The Horrible Future

The future is a disgusting place.

I should know. I have been there.

It all happened (or will happen, depending on your point of view) Next Wednesday.

I was sat in my chair, vacantly staring at the internet, waiting for something amazing to happen, when something amazing happened.

The world around me faded away to nothingness and all that was left was me and my chair. The internet froze (as it wants to do sometimes) and I noticed a small man giggling in the shrouded mist of emptiness.

"Hello Mr Hogart" His voice was twined with fingernails down a chalkboard.

"What the bloody chuff is going on?" I demanded to know.

"I am the time king." said the little man.

"Don't you mean Time King?" I said, being a little pedantic, but I was feeling miffed and wasn't about to apologise.

"Um... yes. I am THE TIME KING!!" replied the Time King.

"What the hell have you done to my living room?" I shouted. "Where has my cup of tea gone?"

The Time King explained that I had been plucked from the time stream and brought into the distant future to witness the ultimate fate of man kind.

"Really?" I asked. "why?"

The Time King stepped forward through the blackness, which wasn't actually black, but was in fact a lack of blackness set against a vacant nothing. He approached me and said "You must write about the fate of humanity so that people may know what is to become of them. They must be made aware of the destiny that so many have tried to comprehend. Only then can mankind reach for greatness!"

His arms flailed and made great gestures as he spoke. At one point I thought he was going to knock my glasses of my nose. I was very quickly becoming frustrated and told him to just get on with it.

"Just get on with it." I said (told you).

The nothingness that surrounded us both dispersed, which is of course impossible, but it did anyway and the Time King waffled on about wars, technological advancements, the expansion of the human race beyond the solar system ans the return of the Shell Suit (because it was the most futuristic material ever).

Images flashed by us as he talked. He wasn't the most interesting of speakers and most of went over my head as all I could think of having a nice cup of tea....

After some uncountable amount of time, everything stopped and The Time King pointed away from us.
"Here..." he said.

I looked out and saw a scene forming from the mists of time. 

It was a bog. A steaming bog full of green and black goo. Some old dead trees lay, half submerged. There was very little light but what there was seemed hesitant to touch the ground. Mist swirled around the stagnant water which rippled slowly from the distance.

"There..." Whispered the Time King.

I squinted, but failed to see anything worth noting. "Where?"

"Come. Come with me Mr Hogart. I show you the fate of mankind."

We floated, somehow, across the top of the bog water and came to an small cove where a huddled figure poked at the scum on top of the water with a stick.

"This is the fate of your kind!"

I stared blankly. "A tramp?" I asked.

"No." Said The Time King. "The last human who will ever live."

The cowering husk of the last man looked up at me and splashed his stick in the water. He made a noise close to growl but more like a choke. The Time King put his bony finger to his lips and we watched in silence as the last ever human, the pinnacle of our race stood up. His knees cracked and he wobbled unsteadily as heaved himself upright.

He pointed toward us and opened his mouth to speak. "Th....." 

But he never had the chance to finish his words as just at that moment the ground around the bog gave away and the last human sank beneath the dark filthy mud....

...But not before taking a selfie on his mobile phone!

The Time King laughed. I frowned.

"What was the point of that?" I asked. 

"Do you not see? Can you tell how futile it is to be human? The years, centuries of development on mankind and it all ends with some idiot falling into the mud!" Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhaha"

I thought about this predicament. I pushed my glasses back up my nose, as i do from time to time, and allowed the Time King to send me back home.

"Well Mr Hogart. What do you think of the fate of mankind? Are you scared? do you fret at the pointlessness of it all? Thousands of years in the future and THIS is what becomes of you and your kind." He cackled.

"No." I replied. "I just want my cup of tea."

"I do not understand." He said. " You have just seen the end of you race fail to become anything more than a dumb animal. All of you endeavours, all of your achievements... they mean nothing." He screamed.

I shrugged at him.

"I'm not really bothered. I have very little time for anyone who spends their time taking selfies... they deserve everything they get." I said.

"damn." Said the Time King.

And with that the Time King disappeared. 

"well, that was quite odd." I said to myself as everything wibbled and wobbled and returned to normal. I instinctively reached out and found my cup of tea where I left it.

"Time King...... what a stupid name." I thought to myself as I picked up my phone and took a rubbish selfie.

