Moans & Musings

All this Famous Five stuff seems to have overtaken my usual ramblings so it's time for a few sundry thoughts.

The other day I picked up young Master Bassett after a fortnight's sojourn in Calpé. Gatwick at midnight isn't an overly inspiring place; a few mean-looking cops, even meaner looking MacDonalds staff and a Costa's. The left-luggage department was still open and the gormless oik standing there looked bored stupid, little knowing that he could get himself a really good job at Heathrow T5 in a few short days.

I strolled in, looking like a seasoned traveller as opposed to the provincial, once a year visitor, arranged a mortgage to pay for my double shot cappucino and settled down with my iPod to watch a Python movie. All the while waiting for the fruit of my loins to burst through the doors in a flurry of excitement at seeing Daddy once more.

As I looked up, idly watching the workmen filling in the bullet holes around the EasyJet Customer Service counter, I suddenly realised - airport arrival lounges are really happy places!

What I mean is, we see people smiling and laughing in the course of everyday life but, as someone comes through those doors, the looks of pure joy on their and the person meeting them's' faces is wondrous to behold. It's not often one has the privilege of seeing so much genuine happiness over such a short period of time and it was a real feelgood feeling. If you're down, I suggest a quick trip to the Arrivals Lounge at your local airport!

Needless to say, young Bassett proved the exception to the rule as he ambled across: "Hi Dad, I'm knackered!".....kids!!!

Moving on, I need to get something off my chest. For a long time now, I've been quite upset about China's gradual destruction of Tibet's identity. It's always irked me enormously that the West has predominantly ignored the repression of Tibet's religious and economic systems, the imposition of local Communist supremos, the drafting in of complete townships of Chinese and the cultural and agricultural rape of the country. Even the official language of Tibet is now Chinese!

Vast areas of grassland are being given over to agriculture to feed the heartlands of China, forests are being destroyed at a frightening rate (50% reduced since 1949) and mineral resources are being stripped at a rate of knots.

The Dalai Lama is, of course, no longer recognised and the successor (or Panchen Lama) named by him has been taken into 'protective custody' along with his family. The Chinese Government invoked a historic precedent and decided to name their own Panchen Lama; a 17 year old whose parents, by strange coincidence, are strong members of the Chinese Communist Party.

Now, pardon me for being cynical, but I can't help but feel that there is some link between our reliance on economic ties with China and the lack of action by Western Governments. There have undoubtedly been a great many atrocities since China invaded in 1949, many of which have been documented by impeccable sources yet what is being done? Have a read of this before you watch the Olympics later this year and then sit back in your nice, comfy armchair. Just spare a thought for Tibet as you enjoy the spectacle.

Other sundry wanderings:

Why don't they sell turkey eggs?

I've still got some of my stitches although the navels are settling down now. I should have asked the surgeon to do the stitches á la Victorian sampler so I could at least have had a scar that could be read.

A joke: Little Bertie was sitting on a park bench munching one chocolate bar after another. After the 6th bar, a man opposite leaned over and said 'Son, you know eating all that chocolate isn't good for you. It'll give you acne, rot your teeth and make you fat.'

Bertie replied 'My grandfather lived to be 107 years old.' to which the man asked 'Did he eat 6 chocolate bars at a time?'

'No,' answered Bertie, 'he minded his own f*cking business!'

Five Do It All Over The Place - Part 5

The Famous Five were in a bit of a pickle; surrounded by villains, trapped underground and with no hope of escape.

'Oh Julian, things just couldn't get any worse' whispered Anne.

Oh, yes they could' responded Julian glumly, 'we've run out of food as well.'

They were quickly bound and tossed in a small room; evoking memories of earlier visits to Uncle Quentin's study for poor Dick. Despite their adult looks, the Five were jolly scared and Anne was unable to stop her lower lip trembling.

'Chin up, old girl' said George, 'something's bound to happen. It always did in our old adventures.'

'But George,' cried Anne, in a tremulous voice, 'that was then and this is now. Those days were different and life as an adventuring schoolgirl was fun and full of picnics. These modern times are a lot more.........erm......modern.' she finished lamely.

'I know what you mean.' said Dick fiercely. 'These days, the heroes are four-eyed magicians and all the smugglers have been replaced by dragons. Bloody Quidditch! It makes me soooo mad!'

A dreamy look came into George's eyes. 'Oh, I don't know. I rather like that Bellatrix Lestrange; she's awfully butch in a witch-y sort of way.' Timmy looked at her and grinned. In his almost human-like way, he idly scraped the word "dyke" in the dust with his paw and then fell asleep.

Uncle Quentin, meanwhile, was preparing for his takeover of FiveWorld. He gathered his team around him for the final briefing.

'OK, listen up. Once I come back from Thailand and, assuming the operation is a success, we swing into action.' Oh, how he looked forward to that post-operative period when, like all the best Bond villains, he could, at last, stand before them stroking his very own pussy. 'All of the plans are in place for the new rides, the QuentiBurger stands are finished and I've done a deal with Channel 4 to shoot the next series of Big Brother in the Jade Goody House of Horrors. All we need do now....................'

He stopped as a familiar voice rang out;

'Oh Quentin, what have you done?'

He turned round only to see Aunt Fanny standing there!

'You mean my plans to take over FiveWorld? he gabbled, panicking.

Aunt Fanny looked at him sadly. 'I was thinking more of the times you said you were taking my old clothes to the charity shop.' her glance ran up and down his Laura Ashley dress. 'Mind you, they don't look too bad on you.'

'Thanks, old thing,' said Quentin, 'but I'm going to have to kill you. You've seen far too much.'

Things had reached an impasse. (particularly as the author had no idea of where the plot was headed. He wandered off for a refreshing glass of ginger beer and some Caramac and returned refreshed.)

As the Famous Five sat in the small, locked room, wondering what to do, Julian looked up suddenly.

'Do you remember when we were younger? All we had to occupy the time when there were no adventures was our collection of old-fashioned games like Snakes & Ladders, Snap!, Ludo and Lexicon. Now, thank goodness, at least we have modern technology to help pass the time.'

He pulled out his iTouch.

'Right! Who's for a game of Virtual Happy Families?'

'Hang on, old chap,' said Dick 'pass that over. If, by a million to one chance, there's an internet signal here then I can Google how to pick the lock and get us out of here!' I know we are deep underground and in the middle of a moor but, for some strange reason, I'm really rather optimistic.' His hunch proved true and soon he was busy searching the Web.

