Old age

I am getting old.

I know I am because technology is becoming a stranger to me.

Things that I once was able to do with ease are now a Rubiks cube wrapped in a 1000 piece jigsaw surrounded by very sharp question marks that smell of really bad Idon'tknow-whats.

Changing passwords, setting up email accounts, downloading the BBC i-player. All of these things ha ve stumped me this week.

All I want to do is make life that little bit more easy, but alas computers seem to have other ideas.

MNUUUURGH!

Google seems to be the main culprit at the moment. Being on Google does allow me to have a blogger account, you tube and gmail and all other manner of wonderful things to play with. However, if I want to do "a thing" or something similar I am left with nothing more than a primeval urge to launch my computer through the bloody window.

I have not done that yet but there is still time before I go to bed....

Even my remote control has got it in for me. The BACK UP button has backed all the way down and I have to keep flicking it out. The wifi is more temperamental than Mrs H when we have run out of cream eggs and if I stand on another plug before the bank holiday I'm going to cancel Christmas.

It does seem that the more freedom I have online the more things go wrong more often.

I am a weak person and fully admit I would be lost without the internet but it seems to have outgrown its purpose as a tool and has somehow gained a simplistic form of sentience (simple,but more intelligent than me) and has decided to have a pop at me.

Don't worry. We're not talking SKYNET style intelligence here but a more generic cyber-grump that simple refuses to do what it is told and has the power to stop working altogether.

I'm getting old. I know this.

SCREW YOU TECHNOLOGY

I'm not even going to bother talking about my ever expanding gut or those six grey hairs that I can no longer deny or even my creaking kness that sound like my legs are made of dry grass.

It won't be long before I start talking about the war and complaining about how TV is too loud... even though IT IS!

oh bugger.

NOW That's What I call ...Awful

Today saw the arrival, on site, of a pure rock legend from a time when rock was bold and dangerous (see video below) and not just produced by some drag and drop two bit computer program that’s just seems to endlessly loop the same four bars of dross so that the end result is akin to a box load of crockery being thrown into a cement mixer.

And that is the problem isn’t it?

Not to sound like the begrudging old coot that I am becoming, but music today is just awful.

A quick review of the top ten single records for the UK this week tells me that either I am out of touch with popular music or music is tired and boring and has run its course.

Coldplay have done a song with Rihanna (that girl with the umbrella-ella-ella) and Maroon 5 are still knocking about.

Out of the top ten singles half of them are collaborations. Which means that these so called talented artists can’t even be bothered to sing for three and a half minutes with someone else jumping in.

There’s just no effort.

I would make a joke about somebody releasing a song that is just 4 minutes of silence, but that’s already been done. TWICE!

Maybe it is me. Maybe I have reached that age where I need to realise that I no longer part of the young generation.

I’m old enough to remember mix tapes.

I still have an old VHS tape knocking around with MUMS TAPE written on it.

Ask any under the age of 20 if that know what that is and be prepared to feel very VERY old when they just shrug at you and probably shoot up some drugs in their eyeballs at you.

The art of filling one side of a tape with exactly 45 minutes of music was an exercise in timing hand eye co-ordination and taste.

In order to not have the tape run out half way through REAL REAL REAL by Jesus Jones, you would have to carefully work out in which order you put Aerosmith, or Run DMC.

"Can I get a rewind!!!" - Used to involve a pencil and lots of patience in my day.

This is now a talent lost.

These days all you need is one of those M25 players and you can casually drag and drop as many songs in whatever order you want without even thinking about it.

Don’t like a song?

No worries, just skip it and carry on with your day.

In the 1980’s this just was not possible and only even considered in science fiction movies.

If you wanted to skip a song on tape it required knowing exactly how long the song was and having to utilise a technique not to dissimilar to clutch control in order to quickly fast forward, stop and play repeatedly until you got to the right spot.

If you miscalculated and missed the start of the song then the tape would have to be ejected, turned around and played back for a bit, then ejected again, replaced the original way round and played again.

All the while the battery level is being sucked dry.

Of course, if you were posh you would have one of those Walkman’s that had a rewind button to show off.