At least we will perfect the ability of taking photos of ourselves for prosperity.....

No PHOTOS!!!!

Too Tired To Type...

Hello people of the world.

I realise I have been suspiciously quiet these past few days and there is a very good reason for that.

The thing is... I have been acting quiet suspicious - VERY suspicious if you will.

So suspicious and secretive in fact that I am not allowed to talk about it.

Well, not yet anyway.


It is a strange world I live in. As soon as all the staff have returned to the site to get some bloomin' work done - all the campers leave. Yet somehow, I've got busier.


Very strange*.

But alas, As I am under the strictest of strict instructions not to mention the thing that I am not allowed to mention all I can say is that as I write this I am sat in my brand new comfy chair.

It is the best chair in the world because it is a reclining chair (more like the ones you see advertised for old duffers and less like the ones you remember from Friends.) and it is all mine. Nobody else is allowed to sit in it - Just me!

So as I am recovering from being far too busy running around, dealing with idiots (mrs Utterbitch) and loonies (Tony OneShoulder) and the general population at large, I am going to sip a nice cold beer and watch the kickingball game on the goggle box.


I am now sat with my feet up and plan on doing nothing.
See you on the other side.



*EDIT:
I have just calculated that in the past three weeks I have worked over 304 hours. That's three weeks without a single day off mind. No wonder I'm pooped.

There Is A Difference Between Men And Women.

There are many differences between men and women, not least their names. But other differences do present themselves from time to time.

This very week in fact some major differences between myself and Mrs H have shown themselves quiet clearly.

Here is a list of some of things I have noticed that separate me and “her in doors”

My hobbies include, amongst other things writing this here blog, while typing away Mrs H is watching a program about time travelling Dinosaurs.

I enjoy a bit of sci-fi. Nothing wrong with that. I am a geek after all, however, I like to think that my tastes are a little more high brow that of my partner. While she enjoys shows about vampires, films about vampires and book about vampires, I can’t stand them.

Crying vampires, Emo vampires, vampires that don’t want to be vampires anymore but have a destiny to fulfil, vampires that are good guys endlessly talking about how vampires are just misunderstood all the way through to vampire shows that are just a cheap excuse for a couple of boob shots per episode. She likes vampires.

I do not. I prefer films with car chases, explosions and any sign of a talking dog with attitude is always an added bonus.

I am a geek. So is Mrs H. but different types of geek. For example, she is playing on Facebook games right now. Bubble witch. A game which involves hitting bubbles of colours into one another.

I am downloading a load of TED talks about math and science and technology.

You see, DIFFERENT style of geekdom.

Other differences include our musical tastes. While Mrs H is making a play list for holiday consisting of Iron maiden, Mega death, Telsa, poison and the like, my i-pod is chock full of Phil Collins, Paul Simon and well…. I’ve said enough on my tastes in music.

Mrs H likes to include on her list of hobbies the act of shouting at me, telling me off for typing too loudly, and getting in the way.

Apparently, according to Mrs H anyway, my hobbies include getting in the way, doing things wrong on purpose and being generally rubbish. I can’t disagree.

Anyway, the reason I am telling you this is because we are about to go on holiday (the first in three years) to a country where nobody else speaks English and will be forced to spend a whole two weeks in each others company without any other outside influences and there is sunshine (wowzers!!)

We fly on Monday. One of us may not return….. probably me.

Review Of The Year 2012 (part 2)

2012 has been one heck of year for me.

Look into the eyes of cold hearted killing
 machine. (see bottom for more details)

There has been quite a lot going on.

At first I thought not much had happened but as I began to strum on my harp (integral for remembering past events) I realised that this has been a very busy one.

With that said, I would like to share some of the highlights that have aged me by more than one year in the past year.

In no particular order (because I can’t quite remember what happened when) and in a “It’ll be alright on the night” style montage, here are the more memorable bits.

Mrs H fell over and broke her ankle back in June. When I say Broke try to imagine a crate full of light bulbs being fired out of a canon and hitting a brick wall made of giant fists. Her foot exploded into a million pieces and she spent the next 5 months sat on the sofa frowning at me while I typed stupid rubbish for this here blog. Whilst bed ridden I was forced to the spare room where my only company was a draft from the window and an energy saving light bulb that as we all know are as much use a normal light bulb that has been shot from a canon into a brick wall made of giant fists.

