It's a Sunday. The sun is out and I'm in work. Today has got me thinking about the Sundays I used to have when I was a kid.
I lived on a council estate, we didn't have double glazing nor did we have central heating. In the winter ice would form on the inside of the bedroom windows. On Sunday mornings from my bed I often woke to the sound of bells - church bells or a band, a brass type of band. I assume it was a cub or scout thing going on. Also the sound of hoovering - Sundays, were, always, a day to clean.
We, my brother and I, my sister who had a room on her own, would desend the stairs to the front room. Here my father would have removed all furniture to the backroom and would be cleaning the room. Elvis or some other old cronner would be playing on the radio, in those days we had LPs and cassetts and on Sundays, out will come their records or cassetts.
In the kitchen my mam would be cooking a Sunday roast, pots of boiling water spilling over onto the cooker the smell of boiling veg and meat roasting would envelope the whole house. For some reason it seemed mum was out there all day.
On the sabath we had to clean our rooms (surley this is ilegal?) - now as children we aren't the smartest cookie in the jar. Me and my brother would mess about instead of getting on and finishing early. We had a game called Ninja. Each player would chose a weapon - a stick, a fishing line with hooks and weights, anything and everything. Then one person hides upstairs whilst the other goes downstairs and counts, a bit like hide n seek, with weapons. There are no rules. I remember one time I was hidding upstairs - well in the attic. I could here my brother coming upstairs and enter our room. Thinking I was a "proper" ninja I poked holes into the ceiling for spy holes, unfortunatly I couldn't see anything so the holes got bigger and bigger. Unbeknown to me who though he was doing a bang up job - my brother could see all these holes appearing in the ceiling....
As I crept out of the hatch he was there waiting for me with a large plastic tube wwwhhhack Falling out of the hatch - and remember I am a ninja, I swang this fishing line, the hooks digging into his head. Lets just say the following incident is / was too graphic to write - I have a scar on my right hand and he has a scar on his head. This didn't deter us the game just got worst. We fashioned togther a crass bow, made from a plastic tube and a fibre glass fishing rod peice, it fired the rest of the fibre glass rod. I shoot my cousin in the face with it - he lost an eye - no more ninja games - fooking poof!!!
We also had to clear the dinner stuff after lunch - including the cooker. This seemed to take forever and we constantly bickered as to who would do what - I always ended up drying. This took longer and you done more - you have to dry AND put away twice as much as washer boy over there. I did get my own back sometimes. My brother is 2 years approx older than me and wanted to go out with his mates I, on the other hand had no mates, lol, I think I was grounded most of my life to be honest, so every bit of washing up that came my way, as loud as I'd dare "REJECT" He had to rewash the entire load. He would always ask before the washing up - no rejects this time - OK I'd reply "REJECT"
Then just as he washed the last of the pots - I'd pop into the front room "mum do you want the cooker done as well?" my brothers heart would sink. We always knew the answer would be a yes....
So yes Sunday a time for the families a time for cleaning a time for little boys to play ninja and get the crap kicked outta them......

I've started to think about old age more and more. Strangely the older I get the more I think about it.

I'm not old I'm 33 this year. And to be frank I'm not scared of old age nor for that matter of death. In fact I'm looking forward to the aging process, the death bit is a bit of a kick in the bollocks but it's going to happen, but the aging well it's already happening. Hairs getting slightly grey in places, the weird thing with grey hair it's nuts it grows faster than normal hair and it springs out at strange angles, if I let it grow I look like an aging Krusty the clown.

Wrinkles are starting to stay as well, I can't say I look distingisited, I suppose to someone who has matured I look like a pubescent, not quite there, wrinkles looking like bumfluff, grey hair not even grey just slightly dull. The only thing about getting old, I'm not looking forward to is the hair - not losing it I've been doing that for years no gaining it.
You may well laugh but hairy ears what the hell is all that about, why would your ears, nose and even your eye brows suddenly sprout. And when this happens why oh why don't they cut it, they claim to be deaf but fooking hell cut the fluff, you may find you can hear again. Does hair grow out off every orifice....God I hope not.

I'm not that bothered about the pissing and shitting myself even, oh no mate that'll be cool, why wait? I might even keep some old clothes in a bag, you know the sort - brown kidney warmer trousers, white belt, grey/white shirt - with stains down the front may be a button missing, a slightly different brown blazer - may be a checked one haven't decided yet, with an armed forces badge, the elbows with that extra bit of material (why??) and of course a kipper tie I may even have a nudy woman one - people'll think it was a presant from my grandchildren or something. A pair of old tatty white trainers. I'm trying to look smart but just missing the mark, in the hope people will think ahhh bless him. Then for months, in fact I might start soon. I'll start to urinate on the clothes. Let them dry then pee some more I might even intersect this with a number two. Rub it right into the fabric, let it dry and pick off the excess, don't want to look like a foooking dribbler. Then every pension day, off I'll go catching the bus, sitting next to the most well dressed fooker I can find, looking at him and sniffing as though he has shate himself, adding a cough and a splutter, just for that added grossness. Shaking my hankie around like a sodding Morris dancer. Guaranteed a seat on my own.