So the following are five words that anyone under the age of 20 will not understand.

Tape.

Rewind.

Eject.

Talent.

Original.

Does anyone know of any other words that bloody kids don’t have any understand of?

If so, please add yours in the comments below.

Its the drummer, by the way.... I guess that stint on TV is starting to pay off!

What Cost A Reputation?

What a week it’s been so far.

I am exhausted both in body and mind. And today I am going to tell you all about it.

We start our little tale on Saturday. Mrs Hogart came down to visit the dog...and me I suppose... and during our evening meal, reminded me that her sister was coming down to visit with the kids.

“Great” I thought, “it's been ages since I’ve seen the nephews and they love their Uncle Bumferry.”

And so I planned all the things we could with the little tykes on the two days they were here.

Day one... helped their mum and dad put the tent up. And task I had not performed for a long time, and with the briefest of instructions it only took us the best part of all afternoon to put the damned thing up and make sure it stayed up.

The afternoon was quite warm and the kids were already bored. With them being only 7 and 3 there is only so much my dog can do to entertain.

And part one of my fiendish plan to continue my mantle of Brilliant uncle was put into action.

  

“LET’S GO TO THE SWEET SHOP!”

The kids loved me. Or so I thought. On the car journey to the sweet shop I suddenly realised that the kids weren’t calling me “uncle Bumferry” instead they were simply calling me Bumferry.

Plain old Bumferry and that’s not right. I’m cool with kids. I’m not a weird uncle or crazy uncle. I’m the good kind. That takes time to play the games kids want to play. Eat sweets that they want to eat. Buy comics that they want to read and educate them on which superhero is who while having FUN at the same time!

I’m a cool uncle.

But on that fateful day.... I didn’t even make the grade of Uncle.

I was just another guy. A faceless adult in a world of telling off.

Something had to be done.

During the evening myself, Mrs H the kids and their mum and dad went out for a meal.

The kids wouldn’t eat their veg and it was time for Uncle Bumferry to cowboy the fuck up and reclaim his rightful title.

And boy did I!

Firstly upon noticing that the kids refused to eat any of their veg by order of mum and dad, Uncle Bumferry flew in to save the day. “I bet you can’t eat that broccoli before I eat all my chips.” I said. 

“Not bovered.” Was the essence of the reply.

Bugger.... my arch nemesis. Broccoli. I hate broccoli. Not only does it not look right when typed out but it’s awful to eat. It may look like tiny green trees but it tastes like stewed crap. I was up against it here and had to use my secret weapon!

Time to think fast...

“I bet you 50p you can’t eat that broccoli before I eat my chips!”

And bang!

The first of three massive green beg popped into his mouth and disappeared with enthusiastic chewing before I could drag my bowl of chips near enough to start eating.

I steadily ate my chips without any hurry.

The broccoli was finished and I lost 50p. But I had regained the respect of a small child with the result of bribery.

A small price to pay I think you will agree.

For the rest of their time with me I had to remind them of why I am just so brilliant. I had to tell jokes, play tricks, and spin the kids round and round and round and round and round for ages.

It hurt.

I got very dizzy and I ached.

Upon rising very early the next morning we all went to the local farm were the kids could see the horses pigs sheep and hens and rabbits et al.

There was also a giant snakes and ladders and real jeeps the kids could drive around in and at least three climbing frames and bouncy castles to potentially break ones neck on.

By mid afternoon the kids were tired out and my feet throbbed in the way they do when you begin to realise that you are no longer young and have missed your middle years and are in fact OLD.

I am old.

I am old, 50p down and have sore feet and knees.

But I am an uncle again – and for that I am grateful.

In the eyes of someone who doesn’t know better. I am fantastic.

This reputation of mine will not last forever. One day they will both realise that I am nothing more than a grumpy miser who hates everyone and craves attention and really hate broccoli.

But for now I am content with what I’ve got.

I also have a respect for people who have kids. It must be a very hard job dealing with screaming horrors that are either eating, pooping or throwing up or crying.

I’ve lasted two days and barely made it through. Some of these people have kids in their lives for YEARS!

Crazy!