Heads or Tails Tuesday - Flower

It's time for Heads or Tails, hosted by Barb. Click the logo above if you fancy giving this meme a try. It's a lot of fun, as Barb lets us interpret the weekly theme very liberally. This week's theme is: Flower. I could have posted a selection of my many flower pics, but decided to go off on a bit of a tangent, instead.

Many moons ago - about 22 years' worth of moons, in fact, I shared a rented student house with a bunch of girls. One of them, slightly older than the rest of us, was a crazy Scottish woman. Sometimes, she was crazy in a zany, wacky way. Other times, she was just downright embarrassing. I'll call her Scottish Sara. Sara isn't her name, but whenever anyone talked about her - and believe me, lots of people did - her real name was always preceded by 'Scottish'. This was to distinguish her from a couple of other people called Sara, neither of whom, oddly enough, was Scottish.

What does any of this have to do with this week's Heads or Tails theme, I hear you ask? Well, I'll get to that soon enough. But before I tell you how Scottish Sara murdered Flower of Scotland, I need to tell you a little more about her, just to set the scene.

Sara was a strange one. She had a penchant for fussy, frilly blouses made of broderie anglaise, paisley or lurid, floral fabrics - or better still, all three at once. She also had an embarrassing tendency to squeeze herself into short, leather skirts that were at least two sizes too small for her. As for her efforts with a make-up brush - they were terrifying. Her foundation always left an orange tide-mark where her face and neck met. Her blusher was always at least three shades too dark for her fair skin. She would smear her lipstick on in one gooey, fluorescent slick, never blotting it, so it bled all around her mouth. Then there was the cobalt blue, creamy eye-shadow, dabbed on and never blended. She looked a mess, unless I did her make-up for her. But Sara believed she was God's gift to men.

Just before she left the house, she would always don a pair of impossibly high stiletto heels, before thrusting out her substantial bosoms ahead of her. I swear her breasts turned corners a good twenty seconds before the rest of her. To make matters worse, she had an enormous nose, the high heels made her walk with her feet somewhat splayed, and she had a peculiar habit of bobbing her head backwards and forwards as she walked. Poor Scottish Sara bore a frightening resemblance to a psychotic mother hen as she strode along the street.

No man was safe with Sara. She had a voracious appetite for man-flesh. One night, at the end of the college term, she had set her sights on a poor, handsome devil called Luke. He was terrified. Sara would stop at nothing to get her man. It was this night she murdered Flower of Scotland. You see, it was open mike night at the college bar. Full of Scottish spirit - well, Johnnie Walker to be precise - Sara clambered on the rough, wooden podium that served as a stage, bosoms and beak thrust outwards, her feet splayed as she tottered on her stilettoes. She grabbed the mike and burst into song - or at least, that's how she saw it.

Although I'm no fan of folk music, Flower of Scotland is a pleasant enough traditional wee song. Normally, that is. But Sara had the most godawful voice you've ever heard, high-pitched, shrill and utterly lacking in control. Worse yet - she started the song off about five octaves higher than anyone in their right mind would ever dare. About two bars into the song, people began to clap their hands over their ears. Even the PA system protested, by letting out a squeal of feedback. Or maybe that was just Sara, and everyone mistook it for feedback. She fixed her adoring eyes on poor Luke. The unfortunate hunk was mesmerized - with horror, not the mutual adoration Sara presumed. His friends fell about laughing and I thought about dying.

'Oy!' said Luke, jabbing me in the arm. 'Is that with you?'
'F**k off', I growled. He may have been gorgeous, but like Sara's singing, he'd hit a raw nerve.

On-stage, Sara continued to slaughter poor Flower of Scotland. Her caterwauling grew louder and more shrill, as she battled on, determined to impress young Luke with her musical talents - the ones that existed only in her head. Suddenly, I became aware of a kerfuffle just behind me. It seems the college principal was there, and had been helping himself to some food from the end-of-term buffet. As Sara hit an especially high, shrill note, her eyes bulged, the loudspeakers shrieked and two of the buttons on her too-tight blouse popped. Unfortunately, the poor principal had just bitten into a sausage roll. He gave an involuntary guffaw, and a chunk of sausage roll became wedged in his windpipe.

Luckily, the principal was saved by much hearty back-slapping. But I'd had enough of the nasty looks and admonitions for having brought Sara to the bar. As soon as I knew the principal was going to live, I fled. I raced through the campus, desperate to escape Sara's shrill, keening wail, as it molested the chill, night air. For a second, my brain mistook her racket for the mewling of some unearthly newborn, as it lay in wait for me in the shadows, perhaps the result of a freak mis-mating between a banshee and a set of bagpipes. I ran solidly for a good three minutes, out of the campus, before I finally escaped the din. So there you have it: the tale of how Scottish Sara murdered Flower of Scotland - and almost killed the college principal along the way.

If anyone's interested - here's a video clip featuring the song, Flower of Scotland, as it should sound. Happy Tuesday!

Heads or Tails Tuesday - Royal

It's been a few weeks since I participated in Heads or Tails, hosted by Barb. For some reason, I often don't turn the PC on until quite late on a Tuesday - so I end up not taking part in Heads or Tails. But this week, I'm determined to join in. If you want to give it a go, too - click the logo above.

Today's Heads or Tails theme is Royal. I will NOT be writing about the British Royal family - I'm not a royalist, and think all that silliness is outmoded. So what am I going to write about? Well, let me tell you about some of my neighbours. They're not royalty, but they're what we Brits would term a right royal pain in the @rse.

I live in a terraced house - which means I have houses directly attached to mine, on either side. The lady who lives downstairs from me is the ideal neighbour - quiet, but helpful in a crisis. The people who live next door on the down side are okay, too - a retired couple. But the neighbours who live next door on the up side of the street, are a right royal pain. The guy who owns the property, who, thankfully, is rarely there these days, has the most hideous laugh ever. He sounds like a deranged nanny-goat with severe hiccups. His many lovely habits include lighting stinky barbecues directly below my open windows, and letting his kids run riot around the place, cursing and swearing like no child should. His dear tenants think it's great fun to run up and down the stairs, in what sound suspiciously like hob-nail boots, at 4 AM. Either that, or they're keeping ponies in the house.

