with heavy white blossom. Where one could see over the hedgerows fields of crops rose and fell, dipped and rolled, with the contours of the land, i saw very little flat level ground, and then the village of Rushton, (an absolute jewel as it turned out ) appeared almost out of nowhere, we rounded a bend in a dip, and there it was. The bus stopped at a crossroads to let people on and off, and there in full view, right next to a recreation ground, a bowling-green complete with club-house, and the place was busy, men and women all of a certain age, dressed in white, bowling, how English summer is that? Amazing.
> I'd had this nagging feeling at the back of my mind that the Optician's might not be open on a Saturday, i would soon be finding out.
> At another village, i saw men in whites playing cricket on a field next to a church, i was in raptures, England oh my England, had i somehow fallen into a time warp? I had to pinch myself, and the sun shone.
> Finally i got to Asda's, and like i said, the driver hadn't been wrong, it's huge.
> So, having found the Opticians, open, and lingered at not the greatest selection of frames that i've seen, not that THAT matters, the least of my worries, i managed to catch the eye of a shop assistant,"can i help you sir?"
> "Erm,yes, i've come ask about getting my eyes tested, it's been a while"
> "Okay, shall we take a seat?"
> At a table with a pc.
> "I'm a bit, i mean, i'm not sure about the idea of getting glasses from "Asda's"."
> Emphasising the word "Asda's".
> "But Opticians are Opticians right? Where-ever you go".
> "We're all qualified Opticians sir. Okay, let's see what we've got. What would suit you?"
> So, we oooed and we arrrred, and i'm booked in for an eye-test a week today at 2.00.pm.
> Right then a bit of shopping, a gentle stroll around, no rush, the size of that place, the range and variety of products, Heinz baked beans with garlic and herbs? Come to daddy.
> I looked for hot x buns and teacakes, and settled for Raisin Brioche Buns, what on earth is Brioche? LOOK! I'm an old fuddyduddy, okay? Well anyway, mission accomplished, i had nibbles, and i was feeling pretty good about things, so far, bus-stop, erm, yeah, well, it's out there somewhere , not much more than an hour previous, i'd walked away from it, it WAS, out there. Setting off in the wrong direction didn't help, row upon row of parked cars and sheltered ranks of discarded shopping trolleys, interspersed with small trees and shrubs, if you've seen one retail park you've seen them all, but i got there in the end, man that sun was hot, i dug into my Brioche, not something to fill an empty stomach, but it was okay, not sorry that i'd tried it. And again, i didn't wait long for my bus, funny how things work out some times.
> 
> And i had THE most idyllic ride back into town. Cricket, Bowls had given way to tea, tea and scones, oh i DO hope so, i found myself fighting an almost irresistible urge to jump off at the Co-op and buy them all an icie, a paddock filled with Buttercups, riding-ponies, and  those cottages, oh my.
> 
> In no time at all, we hit the main road again, Travelodge, Crematorium, bus terminal, i was feeling peckish again and Brioche wasn't on the menu this time, i needed something a bit more substantial, Frydays!
> "Chips? With salt and vinegar? Open?" Asked the brown girl with the red painted finger nails, and with a smile, for a moment i felt like i was home," yes please", i didn't ask how much? She didn't need to tell me, i put the one-forty into her hand and went looking for some place to eat.
> I sat and ate my chips, and as i put the last one into my mouth, literally the last one, i couldn't believe it, my bus.
> Now i was starting to get suspicious, i had had a wonderful day, too wonderful maybe,was life about to bring me back down with a bump? What could possibly go wrong? I wondered, almost agonising over the possibility, well, nothing COULD, nothing WOULD, and nothing DID. I'm home, all dithered out, and i can't wait for next Saturday.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Re: "Nothing could would did.
> 
> Maybe.
> 
> There was a letter from the NHS waiting for me when i got home, i don't get letters from the NHS, something about a "do it youreslf, at home" screening-kit for bowel-cancel.
> Gasp!
> Dread!
> Shock!
> Horror!
> Yes it scares the crap out of me, and yes i'll do it, but........................
> 
> And those ferals up the street, don't know when it finished i layed awake listening to it for ages, such is life, could be worse i suppose.



I wish i could use a camera, well, no, i mean yes i can "use" one, but this digital stuff, and loading to pc business, oh dear, and i really don't know anybody who can show.
Oh well, never mind.

Well, that's it, week off over and back to work.:neutral:


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> Pandora, Barstormer Black is a quite strong cider, best not to go there maybe.
> 
> Thanks Pandora.


Can't be worse than shots of tequila . . .  One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor!  :kiwi-fruit:  (pretending it's a lime)


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> I wish i could use a camera, well, no, i mean yes i can "use" one, but this digital stuff, and loading to pc business, oh dear, and i really don't know anybody who can show.
> Oh well, never mind.
> 
> Well, that's it, week off over and back to work.:neutral:


I take horrible pictures with our little digital camera, not sure why. I was always quite good with those polaroid spit out cameras, those were the days my friend, instant smiles. 8)


----------



## dither

Pandora said:


> Can't be worse than shots of tequila . . .  One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor!  :kiwi-fruit:  (pretending it's a lime)



Oh pandora,

1...2...3...Floor?


YOU?


----------



## dither

I just wish that i could show you those Buttercups, those people playing bowls on the village green so immaculately dressed in their white trousers/dresses and blazers,  the pretty chocolate-box cottages, and my beloved hawthorns.


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> Oh pandora,
> 
> 1...2...3...Floor?
> 
> 
> YOU?


In my day oh yeah . . .


----------



## dither

Pandora said:


> In my day oh yeah . . .




Rockin.


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> I just wish that i could show you those Buttercups, those people playing bowls on the village green so immaculately dressed in their white trousers/dresses and blazers,  the pretty chocolate-box cottages, and my beloved hawthorns.


One of my very favorite parts in your week's recount, beautiful, truly, like a painting, picture or movie scene.


----------



## Gofa

I'm lying here in bed at midnight an IPad clutched to my chest having read all that is above this reply. My lovely wife asleep beside me, as I get to walk a mile in your shoes. A delightful journey of Yin and Yang and I feel the Kung Fu that flows through your journeys with its perfect timing in busing and the awareness of the ebb and flow of life around you. 
Before enlightenment it's chop wood carry water after enlightenment it's chop wood carry water. I see you chopping wood and carrying water. 
Hi Pandora love to watching you watching Dither. I was paralysed many years ago and know a little of restraint.
Holding my hand up in the dark I wave to you both from the other side of the word. It's a pleasure to meet you both.
My fondest memory of today was buying fish and chips and eating some chips out of the paper wrapping as I drove home. It's the little things that make you feel good.
As to you writing more Dither. Remember it forward. Next time you are catching a bus or going for chips give Pandora and me a wave because we are there watching from a distance through your words.
Go you good things
Cheers
Gofa


----------



## dither

Gofa,
you're new here.
Hello and welcome.

Thanks Gofa.


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## escorial

dither your posting more than i thought..well done lad...


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## dither

Sounds of the River, and The Damage Done.

Oh dear,
great start to the weekend, ( what the hell? I shall call him Arthur, Arthur Ritic, it comes and it goes, it ebbs and it flows, dithering. Until i think of something more suitable ) so, it's Friday morning, Arthur's on his way home, nods off, and over-shoots his hometown by about five miles. His Friday afternoon shopping trip to Asda's would now be a Saturday morning shopping trip to Morrison's, ho'hum.
Note to himself, MUST find something in the library, he suddenly finds himself very curious about Marxism and the great man himself, but which category would that come under? He wondered, and Where might he find such a read? And might it all be too much for him anyway? Curiouser and curiouser.......
Forty-plus years of adult life, lived dashing around like a headless-chicken, not knowing the time of day, metaphorically speaking, and now suddenly he's thinking about history.
First it was the vichyites of WW2, then personal accounts/letters from the trenches of WW1, and now Marx, oh well, he thought to himself, whatever.
Arthur managed to get home at first attempt this Saturday morning, and would go for his bus at the usual time.............
Saturday morning and was pretty much business as usual, get home, switch on, log in, make a cup of tea, twiddle thumbs until about nine o'clock, and go for bus, but what to wear? Arthur has always favoured his snorkel parka and is soon going to have to get himself a lighter coat, black of course, because he just goes straight back out in the dark blue work-clothes that he has had on since about three pm the previous day, he looks, feels, and smells like Gypsy's welly in August, well, maybe not THAT bad, until it IS actually August anyway.:wink: What if it starts to get warm? He pondered the possibility. What if it stayed cold? What a ridiculous situation.
It wasn't so very cold, but it certainly wasn't warm either, he would be wearing old faithful, the parka. A slow leisurely stroll to the newsagent's, and then on to the bus stop left him with about fifteen minutes to wait, so,newspaper in hand, he found a nice unoccupied seat, and just took his ease, glossing through the news, then wouldn't you know it? A woman sat down beside him and lit up a cigarette, she was upwind and he was now a passive-smoker, this was so not good, but thankfully a bus she had been waiting for soon came and she was gone. Arthur's bus came along a few minutes later and as he boarded he spotted a woman talking into a mobile phone, oh god, not one of those days. It was starting to warm up, there were very definite signs that the sun was having a tussle with the grey sky, and winning. Maybe sitting upstairs hadn't helped, it always seemed warmer upstairs, whatever, the coat would have to come off.
The next thing he knew, was that he had been jolted out of his slumbers and he was up on his feet hurrying to the front of the bus before he'd come to his senses, the bus had just hit town, still two stops from his intended destination, amazing luck.
Having got off the bus, making his way down an alley by the churchyard he heard the "Caw'Caw'Caw! Of a crow, even that was becoming predictable he thought, maybe there was a nest nearby, or maybe it was just a regular haunt, but he always seemed to hear a crow as he walked down by he church.
Anyway, into the library and he scoured the bookshelves with Marx and Marxism in mind, he even found a history section, but to no avail, but he DID find a book entitled "Sounds Of The River, A memoir of china, by one Da Chen". Yeah, why not? He thought, got to have " something" to read, so he goes to put it through the scanner, along with his membership card, "item not on record, please go to paydesk", it was soon sorted out, but Arthur wasn't done yet.
"Would it be possible to inquire about a particular subject?"
He asked politely.
" Maybe i'm just looking in the wrong place".
"Yes of course. What are you looking for?"
"Marxism, or Karl Marx even".
Tap'tap'tap on the keys,
"Ah yes, that should be",,,
And she led Arthur to a Sociology section, of course, Sociology, why hadn't HE thought of that? 
"They appear to be out on loan right now, but this is where they would normally be".
"Well thanks anyway, now i know where to look, i keep an eye out for them, thank you".
"No problem".
And with that, he was thinking CHIPS!
But the Parka would have to come off. Thankfully, he'd got a rather over size canvas shopping-bag with big looping straps that allowed him to carry it off the shoulder, it wouldn't be a problem.
Sitting in an empty bus-stop shelter, tray of hot chips in hand, Parka off, sun shining, leaning back, legs outstretched, it felt so nice as he contemplated his next move although as usual, his bladder would dictate. Cheap bag o' spuds then Morrison's and a free pee.
Although there was ample room in his bag for the Parka, a bag of spuds would help press it down and thus provide just a little bit more room for his shopping he thought. Spuds bought and going full steam ahead he passed a junk-shop, and there was a box of books on display outside, well, why not? Something caught his eye, " THE DAMAGE DONE, in big red capital letters, twelve years of hell in a Bangkok Prison". "How much are the books mate?" "A pound each". God knows why but he had to have it.
On to Morrison's;
Taking a gentle stroll, sun shining, belly feeling quite full, two books to the good, bag hanging off his shoulder, hands in pockets, sauntering along as though he hadn't a care in the world, on the  lookout for whatever might present itself, he felt like a tourist, taking in and absorbing sights and sounds, ( sights and sounds that he'd seen hundreds of times before) and he was feeling pretty good about things, he just needed to get to the loo, soon.
He didn't need much, supplies, Teacakes for munchies of course, and then homewards, although having had that nap on the bus he WAS in no particular hurry, which was just as well.
As he made his way back towards the bus terminal he could hear a saxaphone, if there was one thing in this world that might give him cause to pause, it was a sax, and this one sounded pretty good.
A black man, must've been six feet tall, short grey beard, shades, flat cap, and he was giving his rendition of Tori Amos's "I believe i can fly, i believe i can touch the sky......." He made every note last, and they hung there, totally over-whelming the senses, it was the meanest, moodiest, hungry dog bluesiest, buddy can you spare a dime? Sound that he'd heard in a long long time, it's time i started making a contributing, he thought,scolding himself almost, what with that accordion-player a few weeks back, there's some seriously good shit happening here.
Back at the bus terminal, sitting and munching his way through teacakes, thinking that, well, it hadn't been a particularly "bad day", pretty much "same as" though, when he heard an almighty roar, he couldn't believe his eyes, an old army people-carrier burst out of a side street and careered by, it looked sort of like a tank with the top chopped off. No long barrel, but some sort of machine gun on a mounting at the front, real? One couldn't really tell,it all happened so fast. There were four or five men riding in it/on it whatever, men in suits, men in khakis, and in the blink of an eye it had disappeared.
Oh dear, had it really happened? Had anybody else seen what he'd seen? Nobody else seemed to noticed. No! It happened, really.
Shocked, amazed, amused, bemused, Arthur didn't know/couldn't decide what to make of it, It all happened so fast.
The bus arrived, Arthur boarded, no choice of up or downstairs, single deck, and there was tinny sounding music coming from a mobile phone, good god, no doubt about it, Arthur is a grouchy old so and so, but he'd just have to grit his teeth and put up with it.
He thought of how when he was a kid, they all had those cheap battery-operated radios, they played 208 radio luxemburg, and caroline, and they all thought how cool they were, how embarrassing, looking back, and now, he would just have to put up with it. life eh?
He caught a brief glimpse of Downan, and it pained him to see such a sight, cruel cruel world.
Then suddenly, up ahead, he could see that people-carrier, parked outside a pub, there were soldiers, suits, and a table laden with pints, a huge sign said "see the territorial army at...................." that was all he was able to read. So that was it, the TA are putting on a show somewhere.
But Arthur wouldn't be sorry to see home, unload the shopping, re-heat some of yesterday's dinner, and hit the Taurus.


ps,
i really can't believe that you guys could be even remotely interested in such a load of piffle, but it's my Saturday, it happened to me, wishing you all a very nice day.

dither​
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## escorial

you have a political and maybe edgier side coming out...dither


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## dither

Edgier?


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## escorial

yeah...like the personal perspective is being given up for a more universal feel..all good man


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## Gofa

I read it all the piffle what can I say. "It's life Jim but not as we know it" and great to read 
one question though what is a Taurus. My best guess is bed


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## dither

Gofa,
Taurus  is  cheap gutrot cider, i like a drink at the weekend.
I don't go mad, just a couple of litres.


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## Gofa

Mine is bourbon and cigars. The cigars are sent into the country from USA. I like to smoke when I drink and drink when I smoke. My drink of choice is from an Appalachian drink cup specially purchased from a second hand store. Locally these are also known as jam jars. I does not change the flavour but it improves the spirit.


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## dither

I used to actually have a jam-jar that i supped my cider from, it started as a bit of a joke, because of cider being called "Tramp-Juice" by some people.


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## dither

Gofa said:


> My fondest memory of today was buying fish and chips and eating some chips out of the paper wrapping as I drove home. It's the little things that make you feel good.
> 
> Gofa



Made me think of when i was a kid, i'm not really one for remembering the cost of things from years ago, but we used to get a four pence bag of chips from the local chippie, we used to ask for batter-bits to be thrown in with them if they had any, and they'd be wrapped in old newspaper, shame that got stopped actually. I often think that it might be fun to buy a bag of chips with a snippet of old news. A treasured memory that one.
There's probably some food-safety law preventing it but that could be a really fun gimmick today, selling chips in old newspapers.


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## Gofa

We do have ours now in plain white paper and tearing a small hole in one end so you can put your fingers in to grab a chip is the thing. They are always too hot but that is part of the magic. I think the new paper ink was a bit toxic so it had to go.


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## dither

Gofa said:


> I think the new paper ink was a bit toxic so it had to go.



Yeah, i know, i don't re-call  reports of it having killed anybody though.

Yes but'no but'what if?

Killjoys with nothing better to do i venture to suggest.


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## Gargh

Something about a British holiday eh? All this talk of cider and chips has started me reminiscing about visiting Somerset as a teenager!


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## dither

Gargh said:


> Something about a British holiday eh? All this talk of cider and chips has started me reminiscing about visiting Somerset as a teenager!



Well grab a hold of that notebook, get scribbling. ;-)


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## Pandora

I like Arthur and his Saturday dither. The line about the sun tussling with the grey sky, I had that on my Saturday too, perfect wording. Emotions abound in his day, like we all live. A well worded diary entry holding interest, teaching the reader not only about places and things but about the author. Oh the Sax player, we just hired the spitting image of that man at our place of business and he plays sax in a wedding and event band! I will think of your story daily when we speak. I'll share with him this 

 _"He made every note last, and they hung there, totally over-whelming the senses, it was the meanest, moodiest, hungry dog bluesiest, buddy can you spare a dime?" 
_
very cool what music does for us. 

Thanks dither as always love what you share. :adoration:


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## Pandora

Gofa said:


> I'm lying here in bed at midnight an IPad clutched to my chest having read all that is above this reply. My lovely wife asleep beside me, as I get to walk a mile in your shoes. A delightful journey of Yin and Yang and I feel the Kung Fu that flows through your journeys with its perfect timing in busing and the awareness of the ebb and flow of life around you.
> Before enlightenment it's chop wood carry water after enlightenment it's chop wood carry water. I see you chopping wood and carrying water.
> Hi Pandora love to watching you watching Dither. I was paralysed many years ago and know a little of restraint.
> Holding my hand up in the dark I wave to you both from the other side of the word. It's a pleasure to meet you both.
> My fondest memory of today was buying fish and chips and eating some chips out of the paper wrapping as I drove home. It's the little things that make you feel good.
> As to you writing more Dither. Remember it forward. Next time you are catching a bus or going for chips give Pandora and me a wave because we are there watching from a distance through your words.
> Go you good things
> Cheers
> Gofa


Beautiful Gofa, your thoughts, your writing, the waves from across the world, precious to my heart, thank you! :hi:


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## dither

Gofa said:


> I'm lying here in bed at midnight an IPad clutched to my chest having read all that is above this reply. My lovely wife asleep beside me, as I get to walk a mile in your shoes. A delightful journey of Yin and Yang and I feel the Kung Fu that flows through your journeys with its perfect timing in busing and the awareness of the ebb and flow of life around you.
> Before enlightenment it's chop wood carry water after enlightenment it's chop wood carry water. I see you chopping wood and carrying water.
> Hi Pandora love to watching you watching Dither. I was paralysed many years ago and know a little of restraint.
> Holding my hand up in the dark I wave to you both from the other side of the word. It's a pleasure to meet you both.
> My fondest memory of today was buying fish and chips and eating some chips out of the paper wrapping as I drove home. It's the little things that make you feel good.
> As to you writing more Dither. Remember it forward. Next time you are catching a bus or going for chips give Pandora and me a wave because we are there watching from a distance through your words.
> Go you good things
> Cheers
> Gofa




Thank you Gofa.


----------



## Pandora

I am alone this weekend so more deep in thought. I was paddling around in the pool yesterday thinking of you guys. Thought of the phrase Gofa used "as I get to walk a mile in your shoes." I realized that is what I love about this thread 'How was your week'. I also realized that is why I love writers. Some make up characters top to bottom, create people with dreams and hopes, reactions and lifetimes. They actually do walk in another shoes. I think this is why they are insightful, compassionate, understanding folk when given opportunities. They feel how others feel. I am in good company, that feels nice, comfy. Thanks dither and Gofa for my small revelation yesterday . . .
as the sun tussled with my grey skies, again dither, just lovely.:smile:


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## dither

Pandora,
it's difficult to analyze and i have been told that i have tendency to over-analyze, i think in some ways i'm just reaching out to people, wanting to make a connection some how. If my personal day to day meanderings some how bring a wry or knowing smile, or frown even, to some one's face, then for me that's pretty good.
The world is full of old dodderers like me, so surely somebody somewhere feels, sees, and interprets as i do, and so therefore understands. Understanding, maybe that's what it's all about.


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## Emz

> I take horrible pictures with our little digital camera, not sure why. I was always quite good with those polaroid spit out cameras, those were the days my friend, instant smiles.


I love photography, specifically wildlife photography, so I'm pretty good with cameras


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## dither

Emz,
i would like to crack that one.
First step is find a book like one of those " computers for dummies" books, absolute A,B,C, 1,2,3, step by step guides.
Would love to have a camera with me when i go out, it would make a great add-on i think, then store anything that i got on a disc or stick, by i don't have the faintest idea of how.
I really must look into it sometime.

By the way,
thanks for the likes.


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## Emz

Haha, no problem


----------



## dither

I hope you don't mind my putting this up, or think that i'm "ramping" the thread, that's really not me. I'd be happy to dig this out from where-ever when-ever. I don't see myself doing this EVERY week.

Thanks Asda,

" you come here Mr. Ritic, we look after you" said the quietly spoken Optician, who'd checked out his eyes a couple of weeks ago. "Yeah, whatever" Arth remembered thinking, just another sales-pitch right?
So yesterday he went to collect his new glasses, and what a stinker of a day it was / promised to be, he really didn't feel like going, but, they had got to be collected, so he went and caught a bus. The weather-people had been putting out flood and severe weather warnings and it looking very much as though they were right. The sky was dark and it was raining. Arth didn't know much about the ride into town, asleep almost as the bus pulled out.
He'd decided that he would forego the chips until on his way home from Asda's but the pull was just too strong and anyway, he WAS hungry.
" Salt and Vinegar on your chips?" asked the tall polite brown girl, what service he has found himself thinking that a lot recently, "yes please", so ,with a generous serving of hot ( salted and vinegared) chips, Arth went to find a bus-stop shelter and ended up standing in a pub fire-escape doorway, no matter, it was lashing down. As he stood leaning against the doorway, watching rain creating rings and bubbles bursting as quickly as they appeared in the puddles, he thought up a plan for the day. He would go to the library last of all, get those glasses first he told himself, ugh!  That sleep, far from setting him up for the day as it sometimes did, had really taken the wind out of his sails, he felt like shit,and talking of bursting, he would have to go and spend twenty pence, a.s.a.p. whatever his plan was. He hurried through the market, no browsing hoards of shoppers today, and no musicians, just total greyness, everywhere he looked.
Well anyway, he was soon on his way to Asda's and blowed if he didn't nod off again, and actually got into a bit of a panic, not knowing if he'd slept past the Asda stop and was  travelling back towards  home. He did eventually get his bearings and wasn't far from his destination, panic over and on to Asda's.
This time there was no time to kill, no appointment time, just straight to the counter and get his new specs, and even that was refreshingly different. Having given the sales girl his name, he took a seat while he waited. "Here we are Mr.Ritic, try those on for size", the fit really is the luck of the draw, but they felt fine. He did the thing with the four different sized versions of print on the white card, "yep, all good", then came the surprise, "okay then Mr.Ritic, if you'd just like to walk out of the shop and look around the store", it's a big store, long vision, short vision, and everything in between, again, all good, and he was one happy shopper. "yes, thank you they're fine". "Okay then Mr.Ritic, thank you for shopping at Asda", And with that she was gone. He lingered and bought a new glasses case, two quid, he was pleased with that also, although the case that the glasses came looked pretty decent as well. And to cap it all, when he left the store light blue gaps were appearing in a very dirty looking sky and sunshine was looming.The day was most definitely on the up, and again, although probably because of his napping he felt as though he'd left his observational senses at home and was very aware of his lack-lustre mood. A fifteen mile journey, on and off buses and yet he'd seen nothing, it just hadn't registered with him today.
Once again, didn't wait long for his bus, and considering that there's just one every hour, how cool is that? He boarded his bus, munched his way through four hot cross buns, stretched back in a seat at the back of the bus, and headed home.
Then, as he got up to leave, something on one of the seats caught his eye, a ten pence piece, no! A pound, reimbursement for the pee in town he thought to himself, okay. A slow stroll up to the library, no CAW! CAW! ing this time, old Joe Crow was obviously some place else, and to his amusement he wondered if old JC was wondering where he was, wheels within wheels eh?
Well, he wandered around the library for a while but found himself unable to concentrate. The distractions, maybe it was just tiredness, but there were small children running around playing, people conversing quite openly and in loud tones and it was driving Arth, well, to distraction. He would have to come back some other time, never mind, he'd got his new glasses and the sun was shining, " up your's weatherman" thought Arth with a smile heading home.
By the time he got home, the day really was warming up, the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and that cool breeze was actually a relief.

Thanks Asda.:salut:


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## escorial

i always enjoy the way you bring everyday life into a very personal perspective..chips,asda..pub doorways it has it all man..


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## Plasticweld

I have enjoyed your writing, would you care to expand on 
*
SANCTUARY! yelled Quasi Modo  from high up in the tower Notre Damme ( please excuse spelling ), at mob below, only it isn't ( sanctuary i mean ) an Englishman's home ISN'T his castle any more, and who can repel the storming of the mind*?

You are normally crystal clear in what you say and see but the  *an* *Englishman's home ISN'T his castle any more *only left me with wanting to know more, pretty powerful statement.


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## dither

Plasticweld said:


> I have enjoyed your writing, would you care to expand on
> *
> SANCTUARY! yelled Quasi Modo  from high up in the tower Notre Damme ( please excuse spelling ), at mob below, only it isn't ( sanctuary i mean ) an Englishman's home ISN'T his castle any more, and who can repel the storming of the mind*?
> 
> You are normally crystal clear in what you say and see but the  *an* *Englishman's home ISN'T his castle any more *only left me with wanting to know more, pretty powerful statement.



Plasticweld,
oh i don't know, maybe it was a rant about the  insidious erosion of good and honest people's rights, it seems as though, in the eyes of the law, the violators are some looked upon as the violated. They are somehow seen as victims. Social absurdery. ( well there you go, a new word, and you saw here first. ;-) )

I was referring to burglars and squatters i suppose.

PW,
you flatter me and i thank you.


----------



## dither

escorial said:


> i always enjoy the way you bring everyday life into a very personal perspective..chips,asda..pub doorways it has it all man..



As always Escorial, i thank you.


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## dither

dither said:


> Plasticweld,
> oh i don't know, maybe it was a rant about the  insidious erosion of good and honest people's rights, it seems as though, in the eyes of the law, the violators are some looked upon as the violated. They are somehow seen as victims. Social absurdery. ( well there you go, a new word, and you saw here first. ;-) )
> 
> I was referring to burglars and squatters i suppose.
> 
> PW,
> you flatter me and i thank you.



Have i made a political statement there?

I'm not politically-minded, really, i'm not.


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## Pandora

You have a way of describing weather, dither, I love it! and use it again in my thoughts when experiencing mine. The circles and bubbles in the puddles, I like the way that looks. I love the treats you treat yourself to on your outings. I love the people you meet, I feel how gentle you are.I love the simplicity of the day but it feels full. I love the sun shining for you. I have said that to many a weatherman too! Another fabulous read, a day in the life of Arth, I look forward to another. Thank you dither means much to me to know you. :loyal:


----------



## dither

Have resolved  to seek  help in figuring out the photographing and posting pics issue, we'll see.


----------



## dither

Just more pifle i'm afraid.:smurf:
----------------------------
Tuesday afternoon and after having a reasonable sleep, by " his standards", Arth needed to pay his local CostCutters a visit for a few things, it was a hot day and a fairly strong breeze DID provide some relief, although it felt as though some-one was pointing a fan-heater at his face.
As he walked through quiet streets, in no particular hurry, he was struck by how, all of a sudden he finds himself admiring, well, noticing actually, plants, flowers, shrubs and the like, anew almost, as though he'd never seen them before, wishing he knew what their names were. As he gets older, he suddenly finds himself wondering about so many things, acuteley aware of how much he "doesn't" know, LIKE the names of trees, LIKE the names flowers, AND shrubs, and stuff, he is quite taken aback by such a phenomenon, why now? Maybe it's an age thing. There seems to be a strong feeling of curiosity that he is neither able to satisfy nor understand, and the mood is fickle, it lingers just long enough to cause an itch that won't be denied, and then it is gone, often leaving Arth quite bemused, ( he thinks too much, or just too deeply perhaps ) and ever so slightly,,,,,,,,disorientated, in a vague sort of way that's hard to define or describe, and he is very aware of how puzzled he is by this.
The bushes that, at certain times of the year, he couldn't remember when, would be heavily laden with the bright red and orange rosehips, are now covered with these pretty white and pink flowers right now. So small, sweet, and delicate looking.
And then there are those small wild roses that grow wild in the hedgerows, his mother calls them "Dog-roses", that couldn't be their real name surely, just a nickname from yesteryear he perhaps.
And now, he has set his sights on photography. The last time he took photos, people took their rolls of film into the local Chemist's shop to have them developed, it will be no bad thing if he lets this flight of fancy go, but it's itching like mad right now.On Thursday afternoon he went to his local Argos store to buy one today, found one that he liked and of course, wouldn't he just know it? They were out of stock, he always saw things like that as a message from the gods, but not this, he happily reserved one and plans to collect it on Saturday afternoon so there would be no Friday Asda shopping-trip this week. Friday is going to be Night-Nurse day, time he had a decent day's sleep.
Night Nurse, the thick green wonder in a tumbler, put's him away every time, and he just loves that woozy hangover that it leaves him with. i t doesn't make him sleep long, but while he sleeps the house could fall down and he wouldn't know it.
Because his Saturday is going to revolve around a trip to Argos, he is actually planning to watch some football in the evening, although not really bothered, he's not a footie-fan.
Saturday morning, MegaRiding, Arth's off to Asda's, to re-acquaint himself with a town not far from home, and it's hot, uncomfortably so. As he gets off his bus, the first thing he sees is a busker right at the entrance, he really doesn't need this, luckily, the store is on a busy main road and the traffic just about nullifies what the guitar-plucker is putting out. Arth finds even good live singing cringe-worthy, let alone some wannabe with an out of tune six-string. He tries not to let it bother him, at least he'd had a few hours sleep and wasn't feeling quite so ragged as he might normally have been, he maked a dash for the trollies, the silence of the shoppers, it was hell in there, and they'd totally sold out of 2ltr bottles of Cider, or more likely they just hadn't re-filled the shelves, whatever, he made do with a 4xpack of Blackthorn, rather apt he supposed, considering his romance with the tree. Hey'ho!
Next stop Argos, bought his Camera and headed, loaded with supplies, for the Library, a sandwich board invited passes-by to "keep calm, visit heavenly cuppa". He hadn't seen that one before.
Having searched the book-shelves it looked like being another nothing to read visit when he spotted a Biography of Charles Dickens, yeah well, why not? He thought. Might find it hard work like one or two others that he'd read recently, but he was glad he'd made the effort, so why not this one.
And then he saw " Karl Marx ", YES! He'd been wanting this one for a while, god knows why, but now he'd found it. A small read paperback. How about those two for the unlikeliest of bedfellows he thought to himself with a smile. Happy says. Time for home, and he marveled at the shops-signs and hoardings as he strolled.
A large premises that had once been clothes and furniture store was now Windsor Hall, housing up to twenty independent traders, apparently:

Mrs. B's tea and coffee Emporium no less, "Douwe Egbert's coffee, since 1753." He imagined that the year of 1753 refered to the coffee and not Mrs. B.
Bondi Beads.
Heavenly Delights.
Minable Chic, dot.com.
Buzzie B's can be followed on facebook, and have a Yahoo ADDY.


Over the road, literally, a brass band played at a Church Fete, how wonderful that these things are clinging to existence, in the world of today, and he very nearly got run-over trying to get a closer look. Oops!
A cool breeze was getting up and dark clouds seemed to be gathering.

A Red London Transport Double Decker Bus all decked out with white Ribbons, the display unit at the front reading " 12 ( route ) Happy Wedding Day,,,Peter and Emily, waited to transport it's passengers to a reception presumably.

If only he'd got a Camera. Indeed.

Arth walked on;

Granny Bubbles. Traditional English sweets and Giftware.
A Baby Boutique?
Sassy Belle, offering Ladies shoes and boots,Hand-Bags, Jewellery and Prom-Dresses.
Wishbones,,,,and,,, Luvvly Jubbly Kebab-vendors.
Costa Coffee.
Pamper Me Perfect,, Sunbeds,,,HD Brows,,,Lashes and Nails,,,Body-Wraps?
And there would, he conceded ruefully, HAVE to be a Bargain Booze outlet.
All nestled amongst the Bookies,Banks, Building Societies and Estate Agents.

The loud siren of an Ambulance let rip right by his side, startled the living doo'doo out of him, and he felt a few spots of rain, well, he'd got his brolly with him.

When he arrived at the bus-stop it looked as though he'd just missed one, it might be running late, maybe? It wasn't. He'd missed it. And would have thirty five minutes to kill. Chips!
A slow walk back up town took him to a chip-shop, and the chips? Well, Frydays they weren't, but good is as good does, they filled a gap, and by the time he'd eaten and got back to his stop, he didn't have long to wait.
There was a small row of three shops opposite the bus-stop;
The Wok Inn,
a USA off licence, whatever that entails,
and the Blue Corner Cafe.
Wooden Window-frames looked as though they were rotting,
broken windows,
paint was peeling,
the flats upstairs looked derelict.
There was a very narrow stairway squeezed between two buildings, the sign above said simply, "Sauna, Massage and Solarium." Yeah i bet, thought Arth to himself with a chuckle, he liked that, it put a smile on his face.

At last a bus,
going home.

A shrubbery was holding a Strawberry Fayre.

Scrapyard, Gypsy-camp, Sell Bock H ( an out of town Out-patients Clinic ) looks so drab, a recently built concrete cube, but it provides a service, the local football-club and grounds, with it's worn out tired looking barriers, and what he reffered to as green stained " fish-bowl" lights in the car-park, Wind-farm, home.

He just needed to get 6 eggs from the local fishing-tackle shop, doing his bit for the local independent traders, then he could get home and unload.