Anne jumped up and down excitedly. 'But surely, if there's a signal, we can just e-mail the local police sta...............' George turned on her fiercely. 'Oh, don't be so wet, Anne.' she said crossly. 'The last thing we want is to finish our adventure this early and you can bet your newest copy of Bunty that there will be some spurious reason which will prevent them coming here and saving us.'

Dick was true to his word and quickly managed to pick the lock using a convenient hairgrip left lying on the floor and slowly opened the door. Fortunately, the main cavern was deserted and the Five slowly crept out.

'I wonder what's happen to Mother? said George, anxiously. 'We could really do with here here now as I spy a kitchen over there and I'm starving.'

Even though Anne had now grown up, she loved pretending to be a child once more so she could act like a proper grown-up. She absolutely adored doing all the things a woman did best: cooking, cleaning, tidying and waxing.

'Ooh, I'll cook for us.' she said, and quickly got to work. Soon there was a delicious smell of roast chicken, vegetables and apple crumble filling the dank cave.

Timmy loved it when there was food around. Not only did he get all the scraps but he was a dab hand at a rosemary jus and he watched with pride as the children poured it over the succulent meal.

'Right' said Julian. 'Do we rescue Aunt Fanny first or scupper Uncle Quentin's plans?' Matters were decided when a shrill wail rent the air!

The children rushed towards the source of the sound and saw a terrible sight. Aunt Fanny was stretched out on a table with the gang busily forming a queue whilst Uncle Quentin was bent over a desk; a straw in his hand and some white powder on a mirror.

George couldn't help herself and cried out 'Father, that's smack!'

Her father turned round scornfully. 'Smack, my arse.'

'Oh, not again.' murmured Dick, resignedly. 'OK, where's the hairbrush?'

Uncle Quentin slowly stood up and looked at the children. 'It's not what you think. This is a new, harmless invention which, when inhaled, turns the world into a simple place where everything is wonderful and every day has a happy ending.

The Five looked at him. 'But ours is like that already.' said Anne, looking puzzled.

'I plan to mix this into all the food at FiveWorld so that people will always come back and spend even more cash.' said Uncle Quentin. 'I'll have more money than you've had hot dinners.'......... he thought a while about this last remark...........'well, perhaps not that much.'

'Look, Uncle, said Julian. 'what you have stumbled upon is a way of making money and making people happy so it proves you're not all bad. Why not forget about all this evil gubbins and join us on the Board of Directors? We'll make you Manageress in charge of Finance, offset your operation expenses as loss of tips and we'll all be happy again once more.'

Quentin looked over at his wife, walked slowly towards her and slowly released her bonds. The gang looked disappointed (as did she) but slowly dropped their weapons into a pile and exchanged them for laptops and brollies. They knew that their criminal days were over. Fanny looked at her husband and smiled.

'Could we live together once more as wife and wife?' she asked.

Quentin looked at her and grinned slowly. 'Well,' he said, 'it'll save a fortune on cosmetics and you can always teach me to cook.'

The Famous Five looked at each other. 'Seems like another adventure is over.' said Anne. ' Happy, George?'

George looked at her as she slowly fumbled in her pocket for a hidden pork pie. 'Well, Anne, it'll take a while to get used to someone wanting to be a different sex but I'm sure I'll get my head round it eventually.' It means I'll have nobody to play Rugger and other rough games with but if that's what it takes.....'

Timmy looked at Auntie Quentin. There seemed to be a big grin on his face as he anticipated yet another skirt up which to push his cold, wet, doggy nose.

Everybody trooped back out into the sunshine. 'Gosh,' said Dick. 'I wonder where our next adventure will be?' He hesitated momentarily as he climbed over a crashed Russian nuclear bomber. 'Still, let's hope it's not before we have a scrumptious supper; I'm absolutely starving!'

THE END


Copyright: BertieBassett Enterprises Inc. 2008 This article cannot be reproduced in full or part without written permission of the author

Bertie's Podcast

Just for a laugh, I've decided to do an audio version of the Famous Five story. If you really can't be arsed to read it, then just click on the link over on the left and the sultry tones of yours truly will waft over the airwaves (don't forget to turn off the Juke Box!). I've only done Part One so far but the others will follow shortly.

I hope that it can also be downloaded as a Podcast (not that I expect anyone will want it, I just like experimenting with the techie stuff!).

Finally, I never realised I had a lisp, stammer, cleft palate and hare lip until I listened to this so please bear that in mind.

Five Do It All Over The Place - Part 4

As you may recall, the girls are stuck in a tunnel, Timmy has been struck unconscious and the boys have been trussed up by a rosy-cheeked farmer's wife who is, in fact, their disgraced Uncle Quentin. Uncle Quentin intends to take over FiveWorld, the money-making theme park, owned by the children and will stop at nothing in his bid for economic domination. None of them have eaten for several minutes.

Uncle Quentin slipped the gag from Dick's mouth in order to feed him a small rock cake and some ginger-ale. The boy's hearts were warmed to know he still retained some semblance of humanity (and it also made the following conversation far more easier).

'How do I know it's really you?' said Dick. 'These blindfolds make identification far too difficult. For all I know, you could be a sinister twist in the plot.'

He felt something placed in his hand.

'Do you remember this from your visits to my study at Kirrin Cottage?'

Of course I do,' replied Dick, running his hand around the familiar object. 'How could I ever forget the fun I had with that? It's the yoyo you won at the 1936 Naturist Choirboy Convention! So it's really you, Uncle Quentin. Why, oh why can't you just let us go?'

'Boys, I'm afraid that there will be no happy ending for you; you've had your last adventure! Now I'm off to go and find those pesky girls before they wreck my dastardly plans.'

Meanwhile, the girls were still in the tunnel.

'Oh, George,' said Anne 'it's so lucky I have my clockwork torch with me.' and cranked away merrily as they wandered down the tunnel frantically looking for an escape.

After a while, and having had no luck in finding an escape route, they sat down and disconsolately ate some delicious ham sandwiches and a small Victoria sponge whilst discussing their predicament.

'Anne, old thing, I know you're a girl and will be terribly worried so I'll try not to frighten you.'

'Frighten me, George? What on earth do you mean?

'Well, I'm afraid we seem to be lost and may well die a terrible and lonely death by starvation - our bodies lying here forgotten and cold forever.'

George heard the gentle trickle of liquid and realised that her bid to break the news gently had failed.

'Oh, George,' sobbed Anne, 'this means we'll never see the boys again and, for all we know, our lovely theme park will be taken over by a consortium led by somebody who won't care about anything other than making money....and I had such plans for another 7 home-made cake concessions.' Oh, if only we could miraculously find some way to escape?'

As she idly squeezed her torch, she noticed a sign on the wall opposite.

