old farts

Drafting Guys Over 60...This is funny and obviously written by a Former Soldier... 

New Direction for any war: Send Service Vets over 60!

I am over 60 and the Armed Forces thinks I'm too old to track down terrorists. You can't be older than 42 to join the military. They've got the whole thing ass-backwards.

Instead of sending 18-year olds off to fight, they ought to take us old guys. You shouldn't be able to join a military unit until you're at least 35.

For starters, researchers say 18-year-olds think about sex every 10 seconds. Old guys only think about sex a couple of times a day, leaving us more than 28,000 additional seconds per day to concentrate on the enemy.

Young guys haven't lived long enough to be cranky, and a cranky soldier is a dangerous soldier. 'My back hurts! I can't sleep, I'm tired and hungry.' We are impatient and maybe letting us kill some asshole that desperately deserves it will make us feel better and shut us up for awhile.

An 18-year-old doesn't even like to get up before 10am. Old guys always get up early to pee, so what the hell. Besides, like I said, I'm tired and can't sleep and since I'm already up, I may as well be up killing somefanatical son-of-a-bitch.

If captured we couldn't spill the beans because we'd forget where we put them. In fact, name, rank, and serial number would be a real brainteaser.

Boot camp would be easier for old guys. We're used to getting screamed and yelled at and we're used to soft food. We've also developed an appreciation for guns. We've been using them for years as an excuse to get out of the house, away from the screaming and yelling.

They could lighten up on the obstacle course however... I've been in combat and never saw a single 20-foot wall with rope hanging over the side, nor did I ever do any pushups after completing basic training. Actually, the running part is kind of a waste of energy, too... I've never seen anyone outrun a bullet.

An 18-year-old has the whole world ahead of him. He's still learning to shave, to start a conversation with a pretty girl. He still hasn't figured out that a baseball cap has a brim to shade his eyes, not the back of his head.

These are all great reasons to keep our kids at home to learn a little more about life before sending them off into harm's way. Let us old guys track down those dirty rotten coward terrorists. The last thing an enemy would want to see is a couple million pissed off old farts with attitudes and automatic weapons, who know that their best years are already behind them.

HEY!! How about recruiting Women over 50 in menopause!!! You think men have attitudes?? Ohhhhhhhhhhhh my God!!! If nothing else, put them on border patrol. They'll have it secured the first night!

Send this to all of your senior friends...it's in big type so they can read it.

The Brown Brothers Revenge

There were two of them the Brown brothers Bob, short dark and stocky, and Les tall and blond. Both maintained they didn’t know who their father was and nor did their mother. When asked she said “oh some sailor”. Throughout their childhood and teens there were to be many sailors and so it was inevitable that this would be the vocation they would follow, that and the fact that they were so notorious in their area that nobody in their right mind would employ them.

They were only signed on the Arlanza as last minute replacements and by an agent who didn’t inform the Old Man until we were underway. He was heard to mumble that not only did he have Coco and her crowd to worry about but now two bloody lunatics.

All went well for the first 10 days and then the inevitable happened. The Arlanza was unusual in that the Bridge was separated from the main accommodation by the number 3 hatch the derrick’s of which were supported by 4 large and tall Samson posts which the Mate decided needed painting.

And as the Brown Bros had been on their best behaviour they were given the task. Not a good idea this was a job usually seen as a punishment. Done from a bosons chair and with the pitching and rolling of the ship it was uncomfortable and messy but Les and Bob made no complaint even seeming to relish the task. It was hot so both worked in just their shorts, that is until a passenger complained that two half naked men could be seen from the boat deck swinging about like apes in the rigging.

So word was sent down from the bridge that shirts were to be worn everywhere aft of the bridge. That lunch time the bros were seen loitering around the galley but turned up for work that afternoon suitably attired still wearing their shorts but shirted.

Up the samson post’s they went and started the task of swinging and painting as before. All went “swinging” until some passengers started to gather and point toward the two, it wasn’t long before a messenger came scurrying up to the bridge saying that there were two men up the masts exposing themselves. The Old Man stormed to the back of the bridge to see the aforesaid Bros nonchalantly painting away with what looked like a very fat third leg protruding from their shorts.

By now there was quite a gathering of passengers some now calling out and pointing to the offending appendages. The Old Man knew he had to do something but at the back of his mind there was something telling him this wasn’t right. You two tidy yourselves up make yourselves decent.

Fatal, for with that, in unison they drew their deck knives and grasping the end of said offending piece and with one slash cut it free and hurled it over their shoulder into the sea.