Ouch!

She is now back at work and I have the opportunity to mash the keyboard and copy and paste whatever gibberish appears on screen for your viewing pleasure. – you are welcome.

I made the great leap into being a proper grown up by passing my driving test FIRST TIME!!!

This came as a massive surprise to me as did part by driving in the wrong direction! Hahahahahahaha.

When the Queen was celebrating her Diamond Jubilee we here at the camp site had a street party and did something I am quite proud of and have only just realised I haven’t gloated about so far on this blog….

We set a world record!

Spot the celebrity Guest!

That’s right. A genuine Guinness world record!

The record itself is for the most people in different locations wearing paper hats at the same time.

Granted, it’s not the four minute mile or jumping up the highest, like what they did at the Olympics, but a proper world record has been set and that’s good enough for me.

We also had a special guest to oversee proceedings… see if you can see who is was on the picture above!

I have also been interviewed for the Caravan Channel AND the BBC radio this year, as well as having BBC Shropshire pop down to film the snow and campers when we had 2mm of front back in March.

The BBC and some snow. Proper news!

All in all it’s been a very busy year and Quite frankly I’ll be glad once it’s all over.

I probably won’t be writing much over the next couple of weeks as things are set to get very busy over the Xmas/ New year period on site.

I have somehow got to find room for 10 extra people in my house which is on bricks for new year and the campers will be coming in droves to help us celebrate the new year in our newly built barn.

If I don’t see you before then, May I wish you all a very happy winter festival period and a prosperous New year. May the idiots stay quiet and the nutters have a night off.

Stay safe.

Here’s to a very quiet 2013. Good luck to you all in whatever you do and see you on the other side.

These things EAT £1,000's worth of plants each season.
 THEY ARE VERMIN! good boy Wilson!

Normal grumpy service will continue and shockingly vast amounts in 2013.

The Bumferry Hogart Census Form 2012

Today (or whenever it is you are reading this) sees the very first ever Internet based Census for this here blog.

In order to accurately engage view you, my dear readers, I feel the need is there to find out exactly what makes you - you.

The following nine questions have been scientifically designed with some really complicated algorithms by some right clever bods. It took them nearly all day using that graph papaer and different colour pens and and protractor (I haven't sued one of them in YEARS!!)

Anyway, Here it is. pop your answers in the box at the bottom and remember there are NO WRONG ANSWERS* Good luck.

*there are some wrong answers which will result in minus points and a forfit.

Question one (gender):

What are you:

A: A man

B: A Womb-man?

C: Miscellaneous

Question two (age):

When you bend down to take your socks off do you:

A: Whip them off and leave them where they lie.

B: make a strange “hoof” type noise and require a couple of goes to get them both off.

C: Get the dog to do it

D: Don’t wear socks because you are some kind of vegan or something?

Question three (employment):

What is your work status:

A: I am a third rate keyboard monkey, working for the man.

B: Self employed (spending most of your time fiddling the books so you don’t have to pay tax)

C: a stay at home mum (probably doing drugs and drink watching Jeremy Kyle and/or spending most of your day taking part in radio phone ins)

D: One of those ungrateful lottery winners (you bastard

Question four (family):

How many people live in your home:

A: Just me, I’m so lonely and unwanted.

B: My house is full of snot nosed little brats who won’t stop asking “Why?” and eating crayons …

C: I live with my parents because I’m some osrt of bum.

D: I sleep under the stars. Wandering these dark streets righting wrongs and stopping evil wherever it festers.

Question five (pets)

Do you have any of the following:

A: Dog

B: Cat

C: Fish

D: Tamogotchi

E: Other.

F: None the local authority won’t allow me to keep any livestock since those pigs I kept in the kitchen ate Mrs Grimshaws corpse.

Question six:

If you were offered £10,000,000 for one of your limbs which one would you happily loose?

A: left arm

B: right arm

C: Left leg

D: Right leg

E: Take what you want, Them’s better terms than Wonga.com.

Question seven:

What are you wearing right now?

A: A corporate suit and tie, just like “the man”

B: A gimp mask and a whole pot of chunky marmalade.

C: Just my pants and top.