'Look!' she squeaked. 'There's a sign on the wall opposite.'

Sure enough, illuminated by the dim glow was a large sign which said "In the event of losing your way, there is an escape exit through this door >>>>"

They quickly headed through it and found themselves once more on the moor. Wasting no further time, they headed back to the farm. Imagine their surprise when they saw the boys lying on the bed. They were even more surprised to find several bottles of wonderful lemonade which they drank thirstily.

'Mmmm, that was super but I suppose we'd better untie the boys now.'

Julian explained about his Uncle's plans for their demise, his apparent loss of reasoning and how George's Father was soon to become her second mummy and proffered his sympathies to poor George. 'Oh, never mind about all that, there is far worse news' and explained about Timmy. As she remembered her bestest friend, a small tear came to her eye.

Dick noticed it and gently teased her; 'Girly, girly, George is a gir....ooomph!' He lay back clutching his scrumptious macaroons, realising that perhaps he had gone too far.

They quickly decided to head down the tunnel once more and find some way of rescuing their canine companion. Pausing only to pack a few pies, pasties and a simply enormous chocolate cake, they rushed off to the barn and were soon back in the tunnel.

As they stood there, they heard voices and headed rapidly in the direction of the sound. They reached a large excavated area and realised that they had reached the nerve centre of Uncle Quentin's operation.

George's face took on an expression of rather butch ferocity. 'This must be where Timmy is! Quick, check all the side rooms.'

In a flash, they looked in all the rooms but no sign of poor Timmy. As they stood in the last room, they gazed idly at the industrial mincer, assortment of cleavers and the Korean recipe book. Something was glinting under the table! Anne pounced on it and exclaimed 'Oh, look, it's Timmy's identity disc!

''You know what this means,' said Julian slowly.

Their eyes widened as the news slowly sunk in. 'You mean that they are going to close all the scrummy cake stalls and sell foreign food? At our theme park? gasped Anne. 'I'm afraid so.' said Julian glumly.

As they realised that their world had fallen apart, George gazed fondly at the identity disc. It was all she had left of her beloved Timmy and they were still no further forward in locating his whereabouts.

'I say,' she said, 'I think there's a clue on this disc.' and read the words written thereon, as if for the first time:

"Timmy the Dog. If you find this, please check the cupboard just to the right of the Tupperware display."

On a hunch, Dick pulled open a cupboard, just to the right of the Tupperware display and, sure enough, Timmy looked up at them, his tail wagging feebly at seeing his friends once more.

Oh Timmy, you're safe.' cried George. 'No, please don't lick my face.'

'Sorry,' said Dick, 'but there was a couple of crumbs there and I'm absolutely starving!'

At last, the Famous Five were together once more.

'Right,' said Julian fiercely, 'now let's go and kick bottom!'

The Five headed out into the main room once more and stopped dead in their tracks! There, spread out in a line, were a dozen, desperate-looking men armed with an assortment of semi-automatic weapons, grenade launchers, Patriot missiles and a cake slice. In their centre stood Uncle Quentin, a sardonic smile upon his face.

'Oh....................bollocks!!!' said Anne.

To be continued.

Copyright: BertieBassett Enterprises Inc. 2008 This article cannot be reproduced in full or part without written permission of the author

Life - The Great Roller Coaster

It's an interesting thing, Life. Let's face it, being the little wriggler that succeeds in reaching the egg is statistically rarer than winning the Lottery yet how many of us really appreciate that fact? Ask any number of people how happy they are with their life and you can bet your last creme egg that the percentage is going to be pretty low.

Perhaps it's a natural process? If we were all meant to be happy then there would be no incentive to better our own life (and, exponentially) others. Perhaps it's a ramification of so-called 'progress'? In other words, ask people 100 years ago and would the percentages be that different? Did people accept the cards that were dealt them far more in those days? If so, then is that because they were happier or because they didn't have the expectations of the 21st century?

Today has been not so much a down day, but a thoughtful day. It seems that so many people I know and care about have far worse problems that I do and it's almost as if I use those as an excuse to become low and introverted myself; sort of emotional abuse by proxy.

I've never really worked out if, when I get like this. it's because I have a compulsion to feel sorry for myself or it's a means of self-flagellation? I guess they're the same thing really. Why do I want to punish myself in this way?

I was tempted to take the blog site down today after deciding that it was for my own ego rather than as an entertainment for others. In the end I didn't after deciding it was rather like one of the big rides at a theme park. You want to do it but you're crapping yourself at the reaction. Will it be a thrill or a disappointment. Worst of all, will it just be a non-event? I think I'd rather be castigated than be classed as a non-event.

Anyway, back to this happiness thing. In one of my more philosophical moments, I came up with the theory that, in order to test something to the limit, you have to break it. If it don't break then how can one know just how much more strength there is?

I guess I was at that point a few years ago and there's no doubt that the experience made me stronger. Reading some of the words I wrote then, I wish I'd had the benefit of foresight but I suppose that's all part of the process. One thing I know will never happen now is that I will give up on Life. It's there for the taking and, despite setbacks, is there to be lived. Hard to do at times but nothing worthwhile is ever easy. I'm reading a history of Attila the Hun at the moment and there's a quote from Virgil, namely Vivite! ait Mors. Venio! - Live! says Death. I am coming. It made me think.

I never know whether to publish these poems I write, for the reasons outlined above. I appreciate them so what the hell! Who was it who said "Publish and be damned"? Another selection from the mind of yours truly.

The first one is not based on anybody in particular. It just came to me one sunny afternoon, sitting in a garden and surrounded by Nature's beauty and several troubled souls:

Just a Dream

From known and unknown torment

Her mind cries for relief,

The inner beauty fighting for her soul.

She needs new life and love to feel her heart beat,

New promises of hope to make her whole.

Her silken skin bears witness to the countless agonies -

Each scar a cry for help, a scream of pain.

But they’ll never scar the goodness

And the power that lies within

Which makes her want to live and grow again.

Her arms reach out towards me

Seeking comfort, help and love,

Her body gaining strength from each caress.

Not just taking but returning, fingers cool against my skin,

Soft hair shining as her head lays on my chest.

Within the dark lies hope and understanding,

She teaches me acceptance, brings me peace.

Our lives have crossed, our hearts and minds have altered -

A destiny that time can never cease.

The next one I remember clearly. I was lying on my bed as I saw the seagull and thought of freedom:

Through My Window

Wheeling and curling, the gulls fly across the leaden sky,

Shafts of sunlight picking out their freedom.

The vista from my room, bisected by the window bars

Draws my eye into eternity.