Some say that a couple of the lady’s fainted, I don’t know but I do know that the Old Man was virtually on his knees by the time he got back inside the wheelhouse the tears pouring down his cheeks, sausages the bastards sausages was all he could say.

The romance of 1975

Soft curling petals

That when touched tremble

And send tiny drops of dew

Rolling down their silken surface

To caress my fingertips

I stroke its soft flesh

And feel it quiver at my touch

I hold it to my face

And feel t’s gentle movement

Pulsing against my lips

Its perfume fills me

And draws me ever deeper

Until I am overwhelmed

And lost in its beauty

Never to forget 

"I have outlived my pecker."

The Penis Poem 

My nookie days are over, 

My pilot light is out. 

What used to be my sex appeal, 

Is now my water spout. 

Time was when, on its own accord, 

From my trousers it would spring. 

But now I've got a full time job, 

To find the f***in' thing. 

It used to be embarrassing, 

The way it would behave. 

For every single morning, 

It would stand and watch me shave. 

Now as old age approaches, 

It sure gives me the blues. 

To see it hang its little head, 

And watch me tie my shoes!!

River of life

Tiny veins, the very beginning

Coursing their way toward the sun

Becoming one in the upward thrust

Bubbling and gurgling in life

Tumbling and dancing in exuberant infancy

Already the purity becoming stained

Raging with the strength of youth

Attempting to sweep all before

Fearless and arrogant in the serge

Only the pools of tranquillity and depth

Slowing the headlong rush

Into the flow of knowledge and age

Suffering the ebb and tide of experience

Until finally the sea of eternity 

Those that guard our coast

Searching infinite nothingness

While storm rents it rage

Mind in its comfort of safety

Try’s to reach troubled souls

Willing fear sodden hearts

To resist watery sleep

Mad joy for safety and saved

Tears and torment for those lost

Ever reminding respect

For the impersonal elements

The blocked toilet

Saw a Dutch yacht in Brighton Marina trying to unblock a sea toilet that someone had pumped up to the max. They had used a halliard from the top of the mast to heel the boat right over on its side so that a guy could ram a rod up the outlet. On the opposite side of the jetty there was moored a large gin palace with an intrigued audience all gin in hand leaning over the rail watching. Dutchman is working away with his rod when all of a sudden there’s a whoosh; Dutchman is flat on his back covered in shit as is the gin palace and all who sail in her. I was on the yacht directly behind the yacht, got no shit, but suffered injured crew from the hysterical laughter and falling about in cockpit.

Dawn today 01/10/2011

Soft light spreading through tunnelled sky

Giving sombre shadows their first semblance of shape

Freeing fine mists to rise and flow

Soft crying echoes begin from still hidden thoughts

Searching red flames fire the edge of clouds

Still trees become torches to herald its path 

Just another

Once you had been full and useful

Carrying dreams and happiness

Or the oblivion of misery

You bubbled with life

Giving warmth on could nights

Quenching dry thirsts on hot days

You brought people together

And helping them talk

Slowly and greedily they drank from you

Until you too were just another

Empty  bottle

To a dear friend and mother 1977

Your strength rooted to the earth

Bending with the wind of change

Absorbing the tears of life

Yet blossoming with every spring

Stretching welcoming limbs to the sun

Spreading yourself to shelter others

Welcoming the scaling children

 Who seek the haven of your arms

But quick to punish the careless   

Your hues enhancing the sunlight

Dancing with the new dawn

Swooning under softer moon

The very idol to the goddess nature 

Water the eye of life 1976

Water the eye of life, The Lake of images

Reflecting the seekers image, displaying the world inside

 Softening the harsh lines, melting shape into shape

A refuge for dreams

Pulling the hungry looker deeper into its depth

Drowning the outside thought in mellow coloured shadows

Leaving the swimming mind floating through soft memory

Each wind caressed cloud drifting across its surface

Dusting old images alive, opening other remembrances

Long hidden in sombre depths

Each dancing spiralling ripple bouncing sparkling diamond lights

Through fading moments

Bringing wondrous new ideas throbbing in their wake

saddest words

I am, yet what I am none cares or knows.

My friends forsake me like a memory lost.

