I’ve just had to have a blast of Bobby. Can’t get the blooming tune out of my head. But then, all things considered, it is better than It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas!
I think I may have to ban myself from YouTube. After the Hello Summertime and Honey bit I got rather silly, even by my standards, and listened to, with great delight I might add, Dean Martin singing Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime and a rather funny clip where Dean and The Duke, big John Wayne, sang a duo. I DO worry about myself sometimes but then I hold very strongly with the theory of why worry about something you can’t do anything about?
I think it was suggested after The Dukes death that he wasn’t a very nice person in ‘real’ life. Frankly I think he paid for it with that ‘waddle’ of his? I grew up with John Wayne. Don’t be silly. Not literally. My mum adored him and even dad loved him. And I love True Grit. Especially the bit where The Duke and Glenn Campbell are crossing the river and Mattie rides Little Blackie into the river and The Duke says, ‘My God. She reminds me of me!’ Classic. Bloody classic. Of course, every time I see these films it reminds me of my dad. I have seen them so many times that I know every scene that dad used to laugh at. It’s like he is still sitting with me watching them. The spoiler in True Grit has to be where The Duke rides Little Blackie into the ground and the poor thing conks out on some scrubby hillside, lathered in white sweat. Hollywood hey? Tsk.
We had hail yesterday. HAIL. No wonder I keep singing It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas! I should be bursting into April Love or Here comes The Sun. No chance. I get told off for singing. I don’t think it is just for the fact that I’m very loud and over-confident I think it is more to do with my timing. I spring from my slumber and by the time I’ve entered the bathroom I’m warbling away like a good ‘un. Richard usually waits until I leave the bathroom and I’m passing the bedroom door and a hissed voice says, ‘Do you know what time it is.’ Sometimes I lower my voice a bit and sometimes I just mime – but I’m still singing in my head. Sometimes I just shout back, ‘No idea, sorry. Why don’t you look at the clock?’
Richard is a strange person. He doesn’t consider he has the right to place his feet on the planet. The TV is turned down to barely audible if the neighbours are in. If they are out he has it blasting away on the bloody Yesterday channel. He has a fascination with the past for some weird reason.
If I’m standing in the shopping isle dissecting the fat content of a swede and someone else turns up wanting a swede, he moves me out of the way. MOVES ME OUT OF THE WAY. He leaves me pondering and clears off with the trolley and lurks in a large area where he isn’t going to get in any one else’s way. And then I’m chasing him round the supermarket laden with eight tins of baked beans and twelve litres of milk. Then he gets embarrassed because when I spot him I bawl, ‘Come here with the basket?’ Bless him – or not. He is sleeping off the night-shift just now. When he wakes, all lightness and air (yes I’m being sarcastic) I have a lovely little surprise for him. We are going out to track down six bags of horse-muck for my runner bean area.
He will be thrilled, loading up horse dung into the reasonably new VWUP – and with a calcified shoulder. I would say that I’ll load it but I daren’t because my chiro lady reads these blogs and she gave me a right roasting yesterday about all the shed and compost heap moving. So I’ll just whisper it …I ‘ll help him load it …
Take care my lovelies x