What lies beyond the clouds? Blue skies? The sun?

Transitory illusion. A presage of the blackness beyond.

Infinity of time and space,

Unknown.

Our only true knowledge is the lack of understanding.

The only truth is knowledge,

But truth is just a lie.

A window to frustration shuttered and bolted.

Defenestration and castration

Pretension, apprehension,

Comprehension? No, just tension.

Walls of words, hiding embryonic apathy

And foetal guilt.

I really don't remember writing this last one. Perhaps it was to my Mother?

To Womankind

Enfold me in your tenderness

Hold me to you so that I may absorb your strength.

Let me feel your softness

So that I may begin to live.

My tears splash onto your velvet skin

Where they burst like ripe pods of seed,

Creating new life.

Casting off the skin of a thousand years

Revealing hope beneath.

Envelop me in your warmth,

Take me to your breast.

So that I may be a child at last,

And so become the man

Copyright: BertieBassett Enterprises Inc. 2008 This article cannot be reproduced in full or part without written permission of the author

Five Do It All Over The Place - Part 3

George couldn't sleep. She lay there cogitating as she idly stroked her furry companion whilst the others slumbered away: dreaming, no doubt, about jolly picnics, pirates and the profits from "FivePark", the new theme world recently built on Kirrin Island. It had been the brainchild of Dick and was now a multi-million pound business with such attractions as Dick's Passage, George's Male-strom, Timmy's Terror Tunnel, Julian's CakeWalk, Anne's Across the Water and various themed "Fanny" rides. Sadly, Uncle Quentin's Torture Chamber had been closed whilst the SOCO team were investigating but Kirrin Island still rang to the sound of many visitors, cheerfully combing the place for treasure, smugglers and mysterious goings-on whilst the cash tills rang merrily.

George was in a bit of a pickle. She realised that her "habit" was becoming too obvious and the others would soon realise what was happening. Her body burned as she fought the cravings but in the end, she could fight them no more as she crept out of the tent. As she fumbled through her rucksack she thought bitterly of how Fate had dealt her such a cruel blow.

It had started innocently enough with her dear Mother's fairy cakes and progressed through macaroons and battenberg until that awful day when she had been offered some Black Forest gateau in a Lyon's Corner House. She knew then that her cake addiction had gone too far and had done her best to combat it - even booking into the Mr Kipling Rehabilitation Centre (motto: Addiction Recovery - it's a piece of cake!).

She looked desperately at the icing syringe and her hand crept towards her emergency packet of Franzipan Fancies......................... Suddenly, a shadow fell across her!

'Ello, leetle girl, it is, 'ow you say, ze lovely night'

George looked up, startled. 'Gosh, a mysterious foreign chappie.' she said. 'Are you a swarthy villain?.........and I am NOT a girl!'

The man looked at her with narrowed eyes. 'I am Raymond Blanc and I am 'ere to give you, 'ow you say, ze best cake recipe in ze world!'

George lay back exhausted, realising that the hallucinations were back. Last week it had been Nigella Lawson covered in cake mixture and then there had been the awful time where she had imagined being pursued by marzipan TeleTubbies.

She returned to her tent and snuggled back down into her sleeping bag. 'I really must get a grip' she thought and, thus comforted, drifted off to sleep once more.

The next morning, the Five were up early. Dick built a small smokery, lassoed a passing pig and soon the smell of grilling bacon filled the air. 'What's that you're doing, Anne? asked George.

'It's my make-up, silly' replied Anne and George wrinkled up her stubby, freckled nose in disgust.

'You really ought to try it, old thing. A bit of lippy shoved in the dungarees is a girl's best friend.'

They were soon ready to go down to the farmhouse after forming a plan: The boys would keep the lady occupied whilst the girls and Timmy searched around.

The lady seemed pleased to see Julian and Dick but there was a certain evasiveness in her voice as they asked her subtle questions about treasure, secret caves and the strange collection of novelty stress relievers arrayed in her bedroom.

Meanwhile, the girls had sneaked into the barn after following a well-defined set of tyre tracks, only to find the place empty!

'Oh my gosh' squeaked Anne, 'it's deserted. That must surely mean that there is a false wall here and there is a network of tunnels honeycombing the surrounding hills.'

George looked at her younger cousin pityingly. 'Alternatively, it could mean that whatever made the tyre tracks is out somewhere.'

'Don't be silly, George, old thing. You know that is highly unlikely. Come on, let's start looking.'

They seemed to spend ages pressing the wall and searching for an opening but it was all to no avail. Their spirits were low as they decided to have a rest and George sat on the floor whilst Anne rested her arm on a convenient lever.

'Cripes, look!' she squealed as the lever slowly depressed. To their amazement 3 displays appeared on the wall: two melons and a cherry.

'Do it again, Anne.' yelled George and this time three bells appeared and a door slowly swung open.

Timmy shot through it and disappeared into the gloom whilst the girls raced after him.

'Oh wait for me please, George' gasped Anne. 'Don't forget that I am still the baby of the group and therefore at greatest risk of harm even though my coltish legs have developed into something a little more interesting.'

'Mmm, so they have.' said George appreciatively, seeing her cousin in a totally new light. Further thoughts were impossible as they heard a frantic barking up ahead, followed by an loud "clonk" and a whimper.

'Oh no, someone has probably just hit poor Timmy over the head with a large spanner and captured him.' cried Anne. 'What shall we do now as the boys, in their rightful place as the dominant sex, are the only ones capable of making a decision?'........................

The boys were having problems of their own as the farmer's wife had drugged their delicious home-made lemonade and they were trussed up tighter than a Bernard Matthews turkey after a bird flu inspection.

'Yes, my fine buckos,' said the farmer's wife as she threw off her disguise. 'You might have thought me a mere rosy-cheeked country woman with a knack for cooking really nice veal and ham pies but I am really someone you all know!'

'Urghh glurgh urghhhh' Julian wriggled frantically against his bonds as he tried to speak through the crude gag.

'Yes, that's right. It's me, Uncle Quentin!!!'

'Urghhhh'

'Indeed Julian, as you rightly say, everybody thought I was in custody but, as you both know, gigantic holes in the plot have never stopped a Famous Five adventure before and they're not going to this time either. I made my escape and am hiding here masterminding this whole operation.'

Dick joined in.'Urghhle murgggh'

'How on earth did you guess, Dick? Yes, I am indeed attempting to take over your multi-million Kirrin Island leisure undertaking as it should rightfully be mine. The somewhat mysterious job I had when you were children never paid well and I soon tired of sitting in my study for long periods being irascible when you lot all turned up during the holidays.