Not a bad day's dithering, Arth was satisfied with how the day had gone but he was glad to be home​


----------



## Pandora

I enjoyed 'our' travels this morning dither. I feel the same, much I have not learned in this life. My goodness I taught horticulture classes as a young woman and I do not know the names of all the trees and bushes. I'm quite good at flowers but my mind isn't what it used to be, remembering. I saw and heard much in the diary of Arthur's day. Nice touch all the stores and I always love the weather, puts me there with him. The double decker bus for the wedding party, the visual made me smile. As did the street music and brass band. Night Nurse, I googled, sounds much like our NyQuil, I liked that when I was young, has adverse reaction on me now.

dither when you get into your biographies maybe share a little, a few facts with me. I have not read either and truly love learning more about people.

Your final line feels like home to me, thanks for sharing Arthur with us, enjoyed the trip. :love_heart:


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## dither

Pandora,
i've started with Mr.Marx ( the man ) and am finding it hard going, maybe i should have acquainted myself with Marxism before attempting to know the man. I shall persevere.

As always , i thank you for your kind words.


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## dither

Waiting for the work-bus;
--------------------

A new term at a local college he supposes not really sure, but for the past two Fridays they've turned up at his bus-stop. First to arrive is the young lad, geeky but not gawky, wire in his ear, ring-file in hand, so immersed in his own private world that the real one seems little more than a distraction. He quietly strolls into the shelter and sits, gazing straight ahead, and he waits.
Then the small brown girl appears, probably in her late teens, of Asian descent, she has the prettiest face, hair done up in a loose bun. Tiny back-pack, dressed so smart yet casual as though me might be modelling for Burberry. There's a calmness ( sereneness almost ) about her, she wafts effortlessly to within a few yards of the stop and lingers, with her back to geek-boy, not that he'd notice. With such aloofness, poise, grace and dignity she keeps her distance.
She and Arth exchange glances but not wanting to stare he looks away almost instantly, but she seems to be staring at him, such a cold unearthly stare, like he's a two-headed reptile or something and he finds it quite disconcerting. What did i do? He wonders. Arth, sits on a low stone wall some five or six metres further away from the stop. Funny how people seem nervous of getting too close to one another sometimes, although, young Asian girl, well, any young woman alone at a bus-stop among strange men is going to feel apprehensive, that was understandable. And then, Arth had met some real chatterboxes at bus-stops, he put that down to nervousness also.
Anyway, he sits reading his newspaper and he waits, casually looking up occasionally glancing around and whenever he does their eyes meet, she is looking right at him and as he looks away he can feel those brown eyes, staring, piercing, searching, and he doesn't know how he should feel about that. Maybe she thinks he's creepy, oh for god's sake, i'm just here waiting for a bus, that's all, he thought to himself.
He wants to tell her hey! I'm harmless, i don't bite, you're quite safe. But then a bloke would say that wouldn't he.
Maybe he should move on to another stop, but the whole point of catching this one is to save his legs, he's an old man for for chris' sakes,so, they'll just continue to keep their distance. Boy on the seat, Arth some ten or twelve meters away, and her somewhere between the two.
Then as they board the bus, they have a routine, boy first, Arth next, her last. Geek-boy goes straight to the back of the bus, Arth sits at the very front where the seats face across the bus sideways, and she will sit at the very front on the other side of the bus fiddling with her mobile.

Arth thinks too much,

dithering.

footnote;
i suspect that Arth will probably walk to the next stop on Fridays, if his presence IS giving that young girl cause for concern,  he just doesn't want that.


----------



## escorial

i like the way you try and get into the minds of people you view..spiffing old bean!!


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## dither

escorial said:


> i like the way you try and get into the minds of people you view..spiffing old bean!!



I just wonder about people sometimes, and i wonder if they wonder, if i'm wondering perhaps.


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## dither

Thanks guys.


----------



## Pandora

Love the last line, lol, perfection! very insightful read, mesmerizing really. For me I arm myself with a smile, sometimes it works on the young, sometimes not. It always works on the old. You have me smiling dither, thanks.  I enjoy!


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## dither

Pandora said:


> Love the last line, lol, perfection! very insightful read, mesmerizing really. For me I arm myself with a smile, sometimes it works on the young, sometimes not. It always works on the old. You have me smiling dither, thanks.  I enjoy!



But Pandora it's different for a woman.

Old man smiles at any woman and it's like, oh yeah?


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> But Pandora it's different for a woman.
> 
> Old man smiles at any woman and it's like, oh yeah?


Yes sad but true, it can be different for a man. There is a talent in reading smiles though that comes in time. A smile given to another is truly beautiful, all it wants is one in return, in a moment.


----------



## Kevin

Being so often mistaken for King Leer, instead of Lear, I've learned to quickly avert my eyes...


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## dither

Kevin said:


> I've learned to quickly avert my eyes...



Ditto.


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## Gofa

Some times people are friends you've  just never met other times they are people you should have avoided. As a sixty year old guy I agree being thought of as creepy is very upsetting. 
Still I like the truth you put down on paper  it's a lovely thing to see. Next time you see Asian Girl picture her as someone you know and acknowledge as a really nice person. It's amazing how what you see in others defines how that respond to you. 
For all my thinking here  though I'd probably walk to the next stop 
still lovely to keep walking in your shoes. Maybe you should tell Asian Girl that "I have a friend on the other side of the world that knows Kung Fu and has written to me that he will protect me if you get violent."  
Bet you smile when you see her next


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## dither

Gofa,
i enjoyed your comment.
I have had such strange experiences with people over the years, megariding. So much so, that it comes to a point where i DO wonder if i'm the weird one. They're such a strange lot i find.
And yes, i'm using another stop now.
I imagine that she'll be there every Friday for the next twelve months, i might just look by occasionally to check it out. Although having said that, the bus-stop that i use going home is a response to somebody using another stop and my having moved over to accommodate them, and the new stop just became a habit. I don't mind.


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## Gofa

I go swimming 3 times a week now for fitness and to lower blood pressure. No way I want the pills. Thing is it's creepy such close proximity and the emotions of others eeewwww. Not a smile amongst the lot of them. You have to navigate around the place not looking at the wrong bits and avoid eye contact with the nosey's that stare at you. My solution is one I take my glasses off  two I wear underwater head phones and listen to my music as I swim in the lanes or exercise in another pool. I do tai chi and other Kung fu stuff in the exercise pool but I can't see others and not being able to hear them is great. They are not there. I used to be upset my being too near the crazies in the pool. Now I nod and sing to myself as I swim or exercise. I am one of the crazies now. My favourite is the spa pool which I warm up in after swimming before getting out. When seated its shoulder depth. To improve coordination I pretend to play a drum kit in time to what song I'm listening too. So both hands and both feet are tapping away under Neath the water, head nodding, eyes glazed as I can't focus. I need a tee shirt with Welcome to my world I'm sorry I'm having an inside day and I will not be coming out


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## dither

People, it really is a minefield.


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## dither

A bit of a poor old me post i'm afraid, a selfie.








Well,
Having bought a camera,gone through the stages of giving up before even trying, beating himself up for being stupid enough to have entertained such thoughts in the first place, attempting, in his own time, to insert battery and memory card and to his amazement seemingly succeeding, Windows H&S, he thought, made transferring photos from camera to pc seem easy, too easy perhaps, Arth turned his attention to actually operating the camera.
Menus,Settings,Playback,Video+photo Capture, View,Edit,and/or Delete.....................:scratch:
What happened to Photo-counter, rewind, and taking a roll of film to be developed?:???:
Arth would get himself a cheap camera-case, he rather fancied one of those "bum-bags", what he REALLY wanted was a camera-case that he could wear on his belt. That way, he could keep it safe, not lose it or have it pinched, and have it handy for all those "moments" that he hoped to capture.

Well, Friday yet again, the weeks fly by, and how? 
Arth, pondered as he made his way to Asda's. An old lady seemed to be struggling with her shopping-trolley, " i can't get my pound out" she said looking up at Arth apologetically. " Yeah they can be buggers can't they" said Arth handing her her pound. " Look at that", some nob had left a twenty pence piece in the slot of another one. "There y'go, twenty pence interest". "Oo!" She chuckled. That sent Arth off in a nice frame of mind, what could possibly go wrong after that? And nothing did.

He strolled round the store with his list and the strangest feeling came upon him, "free-wheeling", he smiled at the contradiction, but actually it really did seem that way. In spite of the hustle, the bustle, and the hubbub, he secretly thought of and envied just for a moment those people who are able to arrange a shopping-trip when the place is closed, how nice that must be. Couldn't imagine that happening at an Asda store.
Well, anyway, Arth bought himself a camera-case, he does have a tendency to go a bit overboard with things like that but he thought he ought to get one. All this and he couldn't be sure if he'd ever get to use the damned thing, let alone store the proceeds if any on his pc.
He just hoped that on Saturday morning he'd still be "free-wheeling". He found the prospect of dithering with his new toy quite enchanting, there wasn't much of that in Arth's life, enchantment, he just hoped that he wouldn't be too much of a fuddy-duddy to hang with such new fangled gadgets. Come the weekend......................

Bitter disappointment and waiting for the third strike;
He got home on Saturday morning and was looking forward to his ride into town with the camera , he didn't really have any specific errands or purchases to make but what the hell? Pics.
He got himself washed and shaved then went to checkout the camera, and with that his whole world fell apart. Settings, menus, time day and date, language, insta-share button, social networks, W/T button? What on earth was that? That one was the killer-blow. He quietly packed it away, managing to resist a very strong to throw it against the wall, there WAS a time, back into it's box, and went to catch his bus. Ohhhhhh, dear.

Then, he somehow manage to board the wrong bus and found himself traveling in the wrong direction. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	



It wouldn't cost him anything of course but he really didn't need that shit right now, he'd just have to get off the bus, walk a hundred meters or so, catch the right bus, and get himself back on track. "On track", was he ever?
So that's it, he concluded, bad luck always comes in threes, what next?
He missed his intended stop and having belatedly risen from his Stagecoach slumbers and that meant that he'd carry out his usual routine in reverse order. First port of call public loos, then chips, then back in the direction of the toilets to Morrison's, and all the time wondering where and/or when fate would be stalking, waiting, to poke him in the eye. No pleasant smiling brown woman at the chippie, just some baldie intent on wasting the shop's supply of vinegar, on Arth's chips, shit-head! There were no empty bus-stop shelters, he found a public bench where he could sit and eat, even that felt awkward, he was ready to bite the head off anybody who dared to even look at him, but no-one did, so, having eaten he dragged himself, his seething embarrassed anger, and self-pity, to Morrisons.

He missed his stop, maybe that was it, did it qualify? Could he call that his "third strike"? He looked to the heavens, "oh please god", enough eh?:distress:

The shopping passed without a hitch, he just wanted to go home, no he didn't, but what else WAS there? Home it was then. The sun was baking, the bag was heavy, and his heart was in the gutter. His wife had always insisted that he'd never suffer a heart-attack because he hadn't got one, but he was distraught, he'd hoped and planned, for what was really such a simple thing, why didn't he get it ? Why didn't he understand? And he wouldn't. He just couldn't grasp it. Something that any very average nine year old would get without thinking, but not Arth.

Well, shopping packed away and a long cold one poured, chilled, and ready to go, he went and took that damned camera out of it's case. Time/day/and date, he couldn't even do that.
Social networking-site, Language, ARGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
He pressed the "set-button", then the "mode-button" W/T, then a message appeared on the screen, "your camera is ready for use" and he could see his legs on the screen. YES! YES! YES! maybe?
He didn't dare to even think it, but there he was, camera focussing on his legs. He went out into the backyard and took a few pics from his surroundings, or at least he hoped that he had. He went back to his room and hit the "mode button" twice just as the manual said and he got a "playback" of the pics that he hoped he had taken, Ohhh yes. Big grin, feeling good, happy'happy'happy. Transfering would have to wait for another day, one thing at a time he cautioned, let's not be hasty, and of course number three hadn't reared it's ugly head yet, or had it? 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




The euphoria would of course be counteracted by his self-doubt and pessimistic nature but what the hell? He'd made great strides. Hadn't he?
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




dither​


----------



## dither

Calm before the storm? 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




All seems calm and peaceful in the home of the Ritics right now and Arth is troubled by that, waiting for something bad to happen. Even now in the peaceful quite of a warm sunny Monday afternoon, he can feel bad tidings stalking him watching,waiting,baying, just itching to pounce. " you're mine Ritic, you're mine. Go on, push your luck, i dare you." He spends most of his life in fear, hiding in the shadows.
And on a lighter note, his next door neighbour's potato plants are in flower, and some have the prettiest little purple flowers on, purple! Amazing.
It's hot out there and whether he likes it or not he has to go do some shopping, only a couple o' bits at a local shop, but that heat, it really is stifling out there.


----------



## Pandora

I love the word enchantment dither. Cameras do not like me in any way, shape or form. The pics I love come from my husband's talent. I am not looking forward to a new phone. I will be grumpy for awhile like I was with this one almost a decade ago now. Yes, life is getting more complicated with age but somehow more peaceful. Yeah doom, I know, it could always be worse though. I'm one of those old ladies with cheering signs about the house, like "Count your blessing, Be thankful, Live by the sun Love by the moon, Honor the things that make your heart sing, Every birdie welcome" . . . ha! Yes I'm one of those but they do keep my spirits up. It is a constant reminder. Enjoyed our dithering about as always, friend. Purple flowers, wonderful! :tickled_pink:


----------



## dither

Pandora said:


> I'm one of those old ladies with cheering signs about the house, like "Count your blessing, Be thankful, Live by the sun Love by the moon, Honor the things that make your heart sing, Every birdie welcome"



What a lovely thought.

And you are right of course. Things could be a whole lot worse.

I should learn to appreciate what's good in my life.


----------



## Pandora

You know from your writing I can tell you do just that. Your descriptions of detail, appreciating small notices, like the purple flowers. None of us can be appreciative all the time, I feel you are a humble spirit dither, being humble brings being grateful and understanding.


----------



## dither

Stoicism is the word Pandora.


----------



## escorial

some pictures would give a cracking insight to your pieces..although this is a writing forum and i can often picture your moments in time with your words..it would just be nice to compare..enjoyed man


----------



## dither

Escorial,
i have bought a camera with that in mind but it's looking very doubtful right now, there's just so much to know.


----------



## Gofa

Dither.  Tell the camera you want it to be your friend. Tell the computer to play well with the camera. Often we have not because we ask not. PS listening for replies is optional


----------



## Gofa

Perhaps more practical is You tube.  Lots of kind people demo cameras etc go to you tube and type in your cameras name.  Some one will have left a video


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> Stoicism is the word Pandora.


Ok had to google to be sure, 

_the quality or behavior of a person who accepts what happens without complaining or showing emotion

_funny I feel a lot from you dither, in your words and between the lines. It is a nice word, I like it. I read the philosophy behind it and how it came to be. It is very deep and beautiful, a good thing to be. I read wiki . . . I learned more . . .  ha! Thanks dither.


----------



## dither

Gofa,
i don't do u2b or any  other social networks,
and my concern is that my camera is set for "insta-share",
put another way, it wants to unload my pics onto facebook.
And i don't know how to stop it.

I might just have a "to hell with it" moment, and attempt to connect camera to pc , maybe.


----------



## dither

escorial said:


> some pictures would give a cracking insight to your pieces..although this is a writing forum and i can often picture your moments in time with your words..it would just be nice to compare..enjoyed man



Escorial,
i've thought about that,
what can i show you?
How does a person photograph a mood, a feeling or an emotion?
If i get too close to people that camera could become an anal-blockage.
My thoughts would be that maybe just the odd occasional unexpected something or other, but i could carry a camera around for weeks and see nothing.

dither


----------



## escorial

the camera can never replace words for me but the fact a camera catches a moment in time just gives some backround..it might just be a bustop or a bag of chips and that's fine but like i say the words come first.


----------



## dither

Yeah, i think i know what you're saying.

we'll see.

I WOULD like to learn how, but it's a problem right now.


----------



## dither

dither said:


> Escorial,
> i've thought about that,
> what can i show you?
> How does a person photograph a mood, a feeling or an emotion?
> If i get too close to people that camera could become an anal-blockage.
> My thoughts would be that maybe just the odd occasional unexpected something or other, but i could carry a camera around for weeks and see nothing.
> 
> dither



I shouldn't have posted this, i'm feeling frustrated right now.


----------



## escorial

i know what your going through..i use chromebook and as far as i can work out you can't download music onto an mp3 player..hope i'm wrong!!!


----------



## dither

I can't believe it, i'm quite shocked actually.
Arth is becoming impatient. This camera business is becoming an itch that he just can't scratch.
He has next week off work seems quite determined, the words "gung-ho!" spring to mind.
WHAT?


----------



## Gofa

arise brave helios
 lift up your steeds  
catch light's rays 
On Polaroid's shore


----------



## dither

Gentlemen, Ladies, fellow forumites,
I hope you won't mind, and of course you're not obliged to read it, but it's that time of the week, y'know?


*Who needs it? Life eh? *

(LANGUAGE).


It's six in the morning,and it's so quiet. No bird-songs, no "dawn-chorus", just the sound of Sparrows chattering, one solitary Wood Pigeon cooing, and Arth can't decide how to spend his day.
He'd had a shit Friday. Friday night? Had just been like any other, and now it was the weekend, me-time, please yourself-time. Every Saturday morning was the same. Go home, get cleaned up, and catch a bus to Barkton. But did he really need to today? Did he really want to? There was nothing to be be bought,carried, or fetched, that he couldn't get from his local High Street, so why bother? He dithered. Even as he crawled into bed at around eight thirty, he was still undecided. He would set his alarm for mid-day and take it from there.

Beep!,,,,,,,,, Beep!,,,,,,,,,Beep!

Twelve Thirty, he felt as though he'd slept okay, rested, and he actually felt like getting up. He thought about his usual Saturday routine; Library, Morrisons, the gentle stroll through the market, Chips! It always came down to the chips, the highlight of his day, life probably. That decided it, he would have his Saturday morning bus-ride and walkabout, but in the afternoon, might be interesting, would make a change anyway.

His Brolly was in need of repair. The fabric had detached itself from on of the prongs, couldn't go out with it looking like that, a quick repair-job with needle and thread, he was off took catch his bus it was pissing down, and still he was undecided, "do i really need this?" He kept asking himself, a grey cat dashed across the road with it's ears pinned back, HE didn't need it, raindrops bounced off the tarmac surface, splish'sploshed onto a rivulet running along the kerbside and the bus pulled in. He paid his ticket, found a seat upstairs, and that was it, he was on his way. 

He just sat, quietly gazing at a steamed up window, starkly aware of the smell of damp, his clothes, the bus seats, other people's clothes, probably, just a dirty-damp kind of smell, filling his nostrils. Car headlights were barely visible through the condensation on the bus windows, there was the occasional "whoosh" of bus running through puddles on the road, and still it rained, but there was a glimmer, just the slightest hint, of a brightening up.
The bus snaked it's way through various towns and villages and every time Barkton appeared on the horizon Arth saw the tiniest slither of blue in the skyline, maybe, just maybe, fingers crossed.

Traffic-lights, red, amber, green, imposing themselves, demanding to be seen and acknowledged in foul conditions, signaled that it was almost time to get off, just a few more minutes and he'd be at his stop. At least he hadn't fallen asleep this time, and perhaps having a few hours kip on a Saturday morning before the ride into town wasn't such a bad thing. He felt quite alive, and the rain had stopped but there was no blue up above, only grey.
He walk down the rain-sodden alley by St.Peter's to the library, due to a bladder that was making it's needs felt, and as he entered the widening paved area that lead onto the main street into town he went an absolute pearler, as though he'd stepped on a patch of ice, he was suddenly thrown up into the air and brought back down to earth with heavy thud. These damned Crocs, he loved his crocs, the smooth wet flagstones, fuckin weather, had all conspired to put Arth on his arse in spectacular fashion. "Are you alright?" Somebody shouted from up the alley. He couldn't have been much older than twelve. "Are you alright?" He asked again, amazing huh. "Yeah, alright mate." Not thinking to thank him, and Arth soon regretted that, but he was angry, bloody angry, and feeling more than just a little bit embarrassed. He brushed himself down and headed for the library, hoping that the toilet would be available. Bladder relieved, and having attempted to wipe away the black stains on his denims, only to make things worse, he wandered around the bookshelves for a while but his heart wasn't really in it. A computer that deals with the traffic of book-borrowing jingled and warbled, there were small children playing and chasing each other, conversations that might be heard two streets away and that was just the librarians, people used to go to libraries to read, and study. It's bad manners, no consideration for others, fuckin heathens! His knee was hurting, he could feel a wet patch on his backside, and he was hungry, only one cure for that.

Frydays, to Arth's way of thinking there was something comforting about a pack of hot chips with just the right amount of S&V , no empty bus-stop shelter today so he just wandered down a sidestreet, there was a tall building with a small drive-in car park at ground level. That would do. He stood peering out into the roadside as he ate his chips. Although there was still no blue sky, the day WAS brightening up, the wet tarmac sparkled as if it had been scrubbed clean, even the discarded fag-ends and drink cans looked clean and new.

Chips consumed, he was feeling so much better, comforted, "Frydays", he thought, "thank you". There was an inner glow now, and he was ready to walk, slowly, and picking his way carefully, no more smooth surfaces.

As he entered the small market area he was met with a smell of fresh fruit so strong that he could taste it, onions caramelised on a hotplate, hotdogs, burgers, Candyfloss, Candyfloss? Doughnuts. And then he saw the man sitting at the entrance to the shopping center, must have been in his forties. He looked old, tired,hungry,
sitting there guitar resting on his lap, like he really didn't want to be there, He didn't need it. Just to be there, looking on, felt like having teeth pulled.What a miserable life, why are people reduced to that? Why?
Arth hurried by as best he could, and made for Morrisons.
Conditions underfoot were improving, the concrete and the paving stones were drying, and Arth's mood WAS lightening but he was in need of a tonic, nothing that he could put his finger on exactly but just,,,,,something, something out of the ordinary, something memorable, besides being dumped in a heap on a wet path.

"Zanart". Gallery and framing. ZANY art more like, prints with a sporting theme, and comic-strips. Ugh! But the place IS trading, and has been there a while, not Arth's idea of art, but then art is a very personal thing Arth reasoned, each to one's own he supposed grudgingly.

Morrison's didn't take long, he tried to kill time roaming around the aisles. Saw a young woman in a fantastic floral-patterned coat, wished he'd got a camera and wondered what her response might have been to an old fogie asking if he might take a photo.

" Nine pounds thirty eight when you're ready".
Fuck you bitch, Arth seethed inwardly as an old man fumbled with his few items of shopping and then his purse. Somebody else really didn't need it, just doing her job.
Arth always took his shopping off the checkout and put them straight back into his trolley, and money ready, and got out of the way ASAP, but that was Arth. He liked to pack his shopping as HE liked it, in his own time, and not be in anybody's way.

Arth had barely turned his back on the store before the teacakes were opened, his mothers words of yesteryear echoing in his mind, " have you got worms?" Always eating and yet so thin, although at sixty something maybe not so thin, not fat either, in pretty good nick really.

He took his time walking to the interchange and felt so calm that he thought he might let the first bus go, wasn't in such a hurry to get home and in a relaxed state of mind, but that first bus was a while coming. People came and went. Bouncing boobs, a young mum wearing a lurid pink T-shirt that just screamed "look at me", and he did, pushing a buggy. Look! He might be old but he's not dead, And he's not about to feel shame for looking anytime soon. Okay?

A young girl, in her late teens probably, with long shoulder-length pink-tinted blonde hair sat some twenty metres or so away, elbow on her knee, chin resting on the palm of her hand, and looking his way. "Watching you watching me watching you?" She seemed so deep in thought, a million miles from a dull day in Barkton. A skinny boyfriend roled a couple o' smokes, lit up and they moved on.

A feral pigeon strutted and cooed as others searched for scraps of food.

A well-dressed man sat on a bench proudly showing off a gaudy vivid orange plastic wrist-watch.
Yeah whatever.

The sign hanging above the doorway to a pub called Henry's depicts an image of the old rogue Henry V111 gazing across the square.

By now the time was approaching 5.00 pm, Arth was ready for the bus-ride home when it finally arrived. It didn't feel as though he'd had such a bad day. There had been nothing to write home about and by now the sun was shining.

Life eh?


dither​


----------



## dither

Pandora said:


> I love the word enchantment dither. Cameras do not like me in any way, shape or form.




Pandora,
i find that as i grow older i find myself loving words, and wishing that i knew more.
As for cameras, yeah well.:concern:


----------



## amelhope

yeah words! What kind of words plz dont say sad or something negative


----------



## dither

None in particular Amel,
just words.
More words.

Amel,
it's nice to see you posting, it's been a while.


----------



## Pandora

Gosh dither, I simply adore the words of your home. They are charming and give a real feel to your writing. I know they are natural for you of course, they are so special to me. Sorry Arth took a fall I hope he is feeling okay. At our age, that 24 hour rule applies. Not the one about stealing someone's left over pizza but the aches and pains that appear 24 hours after. Sometimes the culprit never identified. Arth slept in and it changed his day, met different people than if he had stuck to the routine. Funny how one simple choice made each moment changes our experiences. I like the thought of how we are all woven together. I love seeing the people you see and darn it I really want some chips! Done just how you like them. I picture you across the ocean. I thought of you yesterday when a heavy rain 'trapped' us in our pool hiding under a floatie, vodka and grapefruit juice in hand. I wondered if it was raining by you. I even waved :hi: thanks dither for sharing your days with us, perfection!


----------



## dither

Pandora,
you say the nicest things.

After having had such a nothing day i can see Escorial's point regarding photos, and wish it was possible, i really do.:read:

"Vodka and Grapefruit juice, hiding under a floatie", how romantic?:flower:


----------



## escorial

Life eh...!.....keep dithering man


----------



## dither

escorial said:


> Life eh...!.....keep dithering man



What else would i do?


THANKS Escorial.


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> Pandora,
> you say the nicest things.
> 
> After having had such a nothing day i can see Escorial's point regarding photos, and wish it was possible, i really do.:read:
> 
> "Vodka and Grapefruit juice, hiding under a floatie", how romantic?:flower:



Funny you should say, when it was pouring the drops dancing, bounced off the blue pool water. It turned to appear almost icy like with a speck of black in each drop hitting the water. It was beautiful. I'd wished we had a camera or a phone. I took my first phone pic the other day, I've had this phone forever too. It actually turned out pretty. . .


here are some flowers for you dither from the garden






It was romantic and comforting, I love rain, I feel all of nature going, yes! :joyous:


----------



## dither

I used to love the smell of the rain years ago when i walked the fields.
The elderberry, and the blossom of my beloved Hawthorn, but just that earthy smell, was nice, heaven scent/sent, y'know? 

My mother always said that she could smell rain before it hit, it took me years to get that.


----------



## Pandora

heaven scent/sent,  beautiful dither


----------



## dither

Arth has  a week off work::read:


----------



## Pandora

Far out dither I hope Arth enjoys! :smile:


----------



## dither

Pandora,
it's usually, always has been, a case of feet up and do as little as possible, but he's restless. With nothing to do and no place to go.
And it's hot out there.


----------



## midnightpoet

Yeah it's hot.  I weed-eated the yard early yesterday and I'm down in my back.  Had to use my cane for the first time in a while.  70 may be the new 50 but this morning I feel more like 90.  Cheer up, Dither.  Could be worse.


----------



## dither

midnightpoet said:


> Yeah it's hot.  I weed-eated the yard early yesterday and I'm down in my back.  Had to use my cane for the first time in a while.  70 may be the new 50 but this morning I feel more like 90.  Cheer up, Dither.  Could be worse.



Yeah, i know.


----------



## dither

*The pits, just a nonsensical ramble, and total irrelevance,

*It seemed like just a couple of years ago now, that there had been protestations, quite vehement actually, regarding the proposed extraction of sand and gravel from low-lying pastureland just a few miles from where Arth lived. Okay it got a bit soggy down there in the winter but it still was, as they say, green and pleasant land. A river ran alongside and it was a nice walk in the summer months.
Battle-lines were drawn up on both sides. Posters appeared on hoardings and in house windows and public meetings were held at town and county level, the bottom line being, as in most cases, money won the day, and the excavators moved in.
A conveyor-belt was constructed to run something like a mile along an old di-used railway-track, an iron bridge replaced an ageing rickety one over a river, to transport the harvested S&G down to a base from where it would be loaded onto lorries and taken to where-ever.
After the workings had played out, the land once again had given it's all, and the land-grabbers had moved on, which had probably been a main bone of contention of the negotiations at the time, he imagined, but more to the point, how these huge pits would be dealt with, or not, the aftermath. He didn't know what or IF any promises had been made but, in time, those huge pits became lakes as is usually the way of such invasive activity. Where once there had been foot-trodden walkways in the dirt actual hard-cored footpaths appeared and surrounding areas top-soiled and and small trees, bushes etc. were planted, but it all takes time doesn't it. Funny, he thought , it seemed like only yesterday, yet so long ago now.

Well, yesterday it was that he revisited, and what a transformation. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			




Amazing scenes.

There's a sort of activity cum obstacle area where young people crawl through tunnels, climb up netted walls etc. Swings and knotted ropes hang from wooden frames. Arth thought it looked pretty cool. Where once there had been a works depot with huge stock-piles of sand and gravel, and a compound comprising of plant, site-office, deisel-storage, and thunder-box, there was now a building down there, a sort of reception-area with car-park, he actually saw a coach, and the whole area is now officially a nature-reserve.
Hard-cored paths have since been coated with a more solid covering with a pea-gravel type surface. He saw people on mobility scooters exploring the various walkways, groups of children, accompanied of course, small families, people with cameras, wildlife aplenty, waterfowl obviously, and it seemed a really nice place to go to.

After the workings had ceased, he recalled in his thoughts as he strolled along a path, there had been these huge flooded pits, with sloping muddy banks. It had all looked quite bleak, and desolate back then, but now;
Just leave it to nature eh? So much greenery.
Wide borders of bulrushes and marshes bordered and the "lakes", let's call them lakes now.
Odd mounds that had been scattered about in those pits for whatever reason, intended or not, were now small islands decked out with reeds and small bushes, havens for ducks, geese, and swans.

Good? Bad? Arth pondered, well, who's to say?

But it isn't such a bad place now, and seemingly quite popular so what the heck eh? :smile:

He got home feeling totally knackered, and today he aches like stink, bugger being old, but it was worth the effort, a fair dither he reckoned.

:read:​


----------



## Pandora

Oh that is beautiful to refurbish a green space for all to enjoy nature, a celebration of life, sounds lovely dither. Glad you could experience it, yes worth the effort, a fair dither indeed. 

I love Swans.

Oh it is hot here midnight and dither, my cane has resurfaced as of late too. I think it was moving a huge pine bush when hubby was absent. I should know better, too impatient to wait for proper help, that has always been at fault.


----------



## dither

" Return to Stugely please".
Coins rattled on a plastic dish.
"Four-ninety, fank you".
A huge barrel of a man, wedged between steering-wheel and the back of his seat, pressed a button on his ticket-machine a small white printed slip spewed forth, and Arth was on his way.
On down the hill, out of town, and onto Letts, Eastern Letts.
Letts, on a warm sunny day, is such a pleasure to ride through with it's stonewall cottages banked up on one side of the road some four feet at it's highest, the wall slowly sloping away from it's peak fifty or sixty metres in each direction. It's easy to imagine the village being such a small settlement at it's conception a hundred or more years ago. There are of course newer more recently built houses and housing estates at each end of,and behind this short row of chocolate-box cottages on either side, but it is just the prettiest facade.
Wednesday, am, and Arth was to Asda's , he had no real need to go today, other than for something to do, and it would lighten Friday load. The sun was shining and it was hot.
The bus-trip went untroubled, people got on and off along the way and Arth got off at Asda's.

Midweek, middle of the morning, his shopping was altogether unhurried and unhindered, Asda's and fellow shoppers seemed relaxed, he wandered around the store, bought a few bits and a pack of his favored fruity tea-cakes and made for home.
He had left his phone at home, had no idea of time, the would arrive sometime, and he settled road the bus homewards. As the bus approached Letts he could see the figure of a man standing in the middle of the road waving for the bus to slow down and wait, he was dressed in a black suit with a grey waistcoat.
Two funeral cars, the front one hauling freight, another shipment to the ever-after, the other full of mourners slowly drew to a halt on a siding outside a small chapel behind where he stood. Hell of a day for a funeral, blue sky and bright sunshine seemed so inappropriate but then well, when you've got to go, you've got to go he supposed. He was suddenly struck by the sight of a smartly-dressed woman at the chapel-entrance glamorous almost. Shoulder-length blonde hair, silver grey knee-length skirt and jacket, wouldn't have looked out of place at a wedding, or a birthday bash, but what did he know? He thought of the person, no longer of this world, who was being seen off on such a lovely day. Had he or she had a good life? A long life? And pondered the notion of an afterlife.
The bus drove slowly by and Arth went home.


----------



## dither

*Tinnitus and a mad violinist.*



Six-thirty in the morning, Arth has barely slept a wink all night,  the joys of being a night-worker on a week off eh? 

Well, anyway, tired as hell and feeling like shit, he's ready for bed when he ought to be getting up to start another day. He might be on a week off but he's a night-worker and time off is always difficult, but at least there would be no work for a while. Already the heat of a hot day to come was making itself felt. He drank a mug of tea then went and flopped down on his bed, diagonally, corner to corner, god knows why, he always does, always has, and probably always would. He pulled a fleece over his face to block out the daylight, curled himself up into the fetal position, closed his eyes, and just lied there.
He straightened his whole body outwards and stretched one final time then curled back up into a ball. The screeching in his head got louder and louder, his Tinnitus was full on and wasn't looking like abating any time soon, and then it started.
It's as though a violinist has his bow pressed firmly down on the strings of a violin, then with the bow pointing upwards sweeps the bow off the strings producing the shortest sharpest sound possible. He waits a few seconds then repeats that very same sound, then again, short and sharp, short and sharp, over, and over.:hopelessness: Every few seconds. let battle commence, it's Arth versus the madman, attempting to break free from this, this, torture.
He kicks his legs, arms flailing, he is starkly aware of a fight being fought, the strings in his head tighten their grip like barbed-tentacles of some unearthly creature. He tries to moan but he has no voice, he is consciously, although he isn't, conscious, trying to force his eyes open but they are shut tight. The battle rages for an eternity, ten or fifteen seconds probably, before he finally manages to jerk himself free, he rolls over onto his side. Such relief is hard to relate, akin to having escaped a fate worse, MUCH WORSE, than death.
Arth has never discussed this with his doctor and has never sought medical help. There IS no help, there IS no cure for tinnitus and it isn't life-threatening, it's just in one's ears, and something that a person has to adjust to, he or she has it and that's that.
It does seem to be at it's worst when he's tired, and when fatigue threatens, madness.