D: Nothing, Clothes are the emotional barriers set upon by the government to dictate what gender specific roles we must adhere to until the arrival of their alien overlords who will pick us off one by one and eat our brains or whatever.

Question eight:

To be or not to be….

A: to be

B: Not to be.

Question nine:

If you awoke suddenly and found yourself in a coffin with another human being which would you prefer?

A: The re-animated corpse of Jimmy Savile?

B: A sexually enraged Sean Connery?

C: Either one of Jedward screaming like a fucking banshee?

D: Little Jimmy Krankie doing a poo?

Once you have your answers please post them below with a valid explanation/ excuse explaining why you did "that thing that time".

Is this the beginning of the end?

What a curious curiosity it is that there are some people in this world of ours who chose to allow themselves to become infatuated with the mystical and illogical beliefs of horoscopes.

Not only that but superstitions can effect a good number of right minded individuals to a point of near catatonic hysteria.

For some it the number 13, or the date of Friday the 13th.

Good product placement or just bad luck?

For others it is any given number of black and white avian creatures that happen to congregate near to where they might be at that time, resulting in a myriad of strange rituals and salutes.

Crossing felines, disrupting the coherent structure of polish metal incased in glass, putting shoes on tables. All of these and more can bring some folks to a complete stand still if the correct procedure is not partaken within a nanoseconds thought.

Bad luck, good luck, fate and my own particular favourite – DESTINY, are all complete and utter toss.

I fail to understand how anyone can believe themselves to be so important in the grand scheme of existence that other living creatures who live primarily on instinct alone for most of their fleeting lives are able to collect together in groups of four and settle just within viewing distance of your eye to inform you that “it’s a boy”.

Who the flipping heck, if they had the power to utilise a half dozen mindless creatures in such a way, would spend their afternoon arranging four magpies to sit and/or fly across your field of vision to let you know “Gold” is the answer.

Idiots.

Piss off you.

Walking under ladders I understand. There is a logical reason for not walking under a ladder, but it nothing to do with bad luck.

Bad luck does not exist.

Nor does good luck.

A mutated trifolium leaf can not in any way shape of form bestow upon a person any form of better fortune.

It can not.

That does not happen.

pretty, but it's just some weather...

Nor does refracted light from a downpour of water that offers a double spectrum of visible colour make things special.

Its just nature and science.

It is what it is.

People who believe in lucky numbers and live by those self imposed restrictions when offered said numbers are simpletons at best.

Having said that I do think the end neigh for Bumferry Hogart

(it could be sooner than I think if I catch myself using the third person narrative like that again!)

DOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!

The portents of doom have been hovering around me this week.

First of all, and possibly most disturbingly, on returning from a shopping trip I discovered my bag for life had ripped.

All in all, not a good sign, I’m sure you will agree.

No, you really don't want to see my singed gut!

Then on Thursday whilst burning some incriminating evidence/ business paperwork in the searing mini heat wave we have all been enjoying, I found myself stood too close to the bin and burnt my belly button. (you really don’t want to see a picture of that!)

A close call indeed.

They say bad luck comes in threes, so this weekend I will ensure I will be keeping my distance from any black cats, ladders, broken mirrors, upturned knives, slippery floors, and loose electrical fittings.

You just can’t be too careful these days.

I’ve never considered myself the sort of person who believes in luck or good fortune.

I am not a believer in any religious  faith (although I have great admiration for those who do) and only choose to utter the words of a deity when stubbing my toe upon a corner of a table and such.

Luck is not something that follows around. Fate is a construct of the human mind. Destiny is just a simple device used by literature and the fantasy media to give meaning to a loosely formed plot.

That said, I have bought loads of tickets for this weeks Euro lottery so - Fingers crossed!!!

ps- Sorry if the colour of the words is a bit weird but I don't know what I have done to break the internet again. Normal service will be resumed shortly.

The Failure That Is Bumferry Hogart

Today I went into town in order to take my driving theory test (yes, I’m still taking driving lessons) and – as any stand up comic worth their salt would say – a funny thing happened….

… Although the word FUNNY is probably not the right descriptive term to use.

To cut a long and boring story short, I’d forgotten to take the correct paper work with me, In fact I didn’t have the correct documents at home either but that’s another tale for another time.