But the biggest royal pain in the you-know-what, are the students directly across the road from me. They hold frequent noisy parties - in their front garden. These parties often continue all night until first light. They have their hi-fi speakers rigged up outside, with about 30-40 people in their garden, many playing musical instruments, such as guitars, didgeridoos and bongo drums. The last party they had was about a week ago. The right royal pains in the butt woke me up, them and around 40 of their friends, singing such intellectually stimulating lyrics as, 'hi ho silver lining' at around 03.30. That was just before they set their fireworks off. Sadly, they didn't hear me singing along - except my lyrics were more like 'eff off silly b@5t@rd5'. Grr!

Unfortunately, you can't call the cops for noise nuisance in the UK. But the last time those twerps across the street had a party - I could smell hash. So the right royal pains in the butt will be having a visit from some of Her Majesty's police officers, if they annoy me in future and I smell anything iffy wafting over from their place. Oh - and I'll be calling the local council, who deal with noise issues. They're messing with the wrong lady - I can be a right royal cow when someone crosses me!

Anyway, that's my rather lame submission for Heads or Tails this week. I hope I didn't make a right royal cock-up of it. Happy Tuesday!

Heads or Tails Tuesday - Any Tom, Dick or Harry

Despite my computer woes, I've decided to battle on this week, and get back into the swing of blogging, participating in my usual weekly memes. Skittles, a.k.a. Barb, is the host of Heads or Tails Tuesday. If you want to take part, click the logo above.

This week's theme is 'Any Tom, Dick or Harry'. Well, I don't know anyone called Harry, and the only Tom I know should have been called Dick, if you catch my drift. I had an uncle called Dick, who sadly passed away about twelve years ago, but I didn't know him that well, so I can't really write about him, either. So what to do?

Well, 'Tom' doesn't have to be someone's name, does it? It could be an abbreviation of 'tomato', or it could be a male cat. On the subject of male cats, here's demon kitty, my tom, Leo. And yes, that is one of my make-up brushes he's eating.


Regular readers of this blog will be aware of some of the problems I have with this tom cat. He bites, he scratches, and is the most goddam insolent cat I've ever known. Tell him off for anything (jumping on the table or the kitchen work surfaces, stealing food, scratching the furniture, dragging the table linen off the dining table, etc) and he will spin around, fix you with the most baleful glare imaginable, and yowl at you. This is no Lolcat!

If he was a full tom, I might understand some of his aggression. But he's been snipped. Maybe that's the reason for his aggression - revenge! No matter who you are, whether you're royalty, or any old Tom, Dick or Harry, cross this fellow and you'll feel his wrath. Wrath, in this instance, is shorthand for 'bloody great claws and huge, whopping fangs'. Anyone want a cat? You're welcome to him, but I'd have to check you out first, because despite his evil ways, I wouldn't send him off to live with any old Tom, Dick or Harry. Yeah, that was a bit lame - but so am I, after all the times that evil cat has shredded my legs.

Happy Tuesday!

Heads or Tails Tuesday - Express

It's been a fair few weeks since I participated in Heads or Tails, thanks to my ongoing computer woes. Well, as most of you know by now, my laptop has some serious issues, and I can no longer connect to the Internet with it. However, I've managed to crank up my ancient desktop. Believe me, there is nothing express about the way this machine runs.

On the subject of 'express' - that's today's Heads or Tails theme word. The first thing that came to mind was 'National Express'. I guess National Express is the UK's equivalent of the Greyhound buses in the US. The company runs a network of coach services, serving many of the UK's cities and towns. Personally, I HATE travelling by National Express.

Don't get me wrong - I have nothing against the company. My main bugbear arises from the fact that I suffer from travel sickness. I need plenty of fresh air, and lots of space around me when I embark on a long journey. Guess what? The windows on National Express coaches don't open. They have annoying little nozzle things above the seats that are supposed to supply you with a puff of fresh air, whenever you yank on them. But they never do.

If you ever have to travel on a National Express coach, try to avoid sitting anywhere near the back. That's where the lavatory is located. I once made the mistake of sitting near the back, and was almost gassed by nasty pongs coming from the lavatory. Not to be recommended, especially if, like me, you suffer from travel sickness.

Another difficulty I have with National Express coaches, is getting off the wretched things. The steps are very high. I can get on alright, but thanks to my arthritic spine and accompanying balance problems, the only way I can safely get off a National Express coach, is by sitting on the steps and bouncing down on my bottom. That doesn't go down too well with fellow travellers. Tough!

The last trip I took with National Express was most unpleasant. Some drunken fool sat by me on the return journey, but moved when I refused to talk to him and pretended to be asleep. Then, a silly student insisted on talking on his phone, very loudly, in a foreign language, for most of the four hour journey. When I tried to ask him to keep the noise down, he pretended he didn't speak English. Oddly enough, he understood immediately, when I finally snapped and said: 'either you shut up or I'll make you eat that phone'. Then, as everyone got off the coach, a poor old lady fell off those horrid steps and cracked her head open. Not nice. Especially for her.

I hope you'll forgive this rather lacklustre post. I just don't feel very creative when I'm sitting at a desk. It feels too much like work, and a lot less like fun. So I'll wrap it up in a minute. But before I do, I'd like to pay a tribute to the hostesses who used to dish up hot drinks and snacks on National Express coaches, at an exorbitant price. I don't see them aboard their coaches any longer which is a relief shame. I used to have fun watching them trying to serve teas and coffees on a moving bus, without drenching the intended recipient, or flirting with young men half their ages. Here's my tribute - the aptly titled 'National Express' by the Divine Comedy. Oddly enough, this song is all about travelling by National Express. I hope you find it as hilarious and entertaining as I do. Dont watch if you're offended by the word 'arse'. Enjoy!