Your days are numbered. Soon I shall be more famous than Disney, richer than Bill Gates and able to finish my series of operations and live in luxury with my strangely-endowed Thai lady friends............................'

To be continued

Copyright: BertieBassett Enterprises Inc. 2008 This article cannot be reproduced in full or part without written permission of the author

Five Do It All Over The Place - Part 2

Pausing only to pack their tents and cadge a lift from a passing yokel and his wagon, the Five ventured into the unknown.

Before long they were on a strange moorland plateau. It was lonely there: no birds were singing and only a number of scattered treasure maps littered the bleak landscape.

'Hey Anne, mind that gorse doesn't catch on your cardigan' said Julian.
Anne looked at him exasperatedly.
'Julian, just in case you haven't noticed, I am now a beautiful young woman with a Masters in Quantum Mechanics. My stereotypical role as the younger, dominated sibling has been overtaken by the realisation that I am your equal and I am empowered to do whatsoever I like with my cardigan.which is, in fact, Prada'

'Way to go, Anne' said George, extracting a roll-up from her dungarees, 'Show the chauvinist bastard.'

Anne grinned shamefacedly. 'Only joking Julian. Shall I go and collect some firewood?'

That evening, the Five sat around the campfire singing songs.

George looked at Timmy fondly. 'There's not many dogs that can handle atonic harmonies like you can'

Timmy's face looked almost humanly modest as he quietly strummed away on his guitar whilst the others launched into yet another round of "Ten Green Bottles". It was a beautiful evening, the stars shone brightly as yet another delicious cake was eaten and Dick slaughtered and barbecued lashings of unlucky passing sheep.

Suddenly, just as the boys were building a protective shelter for the girls, a weird light appeared in the sky. it was like a strange red and yellow glow which filled their vision.

'Gosh, it looks like another adventure is about to happen' said Anne.

'Bugger, I think I left my butane razor on. The tent's on fire!' cried George and rushed back to the campsite. The heat was in tents but eventually, the boys (after making sure that the girls were well protected) managed to put out the blaze.

'Gosh, it's lucky we drank so much pop earlier' said Julian, shaking off the remaining drops.
'Dick's looking a bit warm' said Anne.
Julian looked at her ruefully. 'That's true old thing, but it should be OK' and wandered away, walking rather awkwardly.

The next morning, the Five washed in a local stream and ate a delicious breakfast. As they sat there, they suddenly notice an old railway line disappearing into the distance.

'That's funny,' said George, 'I'm sure I saw a ghostly train last night as I went outside for a fix....erm, I mean call of nature. I never mentioned it as it seemed to happen so often when we were younger.'

'A lot of things happened when we were younger,' said Dick, wriggling uncomfortably as he thought about Uncle Quentin and his strange collection of latex gloves.

Right Ju,' said Anne firmly 'let's follow the tracks. I smell adventure'

They spent the day following the tracks. Timmy had a wonderful time chasing rabbits and gathering up the occasional cow whilst Dick played contentedly with the Heckler & Koch MP5 semi-automatic he had found, presumably dropped by some passing rascal.

They camped that evening by the side of a hillside, a little way away from a solitary farmhouse.

Dick went down to the farm and knocked on the farmhouse door. It was opened by an apple-cheeked lady with a friendly smile and a checked pinny.

'Well, fancy you dropping by. Just as I've realised I baked far too much bread and made far too many pies. Would you like some? Do come in, it's very lonely here on my own.'
'On your own?' said Dick
'Well, my husband keeps going away for periods of time along with some swarthy, foreign-accented men. In the meantime, I am here all alone' The lady sat down, exposing a shapely thigh and patted the seat next to her. 'Now, do you fancy something warm inside you? I know I do.'

Dick blushed. 'Erm, tell me about these people with your husband. Do you ever hear any loud bangs during the night?'

'Sadly, no' replied the woman wistfully. She suddenly sat up. 'Mind you, I do hear a ghostly whistling occasionally, as if from a train.

'Cripes,' exclaimed Dick, 'just wait until I tell the others. This could be the adventure at long last.'

Pausing only to take the wicker basket full of food, he ran back to the others and told them of the story.

Anne looked at Julian in desperation. 'Ju, wasn't that the scenario in "Five Go Adventuring Again"?
'No, Anne, old thing, it was actually "Five Go Off to Camp". Remember old Wooden-Leg Sam?'

Anne looked miserable, realising that once more she had fulfilled her role as the youngster of the group who always made the silly mistakes. Timmy, realising her depression, snuffled around the undergrowth and found her some Prozac. He dropped them at her feet and looked at her with his big, doggy eyes.

'Thanks Timmy. I guess I get so mixed up with all our different adventures. Perhaps we've run out of scenarios? Good boy.' She bent over and absent-mindedly patted his head, not realising that she was still holding the large knife with which she had been cutting the yummy farmhouse fruitcake.

Timmy fell to the ground, panting bravely as he tried to ignore the large cleft which had appeared in his almost humanlike skull.

'Anne, you idiot!' screamed George, 'What have you done? She dived into her rucksack and brought out the suture kit. She sewed furiously for a few minutes and then turned to the others; 'There, he's as good as new now. Thank heavens life is so simple in our world'

Julian examined the stitching. 'Sewn like a true girl' he said and then fell back as he tried to extract George's boot from his groin.

Dick jumped up. 'What on earth is the matter with us? Why are we falling out like this?'

'Oh piss off', snarled Anne as she broke a small jar of delicious fresh lemonade over his head. Julian threw her to the ground and shouted at them all.

'Hey, you lot, don't you realise that something is happening to us. We seem to be at each others throats all of a sudden. How can we find out what could be the problem?'

'It should be a piece of cake' said George and suddenly her eyes opened wide. 'Hey, that's it! What if that rosy-cheeked farmers wife was actually not all she seemed and had laced that delicious fruit cake with some weird chemical which has affected our behaviour?

'Of course', said Julian 'Quick, Timmy, find some herbal emetic for us all to eat.'

Faithful Timmy quickly found some wild campanulaceae or Puke weed and the others all managed to down some. Soon the ground was covered with semi-digested delicious fruitcake as the medicine took effect.

'Gosh' panted Anne, 'that was a close call. Now, perhaps we should all go and investigate that farmhouse a bit further..............

To be continued


Copyright: BertieBassett Enterprises Inc. 2008 This article cannot be reproduced in full or part without written permission of the author

A Tribute to The Famous Five

One of the (allowable) pleasures of childhood was reading the Adventures of the Famous Five. Recently I have been re-reading them and they are still as wonderful as ever so, in tribute to Julian, Dick, Anne, George and Timmy, I have decided to write my very own, updated version. I hope you enjoy it.

