Nothing to write today

What an odd week. Not bad, just odd. Half my plans were dropped or delayed but one way or another the alternatives were OK. The main thing is I ordered a photo album with my 57 best digital pictures, and you can pick from small to whole page size. Something to leave the grandchildren I won't have. I'm nearly my grandma's age when I was born for god's sake. Never mind, out of my control. So, besides the photos including a quick trip to Hendon Park now I'm using the map for new geographical features I'm here and typing as usual. Reporting very little is a challenge, I've been on work standby for a few days but due to a computer crash there no dice till tomorrow now, not that there's much to do there but it stopped me going anywhere if I was, besides the photos which I got in first yesterday.

It's a bit like I've been commissioned for a regular article and have writer's block, though something of a surprising nature normally comes out simply by talking, just as Freud usually worked. I've spent my ammunition of filthy words for now, and admit I got some from slang dictionaries so I could know as many words for droppings of various sorts. The trouble with that is you can use words no one else realises what they mean. Excoriae, frass, glaur, you get the picture. And being equipped with the internet to read this you can look them up later. My previous method for getting out of vacuums was the past. I've mentioned every personality pre-1972 and used up that vein, plus stories of incontinence from schooldays which everyone who has met me from 1965 onwards would have heard at least twice. The first is still the best. Tony.

Kingsbury, 1964, portakabin classroom. Yellow walls. The teacher said 'Tony, are you OK?'. Yes, came the answer. 'What's that on the wall?'. 'Nothing'. On closer inspection large brown circles were revealed on the wall. Dirty protest style smears of brown on the yellow wall. Turns out he'd shit in his pants and taken it out and wiped it on the wall hoping no one would notice. How the teacher spotted it from the front can only be down to experience but from where I was sitting it was literally as clear as mud. Sort of mud anyway. Then a couple of years later, and nearly as funny at the time. New school, all sat round large tables. Teacher 'Alan, what's that?'. 'What?'. 'On the floor by your chair. There's something on the floor, what is it?' It was white and fluffy. Then some more fell down. It was coming from his pockets. Little grey school shorts were far more full than usual. There was a fall of mashed potato coming from his pockets, ball after ball of a snowy avalanche was now being ejected from his pocket as he stood up. It turned out he didn't like the stuff so rather than leave it (we often got told to finish everything back then) he thought he'd hide it in his pockets but hadn't counted on it trying to escape.

So I managed to trawl the past for at least two new stories to the internet. South Park would probably pay me for such stories but it just goes to show real life is both funnier and stranger than anything on TV. Where do you think they get their ideas from?