A hellish dither.

No point in trying for sleep now he conceded, might as well have a few coffees, get cleaned up, and go to Asda's.​


----------



## dither

*Well, here we go again.*



Another Four Ninety and another ride to Rugely.
Upstairs, front seat and the sun was blazing down, it was a scorcher. A warm draught coming from the opened windows helped, but man it was hot. A road sign in Letts pointed the way to the Library, he hadn't seen THAT before, didn't know there WAS a Library in Letts. Some other time perhaps. Onwards to Stugely, he would be getting off at the very last stop and slowly work his way back to Asda's.
First port of call the Library. He had found the life of Karl Marx hard work, stayed with it up to about halfway but it was too much, as he had suspected it might be. So, KM went back onto the shelf and he extended his loan of Charles Dickens,the life of. And what a life, with the kids he knocked out, was it 8? or 9? Arth had lost count, just as well he'd been such a great writer and novelist.
Now all he had to do was nip into the post office for a first class postage stamp, one final moan at Argos for selling him a turkey, although he really should have known better, and that would be the end of the matter, enough said.
As he made his way up the High Street he saw signs saying "road closed", and a huge banner hung overhead proclaiming "INDEPENDENT'S DAY", yes really. He hadn't seen that before, and it hardly seemed worth the bother. A popcorn vendor, cold drinks, ices, a couple of stalls representing local charities, and that was it. Oh well, no harm done, on to Asda's.
Women of all ages, shapes, and sizes, were out catching some rays, topping up the sun tans, and dressed accordingly, not always a good idea to Arth's way of thinking, and he didn't enjoy seeing young women with tatts, but he's old. And he doesn't see the attraction of young women's complexions being transformed to that of the walnut either, but there you go, people!:concern:
Another banner, The Railway Inn is to hold a Cider Festival on the last Sunday in July, now there was a thought. He wouldn't be able to make it of course, but what a lovely thought, twenty five different Ciders. There'll be some seriously ill people on that day, if the sun is like it is today he thought, smiling to himself.
He wasn't long in Asda's, his list was short, customers were few, and he was soon back at the bus-stop waiting to go home.
An overweight woman of about forty sucked on one of those non-drip nipple ended pop-bottles. Ladies, Men even, that is so not cool. What IS that all about? Made Arth want to spit. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	



Some bloke standing a few yards away scraped the face off a scratchcard, then Arth looked on as he tore it into a million little pieces, not today mate. That's something that Arth had never understood the attraction of but nothing wrong with it he supposed, in moderation. He knew how it felt have the occasional flutter and of course DA'DAHHHHH,,, Laser beams, fireworks, a winner. Happy days.
A woman, must have been a hundred and three if a year, okay, i'm exaggerating slightly, dragged a small shopping bag on wheels to the stop and lit up a snubbed out half-smoked cigarette. Maybe she'd found it on her way to the stop, who knows? Who cares? Whatever.
She had an interesting face, and looked as though she knew a thing or two about self-preservation, didn't hang around for any bus, just smoke her over-sized fag-end and moved on. Arth always wondered about people like her, now you see me, now you don't types, there, but not there, y'know?
The greedy bugger scoffed four hot crossed buns on his way home and was now looking forward to the footie.
Traveling through Letts he spotted a public garden overflowing with pink Geraniums, Arth likes Geraniums, hadn't noticed those when he came before. This place really is a  honey.

dithering​


----------



## Pandora

It was nice saving the three entries to read together dither. I enjoyed your relaxed people watching travels, felt satisfying and easy come or go. We too are enjoying a weekend like that. I hope you know I look forward to your dithering diary. 

My husbands ears ring since his blackout two years ago from a bee sting that sent him to the deck, his head taking a bad hit. We don't ever talk about it unless he brings it up. I have learned he is able to tune it our most times unless someone or something reminds him. That is not going to be me! I worry about him, it must be maddening. I'm sorry dither, your description well conveyed I'd share it with JB but again don't want to bring it up. So much people must take in stride in life, adapt and keep going on. What else to do, yes.

 Thanks for sharing your vacation days with us. The changing shifts is hard, my husband also did that for some years when we first met so many years ago. You are a tough guy dither, you cope well. I thought about the afterlife too as you spoke of the funeral. It's just me but I hardly can wait . . . 

"wanna take a look on the other side." :sunny:

I love geraniums too, the leaves when pressed between our fingers is a fresh earthy smell. Thank you and enjoy your day!


----------



## dither

AT THE END OF ANOTHER LONG HOT DAY:

Seagulls, must've been fifty or more, wheeled in an upward spiral until eventually Arth squinted in the late afternoon summer sunshine to make them out against a greying sky. A Kite circled, creeping ever closer, then slowly drifting by. Neither seemed to be remotely bothered by the other's passing, Swifts darted and dived at a much lower level as the day slowly drew to an end, and Arth looked on.
Sitting at his bus-stop, going nowhere, he sat reading his paper, after a week's rest from work, and obviously feeling better for it, boredom had crept in. He craved conversation and yet the very last thing he needed was company, feeling lonely, okay! So he had to admit it damn it, but he still prefered to be alone, truth was, he just didn't know how to socialise, friendship was just too binding, they seemed to hang around for ever, like fried onions.
 Dave Quinn hobbled by hurriedly on the other side of the road. Past the block of three small dwellings, that used to be The Old Swan, that Dave had once been the Landlord of for quite some years. But pubs nowadays are dying a slow death whilst there IS, a desperate shortage of small homes and flats.
He wondered how Mr.Quinn felt about what the developers had done to his watering-hole. Some good times had been had there, Arth could vouch for that. Did he care? Had he even noticed? Bumbling along in his own little world, he had to be in his 70s now. He'd done alright out of it, he was comfortable enough. "And times they are a changin" . Thank you Bob Dylan.
Another empty bus came and went. The cantonese just up the road opened it's doors. Jackdaws squabbled over leftovers amongst litter scattered about the village square by out and about eaters from "pizza and kebab" a few yards down from where Arth was sitting.
Passers by that Arth had once been acquainted with/worked with looked old now, well, they were, he supposed, and what about him? Was he looking HIS age? What had HIS impression been on those ageing old geezers that hadn't seen HIM since god knows when? What had they thought of HIM he wondered? Arth had seen enough, had had enough, and he thought too much.
He took a slow stroll , slowly, and quietly, through the back-streets, homeward.

All dithered out.


----------



## Gofa

Mmmmm. Tinnitus. It's like that tone that comes before the music starts. The draw of the bow across the violin before the hootenanny starts but it just never ends. I find it interesting that the right ear has one pitch and my left another. Mostly I tune it out. Some times it's gets loud and that is scary kinda of holy shit bat man but it disappears. Kinda leaves you breathing hard like some small kid in the corner after the imagined bogey man went past the door. I've had my neck worked on because of injury. It altered the tones. Can't say it related but the Oestopath agreed it's connected. Thinking about it does make it louder. Oh dear
its morning Dither nice winter day sun streams in the windows and the bay is all blue. I think I will sit in the sun today and improve my beige-ness. I like the sun I often imagine the photons striking like pingpong balls after their 10 minute bus ride from the sun 
Tinnitus seems loud when I'm quiet. I've just turned the music on from the IPad I'm tapping on. It shifts my attention away 
time to get off your bus Dither. My wife says it's my turn to shower and greet the day. 
Chips Dither I'm starting to believe the meaning of life has something to do with chips with just the right amount of salt. I will keep you posted.
PS hi Pandora


----------



## escorial

dither you in a very productive mode..man long may it continue..love it all.


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## dither

Thanks guys, i appreciate your kind words as always.


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> AT THE END OF ANOTHER LONG HOT DAY:
> 
> Seagulls, must've been fifty or more, wheeled in an upward spiral until eventually Arth squinted in the late afternoon summer sunshine to make them out against a greying sky. A Kite circled, creeping ever closer, then slowly drifting by. Neither seemed to be remotely bothered by the other's passing, Swifts darted and dived at a much lower level as the day slowly drew to an end, and Arth looked on.
> Sitting at his bus-stop, going nowhere, he sat reading his paper, after a week's rest from work, and obviously feeling better for it, boredom had crept in. He craved conversation and yet the very last thing he needed was company, feeling lonely, okay! So he had to admit it damn it, but he still prefered to be alone, truth was, he just didn't know how to socialise, friendship was just too binding, they seemed to hang around for ever, like fried onions.
> Dave Quinn hobbled by hurriedly on the other side of the road. Past the block of three small dwellings, that used to be The Old Swan, that Dave had once been the Landlord of for quite some years. But pubs nowadays are dying a slow death whilst there IS, a desperate shortage of small homes and flats.
> He wondered how Mr.Quinn felt about what the developers had done to his watering-hole. Some good times had been had there, Arth could vouch for that. Did he care? Had he even noticed? Bumbling along in his own little world, he had to be in his 70s now. He'd done alright out of it, he was comfortable enough. "And times they are a changin" . Thank you Bob Dylan.
> Another empty bus came and went. The cantonese just up the road opened it's doors. Jackdaws squabbled over leftovers amongst litter scattered about the village square by out and about eaters from "pizza and kebab" a few yards down from where Arth was sitting.
> Passers by that Arth had once been acquainted with/worked with looked old now, well, they were, he supposed, and what about him? Was he looking HIS age? What had HIS impression been on those ageing old geezers that hadn't seen HIM since god knows when? What had they thought of HIM he wondered? Arth had seen enough, had had enough, and he thought too much.
> He took a slow stroll , slowly, and quietly, through the back-streets, homeward.
> 
> All dithered out.


All dithered out . . . for now, a week off, even a long weekend can do that. Beautiful descriptions, thoughts of bygone times, harsh reality reflected in eyes not seen for a long time. Enjoyed dither, back to work tomorrow, us too, some solace there.


----------



## Pandora

Gofa said:


> Mmmmm. Tinnitus. It's like that tone that comes before the music starts. The draw of the bow across the violin before the hootenanny starts but it just never ends. I find it interesting that the right ear has one pitch and my left another. Mostly I tune it out. Some times it's gets loud and that is scary kinda of holy shit bat man but it disappears. Kinda leaves you breathing hard like some small kid in the corner after the imagined bogey man went past the door. I've had my neck worked on because of injury. It altered the tones. Can't say it related but the Oestopath agreed it's connected. Thinking about it does make it louder. Oh dear
> its morning Dither nice winter day sun streams in the windows and the bay is all blue. I think I will sit in the sun today and improve my beige-ness. I like the sun I often imagine the photons striking like pingpong balls after their 10 minute bus ride from the sun
> Tinnitus seems loud when I'm quiet. I've just turned the music on from the IPad I'm tapping on. It shifts my attention away
> time to get off your bus Dither. My wife says it's my turn to shower and greet the day.
> Chips Dither I'm starting to believe the meaning of life has something to do with chips with just the right amount of salt. I will keep you posted.
> PS hi Pandora



:hi: Gofa, I have some catching up to do on your dithering, looking forward to that!


----------



## count58

What's dithering?
I wonder what you do really back there.
But by the time you read this, the activity has long been finished.
I hope you now have a nice pair of glasses.
It's really a great time to do nothing for the whole week
But don't you think it can get so boring.
Why not make it worth it by traveling or earning.
Then you can say, even if you had a one week vacation.
it was worth the effort because you enjoyed it or was productive.


----------



## dither

58,
I'm not really one for traveling although there is one place i'd like to see before i'm so old that i just can't be bothered, hoping to go in the Autumn.

Nice pair of glasses? Not really.

Earn? Bored?

Yeah i get bored after a few days but what would i do?


----------



## Gofa

Oh count58 let me explain and show why Dither maybe thinks I ride the crazy bus

"What's dithering?"
  It's mostly about chips and vinegar but not necessarily in that order


"I wonder what you do really back there." 
Well spotted in the back of the chip packet things can move without explanation


"But by the time you read this, the activity has long been finished."
Yes the chips just disappear if you read at the same time, like shrodingers cat but different, if you don't look at them they seem to be gone sooner.


"I hope you now have a nice pair of glasses."
all the better to see your chips with


"It's really a great time to do nothing for the whole week"
the eating of chips breaks up the week


"But don't you think it can get so boring."
the vinegar is to spice it up


"Why not make it worth it by traveling or earning."
No, chips and capitalism don't mix, I think Carl Marx said that. At best given away,  never seek to profit, the chips will lose their relationship to the force.


"Then you can say, even if you had a one week vacation.

it was worth the effort because you enjoyed it or was productive."
yes being worth it is everything. One chip at a time so each feels as worth it as the other. I think this has some relation to the Carl Marx book Dither was reading if only that the afore said chips were eaten off of it. Carl Marx autobiographies have been noted in chip circles as producing an excellent thermal barrier


----------



## Pandora

count58 said:


> What's dithering?
> I wonder what you do really back there.
> But by the time you read this, the activity has long been finished.
> I hope you now have a nice pair of glasses.
> It's really a great time to do nothing for the whole week
> But don't you think it can get so boring.
> Why not make it worth it by traveling or earning.
> Then you can say, even if you had a one week vacation.
> it was worth the effort because you enjoyed it or was productive.


dithering is appreciating all that is around, appreciating dither for a journey in a far away land.  dithering is seeing our world through older wiser eyes and living that if only for some moments. For me that is everyday as I am not far behind dither in years. dithering is simplicity and finding comfort there, that life is ok even in nothingness. This is my perspective, what I feel when I read dither, my heart feels good to have read and known dither. That is living!


----------



## dither

What excellent perspectives there from you both.

How does one define one's self?

I just am.

Who cares?

Does any of it REALLY matter?:read:


----------



## count58

Oh ... so that's dithering.
I hope you find a useful time with yourself.
Actually there are so many things to do.
You just have to be resourceful and maybe "whatever".


----------



## dither

*Out and about,*


And the things Arth sees;

Letts's "chocolate box" image never ceases to amaze. He made a flying visit to Asda's in Stugely today.
A young black woman wearing the most amazing jeans. From behind they seemed quite unremarkable, just an ordinary pair of dark navy blue jeans, that's all. But at the front, a most attractive light blue floral-pattern, the whole length. He might've been moved to ask for a photo, and not for the first time, if he'd been carrying a camera, Tut'tut Arth. but hey'ho!
And then, as he left the Asda store, they have these small metal-posts that drop into holes in the ground at the entrance to an opening for deliveries, but are above ground most of the time to deter motorists. These posts stand little more than waist-height. Well, a cyclist had chained his bike to one of these things, all a would-be thief would have to have done, was lift the bike over the post. People! ](*,)
And surprise'surprise. He got a reply to the letter he wrote to Argos complaining about small-camera manufacturers selling cameras without printed instructions. He promptly responded, firstly to thank them for their letter, and then to ask "why not?".
He couldn't be the ONLY old-fogey wanting to take photos who had been thwarted by such thoughtlessness, he opined. Would even be willing to purchase a manual seperately. Business opportunity wasted then, he continued.
But at least someone at Argos had taken the trouble to respond and give him a number for Polaroid customer-services. Been there. Done that already. A call centre somewhere in India.

dithering​


----------



## dither

*An Asda-quickie, and my effing legs;*


( I hope you don't mind. )He was feeling exasperated before he'd even boarded his bus. All the way to Stugely just for a postage stamp, ( why did he have to go out of town for a stamp? Just because of that ignorant S.o.b. postie where he lived, never mind.) then onto Asda's of course, and no hanging around. A young man got on the bus along with Arth, he'd been weighing him up at the stop. Medium build, collar-length black hair, pencil-thin moustache, and shifty eyes. It was the eyes that did it. Arth wouldn't trust him as far as he could throw him, he had kept his distance whilst he'd waited for the bus. Well anyway,Shifty got on and sat just a couple of seats back from where Arth was sitting. And then a mobile kicked off, it was shifty's. He quickly answered and sat talking into his phone, but he was so quietly-spoken, you almost didn't know he was there, couldn't argue with that, fair-play, Arth conceded grudgingly. Still didn't trust him though. Arth didn't like him and that was that. And then it happened, the stench of stale beer, oh dear, Arth just read his paper. Onwards to Asda's but first stop Wilko's for just one first class stamp. Sixty two Effing pence, no wonder people are taking to E-mailing, he felt as though he'd been mugged.And then he saw his favourite toothpaste, on offer. A quid a throw. Well there y'go. 
Well anyway, no point bitching about it, he thought.
" I really want this night to last forever, i really wanna be with you. Let the music play on down the line tonight........"
A cheap version of E.L.O. played over the tannoy as he walked into Asda's with his trolley. He stood there, just inside the store,staring up at the ceiling, waiting for someone to get out of the f****** way. Thank you! He has been shopping at Asda's for so long now, he was out in no time, waiting for a bus home. 
Four hot cross buns weren't enough, he'd wolfed them down before he'd even got on the bus, and he really would have to stop cutting his finger-nails so short, and no it wasn't for picking his nose. It was the dried fruit, in those damned buns, getting stuck between his teeth, and THAT was giving him hell also.
Asda "smart price" frozen diced mixed vegies for ice-packs. Arth couldn't walk up more than just a few steps nowadays without screaming inwardly, his legs, jesus christ, were driving him to distraction. The next time he came home from work with nothing to get up in a hurry for, he promised himself, he was going to lie down on his belly, with those bags of frozen mixed veg lying across his legs , at the back of his knees. And if he nodded off, so what?
A young girl wearing green and white striped trousers walked by as he waited for his bus. Wouldn't look out of place hanging above a Barber's shop doorway he thought.
He'd bought some nice oranges though, it made a change, he was quite pleased about that.He was quite the connoisseur when it came to oranges. Buy those smooth shiny ones that you just know are going to be buggers to peel, and you'll never buy a dry one he always told people.
At St.Peter's the Apostle, where he'd seen a funeral procession a while ago. He spotted a notice board giving details of meetings, church business etc. And one activity caught his eye, 11.30. am. Saturday, Sacrament of reconciliation. Now there was a thought, he almost smiled at that. Almost.
And then, as the bus trundled on, he saw a small,,,,, how might one describe it? A plaque, about 2 feet square, above the front door of an old stone-walled cottage, in gold coloured text that might have been hand written. On a purple background that read, simply, "house-guests welcome". It seemed so oldie-worlde. So discreet, such politeness, and yet so effective, so,,,,, Letts. Eastern Letts.
The bus arrived at his destination, just two more calls then home. Eggs bought, from a local butcher, he tried to buy from the small independents whenever he could, then Costcutters.
They were selling his favourite Aldi tipple, and it was on offer. Three quid for a two and a half litre bottle. Okay, they weren't GIVING it away, but three quid didn't hurt, it would do.
An Asian woman was sat at the counter, gazing into nowhere, just sitting there, totally agog, like a tit in a trance, when he presented her with his two and a half litres.
Her mind was most definitely some place else;
She scanned the bottle without looking at what she was doing,
" Three pounds nineteen please"
"I've got a bag" he told her as he handed her a fiver.
Then she, still away with the fairies, dropped the bottle into a plastic carrier bag and handed it to Arth with his change. ](*,)
Anger tried to raise it's ugly head, but he just couldn't be bothered.
"They can't help it", as his brother would say, "they're only people". Different strokes eh?
He just wanted to go home now, and make ready for another night of fun and frolics.
"Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty"...........good old Guns and Roses eh?
Bensons, no, not the fags. A pub that sits on the corner of a road leading into a council-house estate. Arth's council-house estate. People, some families, sat at tables on a lawn out back, drinking, smoking, chilling, chatting. Kids gave a bouncy castle a hammering. The juke-box wasn't too loud. And there seemed to be a nice atmosphere. People, just having a really nice day.
Arth headed home.
"Just one cornetto, geev eet to me, deeleecious ice cream, of eetaleeeeeee", blared out across the airwaves.
Arth tried to be philosophical. Good old Franco.
A light breeze toyed with a discarded diet coke can, rolling it one way, then t'other.
Four Satelite-dishes and a metal-plate cut-out impression of a hare all huddled together on the wall of a small block of flats.
A drain in the gutter, full to the brim with dirt, ( what happened to that lorry that used to go around the streets pumping that shit out? He wondered. It's no surprise that the streets were turned into rivulets when there was any significant amount of rain fall. ) had it's very own little eco-system, and it was thriving. Grasses, small purple and yellow flowers, just give nature half a chance, and it's in.
As he walked up the hill to home, a big fluffy ginger cat lied sprawled out on what was probably a very warm surfaced tarmac path.
HOME......
He cut himself one of those Oranges. Got his jacket-spuds cooking, and made ready for another shift, another night of fun and frolics.

happy daze.

dither​


----------



## dither

[h=1][/h]

[h=4]Saturday morning, with language.[/h]




And what a Saturday morning.
Six o'clock, and Arth headed for his bus-stop. Nothing strange there then.
Arth caught his bus home. Nothing strange there either.
He woke up as the bus approached Eastern Letts.
ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!
Shit! Fuck! Bollocks!
Such a high level of anger, followed by an equally high level of embarrassment. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			




He would have to get off of course, and wait for the next bus home, and hopefully stay awake this time.
Well, he DID of course, get home eventually. He had a cup of tea, a bite to eat, a shave and a shower. So, there he is, sopping wet, and no towel. At this point, he thought about cancelling Saturday and going to bed. There was a time, not so very long ago when he would have done precisely that. But what about Barkton? Damn it. So, in spite of all that, he WOULD clean himself up, and he WOULD have his morning out.
He went to catch his bus. He caught a bus. And wouldn't you know it? He nodded off. AGAIN!
Chips! He was in need of sustenance. A young man was at the counter.
" A portion of chips open please."
"They're going to be a few minutes, is that okay?"
"Yeah, no worries."
And then the really nice brown-skinned young woman appeared.
"Chips!" she proclaimed, smiling.
" Yes"
" Salt and vinegar".
"Yes".
"Open".
"Yes".
She wasn't asking him, she was actually indulging in banter.
He loved that. Good for her. 
But at least he hadn't shot through, and was roughly where he wanted to be. In the right town anyway.
All he needed now was an empty bus stop shelter. A bit of privacy,( he couldn't help thinking of Downan as he ate his chips.) and he'd be on his way to Morrison's.
As he made his way to the market he was met by such an unearthly sound, a busker outside the shopping centre, Appendicitis plays a six-string. What is it with these guys? They do a turn in some Karaoke club and suddenly they're the next Bob Dylan. The Japanese have much to answer for. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	



There was no escape route, no plan B, Arth would have to walk past this clown but first he needed to spend twenty pence, that done, he moved on. A sign above the exit said "see you soon". Whatever. It occurred to Arth that such bellowing couldn't possibly go on for ever, Appendix-man would have to take break, SOMETIME, and to Arth's amazement , as he walked towards Morrison's, that's exactly what was happening. Arth made a run for it, and the walkway leading to Morrisons caused him to stop and pause. Hanging baskets, huge three tier plant-pots, there was an explosion of colour. Someone had been busy. Barkton town council, had been busy.
Again, because of his being a regular visitor to Morrison's, and knowing precisely where everything was, he didn't linger, and nor would he hang about getting home, on a hot summer's day with fresh Lamb's Kidney and Liver in his shopping bag. It was back to the bus interchange, pronto.
The things that one sees where people gather.
A terribly over-weight teenage girl, wearing tight black leggings, a short that amounted to little more than a Tu-Tu, and silvery tinted light blue airwear boots.
Some bloke turned up, forty ish in Arth's estimation, wearing the prettiest shirt ever.
Flowers, multi-coloured, on a black background, blues,yellows, greens and purples, multi-toned. The most delicate tones intermingled, and it was by no means loud, it didn't need to be.
A young girl, so painfully thin, anorexia sprung to mind,with such a pretty face, so sad. Arth wanted to tell her how pretty she looked and that he hoped she'd get well soon. He would never do such a thing of course, why do young girls do that to themselves? He pleaded with himself.
But for now he had to get that Liver and Kidney refrigerated.

dither​


----------



## escorial

to me chips and buses are now intertwined with dither...


----------



## dither

Escorial,
when i'm out and i get hungry, it's chips or teacakes.
I'm don't really go in for cafe' meals.
I DO enjoy decent chips though.


----------



## Gofa

Dither I need a compulsory grading out of 10 on the chips each time 
I will graph it over time and seek statistical trends and inference
i have been thinking sitting here. What if there are 42 chips in the perfect packet
i already know that 42 is the answer to life the universe and everything 

as to the thin girl some people impact me just the same. I feel for some you yearn to rearrange a couple of misaligned pieces and set them free from the oh too evident pain and hurt. Others a stake through their chest and a reminder to be a better person in the next life would be a lovely thing to deliver. Like you though I don't speak
i sometimes mention, to the Great Upstairs, a casual observation accompanied by a long sigh as it hard to understand. Every journey is made up of baby steps but some people end up in places beyond reckoning as to how when and why.


----------



## dither

Gofa said:


> Dither I need a compulsory grading out of 10 on the chips each time
> I will graph it over time and seek statistical trends and inference
> i have been thinking sitting here. What if there are 42 chips in the perfect packet
> i already know that 42 is the answer to life the universe and everything
> 
> as to the thin girl some people impact me just the same. I feel for some you yearn to rearrange a couple of misaligned pieces and set them free from the oh too evident pain and hurt. Others a stake through their chest and a reminder to be a better person in the next life would be a lovely thing to deliver. Like you though I don't speak
> i sometimes mention, to the Great Upstairs, a casual observation accompanied by a long sigh as it hard to understand. Every journey is made up of baby steps but some people end up in places beyond reckoning as to how when and why.



Gofa,
there really are some crap chippies out there, real greaseballs y'know?
Well, i suppose we all know. But i rarely throw chips away. I just don't go back.

The best one that i know of, is actually run by a young Chinese type fellow, and those guys have a reputation for making rubbish chips, but not him. Trouble is, the shop is right on the edge of Barkton. He doesn't open until almost lunch-time. There isn't a public-toilet anywhere near there. And it just won't fit into my Saturday routine. No way, no how.
Having said that, i have a nice Saturday morning gig going on right now, due in no small part to my regular visit to the chippie right close to the bus-interchange.
A place to sit quietly, eat my chips, enjoy the flowers ( i DO somtimes wonder if there's some kind of competition going on locally ), or just observe the daily grind of the seething mass.
The beggars and stealers, bobbers and weavers, shoppers and workers, just doing their very own  thing. And it's funny, i often find myself wondering if anybody is ever watching me, watching them.
Watching can be difficult sometimes, it's like those wildlife programmes on tv where the urge to help can be so strong, but it's as they so often tell us, you can't interfere with nature.

Happy daze.


----------



## escorial

dither you belong in a Lowry painting.


----------



## dither

Ha'ha'ha.

Escorial,

I've always envied people who could paint.

Painters, Writers, and to some extent Dancers, although maybe not so much as the other two.

What would i write about?

What would i paint?

And maybe Photography could  poor substitute.

Just silent forms of expression with the ability to touch. Y'know?

If i was ever able to get something going with Photography,
how long before a camera ended up wedged firmly between my buttocks?
I wonder.

Although that wasn't what you meant was it.
Ho'hum.


----------



## dither

Gofa said:


> Dither I need a compulsory grading out of 10 on the chips each time
> I will graph it over time and seek statistical trends and inference
> i have been thinking sitting here. What if there are 42 chips in the perfect packet
> i already know that 42 is the answer to life the universe and everything
> 
> as to the thin girl some people impact me just the same. I feel for some you yearn to rearrange a couple of misaligned pieces and set them free from the oh too evident pain and hurt. Others a stake through their chest and a reminder to be a better person in the next life would be a lovely thing to deliver. Like you though I don't speak
> i sometimes mention, to the Great Upstairs, a casual observation accompanied by a long sigh as it hard to understand. Every journey is made up of baby steps but some people end up in places beyond reckoning as to how when and why.



Gofa,
i am a most ardent creature of habit.
Same places, same times, same munchies, and i can't ever recall not enjoying my chips.
I'll give it a 9.


----------



## dither

escorial said:


> to me chips and buses are now intertwined with dither...



Enjoy.


----------



## Pandora

Many laughs out loud on my dithering journey today   . . .

a Saturday mishap morning, the postage stamp, old shifty, frozen veggies for the pain, I do that too! The attention to detail is so good dither, since I began dithering I have learned much. I like the coke can, the little sign on the cottage, the music Arth hears and all his thoughts that run to beautiful and not so descriptions. Your talent is really flowing now, dithering must agree with you, me too. Thanks dither, happy daze for us all!


----------



## dither

Pandora,

thank YOU,

so much.


----------



## dither

[h=4]Friday, Asda.[/h]






Three in the afternoon and it's an absolute scorcher. The sun is high, tempers are fraying, and small children are getting arsie, Arth makes his way through the streets to his bus-stop and heads for Asda's.
It's a slow, sweaty and uncomfortable ride, a greenhouse on wheels and it's such a relief to get inside the store with his trolley. No-one in any sort of a hurry today, but then they never are, much to his frustration. Shopping is not a leisure pursuit. He doesn't go there to socialise and/or gum-up the aisles spewing out pointless " talk for talk sake " with his fellow human erm things. And PARENTS! It's not a playground, he scowls at the world, it's not just some place to cut the little buggers loose and enjoy a little "me-time"? JEEZ!
He only went for a few things, but by the time he got to packing his stuff he'd got quite a load hanging off his shoulder. Well this means there can't be much to get tomorrow he thought, surely. Arth slowly walked to the exit. He hates to dawdle but in those places you just have to go with the flow. No use getting uptight, and it's just to hot. Bunches of school kids roaming around but they weren't any trouble really, just, in the way. They have this thing going on whereby shoppers are given green plastic counters to put into various clear plastic tubs. There are three, each representing local charities, but how does a person judge? The tub marked "Burford Search and Rescue" seemed to be storming it and Alf wouldn't argue with that. B.S.&R got HIS counter anyway. "Just take your time" he reasoned," it's bloody hot out there."
Well, Trolley parked-up, free instore pee taken, it was time to face the blistering heat. He has often wonder how people cope with real extreme heat, and tropical holidays? He didn't think so. Uh! uh!
Then, as he walked to the bus-stop, some scruffy lout, stripped to the waist with skin turning a nice beetroot colour,showing a good two inches of bum-cleavage, unlit half-smoked roll-up in one corner of his mouth, unshaven, unkempt, a total mess. A youth with a black mongrel dog stood waiting at the stop also, and that poor dog was gasping, couldn't he at least find a shadow to stand in? Although it probably wouldn't've made much difference.
The bus came, people got on, and then it started. Conversation between youth and lout who had obviously been drinking, loud enough for all to hear, as you do. Fuckin'fuckin blah'blah, fuckin'fuckin.................Slurring his words but we could all hear that.There were parents with small children. Adolescent school-girls were getting on. One young girl stood at the front quite close to me, i'm sure that it was because of those guys.
The traffic was going at a crawl due to roadworks on the outskirts of Stugely, and they'd all have to just sit it out."Fuckin'fuckin'blah'blah. "Why me? Why do they always catch MY bus? He pleaded. Poor "old" Arth.​


----------



## dither

*And so to Saturday.*





Started the day well.
Arth made his usual run home on the 6.45 from Barkton and this time, for the only time this week, did it without napping and was actually awake when the bus arrived at his destination. Sleep-deprivation caused by the intense heat from blazing sunshine had made it a tough week, he was so glad to be home, but it wouldn't be for long. Within a couple of hours he'd be trecking back to Barkton.
And so it was, at around ten thirty, shaved and showered, fed tea'd and coffee'd, he was on his way. Walked his usual route, the only route really, up to and along the main road calling at a newsagent's shop on the way. It was only when the bus-stop was in sight that he realised, then, and only then, it was always at that point, after dragging his tired worn out flagging body to within sight of the bus-stop did he realise, that he'd left his MegaRiderGold, at home, in his work trousers.
His beloved MRG, that made this ten mile journey a freebie having got his money's worth through traveling to and from work all week. No way was he going to pay cash for this, he would just have to turn back, go home, get his ticket, and catch the next bus. He wouldn't be delayed by very long, the buses were/are regular enough, he took a deep breath, sighed the deepest of sighs, that seemed to come all the way up from those poor old beaten up plates o' meat ( feet ), almost as if they'd sighed a sigh of their own, he really didn't need this.
So, with head bowed and shoulders drooping, he made a slow and painful turn about face. Back along the main road and down through the back streets. He kicked the smallest of puddles as he walked, ( walked? Trudged more like ) he was wearing his crocs, he loved those crocs even though they'd sent him sprawling in a heap on a previous trip, so now, a wasted walk to the bus stop a wet foot and the day had barely begun.
His mother, and her mother, has/had always swore that bad luck runs in threes. Well, he'd got two strikes already and hadn't even bused out yet. "JFC" he mumbled quietly to himself (you don't want to know, trust me :wink: )
MRG retrieved and with one wet foot, it'll dry he thought and then both feet may yet get completely soaked. The air felt hot and muggy, there was a blackened sky, thunder clouds loomed, stormy showers had been forecast and he really didn't give a damn. Another deep sigh and off to Barkton. God knows why he was doing this, he didn't need to, shopping, what little there was to be done, could have been done in his local High Street. It was sheer bloody mindedness, and with a dogged gritted teeth, what few he had, determination, he WOULD go to Barkton. He WOULD sit in an empty bus-stop shelter with a carton of chips. He WOULD have his Saturday stroll.
And that would be then end of it.
Seeing as how the day had begun, although in actual fact it had begun when his alarm clock sounded the one thirty alarm the day before, the jolt of the bus stopping at his prefered stop woke him from his slumbers but he wasn't able to gather his senses quickly enough, so again already, again, he'd be back-tracking.
The tall Asian girl, with that lovely smile and the banter, serving him his chips, that tickled old Arth, but instead it was her mum that served him. All good though, still great chips, and she was, they all are, pleasant enough.
He found a shelter, and as he ate his chips, he plotted a course. There wasn't much plotting to do really. Morrisons for lotto tickets and fruity teacakes, a cheap bag o' spuds in the shop close to the market, at that was it.
Walking towards the market he could hear strumming of a six-string, oh god why oh why? He pleaded. Okay, i know times are hard he agonised, but it just isn't happening, y'know?
"Then i saw her face.................." that old Monkees track, he was trying, now would somebody please discover him and whisk him off eh? Arth made one mad dash for the spud-shop and then away to Morrisons. Just another quite unremarkable sojourn, an old man, older than Arth even, spent almost fifty quid on rolling tobacco and cigars as he waited to buy his lotto tickets, amazing. Arth got his tickets, a licence to dream for a few hours, stood, waited at a checkout, paid for just a six-pack of fruity teacakes, and headed homewards.
At the bus terminal, a raised flower-bed that just a few months ago had been a thick lush carpet of Primroses spectacular in their colours with huge delicate petals, had now been reset with Geraniums. He liked Geraniums well enough, had kept some indoors in pots a long time ago, but those Primroses really had been the most beautiful uplifting sight he could ever remember seeing. For everything a season. How many more seasons left for him? He wonders, too often perhaps.
An Asian chap approached him," i am wanting to go to Eastern Letts, do you know where i can catch a bus?" That was Arth's bus, no problem. People, buses, and bus-drivers came and went. Arth sat among the Geraniums munching teacakes watched, waited, and eventually shipped out, home.
A chap sat mumbling quietly as people sometimes do when they have those bluetooth gadget thingies, only there was no "bluetooth gadget thingie", no wires as far as Arth could make out, dither.
Home at last, shopping put away, nothing more to do, nothing that is, that couldn't wait, he went and flopped down on his bed, thought he'd grab a few zzzz's, as he often did, the next thing he knew it was half past ten, WTF? Where the hell had that day gone? This damned hot weather.
Sunday morning a big toe was giving him hell. He had in the past considered the possibilty of Gout, what with his cheap cider habit and all, but with just 3 litres, at most, spread over a whole weekend, surely not, it seemed a bit harsh. He thought of his old work-boots that were beginning to rub a bit where the steel toe cap was, and then he thought of, sort of half remembered something that had happened the day before in Barkton.
He'd been walking along and kicked a slightly raised paving-slab, ran at full belt for ten paces or more and had managed some how to remain upright, he'd thought no more of it, but now it seemed, his toe was feeling more than just a little aggrieved.
There was no pain, it just felt fat and puffy. And slight discolouration suggested that bruising was pending, ho'hum.

dither​


----------



## escorial

" it's a slow,and sweaty uncomfortable ride."...pure realism man.