I might even start to mutter to myself - not sure on this bit just yet.

Then as I enter the post office out comes the sun glasses and white stick. Swish swish this way that - a way, hitting as many things and people as I can. This may be a tad strong I might just go for the walking stick. Snot hanging down my hairy nose and if need be I'll wee myself slightly. Again queue what queue.

And as for the memory loss and the dementia. I'll start that early as well. Might as well enjoy it whilst you can. I'll start slow calling the girls different names - Jess I'll call Shannon so on so forth - subtle, nothing too much at first. I'll gradualy build this up nothing too extreme but enough for alarm bells to ring. When they ship me off to the doctors - normal. When they drop me off at home - off comes the trollies. I figure when my marbles do go, and they will one day. The doctors will think this is normal for me and leave me be - or they lock me away with 3 square meals a day and enough tissues to wipe the dribble, either way it's a win win situation.

I'm going to start making things up as well. A bit like Grampa Simpson. You know the sort of stuff in my day a chicken used to be called a googgle fart, in my day everything was better you could leave your front door unlocked for years and how a pint of beer cost -£3:50 in fact they paid you to drink. And the old time classic - I fought in the war (have you noticed they never say which war they fought in???)

Another thought has just been born. What about a bit of 'ows 'yer father. I don't want to bang a 90 year old woman - how gross is that. Christ I need two lolly sticks and a couple of elastic bands to get it up now god knows what I'll need then - a fooking miracle.

Another fun filled day at the Basher residence........

Jess has started school. STARTED fooking school..... She is no longer our baby, she's practical a woman !!!!!..... First school then boys. Ahhh fuck BOYS. The scurge of every dads life.... I might be lucky she might turn into a lezzer.... Or a nun. My god what if she turns into a slapper !!!!! I'll have to buy a shotgun, not to use, but to polish (god I hope that's the right spelling and not the race from Poland - don't want to look like a complete dick !!!!) Everytime one of those (boys not Poland people - ain't got nowt against them lot, helped us out during the war - well they had to didn't they) come knocking on the door out comes Roger the rifle. They'll think twice about messing with my girls.....

I'm off on one.

Yes she has started school, only a couple of hours a day 12 to 3. She was fine - it was me and the missus - "to young to start school she is" Ally quiped. Way to young she's just outta nappies for fuck sake how's she going to cope I thought. I said nothing except "she'll be fine" in my best John Wayne accent. Before she left I had her on the punch bag type thing we have - "right then Jess what have you got to do if someone bullies you - "No you're punching it all wrong like this" she kept making rookie mistakes, thumb inside the fist, telegraphing her punches, stance all wrong - man she's going to get creamed. I did tell her to use violence, when she herself was being attacked - not to use willy nilly. Fucking hell after seeing her punch - I'm going to tell her to run!!!!...She has perfected the headbutt so not all is lost - almost she rests her head on the punch bag..... Shit she's in schtuck.....

Ally dressed her in, not to shabby clothes and not her bestest clothes, didn't want her to look out of place. It was smart but not too smart. I've seen women - grown women mind looking at the other children - thinking hmm mine's better looking better dressed - none ginger. They can be sooo fucking nasty. She did look nice. Standing in the front room hair all pulled back, making her look as though she's had a couple of face lifts. No school uniform, just half tidy clothes and a satchel type back with a clean set of clothes and some black trainers. She though she was the bees foooking knees. I had to wonder how long this would last - probably as soon as boys start to sniff around..... Fooking boys grrrrrr.

The missus had dressed all the other girls in smart casual - have to make a good impression. I walked in the front room in the oldest smelliest mastic filled stained shirt I could find. She went fooking ape shit on my arse - "you wearing that?" - what a stupid ass question "looks like don't it - on my back ain't it" I replied, no response. She started to get in a flap struggling to put the kids shoes on, every now and again I caught her looking. The more she looked, the more flapping she done..... BANG her head exploded "I can't beelive you're wearing that I've got the kids all smart trying to make a good impression and you and you you're wearing that peice of filth what is the matter with you............." she didn't take a breath for about five minuets. Her face turned red then blue then purple the vains popping in her head by fuck her heads going to blow...... I just smiled "git" she said laughing "I thought you were going to wear .....Git"

When we arrived at the school five minuets late, fuck detention on our first day 100 lines - memories. There was two or three women there fussing over their little Johnnies or spitting into hankies and rubbing Gertrudes face. Ally and Jess walked in I stayed outside with the double buggy, not because I didn't want to go with them - these two women had blocked the whole entrace. Why do people do that instead of moving to one side they stand right in the way of everyone, it's not like she didn't see me.

So I stood there looking around and it's amazing I was instantly transported back to my school days - all the children fresh faced running around like nutters, little Billy getting the ba jeezus kicked out of him, boys playing bulldog. Some girls skipping, others doing twirly things on bars until one of the dinner ladies told them off - foooking hell being told off for twirling on a pole half these girls will end up doing this sort of thing for a living, then there was the wee ones - slapping their hands against each other singing shit about boys and KISSING....Fooking boys grr. Kissing what sort of school is this.....

Chastity belt and gun......