Five Do It All Over the Place

The Famous Five had seen each other rarely in the last several years. They still thought of the ripping adventures that they had as children but, alas, life had moved on and they had all grown up.

Julian and Anne, his younger sister, were sitting in his apartment in Docklands and he was explaining to her about his life as a corporate accountant.
'I say Anne, would you like some cocoa before we sit down and reminisce about the crazy coincidences that regularly happened in our childhood?'
Anne tucked her long legs underneath her as she settled on the couch.
'Oh, yes please Julian, that'd be smashing. Would you like an egg sandwich?'
As usual, their mother had packed enough food for Anne's visit to feed a small army and soon the table was strewn with lovely home-made veal & ham pie, some cold cuts and lemon barley drink.
They sat there eating and reliving the many criminals they had caught, the treasures found and the jolly jaunts on their very own Kirrin Island.

Suddenly there was the sound of a doorbell ringing.
'I'll go' said Anne and rushed to the door.
As it swung open, she saw a young woman with cropped hair, combat trousers and several piercings.
'I'm looking for Dick' said the woman aggressively.
'Crikey, old thing, I never thought I would ever hear you say that!' Hello George.'
'Anne, is it really you?' said George (for it was indeed her) 'How absolutely topping to see you.'
She hugged her cousin and Anne felt a strange sensation as George's studded tongue pressed hard against her cheek.
Anne called out. 'Julian, guess who's here?' but was soon knocked out of the way as Julian bounded over towards them.
'George, you dear old dyke, how lovely to see you again. Where's Timmy?'

Now George's real name was Georgina but she hated being a girl and was fiercely resentful of anyone who treated her other than an equal of the boys. She spent her days running a women's collective and was accompanied everywhere by her dog, Timmy. Timmy loved Georgina and had saved her and her cousins many times over the years. Where on earth could he be?

'Oh there's no need to worry about Timmy. He's with some geneticists for the morning.'

Julian and Anne looked puzzled. 'We're a bit puzzled, George old chap. Why geneticists?'

George looked at them with exasperation. 'It's obvious! Now, we are together there's bound to be an adventure and, as usual, Timmy will help save the day. Seeing as it's been a few years now, he should be really decrepit but that would spoil a jolly good story so he hasn't actually aged. The geneticists want to find out why?'

Her cousins look at her as realisation dawned. 'Of course', they said in unison. 'Now come and have something to eat.'

They sat there eating until they were so full they could hardly eat the cake baked by George's mother which she pulled from her rucksack.

'How is dear Aunt Fanny?' asked Julian

George looked sombre. 'Do you remember how father was such an irascible man and you were all quite scared of him?' she asked. Their faces were sufficient answer to that question. 'Well, it turns out he used to abuse her in the secret tunnel so she's now living at the Refuge with me.'

'Oh, George, how absolutely ghastly for you,' said Anne 'I always thought Uncle Quentin was quite nice underneath.' They all sat quietly for a while until Anne's pink Razr mobile trilled loudly.

'Get that for me George, can you?'

'Heck, Anne' said George with a snarl 'If you think I am touching a pink phone, you can think again.' In the end though, she relented and her face lit up as she realised who was calling. 'Dick! Where are you? ....What? You're on your way here?.............Oh, how absolutely spiffing, all we need is Timmy and we are all together again.'

Julian was busy with his palmtop calculating the probability factors of yet another adventure when the door burst open and in walked Dick. His lean, rangy good looks and careless smile fitted in perfectly with his reputation as the joker of the group. He had done well for himself in adult life and now controlled an empire of chat lines and websites specialising in totally improbable scenarios involving swarthy foreigners, strange noises in the night and, the most popular, large breasted Russian women dressed in a variety of uniforms.

'I say,' he laughed 'let's all have another picnic and then go get Timmy. Once more we'll be the Famous Five.' The others laughed gaily as they opened yet another wicker basket full of scrummy food and some wonderful ginger beer.

George excused herself and went to the bathroom. When she returned, Anne looked at her suspiciously; 'George, old thing, what are those strange track marks on your arm?'

George looked startled. 'That's..erm...ringworm. I must have picked it up when I went down to Kirrin Cottage to pack some things for Mother and put all Father's rubberware on eBay.'

Dick looked at her suspiciously but said no more as they went off to collect Timmy.

Timmy was so excited to see them. 'Hello, old chap, you're obviously pleased to see us' said Julian, unsuccessfully trying to wipe the stain off his left leg. Timmy had an almost human grin on his face as he capered around his favourite people. He just knew that there were some adventures in the offing.

Time was getting on so they pulled out the tents which they just happened to have.

'Let's camp here.' said Anne. There's some lovely grass and there's bound to be a farmhouse nearby.

After some frantic activity, they were soon all sitting snugly together, thinking about tea when they heard a noise!

'Shhh,' said Dick, 'What can that be?

A dark shadow fell across the tent flap. It seemed enormous, distorted as it was by the flickering lamplight.

Suddenly a voice rang out as a helmeted head appeared through the opening. 'You do realise it's a criminal offence camping on the Stanmore roundabout. Now, bugger off!

'Well, I like that' said Julian. 'Come on chaps, let's go and find an adventure.....................

To be continued


Copyright: BertieBassett Enterprises Inc. 2008 This article cannot be reproduced in full or part without written permission of the author

Immortality - Will it last?

I was sitting here the other night contemplating my navels and started pondering on immortality. 'This'll never last' I thought, but here I am still cogitating. Perhaps that's the secret of immortality? You spend all your time thinking about it?

Anyway, it all started because I had this idea of printing out all of my blog posts. I've spoken before about why I write them: partly for my own enjoyment, partly because they seem to be appreciated by a sadly unenlightened few and partly because I think I may be interested to read them in years to come. Egocentrically, it has also occurred to me that future generations of Bassett might just be intrigued enough to read about great (times x) grandfather Graham, his thoughts, his devils and his life.

Trying to establish the mechanics of printing the blogs in the most efficient and aesthetic way was the first criterion. I experimented with various methods of transferring them to Word, printing them direct from the web page and searching for software but it was all rather cumbersome, time-consuming and, quite frankly, a pain in the butt. Then, of course, the printer started playing up! Cue frantic changes of ink cartridges, cleaning print head (with vodka!) and a whole gamut of threats, bribes and entreaties. It's now sitting there in the corner, face blue with embarrassment (see, told you it was screwed up) and sulking as I mentioned the L word (as in L for laser).