----------



## dither

Life mate.


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## escorial

dither said:


> Life mate.


...something you bring to life in words.


----------



## dither

I wish.


----------



## dither

I think that Arth needs to widen his horisons, but it's a difficult proposition.

He IS  aware of  this, but finding his way, in new surroundings.

Shopping areas.
Public toilets.
Decent chips.
The ride home.

It's a toughie.


----------



## Pandora

Oh Arth, a tough couple of days. Everything has it's season dither, beautiful sentiment, a favorite. I too wonder how many for me. The weather really plays with the human mood. In our recent travels I see others who I just know in their eyes reflect mine, how I feel. The dog days are upon us here too. There is nothing quite like a crisp fall day after a long hot summer. I think I'll ponder that for awhile.

Sorry about Arth's toe I guess it could be much worse. My neck has been bad for a couple weeks, come goes with a strange twang. It's always something, right?

'I'm a Believer'  in the Monkees. Mickey Dolenz, my 12 year old heart settled on. He's still a cutey pie and now the age difference of a decade seems like nothing at all. He tours I think, might have to try a meet and greet, that would be pretty awesome.

Loved the dithering about with Arth though I know it wasn't as fun for him, know no matter what we love being there with him.


----------



## dither

Pandora said:


> Oh Arth, a tough couple of days. Everything has it's season dither, beautiful sentiment, a favorite. I too wonder how many for me. The weather really plays with the human mood. In our recent travels I see others who I just know in their eyes reflect mine, how I feel. The dog days are upon us here too. There is nothing quite like a crisp fall day after a long hot summer. I think I'll ponder that for awhile.
> 
> Sorry about Arth's toe I guess it could be much worse. My neck has been bad for a couple weeks, come goes with a strange twang. It's always something, right?
> 
> 'I'm a Believer'  in the Monkees. Mickey Dolenz, my 12 year old heart settled on. He's still a cutey pie and now the age difference of a decade seems like nothing at all. He tours I think, might have to try a meet and greet, that would be pretty awesome.



We just gotta hang in there huh!


----------



## dither

" A crisp fall day ( we call it Autumn ) after a long hot summer, it's a dream isn't it?
A time of clearing out, taking stock, and storing up, squirreling,  then the dark gloom of winter.
And suddenly long hot summer days don't seem so bad after all.

A lifetime of dithering.


----------



## escorial

would so like to see a few pictures along the way with your dithering..i think they would compliment eachother with your style of writing.


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## dither

Escorial, i would like to show some pics but it just isn't possible right now.

The changing of the seasons highlighted by the Barkton landscapers who-ever they are, and the floral displays that are on show right now are truly amazing.

Ha'ha, and then there's the chips.


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## coldnight

After reading all what you've wrote here i have just 1 question

What's your story with the chips ?


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## Pandora

I love fries, as we call them here in the states. Fast food is rare for me, not in my era or childhood growing up but if it was I would probably want some on my walkabout. Mine more Lay's potato chips til my daughter shamed me into giving them up. Something about the rain forest, gets me every time.


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## dither

coldnight said:


> After reading all what you've wrote here i have just 1 question
> 
> What's your story with the chips ?


Ha'ha'ha Coldnight, what can i tell you?
No matter where i go, or when, if i'm out bus-riding, there HAS to be chips. I just love walking with a bag, carton, or cone even, of chips, and for desert, fruity teacakes or hot cross buns are rapidly becoming an essential part of my ramblings.
You read it ALL? 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			




I don't know why, that's just me, dithering. ;-)


----------



## dither

*A snapshot of dither:*





It's Monday evening, nine'ish, and Arth's waiting for his bus ( second leg of the journey ) to work and he happens to notice two old men some twenty/thirty metres or so down the road on the other. They're at the kerb looking to cross over when suddenly he hears, well, i should think that everyone within half a mile heard, the roar of a hot hatchback. It's that time of day. Boy-racer petrol-head has got home from his day job and he's out to impress. Vroom'vroom! Grrrrrr!! look at me'look at me.One of these old men, and they have GOT to be retired, grey, whiskery, walking with a slight stoop, joins the tips of forefinger and thumb of his right hand to form that small circle with the other fingers curling along with the first one as if to be holding an imaginary rod or pole, then puts it way above his head and gesticulates to boy-racer, you know the one, brilliant,amazing scenes, totally awesome, and it had Arth in fits of laughter. What was boy-racer to do? Get his mates and go looking for them? It was just the funniest thing. What great start to the week. Mega.
Fast-forward to Tuesday afternoon:

First shift of the week under his belt, waking from a morning's sleep, and his ephing legs, JFC! They really were giving him hell. From his arse right down to to his ankles. He been lying there tossing and turning for a while when his mind turned to those bags of Asda "smart-price" frozen- veg, those intended make-do ice-packs. He wanted to he really did, his legs were yelling yay while the rest of him was screaming nay. He was just so damned tired. He couldn't remember how long he'd had those packs in the freezer, and he still hadn't tried them yet but he would. He some how managed to drag himself downstairs and put the kettle on.
He filled two teacups with boiling water, put a teabag in each, and left them cool off. He was going to make some porridge with cold strong black tea later. God knows why, he just fancied it, why not? He mused.
Anyway, ice-packs;
He found a couple of used plastic carrier bags to put packs of veg into,rolled the covers on his bed back to form a kind of long pillow right across the bed, threw a couple of clean bath-towels over said pillow, put packs on top, then lied back down with the packs under the back of his knees. It was a bit of a shock to the system i can tell you, the screaming pains in his legs were instantly replaced by a freezing wow! sensation, it took a few minutes to get used to, he just put a pillow over his face and closed eyes. After a while, he moved his body downward to rest those packs just below his bottom, and finally he put the now thawing packs on the front of his lags.
The whole process probably lasted about half an hour, and whilst he isn't exactly bouncing, it DID help he thinks. Shins returned to feeling like lumps of lead, and there IS a slight aching, but that's all. Not a total waste of time. Might just give his shins the ice-treatment later he thought to himself, he'd see.

dither​


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## coldnight

yeah don't ask , i read them all , and i'm Still So tired my eyes need a doctor
but i enjoyed it 

- - - Updated - - -

oh please ! :cry:


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## dither

coldnight said:


> yeah don't ask , i read them all , and i'm Still So tired my eyes need a doctor
> but i enjoyed it
> 
> - - - Updated - - -
> 
> oh please ! :cry:


----------



## coldnight

:sylvestertweety:



:icon_cheesygrin:


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## dither

Happy to make your aquaintance coldnight.

Hello and welcome.


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## Pandora

lol

My leg pain and loss of mobility came from lower back. When I ice it is frozen peas to the lowest of the back. Yes I hate it, chills me to the bone, heat is so much more comforting but when pain is from inflammation ice is the fix. I hope Arth has less pain and glad he had a chuckle to the start of the week, made me smile . . . again.


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## coldnight

dither said:


> Happy to make your aquaintance coldnight.
> 
> Hello and welcome.



thank you dither


----------



## Gofa

Mmmm. Rust never sleeps is very applicable to bodies as well. I wish I'd had one careful owner but it's not been the case. This leads to aches pains and the sure knowledges that bits you are going to need later are on the blink.
some days I wake up and nothing is hurting. You try not to move or respond just lie there and appreciate the moment. It's more a memory of the good old days when men were men, and all your bits worked as per specification. 
But a good chip can work miracles, when you bite through the crunchie bit to the soft potato centre there's this pause in time and space and for that instant all is as it should be. 
I think the RCs would fill the pews if they did communion with hot chips as I'm sure God intended.


----------



## dither

Gofa,
that's interesting.
I don't like ( avoid them like they're just the worst thing ever, a very close second worst ever actually, to greasy ) crunchie chips.

That's the one complaint with the Fryer's plaice.
The chips are soft enough, certainly well cooked, but they have this kind of outer-layer to them.
I'm sure that they put something in the fat because they're a real golden yellowy colour, it's so not real.
There's a chippie on the edge of town, run by Chinese, oriental types. They're chips are just the softest ever, i'd swear that you could eat those if you didn't have a tooth in your head, yet to look at them, so pale. But they're cooked. With a splash o' V, and a sprinkling of S, magic.
As for things not working, so long as i'm not suffering any real pain, i really don't mind.

dither


----------



## Gofa

We have had the spirituality of chips now for the science. If you chop up the potatoes then place on hot water then drain the outside fluffs up. This fluff up goes extra crispie in a deep frier. There are different types in the world I'm a crunch and soft kinda guy. Looking for the yin and yang in my chips
I've thought through a sporting aspect to eating chips too.
Dither we are chip surfers. Like big wave surfers are looking for the perfect wave, we are looking for the perfect chip.


----------



## coldnight

When you find that perfect chip , please share it with me


----------



## dither

Gofa said:


> We have had the spirituality of chips now for the science. If you chop up the potatoes then place on hot water then drain the outside fluffs up. This fluff up goes extra crispie in a deep frier. There are different types in the world I'm a crunch and soft kinda guy. Looking for the yin and yang in my chips
> I've thought through a sporting aspect to eating chips too.
> Dither we are chip surfers. Like big wave surfers are looking for the perfect wave, we are looking for the perfect chip.



Gofa,
i reckon i've found as near perfect chips as i ever will. But that's only my opinion.
Well, that's not "just" my opinion.
I DID read a clipping on the wall about their chips being voted the best. I don't know how many chippies were sampled though.


----------



## dither

*Hot-dog Omelette and mindless repetition.*

Saturday mornings come and go, and this non-eventful Saturday morning played out pretty much same as. He fell asleep on the bus home from work as was usually the way of things. Arrived home, boiled water for endless mugs -buckets his wife calls them- of tea and coffee. Slobbed around for an hour. Washed shaved and showered. Then slobbed some more before catching the 10.30 to Barkton.
He didn't really NEED to be doing this, he was going simply because that's what he did on Saturday mornings, it was just mindless repetition, more of the same. Save for a his fruitless visit to the library. A call-in at the fryer's and a gentle stroll down through the market;

(((Arth is starting to feel angry, so tired of having to make a dash for it because of excruciatingly cringe-worthy would-be guitar players, he's almost at the point of lodging a complaint, but what would he say? It's not HIS town, it's not HIS local council, and his was just one small voice, a very personal opinion. He sees his little piece of heaven-borrowed being taken from him and there's nothing he can do. He had, in the past, enjoyed various other musical experiences that maybe others hadn't, so for now he would just have to grit what few teeth he had and dash.)))

The floral arrangements and displays that are in full-bloom right now are a absolute delight, were guaranteed to put a smile on his face and lighten his mood somewhat. Somebody really knows their job and it must be costing somebody a tidy sum, but it IS nice. Well done Barkton he thinks to himself.

Screeching and twanging almost out of earshot he slowed to an easy ramble, and spent a few minutes in Morrison's, then with his few items bought including sticky hot crossed buns to be eaten on the way home - again, just mindless repetition - he did precisely that. He headed home eating 4 of his 6 as he went.

With the searing heat -well, it was searing to him - from a blazing midday sun taking it's toll, he wasn't sorry to close his front door, leave the world behind, and make ready for more M.R.

Saturday was Omelette day. He'd beat and whisk 5 eggs - always 5 - in a mixing bowl, add a splash of milk, slice 6 cheap canned hot-dog sausages and add to the eggs and that would normally be that, but today it would be different, a variation on a theme. He loved caramelised onions. If you ever go to a fairground, you can't fail to smell the hot-dog stand with those blackened scraps of burnt onions on the hot-plate, filling the nostrils and exciting the taste-buds way beyond the fairground -- he was never one for Candy Floss but that too always seemed to make it's presence felt, or rather smelled, made his teeth ache to think about it. -- It's a smell that haunts, it haunts Arth . So, he finely sliced and chopped two small onions, fried them until dark brown in colour - dirty onions he called them - and threw them into the egg-mix. Greased the bottom of a  casserole' dish with a clod of butter, put in a generous layer of grated cheese, and poured in the egg-mix.  Put into the oven on gas-mark 4 for an hour, and Voila, Hot-dog omelette. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			




A good pan full of oven chips, processed peas, with a dollop of sweet tomato and pepper relish, that would see him well into Sunday, and with two and a half litres of Taurus, it was job done.

Time to eat, drink, doze at will, and just get off.

Let weekend commence.....................................

dither​


----------



## Gofa

Don't think of it as mindless repetition

it is polishing your Sarurday KungFu. All Kung fu needs repetition to perfect the subtleties the nuances etc. 

and when conditions are just right a true Master produces a variation on a theme.



As a small addendum this seems A cautionary and true tale from today's  local city paper here 

A judge has apologised for chuckling during the sentencing of a chip shop burglar who was caught after becoming trapped in an extraction vent.


----------



## dither

Well,
i don't know about that Gofa but every part of me is crying out for something new.
At the moment i bus to the extent of my bus-company limits.
To go beyond that really would take me out of my comfort-zone,  i think it's what i need to do, but an old man abroad? ( relatively speaking ) Alone? I don't know.
We'll see.

Who on earth would want to burgle a chip-shop?

Well he's certainly had his chips now.


----------



## Pandora

Hi dither, I started reading yesterday and was pulled away for a trip to Home Depot. I mentioned Arth's hot dog omelette to husband and he was intrigued, wanted to know more. I hadn't read your day in full so I couldn't fill him in, I will now. I think it sounds nummy, I'm going to try to make that soon, he's going to love it. Thanks!

It is funny about music when it is right it can make the mood, same is true for wrong. The floral displays sound beautiful, landscapers are artists with flowers. Each neighborhood around our lake have the loveliest entrances, all different unique in character, color, design, texture. I taught Horticulture for a short time I often wish I would have pursued that instead of floral design.

I could really feel Arth's day dither. Finally being home, out of the piercing heat, noise, people. I felt like that myself this weekend, there is no place like home. Yesterday we ate, drank, dozed and enjoyed a lazy day in the pool. The sun though made us very weary by evening.

Enjoyed as always dither thank you!


----------



## dither

Pandora,
a lovely response as always.

What i cook on Saturdays is really just a quiche without the pastry casing.
 I like  it because it's so versatile, and easy to do. Sometimes i make a vegie one with broccoli and/or brussels, you can put in whatever you fancy really and the egg holds it all together.

As for saving it to be eaten later;

On it's own straight out of the fridge as a snack.
Cold, as part of a salad.
Or as i do, part of a hot meal re-heated in the microwave.

I wouldn't want to live on it but like with my chips and fruity-buns when i go bus-riding, it all makes for an agreeable Saturday.


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## Pandora

I love making quiche, all kinds but never once thought hot dogs. The onions sound great with that, creative cook you are!


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## dither

Pandora,
like i said, variations on a theme.
I had been  putting  garlic sausage in my omelette but i got bored with it.

If you give my hot-dog version a go, let us know how it works out eh?


----------



## amelhope

oh i hate garlic so much

nice one dither as usual i enjoyed it


----------



## dither

Thanks Amel.

Hope all is good with you.

I love garlic.


----------



## amelhope

Yeah  still alive

about garlic I hate the smell


----------



## escorial

dithering an hot dogs.....man you just keep going with tiny snippets of things that for me are a joy to read.


----------



## dither

Thanks Escorial.


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> Pandora,
> like i said, variations on a theme.
> I had been  putting  garlic sausage in my omelette but i got bored with it.
> 
> If you give my hot-dog version a go, let us know how it works out eh?


I haven't yet but we are in agreement here sounds delicious. Hubby is on a recipe website and one arrived in his email this morning called European Breakfast Sandwich. We agreed your omelet sounds much nummier I think tomorrow morning we will give it a go! I love garlic too, after I mince it up my fingers smell like it and then I run them through the fresh basil pot on the deck . . . yum what a combo. Add a little fresh mint . . . Life is good!


----------



## dither

Pandora said:


> I haven't yet but we are in agreement here sounds delicious. Hubby is on a recipe website and one arrived in his email this morning called European Breakfast Sandwich. We agreed your omelet sounds much nummier I think tomorrow morning we will give it a go! I love garlic too, after I mince it up my fingers smell like it and then I run them through the fresh basil pot on the deck . . . yum what a combo. Add a little fresh mint . . . Life is good!



Can't argue with that Pandora.
Good luck.
Enjoy.

Something chilled, sweet, fizzy and fruity, to go with it i'd suggest. ;-)


----------



## dither

*Reflections.....Orange... .And cadge a fag day. Oh dear. *

A midday sun, hot and high, pricked, like a needles between the shoulder blades. Stems of Feral grass scattered sparsely over Arth's paved front garden, having forced their way through the membrane that had been laid to separate slabs from bare earth, danced in a warm breeze.
Orange bunting surrounded yet another hole in the road, another trench, being excavated in the High Street, and there were temporary traffic lights controlling the flow of traffic. Mains servicing and repairs courtesy of " clancydocra ". who and/or what the hell are they? He wondered, resolving to google it when he got home. More useless information to be sought out and digested.

It was Friday, Asda-day, and Arth was off to Stugely.

Butterflies, fluttered by, and the air was filled with those little white fluffy things that get blown off the tops of Thistles in their thousands at this time of year. We called them fairies when we were kids.

Blackberries already. They're a month early.

A pigeon cooed and a huge flock of Starlings passed over-head.

Damn it was hot.

He stood in the shadow of his bus-stop shelter and waited for the bus. He was hot, he was bothered, and he really didn't need this, but it would make for an easy Saturday, so, he went, did the usual routine, hole in the wall, traipse around Asda's with his list, get home, get done, and prep for the final shift.


Fiday night as he waited for his bus..........................

"Got a spare fag mister?"
Oh god, here we go, Arth thought despairingly. By the look of those zits, what he really wanted was a can of lighter-fuel and a crisp-bag, but Arth had neither.
"Nope! Don't use 'em mate."
And with spotty was on his way.
Eventually the bus arrived, Arth was on HIS way, and then it was the turn of some teenage nob-head wanting to regale the driver with his worldliness and wit.
He had a mental-age of six and the IQ of a pea.
Oh well Arth consoled, soon be in Barkton. He is becoming such a prickly old so and so. Correction, he IS a prickly old so and so.
He'd eaten just ninety minutes ago but he was feeling peckish, and that Chinese chippie chappie was only a few minutes walk away, why not?
Mmmmmmm, Chips.
A nice easy stroll up to the bus-stop, chips in hand, then work. Sorted.
He has taken to sitting under a tree on a small grassed area close to the bus-stop.
His bum had barely hit the dirt, "Can yer spare a fag mate?"
ARGH!!!!!!
"Don't use 'em mate."
Now please, eff-off.
"Are you waiting for the 38?"
"Yep".
"Are you the driver?"
WHAT? 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			




Well, Arth WAS wearing a Hi-Vis.
"No, i just want to ride on it".
"Oh, okay".
He walked and paced up and down like some crazy caged animal, mumbling into a mobile phone.
"I want a fag".
He kept saying it.
Arth decided that maybe it wasn't SUCH a long walk to work from there.
Goodbye crazy world.
As it turned out he'd done Arth a favour, just a few yards from work and it started to rain.
From one kind of madness to another.

Friday night passed and Arth rode the 6.45 home, catching a few ZZZs on the way, again, he made his way home,everything pretty much same as.
Shaved and showered, followed by a steady stream of coffees, then back ( on the 10.00. ) to Barkton.

As he made his way through the backstreets, amazing seen, ( yes seen) not so long ago he'd been lamenting the the fact that they ( the boys dressed in orange ) no longer went round with that lorry that they'd used so long ago, unblocking drains, well Arth rounded a corner and there they were. Two men, lifting the drain covers, and that lorry, with a pipe dangling on one side, swilling out and unblocking the drains.
Way d'go orange boys.
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




He made his way to the bus-stop, he'd left his mobile at home, not knowing exactly, what the time was but was sure he'd just missed one. That didn't matter, there was nobody at the stop so he went and sat on a public bench some twenty or thirty yards away. Sitting there with his back to the church, the church with a great big clock-face in the steeple, oh dear Arth.
He looked up to see his bus pulling in, DAMN! The driver saw him running and waited.
"You're lucky, if it hadn't been for that bloke wanting to get off, i'd have driven straight by".
"Yeah i know, thanks".
"No problem".
Next stop Thiston, and a girl with the most amazing hair boarded the bus, Orange of the deepest strongest possible tone, Arth not only approved, he loved it, he thought she was pretty cool, ( he'd often fancied getting his hair dyed blue, indigo, he has always loved that colour, and even now, in his 60s, never say never, that thought tickled Arth. He wouldn't, would he? What the hell, why not?
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




 :wink: ) but she had one of those contraptions in her ear, and currently, it had made a hole in her ear-lobe as big as a twenty pence piece, such a shame. But Arth didn't care, he still thought she was cool.
Well anyway, more ZZZs caught, and in no time at all, Arth was walking down the alley next to St.Peters heading for the library wondering if he'd find something to read this time, and wouldn't you know it?
The times that he has scoured those book-shelves to no avail and today, as he approached the first row of books, there it was, screaming, yelling, demanding. 
Wishful drinking by Carrie Fisher, how could he not take it? Sorted. Job done.
Time for chips. As he walked towards the market he could here disco music, but this wasn't busking, or karaoke, this was the real deal, and when he got there, "Cobra fit".
Two very fit looking black women ( fitness trainers, coaches, call them what you might ) and a handful of ordinary Joes, dressed for the occasion, disco-dancing, tossing a weighted object, first over one shoulder then the other, lose those bingo-wings girls, can't you just see it? And why not? Each to one's own eh?
It didn't put him off his chips though. She asked of course, matter of factly, but she knew. Portion o' chips, open, with S&V. And does she know how?
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	



He managed to find a shelter that was some how shaded from the glare of the sun, " something" was casting a shadow over the seat and that would do nicely.
Chips consumed, gap filled, Morrison's.As was his wont, but he didn't need too really, just going through the motions.
Six fruity teacakes, top up for his mobile phone, and that was it, home time.
Get that omelette cooking.

For a few days now, there has been some activity on the small green just off the crossroads in the center of the village where he lives;
Laminated pictures of soldiers from WW1, extracts from diaries, short poems, letters home etc.
Well, a huge banner greeted people as they entered Arkleton today, it read, simply;

" 12 noon, the 2nd of August, 1914, and then they were gone. Arkleton remembers".
Kind of makes a person think.

Arth has never gone along with the glorification of war. To his mind, there is no glory in killing. The glory of everlasting peace, what those guys died for, cannot be overstated, and must not be forgotten, EVER.
Stories of such selfless acts of heroism.
Young men lying about their age, that they might go and "do their bit". Can you imagine?

Well, there were things going on, activities,youngsters/cadets/kids really.

Gotta be done eh?

Arth just wanted to go home.

dither​


----------



## escorial

i get the feeling dialogue is being used more and it just brings everyday life to that end...gives the piece more life.


----------



## dither

Usually it's just me and my thoughts, but life happens eh?


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## Gofa

Nice catch up on your wandering around   I've always had a thing for red hair can't tell you why. And pony tails. The way the bounce and sway. D. Life is in the watching eh PS well done on the  dithering


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## Pandora

I agree dither, Arth's dithering is really coming to life with your words, Arth's personality is shinning through. I think indigo hair would be beautiful! I learned a new word today, fag? must be a cigarette yes? I loved your opening description of Friday, a pidgeon cooing is one of my very favorite sounds. 

My hot dog omelette will wait one more week and I will have that fruity bubbly you speak of chilled. It's a plan and a good one, something to look forward to. I had bought some frozen breakfast bowls for when my son stayed with us a short time, he didn't have them. So we used them up this morning, not nearly as good as your omelet will be.

Thanks dither for sharing Arth's pictures of his days, I save those in my mind and smile.


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## dither

Pandora,
I don't think that  dyed hair whatever the colour looks very good when the hair is thinning. The girl's orange hair was cut short but she had a very thick healthy head of hair. Fags? Yeah, they're cigarettes. As for pigeons cooing, i work nights and sleep - try to sleep - days, it's not a sound that  i welcome. And as for Arth's personality shining through, have you ever seen that famous painting entitled scream? Enough said i think ;-)


----------



## dither

*Otter 'n' otter, and a big right foot;*





Wednesday afternoon, after an awful Tuesday night. The Weathermen had suggested that we might feel the effects of "Hurricane Bertha later demoted to Tropical storm status ", and if what we had last night were the peterings out of Hurricane Bertha, it must've been one mother of a storm. But that was yesterday. Last night.
This morning, Bertha ( if indeed it had been her ) was still coughing, spluttering, and refusing to call it a day, but what a difference a day makes. Arth was up at around 1.30. pm, it was sweltering outside and by three o'clock he was on his way to Stugely. Bye'bye Bertha. :coffee:
Along the verges and hedgerows going out towards Letts there were women with a clutch of youngsters, Blackberry-picking, those were days eh?
Roadworks, kicking up dust and causing congestion, stripped to the waist construction-workers with walnut-browned upper- torsos and a knotted handkerchief or two, it was just nice to be out.

First stop cash-machine and then go checkout new workboots. He had arrived home from work this morning with a wet foot, not seriously soaked, but it looked as though one of his old WBs were starting to feel a bit worse for wear. He has always hated buying new boots, no matter how he tries, he has never been able to find the perfect boots. Maybe he has sensitive feet, "awkward" feet , and maybe he's just picky, but for him, finding new boots has always been a real ball-ache. Autumn isn't so far away, and if he buys them now he can allow himself the luxury of wearing a them in gradually. without the blitsers.

He'd only intended to look, but as soon as he so much as looked in the direction of workboots he found himself sitting on a chair being attended buy a very professional yet polite saleswoman and surrounded by odd boots and cardboard boxes. She knew her job for sure.
Having finally found a boot that seemed comfortable and giving the saleswoman a smile of approval,
"Here! Put the other one on, have a wander around the shop".
She politely suggested.
But as soon as the other boot was on his foot,
"No, this is no good. You know what? Me and boots, this ones way too big. Doesn't make sense does it".
"That must be your biggest foot then".
She said looking down at his right foot.
WHAT?
Was this some new line in sales-patter?
"It's not uncommon sir, a lot of people DO find that they have different sized feet".
Yeah-right.
He really wasn't buying that but he DID need new boots, and eventually gave way to one particular pair.
"These are as near as i'm going to get" he opined, " i'll take a punt on these."
"Very good sir."
Thirty quid's worth.
"Plastic or cash?"
He already had the money in his hand.
"Thank you, enjoy the rest of your day sir."
"And you".
ODD feet indeed.

Asda's.
It would have to be a quick one, he got a trolley and zoomed around the store exchanging smiles and apologies as he went and was soon sitting at the bust stop and before he knew it he'd polished off four Hot x Buns, bloody pig, he scolded. He gets himself into this " hurry'hurry' rush mode" and suddenly everything is at break-neck speed, even eating, and now he wouldn't be enjoying a couple during the ride home.
He sat looking on as Joe public, wife, kids and dogs passed by, and felt troubled by how many women seemed to be covering themselves with tattoos. "Sorry girls", he found himself thinking, "female body-art ( god! Who thought that one up?)" doesn't do it for me, but that's just him. Pernickety old bugger.
School holiday time, bus-rides at this time of day seem so much nicer without the school-kid menagerie he mused, not that they were so bad really, what the hell? They'll be young people one day. It's just,,,, it's tough when you're old and grouchy, and nobody understands. Come to think of it, HE didn't really understand either.

Life eh?​
dither


----------



## escorial

boots are made for walking man.


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## Pandora

The title dither after reading made me laugh. 

" just nice to be out" I like that feeling, those words, from Arth. I get the rush mode, more of a fluster for me, just can't calm it down sometimes, seems to come from weariness a direct opposite of what that word means but my nerves are old lady nerves. I don't understand that. 

Enjoyed as always dither and yes "life eh?"


----------



## dither

*Oh dear, i really had no idea.*


Walking home, through the backstreets, to where i live, they're lying in the gutters, they're everywhere.
Years ago, we used to have a soda-siphon, and we bought these minute canisters that plugged in to the top, to force the soda out, i DID think it a bit weird. Seeing so many, all in one go.
Then i read an article in today's newspaper.
Then i Googled Nitrous Oxide.
Oh,,,,,,,,,,,,,,dear.
The need to get off is as real as it ever was.


dither​


And it's so "Middle of the road".
You know,
"oo'ee, chirpy chirpy cheap cheap".
Sorry, couldn't resist that.


----------



## Gofa

Pernickety.  Yum how can I use this lovely word in the week to come

might get a business car made. 

Gofa

Pernickety & Associates


----------



## dither

​...


----------



## dither

..


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## escorial

can't see it dude....when i click on it takes me to bloggs


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## dither

escorial said:


> can't see it dude....



Oh well,
never mind.

I won't be trying again.


----------



## dither

..


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## escorial

that is just how i imagined it..fantastic...that should be the cover of your first book..brilliant dither


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## dither

Is it gone now?
we're seeing different things.


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## dither

escorial said:


> that is just how i imagined it..fantastic...that should be the cover of your first book..brilliant dither



not even in my WILDEST dreams mate.


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## dither

It's going to take a while, but maybe i'll try again, eventually.


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## escorial

dither said:


> not even in my WILDEST dreams mate.



if you ever do... i'll buy a copy....


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## dither

Escorial i'd GIFT you a copy.


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## dither

..


----------



## dither

...


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## escorial

it's back...is the fork plastic or wood man?


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## dither

Escorial,
you say it's back.
I can't see a damned thing.
I'm pressing buttons/flicking switches, nothing is happening, and you know what?
I think the stumbling block is not fully understanding this site, i really believe that it's here.
What am i not getting?

- - - Updated - - -



escorial said:


> it's back...is the fork plastic or wood man?



It's made of wood, like me.


----------



## escorial

dither said:


> Escorial,
> you say it's back.
> I can't see a damned thing.
> I'm pressing buttons/flicking switches, nothing is happening, and you know what?
> I think the stumbling block is not fully understanding this site, i really believe that it's here.
> What am i not getting?
> 
> - - - Updated - - -
> 
> 
> 
> It's made of wood, like me.



technology often gets the better of most people man...as long as you keep dithering and writing is all that matters dude.


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## dither

Well it has beaten me.
No way am i throwing fifteen quid at another tutor.

And i think i need to put this thread down for a while also.
It's all becoming a bit stale.


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## escorial

dither said:


> Well it has beaten me.
> No way am i throwing fifteen quid at another tutor.
> 
> And i think i need to put this thread down for a while also.
> It's all becoming a bit stale.



maybe your creative side is looking for other challenges...


----------



## dither

Creative side?

I've been lacking "something" all my life mate.

I've always had a feeling of......
like there's this huge gaping hole inside of me, screaming out for fulfillment, but  what?


----------



## Plasticweld

I would not say you needed creativity, I have looked at you as a master observer.  You do not need to add to what you see, only interpret what you see for others, that is a gift.


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## escorial

dither said:


> Creative side?
> 
> I've been lacking "something" all my life mate.
> 
> I've always had a feeling of......
> like there's this huge gaping hole inside of me, screaming out for fulfillment, but  what?




maybe your just finding yourself dude


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## Pandora

You have a lot to give dither, we see that. That means you are needed.