Heads or Tails Tuesday - Wonder

This week's Heads or Tails Tuesday offers the choice of 'wonder' or 'wander'. I often post accounts of my wanders, so I've opted for 'wonder' as my theme.

When was the last time you felt a genuine, child-like sense of wonder, untainted by the cynicism of adulthood? For me, it was a couple of weeks ago. I had just walked through my garden gate, after darkness had fallen, and looked up at the night sky, as I often do on a clear night. I felt my usual sense of wonder at seeing Orion's Belt, the Big Dipper and countless other heavenly bodies I couldn't name. The same questions came to mind as usually do at such times. Is there anyone out there? If yes, what are they like? How many different kinds are there? What would the flora and fauna on their worlds be like? Why are we here? What is this all about? And where is it going?

Suddenly, these thoughts were interrupted by a brilliant light which approached from the north-west. It got brighter and brighter as it flew over my head, and continued on its way towards the south-east. To my amazement, the light suddenly grew fainter and fainter and blinked out. I knew instinctively that it was a spacecraft. I then realized what it was - the International Space Station, which some other local bloggers had reporting witnessing on previous nights. As soon as I got indoors, I turned the laptop on and headed to the NASA website. Sure enough, it confirmed that the ISS had flown over my city at precisely the time I saw the bright light.



My sense of wonder increased when I read that it was docked at the time, with the Space Shuttle, Atlantis. Not only that, but there were men OUTSIDE the docked craft, working on it, suspended in space, as they flew over my head. Wow!


As if that wasn't enough, I felt my sense of wonder increasing even further, when I realized that the first powered flight in the history of mankind, took place on December 17th, 1903 - a little over a hundred years ago. Brothers Orville and Wilbur Wright, had been experimenting with flying gliders for a few years beforehand.

Orville Wright

Wilbur Wright

But their ultimate goal was powered flight, which they achieved at the end of 1903, with the famous Wright Flyer, pictured below.


Although the Wright Brothers' claims to be the inventors of powered flight have been disputed in recent years, for my purposes, that's irrelevant. Whoever invented powered flight, the fact remains that within a few decades of the Wright Flyer's inaugural trip, humans were launching spacecraft into orbit. Shortly afterwards, men were launched into space, and landed on the moon. We now send probes to examine the planets of our solar system, as well as a telescope that can spy on distant galaxies. Heck, we've even landed a probe on an asteroid, raising hopes that if a biggie ever finds itself on a collision course with Earth, we may just be able to deflect it and save the planet, as Bruce Willis did in that dreadful movie. How can anyone not feel a sense of wonder at what we've achieved with flight, in such a comparatively short time?

There we have it - my Heads or Tails Tuesday babblings for this week. Happy Tuesday!

Heads or Tails Tuesday

I've not done Heads or Tails for the last few weeks, so it's time I got my finger out and joined in. This week's theme is Heads: anything starting with 'P'. I'm going to talk about the paranormal.

Regular readers of this blog will know I'm very interested in paranormal phenomena. Despite having had a number of experiences which appeared to have a paranormal origin, I'm one of the hardest people to convince, when it comes to reports of ghosts, aliens, UFOs, etc. Why? In a nutshell, another 'P' - people.

I find that people who claim paranormal experiences are often mistaken, deluded, gullible, unbalanced or just plain fraudulent. I admit that I could be very mistaken about the origins of my own 'paranormal' experiences. That said, when you have an apparition of an unknown woman materializing right in front of you, dressed as a WW2 land-girl, as I did, how do you explain that? Hallucination? Insanity? Or a paranormal entity?

What interests me, are not the 'I was abducted by aliens, flown to Venus and anally probed by an extraterrestrial aardvark' stories. Or the 'I hear funny noises in my water pipes, so I must have a poltergeist' tales. Most so-called ghost or UFO sightings generally have a rational explanation based in the real world. Usually, about 95% of such cases can be explained. What interests me, are the 5% or so of cases which no-one can explain. Pilot sightings of UFOs really grab my attention, as do sightings by police officers, military personnel and other witnesses with exceptional observational skills and cool heads. Ghost stories related by reliable witnesses also get my attention.

With the paranormal, the best approach is to keep an open mind, but be constantly aware of another 'P' - the pitfalls. Don't take anything at face value, not even a photograph (yet another 'P'), as they can be easily faked nowadays. Always look for rational explanations for sightings of apparently paranormal phenomena. People make mistakes, people suffer illnesses which cause delusions or hallucinations, and people lie, either for money, attention, or for the sheer hell of it. Approach the paranormal with a healthy dose of scepticism, but don't close your mind off to something, just because it sounds bizarre or impossible. Above all, don't get hung up on it, because that can make you ill.

Anyway, I've run out of steam, so there endeth this week's Heads or Tails. I'll be starting my visits sometime this afternoon, UK time. Have a great week!

Heads or Tails Tuesday: I want a divorce!

That's it. I've had enough. I'm seriously considering serving a certain someone with divorce papers. The grounds? Domestic violence and unreasonable behaviour. Well, if we can divorce husbands on such grounds, why not cats?

So what does this have to do with this week's Heads or Tails Tuesday theme (any of the five senses), you may ask. Well, the following tale involves all of them.

First of all, look at what my Leo did to me the other night, as I got out of bed. What a sight, eh?

Excuse the goose-pimples - I took this pic after a bath.

I wasn't aware of his presence in the bedroom until I heard him yowling and banging on things for attention. I flung the bedding aside, and sat on the edge of the bed, ready to get up and attend to He-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. I suddenly felt the most excruciating pain imaginable, as my sense of touch went into overdrive. The little bastard darling had launched a crazed attack on my leg, wrapping himself around it tighter than a boa constrictor, whilst sinking in all his fangs and claws. He must have really been enjoying the taste of my leg, as he refused to let go. I had no choice but to haul him off me by the scruff of his neck, and fling him a few feet away from me. Before I could inspect the damage, I saw him making a second approach, so I threw a slipper at him. It missed, but he got the message, and immediately demanded to be let out. I then spent a very painful night trying to get back to sleep, with my leg smelling profusely of antiseptic cream, and feeling like it had done battle with a sabre-toothed tiger.