Then I found the answer: a lovely company called BookSmart. Basically, you download their software which connects to Blogger and turns your blogs into a book! It's totally editable and fully controllable so you can do whatever you like with it until you're happy with the layout, pictures, fonts etc. Once there, you upload it to them and Hey Presto!, 10 days later you have a properly printed book, complete with colour pictures, index, all the traditional attributes of a real, grown-up book.

Price wise they are really good, with 120 pages of semi-gloss A4 and a softback for about £11 or a pukka hardback version with dust jacket for a few quid more. You even design the cover with whatsoever you wish!

It seems too good to be true but Googling has produced favourable comment about them so it could be a goer. You even get a discount for buying 10 or more so I could inflict them as presents on people I really don't like. More likely, I shall just leave them nonchalantly lying around Bassett Towers. I could even arrange a book signing at Scummerfields, not that many there can read.

As I've wittered on about before, people of supposed intellect have said I ought to publish some of my other poems, writings etc so I could do them as well and become a published book author at long last. All I need to do is get one sucker to buy it and I'm a professional!! Woohoo, watch out JK Rowling.

Anyway, back to this immortality thing. Take my Dad for instance - an ordinary guy but, if I hadn't got my own kids, in a few short years his memory would be gone to the world. Doubtless, in a generation or two he will never be mentioned and totally forgotten - a life will disappear into an abyss of inconsequence.

We immortalise people for all sorts of reasons. Stephen Fry has a thing about Pliny the Elder (I'd be really pissed off if I was Pliny the Younger) but, without Googling, what did Pliny say or do? His name lives on but with an unknown reason. Clever people, evil people, notorious people.......they all achieve immortality. The last 90 odd years have seen us archive a massive amount of data via TV, movie and the internet but even this so-called immortality will be diluted as the centuries pass and more archives are created.

Am I making sense? Take entrepreneurs for example; off the top of my head I can think of Alan Sugar, Richard Branson and Bill Gates. All names that come to mind without too much effort. Now, jump forward 200 years and the list will be much longer and those three certainly won't be top of the list thus diluting their so-called 'immortality'.

Of course, I realise that in the year 3008 there will be a National Bertie Day with the streets decked in lime-green as my true genius will, by then, be recognised. No doubt, certain other things will still be the same as now:

Groups of people huddled shivering in the acid rain with cigarettes - a sure sign that there is a pub nearby.

Big Brother featuring a transvestite Venusian, a dyslexic decapod from the planet Betelgeuse and George Galloway (cryogenically reactivated).

Bugger all on TV

England losing their cricket matches

The integrity of politicians

Carol bloody Vorderman

Oh well, I suppose the good thing about this immortality thing is that the subject will be the last person to worry about it. Immortality? Huh, it's merely a passing fad.

"We have all eternity to celebrate our victories, but only one short hour before sunset in which to win them." Robert Moffatt (1795-1883)

Blog Block !

To those stalwart few that follow the meanderings of my oft-confused mind, you may well be aware of my aspirations in the Biggles dept.

Like Paul on the road to Damascus, I have reached my moment of transmogrification and have suddenly found that I can actually fly. More importantly, I can land!

My flying log book now shows hours on executive Lear jets, Boeing 737s, A300 AirBus, Bell JetRanger helicopters and a number of smaller piston-engined aircraft and I have zoomed around Hawaii, Italy, Sweden, the UK and the USA.

The Garmin G1000 cockpit, VFR, PFD, MFD and ILS are no longer a foreign language to me and my parachute is firmly packed in the hold.

OK, so it's all a bit geeky and probably sounds quite sad but it really exemplifies the extremes of limit to which software now aspires. The software plus scenery takes up over 50Gb of memory and I can now quite literally overfly my town and land in the pub car park (in a microlight). For those GoogleEarth aficionados amongst you, the scenery is on a par and the realism is quite frightening. One even gets all the flight announcements on the aircraft about unfastening seatbelts and serving refreshments so it's really quite easy to get involved in it all.

As you may have gathered, the old blog block has kicked in hence the above.

I shall venture into my archives and find something I wrote when I was going through one of my more 'down' periods. The patients at the clinic I was in were asked to write something about their depression and me (of course) couldn't really take it seriously. Rebel? Moi?

Well, if you're gonna be depressed, you might as well enjoy it!

In days of old, when men were men and women were scarce, there ruled a nobleman, Lord de Lawdy. He ruled his serfdom from the Castle Ticehurst and was feared and revered by all.

Life was not easy in his lands, for an ague had fallen upon the crops and the peasants were starving and their voices loud in despair (for, as we know, empty vassals make the most noise).

The Lord turned to his knights and gazed proudly upon them. For reference, they were as follows:-

Sir Cumcize - a cut above the rest.
Sir Pentine - a snake in the grass.
Sir Gay - a Russian knight of dubious sexuality.
Sir Bo Croat - his Czech mate.
Sir Cumference of A’Circle - a good man in a roundabout sort of way.
Sir Tif A’Cate - a most learned knight,
and finally,
Sir Mon on the Mount - religious advisor to the gathering.

Also present was his slovenly, stupid but faithful servant, Manic.

“The food situation has reached crisis proportions.” said the Lord. “We have failed to harvest the ……………” he hesitated.
“Crop, my Lord?” ventured Manic.
“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” rebuked his master.

He continued,
“As I was saying, all the cattle are dying. All that survive are the ………….” Again he hesitated.
“Bullocks, my Lord?” Manic again suggested.
“I’m warning you, Manic. Just once more!! If I may continue, we must embark on a crusade to resolve our problems. As you all know, there is a dark shadow on our land. The evil Duke Ivor de Pression and his minions are poised to assail us and our lives will be changed forever. Now, all who are with me raise their hands!”
“Aye.” chorused the throng.
“No, hands I said, not eyes.” retorted the Lord, rolling his own heavenwards.

Pausing only to lock the Acme Combination SuperStrong Chastity Belt (with Teflon) upon his beloved wife, the Lady Izza Tramp and telling her not to wait lunch, the band rode forth to do battle.

Lord de Lawdy felt full of power as he sat on his ass (all the horses having been eaten). Echoes of the old war gods came flooding into his memory. Brandishing his sword, he cried aloud in a stentorian voice “I’m Thor!”

“That’th because you forgot your thaddle, thilly!” Sir Gay told him helpfully just before the sword landed squarely on his helm.

NB. The sword was, as you would expect from an environmentally conscious person, made from recycled steel. Specifically, from what used to be non-alcoholic lager cans. It’s name was Ex-Kaliber.

Anyway, back to the plot.