The old grumpy bastard behind the desk uttered the following sentence once I informed him that I had no idea I needed paperwork on top of my licence photo ID with my name, full address, date of birth and FACE on it…

“You might as well go, there’s no point in me talking to YOU!”

Gob smacked at the lack of customer service I did indeed walk out.

Apart from the totally c*ntworthyness of the prick who was slumped behind the desk, I was indeed in the wrong in respect of the missing important documents. However two other points were brought to light in this little adventure of mine.

Firstly: Some people are not ‘people’ people (if you know what I mean).

Secondly: I am so bad at learning to drive that I was told to leave the testing centre before even being given a pen.

It has not been a good week for me.

Complaint letter has been sent is respect of the shithouse who spoke to me and the dog has received a good kicking on my return*.

Ooh!

I’ve just thought a really good thing I should have said to him when I was there…. Bugger. I hate when that happens.

I'm going to sit in a dark corner now and feel quite embarrassed and confused and stupid and angry.

*I didn’t kick the dog. He’s fast asleep. I’ll do it later when Mrs H isn’t looking.

When Mrs H Fell Down - A Poem

Here it is then.
The final part of this little journey of interactive posts for June.


I do hope you have enjoyed this experience as much as I have struggled to complete the tasks I have set myself.






We end our little trip with a true story story that took place last friday morning.

Enjoy.



When Mrs H Fell Down.

t'was friday morn, afore the birds reach the sky
when from my deep slumber i did hear a cry.

twas the voice of none other than my Mrs H
who suggested I reach her and with somewhat haste.

Upon my arrival what did i spy?
But mrs H lying there, a tear in her eye.

"my ankle's popped out! and before i PROLAPSE,
at your earliest convinience call me an ambu-lance?"

DISCOMBOBULATED though i was, i dialed 999
and the lady i spoke to told me everything would be fine.

rushed to the hospital and through A&E
a nice nurse offered to make me and hot cup of tea.

5 and half hours - her surgery lasted
and Mrs H's leg is 60% plastered.

But she is tucked up in bed with her leg in the air
she got crutches and a zimmer and a wierd toilet chair.

But although shes in pain she can still be sarcastic
and asked me whats the meaning of the word ENDOPLASMIC?

So  mrs H is not well - she is not SALUBRIOUS.
Mrs H is bedridden and it is all because,

she slipped on gravel which is harder than it sounds
and she crushed her ankle, when MRs H fell down.

Ouchy!

Many thanks to Rob, Addman, Darren and Lily for your suggestions over the past few weeks.

I may do some more now Mrs H is out of the room and I can have the laptop on without dirty looks.

Cheers.

Self Pity And The Illusion of Popularity

First things first...

This is not a sympathy post – nor is it a begging post either. While reading this self deprecating post please be aware that I am incredibly bored and don’t know what I am doing with, well .  .  . all will become clear (I think).

I apologise now if this post is somewhat me me me and down beat, but a made up man has got to do what a made up man has got to do - even if I don't actually have to do it.

Now carry on.

In the never ending quest to occupy the time between any given moment and that point in existence when it all stops and nothing matters anymore I often find myself staring at the screen of my laptop in awe and wonder.

Boo Hoo - Im soooo alone...

The internet, as we all know, is full of nonsense and idiots (like this and me), but hidden amongst the highly unnecessary and quite vulgar amount of pictures involving naked women/men/various farm animals/household objects and any variation thereof not to mention the cornucopia  of puerile antics of faceless celebrities doing or not doing things. . . hidden somewhere in the darkest recesses behind the video of some pointy faced millionaires’ daughter doing things to a man and a couple of clicks away from the photo of “her off the telly who used to do that thing” is a thing called Google plus or Google+ for the internet savvy out there.

I however am not one of these internet savvy illuminati.

I am a bloke who has got far too much time on his hands although that does not excuse me for what I have done.

Waa-Waa I am interesting in real life...HONEST!!!

For some unfathomable reason I clicked a couple of buttons and ended up putting my face and name and DNA and inside leg measurement up on the web for all to see on the afore mentioned Google+.

For two weeks I have been staring at the pages of Google+ in mild confusion. Reading page after page of media types slowly changing their views on this new social website and how is becoming more and more popular, I thought I would take the leap of uncertainty and join up and learn what it’s all about.

Doing so, however, has left me feeling more alone than Lonely Len McSaddo from the village of solidarity.