I don't know why he does these hateful things. He hasn't been evil for a long time. But I can never truly drop my guard with him, because he has such a Satanic streak. Here's additional proof of his dark, supernatural side.


BTW, my leg now looks even worse than it did in this pic, as the bruising has turned a lovely, black-grape colour. On the subject of He-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, he's now demanding to be let in. Let me just find my chainmail jeans...

Heads or Tails Tuesday

Today's Heads or Tails gives us the choice of Heads only. However, it's still a very flexible option, as participants are being asked to write about anything that begins with the letter C. Most people who know me, are probably expecting me to write about cats, chocolate or cacti, three of my favorite things, which coincidentally start with the letter C. But that's just too predictable. Instead, I shall be talking about the traditional British game of conkers, beloved by generations of school children.

So what is a conker? Well, it's the rounded, hard, inedible (to humans, anyway) seed of the horse chestnut tree, not to be confused with the edible sweet chestnut. It grows on a very large tree, which can have white, pink or red flowers. Some varieties are cultivated, others are wild.

The hard, brown seed, or conker, is protected during development, by a prickly green casing, which stops it being consumed by birds, squirrels, bugs and other hungry creatures.

When the conker is ripe and hard, the prickly green casing splits open, allowing the seed to fall out and hopefully, grow into a new tree.

However, when these seeds hit the ground, usually in September and October, many British children gather them up. It's time for the annual round of playground conker contests. Traditionally, when someone finds their first conker of the season, they're supposed to say: "Oddly oddly onker my first conker". This is meant to ensure good luck, not just in the ensuing conker contests, but also through the autumn season generally. However, this little-known part of the tradition, is rarely, if ever, practised by children nowadays.

After selecting a hard, symmetrical conker, free of cracks, the next step is to drill a hole through its centre.

A length of string is then threaded through the hole, and a large knot tied in the string, to prevent the conker falling off the end.

In a game of conkers, players take turns at hitting each other's conkers. I can remember, from my own childhood, that a conker strike misdirected at a finger can be exceedingly painful. Basically, one player leaves their conker dangle from their hand, whilst the other player wraps much of the string around their hand. The striker then draws back their conker strikes their opponent's. If a player misses their opponent's conker, they get another two strikes. Should the strings tangle, the first player to call "strings" will get an extra turn. If a player, in hitting the opponent' s conker, causes it to whirl around in a circle, this is known as ‘round the world’. The striker scores another turn for doing this. If one of the players drops their conker, or has it knocked out of their hand, their opponent may yell "stamps" and jump on the fallen conker. But if the owner of the fallen conker manages to shout "no stamps'" first, then the opponent cannot jump on the conker. A conker match ends when one of the conkers is destroyed.

Sadly, this traditional game, which I played frequently during my not so distant childhood, is declining. This may, in part, be due to the over-protective attitude of many schools, in today's highly litigious society. Although injuries caused by conkers are rare, a large number of schools have banned conker games from school premises, in case a child is hurt, and the school gets sued. But properly supervised, a conker game needn't be a cause for concern.

Anyway, that's my Heads or Tails for today. Happy Tuesday!

Please do not credit me with any of the above images. They were obtained from Flickr, under a Creative Commons licence. Click each image to discover the identity of the photographer.

Heads or Tails Tuesday

This week's Heads or Tails Tuesday offers the choice of:

Heads - Old;

Tails - New.

Feeling spoilt for choice, I had trouble picking one, and was going to skip Heads or Tails this week. But earlier this morning, I was browsing the Pioneering Photography section of a local website, Swansea Heritage Net, when I had an idea for this week's Heads or Tails. What I saw inspired me to create a hybrid post, consisting of both old and new. I came across some early images of local scenes, dating back to the 1850's, and realised that I have many images in my own collection, of the very same scenes. (As this post is educational in nature, I hope the local authority, the City and County of Swansea, who own the Swansea Heritage Net site, will not object to me using some of their images, under the fair use doctrine. However, if anyone from the council sees this and does object, I will be happy to remove the post).

First up are these images of Three Cliffs Bay. The first one dates from around 1853, and shows the natural arch in the rock face, which separates the neighbouring beaches of Three Cliffs and Pobbles. It is possible to pass through the arch from one beach to the other, although a rocky, weed-filled stream runs through the arch, which can make the walkway very slippery.



Here's my image, taken about eight months ago, of the same scene.



Here's a close-up view of the arch. It doesn't show up too well on my image, above.



This image of mine, also dating from about eight months ago, shows the very same location, with a clear view through to people on the next beach.



This image of the Neolithic monument known as Arthur's Stone, was taken around 1856.



My image of the same location, taken at a slightly different angle, dates from last year.



I suspect this view of the area commonly known as the Mumbles, was taken from Oystermouth Castle, and shows the fishing village of Oystermouth as it appeared in the 1850's.



I took this next shot in 2006, from the grounds of Oystermouth Castle, where I suspect the 1850's shot was taken from.



Here's the same location, snapped in 2006, which essentially shows the same scene as the 1850's image, but taken from the shoreline, rather than the hill on which the castle is perched.



I think the old versus new pics of Mumbles/Oystermouth show the greatest change, as the village has been considerably developed during the last 150 years or so. I hope you find this comparison of old and new images as fascinating as I do. Happy Tuesday!

Heads or Tails Tuesday

This week's Heads or Tails Tuesday is pretty flexible, with a choice of Heads or Tails. I've opted for Heads, which is 'anything in the sky or space'. I bet those of you who know me well, will know what I'll be writing about. Yes, that's right. Those pesky UFOs.