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## Gofa

Dither.  You've lost me  in the interchange  and I'm not sure no more. The inference is you don't want to play any more
hope not  I'd far rather you take me on another bus ride buddy and tell me how are the new boots. Your ability to capture a view and portray it in words has real character and substance to me   I've told about 6 people in my daily drag about you as I think the stuff is very cool
you seem to be saying you are played out.  Na.  No even a bit
you are good at this keep playing and take me for a walk 
we all doubt the guy in the mirror
I've won so many contests in business but I still go holy crap I might be not able to do the next thing. You think I would get it that I am good at it but I just doubt like always same since I was a kid 
I'm bigger but the doubts stay in proportion


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## Gofa

One other thing  you've had near 2500 views of this stuff since May when you started here
people aren't coming here cause its rubbish. They come here cause they feel the words
As I say in my day job. The Number aren't lying


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## dither

Guys,
i'm overwhelmed.
What can i say?
But thank you so much.

It's difficult to put into words, i think i just get a bit bored with myself sometimes.
Not just in what i do here, but with my whole being.
Peaks and troughs maybe.
We'll see.

dither


----------



## dither

*My effing legs. Life eh? *Sunny, cloudy,warm, chilly,  breezy, it was all of these as Arth sat eating chips in a Barkton bus-stop shelter and ruing his decision not to wear a jacket. Maybe he was just tired, i must be mad, he considered the possibility, as he sat, there freezing his rocks off, and for what? A bag o' chips, a lotto ticket, a bag o' spuds, and 6 cheap fruity teacakes, and to Just get away for a couple of hours, a break from the norm, freedom of thought, away from the shackles that bind body and soul to the treadmill, that turns the grindstone, that mills the flour. The back-breaking/mind-numbing round and around and around. Ee'or!
He thought about those cheap spuds and there being no free lunches in this world. Somebody, somewhere, would be getting screwed. Maybe they were imported, no way could a British farmer unless heavily subsidized grow and sell them at such a price so as to allow the grocer to sell them at a quid a bag, about 4lbs Arth estimated.
Maybe for that shop in Barkton those spuds were sold at little or no profit as a Sprat to catch a Mackerel, you know, entice people in.
Nobody was getting rich on those potatoes for sure.
He pondered the injustice and the indignity of it all as he made his way to the market.
Life eh?
Gold Street felt cold and unwelcoming, but the Barktonians didn't seem to mind, it was Saturday, shopping day, just gather up the family and get out of the house day, and they were out there, doing whatever "did it" for them.
It wasn't until he got within a couple of yards of the hot-dog stall that caught a whiff of the onions. He couldn't smell the Candy-floss , the coffee or the mini-doughnuts. Sights without smells, a totally grey day.
Arth went to get his pack of spuds and found himself being drawn to peaches, how long had it been since he'd tasted Peaches? He wondered. To hell with the expense, throw the cat another goldfish, Arth was going to treat himself. Twenty five pence each or five for a pound. He bagged himself five.
" That'll be £2-50 sir, thank you".
£1-50. For the peaches. Oh dear, wouldn't you know it?
"Errrrm, oh never mind".
Well, the spuds WERE cheap, but now maybe not so cheap.

He headed for Morrison's, he wouldn't be sorry to be heading home and he soon would be.
A quick look-in at the shopping center, munch a couple of teacakes, and he'd be on his way.
Where the buskers usually yell themselves hoarse there was a stall selling novelties,nick-knacks, and various other bits and pieces, plus they were running a prize-draw in aid of Cats Protection, he couldn't begrudge them their gig, but he wasn't hanging around, he just wanted to get indoors.
As he walked into the center, a hoarding above a shop-widow announced " Your local perfume shop". What constituted "local perfume" ? He wondered. "Save up to 70%." Now there's a thought.
Home bargains.
i-style; Accessories,Unlocking, repairs.
99P Stores.
Clothes/fashion stores with names like "ROMAN" and "SHOUT". interesting.
PANDORA, yes, really. "PANDORA -TITU-BOUTIQUE". Whatever that was.
Home-time. He left the center, rounded a corner, and came face to face with a bevvy of beauties, all in their late teens to early twenties he imagined, and all looking quite fabulous. They all wore shiny black sashes of the kind that you might see in a beauty-contest or some sort of gala, but as they got closer he could read the words emblazoned upon them in big silver letters " HEN PARTY". Well good for them.

The time-piece at the interchange said 10-12. He'd caught the 10-05 from Artleton in the first place. 10-12? He didn't think so.
Only two teacakes left.
Young courting couples came and went.
Shoals of young girls wanting to be seen,out. Some hot, some not.
The fashions, those heels, the make-up, and the hair. He wished them all luck, they'd need it, it really is a jungle out there. 
People waiting for buses, pacing the pavement, idling/loitering/smoking. A family of four, each with their own bag of chips, sat within a few yards of Arth, just to sit there, downwind of them, was glorious, he wasn't hungry, he'd had his, but that sweet vinegary smell,mmmmmm'M! 

Across the road a short, thin wirey oriental type humped supplies to a place called LEE GARDEN, a small, very discreet, but not too discreet, Chinese, i think, restaurant.
And the bus pulled in.

Downstairs looked busy. A young mum with short-cropped bleach-blonde hair, and wearing blood-red doc martins caught his eye, she just looked/seemed so at ease with herself. Good for you girl. He almost envied her, "this is me.Loud and proud" and **** you. Y'know?

Well, he showed his MegaRiderGold to a driver who had seen him so many times before, he barely glanced at it.
" Yeah, alright mate? How's it going?"
The usual exchange of pleasantries ensued, Arth went upstairs, and to the back of the bus, sat in the middle seat with his feet pointing down the walkway, he leaned back and stretched his whole body, with the emphasis being on his lower limbs. God my effing legs, it's difficult to relate the pain, the joy, and sheer pleasure of that moment.All he had to do now was stay awake.

Time for a teacake, he thought about the peaches that he'd bought and could almost taste them.Off out into the countryside, past the wind turbines. There had always been ten, now there were twenty. Where the hell did THEY come from? He rides this route every day and this was the first time that he'd noticed them.
There was farmland on either side, as far as the eye could see. A veritable patchwork, of pasture, "set aside", and arable, mostly arable, some fields had been ploughed and some had yet to be ploughed, but it gave an impression, a feeling, of the harvest being safely gathered in, not that Arth knows much of these things but there was a feeling of "job done".
Those Blackthorn bushes, and the elders that , not so long ago had stood sturdy, upright, so full of vitality, with their bright green foliage and swathes of white blossom, were starting to look just a little bit jaded. Their branches weighed down heavy with berries, another, "job done". The days are shortening, night-time seems to be sneaking in just that little bit earlier, Autumn is knocking at nature's door.

Fuschias seem to be very popular this year, maybe he hadn't noticed them before. Maybe he just hadn't took the time.

And so to Thisto and his favourite sight of all, an Obelisk.
Right from being a kid he'd felt a kind of connection with it, almost like it was trying to communicate, but neither he nor it, knew how.
It is set back on a small mound of earth, fenced off, but in full view, of the general public. The local council have put up a plaque and Arth would dearly love to know it's history, he really would. Maybe next time he's gets some time off work. Maybe'maybe'maybe.
It's a sand and ironstone construction, a bit like a cube, standing about four feet high, with a small pyramid type shape, again, about four feet high at it's peak.
Some people say that these things were put up as landmarks, mini shrines, and in some cases a kind of medieval graffiti, a folly even.
Arth always had this crazy notion of getting close to it and just meditating quietly, that he might somehow, connect, get a vibe, wishful/fanciful thinking eh? Oh if only.

Having zoomed past the obelisk all he could think of was his peaches.

Finally his bus hit home, yes!

He walked up the High Street, not hanging about, when, BEEP'BEEP! HONK! BEEP! there was a screeching of car tyres, expletives were exchanged.

Oh get a life.

Now there WAS a thought, imagine;
A cafe, a meeting place, an exchange, a market even, where one could actually " get a life".
A place full of people so sick of their very existence, confronted by others who might say, " you think you've got problems, you should try my lot",
and the response being, " well actually, i wouldn't mind a few weeks of it."
A real swap, of lives, that could be called off, at any time, by either party.
Think of it,

and dither. 

footnote:
Arth got home, sunk the blade of a knife into a peach,
slowly worked the blade around the entire circumference of the stone,
gave the two halves a gentle twist,
and voila,
two juicey sweet peach halves.
Just like the old days.

Life eh?


----------



## dither

Okay,
it's not perfect.
It's unfurnished.
Absolutely would NOT make the grade.
But it's a dither.

That's all.


----------



## Gofa

I love the ride   There's a commentary candessence that bounces you along. No one thing captures your attention but the mixture is like jig saw puzzle pieces put to together that gives a great picture as they assemble A snap shot 
some historian in a couple of hundred year would have a field day with this Dither. Real life the little bits the mixture. You give me the tuppence mixture of Saturdays like lollies in the white paper bag we got when I was young 
thanks as always


----------



## Gofa

Oops posted here D. Thought it was my slot so have moved it home


----------



## dither

Gofa said:


> I love the ride   There's a commentary candessence that bounces you along. No one thing captures your attention but the mixture is like jig saw puzzle pieces put to together that gives a great picture as they assemble A snap shot
> some historian in a couple of hundred year would have a field day with this Dither. Real life the little bits the mixture. You give me the tuppence mixture of Saturdays like lollies in the white paper bag we got when I was young
> thanks as always



An interesting perspective Gofa.
I like that.


----------



## dither

*Managing the hangover*





The hangover from a weekend that usually kicks off at around 1.20. pm on Fridays.
Please, allow and tolerate, an attempt to present an illustration.

At 1.20, precisely, there's a sudden Beep'beep' beeeeeeep! From a noisy alarm clock and Arth is shaken, abruptly, from his slumbers. Too little time, not enough sleep. Always too little, and never enough.
Barely conscious, he hits the snooze button, throws back the duvet, gets to his feet, switches of his digital cock-a-doodle-doo at the mains, and hobbles stiffly downstairs. One two three four one two three four one two three four one. Counting the stairs as he descends, counting, always counting, God knows why. He picks up mail and goes to the kitchen.
Prepares a mug with teabag, milk and sugar. Puts kettle on. Clears bowl full of washing-up. Pours hot water from boiled kettle into mug. Gives it a stir. Leaves spoon in mug for now. Goes back upstairs to fetch a towel. My effing legs. Switches on computer.Taks towel into the bathroom. Gives the mug another good stir. Squeezes out teabag. Gives it one more stir, takes a couple of slurps, man that tastes and feels so good. Goes and sits down, slowly waking up as he drinks his tea.

Tea gone. It's time to take a shower, no time to dither. Still not really back in the world of the living but the shower gets him back on track.

Washed and dried, sort of, and scouting the spare room for scribbled spur of the moment notes. Amendments to what will finally be his Asda shopping-list.

Cash-card, MegaRider, mobile, shopping-bag,freezer-bag, and at 2.30. he's off the bus-stop, buying a newspaper on the way.

Into Stugely, get some cash, whizz around Asda's, and back to the bus stop.

Wolf down four hot cross buns, cook tea, prepare packed lunch, then grab a few minutes online, then go lie down, setting the alarm for around 6.00.

Beep'Beep'Beeeeeeep! 

Fill lunch-box, re-heat dinner, go lie down again, before finally dragging his arse up to the bus-stop. Friday, just one more, then weekend, he tells/consoles himself.
Bus comes at it's usual time and once again he slips back into auto-pilot.
Off at Stugeley, munch a few fig-rolls and read the daily rag as he waits for his connection. A short ride and a gentle stroll to his place of work, clock on, cup of tea, and then it all just kicks in.
Like some well-run, well-oiled automaton, work'work, work'work, weekend.
Feeling totally drained, but relieved, he makes his way back up that hill, catches the bus, and heads for home. Sometimes nodding off and taking an unscheduled ride to Letts, but that doesn't happen too often, it's feel so good to kick off those boots. My effing feet right now, but he's home, it's over for a while.

Kettle on. LOG on. A change of clothes. Take a shower.
MegaRider,,,,check!
Library card,,,,check!
Mobile phone,,,,check!
Brain in gear,,,,check!

Back to bus-stop, and back to Barkton.

Sometimes he goes to the library, sometimes he doesn't
Chips are the "must have'must do".
A gentle stroll to Morrison's via the market, then back to bus-stop, and home.

He arrives home, unpacks, logs-on, makes a cuppa, gets his hot-dog omelette into the oven, then he retreats to his little box-room and Phutt! Fizz! Taurus, and that really DOES, hit the spot.
He spends the rest of the day slipping in and out of consciousness, snacking on omelette and chips and drinking around a litre and a half of Taurus.

At around 22.00. hours he'll call it a day, he beds down, and once again he recites those same few words, "my effing legs" but it's such a nice feeling, tired,tiddly, and absolutely done in.

In spite of all that he wakes up early, roused by his aches, and feeling like shit. Which has more to do with fatigue than a few slurps of cheap cider.

A mug of tea, mugs of coffee, then back to snacking on omelette and chips, finishing off that 2ltr bottle of Taurus and the "here and now".

So how was your weekend?

dither​


----------



## Pandora

Hi dither, a boutique with my name on it, always wanted a flower shop with my name 'Pandora's Flower Box'. Unless I hurry up it's not gonna happen . . . well . . .

I like _"__Autumn is knocking at nature's door"_, beautiful phrase.  I'm thinking the same. I like the change of shadows the sun makes as it lowers to the South. It feels cooler somehow just because of the sinking sun. The house looks different with light coming through the windows. My pups have found the new sunny locations to lay in. I love the change of season, what a gift that has been my life. 

Very creative your 'life store', I imagine a good plot for a story there, a daydream too. Perhaps worthy of some more thought.

I could almost taste Arth's peach, I don't much like fruit but I think I might miss a peach, so pretty they are. Georgia known for them. Most all fruit are so pretty.
Who thought all this up?

I think Arth has come a long way dither, entertaining and thought provoking.


----------



## Pandora

dither said:


> *Managing the hangover*
> 
> 
> The hangover from a weekend that usually kicks off at around 1.20. pm on Fridays.
> Please, allow and tolerate, my attempt to present an illustration.
> 
> At 1.20, precisely, there's a sudden Beep'beep' beeeeeeep! From a noisy alarm clock and dither is shaken, abruptly, from his slumbers. Too little time, not enough sleep. Always too little, and never enough.
> Barely conscious, he hits the snooze button, throws back the duvet, gets to his feet, switches of his digital cock-a-doodle-doo at the mains, and hobbles stiffly downstairs. One two three four one two three four one two three four one. Counting the stairs as he descends, counting, always counting, God knows why. He picks up mail and goes to the kitchen.
> Prepares a mug with teabag, milk and sugar. Puts kettle on. Clears bowl full of washing-up. Pours hot water from boiled kettle into mug. Gives it a stir. Leaves spoon in mug for now. Goes back upstairs to fetch a towel. My effing legs. Switches on computer.Taks towel into the bathroom. Gives the mug another good stir. Squeezes out teabag. Gives it one more stir, takes a couple of slurps, man that tastes and feels so good. Goes and sits down, slowly waking up as he drinks his tea.
> 
> Tea gone. It's time to take a shower, no time to dither. Still not really back in the world of the living but the shower gets him back on track.
> 
> Washed and dried, sort of, and scouting the spare room for scribbled spur of the moment notes. Amendments to what will finally be his Asda shopping-list.
> 
> Cash-card, MegaRider, mobile, shopping-bag,freezer-bag, and at 2.30. he's off the bus-stop, buying a newspaper on the way.
> 
> Into Stugely, get some cash, whizz around Asda's, and back to the bus stop.
> 
> Wolf down four hot cross buns, cook tea, prepare packed lunch, then grab a few minutes online, then go lie down, setting the alarm for around 6.00.
> 
> Beep'Beep'Beeeeeeep!
> 
> Fill lunch-box, re-heat dinner, go lie down again, before finally dragging his arse up to the bus-stop. Friday, just one more, then weekend, he tells/consoles himself.
> Bus comes at it's usual time and once again he slips back into auto-pilot.
> Off at Stugeley, munch a few fig-rolls and read the daily rag as he waits for his connection. A short ride and a gentle stroll to his place of work, clock on, cup of tea, and then it all just kicks in.
> Like some well-run, well-oiled automaton, work'work, work'work, weekend.
> Feeling totally drained, but relieved, he makes his way back up that hill, catches the bus, and heads for home. Sometimes nodding off and taking an unscheduled ride to Letts, but that doesn't happen too often, it's feel so good to kick off those boots. My effing feet right now, but he's home, it's over for a while.
> 
> Kettle on. LOG on. A change of clothes. Take a shower.
> MegaRider,,,,check!
> Library card,,,,check!
> Mobile phone,,,,check!
> Brain in gear,,,,check!
> 
> Back to bus-stop, and back to Barkton.
> 
> Sometimes he goes to the library, sometimes he doesn't
> Chips are the "must have'must do".
> A gentle stroll to Morrison's via the market, then back to bus-stop, and home.
> 
> He arrives home, unpacks, logs-on, makes a cuppa, gets his hot-dog omelette into the oven, then he retreats to his little box-room and Phutt! Fizz! Taurus, and that really DOES, hit the spot.
> He spends the rest of the day slipping in and out of consciousness, snacking on omelette and chips and drinking around a litre and a half of Taurus.
> 
> At around 22.00. hours he'll call it a day, he beds down, and once again he recites those same few words, "my effing legs" but it's such a nice feeling, tired,tiddly, and absolutely done in.
> 
> In spite of all that he wakes up early, roused by his aches, and feeling like shit. Which has more to do with fatigue than a few slurps of cheap cider.
> 
> A mug of tea, mugs of coffee, then back to snacking on omelette and chips, finishing off that 2ltr bottle of Taurus and the "here and now".
> 
> So how was your weekend?
> 
> dither​


Oh that night shift I remember it well when my husband worked it. A killer for family as well as the one doing it. Love to hear Arth's routine, be a fly on the wall. I googled Taurus, only got the Sun Sign and the car. I love to know what Arth is drinking. I don't get hangovers much but back in the day when I was an amateur I sure did. You describe it well. Sleep, drink, snack, hair of dog that bite cha, on repeat.  

Still have to make our hot dog omelet, the dogs went to wiener wraps one night for dinner when the frig was skimpy. Haven't been cooking much lately and grocery shopping is a drag, life eh?

Our weekend so far pretty good. Falcons lost last night though, we didn't bother to watch. I had it taping while we hot tubbed under the stars, then we grilled a marinated sweet and spicy flat iron steak. Another new daddy recipe, this one with coca-cola, nummy. Turned to live TV and saw the shame. I guess the new Falcon wine glasses I got hubby for Father's day are not so lucky after all. 

Today brings relaxing by the pool, tending to the gardens, bird watching and husband making me laugh. It's all good.


----------



## dither

Pandora,
 Taurus is a brand of cheap cider sold at Aldi stores and Costcutters.


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## dither

Pandora said:


> Our weekend so far pretty good. Falcons lost last night though, we didn't bother to watch. I had it taping while we hot tubbed under the stars, then we grilled a marinated sweet and spicy flat iron steak. Another new daddy recipe, this one with coca-cola, nummy. Turned to live TV and saw the shame. I guess the new Falcon wine glasses I got hubby for Father's day are not so lucky after all.
> 
> Today brings relaxing by the pool, tending to the gardens, bird watching and husband making me laugh. It's all good.



Sounds wonderful.
Oh how some people live.


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## dither

. experiment.

i'm not ramping.
honestly.


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## Gofa

Does that mean you are ramping in a dishonest manner

PS. What's ramping


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## dither

Gofa,
Ramping:
deliberately posting to put a thread back on top of the pile.

Next time i shall just start a new thread entitled experimenting with pics, or something like that.


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## dither

Well, it's a start.

Any suggestions on how i might enlarge that just a tad?


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## escorial

i can't say anymore other than what i always think about your writing..fantastic.


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## dither

escorial said:


> i can't say anymore other than what i always think about your writing..fantastic.



Thanks mate.


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## coldnight

Wow amazing  !
Where is that?


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## dither

coldnight said:


> Wow amazing  !
> Where is that?



coldnight,
i wish that i could show you a bigger version, those floral displays are amazing.

It's a place i go to every Saturday.


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## dither

Y'know?
The hours that i must've sat looking at pics in "paint".
I get a pic about four times the size of that one, and it sits there.
Can't use it, move it, save it, post it, nothing,  it's driving me nuts, and i bet it's just a click away.


Life eh?


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## amelhope

Wonderful!  So beautiful ! I wish we had somthing like this in my city.


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## dither

[h=1][/h]

[h=4]An awful dither.[/h]




He'd barely had time to sit on the bench at the bus-stop, look through his newspaper, and catch his breath, before it hit him, these past few Saturdays Arth has been unsure how to dress for the day, and today,he'd called it wrong, again. There was no turning back, now, he'd just have to put up with it, it wouldn't kill him. So, off to Barkton he went, shivering in his seat.
First stop, as usual, Barkton public library, he was desperate for something to read, with the bank holiday Monday making for a long weekend, but his trip to the library was in vain, it bore no fruit, and he'd just have to find some other way of filling the void. He lingered just long enough to allow his body to feel the warmth of the Library then made a b-line for the fryer's, chips! He thought, and another oasis of warmth, if only for a minute or two, then back out into the cold. There would be no leisurely eating of chips in a bus-stop shelter today.
"Chips?"
"Yes".
He smiled politely.
"Salt?Vinegar?"
YES!YES! Just give me those chips he pleaded silently under his breath.
Lunching on the hoof, heading for the shopping centre by the market, and another short respite from the cold would be the order of the day. As he approached the market-place he could hear this awful din, so now, as well as "dashing to, places to warm himself, he would be "dashing from places/situations", and those embarrassing scenes generated by downans with six-strings, or maybe "five"-strings. Oh god what a day, he cursed his luck. Feeling as guilty as hell for doing so, he had no right to feel sorry for himself, his hell might seem like heaven to others, he knew it, and that grated, it really did. All the same, he couldn't help feeling how he did. Life damn it. He despaired.
Once in the shopping center, he ate his chips and they were shit, cold by now, soggy batter-bits that had been drowned in vinegar, more disappointment, he had come to expect better. He loitered with intent, intent to rid his bones of the chill of an Autumn that wasn't due for a few weeks yet. Never mind.
Then it was off to Morrison's in a hurry. Almost running past the downan with the guitar, without so much as looking at him or her, and away down the slip-road, through the rotating door, grabbing a shopping basket, and would you effing believe it? S***! F***! B*******! That gormless guitar-strumming would-be Elvis Presley impersonator, they have him inside the store occasionally, maybe it was some charity fund-raising thing. "Vivaaaaa loss Vegas...." LOSS Vegas? Well he certainly got THAT right. J,F,C. Wasn't Arth having a day. Ho'hum were NOT the words that readily sprung to mind.
The tone was deafening. It sounded as though he was trying to eat the mic. He laughed, trying to imitate the old Elvis drawl, "thank you, i love you", even THAT seemed phony.
Now Arth was rushing. Tinned Tomatoes, Cheese for his hot-dog omelette, Sausages, Fruity-buns, forget the lottery, out! Whoosh! Gone. He couldn't wait to get his bus home. This had really put him on a short fuse, he was seething, just one more irritation had he would come down with snow on his back. He stormed off to the interchange in a rage, well, as close as he'd ever come to being in a rage,and, thankfully, wasn't waiting long.
Munching his buns he looked down at the small print on his shopping receipt,,,,,
"Visit www.talktomorrisons.co.uk and tell us how we did today.
How we did?
How we did?
Ohhhhhh yes, he'd be having some of that.


Dear Morrison's,
Every so often there is this cringeworthy karaoke/Elvis Presley impersonator at the store, it's something that you love or hate, i'm in the hate camp. It was way too loud and it sounded awful. I have to concede that it's not a regular occurrence, and if it's a charity event well then let it be, but i bought only what was absolutely necessary, lottery was out of the question, and i fled,couldn't get out of the store quick enough. I'm sorry if that makes me a killjoy but there it is. Couldn't you, as a company, sponsor a bus-shelter on the outskirts somewhere?Seething anger has now turned to bitter disappointment. I don't doubt that some of your shoppers will have enjoyed it but it totally ruined my day.

Bitter,sad, unhappy, miserable "disappointment".
After a week of absolute hell, the Saturday ride to Barkton, the chips that this week you wouldn't have given to the pigeons, was all he had to look forward to, this little piece of sunshine, his one ray of hope, gone, cancelled.

For once it was good to be home.

dither​


----------



## dither

*Just another wet bank-holiday Monday.*





A few minutes past seven on a wet and miserable August bank-holiday morning, he's barely conscious when the pitter'patter of raindrops on the pvc window-sill registers with him, just another s*** day he tells himself.
"So much for those heat-pads then." He'd bought these heat-patches hoping that they might ease/give some relief to, his aching legs, " you're old mate, that's all there is to it, just have to live with it" the words coming from within. Arth wasn't looking for any miracle-cure but for a couple of quid it was worth a shot.

He thought of those spicy wedges that he'd bought from the freezer in Asda's a few days previous, and the Lincolnshire sausages, eight in a pack, he'd got a carton of chopped tomatoes with garlic and herbs that needed using up, that would do him for a couple of days. But how to go about it? The wedges would be easy enough, throw into a baking-tray, twenty five minutes, on gas-mark seven, sorted. He'd got a small casserole dish, just big enough as it turned out, to accommodate those eight sausos covered with the herbie-toms. About an hour on mark four he reckoned would just about do it.

How to kill, get through, another day, that was the main business of the day, what to do. Since getting home from Barkton on Saturday, he'd spent most his time lying down, dozing, getting up occasionally to eat, drinking copious amounts of coffee, and somewhere along the line, consume two or three litres of cider, not a huge amount, certainly not enough to lose himself, but just enough to leave him feeling like shit and zombie-like. He so wanted/needed,,,, something,,,,to do, well, read actually, something to occupy his tired idling mind. Doing was totally not an option. Something to read, but what?

A faint smell of those sausages cooking in herbie-toms was in the air, time to go have a look, he'd actually forgotten them. When had he put them in the oven? He didn't know,couldn't remember. You nob-head he moaned, he needn't have. He hadn't been sure of how they might turn out, would the tomato-juice reduce, leaving scorched shriveled up sausages? But what a result. The glass lid on the casserole dish was heavily brown-stained, and the red ever so slightly greasy looking tomatoes, sausages therein, had thickened up and it was all looking pretty good. Doing nicely he thought, feeling quite pleased with himself. He would just leave it all to stew for a while on one and then just leave it to cool.

Suddenly there was a tap'tap'tapping at the front door, Arth froze for a moment, waiting for it to stop, then whoever it was, was knocking at the back door, forget it mate, it isn't going to happen, no way was he going to answer the door. They were soon gone and he'd be left wondering for the rest of the day. Who could it have been? Could have been a matter of importance? An emergency even. The only way to know course would have been to answer the damned door but he couldn't face the "what-if". So often this happened and yet no-one ever contacted him to tell him that they'd knocked, so he reasoned that it couldn't have mattered, and nor would this one, probably. But these occurrences DID weigh upon him. What if?

Ten-fifteen and it was still raining, not heavily, but wet is wet heavy or not. He rather fancied getting dressed and going for a walk but his legs didn't, and then, if he did, it meant washing,brushing his teeth etc. and he couldn't be doing with that.
We'll see, he pondered. Another cup of coffee, a bit of grub, and we'll see.

He dished himself up a handful of those wedges, added two sausages, and drizzled some of the thickened tomatoey goo over the lot, mannnnn taste that smell. He put a lid on the plate and stuck it in the microwave for three and a half, and what a result? Let's just say that he'll be doing this again.
A couple of chilled cans of Taurus would do very nicely but he only had a couple left, later.:smile:

Maybe he could extend his walk, the one that he WOULD take, -- brain to legs, come in legs, we're going out, and that's that. --after washing, to the outskirts of town and get a four-pack of Barnstormer. He really doesn't like, is very mindful of, over-doing it with the Tramp-juice but what the hell? It's a wet bank-holiday Monday. And we're not talking ten pinter here, right?
As he set himself down into his nice hot bath some-one knocked the door, the same some-one as before? He couldn't possibly know, but there was no chance. He just washed himself, got himself dressed, and headed for Costcutters.
It was still raining and yet he saw so many people without umbrellas, why? why? why? stupid, stupid, people he wondered, whatever. He thought as he walked, about how, with so much going on around him, life,people etc. How strange it was that all he saw, apart from people needlessly getting wet of course, dick-heads! was the litter. Cigarette-ends, cigarette packets, drink-cans, fast-food cartons, the dregs, always the dregs, but that was him. He is what he is, and always WOULD be.

Newspaper bought, well, he had to have some reason for going there, he slowly made his way back up town towards the outer lying corner shop for his booze. As he walked, he looked, observed, and found the whole experience quite depressing. He longed for something to happen but he didn't know what he was hoping for exactly. At least nothing bad was happening, and he HAD to be thankful for that.
The old house that had been standing empty for so many years now, was almost completely swallowed up in a mountain of rampant ivy. Even a pear tree out back, at least, he thought it was a pear tree, he really couldn't tell, that stood taller than the house-roof, was just one big mass of ivy, how sad? Local rumour has it that she ( she presumably being the once upon a time owner ) had died and left it to her cats. So what's a cat to do? Sell up and relocate?

Four cans, Barnstormer black, 7.5 vol. , and Arth was heading home, taking his time, even going the long way around, maybe he just wanted some-one to talk to, but he didn't know anybody. At 60+ yrs of age, he'd made his bed and would just have lie in it.

Arth went home.

Not much else to say really. He'll drink some, eat some, take a nap or three, night will fall, he will, eventually, go to bed, and a new working week, minus one night, will begin, and he'll start all over again.

life eh?

dither​


----------



## dither

Four cans, it took four cans, but that fourth can, son of a bitch.


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## Deleted member 56686

Dither. Are you kidding? Your writing is fantastic!:cheers:


----------



## dither

Steady on 615 eh?

It's just a day in a life.


----------



## Gofa

Next time you go to the market buy a "leave a message" thing for the door. I want to know who it was. This could be the setting for a mystery story. Already we don't know "who done it" on you front door 
the plot thickens 
the JWs came to our place the other week. My wife answered I was out. So sad I always miss them. I like a bit of religious discussion. 
Asking deep questions like can I be saved if I have deep longings for vegetables ? If I came to Church could I bring a radish for comfort and support ? I don't think it would be a conversion miracle if I gave up being a vegetarian as I've never taken it up. 
BUT. Tomorrow D I'm having toast and coffee for breakfast. I'm going to be vegetarian for the start of my day. I think I will give up being a vegetarian around lunch. Already I've build a bit of sacrifice into my morning and the days not half over.

i might try for a Doctor Do-nettle thing and talk to my indoor plants

the possibilities are endless


----------



## Pandora

I turned the day to day bird calendar a few minutes ago, saw it was a bank holiday there. I was happy for you guys and thought next Monday for us. I like to stay home, really love home. I don't answer the door ever, the phone either, unless it is my kids or hubby. Arth's chilly day sounds good to me, looking forward to a blanket on the porch with coffee in the morning. The change is welcome. I like the word Booze, always have, Sauce too. 

I'm a fan of a day in the life of Arth, I can relate, that feels good. Thanks dither.


----------



## Deleted member 56686

dither said:


> Steady on 615 eh?
> 
> It's just a day in a life.



Yeah I'm back. I found a lot of love here yesterday and even through the night while I was asleep. And believe me it was greatly appreciated. And maybe I'm not as bad a writer as I thought either. That's what I was trying to convey to Amelhope (hope I spelled her name right) in her thread. I'm hoping she goes back online to realize that people appreciate her too. 

Anyway thanks Dither and everyone else.


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## dither

*Maybe tomo'o'o'o'o'o'o'row, maybe someday,*





Maybe tomo'o'o'o'o'o'o'row, maybe so'omeday................Echo's of Chrissie Hind, those were the days, although they probably weren't really. Great track though.
Arth had heard it being somewhere and now he couldn't get it out of his head, this happens quite often. Must be his age, whatever.


Friday, the end of the week, and he'd over-slept. Today of all days, Asda-day. He'd been woken up by his bladder, needing to take a "whizz", as Homer once quaintly put it. Anyway, having been to the loo he glanced up at the clock in the living room as he went to go back upstairs, 3.00.pm ! Jesus! Shit! Now what? He raged at himself, fookin alarm, what happened? And then realised that it hadn't been 3.00.pm at all, ohhh dear,it was actually a quarter past twelve. He stomped off back to bed, feeling ever so slightly embarrassed, knowing full well that he wouldn't get back to sleep, so, he just lay there, raged, festered, and waited for the alarm to go off. Then the day started in earnest.
Brush teeth, cup o' tea, shower, cups of coffee. He was just about managing to get his brain out of neutral when the dog kicked off, then some-one knocked front door. He opened the front door, something he wouldn't usually do but this wasn't going to go away.
"Hello sir, we're blah blah garble garble........"
At this point Arth brain slipped back into neutral.
It all got a bit blurred, they really do have it word-perfect don't they. Something about the government making money available for energy saving initiatives.
"Would you like me to arrange a survey and inspection of your property?It's all free, all paid for by the government."
He announced looking quite pleased with himself.
"Nope".
"NO?"
He was beside himself with shock.
NO?
"I just want leaving alone mate. No offence intended."
Seemingly sensing that this had little to do with any views that Arth may or may not have harboured regarding this very generous offer, he said sorry and was gone, looking quite dumb-founded.
It would be some time later before Arth revisited this occurrence in his mind and realised what an arse he had been, but he couldn't be bothered right now. He was tired, irritable, and there was Asda's to do, there just wasn't time, and he couldn't get beyond his hatred of hawkers, and that was that.

Asda came, Asda went, and he put aside his predilection for fruity teacakes, a hot cross loaf would be his treat for the day, eating half going home, and saving the rest for the journey to work later. Interesting variation on a theme he thought, mmm, why not?
As he road his bus home he thought about the free insulation offer. He might have at least discussed it, but it had come out of the blue, Arth needed time to consider such serious proposals, what rot, he was just a prickly old sod and that was all there was to it.

He needs to do something about this fast, it can't go on, but what's a grouchy old sod like him to do? He wondered. What indeed.

Last week a similar thing had happened, and that really DID leave him with his head spinning. Sometimes, The likes of Morrisons and Asda will have a small stand in the store manned by a drone offering tasters. The latest desert,soup,relish etc.
Last week a woman in Morrison's garb had tried to gift him a four-pack of fruit-ciders. FOUR-PACK! CIDER! FREE!
But before she got halfway through her speech, he'd countered with the "no thanks" as brusquely as he ever could have been.
This was serious.