I am the self-consumer of my woes 
                                        John Clare 

Encounter with cyclist bank holiday Sunday

Just about to settle down with a nice glass of claret to watch the F1 when there is a ringing of bells, thought hello I haven’t had the microwave on, look outside to see a his and hers in matching lycra sitting astride  matching bikes. The lead one, think it was female, then starts calling out “who’s dog is this,” stick head out yes what’s the problem,  “your dog’s blocking the towpath”, I’ve been waiting for this for ages, no it isn’t, mail voice “well what’s that then”, that’s The Boo lying beside our path the towpath is on the other side of the canal. Are you a boat or berth owner if not then you’re on private property and I’m asking you to get off your bikes (strange as I’m usually telling people to “get on yer bike”) and push them to the end of the path where you will see a sign confirming what I have said. The Boo and I smugly watched two brightly coloured and chastised pedal pushers walking their bikes down the path 

Who would destroy such beauty only man in search of bounty. written 1976

The bouncing spirits of sunlight dancing through shimmering foliage,

Tiny rivers of flowing gold caressing the gentle green,

Soft blue shadows swaying with the movement of the trees,

Diamond white sky becoming the very primer of the eye,

The burning umber of the earth bearing the weight of the canvas

Like a mother nursing her child,

The sudden flight of a bird the rising of a shadowy soul,

It’s warning cry of alarm an anguished cry for peace,

Who would destroy such beauty only man in search of bounty.

  

Just realised I wrote this ten year ago after the big opp

Do you know where you’re going,

Will you be happy there.

                                            I wonder.

Is your journey long,

Will you make it there,

                                           I wonder.

The burdens you carry,

Will they become too heavy,

                                          I wonder.

Will there be somebody with you,

Will they share your load.

                                          I wonder.

Me I’ve not far to travel,

And my load it only light.

          I now have time to wonder.

Written to my kids in 1974

Kids

I’ve seen that joy in you,

Natures joy as fresh as dew,

The sun shining on your face,

Gives it more than simple grace,

It burns with passion,

It extends its warmth all around,

And makes your tender joy abound,

The happiness I get from you,

Makes life so fresh and new

I wrote that in 1974, thirty seven years ago and nothing’s changed

What freedom have they

What name do you kill in,

What excuse for your sin.

Will you destroy a kingdom

In the name of freedom

Do your fathers condone your crime

Have your mothers wept for this time

Will you suffer your children

That they must carry your burden

Or will you teach them to kill

Their hearts with hate fill

To carry on it your place

So that they destroy their race

What feeling when you see the dead

They are your countrymen that bleed

Your bombs that destroyed them

Will you rejoice in this day

What freedom have they

I wrote that in 1974, thirty seven years ago and nothing’s changed 

lovely artwork

Pretty little boat lovely artwork will be a real dazzler when finished 

What’s the difference

What’s the difference between a solicitor and an estate agent? The solicitor takes five years of study to become an arsehole whereas the estate agent is just naturally gifted 

BW to sell occupied cottages

It is always the way that when a large organisation like BW is about to be turned into a charity the fat cats at the top try to sell off as many of the assets as they can. By doing so they are able to give themselves large pay increases and fat bonuses, a, because they can show there is the funds to pay for it and b, that they are entitled to the money as a share in the profit’s BW have made. To say it is so that the money can be invested elsewhere is the usual red herring these kind of people use to justify their actions.

It is almost guaranteed that by the time charitable status is established BW will have been stripped of all its assets and profits lost in a mired of money wasting projects that only benefit those at the top.

As I understand it none of these people have any outside experience or qualifications concerning canals, waterways or marine engineering but are made up from the unscrupulous ranks of estate agents and solicitors and are now supported by a government made up of PR consultants, management consultants and someone who used to be in wallpaper. So is it any wonder the waterways are going down the drain.

The thing that makes me most angry is that these vultures, for that’s what they are, do all this off the backs of hardworking volunteers and can’t even be bothers to turn up to give a word of praise or thanks, deeming it below their stature, and usually send some minion (also usually unpaid) to do it for them.

I could rant on for ages these people make me so angry. These are the ones who are bringing this country down with their greed. There so much more I could say but I leave it open for others to add and to and continue.

ducks

i just think its a nice picture

wood carving

I don’t get many requests, who am I kidding this is the first, so here are the photos of the carved grab post I made when I had the yacht Aegier. The dolphin design is not original but taken from a book “Marine Carving Handbook” by Jay s. Hanna, a little gem.

Windchelsea Beach

I call this the waiting widows; they are the remaining posts from the old jetty where the Mary Stanford was launched on that faithful night

Winchelsea beach

some shots of Winchelsea beach from before the local authority’s destroyed the groins

Becky with the cob

the Becky with my Northumberland Cob and lake in the background

Just one reason for living on the Becky

photo of the Becky