I've been intrigued by the UFO phenomenon since I was 12, when I saw a bizarre, glowing object in the sky, over some power lines behind my childhood home. What it was - I have no idea. But it was weird. It wasn't the moon, it was large, orange and kind of pear-shaped, with some sort of structure behind it. It also wobbled, at which point, I hid beneath the bedclothes until daylight. Yes, I was a brave child.

To me, a UFO is exactly what it says it is - an unidentified flying object. It doesn't make it a flying saucer full of space brothers from the Pleiades, coming to save us silly humans from ourselves. It's just an unknown, flitting around the skies. Most reported UFOs are usually identifiable, when a little research is done after the fact. The usual suspects include astronomical or atmospheric phenomena, space junk, conventional aircraft, birds, dirigibles, kites, and (I hate to say it) sometimes, even weather balloons (you need to know the Roswell case to understand that little quip).

But sometimes, something comes along which is a little difficult to explain in conventional terms. An anomalous object will be sighted by numerous reliable witnesses, it may be tracked on radar, it might land and leave ground traces, and it might be seen performing bizarre aerial maneouvres well beyond the capabilities of known earthly craft.

Take, for example, the 1976 Tehran UFO incident. Frightened citizens reported a peculiar aerial object flying in the vicinity of Tehran. The Iranian air force was scrambled to intercept the craft. A pilot who tried to fire a sidewinder missile at the intruder, found his weapons systems jammed. When other pilots approached it, all the electronic instruments on their planes failed. All they were left with, were the means with which to safely fly their planes. As soon as they turned tail and headed away from the strange craft, their electronics were restored.

The UFO covered huge distances in mere seconds. No plane could keep up with it. When the craft flew over the control tower at a civilian airport, it knocked out all their communications, too. The object also showed up on radar, indicating a mass comparable to that of a Boeing 747. It is believed to have pursued one terrified pilot all the way back to his base. The object - or a smaller one which shot out of it - was seen to land in the Iranian desert. An Egyptian Air Force pilot reported seeing it over the Mediterranean shortly afterwards. The pilot, crew, and passengers of a KLM Airlines flight over Lisbon, Portugal, reported seeing it speeding away over the Atlantic Ocean.

Cases like this intrigue me. They don't involve tired drivers who have been driving for hours on desolate roads, who might mistake a known object for an unknown. Nor do they involve the mere sighting of amorphous lights in the sky at night, which, quite frankly, can be anything from Chinese lanterns to meteors. Numerous witnesses were involved in the Tehran incident, military as well as civilian. They included ordinary citizens on the ground, airline passengers and crew members, both military and civilian pilots, military and civilian ground crews at airports, as well as radar operators. A famous UFO debunker, Philip J. Klass, tried to dismiss the whole incident as a mass misinterpretation of the planet Jupiter. I might believe him, the day Jupiter starts flying around the sky, knocking out aircraft electronics, jamming weapons systems, showing up on radar, chasing military aircraft and landing in the Iranian desert.

None of the above facts make the Tehran UFO an alien spacecraft. But it sure as hell wasn't Jupiter either. And consider this: our solar system alone has at least 200 billion stars, many of which will be surrounded by planets. We know comparatively little about our own solar system, yet alone the billions of others in the universe. Surely it is arrogant and foolish of us to assume that humans are the only sentient beings in the whole of the universe? To me, that's the human ego on overdrive. Common sense tells me there has to be life out there somewhere. I'm not especially convinced that UFOs are alien spacecraft. But in the absence of any other explanation for such events as the 1976 Tehran UFO incident, I guess it's as good an explanation as any, and a whole lot less nonsensical than suggesting that Venus chases fighter planes.

Anyway, that's my Heads or Tails for this week. I hope you don't think I'm some kind of saucer-nut after reading it! Have a great week, and remember - if it looks like an alien spacecraft and acts like an alien spacecraft - it's probably just a weather balloon or Jupiter on a joyride :).

Heads or Tails Tuesday

Today's Heads or Tails Tuesday theme is TAILS - Never Say Never (something I thought I'd never do or say, but now do).

Until a little over two years ago, I'd been a vegetarian for many years. I vowed I'd never eat meat ever again, until a set of circumstances arose which brought about a total shift in my stance on the matter.

I have health problems, some of which I don't really want to discuss online, but the ones I am prepared to talk about are spinal arthritis and chronic fatigue. A couple of years ago, I was also found to be seriously lacking in B-group vitamins. As a result, I was displaying symptoms of neurological damage. I had poor coordination and balance, part of which was due to arthritic bony growths putting pressure on nerves and blood vessels in my neck, but the situation was exacerbated by the vitamin deficiency. I was also suffering such severe weakness, I couldn't get around without the support of a stick - and I'm not an elderly person.

A doctor advised me to change my diet. I resisted at first, as the thought of eating something that once had a face, made me feel sick. But my medical problems got steadily worse. Vegetarianism is generally a very healthy way to eat. Trouble is, I hated most vegetarian protein sources, such as soya/TVP, tofu, Quorn, pulses, etc. So I literally lived on sweet foods and meat-free pizzas. I ended up feeling so wretched that I finally gave in to my doctor's suggestion, and started eating chicken and fish. I've since added a little bit of red meat to my diet, too.

I still feel very guilty about eating meat, but my physical health has improved vastly. I've lost over 40 lbs in weight, am much stronger physically, and no longer need to a stick for support. The arthritis and chronic fatigue are still with me, but since eliminating my dietary deficiencies, things are much better. Despite vowing I'd never eat meat again, and still feeling very guilty about doing so, I dread to think where I'd currently be, health-wise, had I stuck to my vow.

Heads or Tails Tuesday - Road

Today's Heads or Tails Tuesday theme is Road. Wherever possible, I try to give my memes a local flavour, and today is no different.