Never mind, he consoled himself,Saturday tomorrow,​


----------



## dither

[h=1]dither[/h]

[h=4]A grey day in Barkton.[/h]




"You're awake then?"
The conductress teased as he boarded his bus the following morning setting off on his Saturday jaunt to Barkton. How people talked he mused actually feeling quite tickled by it. Barely three hours earlier as he'd waited for the bus home from work, a fellow bus-driver had papped his horn and woken Arth from his slumbers, and now a whole company of bus-drivers would, no doubt, be having a chuckle on Arth.:stupid:
"I was just resting my eyes" he countered.
"Yeah, i know" she replied smiling.
"How's it goin?"
"Not bad, you?"
"We keep going, eh?"
"Yeah".
He went and found a seat halfway up the bus and made himself comfortable, sitting across the seat, he gave his body one good long stretch then settled down for the trip to Barkton.
The next thing he knew a young lad in his teens was prodding him in the back.
"Where are you getting off?" He asked politely as the bus approached Barton police station.
"The police station." responded Arth feeling a little embarrassed, again.
"Does this bus go into town?"
"Yes mate. The next stop is the interchange, and after that it stops in front of the Swansgate Shopping Center."
"Great, that's the one i want, i don't know Barkton very well."
They said their goodbyes, Arth wished him luck, headed for the library, and as he walked down the alley by the church he was astonished to see the path almost covered with fresh leaf-litter. Light brown crispy leaf-litter. Autumn HAD come early. And as he left the alley and walked out into the open the paved area in front of the church entrance was also coated with a sprinkling of leaves.
The main street just a short distance from the town he was struck by how eerily quiet it seemed, were are the people? It was weird, didn't feel right, and he was troubled by the cold emptiness.
He went to return his borrowed book and came away with "JOE BRAND, looking back in hunger". The autobiography. Well,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, Why not? He might at least give a look and see what he thought of it.

Next stop? Well, you know, Chips,salt,vinegar, bus-stop shelter. He'd found himself an empty shelter and begun to eat his chips when a woman ambled in , they sort of half-glanced at each other and exchanged the semblances of a smile, she looked at the timetable then sat down.
She reached into a bag for a mobile phone and dropped it onto the cold hard pavement.
"They don't like that", offered Arth.
She said nothing, then buggered if she didn't drop it again.
"Good material not break", said she, sounding Italian.
"Well i must admit mine had been a cheap one, there were battery and bits bouncing everywhere."
She laughed at that.
Arth ate his chips, she sat punching keys, then, having eaten, he put his empty chip-carton in a litter-bin and made his way to the market.

As he walked into town he couldn't help thinking, again, how quiet the town seemed for a Saturday. Okay the sky was dull and grey but it was a still day, a warm day, and it wasn't raining, it really wasn't that bad, out walking.

As he approached busker's corner, as he now thinks of it, he could see a man holding a guitar with the strap slung over his shoulder, he made several attempts to strum but was being thwarted by some bloke who seemed intent on chatting with him, good ol' boy thought Arth. Keep him talking, keep talking, just a few more minutes then Arth would be well on his way without hearing as much as one sour note.
Yes! He made it, cheap spuds bought and on to Morrisons.
He wasn't there long but had an interesting exchange with a woman on the checkouts.
Whenever he shops he has this routine. Load goods onto the conveyor, then , as checkout person scans them, load them back into basket or trolley, pay for said goods, then go pack the shopping at his leisure, some place out of the way.
" I should hang on to that receipt if i were you" she told him, " might look a bit dodgy, you walking out of here with a shopping basket loaded with goods".
"No'no, i'm just going to get out of the way and pack my stuff."
"Okay, but hold onto that receipt eh?"
"No worries".
Arth was having casual conversations, with total strangers, and he was loving every bit of it.
He'd done this so many times, there had never been a problem. He packed his shopping, took a whizz, as dear old Homer quaintly puts it, and took a gentle stroll back up to the market and on to the interchange.
In just a few short minutes, only two bites into a teacake, his bus rolled in. He almost wished that something had given him cause to linger, such strange feelings stirring deep within, almost as though he'd got no place to go to, but he was going home.

And so he did.

Same old bus ride, same old walk home, feeling totally unseen, un-noticed, un-known, just another piece of litter, riding on a summer breeze, going home.

dither.​


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## dither

Geranium-mania at the library and fallen leaves at the church.


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## dither

Hey Escorial,
how's it going?


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## escorial

your writing always reminds me of a  script for a play...


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## dither

Yes but who'd believe it?


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## dither

I can't post any more pics apparently, i've hit my limit, that's it.


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## escorial

i think you could man..turn it all into a play...street scenes and bus journeys and chips!


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## dither

I suppose it might be possible to create some sort of character from my ramblings but why would anybody WANT to?
And then, reflections/perspectives, on real life, i don't know. Maybe?

It's litter,grey days, fag-ash, grit, reality, it's happening, it's "here and now" as "soul to soul" sung the song. "Back to life, back to reality, back to the here and now yeah."

I often wonder about how other people see it all, i can't be the only ditherer in town.


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## escorial

for me that's the attraction..a guy walking through life and extracting feelings from everyday objects and life..would be amazin


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## dither

Escorial,
i feel the same way, it's a great concept.
It's what i loved so much about the writings of Clement Freud.
So casual/off the cuff/said it as he saw it.


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## Pandora

Listening to the menfolk, the thoughts and feelings, priceless.


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## dither

Pandora said:


> Listening to the menfolk, the thoughts and feelings, priceless.



Pandora,
it all just felt so weird, and my awareness of how i felt, of myself.
I don't know, it seemed such a new phenomenon, good thing?
A new me?
It's all getting a bit too deep here.


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## Pandora

I like deep, always have. So deep it spins. Hubby said in my younger days,  I should have been a cult leader . . . ha! 

Nice to look inside and feel, to be aware of that.


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## dither

Pandora said:


> Nice to look inside and feel, to be aware of that.



Maybe?
It's never happened before, and it feels weird.
Age-related perhaps?
Yeah, it's got to be.
Casual convos with strangers? me?

How sad?
How embarrassing?


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## dither

*A soft-shoe shuffle,*

It's well into mid-morning, it's Monday, and it's a glorious day. There's a clear blue sky, and the sun is warm enough. Arth gets himself sorted out and takes a gentle stroll up to the shops. As he closes the front gate behind and walks towards the High Street it seems as though the whole town is taking a lie-in. So quiet, so peaceful, he finds himself deliberately walking as quietly as he possibly can, which isn't difficult wearing beloved crocs, hardly making a sound.
A bumble-bee bumbles, the faint sound of a dog bark breaks the silence momentarily, flowers of the Rose-hip bush that he passes every day are so pretty for such a short while, in no time at all they start to look sullied, brown-stained and wilt. Then the delicate pinkish coloured leaves fall and make way for the bold red rose-hips. A wood-pigeon crosses the street over-head and as he approaches the High Street heading for the shops, it really is idyllic.
There is traffic but the road isn't particularly busy. Shoppers, in no hurry whatsoever, shop at their leisure. Young mums, and THEIR mums, sit at tables outside a small coffee-shop enjoying cuppas and cakes, and Arth goes about his business.

happy daze,

dither​


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## Gofa

I think you need to get some sticky labels that say. "Captured by Arth" Signifying an entry in your historic documentary 

Go you good thing as its life D and so many people miss it in their hurray to be some else that isn't here or now.


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## Pandora

Beautiful capture dither and wonderfully encouraging thought Gofa


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## Gofa

I feel we are two kids in beginners school sitting on the mat and Miss Pandora the teacher has told the class we are good little boys and has patted us on the head. 
Not sure if you have noticed D so I will lean across and point out, that, from my position seated on the mat, Miss Pandora had very attractive legs and a nice bum.


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## dither

Tut'tut young Gofa.


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## Gofa

I know D Oh dear. I think these opinions formed at too young an age.  
My apologies to Miss Pandora 
but i am unable to continue on and say its not true nor can i say that i did not mean it 
consider me a wolf in wolf's clothing 
oh i feel the dog box coming on 
Sigh


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## Pandora

I adore men, their thoughts connected to their physical being. A man working nothing better, strong, competent. 

Funny you should mention kindergarten, I like when I picture a man as a kindergartner, like President GW Bush, my favorite weatherman Brad Nix, Andre Braugher, so endearing that it must be the innocence, the lifetime ago. Anyone else see it?


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## dither

[h=4]It's the little things,[/h]


It was Friday, Asda-day, and as Arth walked down the steps to open the front gate, he casually glanced back at the top step and saw a Grasshopper, hop, just a common or maybe not so common nowadays,Grasshopper , an ordinary, and then maybe, not so ordinary, or run of the mill, bug, but he felt so happy to have seen it.
"Run of the mill", he thought about that saying to himself as he walked, run of the mill? Aren't we all? But that Grasshopper, so small and green, with those mighty little back legs. Zip! Wow!

Then, as he headed into town he saw one of those small white Butterflies, "flutter by Butterfly" he thought. It must be years since he saw a Grasshopper, he remembered how as a boy, the time he and his pals, he often wonders where they are now, had spent chasing them. And that Butterfly was the first one that he'd noticed out and about this year.
Perhaps all is NOT lost, yet. He really was cheered by those sightings. Those little sightings, little things.

And so, he caught his bus and made his way To Rugely. If any thing was "run of the mill", same time, same bus, same store, same shopping-list, pretty much, the hum and the drum of it all. Run of the mill'run of the mill' run of the mill'run of the mill, all aboard the boredom express he thought to himself.
People's faces, moans and groans.

Some one recently told him that they sometimes envied him his leisurely wanderings, seemingly strolling through life. He thought about that as he walked, with the world and their dogs swirling all around him, rushing,dashing,peddles to the metal,struggling to keep up, anonymously as he was able. He thought about that. He's in his sixties, working nights, and when he clocks on, he barely has time to go to the loo, it's mayhem, by the time Friday comes he's running on empty almost, and a gentle leisurely stroll is about as much as he is able, or cares to muster.

He now wondering if he should consider looking into getting a better camera. That Hopper, and the Butterfly, no way could he photograph them with his shitty little 426. But did he really WANT to? Something for him to ponder perhaps. A new hobby? Nah, it wouldn't last. He was just so fickle sometimes, restless, unable to settle, a bit like those Butterflies, only without the fluttering.
But that small bed of tired Geraniums littered with well, litter, touched him in such a way.

Little things.​


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## TKent

Lol, and I thought you had a shoe fetish all this time...



Gofa said:


> I feel we are two kids in beginners school sitting on the mat and Miss Pandora the teacher has told the class we are good little boys and has patted us on the head.
> Not sure if you have noticed D so I will lean across and point out, that, from my position seated on the mat, Miss Pandora had very attractive legs and a nice bum.


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## TKent

Dither,

Oh my, how I loved this... thanks for sharing. Sets the tone for this lovely Sunday!



dither said:


> *It's the little things,*
> 
> 
> 
> It was Friday, Asda-day, and as Arth walked down the steps to open the front gate, he casually glanced back at the top step and saw a Grasshopper, hop, just a common or maybe not so common nowadays,Grasshopper , an ordinary, and then maybe, not so ordinary, or run of the mill, bug, but he felt so happy to have seen it.
> "Run of the mill", he thought about that saying to himself as he walked, run of the mill? Aren't we all? But that Grasshopper, so small and green, with those mighty little back legs. Zip! Wow!
> 
> Then, as he headed into town he saw one of those small white Butterflies, "flutter by Butterfly" he thought. It must be years since he saw a Grasshopper, he remembered how as a boy, the time he and his pals, he often wonders where they are now, had spent chasing them. And that Butterfly was the first one that he'd noticed out and about this year.
> Perhaps all is NOT lost, yet. He really was cheered by those sightings. Those little sightings, little things.
> 
> And so, he caught his bus and made his way To Rugely. If any thing was "run of the mill", same time, same bus, same store, same shopping-list, pretty much, the hum and the drum of it all. Run of the mill'run of the mill' run of the mill'run of the mill, all aboard the boredom express he thought to himself.
> People's faces, moans and groans.
> 
> Some one recently told him that they sometimes envied him his leisurely wanderings, seemingly strolling through life. He thought about that as he walked, with the world and their dogs swirling all around him, rushing,dashing,peddles to the metal,struggling to keep up, anonymously as he was able. He thought about that. He's in his sixties, working nights, and when he clocks on, he barely has time to go to the loo, it's mayhem, by the time Friday comes he's running on empty almost, and a gentle leisurely stroll is about as much as he is able, or cares to muster.
> 
> He now wondering if he should consider looking into getting a better camera. That Hopper, and the Butterfly, no way could he photograph them with his shitty little 426. But did he really WANT to? Something for him to ponder perhaps. A new hobby? Nah, it wouldn't last. He was just so fickle sometimes, restless, unable to settle, a bit like those Butterflies, only without the fluttering.
> But that small bed of tired Geraniums littered with well, litter, touched him in such a way.
> 
> Little things.​


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## Pandora

Oh those little things Arth the secret to smiles. There are some things about growing old that are really nice, life eh? Enjoyed dither, thank you


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## dither

*Trusting to chance, the flip of a coin.*Which ever bus came first, was the one that he would take. It was that sort of a day. That sort of a mood.

Either way, on a dull grey miserable day,he'd have to extend his weekend visit to Barkton to accommodate a visit to the out of town Aldi-store, all because the one in Numbley was going through a time of re-fitting the fridge department and, didn't seem to have those vacuum-packed mini-jackets and au gratins that he so liked ( had almost come to rely on) to use when he was pushed for time midweek.As chance would have it, he boarded the bus to Numbley.
Having arrived in Numbley, he would wait for a bus that would take him to Barkton. This bus would eventually deliver him to the door almost, of the Barkton Aldi store, then he'd have to wait for yet another bus to take him into town, hurrah for the MegaRider ticket, all this faffing about on buses was at least, a freebie. Arth and freebies, oh dear, silly old bugger.
As he waited for his bus to Barkton he noticed a couple of traffic-wardens a stalking a parking lane on the other side of the road, a sign read "limited parking 60 minutes", busily punching numbers into their handsets. Why do those guys always seem to enthusiastic about what they do? Suddenly, without him having seen them go they had gone, and would return fifty nine minutes from now no doubt. What a going on he thought, gotta be done though eh?
Humbley, the town where he'd grown up, from birth into his twenties. It all seemed so cold, unfriendly and un-inviting now, alienating almost. The bus terminal was a mess, litter and cigarette-butts strewn everywhere, where as in Barkton, everywhere seemed so clean and just a nice place to be.
The bells on the church close by rung out, announcing 10.45. and the bus pulled in a minute late, he could live with that.
Arth sat, entranced by the views, as the bus whizzed eight miles or so, through glorious countryside, barely pausing to pick up or drop passengers off at a couple of villages en route.
Field upon field of stubble, crops gathered in, job done so to speak. Farm buildings and out-houses huddled together, looking as though they were already bracing themselves for whatever the coming winter might throw at them, making ready. Hatches were being battened down already.
The trees and hedgerows are on the change. Hues of orange, red, yellow and gold, and many shades of brown, creeping in as Autumn approaches.
Within minutes it seemed, Barkton was on the horizon, the retail park, and Aldi's, and what a place.
As he walked up to the store a chap was putting a trolley back,
"You getting rid of that?"
Arth offered him a pound peice.
"Yes but it hasn't got money in it."
He'd got on of those dummy coins.
Arth waited and too his turn, got a trolley, and entered the store. He wandered, had a look around but he wasn't going to buy anything except for three packs of spuds and a pack of fruity-buns. The store didn't seem so big, and it didn't seem so busy, but when he got to the checkouts, he with just a handful of purchases, couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Three conveyors piled high with goods, and they just kept on conveying. Checkout scanners beeping non-stop, and it was never-ending. 
Arth exited Aldi's and went back to the bus-stop with only one thing on his mind, chips. Midday was fast approaching and his stomach was starting to gripe.
But first he had books to return to the library and what luck, within just two or three minutes, a bus pulled in.
As the bus climbed the hill toward Barkton he couldn't help but notice the leaves on the Conker-trees, all brown and shriveling, not long now, winter is coming.
The bus rounded the roundabout where Arth caught his bus to work every night. Down into the dip, up another hill, and onto the police station and Arth was back on track.
Just a short walk down the alley dodging the occasional green and white splatterings of pigeon shit that signified a nest above, leaves are starting to fall, he noticed,and on to the library. Once there, he was in no mood for dithering, he did look, but nothing caught his fancy. Just two books to return and off to the fryers.
CHIPS!
YES!
Brown girl, although we went through the usual routine, seemed as though her thoughts were some place else, a blank facial expression screaming out for, for what? Who knows? He certainly didn't, but the chips were good today and they needed to be. There were no empty bus-shelters so he went and sat by the bed of Geraniums, in reality it was just a very well disguised ash-tray, but it was still a nice place to be, and watched the world go by as he ate. They're looking jaded now, maybe they'll be replaced by Primroses again, they really had looked spectacular last year.
As he slowly made his way to the market he found himself for no obvious reason feeling totally overwhelmed by a sense of well-being. Okay, he'd done Aldi's, the chips had been a joy, but in spite of the grey up above, it just felt nice.
So much going on all around him, people, cars, hustle and bustle and yet all seemed blurred, like he was watching a film with the sound turned off. So much to see and hear just flowing over him as he roamed, such a weird feeling.
The market was busy enough. No busker today. And those cheap red spuds were well, cheap.
A quickie in Morrisons and back into town, and again, he couldn't believe how un-hurried he felt, almost wishing he'd got a reason to stay, but he hadn't so it was a slow stroll back to the big ash-tray, a couple of fruity buns as he waited. 
Life,happening, here and now he thought to himself as he ate. Taste it, smell it, feel it, breath it, live it. How strange, how nice, how very unusual, for him, feeling such pleasure, so comfortable, like the old pair of slippers.
He still hadn't got his two and a half litres of pop yet, he'd nip into Costcutters when he got home, but for now, he'd just relax and enjoy the ride.

Going home.

dither​

Looking a little tired now.

And on closer inspection:

Oh dear.

Really must give that place a try some time.

And dinner is served:

My hot-dog omelette.


----------



## Deleted member 56686

As usual Dither, you write excellently


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## dither

I took a few photos and i've forgotten how to post them.

They're gone.
Ive lost them.

I've got to start from fresh again learning how to store photos, and i don't think i can face that right now.


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## Plasticweld

Dither, nicely done, as in the past I have accused you of being a master of observation... I stand by the accusation.

True wisdom
*
Life, happening, here and now he thought to himself as he ate. Taste it, smell it, feel it, breath it, live it. How strange, how nice, how very unusual, for him, feeling such pleasure, so comfortable, like the old pair of slippers
*


----------



## dither

Thanks guys,
your kind words are very much appreciated.


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## Gofa

Pretty damn good D.  The chips looked good from here. PS  I went for a walk last night and bought chips. Nice counter point to walking is digging in the bag to pull forth the next offering. To me i see more when i chew. Its the little things as my brain is in neutral as i bite and reflect. You cant hurray, you are already busy eating. Automatic stroll mode

G


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## dither

Gofa said:


> You cant hurray, you are already busy eating. Automatic stroll mode
> 
> G


Yep.


----------



## dither

I managed to find my pics.

Just a thought;
Is it possible to stack pics and type text beside them?
That seems such a waste of space.


----------



## Gofa

I wanna see


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## dither

Have another look at my last bus-ride/walkabout post.

Will you let me know if they are there please.


----------



## Gofa

The photos are great. I want a bite eh


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## dither

Gofa,
are the pic there or just jpg links?


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## dither

*A soft-shoe shuffle. A morning in Stugely. And why Beagles?*



Wouldn't Arth juss know it;
Go out without a decent coat and a brolly and the heavens will open up. Go with one, and well, you know. Sod's law. Where DOES that saying come from? Answers on a postcard please.
The main road to Stugely was closed temporarily yesterday, Friday, Asda-shopping-day, due to a traffic accident, diverted buses WERE still running, but Arth didn't have time to waste, Friday Asda-shopping is a "must do",he would have to go today. After a trip to the library, but first, what to wear?
He kept going outside and back indoors. With body-warmer, with and then without a pullover. Then without both but wearing a coat, and all manner of combinations. In the end he went with body-warmer and coat, coat to be carried eventually, ho'hum.
His visit to the library saw him leave empty-handed, and when he arrived at the chip-shop en route to Asda'a it was closed. Open 11.30. am until 9.00.pm, WHAT?
He was in no rush, today he DID have time to kill and he killed some. What with the heat, the fatigue, both mental and physical, from having been awake for 18 hours, and counting, and wearing his faithful old crocs, canvas shopping-bag hanging off his shoulder, he shuffled along at a snails pace.
Asda's on a Saturday morning didn't seem so bad, until he got to the checkouts that is, they were heaving. He must have waited an age, just to put his shopping onto a conveyor, but what's an old geezer like him to do? He's quite adept at taking crap. He stands and he waits.
Finally, with goods weighing heavy on his shoulder, he exited the store and checked his Samsung GT-E1230 for the time. Sounds impressive doesn't it? 
I've got a Samsung GT-E1230, well it isn't impressive at all. It's a phone that the phone-shops won't put on display, because they're so cheap. Isn't THAT a surorise. They sell for around a fiver and they're brilliant. The last one that he owned, he'd had for over two years and was still going strong when he bounced it of a hard floor. Whatever.
It was 11.40., he'd have to wait 30 minutes for a bus, and that chippie would have had barely enough  time to shake the fat off his first batch. CHIPS!
As Arth walked into the shop, an oldish fellow dashed out from behind a gallery of deep-fat fryers.
"Portion o' chips please mate".
"Large or small?"
"Small please."
"That'll be one-fifty then."
Kerching!
Salt,vinegar, and those little wooden V-shaped forks sat on the counter, there to be had, and Arth had some, sampled all three and left. As he strolled down to the bus-stop he ate his chips, and what chips, Fantastic.
Perfectly soft, no leathery outer, well-cooked, and hot.
"Cor they smell nice", he heard a voice say in passing.
"Yes" thought Arth smuggly, "they are".
There was a lesson to be learned here he thought. A good chippie, the first batch, probably only been cooked a few minutes prior to the shop opening..... A eureka-moment perhaps. Way to go.
Get to the shop soon after opening maybe, and there you have it.
Well, anyway, chips were eaten, his bus arrived on time, or thereabouts, and Arth headed home, would like to have lingered, hung around some, and maybe looked in on the Farmers Market in Letts even, but he'd got frozen oven-chips in his shopping-bag that threatened to turn into savoury mulch, he had to get home a.s.a.p.
By the way;
Beagles seem to be in fashion, and it's a shame.
They seem the most good-natured/happy go-lucky/playful types, and so full of vitality.
I hope that this doesn't prove to be detrimental to the breed.

dither​


----------



## escorial

kerching


----------



## dither

*I'm not your bud, and it's none of your damn business;*



It was another dull grey chilly morning where you just never knew how it would turn out. When a day begins with blue sky and sunshine or dark heavy looking clouds and a stiff breeze, well, the clues are there aren't they, and you dress accordingly.
But on Saturday morning, yesterday, it could've gone either way. Last Saturday had started in similar fashion but by midday Arth was carrying his coat and getting a sweat on.
So, with that in mind, he wore a jacket and left the pullover off. He packed a brolly, but then he always packed a brolly, and went to catch his bus, picking up a newspaper on the way.
Within minutes of getting to the bus-stop it had started to rain, it wasn't heavy but a wind was blowing it into the shelter scattering damp spots on his newspaper so, with a heavy sigh, he put his put his newspaper back into his shopping bag, zipped his jacket up to his chin, turned the collar up, and turned his back on the miserable weather. He stood shivering, with his face pressed against clear perspex and looked on as the minutes passed by on the church clock.

"Bus takin a long time ennit ."

He glanced sideways at a Thai woman ( well, that was what she looked like to him ) who had arrived at the stop with a young boy, and was sitting on the seat beside him.
Her face looked familiar, she used to walk the stop every night as he waited for the bus to work and had once paid him a compliment in passing.
" You cut your hair" she had said one night, breaking the silence between us. "looks better".
But being painfully shy, even then, at almost sixty years of age, he mumbled and spluttered without actually responding and he never saw her again. Until this morning.

"Errrm, it HAS got a couple of minutes, it's not late, yet."
He mumbled nervously, but at least he'd managed to respond this time.
"Well, which one are you waiting for? I'm going to Barkton."
"Oh no, i want the other one, Numbley."
"They usually come around the same time i think don't they? They are about due".
And with that the bus to Barkton pulled in.
"That'll do me".
Arth boarded his bus, went upstairs to an empty top deck, planted himself down on the back seat, and of it went. Mile after mile of rain-lashed hedgerows and featureless farmland except for the wind-turbines on the outskirts of Hittering with their huge grey blades made for a bleak landscape.

He hurried down the alley by the Church toward the library mindful of those flagstones at the opening and how he'd gone arse over tit in his crocs a few weeks back and busting for a pee.. He was wearing them again. Easy does it Arth, easy does it.

Why can't libraries be quiet fusty dowdy places like the old days?
People, young mums ( nothing against young mums ), unruly screaming kids, loud overheard conversations.
Ha'ha'ha he chuckled. The librarians of yesteryear would be turning in their graves.He could barely hear himself think but he DID find a couple of paperbacks and was feeling peckish.

At the interchange there wasn't one empty bus-stop shelter, due to the weather he supposed. He remembered that parking area on the ground-floor of a building down a side-street just a few steps from the chippie, that would do. No cheerful brown girl with the knowing smile and the tired eyes this morning, a short bald overweight chap,took the order. Arth handed over his one-fifty and headed for shelter.
As he stood eating his chips and peering out into the rain, two smartly dressed young men passed by.
"Hey! how yer doin bud?"
I'm not your bud and it's none of your damn business, he seethed inwardly.That sort of thing really pissed him off. What is it with those guys? He wondered angrily, who were they? And where did they come from? And how long would it be before Arth totally lost it and told them what he thought of them? Best just to ignore them.
At that he looked upwards cursing his luck and what a sight, 




 Alcoholics not so anonymous. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			





Next stop Morrisons, he didn't want much, and he wasn't for hanging around, calling in at the vegie-shop on the market for his cheap spuds, and eggs, 9, a quid also. Couldn't argue with that.
He could hear a busker and even in such foul weather, he would take the long route via a back door from the shopping centre, such was life, his life.
All the floral displays and flowerbeds that he passed had been cleared and freshly dug, likewise the big ash-tray at the interchange. Maybe they'd be reset with Primroses again. They really were a beautiful sight last year. He would look forward to that.
Walking back towards the interchange, he strolled through the Swansgate and saw a young mum wearing the most amazing, well, tights? Leggings? Black and silver patterned, they looked fantastic. NO he wasn't ogling, the sight was just eye-catching, that's all. 
Well, that was about it really.
Interchange,fruity teacakes,home.

Chiao!


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## escorial

cheap spuds..made me laugh dither


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## TKent

Ahhh, what a great way to start the day. The title reached out and grabbed me by the hand and the writing sucked me in   The line below was _too _good *smile*



> He hurried down the alley by the Church toward the library mindful of those flagstones at the opening and how he'd gone arse over tit in his crocs a few weeks back and busting for a pee.. He was wearing them again. Easy does it Arth, easy does it.


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## Deleted member 56686

Okay Dither, where did you get those smileys? Schrody has a thread for people to donate


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## dither

615, some place i used to go to.
It's not there anymore, sorry.

- - - Updated - - -

Thanks for the kind words guys.
Appreciated as always.


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## Deleted member 56686

dither said:


> 615, some place i used to go to.
> It's not there anymore, sorry.
> 
> - - - Updated - - -
> 
> Thanks for the kind words guys.
> Appreciated as always.




Well if you want post the ones you have on Schrody's thread, we can copy and paste. You have really neat smileys, Dith.


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## dither

mrmustard615 said:


> Well if you want post the ones you have on Schrody's thread, we can copy and paste. You have really neat smileys, Dith.



I don't think i have anymore.

Have we already got these?
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	










or something like.

Do they really matter?

- - - Updated - - -



escorial said:


> cheap spuds..made me laugh dither



Okay!
less expensive. ;-)


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## Deleted member 56686

dither said:


> I don't think i have anymore.
> 
> Have we already got these?
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> or something like.
> 
> Do they really matter?
> 
> - - - Updated - - -
> 
> 
> 
> . ;-)



Not really, the extra smileys just help us express ourselves more accurately, plus yours are just plain funny.


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## Gofa

:cookie::cookie:  They are cheap and cheerful spuds and if baked to a nice brown exterior look a lot like the attached smiley 
Baked Spud Oclock for you and me Dither


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## dither

*A cheeky chippie, a lock-out, and busking hell,*




Just another bus-ride, and a Saturday morning spent in Barkton.
First stop, as always, would be the library, and once again he found himself being drawn to a book about spirits. He'd just returned a paperback entitled " Ghosts among us, uncovering the truth about the other side" by some James Van Praagh, and now he was taking out a hardback entitled "ANGELS of divine light" by Aiden Storey. Arth did think about such a coincidence. WAS it a coincidence? He wondered about that.
The big ash-tray at the interchange had been transformed once again, freshly dug and raked level in preparation, he imagined for the Winter blooms. Hopefully they'd be putting in Primroses again, last year's show had been amazing, all would be revealed in due course, of course, but right now he wasn't for dithering, there's was only one thing on his mind, food, eats.
It was such a lovely morning, and as he entered the Fryers, she stood there behind the counter, tall, brown and slim, with the widest smile. She seemed just the nicest sort, they exchanged the usual pleasantries, culminating in her handing him his chips, salted and vinegared of course, and he handing over his one-fifty, but this time there was a little extra. She said something quietly ( cheekily it seemed )to him as he took his chips, and he didn't hear a word of it. There was a twinkle in her eyes as she spoke to him. Had she been attempting to engage him in some friendly banter? A cheeky leg-pull. A little tease perhaps? " Sorry?" He responded quizzically. She repeated herself, and again, he didn't catch a word of it, all he could do was smile and walk away.
He felt so stupid, so,so, impotent. Damn his fading hearing. Maybe it was just another build-up of ear-wax. A couple of years back he had a terrible cold and it had left him quite deaf, Apparently it's not uncommon. He'd been saying "what? Sorry?Pardon? Eh?" For some time now but that was the final straw. He would be making an appointment to see his Doctor A.S.A.P.
Well, anyway, spots of rain were beginning to fall, there were no empty bus-stop shelters,so he headed for that little first-floor parking bay that he'd used last week, and as he approached,,,,,,,,,, WHAT? S.O.B.s, he couldn't believe his eyes.



 

NEVER! EVER! Had he seen those gates locked. Come to think of it, he hadn't ever noticed those gates before. But there they were, cold, grey, steel, and padlocked.
Why? Had somebody seen him there last week and complained? What harm could he possibly be doing? The rain stopped as quickly as it had started, and when he returned to the interchange he found an empty shelter, but what a b****** he thought to himself, dirty rotten...............
Oh well, never mind. The dark clouds passed, there was warm sunshine, so Arth erased the lockout from his thoughts set about enjoying his chips, and wondered what he'd missed whilst purchasing them. Okay, it hadn't meant anything, but how nice the experience might have been, and would it ever happen again ? He wondered. 
He was soon on his feet again and on his way to the Market and his favoured veggie-shop.
Arth could hear yells and the twanging of a six-string before he'd even got to the market and would be taking a slight detour, right around the shopping center, then back up the hill toward where the noise was coming from just to get his bag of inexpensive potatoes, but he didn't mind, wasn't going to let it bother him, he got his spuds, bought himself a nice hot cup of tea, and found a place to sit, just out of earshot.



 

Barkton's very own shard. Arth sat and enjoyed his cuppa, took in the sights, and what sights.
Arth is so wanting to snap passers-by with his camera, girls with dyed hair, red seems to be in fashion right now. Amazing T-shirts. A woman wearing the most "shocking-pink" high-heels, seriously, precariously, high. He's resisting an urge to ask the occasional wearer of such eye-catching attire for their consent, let him take a pic or two. What might people think of him?

Finally, rested and refreshed, he made his way to Morrison's, and another embarrassing experience. What ARE they thinking of at Morrison's? He didn't have much to get. The usual nibbles to enjoy on his way home, and a lottery ticket. He only goes there out of habit really. It helps pass the morning. But it was as he was walking past the long row of checkouts, a smart well-dressed man who seemed to think pretty highly of himself followed behind, "Good morning Hazel. Hello Margaret, David, Michael, on and on, down the line, he made a point of addressing each and every one individually, by name, as though he was royalty. How embarrassing? How demeaning? How insulting? As though he was tossing carrots to the donkeys, his minions. It made Arth want to spit. Tur!
Know your employees Morrisons, such an obscene abuse of power. How could they treat their employees in such a way?

Well, that was Arth, heading back to the interchange, going through the market he saw a man with a proper camera dangling from his neck. Maybe Arth wasn't only one wanting to take snaps as he walked about. 

Life eh?

dither​


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## Gofa

"It helps pass the morning."   Yup that's what your writing does


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## dither

Gofa said:


> "It helps pass the morning."   Yup that's what your writing does



That's really all i'm doing when i'm living it. Just passing a morning.


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## escorial

always enjoy dithering with dither...top read


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## dither

I know i've said this before, and this thread is so much poorer for Pandora's passing, but i need to find a fresh location for my Saturday dithering.


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## Deleted member 56686

dither said:


> I know i've said this before, and this thread is so much poorer for Pandora's passing, but i need to find a fresh location for my Saturday dithering.



I miss Pandora too and I only knew her for such a short time.


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## dither

I know it's all been said 615 but she really was a lovely human-being.