When reviewing my so called circle of friends it really is laughably pathetic to include the BBC website and NASA (who are only there because they are the only things on Google+ that I recognise).

And so I find myself clicking on Google+ for no other reason than to play Millionare city. A game for children that is also available on Facebook, another screen to stare at but one which contains real life fleshy people I have physically touched in a none sexual manner (with their consent) at some point of my life. A time wasting exercise of futility that does nothing but mirror my own online existence.

*Sigh* Nobody knows the REAL me!

This is what happens when you go online using your real name.

Dicking about as Bumferry Hogart means I can pretty much say what I want about whatever subject I care and do what I choose without any real fear of consequence because. . .well, its not really me. I mean, it is me. I’m the one doing it, but the internet doesn’t know that (i think) and even if it did, I very rarely if ever do anything illegal or bad enough to warrant some policeman to drive all the way out here to extradite me to the US of A because if that did happen, I would just sulk my out of any argument they wish to put in front of.

So take THAT F.B.I.

And it’s amazing how little spam I get in my email.

In conclusion: I am an idiot. I know nothing other than I guess we’ll call it draw. I win in the anonymity stakes and the internet shows me just how much of a pointless battle it is because nobody was even watching, not even a spambot.

HA-HA! Screw you guys - I can lick my own balls!!

*ps – if anyone from the F.B.I. or C.I.A or Mossad or MI6 is reading this for any reason... that was just a joke y’know... don’t shoot me or anything... thanks.

The Singular Adventure of Big Chin and Understatement Boy c.2009

Here is a cartoon I made about a million years ago. Dont really know what this says about my state of mind but I was working in a call centre at the time and was half listening to somebody moan on about how stupid they were ( click here to take your pick from one of the many mouth farts I have to endure for a living as a good example )

Im not sure if its clear enough, but if it isn't - tough, I'm not redrawing it just for you!

What am I Neil "art attack" Buchanan or something?!?!

Enjoy.

Did You Remember The Garlic?

Today Mrs H started her first day at her new works. Off she popped at the crack of dawn and that was that for the next 8 hours.

All I had to do was empty the bin, do the recycling, walk the dog and make the tea.

Bins and recycling are a doddle. No problems here!

The dog almost walks himself and what with the campsite being almost empty, I had all day to get the tea ready.

I've got a bad feeling about this...

Can you guess what task I managed to bugger up?

Here’s a clue – it was tonight’s tea.

I wasn’t making my world famous Spam pasta (for which the recipe is knocking about on the internet somewhere) nor was I doing Chicking-Junk (another of my amazing meals, which I may do as a post sometime!)

No. I was due to make that extravagant and complicated juggling act known the world over as spag bol.

And I screwed it up.

My first mistake was thinking I was making chilli con carne. That’s were it all started. Having measured out a bowl of rice using my own method of one handful of rice per person plus half a hand for Jesus (you never know when he’s going to turn up) I stared blankly and pondered...

“Me not makey chilli con con? Me makey stringy meat meat.” I thought to myself.

At this (very early) point in proceedings I started to smell burning beef.

Thats ME!

Bugger.

In true Frank Spencer fashion I poured the rice back into the rice container, hit my head on the open cupboard door, flipped the meat and burnt my hand, dropped a fork onto the dogs head (he is fine) and grabbed some spaghetti and threw it into a pan of boiling water. (At least I got that bit right)

Mrs H was not due for at least.... oh crap. How long is she going to be? I had no idea. It could be 20 minutes, it could be 2 hours.

As I continued to panic and cook (that’s how I roll) everything seemed to be going OK. The smoke alarm didn’t set itself off in a tizzy which makes me think it needs new batteries.

Just as I put the garlic bread into the oven, Mrs H walks in and the dog go nuts.

“Tea will be ready in ten minutes. There’s a glass of wine on the table for you.” I say as I try to look as nonchalant as possible, while picking out the little burnt bits of beef pepper and onion.

The reply from Mrs H was thus “Did you put any garlic in it this time.”

Shityshityshityshityshityshit.

I had not put any garlic in anything.

In my defence I had grated some cheese and done the washing up.

I had also done the bins, sorted the recycling and walked the dog.

It has been a busy day.

The Dog ate what ws left, so at least he liked it.

I am stupid.