I live near the scenic Gower Peninsula, and I'd like to tell you a little bit about the history of Gower's roads. The area's main roads were not tarred over until after World War I, so until then, most of its roads were little more than dirt tracks. A few were surfaced with a loose layer of crushed limestone. The roads could be treacherous. So, even well into the early 1900s, Gower folk rarely ventured away from home. Archival sources from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, depicted the trepidation with which Gowerians viewed 'foreign' travel. If a Gower farmer was due to travel to London, or some other distant place, no-one really expected him to make it back alive. So he would make his will and hold a final farewell supper for family and friends. When he returned, a similar celebratory feast was held, to hail his safe return.

Gower roads were so treacherous, wheeled carts were not in general use until after 1830. This fact is quite staggering, when you place it in perspective. The first crude, wheeled vehicle was invented around 8,000 B.C. in Asia. The oldest surviving wheel was discovered in Mesopotamia, and is believed to hail from around 3,500 B.C. These crude wheels were improved upon by the Egyptians, around 2,000 BC, and later, the Greeks. The advent of more modern-looking two and four-wheeled vehicles is attributed to the Romans. Yet in 1830, Gower farmers still relied on their packhorses, and transported their wares on primitives sleds or slide-cars. Wheeled vehicles were considered too costly and troublesome, as the rough roads would soon break an axle or wheel, and isolated Gower had no wheelwrights who could repair such vehicles.

The nineteenth century Gower road map bore little resemblance to the Ordinance Survey map of today. Instead of main arteries, there was an extensive network of lanes and tracks. This network linked every village and farm, and many of these roads, although overgrown, still remain, often serving as public footpaths.

A new road was constructed in the 1920's, between the coastal villages of Penclawdd and Llanrhidian. It replaced a winding, narrow, flood-prone road through the salt marshes. Prior to the First World War, life moved at a slower pace. Locals saw no great hardship in waiting for the high tide to subside, before continuing their journey through the marsh. Those who chose not to wait, would drive their horse-drawn carts on through chest-high water, their carts often half-afloat. To ensure such reckless locals did not perish in the deep gullies and ditches beside the submerged road, the local council installed stout wooden posts, which were visible above water level. The remains of these posts can still be seen today.

As mentioned earlier, many of Gower's roads were covered with crushed limestone. This made travel a very messy affair, thanks to the clouds of white dust hurled up by the passage of hooves and wheels. The exception to this was the unsurfaced road traversing the red sandstone ridge of Cefn Bryn. A journey over the Bryn would throw up clouds of red dust, and the road was known locally as the Red Road. On the limestone roads, when two or more vehicles went by in quick succession, other road users could not make out the road ahead, due to the massive white dust cloud thrown up. The photograph below it shows an old, limed road.



Gower's roads must have been so tranquil in those days. Nowadays, the roads are still narrow and winding. But the sheer volume of traffic can be quite staggering, especially during the tourist season. You can imagine the chaos when the tourist coaches, caravans and other large vehicles hit the road. Throw in all the cars driven by locals, day-trippers and tourists, and it gets quite hairy. Also, it's not unusual to see mobile homes and caravans being transported on huge lorries, through tiny lanes, with police escorts. And as it's an agricultural area, you'll often find slow-moving farm tractors on the road, as well as farmers driving sheep and cattle along. Gower also has large tracts of unfenced, common land, so it's not unusual to find sheep, cattle and wild ponies wandering in the road.

Anyway, that's my road story for this week's Heads or Tails. Visit Barb/Skittles for some more Heads or Tails.

Heads or Tails Tuesday - Halloween

Today's Heads or Tails Tuesday theme is Halloween. So I'd like to bring you a spooky tale from the Gower Peninsula, close to my home. It's the curious tale of a demon husband, which emanates from the abandoned hamlet of Llanelen.

The earliest written records of this story appear in letters written in 1691, just a few years after the events occurred. Most people think of hauntings as being caused by dead people. However, this particular haunting was apparently caused by the apparition of a living person. A local landowner and parliamentarian, Lieutenant Colonel Bowen, owned most of the landed property in and around the hamlet of Llanelen. Bowen was exiled to Ireland, as a result of his dissipated life of wine, women and song. Whilst he was away, his Llanelen household was visited by a terrifying phenomenon.

The haunting began with numerous loud crashes and bangs, which reverberated around the house. Then, one night, Colonel Bowen himself appeared to materialise in his wife's bedroom, demanding to get into bed with her. Mrs. Bowen knew the entity was not her husband, so she refused, which infuriated the apparition. Fortunately, it did not come any closer. As she prayed, the intruder vanished. But from that night onwards, the whole household was tormented by an ungodly haunting.

Shrieks, groans and what was described as "the noise of whirlwind" permeated the residence. Mrs Bowen was horrified to see the outline of something otherwise invisible, occupying her bed. She said the sight was accompanied by a revolting odour "of a carcase some-while dead". She also described how her bedroom filled with "a thick smoak smelling like sulphur". The invisible entity also took great delight in pinching and slapping Mrs. Bowen and her household staff, leaving them battered and bruised. Whilst these events occurred, Lt Col Bowen's eerie doppelganger manifested on many occasions, taunting everyone in the house.

Despite his indiscretions, Mrs. Bowen pleaded for her husband to return, terrified by the haunting. Lt. Col. Bowen returned for a while, but the haunting continued, with the Lt. Col. apparently witnessing his own apparition. The Bowen family had enough of their uninvited guest, and fled to Ireland, abandoning their house forever.

Ironically, the unpleasant entity may have done the Bowen household a great favour. Not long afterwards, a terrible tragedy struck Llanelen, and permanently wiped out the whole community. Nothing now remains of the hamlet, save one or two small piles of rubble.

Heads or Tails Tuesday - Train

I think the fates smiled on me for today's Heads or Tails Tuesday theme - "train". I've been working on an article for my paranormal blog, Strange Days, called Ghost Trains of Great Britain. I've just published the article on Strange Days. Rather than simply posting a link, I've reposted the whole article. It looks quite lengthy at a first glimpse, but the column in which it's posted is very narrow, and also, there are a number of images making it seem even longer. It's quite a fast read, despite initial appearances. Happy Tuesday!