At the borders of the lands of Ticehurst, the evil Duke Ivor, was astride his beloved Steed.

“When are you going to get a horse, Sire? enquired Steed, “This doesn’t half make my back ache.”

Duke Ivor gazed towards the castle and smiled contentedly. He patted the small bunch of herbs in his hip pocket, knowing he had thyme on his side.

Meanwhile, Lord de Lawdy was explaining his plan to beat De Pression.

“In order to succeed, we require three basic criteria:-
First, I must produce a child to ensure continuity of my reign.
Second, we need a preacher. For surely, De Pression is the spawn of the Devil.
Thirdly, we need magic food produced by the small, enchanted, forest folk.”

He turned to his men. “What do we need to beat De Pression?” he demanded.

“Fresh heir, exorcise and Elfy food.” they chorused in return.

Oh, happy days!

Mastication in the Bathroom

Well, it's out! Gertie the gall-bladder is no more and (if the rest of the NHS menu is anything to go by) now starring in a casserole near you.

I won't bore you with more blow by blow accounts - merely a few sundry thoughts which occurred to me whilst incarcerated.

Mastication in the Bathroom

Of the 5 visits I've made to hospital this year, I have been forced to spend a lot of it 'nil by mouth' or 'low-fat diet'. NHS food being what it is, most of my so-called meals were taken up utilising the ex British Rail stock of sandwiches bought up several years previously.

The night before my operation I was told that I was allowed to eat until midnight so accordingly made a surreptitious phone call to Mrs B and placed an order for cheese, Marmite and cucumber sandwiches. Yes, I know it's not low-fat but I figured I was in the right place should another attack take place and I was desperate! The contraband comestible was smuggled in and I hid the box in my locker, salivating down my hospital gown at the thought of the savoury, dairy scrumptiousness to come.

11pm and all was quiet - time for munchies! Now, wards tend to be quiet at that time (unless Mr Snorey is around) and I had planned things with military precision......then paranoia set in! What if I was discovered? Would I be wheeled before Matron and ceremonially de-dripped? In the end, I decided that discretion was required so wrapped my sarnie box in a towel and nonchalantly headed for the bathroom.

Words cannot describe the sheer joy as I sat there, surrounded by various bowel collection impedimenta, paper towels and used surgical appliances, masticating furiously. OK, the 10 minutes scrabbling around the floor picking up all the crumbs of grated cheese were a pain but it was soooooo worth it. I emerged with a smile on my face and went to sleep, a happy pre-operative.

Shaved Bits

I've never considered myself particularly hirsute but my body has now taken on the appearance of a volunteer at the Parkinson's Waxing Academy. They shaved my chest for ECGs, they shaved my stomach for the 4 holes, they shaved my arm for God knows what during the operation. I wouldn't mind but aesthetic it was NOT! Picture the animal with the shaved leg. Mrs B did actually enquire, after looking at the long white, stubbly area of my arm, whether I had been speyed? In fact, the old body beautiful is looking a bit below par all round; bloated from the gas they pumped into me, stomach like a colander, several dozen canula holes and upper-body alopecia. Ter-bleeding-riffic!

Nasal Ointment

I know MRSA is a big thing in hospitals at the moment and I was asked to help pioneer a new safety precaution: namely, nasal ointment. I was presented with a tube of ointment and asked to place some of this on my finger and basically, shove it up my nose in a bid to solve MRSA. Me being me, I asked the obvious question; what about breathing through my mouth? Was this prohibited? The nurse raised her eyes and delivered a lecture about how MRSA is essentially transmitted through nose and bottom. Ah, right. I lay there and awaited a considerably larger tube and some latex gloves but they never appeared.

I then suggested that shoving an actual tube up each nostril would be even more efficacious but the nurse merely grimaced as she prepared yet another armful of antibiotic.

It's certainly quite a sight, watching a ward-full of people shoving their fingers up their noses but if it helps.............

Inhibitions

Hospitals are quite clever. They program you to lose your inhibitions from the word go by handing you that delightful back-to front gown. It's hilarious watching people shuffling around trying to hold the back in place until you realise it's your turn. Unless you're an orang-utan, you first of all have to find someone to actually tie the ribbons in place but it's all to no avail. I was in the women's part of the ward to start off with and had a happy morning studying all the different knickers peeping through but then, of course, you have to do the bathroom shuffle and realise it's not quite so funny.

Over the 6 days I was there, I went from the shy, shrinking violet loved by all to a brazen exhibitionist who was happy to bare my bits to whomsoever wished to look. Come to think of it, there was money to be made: Bertie's Drain & Catheter Tour - only £2.50 with free nasal ointment included.

Incidentally, talking of hospital gowns, why do they stamp Hospital Property all over them? Who the f*ck in their right minds is going to nick them???

Early Mornings

This one is a bit difficult to blog. Blokes know that, first thing in the morning, one sometimes wakes in a certain "state". Apparently, it's nature's way of stopping you peeing, if you get my drift.

Anyway, one morning I awoke to the sound of the consultant's round and suddenly had this awful vision of him pulling back the covers to prod my stomach whilst the assembled acolytes gasped! I lay there desperately trying to relax but, of course, failed miserably. I tried long mathematical formulae, I tried picturing Carole from Big Brother, I even tried thinking of John Prescott in lime-green Speedos but all to no avail.

As I heard him move ever nearer, I was getting desperate. Die, you bastard, I hissed but the panic forced up my blood pressure even further. I leaped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom (or should I say, shuffled awkwardly). Obviously, I couldn't pee so turned on the cold tap and splashed my face in an attempt to divert my thoughts. It was working! Praying I wouldn't meet a pretty nurse wearing traditional uniform on my way back, I just had time to reach the safety of my bed once more and lay there, limp (so to speak) with exhaustion.

Other Thoughts

Don't ask the bloke in the bed next to you for a number 23 and fried rice - jaundice isn't funny.

NEVER ask for pain relief when you are nil by mouth - it hurts!

Kudos to the unsung heroes (usually of European extraction) that clean the wards. If only Brits were as dedicated.

Why can't they give surgeons needlepoint lessons - my few stitches are so ugly. Can't the NHS supply an overlocker?

Just because you lose your gall-bladder at 7pm, eating a whole packet of chocolate eclairs at 5.30 the next morning is still not a good idea.

Without wishing to start rumours about my recreational pastimes, I managed to secrete quite a few hypodermic syringes to bring home. Not for me, you understand, but they are really useful for mrs B when she's mixing her inks!

Once more, thanks, appreciation and love to my family, friends and assorted others for helping me to get through this.

My Welcome Home Picture from Mrs B