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## dither

*Just another sleepy Sunday;*


Many years ago now, farther back than Arth cared to remember, he'd grown a chestnut tree, from a nut, it had grown to quite a size, and every Autumn it would lay a carpet of leaves, nuts, and the rotting shells on a good third of of his neighbour's precious lawn. The old man next door, older than Arth even, now in his seventies, had been unwell for sometime, and so Arth had decided that maybe it wouldn't hurt to go round and tidy up a bit.
So, at around six-thirty on a mild still Sunday-morning, Arth stood looking up at the sky watching light clouds drift slowly across the skyline. As night slowly gave way to daylight , there didn't seem to be any sign of life next door, so, armed with rake, rubber gloves and bin-liners, he made his move, and boy was he in for a surprise.
Three bin-liners he filled with that shit, and actually felt quite sorry for the old lawn-worshipper. Oh well, at least it wouldn't be his problem this year. Nuts and leaves were still falling but at least now the lawn was visible, and maybe Arth could go back and finish off when the tree was bare.

The day did actually turn out quite nice for the time of the year. The wind was doing it's best to erase any evidence of Arth's exertions, but it wasn't cold out, and the Simpsons intro music was playing in his head as he watched fluffy white clouds drifting across a clear blue sky.

Moving on to nearly lunchtime and Arth was feeling bored. He works hard all week, and on any Sunday-morning he feels tired, really tired, both mentally and physically, there lies the rub.
He thought about getting himself washed and taking himself out for a walk in the fresh air, might do him good. But where would he go? He didn't know anybody, it wasn't as though he might go visiting or looking in on anybody.
Arth thought on.

Well, he thought on, and what the hell? He got himself washed and dressed, minus one shave, and took a gentle stroll up to the High street.

By the time he'd hit the High Street, those fluffy white clouds were starting to disappear behind a curtain of huge grey ones, rain? He wondered.
Arth NEVER went out without a brolly, but today he just felt blurghhhh, and couldn't be bothered, and if he DID get a soaking, yeah whatever. That is how he was feeling.
With almost all the shops closed, not that there are so many anyway, bar the Tesco Express, a Costcutters, and a couple of cafes, once again he was surprised how busy the town seemed. A huge lorry was delivering at Tesco's, families were doing the weekly shop, teenagers hanging out, it could easily have been a weekday. Arth found a public bench at the center of town, took out yesterday's newspaper from his tired old overcoat and sat for a while.

Hoping for something to happen, like what? Oh who cares? Something, anything, he pleaded silently with the sky above, and the Church clock said one o'clock.
As he sat and daydreamed, shadows cast by trees behind where he was sitting, darkening, lightening,at times almost disappearing, danced on the pavement. Fallen leaves skipped along the tarmac. The road was busy, again,just like a weekday. A granny cyclist wearing a pink safety helmet, cool huh! He liked that. A man walking a Beagle. The only thing that seemed Sundayish was the bus-stop, no buses on Sundays. 

As the Church clock struck two Arth was reflecting on just another wasted day, and heading for home. Just another tired lonely old man. He hummed AN old Beatle track as he went.

Just another day.​



Arth's chestnut tree.


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## dither

[h=4]Just another Asda shop;[/h]




One can't help but admire the power of nature, nor stand in the way of it it seems, thought Arth as he closed the front door behind him and headed for a street littered with leaves that were settling in drifts thanks to Gonzalo, and those amazing little winged seeds that had been shaken from a tall Sycamore by the sack-full,
and ambled down towards town.:-k
Thank YOU Gonzalo. Hurricane Gonzalo that is. Born in the Caribbean apparently, and then, having gone stomping around in the Atlantic like some spoiled child, throwing the toys out of his pram, and sending them crashing down, is finally tiring, and we in good old Blighty are getting the tail-end of it.
For fifty meters or more those little seeds lie everywhere and a further two hundred or more away from the tree, he was still seeing the odd one two. Pretty amazing huh!
A chocolate coloured Labrador had been left standing outside the local chemist's shop, people came and went and a shop assistant actually came out and petted him but he just stood there and made no attempt to enter, good dog.
Well anyway, by the time he got to the bus-stop the sky was starting to leak, he was glad to see the bus pull in and when he boarded he almost wished that hadn't. Some motor-mouth sounding so cock-sure of himself, know it all type, and that whiny-ass voice, the one that really grates, grated, all the way to Stugely, he was almost glad that his hearing was fading,and by the time the bus got there, it really was lashing down.
He leaped off the bus and couldn't get far enough away, quickly enough. Arth is rapidly becoming an old grouch and he knows it, but what's a bloke to do? We are what we are, and people, TUH! 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	



Arth doesn't hang around when he's doing the Asda shop, credit to Asda Stores, they don't mess with the layout, he invariably knows where everything is, and so he's in and out of there pretty quick nowadays.
When he got back to his bus-stop, opposite lamp-post 28 as it happens ( 29 is just up the road going into town ), he was amazed, and impressed, to see a young lad, 14/15 ish, schoolboy, reading a newspaper, schoolboys didn't read newspapers when he was a lad. He was reading the Sun, and he WASN'T stuck on page 3.
Arth is beginning to think about his week off work that's not far off now, and his wish to see Eastbourne. He'd like to, he really would, but mmmmmm, him? An old man? In his 60s? Clocking up a hundred and fifty odd miles or so? Alone? With three seperate trains to catch? If all went WELL, it would be getting dark when he got there. And then, to have to find a room for a couple of days, which SHOULDN'T be a problem really, in November, still, he's not sure, and will just have to see how he feels when the time comes. It really is going to be a " spur of the moment "decision". He's dithering.​


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## Gofa

Go you good thing.

 I charge yea fair knight with a quest and pilgrimage to the holy land of Eastborne and thouest should return with images as if captured by magic that give evidence of your successful journeying to the "East".
I feel the holy land of Eastbourne will fire your conviction to take upon yourself the true quest to circumnavigate the Isles and then recount vast tales of high adventure.

Arise Sir Arth a true Knight Companion of the Order of Dithering


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## dither

We'll see Gofa,


I need to find something.

In the right frame of mind, i could just attempt to produce something, and throw it to the lions in prose or non-fic. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




We'll see.


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## dither

Oh dear,
it's a biggie i'm afraid.








*Life eh?*




For a few weeks now, as Arth has set out on his Saturday bus-ride to Barkton, he has dithered over what to wear, but there was no such dilemma today. Brass Monkeys and Blacksmiths readily sprung to mind. At around three am this morning the temperature must have been so close to zero, then, as darkness had given way to clear blue sky and sunshine, a stiff breeze had got up, it was nippy out there.
The bells of St. Pete's struck eleven as Arth paced down the alley beside the church heading for the Library, and by the time he got there, his bladder felt a though it might burst if he didn't get to that loo pretty soon, much to his, and his bladder's relief, the loo was open and vacant, and a crisis was averted. Arth breathed a long appreciative Phew, and then set about finding a book or two, he actually managed to find two, there was no knowing how he would find these books once he started reading them of course, but what the hell? He had at least borrowed a couple.
Next stop, well you all know what that would be, but even HE couldn't possibly have anticipated what would happen on his arrival. He walked up to the counter and the bald fella was there serving;
"Hello, what can i get you?"
" A portion o' chips, open please".
Then a voice from behind the counter said " Hi Yaaaaa! Alright?"
Arth looked up and there was the young brown woman, the one with the big brown shiny eyes smiling straight at him.
Who me? There WAS no-one else, oh wow!
" Yeah, not bad. You?"
"Yeah".
How wonderful? How lovely? How absurd you silly old sod, get a grip he admonished.
But still,it was just the nicest thing. Talk about sunshine on a rainy day. She'd just made his, day.
"Salt and vinegar?"
Enquired the bald fella.
"Yes please".
Arth grabbed a wooden fork stumped up the one-fifty and was gone, smiling with delight, all the way to an empty bus-stop shelter.
But the smiling was short-lived. 
" 'As it gone? The number nineteen to Gorling, 'as it gone?"
A voice asked in queasy tones. Sounding, and LOOKING, as though he'd spent the last ten years or more employed as a human punchbag, like some olden day boxer who'd fought on unsuccessfully into his forties, just making ends meet, " i coulda binna contender", y'know?
Scruffy, disheveled, and totally unkempt. Probably in his 50s. But who was Arth to judge?
Arth looked up from his chips, 
"Yes i think so, just a few minutes ago."
The stranger mumbled something back.
Arth just got on with eating.
"You waitin f' the bus?"
"Nope".
"Goin t' the pub then?"
"Nope, i don't drink, much, and i'm from out of town. Just gonna have a wander round and do a bit of shopping".
Arth got to his feet and put his empty chip-carton into the litter bin.
"Well have a nice day then".
"Yeah".
And with that Arth headed for the market, there was worse to come.
Yep, a beggar with a six-string. The actual guitar-playin really wasn't so bad, he knew a chord or two, and THAT sounded, well, it was tolerable. But he was trying to sing more loudly than was comfortable, for him, and he just wasn't hitting those notes.
Arth was wanting a hot cup of tea. There was a burger-stall just beyond the wannabe rock star.
Have you ever tried to run full tilt with a polystyrene cup full of hot tea? Okay, it had a plastic lid, but it fizzed and spluttered all the way to the shopping center. He imagined if he was a shop-keeper close by, and how he might bung that guy a few quid just to go some place else, scare crows or something, but shopkeepers are struggling to, and these guys just keep on coming. 
Arth found a public seat in the Swansgate, and sat with his hands fixed around that cup of hot tea. Allowing it to pump so life into his aching shivering old bod.
He just sat, gazing into the front window of SHOUT, ( they seem to be popping up everywhere, are they the new NEXT?) when he spotted the most amazing pullover on one of those plastic dummies, it was a red christmasy thing with a message

>>>>>>>>>HAPPY<<<<<<<<<<<<
>>>>>>>CHRISTMAS<<<<<<<<<<
>>>>>>>>>>YA<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
>>>>>>>>FILTHY<<<<<<<<<<<<
>>>>>>>>ANIMAL<<<<<<<<<<<<

emblazoned down the front in white letters.
Oh dear.

And there was one of those electric amusement joyride things that was wreaking havoc with the parents of every small child that passed by. A rocking horse, made up in cowboy garb, it even neighed. It lasted for just about two minutes, and it was a quid a go. Jeez.

Cup of tea drunk, and feeling a little refreshed, Arth left by the side-door and made his way to Morrison's for another free pee and had a most unexpected experience.
There he was, just taking his time, wandering around the store, having once again emptied his bladder, when he happened to notice two young lads. One of them picked up a couple of multi-packs of chocolate bars, there was no shopping basket and he was quite open about it, then suddenly from nowhere a company dick who'd been watching them was on on their asses and followed them toward the checkouts. Were they planning to pay for the goods? Would the dick have his moment? Arth would never know? Life eh?
Well anyway Arth took his few items of shopping to a checkout, waited his turn, and looked on as the drone persuaded a shopper to accept some new fangled card, something to do with comparing prices of their competitors, Aldis,Tesco, Asda etc.
It came to Arth's turn;
"Have you got a compare and save card?"
Asked the drone, reaching for leaflet.
" Nope. Please don't".
She didn't.
Arth paid for his shopping and went to get a lotto-ticket from the cigarette kiosk and as he stood waiting he noticed the fireworks display cabinet.

"HAVE A BLAST FROM £5"
said the advertising poster.

There was;

The "Inferno deal" at forty quid a go.
The " Aftershock" £30.
The "Tempest" for £20.

Right down to the cheapos;

The midnight explorer,
The illusion missile,
or you could have a Pumpkin fountain,
at a fiver a go.

What happened to the twopenny bangers?
Arth dispaired, he got his lotto ticket and was calling it a day, this time, as he approached the market, he could hear a squeaky Saxaphone making an awful racket.
Just like the six-string earlier, a black guy was trying to make his efforts heard above the hoards, but, Arth thought as he rushed by, you can't make a sax shout.
Slow and easy does it, man. Maybe the both of them were trying too hard and just needed to mellow out. And perhaps a few music lessons wouldn't go a miss. Whatever, Arth was on his way to the interchange, going home.

They've tidied up the big ashtray since he last came. Last week it looked freshly dug, raked, and totally spotless, now it had been reset with primroses, Arth would look forward to seeing them in full bloom. Last year's show had been nothing short of breath-taking.
A bus pulled in and for some unknown Arth felt an almost irresistible urge to linger. Something was holding him back. It seemed as though Barkton itself, was saying "no, don't go, not yet". As if Barkton wasn't done with Arth, but Arth was done with Barkton, for now anyway, and he was going home. Never the less, it had been a strange feeling, and he acknowledged the pull of something weird. Maybe he was just tired.
As he gets older he DOES wonder about stuff like that. 

Life eh?​


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## dither

[h=4]After the London debacle.[/h]




Having spent the last few days living like a tramp. He hadn't washed, brushed his teeth, or so much as pulled a comb through his thinning hair. It was now Wednesday morning, lotto-day, and Arth can't bear to miss a lotto-day since he started entering all but the last two numbers of his mobile phone number in the twice weekly draw. Even that was a cheapo, the health lotto, a quid a go, but hey! At HIS age 100k is not to be sniffed at.
plus there was a whole host of things that he'd been putting off, and anyway, it would do him good to get himself out of the house for a couple of hours.
It was a fine clear day and the sun was shining, but he'd be putting plenty of layers on, there had been an overnight frost, and mid-morning the temperature was most definitely in the low single figures, but hey'ho!
Arth had a bus to catch.......................................

Temperature in low figures ? It was bloody freezing. But Arth was on his way now and he wasn't for turning back. He popped into the newsagent's for a paper and arrived at his stop way too early. Fifteen minutes too early. A wind was blowing a howler, and jeeeezuss! It was biting.
He and a few others, with red faces, snotty-noses, milled around, pacing around and around, pounding the pavement, doing their best to keep the blood circulating. Man that bus wouldn't come soon enough. Thankfully it was running to time and actually, sitting upstairs with that bright sun shining in through the windows, going out into the countryside en route to Numbley, having soon warmed up, it really was an enjoyable ride, and although it would come to a halt, and he WOULD have to alight, eventually, it didn't seem quite so cold when the bus pulled up just a few minutes walk away from Aldi's.
Arth, in no particular hurry,made his way through the parked cars, to a row of shopping trollies, pushed a pound piece into the front one, and got ready to shop. Who let Christmas in?
Well, there's no denying it, Christmas isn't so very far away now, but Arth had his shopping-list and it didn't include mince pies or alcoholic beverages such as "Red nose" and "Bah humbug", probably cheap low-strength beers he thought as he passed them by. His main buys of the day being Bratwurst, and tinned tomatoes to cook them in.
He'd been off the Cider for a while, for no reason that he could put his finger on, he just hadn't bothered, but today he felt a thirst coming on so a four-pack of pear and a two ltr bollie of regular cider found it's way into the trolley, it would help pass the time and wouldn't do his sleeping any harm. Just a few other necessities, raisin brioches, and some teacakes for the bus-ride home and in no time at all he was heading home.
As the bus went back out into the countryside he glanced fondly across fields where, as a lad, he and pals from long ago, where were they now? He wondered, and what might they have become? Emigrated? Dead? Who knows? Past a field that once upon a childhood time had yielded such quantities of mushrooms, and bluelegs, was now cultivated and set with cereal crops. And those Kites, birds that were once all but driven from this country, in his day they didn't exist, so far as he was aware, it doesn't seem natural to him, that suddenly they are to be seen, from the top deck of his double-decker bus, often circling high in the sky, or flying low across the land as they were today, lovely looking bird though,on the look out for carrion, such a common sight nowadays. 
Arth got home and got his Bratwurst into the oven.


Life eh?​


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## dither

This is weird, spooky weird.
He's reading a book and the main character has twice made references to Eastbourne.
His two ltr bollie is empty and the pear is one down with three to go.


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## escorial

like the way your putting more dialogue in your work..deffo adds to it.


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## dither

Arth went to catch a bus this morning, some routes have changed recently, and, he supposes, it'll take a while for people to adjust, along with some bus-drivers it would seem. The bus arrived, ten minutes late, but who cares? He certainly didn't. Now , where as the bus would usually have gone out to the far reaches of town, round a few streets, then back into town and then of on it's way,  having gone to the outer-edge of the town in one direction, having come from the other end of town, it  carries going  out into the country,  eventually arriving at the intended destination, but today? Oh dear.
The driver was caught napping, having gone around the streets and houses at the edge of town, he took a wrong turn, that not so long ago would have been the right turn, and headed back into town.
"Where are you going?" one woman yelled.
"Sorry!" Came the reply from the driver, he muttered something about having to drive back into town and turn around, and all hell broke loose.
"Ah dear, here we go".
"Fuck sake", Arth heard some-one mumble rather loudly.
There were moans and groans.
Others sighed.
Arth sat upstairs giggling like a ten year old, thought it was hilarious.
One passenger pressed the stop-bell and stormed off the bus, words were said, "and don't swear" the driver was heard saying.
Arth knows him as one of the drivers that often drives the buses that he takes to and from work, he's not a bad sort and this minor episode will have added all of three minutes to the journey-time.
Get a life your miserable F*****S, it really peed Arth off, and he thought HE was a miserable old so and so.
The bus finally pulled up near Aldi's, the world hadn't ground to halt,  life as he knew it seemed pretty much same as, and Arth went shopping.

Y'know? Arth for some unknown reason, and he does often consider the view that everything happens for a reason, although he rather prefers not to accept such notions, found himself reading a couple of books about fairies and ghosts recently. Yeah well, he'd thought, maybe, who knows? But all that nonsense about finding white feathers,mmmmmmmmmmmm, it gnaws, and this idea that finding silver coins being a sign.
As he made his way to his bus-stop heading home he found a five-pence piece, and HE'S not to proud to pick them up, he doesn't mind. All contributions gratefully received eh?
But it got him thinking,again, he thinks too much, we can't all be picking up 5ps as we go about our dailies,and sometimes he finds 20ps. Maybe not so many walk with their heads bowed like he does.
Life eh?

dither


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## escorial

gritty piece there dither....has an edge to it for me dude.


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## dither

*Do trees weep?*Errrrrrrrrr, errrrrrrrrr, err' err' err, errrrrrrrr.............
would you f****** believe it?
It was Friday, Asda-day, mid-day, ish, when Arth was sharply awaken from his slumbers. A chainsaw, or one of those disc-cutters perhaps, whatever it was Arth really didn't need it right now, the plight of the night-worker, and then the alarm went off, beeeeep! Beeeeep! Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Arth rolled over and hit the off-button. Oh well, maybe it wasn't so bad. Whoever it was, making such a noise, whatever they were doing, at least he had got to sleep until his alarm-call, so no real harm done, and then auto-pilot took over.
He grabbed a clean towel, made his way down stairs. Put the heating on, prepared a mug for tea and put the kettle on, put towel on the radiator, brushed his teeth, then sat down with a cup of strong sweet tea, and waited for his brain to slip into gear.
Then, toilet, shave, shower, dressed, and out.
As he walked from his house, down the hill, then up into town, everywhere seemed wet although he was as sure as he could be that there had been no rain, it was just one of those dreary, dull, grey, days.
Two young women sat in a pub-garden supping pints and that saddened him. Pints,roll-ups, tats and piercings, girls, leave it to the fellas eh? This "ladette" thing just doesn't do it for Arth, girls, just be nice. Teenage girls, with beer-bellies, belching and farting, oh dear. But hey'ho! Moving merrily on.
Thinking of booze, he would soon begin squirreling away his own private little stash, for the Christmas break, assuming he gets one this year, he will have to wait and see.
The local authorities are gearing-up for Christmas it would seem, a huge Christmas tree has been positioned ( is that the right word ? ), surrounded by a low white-painted picket fence, fairy-lights are yet to be set up, and strung through birch-trees ( i think they're birch ) on either side, and there is to be an official switching on, apparently.

The bus was late, six minutes late, and Arth seemed to be the only passenger at that point, you just never know, and off he went. Downhill ( he's been going steadily downhill for a few years now ) out of town, past gravel pits shrouded in mist, barely visible from the main road. Past the gypsy camp-site, and the scrapyard, ponies sought the high-ground in a rain-sodden grass field, onward, to Letts.
That place is something else, and when i say "that place" we really are talking people here, the people of Eastern Letts. Through the summer months one couldn't imagine a much prettier town, with it's hanging baskets and public gardens, now, as he looked out from his bus window he saw small Christmas trees on the walls of shops and houses alike, set at first-floor level, just out of reach for the local ee'ors, all along the main road heading toward Stugely.
Next stop Asda's, and once there, he had his usual list, nothing "unusual ", he knows where everything is, and he didn't linger.
Outside, an oldish woman, in her fifties perhaps, okay! Mature looking, stooped to gather leaves from a landscaped area close to the bus-stop, huge leaves, bigger than any man's hand, some kind of Maple he'd venture, not that he knows anything about trees, but why? All those leaves, he found himself wondering, if trees felt the shedding of their leaves. Was it a relief? Did it hurt? And did trees weep? Jeez Arth, they're trees, that's all.
It brought back memories from so long ago, to his infant-school days, when classrooms had nature-tables and   children contributed in some small way, Conkers, Acorns, Sycamore seeds, and a whole jumble of things picked up from country walks, only now do i realise and appreciate the the value and the joys of such childhood experiences. Maybe she was a school-teacher, do infant-schools still encourage nature-studies? He hoped so. Maybe it depends on the location of the school.
BOO! A toddler squealed with delight as his mum ducked and dived from behind a buggy, happy days.
Once seated on the bus going home, Arth opened his pack of teacakes, and he couldn't believe how dry they were, no matter, more filling. A bald-headed man with tatoos on his neck sat just a couple of seats away in front, earplugs in, head and upper-body shaking and jerking like some demented caged animal, how naff? How very embarrassingly naff? And then Arth thought how ridiculous he must have looked with his sony-walkman all those years ago, good god, sony walkman, how many years ago must that have been?
As the bus pressed on, through Letts, all those mini christmas trees were sparkling with fairy-lights, and it was just the nicest thing.
Cringeworthy conversations, a couple of nob-heads talking about work, and trying to out-do each other, let go for chris' sakes, some people.
Y'know? There's something comforting about walking home in the early evenings of late November and December, through the streets, and around the houses, seeing the lights and decorations in the living-room windows, homely, it's all about the family isn't it. Well it ought to be. Yes there's all that consumerism, and the me'me'me, gimme'gimme'gimme side, and that's such a shame, life eh?

dither


You read all of that?

Oh dear. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	


PS,
Red berries are falling from the yew trees in my local churchyard.
Walkways are spattered with them.
Now would appear to be their time. :|


----------



## Plasticweld

Dither what a great piece of writing and observation.


----------



## dither

Y'think so?:|


----------



## Plasticweld

dither said:


> Y'think so?:|




No Dither I don't think I so.... I know so

You took something that most would see as a dull morning and turned it into something fascinating. No different than the artist with just a pen and paper creating a master piece by doing a drawing of a person that comes to life and shows emotion.    My blank pages don't turn out anywhere as interesting as yours do. Respect.. is all I can say


----------



## dither

Thanks Plasticweld.


----------



## Gargh

I've not read anything of yours for a bit and it strikes me you're improving. Your observations are more curious and considered, less reactionary. The small steps are paying off :star:!


----------



## dither

Gargh said:


> I've not read anything of yours for a bit and it strikes me you're improving. Your observations are more curious and considered, less reactionary. The small steps are paying off :star:!



Would love to think so,
thanks Gargh.

Guys,
i won't ask it of you but please, feel free to pick at what i post in this thread eh?


----------



## Gofa

Im not sleepy Dither. Tell me a story.  Of  trees and chips and two pennith bus slips. Of odd and scary people in shops then even more at bus stops . The big, the little, the guys in the middle. Its a cold and windy night Dither. Im not in my cabin, tell me a story. Let me look out the window of your bus and catch the sights. And i will have chips with this. I will wait till i have some nice chips and read it as i chew.
Cheers 
G


----------



## dither

Jeez Gofa,
this one goes back.

You're not an Egg-Custard man then.


----------



## Gofa

Somewhere on the other side of the world a man waits, chips in hand.


----------



## dither

Gofa, i shall try.

At the weekend.

I've been out today and i've tried to switch on an tune in.

No promises eh?

Let's see what dither is capable of at a push.

No chips i'm afraid.


----------



## Gofa

Was out to dinner with friends tonight.  Added a side order of chips 
told them it was in honour of a friend on the other side of the world


----------



## dither

Check  this out.







Just an ordinary street like any other. You see that part of the stone wall where it juts out? Look closer.





Closer.





CLOSER.....






Those little silver things.
You see them?







These things. I took a couple home with me on Friday afternoon after shopping. They're those little cartridges that you can buy to put in Soda Siphons. Since when did Soda Siphons become so popular?
I allowed my imagination to roam. Me! Imagining! Imagine that.

Maybe some yuppies have invented their very own version of "Skirmish". War games with High-powered Telescopic-sighted Soda Siphons.
I could see them, sneaking out of brand new Discoverys and  Mercs. All togged-up in Cammos and donning brown and olive face-paint. 
Digging fox-holes among the clumps of Lavender and the Geraniums. Hiding behind the Magnolias and crawling along on their bellies beneath the neatly trimmed privet-hedges.

One of the red team get's caught out in the open, sqwish'squirt and down he goes.
" I'm afraid the put's you out of the game old thing. Awf'lly sorry and all that". Says one with a guffaw.
He barely has time to savour his victory before he's ambushed and is felled by a deluge of carbonated water.
An Officer steps forward,
"Good job men. Disperse and take cover. You know what to do".
Yes SIR!
They look around, survey their surroundings and then, with water bottles replenished and cartridges replaced, in no time at all they're gone. 
Totally invisible as they melt back into  in the urban landscape. Waiting, watching, on the alert and ready to pounce.
Skirmishing.


Or maybe those little silver duds are used for something else,


dither...


----------



## dither

Oops! One too many edits.


----------



## amelhope

Lol ! It  was interesting and fun to read this dither . Haven't u ever tried to write a story or a novel ? I'm sure it will be so good  waiting for more imagination dither   !!


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## Gofa

Captain Mustard.   Im sure that was the officers name

Good job Dither. Carry on. I think a working title of "the Shadow Soda Syphon Wars" works for me.


----------



## dither

*An orange quandary:*





He ought, at the very least, to have felt quite pleased with himself. So why the hell could he not?
It had been a funny old sort of a week. Not so much because of day to day occurrences but for the quiet mental ditherings that had gone through his mind as he'd waited for his bus.
He'd taken to sitting under a tall tree that grew in the center of a circular grassed area measuring something like, oh i don't know, twenty metres in diameter i suppose. This small plot of green was situated on the corner of a road next to a busy three-way mini roundabout. As he sat under the tree, leaning back against it's solid round trunk, he'd sit and watch the world go by as he whiled away the half-hour wait for his bus. one road ran of to his left, another to his right, both going of in directions that led off behind where he sat and he looked straight down the other, a road that ran down a steep hill then rose again just as steeply into the town of Barkton.
Half an hour. Time to think. Too much time to think, perhaps.
Remembering that old Beatles track "fool on the hill".
There he'd sit pondering. What was, what had been and what may or may not lie ahead. He even pondered his ponderings but his mind kept came back one thought, oranges, and that store down in the dip.
Arth loves oranges. Would like to think that he KNOWS his oranges in so far as he knows a really juicy one when he sees one and right now they're looking good. But; And this grated with him, it really did.
One night over week ago now he'd walked down to that store( don't know if i should name them ) in the dip fancying oranges. Arth was in luck maybe? Maybe not. He bought one of those nets of four. Sixty nine pence seemed reasonable if they turned out to be half decent. Then he got to the check-out. " That'll be one-nineteen sir".
WHAT???
Okay, so he promptly paid up, said nothing, and left. At least the oranges were, half-decent, but it rubbed, y'know?
Fast forward to next week.
Thursday evening was chips night at Cheng's. Yes, Cheng's. Sound's bit Chinese doesn't it, he certainly looks an oriental type and his chips are just the best ever but Arth fancied some oranges and he was up for it.
As he walked into the store there was a girl re-stocking shelves;
"Excuse me, could i have some assistance please?"
She got down from the step-up thing that she was standing on without saying a word.
"How much are those please?"
He asked, pointing to a tray marked sixty nine pence.
She seemed puzzled by his inquiry and pointed to the bar-coded price label.
"It says sixty nine pence".
"Yes but i've been paying one nineteen for them".
She called out to the young lad on the checkout,
"Jason, scan these please. They're sixty nine pence". she said rather sternly.
" One nineteen". 
Came his reply.
He fiddled with the till. It took a couple of goes.
"Sixty nine pence sir. Thank you".
YES!
EUPHORIA.
Cheng's chips were magnificent.
Then, as he sat under his tree, savoring the moment, savouring what was left of his chips, reality ( HIS reality ) struck home.
What if he'd just burst a bubble?
A confidence trick. I mean people, like Arth, don't complain do they. They just pay up and go as he had done so a week ago.
What if the store, one of many under that banner, were just pulling a fast one?
What if the store workers were having it off?
The store name would just put it down to human-error and ordinary people, ordinary people just like him would, ultimately, get stiffed.
What if when he goes in again he is charged one-nineteen for a sixty-nine pence pack of four?
How would he deal with that?
COULD he deal with that?
He thought about going in for the hell of it and maybe E-mailing the store-owners if he got screwed again.
Either way he wouldn't dare go back to the store. They'd remember him. Wouldn't they? And what if somebody lost their job because of some stupid old bstd had stood on a principle.
Having said all that, they really weren't bad oranges. From Peru apparently and maybe should be priced at one-nineteen, and maybe Arth would still have bought them anyway.

It's a quandary.

Orange.

Life eh?

What's a dithering old fart to do?​


----------



## Gofa

Its an orange Jim but not as we know it. 
These are the voyages of the good ship Dither, the mission is to find new sights, new interests, in Barkton and into the great beyond.  To bravely go where no man has sought chips before. 
Arise Sir Knight   We of the farthest land call you to arms 
Go forth and capture photons and wrestle them into your magical device showing still life as though a painting.  We await your quest. 
We of the farthest land abide perchance to dream if we dare that Eastbourne is this year


----------



## dither

Lol!
are you a sight for sore eyes.
Gofa how yer doin? Where you been?

Go 4th 'n' capture?
Jeez Gofa, i'm in my 60s goin on 70s.

Eastbourne?
Is a dream that fades with every waking hour.
There was a time when i'd have jumped on a train, headed for the big L and to hell with what might be, but,,, i'm tired Gofa. Damn i'm  tired.

Never sat never eh?
Tomorrow's another day.
The radio plays Gary Numan and i gotta go.

Man, it's so good. I've missed you.

dither...


----------



## dither

*Alright for me eh? And it's so not fair. At Christmas...*




Tuesday, December 29th.

First his aching back then a really sour acid sensation in his stomach convinced him that he really ought to drag himself out of bed and get his arse into gear. With kettle boiled and heating switched on he sat with a mug of hot tea and glanced around the living room trying not think to hard so as to allow his mind time to catch up. The sound of a car driving by and the rumble of wheelie bins being put out for the ash-man dashed any hopes of quiet contemplation and just enjoying a moment alone with his thoughts. Quiet contemplation, such a luxury in the modern world. He was feeling the effects of too much cheap cider and not enough exercise. Rays of bright sunlight were bursting through net curtains "bet it's cold out there though, oh what the hell ? Come on Arth, shake a leg" he thought to himself and with that and a mug of coffee he set about cleaning himself and getting out.

Lunchtime had come and gone as he stepped out onto the street closing the gate behind him and what a sight to behold as he looked down the road ahead of him. Such glorious sunshine and blue sky, it could've been an August morning save for those long shadows. Everything seemed to sparkle, all clean and new-looking. There were a few parked cars on either side. Green wheelie bins lined up like sentries awaiting inspection and off in the not so very distant, in the middle of town, stood the spire of St.Peter's loud and proud.

He could hear the clunking and banging sounds being made by the trash-vehicle. He couldn't see it but it was certainly close by. A police car drove slowly past him, turned around at the end of the road, passed him by a second time then disappeared.
Up ahead of him a tall straggly fellow hopped and skipped trying to keep pace with a mobility scooter and as they got closer it was clear that the man riding the scooter was being harried.
"No i haven't got nothing".
"Ent y'got any fags or a light".
"No. I'm sorry".
There was a time when this would have made Arth's blood boil. Sure he was angry but not so much about the surly looking type as so much the situation. How can such a thing happen in broad daylight, on a busy street and where were those policemen now eh?

Arth had intended to go do a little shopping, maybe sit a while by the green in the centre of town and read his newspaper, but he wasn't so sure now, he just wanted to go home to the safety of his own home. Although how safe is home nowadays? He wondered. People!Society!Why? How had it come to this? Like Magpies, stealing and robbing. But the Magpie doesn't "choose be a Magpie, reasoned the voice within. It all seemed so unfair. Alright for you, you with your regular job.
Well, Arth did his shopping then went and sat for a while but he couldn't settle. Had he locked the front door when he left home? Had he left any windows open? He hadn't opened any, had he? Now he was being harried and what if he ran into that scrounger on his way home. Thoughts that would not let him be. It was no good he'd just have get himself home and that was that.

Life eh?

dither...​
ps,
well it HAS been a while.

note to self,
no cider today.


----------



## Gofa

Lovely to come walk in your shoes
oh dear about the mobility scooter guy
as it was in the days of the Sheriff of Nottingham 
Sherwood Forest is not as safe as one should think.
ive interferred a time or two but lately i am happy to use the Spiritual Authority option.
not sure if He is listening but on the off chance He is, a simple request that said offender spends eternity in hell fire and damnation does ease my temporal suffering
Bump me in the queue at the grocery market, cut me off in traffic, my sense of righteousness knows no bounds
Damn them all I say to a lake of unending fire.
lets not quibble over cause. You piss me off, then off to Hell with you all
theres a quiet satisfaction in doing the Good Lord's work Dither
spare the rod, spoil the child. Yes thats kids stuff. Spare not the trip, to hell fires bossum, for those grown ups that up set my Chi and cast a shadow upon my peace and quietude.
you Sir Knight I feel are closer to Heaven than this unknighted serf, so surely Him Almighty will take humble direction from your sanctified petition.
But fear not I have already asked that the tall straggly fellow be unceremoniously dumped in hell at His earliest convenience, so dont you worry about a thing 

see Dither. I have your back here
lock and load son 

Lets clean up the streets and tomorrow the world 

Cheers

G


----------



## dither

"Lock and load",
I could go for that.
Great post Gofa and thanks.