Ghost Trains of Great Britain

People commonly think of ghosts and apparitions manifesting in human form. However, it seems there is also a global phenomenon of ghostly transportation. Ghostly horse riders, horse-drawn carriages, ships, road vehicles, aircraft and trains have been reported across the world. The United Kingdom has a long history of ghostly transport, from World War II bombers which suddenly materialize and disappear, to ghost ships. But the UK has witnessed a disproportionately large number of ghostly trains, given its relatively small land mass. What lies behind these inexplicable sightings?

Starting off with my native land of Wales, the ghostly apparition of a train was spotted darting along the Talyllyn Railway towards the Dolgoch Viaduct, near Tywyn in North Wales. Some climbers witnessed the locomotive's black form speeding along at midnight. The Talyllyn Railway is not a regular, commercial railway, but a historic, narrow-gauge railway, popular with tourists and day trippers. Therefore, there are no late night trains. Nevertheless, many locals have heard whistles, and seen lights speeding along the track late at night, many hours after the railway has shut down for the evening.

Dolgoch station - © Danny McL - Creative Commons
Hannah emailed the BBC's Mid Wales Weird site, with an account of a ghostly railway experience she had during a school trip took to Talybont-on-Usk in Powys. Although she doesn't specify it in her message, it's apparent that Hannah stayed at the Outdoor Education Centre, which was previously the old Talybont station. She said: "It was a cold winter night and we were on a school trip to Talybont for the weekend. We were sleeping in dorm 4 - no-one was sleeping in dorm 5. Me and my friend Lucy went into dorm 5 and we were sure we heard train noises and screaming, but no one else heard it. We asked the teacher what had been there before it became what it is now, and he said it had been a train station, which we thought was weird."

Interestingly, it is believed that a fatal rail crash occurred on the line near to the old Talybont station, sometime in the nineteenth century. According to a Michael Young, in a message left on the BBC's Talybont-on-Usk page, there is a news clipping hanging in the dining room of the old station, documenting the disaster. Did Hannah witness the Talybont ghost train, or did she read the clipping and imagine the whole thing?

Skipping across the border from Wales, to the south west of England, more ghostly train apparitions haunt the tracks. The sounds of a phantom locomotive are said to echo along the tracks in a tunnel at Box, Wiltshire. Woodchester Mansion, near Stroud, in Gloucestershire, was also visited by a ghost train, in 2001. Although no train was seen, a film crew who spent a night at the building heard thunderous, disembodied banging sounds, which came to a head as the unmistakable sounds of a stream train ploughed straight through the old house.

Woodchester Mansion - © Skinnyde - Creative Commons
No train has run through the pleasant valley near Washford in Somerset, since the early twentieth century. In fact, a pleasant footpath now follows the precise route of the old railway track. But there are frequent reports from people who hear steam whistles and the unmistakable chuffing noise of an old locomotive. The tracks have also been removed at a spot near the old railway station at Launceston in Cornwall. Yet numerous people have heard the phantom passage of a long goods train through the area.

The London area also has a few ghost trains. In 1980, a diesel-powered engine called 'Nimbus' was cut up for scrap metal. However, it has been spotted several times since, running along the tracks at the south tunnel of Hadley Wood station.

Hadley Wood - © Cridders - Creative Commons
A stretch of the Northern Line, which is part of the famous London Underground, is reputed to be haunted by a spectral steam engine, between East Finchley station and Wellington Sidings. During the Second World War, building work commenced on Highgate High Level Station, but the station was never completed. Nevertheless, locals occasionally report hearing a steam train in the area where the track was supposed to have been laid.

Moving north of London, Soham in Cambridgeshire is said to play host to a macabre annual apparition. Every June 2nd, a grisly reenactment is said to occur near the station, whereby an old war-time ammunitions train is heard to explode. Two fatalities occurred during the original accident on June 2nd, 1944, shattering every window in Soham and totally demolishing the old station. When the tracks were rebuilt, they did not pass the scene of the accident. Further east, the 19:45 King's Lynn train crashed in August 1863, killing six people on board. Since the accident, between Hunstanton and King's Lynn in Norfolk, sightings of a phantom locomotive have been reported several times in the area. The sightings continued even after the line fell into disuse in the 1960's. However, there have been no reports since the 1970's.

Nuneaton in Warwickshire played host to an especially grisly apparition, in October 1986. Two people walking near the railway track, in an area known as the Bomb Hills, saw steam emanating from beneath a bridge. As they crossed the bridge, they peered downwards. To their shock, they saw a stationary steam locomotive, with dozens of injured people sprawled across the tracks. Curiously, they described the whole scene as being semi-transparent. They ran off to look for help, but by the time they returned some minutes later, the whole scene had dissipated.

Lincolnshire is home to a couple of ghostly trains. In the 1920's, a rail crash occurred at Ancholme Bridge near Elsham, during foggy weather. Four people lost their lives. Ever since, a ghostly train appears at the accident spot during foggy conditions. The train is said to emit a soft glow. At Hallington, near to where the old station stood, many witnesses have reported hearing the sound of an old steam locomotive passing during the night, even though the track was closed in 1956. At Halsall in Lancashire, a man decided to shoot some video footage at a nature reserve. As he stood on a disused railway bridge, filming, he heard the unmistakable sounds of railway carriages speeding along the disused tracks below. He saw nothing.

Nottinghamshire has its own ghost trains. In 1970, two children played at the southern end of the Mapperley Tunnel, in Nottingham. To their horror, they heard a steam locomotive rapidly bearing down on them. They fled the tunnel in terror. They quickly realized that no such train could exist - the tunnel was barricaded at one end, with a disused track beyond it. Also in Nottingham, many people during the 1960's and 1970's claimed to hear ghostly activity at the disused Thorneywood Station and tunnel. They heard old steam engines chugging and clanking through the station, even though the last train had passed by in 1951. The nearby tunnel was rumoured to be haunted, too. People reported hearing footsteps crunching on gravel inside the tunnel, whereas others reported hearing a train hurtling through it. Further north, at Dalton in Furness in Cumbria, the line between Goldmire Junction and Millwood Junction is said to be haunted.Witnesses report hearing the sudden approach of a train and feeling a blast of wind, as one would if a train had just passed by.

