My Mud, good for your face, and wallowing

Posted: July 29, 2023 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

There are only two things I am familiar with in which one can wallow.

The first is depression.

The other is mud, and I’ve got some mud (and depression!).

I also got myself a mortgage and house to go with it several years ago, including a garden.

We’ve had a few heatwaves recently, and as the grass burned away from the sunshine, the mud that is mine became apparent to all.

So I sat in it.

The shame was that it hadn’t rained in weeks, so what was mud was more like dirt.

But that gave me time to consider what this really was, instead of enjoying it for a good wallow.

How deep does this property of mine go? Am I able to dig deep down vertically and still be home?

Can I scrape away a few inches beneath the top layer and get some mud that I can place in a jar, give a good shake with rain water, and then rub it into my face for fashion reasons (not health, just fashion).

Or I can dig deeper, deeper, deeper still.

I need a shovel, for fashion purposes.

I think the glory of my mud is that it is inheritance, though I don’t know from who.

Dinosaurs, mammoths, cave people, medieval peasants, and my great-grandad Arthur.

All of these things, and many more varieties, pooped their way through history, unrecorded, spoken, and written, and with a mix of rainwater, sunshine, and millions of millennia, and probably something else, became my mud.

Ancestral poop, mixed with the cosmos, in a jar, or on my face.

That’s inheritance.

Inheritance you can scrape off your boots after a good game of footy.

Inheritance I’ve lobbed at a sibling all in good fun but still hoping I got him right in the face.

Inheritance that I’d like to see my descendants enjoying, throwing at each other and wallowing in.

It’ll probably be good for the blood pressure too, because generally doing general things is generally good for your blood pressure, but this one features mud.

Probably not that great for your eyes though. Don’t put it in your eyes, but don’t let that discourage you from throwing it at a sibling.

Maybe wallow in goggles.

Sam

Just Add Cheese. Because I Said So!

Posted: June 20, 2013 | Author: | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Routes to millions of pounds, or more likely- dollars, seems to tread all the same ground.

Just add cheese.

I like to think of the number of people that are very well paid and have their own parking space purely owing to their idea of adding cheese to a product.

At times adding more cheese.

I have had that idea, but you’re going to need a good product to add cheese to.

I chose a piano.

I could sell the cheese, and I could have sold the piano- but the combo just wouldn’t move off the massive shelves you have to use for those things.

Then there are those people that realise that you’re about to invest in mozzarella all over a D-minor and so start building massive shelving units accordingly.

Those guys, the clever little and large mother fuckers, make a deliberate choice to not be one of those people that try to add cheese. When I was young, adding cheese was like growing up, ‘He’s added the cheese- don’t they grow up fast!” and now people are starting to make money out of those lucky, (can’t stress enough) LUCKY, bastard executives who now have everything (almost literally- they’ll have everything in their house- even trees). Their children will have an inheritance and I won’t like them either.

You know those children are going to be boring. Maybe not ‘church-boring’, but certainly ‘I won’t wear that collar, people might notice me’ boring.

And people like that, well, I need to have their inheritance. If you have an inheritance- either buy some orphans, or give it (and perhaps your newly acquired orphans- that didn’t work out) all to that hermit, if you can find him. I can’t deny that I’m partly encouraging this so as that should I ever go into that hermit phase- I can always hope that I’ll have an inheritance coming my way. To me in my hermit-chair.

I could be a hermit- I just don’t the people skills. You’re going to need a lot of other people to keep yourself alone for that amount of time, and if you can’t offer someone a hunk of bread (one of the few things you can actually offer a ‘hunk’ of) with a smile and a wave with a hunk-holding hand then you’d better hope that the inheritance is coming soon. Otherwise you won’t be alone for long, and that simply ruins the definition of a hermit. You might be a hermit at heart, but it’s the other people that make that career for you.

So if you ever have to baby-sit their boring children one day, you’d better get yourself over there, sit down in the dad’s chair, get up again, go to the fridge, and the settle down for a dull night with a nice, cold book. If the book’s cold- it’ll be a little more exciting and that’ll be crucial. If there’s an orphan there, get them to tell horror stories- it might even liven the dull one’s up a little.

Other than that- add cheese. Evidently, adding cheese also works.

Sam