----------



## dither

[h=4]Happy disturbance on my bus-ride to Barkton:[/h]




Waiting at the stop for the 20.10 to Barkton and another night of work. I've been doing this for so long now, longer than i care or feel able to remember. The weeks, the months and the years ( they come and go so quickly as one ages. ) roll by and nothing ever changes, save for a new face en route, a rescheduling of the of the bus time-table, the changing of the seasons, and of course fare-rate increases.
It's Wednesday and within just a few minutes of sitting on the freezing cold steel narrow strip that passes for a public bench, a carer from the nearby residential care home turns up. A short girl of around twenty, pleasantly-plump, almost as wide as she is tall. She seems to have not a care in the world 'cept for the old people at the home. Delightfully chatty and a Sandwich short of a picnic i'd venture but there isn't a bad thought in her. She calls me her bus-buddy. Pleasantries exchanged, she sits staring into her i-phone and i wrestle with the Sun crossword until the bus pulls in at just after a quarter past, a few minutes late but who's counting? Barkton, and work, here we go again.
The bus slowly rumbles up the hill, out of town and into the countryside. Windscreen-wipers make long seeps, brushing aside huge wet snow-flakes. Oh dear, i didn't need that shit. Time of the year i suppose.
On through Thiston, then Hittering, they barely register in the dark of night but i always know when the bus makes it's last stop in Hittering. Young Polish sounding women board the bus and the peace is shattered. What is it with these Polish women? Wearing safety-boots and hi-viz coats, one by one having paid their fare they hurried past me to the back of the bus. Like a gaggle of fish-wives, they cackled non-stop. Smiling and laughing, uproariously jolly and i marvel at how long each one is able to talk for so long before drawing breath. They must all be blessed with the lung-capacity of Olympic swimmers bless 'em and by the time we hit Barkton and my intended destination my head is spinning.
"Cheers mate. Thank you." I bid the driver farewell as i hop off the bus into the cold night air and head off to work.


dither...​


----------



## Gofa

A bus buddy very cute. Not exactly friends with benefits but there is a lot to recommend it.

My only concern is post apocalypse when Thiston is a seething mob of cannibals she is going to be the first to go.


----------



## dither

Apocalypse?

Is that how you see the world Gofa?

Tell you what, when i look at the world i'm so glad that i'm old.

I DO fear for the teens of today, i really do.


----------



## Gofa

Last century all the good genes got on sailing ships and went to the colonies

its nice out here. Us natives eventually stopped eating you immigrants and with only 4 million of us in the size of England theres not too many queues

talking back to your bus buddy. If she came here. A nice bag of onions under one arm with carrots and potatoes under the other. Some one would have her over for dinner in a heart beat.

As to the life of the young it does not inspire me either. It was easier back when.

As to your place, as to the Home Country, which was what my Nana called England.  My grand parents had the good sense to leave and I have taken their word for it. Never considered going to have a look myself.

We get touched by your mob occasionally. Princess Zara went to see my daughter looking for a horse and a very good friends partner is something to do with Princess Anne. They were in the olympic horse team. Mostly i drink their gin and cant remember the conversations but the pictures tell me it was so.

Come to the colonies Dither. We will find you a nice little place by the sea. Walking distance to the market. The idiots per acre is much lower here. Bugger all violence and no guns. You would not need a paper bag for the Taurus. Just sit on a park bench and drink it with a straw. Civilized like. Nice coloured can like that no worries

Theres room for you here Dither. 

PS just bring saucers and plates

You see Kiwis have won all the cups so theres no reason to bring more


----------



## dither

Leave England?
It's a lovely thought Gofa.


----------



## dither

" A friend with benefits",

Y'know?

I almost wish.

No, not her, not my bus-buddy, just... Oh i don't know.
Might make one helluva memoir.


----------



## LeeC

Waited all week for the wife to have time to drive me to get a new 12V battery for the snow blower, and it snowed today so we couldn't get out :-( 

So I'm back to my fallback:


----------



## LeeC




----------



## dither

Today, at my bus-stop:

Is this an age thing?
Should i be concerned?

There was this young lady wearing a pink parka and donning pink lipstick.
Now i don't like pink on women, to me it yells vulgar/cheap/tacky/rubbishy take your pick, and the older the female the more i see/envisage immaturity.

Until today that is.

This young lady was a peach and if i was in my twenties i'd be howling and barking at the moon right now. Wouldn't have tried anything of course. She wore skinny leggings that were an ever so slightly  darker shade of pink to her coat matched with a beige coloured beanie hat. Maybe she's aware of her natural beauty, maybe not, but i just had to look. Wow!

Oh!
And there was a discarded hypodermic needle under my seat.

Life eh?


----------



## Gofa

Deep in an underground complex far far away two technical staff observe the radical change

"patient 4370 has responsed to pink stimulus"

"excellent" is the reply

"our next strategy is to bring out Taurus in a pink can"

" excellent idea number 17. There will be a bonus for us this month"

"Yes" said number 17. "We have been following 5000 Taurus power users for 27 months. Finally we are seeing a market direction. Woohoo our jobs are finally secure" 

Screen fades to static leaving only a black and white image of the bus stop. Now empty as the bus has collected all who were waiting

Number 17 reflects upon using a old hypodermic needle for the camera and sound feed point.
Pure genius. No one ever suspects or tampers with it.


----------



## dither

Yup, pure genius.
Nice one Gofa.


----------



## dither

Well,
so much for "going dry". No, it's not a problem. _He says, famous last words It's just that he gets bored you see. So, having solved the, fatigued/boozed out crash puzzle, he decided to take a walk, a part of the estate that he rarely visits, to my local one-stop. It's not exactly what you'd call rundown but we're getting there.

Having not washed since Friday afternoon, with a week's stubble on his face, and prefering not to be recognised, he wore "old black" with snorkel zipped up to his nose. Not that he knows anybody over there but it never ceases to amaze him how on very odd occasions in the past total strangers have addressed him by name. You just never know.

Wellaway doesn't change very much, talk about a world within a world. As he turned the corner a discarded cider can rolled with the wind, rattling along a roughly tamped concrete walkway, dodging the dips and cracks. Brambles climb the few remaining garden-fences and carpet the path and a small boy amused himself with a two-wheeled trike.
On a communal green, bedraggled daisies ( even they looked grubby ) and all manner of litter do their bit to uphold the Wells name and reputation. Then, as he walked into spencers just a stones throw away, just as quickly as he'd entered Wells, he was on the High Street.

The old house that stands opposite the store cum garage/mot centre, such a sad and sorry state, has now been swallowed up and become a mountain of rampant ivy. As he passed by a wood pigeon, struggling with the gusting wind, managed to settle and disappeared among the green leathery leaves.

A bell rang as he entered the shop and made his way to the drinks shelf. There wasn't going to be any cheap cider here so it would be question of whatever took his fancy. Four packs of Silver/grey cans caught his eye, Strongbow cloudy apple? Yeah why not? What the hell eh?
A tenner was exchanged for a fiver and door closed forcefully behind him as he left.

He was in no hurry to get home, took his time, lingered some, his mood was tinged with a mixture of wistfulness and sadness bordering on melancholy. Guess it doesn't do to think about things too much. Life...happening...eh?

This cloudy apple isn't a bad sup and the radio plays AC/DC.

CLICK/PHSSS.

Roy Wood, what ever happened to that guy, sings "see my baby jive".

Feeling better already.



_
PS,

This stuff is only 4.5, alcopops. 
Doh!


----------



## dither

*A recollection,a distant memory already.


*Boredom alert. It's a biggie i'm afraid.

It was a few minutes to five on a Monday afternoon ( tea-time )when Arth announced his arrival by entering his date of birth on the touch-screen just inside the entrance to his local Medical Center. 
"Thank you for registering" read the message. "Please take a seat and wait at treatment room B." The Center looked deserted, just an old lady in a wheelchair was waiting when he took his seat outside TR1. The old lady's appointment didn't take long and soon it was his turn. Arth was about to attend his first "old fogie clinic". He really didn't need this, not at this hour, to say that it was an inconvenience would be an understatement. Arth had a regular afternoon routine, getting ready for dinner, prepping for work etc. and it didn't allow for a thirty minute "questions and answers box-ticking exercise" but what the hell? What harm could it do? And it might be viewed favourably by the administration. He might even have a health issue. What could he lose by it?

"Hello, come on in and take a seat." Said she. A real old fashioned sort. Not some twenty first century android but a human being. Mid thirties he reckoned. Five six, straight blonde shoulder length hair, pleasantly plump, with generous bosom and delightfully jolly but ( a delightfully jolly generous bosom? No i didn't mean that all. Shame on you. Raised eyebrows here. ) Sandra was her name, lovely lovely woman. Within minutes of having taken his coat of and sitting at the table facing her, he felt totally at ease, as though he'd known her all his life. She seemed so easy to be with.

"Okay, blood pressure first i think."
Arth rolled up his sleeve then she wrapped the wide stiff band around his arm just above his elbow and pumped air into it. 
As the band tightened around his arm he noticed that she had huge freckles on her forearms, he liked that.
"Do you exercise? Walking? Swimming? "
"Yes,i have no choice. I have to walk About half a mile To and from work every night."
"Do you walk at a reasonable pace?"
"Yes, i don't hang about, in fact people don't like to walk with me" He replied with a chuckle." They have to do one and a half steps to my one.I've been told that i don't walk, i march."
"Good, brilliant."
Sixty over something or other, or was it seventy? 
"Now let's count your heart-beats."
She pressed the stethoscope against his chest and tapped a couple of keys on her laptop.
"What a lovely heart-rate."
"Will you stop saying things like that." He protested tongue in cheek, loving every minute of it.
"I'm bracing myself for a shock here".
She put a small plastic thimble-like piece of equipment onto his little finger.
"Keep talking."
She had scratched a very small cut big enough to produce a few droplets of blood which she scooped up and put into a small machine that sat beside her laptop.
"By the way, i haven't eaten today. Is that a problem?"
"No not at, will probably get a more accurate reading from it."
"An unintended fasting diet" he mused.
"I see that you are a coeliac. I have a friend who is a coeliac. How are you getting along with the gluten-free diet?"
She was probably just distracting his attention at this point.
"That's a sore actually. I think that i was seriously mis-informed by the dietician after the diagnosis, for which i shall be eternally grateful but they got it wrong."
" Oh really, i'm sorry. Why? How?"
He then went on to tell her how having having stuck to the diet for he couldn't remember how many years, denying himself so many treats, only to find out, purely by chance, by reading an article in a daily newspaper, that he needn't have.
After reading the article he went on a bit of a wild spree, a sort of wheat and gluten eating frenzy. Cakes,biscuits,pastries, nothing was out of bounds and nothing caused him to have those awful gut-pains.
"It would seem that some people can't tolerate what you and i would call regular/of the shelf wheat based bread. And, since that is the one thing that i haven't eaten, ever, i have to assume that i am wheat-bread intolerant, that's all"
"You haven't given the bread a try then."
Nope. No way. I don't dare to consider it. Physically i feel fine and i'm sure that i can get by without the bread."
"Yes, well, you do seem to be in pretty good shape. You're obviously doing something right."
"Fine, no problems there."
"I really disappointed by the response to the clinic, i really wish that more people a had taken up this offer."
She seemed genuinely dismayed.
"Well, i can't see the problem and you might just have found something."
" Maybe people would rather not know" she ventured.
"Yes but ignoring something won't make it better will it."
"Have you ever thought about having the Flu-jab?"
" Yes, i had once and it cost me a week off work. Never felt so ill in all my life and any way, i think that working outside in all weathers toughens a person up, thickens the skin, y'know?"
"Yes, you may be right. We are are offering a one-off vaccination for pneumonia to people aged 65 or over."
"Well, if i'm still around i shall certainly be along for that one."
And with that they both got to their feet, said their goodbyes and he made his way to reception.
"Thanks for coming."
"No problem."
Arth headed home in high spirits. For the first time in a _long _time, he was smiling, he felt good. He felt happy. How amazing was that? He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such an enjoyable time, and just a clinic for oldies, how sad was that? He was well aware of his change in mood, although it would be short-lived of course, he savoured every moment but it wasn't over yet...

Fast forward to work-time and the arrival of his bus...

The bus rolled in and surprise'surprise. His favourite bus-driver. A young dark-haired woman in her mid to late thirties, he estimated. They've made that trip to Barkton so many times in the past, on an empty bus more often than not and chatted along the way. He liked her, a lot. There were no romantic notions here and anyway, he's married, she's married and that really was all there was to it but this time there was a different look about her.
In the past she'd always worn lots of make up, tonight there was none. Fresh-faced, with just the slightest touch of lippie, the very faintest brushing of light blue eye-shadow on the lids, and her hair, it was much shorter than when last he saw her.
Her smile hadn't changed though and he couldn't help caring for her.
" Hey! Howzit goin? He asked with a smiling as he boarded."
"Oh not too bad. You?"
"We keep goin."
"Yeah, got to."
Arth sat himself down on the empty bus,took of his coat, got out his newspaper, and settled down for ride to work. As he sat and read his paper he thought about how different, how nice she looked and wished desperately that he had the courage to tell her so. Why the hell couldn't he just for once in his miserable life say something nice to somebody? He demanded of himself. Jesus! He despaired. She's just an ordinary human being for Chris' sake, it wasn't as though he wanted to get off with her or even, ( at the risk of repeating myself ) how awful could a compliment from an old duffer like him be? What harm could it do? But he couldn't bear the thought of offending her, he just couldn't.
Well, as the bus approached his destination he got from his seat and walked to the front as he always did, just to exchanged a few words as he alighted.
"You look different, your hair."
"Yes, my husband cut it."
She replied modestly, looking down at the floor,seeming ever so slightly embarrassed.
"It looks great, suits you, a new you" he said to her as the doors opened.
He didn't dare look back or wait for a response, he leapt from the platform and strode off into the cold street-lit darkness of night-time Barkton.
" I did it, i did it."
Yes, he'd done it alright. The silly old bugger was walking on air. What about the next time he sees her though? He hadn't thought of that but would it really matter? The future could, and most certainly will, take care of itself. For now, he was buzzing. Oh happy happy day.

dither...

*Footnote;*
When all of this occurred last Monday, he really was, buzzing, high as a kite, call it what you will, but memories fade and i don't have the ability to put myself back in a time that has passed.
I'd love to put this in prose but it's tosh and it's badly written, i know it. Having said that, any thoughts ( dreams really, pie in the sky ) that i might harbour of being a writer lie firmly in the realm of the diarist but to write a diary one needs a life and for just the briefest of spells, back there, i actually felt as though i had one.
Blame it all on Gofa. He picked me up when i was down and i thank him for that.​


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## escorial

dither said:


> Well,
> so much for "going dry". No, it's not a problem. _He says, famous last words It's just that he gets bored you see. So, having solved the, fatigued/boozed out crash puzzle, he decided to take a walk, a part of the estate that he rarely visits, to my local one-stop. It's not exactly what you'd call rundown but we're getting there.
> 
> Having not washed since Friday afternoon, with a week's stubble on his face, and prefering not to be recognised, he wore "old black" with snorkel zipped up to his nose. Not that he knows anybody over there but it never ceases to amaze him how on very odd occasions in the past total strangers have addressed him by name. You just never know.
> 
> Wellaway doesn't change very much, talk about a world within a world. As he turned the corner a discarded cider can rolled with the wind, rattling along a roughly tamped concrete walkway, dodging the dips and cracks. Brambles climb the few remaining garden-fences and carpet the path and a small boy amused himself with a two-wheeled trike.
> On a communal green, bedraggled daisies ( even they looked grubby ) and all manner of litter do their bit to uphold the Wells name and reputation. Then, as he walked into spencers just a stones throw away, just as quickly as he'd entered Wells, he was on the High Street.
> 
> The old house that stands opposite the store cum garage/mot centre, such a sad and sorry state, has now been swallowed up and become a mountain of rampant ivy. As he passed by a wood pigeon, struggling with the gusting wind, managed to settle and disappeared among the green leathery leaves.
> 
> A bell rang as he entered the shop and made his way to the drinks shelf. There wasn't going to be any cheap cider here so it would be question of whatever took his fancy. Four packs of Silver/grey cans caught his eye, Strongbow cloudy apple? Yeah why not? What the hell eh?
> A tenner was exchanged for a fiver and door closed forcefully behind him as he left.
> 
> He was in no hurry to get home, took his time, lingered some, his mood was tinged with a mixture of wistfulness and sadness bordering on melancholy. Guess it doesn't do to think about things too much. Life...happening...eh?
> 
> This cloudy apple isn't a bad sup and the radio plays AC/DC.
> 
> CLICK/PHSSS.
> 
> Roy Wood, what ever happened to that guy, sings "see my baby jive".
> 
> Feeling better already.
> 
> 
> 
> _
> PS,
> 
> This stuff is only 4.5, alcopops.
> Doh!




the bell rang kind of summed this up..words like cum just added to the feel..fiction or non fiction your words have a very open,readable quality


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## Kevin

The mundane as interesting. Well done. Keep 'em coming.


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## Gofa

Dither. I really like walking with you and riding on the bus.  Please dont stop. Next time you ride with her alone mention you write about your life and bus rides as such and that she is known all around the world. 

I remember writing here about being hospitalised after the skate boarding accident. Your nurse feel good must have a sister out our way. She took me to the showers lovely and chatty. Came in with me and offered to undress me and shower me top and toe. Told her 20 years ago it would have been a whole bunch of fun but not now sorry. Love women in a white uniform though. I could get all existential about why but its not a thinking thing. Its just a woman in a white uniform looks cute. 
See Dither your writing brings back stuff for me. Barry Manilow  its an oldie and a goodie 

Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl
With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there
She would merengue and do the cha-cha
And while she tried to be a star
Tony always tended bar
Across the crowded floor, they worked from 8 til 4
They were young and they had each other ........​


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## dither

Tell her?
No way.
No-one knows and no-one shall, ever.


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## Gofa

I hear you 

Oh you Bridges of Madison County type of guy.

I still know 

her name wasn't Lola She was a Bus driver 

la la la la 

i agree not as good a lyric 

Still though you are the best she has never had Dither. 

�� �� ��

bum my little buses dont show.  Oh dear its a sign


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## dither

She hasn't " had me " :wink:, and i doubt that i'd be the best.

"Bridges of Madison County"?


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## Gofa

brudges of madison county is a lovely book


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## dither

Gofa said:


> brudges of madison county is a lovely book



Worth my trying to get a copy would you think?


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## wainscottbl

I need to go do my homework. I'm lounging around when I should not be.


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## Gofa

Yes it is   If you stay dry eyed at the end you are better than me


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## LeeC

Next weekend the wife's going to another hook and pray retreat (rug making workshop using a religious facility).


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## dither

I hope you won't mind. I DO seem to have rambled on and it's a bit of a shambles.:concern: 

One person's Easter Saturday:


Yesterday was good-Friday, and, because he wouldn't be working his usual night-shift on this Good Friday, today would be treated as a Saturday. He'd get himself home from work in the morning. Catch an early bus to Stugely. Shop at the new Lidl for things that he couldn't get from Asda's . Do the short walk to Asda's and buy the few things that he wouldn't be able to get from Lidl's and get the next bus home.

Saturday nights are always a good night for sleep catch-up and this Friday evening, having been awake for something like thirty hours and feeling ever so slightly sozzled from the two litre bottle of Crumpton's pear cider he'd consumed through-out the afternoon, looked to be pretty much same as, only it wasn't. It turned out to be much better, dubious choice of word "better". He always knows he has slept soundly when, upon waking, he finds that his entire body aches like hell and just getting out of bed is a battle of wills. But this time it was more than that. He could feel a slight numbness in the bottom of his spine. What a sleep that must have been. Once out of bed, shat shaved, washed 'n' dressed, his aches and pains were soon forgotten. Arth hit the High Street, bought a newspaper, went to wait for his bus, and even then everything seemed pretty much same as. "Same as." He likes "same as". It feels safe, secure,  it fits like an old pair of slippers only things weren't, same as.
He usually scans the pages of his newspaper for anything of interest as he waits for the bus to pull in but this time he didn't, he just couldn't be bothered with it. 
So many times he has ridden that bus to Barkton that he couldn't begin to try and calculate how many but on Saturdays there was always a sense of anticipation, akin to visiting an old friend almost. There were no feelings at all and if he'd thought about it, he couldn't have given a half-decent reason for going or why he was even on the bus. Old habits die hard he supposed, and he did need a few things from Morrisons so why not? Why not indeed. He thought about his newspaper again but let it be. " S'pose i could go look for that double-glazing firm" he thought to himself. He'd been meaning to replace the front door with it's worn out locking- mechanism for so long now.
That made him think of his credit card, and the PIN number that he new off by heart, but he couldn't remember what it was. He was panic-stricken. He'd always prided himself on the fact that due to his love of numbers, he could recite account, sort code, PIN and phone numbers with the greatest of ease but at that precise moment he couldn't remember his credit card pin. The fear and shock that he suddenly felt was over-whelming. He frantically went over sets of numbers in his mind. Was it this? Was it that? No that's not right. Oh i'm not sure. I don't know. I can't remember. Was it his age? Had he still not woken fully from the boozy slumbers of last night? Was this the onset of...? He didn't dare think it let alone say it. " What is wrong with me? Had something, part of him, died last night? "Oh god, not me." He pleaded." Please! Not me." 

He thought back to that time when, some way from home, he'd found himself short of ready cash, walked into a branch of his bank, filled out a withdrawal form and the girl behind the counter had put him through the wringer to prove his identity.
"Would you mind if i asked you a few questions for security?"
She's asked politely.
"No of course not" he'd replied.
"Do you have any direct debits on your account?"
Yes of course did, quite a few, and had happily started to reel them until she stopped him.
"Yes sir, thank you, that'll be fine. What is your date of birth please?"
He gave her his answer and she counted out the reddies.
"I DO apologise for the questions but you a long way from. Your signature has changed, I recommend that you go to your local branch some time soon and update their records."
"Yes, i'll do that and no need for apologies.Thank you."
He was impressed. Well, he could have a anybody. He might have been a thief with stolen bank-details.
As he stepped off the bus he thought "chips, the friery." He could see it from the bus terminal like a beacon, offering salvation to passers by, like Arth, who might be feeling the effects of chip-deprivation.
It had been a while since his last visit and in his absence they had changed.
No longer the brown skinned cutie at the counter with the her long fluttering eye-lashes and that smile,,, oh that smile. The old white notice-board that bore the latest prices had been replaced with an electronic flat-screen. The floor had been re-tiled, he didn't recognise the old cafe' next door and there seemed to be a new young hotshot presiding over proceedings. No longer the tall ageing old man who had always been in attendance standing quietly in the background. There had been a changing of the guard. Father to son maybe.
"Can i help you?" 
"A portion of chips, open pleases."
"They'll be a few minutes. Is that okay?"
No change there then.
"Yeah sure, no worries."
Arth sat on the low window-sill and gazed into the glass front of the display cabinet into the "new" old cafe' beyond. " They've been busy". He thought to himself. "Out with the old and in with the new eh?". The price of chips had gone up by ten pence but they hadn't changed, piping hot, with that phony yellowy golden colour, but still as tasty as ever they were. Small consolation. They were nice though. He sat huddled  in the corner of an empty bus-shelter and resolved to go and find the double glazing firm that he'd read about in a local advertiser as soon as he had eaten.
Having located the double glazing showroom with it's displays of doors and windows he decided that he didn't like the door-knobs. Seems ridiculous now but there was. Well that was it then, getting a new door would have to wait. Truth be told, he couldn't face going through the motions of buying and arranging a date for delivery and fitting. Motions of the human kind, interaction with other people, he finds difficult and the older he gets, the worse it gets. He just put the whole thing out of his mind and walked back into town.

Next stop Morrison's. Well, almost. Eating those chips had created a more pressing need that would cost him the princely sum of twenty pence. The town was busy. All of Barkton, and their dogs , were out shopping, and yet, to him, it seemed cold and empty,the loneliest place in the world, feeling as though he was invisible he slowly wandered, through the hoards and into the shopping center.
" What is happening to me? I HAVE to get out of this torpor, some how." As he sat using up his twenty pence worth he thought of the old gag "bottom dropped out of my world, world dropped out of my bottom" but he wasn't laughing.

He didn't need much from Morrison's, he DID want a Savoy cabbage though but there were none to be had. He paced up, and down, and around, there were definitely no Savoys, anywhere. Then,as he stood with his shopping loaded onto the conveyor, awaiting his turn at the checkout, panic struck him again. "SHIT! I haven't got any money. How embarrassing." I haven't been to the cash machine." He quickly loaded his few items of shopping back into the trolley, dashed into one of the aisles and prepared to put them back onto the shelves, then, he reached into his jacket pocket for his bank-card and with it were two crisp twenty pound notes. He had drawn cash from the cash machine outside his local Tesco Express when he left home that morning. "Ohhh god." He thought to himself almost afraid, to think of what this might mean. Yes, we can all be a little forgetful sometimes but it was more than that. " Not me. Please! Not me."

He can't be losing his marbles, can he? So they might be a  little scattered nowadays, mislaid even,  he got there in the end didn't he? But at what cost. What may
 have been consigned to the recycle bin because of his exertions?

He was still wandering around with his head in the clouds struggling to put  thoughts that visited him into any sort of order but one thing he was sure of, he wasn't for going home without a Savoy cabbage. There was nothing for it, he would have to and find a vegie-shop.
The town center of Barkton is fairly typical of towns of it's size he supposed. Sometime back in the seventies he'd seen it in his hometown. The town-center with it's warren of shabby and poorly lit alleyways,  tucked away places where  mothers warned their sons never go, being totally demolished, the heart totally ripped out as a dentist would extract a bad tooth,and being replaced with an all new, all singing and dancing, shopping center.
Much of the old shop-fronts that had survived the wrath of the then town planners still endure in one guise or another and so he went off on his quest for cabbage. Savoy cabbage and to his shock and dismay, having walked a complete lap around the inner circle of the old-town, he found not a one. 

A large painting on display in a charity shop window caught his attention. Typical chocolate-box scene, a stream gently meandering  through woodland with footpath on one side and a small cottage on the other. It was quite big with a gold coloured ornate, tacky almost, edging around the frame but all in all it looked grubby. The sort of thing  a person might fall instantly in love with then once home with their prize, wonder why the hell they'd bought it and where  in heavens they could hang such a monstrosity. He'd always fancied having a few oils hanging about his place but never really seen anything that he liked enough.

 How sad?How awful? He mused, the young women of today,  what would they know about fresh vegetables or how to prepare them? Probably wouldn't know what a Savoy was. Feeling thoroughly dejected and disappointed, he made his way back to the bus-terminal. Even the big ash-tray, that little oasis of flowers looked shabby. Barkton at it's worst.

Going home, upstairs, at the front of the bus as he usually did, he ate his apple and custard doughnuts and sat staring at the road ahead mind a total blank. It was like a hang-over without the vomiting.

The bus rolled into Arlton and as he got off that damned PIN was at the front of his mind exposing itself to him in it's entirety. That did lighten his mood somewhat but why had it taken so long. That happens with him a lot. Often he'll give on trying to remember something and then hours later it'll be there, out of nowhere, giving itself up to him like some lost treasure. Weird and then, maybe not so weird.

As he made his way back along the High Street he spotted a Savoy cabbage amongst the vegies that were on display outside the butcher's shop. The outer leaves were a bit ragged but it felt quite firm in the middle. It was the last one and it would have to do.

Going home...

Even now, on Sunday morning he feels calm. There's a stillness about him as though he's waking from a deep deep sleep but the fog does seem to be clearing.

dither....​


----------



## dither

And to think, i cut it short, could have gone on in all sorts of directions with it.

Oh dear,
i wasn't ramping.
Please, by all means delete this.
I wasn't thinking, i'm sorry.

Y'know?
My little boxroom, it's not the warmest room in the house and it feels cold in here right now, but i start punching those keys, dithering, and somehow i feel warmed by it.
Life eh?

*
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New shoots are appearing, buds are opening, and my beloved Hawthorn is breaking out in a rash of light green as the new leaves spring forth with the dawning summer:

*Wakey'wakey dither.
I almost feel the urge to get bus-riding.

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​


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## dither

Arth's moving up in the world;

After god knows how many years of traveling on the lower deck on his bus tide to work, Arth has forsaken it for upper deck. Away from the noisy happy cheerful boisterous but LOUD fishwife bantering of those young Polish women. They seem such a happy lot really, he almost envies them their apparent joie de vivre. Oh to be young again, he doesn't think so. A place where tetchy tots and over-heard telephone conversations are consigned to memory, bliss.
Which he finds amazing, any "decent well mannered" person wanting to carry out their garbled telephone ranting ( for want of a better form of expression ) would surely go upstairs, wouldn't they? 

Okay, the floors are usually littered with drink-cans, and those polystyrene fast-food cartons. There's all manner of crap left on some of the seats and that saddens him greatly. What kind of animal travels on the upper deck through out the daytime? For some, it would seem, it's just a place to dump unwanted rubbish. How difficult is it to use a litter-bin? There are even litter- bins at most bus-stops. Why oh why? What is wrong with people? F****** dirt-bags. It's not all bad though. A discarded newspaper, a few coins. He's always picking pens up off the seats, and a lighter, a plastic grey disposable which he also pocketed because he often has people asking him " have you got a light?" and he resolved to gift it to the next person who asked him.

He lets all that baggage slip from his mind. It's evening time now as he buses to work. All he has to contend with is a young woman, probably in her late twenties and wearing a red anorak, who kind of sprawls, slumped in a heap at the front of the bus and an rather non-descript old man of similar age to himself, who, amusingly, sits about midway. That, he can live/co-exist with, and life goes on.

Come Saturday morning and Arth follows his usual routine:

Shopping-trip to Stugely and he cannot believe how much he seems to be humping home home nowadays. How? Why? He demands, he just can't figure it out. He'll be carting extra cheap booze for the game on Saturday evening but even so, he always gets home loaded and he wonders how much longer he'll be able to carry such a load. He recently bought a back-pack hoping to lighten the load that hung from his shoulder but the shoulder-bag is still full to bursting.

Well anyway;

Another week done, another shopping-trip successfully negotiated and Arth headed for the bus stop. He usually sits on a wall a short distance from the shelter but this time it was empty, ( no people. YES! ) so he took a seat and waited. He should have known better. First an old lady sat beside him. He endeavoured to hide from view between the pages of his newspaper and it seemed to work.
Then a young lad appeared and the following conversation ensued:
" Is there along wait for the next bus?"
Old lady, "Im not sure to be honest. I just turn up and wait."
Then Arth, " There should be one any time now, four or five minutes hopefully."
Young man, "Okay, thanks. Pause...... I'm an hour late for work already, partied last night, i got engaged."
The old lady instantly became a gushing cooing old lady.
" Oh did you? How lovely. Got a nice girl have you? Relationships have to be worked at you know, it's never easy. Et cetera, et cetera.
Oh god thought Arth. "Here we go". Head to palm.
" Does she get on with your mum?"
"Yeah, mum thinks she's great, and dad does too."
"Oh how wonderful. You're so young. You have your whole life ahead of you."
The old lady's bus pulled in,
"You have a nice day."
Which Arth thought was nice.
"You have a nice life."
Replied the old lady.
How nice was that? 
Must have been forty years between them. Kinda gives a person hope doesn't it.

What happened next Arth couldn't believe, oh sweet irony.
" You wouldn't happen to have a light would you?"
Ahhh'ha'ha'ha. Would you ephing adam and eve it?
Arth had left his work coat at home on account of how warm it was.
"No sorry mate, i don't."
Well that saw Arth go home smiling.

Life eh?​


----------



## dither

*
Bad Teeth:
*
he is going to have find the courage, pluck up the where with all, to find himself a dentist before very long, and he really ought to lay off the cheap cider, it's starting to rake his insides.
He has had a good run with the few remaining teeth that he has but there a no molars. The side teeth have been doing all of the grinding and now, feeling the strain , chipped and over-worked, are starting to decay,  finally, the dreaded toothache has begun bite. Excuse the pun, "bite", oh dear ( head to palm ).

He promises himself that the next time he has a week off work he will, must, have got to, find a dentist, and make that appointment.

Falsies, plastic "full plates", isn't that what they call them? Both up and down. It sure would be nice to eat,,, so many things that he'd forgotten,,, "normal foods". Like jacket-potatoes. Cooked meats without suffering the agonies of it getting bits of it stuck between his teeth.

Baby-food, normal foods that is but diced and/or blended. He'd been living on for quite some time now. He only ate soft foods and anything that needed chewing he put through a meat-grinder first.

The trouble was, IS, apart from his being a total wimp, that he'd already tried false teeth and had failed miserably with them. What if he couldn't get on with them when that was all he'd got? He'll just have to deal with that when the time comes, and that time he fears, is rapidly approaching.

Even hot drinks are setting them off and the hell of toothache, well, we all know about that one.

It's just a question of how much can he take?


----------



## dither

*
A bitter sweet dither;

*Just before knocking-off time, on a Tuesday morning, Arth had had a fall. Sure, he'd tripped and fell before, haven't we all? You get up, brush yourself down, curse your luck maybe, and get on with things. But this was different, apart from feeling more than just little shaken, he had hurt himself and he knew it.
Thankfully there were only minutes to go to the end of his shift and then he'd be making his way to the bus stop. A gentle stroll and time to think might ease his pains. Clocking-off time came and went and Arth headed homeward.
 As he walked he saw  workers making ready for their day of work. Some cycling, some waiting for buses as he would be when he reached his stop. Another man loaded his van with the tools of his trade and he could see a chap some way off standing at the roadside, waiting for a lift probably. 
Arth walked on and as he approached the young man standing at the roadside he couldn't believe his luck.
"You wouldn't happen to have light would you mate?"
Yes!
At last though Arth.
"Funny you should ask."
Arth stooped to rumage in his work coat that was folded up in his bag.
"I don't smoke but i bus to work and i found this on one of the seats."
He handed the young man the grey plastic disposable lighter that he'd been carrying around for a while, waiting for such a moment.
"It did work."
"Yes first time."
"Keep it."
"That's brilliant."
The look of delight on the stranger's face was all the thanks that Arth needed,brilliant, indeed.
How such small actions bring such moments of joy.
Arth smiled all the way to his bus-stop.


----------