Crossing the border from England to Scotland, uncovers an interesting quartet of ghost train stories. Part of the old Highland Line lies at Dunphail, in Moray. The line fell into disuse many years ago, and the track itself was ripped up and removed. However, a ghostly train is said to haunt the route where the tracks once lay. Although the train's interior lights are always blazing, no-one is seen inside. It has also been seen passing the site where a nearby station once stood. Other witnesses report being blown backwards by a rush of air, as if a train had just shot past them at speed.

Late one night in 1997, a Mr. and Mrs Maddison drove south along the A84 Lochearnhead to Balquhidder road. Suddenly, they heard the whistling and chuffing of a stream locomotive, close to the old station at Balquhidder junction. In the distance, north of their position, they spotted a line of moving lights which looked remarkably like carriages. They subsequently related their experience to Mrs. Maddison’s father. To their amazement, he told them the line was permanently closed by a landslide in 1965.

Balquhidder - © FBoosman - Creative Commons
At the Kyle of Lochalsh, in the Scottish Highlands, locals tell of how the construction of the railway upset the natural balance. As a result, a demonic-looking black locomotive haunts the tracks, spitting out flames as it heads for nearby hills, where it disappears from view.

The most commonly claimed ghost train sightings in Scotland, are alleged to take place on the Tay Rail Bridge, near Dundee. At around 19.15 on December 28th, 1873, the central spans of the recently constructed Tay Bridge collapsed, as a passenger train went across it. The bridge and train plunged into the icy Firth of Tay river below, as a force 11 gale howled all around. None of the 75 people aboard survived, and only 60 bodies were ever recovered. Although the recovered carriages were damaged beyond repair, the engine was salvaged and used again on the line for a few more years. Most of the girders salvaged from the collapsed bridge were incorporated into a replacement bridge, right alongside its remnants.

New Tay Bridge with remains of collapsed bridge alongside© Ross2085 - Creative Commons
Many witnesses have since reported seeing a brightly-lit phantom train speeding along the Tay Bridge, on the anniversary of the disaster. The ghostly train is said to disappear in the centre of the bridge, as if plunging into the icy water once more.

A ghost train has also been seen across the water, at Killeavy, in Northern Ireland. Many witnesses claim to have spotted a train speeding along the tracks at night, but only from a distance. The train is said to abruptly disappear in the Barney's Bridge area.

So what lies behind these bizarre apparitions? Are hoaxers having a laugh at the expense of others? Perhaps people are genuinely mistaken about what they've seen, felt or heard. Or maybe the UK's railway tracks really are haunted. What do you think?

Heads or Tails Tuesday

Through one thing or another, I didn't participate in last week's Heads or Tails Tuesday, but I'm back this week! Here are ten things about my demon kitty, Leo. Don't let the angelic face fool you. Look at the eyes - it's all in the eyes!



Okay, here we go:

Ten things about my Leo

1. He bites, and has been known to draw blood whilst doing so. I think he may be a vampire.

2. He's a bully. He torments my other cat, Liberty, and she's an old girl of 14, with renal disease.

3. He's a glutton. He eats several meals a day, as well as stealing Liberty's renal diet. If I don't give in to his demands for food, see #1, and you'll get an idea of what he'll do to me.

4. He's a thief. He steals food from unsuspecting humans whether he wants it or not. His favourite trick is flipping cookies off a plate.

5. He stalks small children. Think I'm kidding? I've caught him stalking some of the toddlers who live on my street on many an occasion.

6. He once arrived home with a beautiful orange canary he'd murdered. I've since discovered that my neighbours keep canaries.

7. He growls in his sleep. Not just a little bit. He sounds like an enraged pitbull.

8. I have to hide my fruit bowl in a cupboard, because he claws and bites my fruit. Bananas are good for sharpening claws on. Apples are fun to claw, because they ooze and turn brown. But he especially likes clawing grapes, flipping them out of the bowl and chasing them around.

9. He wakes me up countless times each night, demanding to be let in and out. If I ignore him, he climbs on the roof next to the bedroom window, and howls.

1o. I had to seal up the cat flap because he kept bringing prey into the house, not all of it dead. I once had to call the local council's pest control department to come and remove a huge rat that he'd brought home with him, which decided to follow me all over the house, chattering to me, until the pest control man arrived. Yuck.

Heads or Tails Tuesday - Stack

I wasn't going to participate in today's Heads or Tails Tuesday. Stack? I thought. What the heck can I do with that? In desperation, I started looking through some old pics. I came across one I took of an old chimney stack, at a former industrial site in the upper Swansea Valley, south-west Wales, a few miles from my home. I don't remember exactly where this is - somewhere near Pontardawe. Glantawe? Glanrhyd? Although I know it's the remains of an old industry, and suspect it's associated with one of the metal industries (copper? tin?), I know nothing of its history. I think the area is used as a recreational area nowadays.



Then, I thought of Stack Rocks in Pembrokeshire, on the west coast of Wales. The rocks are also known as Elegug Stacks. Elegug (pronounced el-egg-igg) is Welsh for guillemot, which is most apt, as the Stacks are a valuable breeding ground for sea birds, including thousands of guillemots, razor-bills, fulmar, kittiwake, herring gulls and black-backed gulls. St Govan's Chapel can be found nearby. This ancient hermitage dates mainly from the 13th century, but parts of it are from the 6th century.

Tigr - Creative Commons

I found myself wondering if there were any other Welsh landmarks associated with the word 'stack'. I remembered that Stack Rocks isn't too far away from the very scenic Stackpole, also in Pembrokeshire. Stackpole is close to the famous Bosherston Lily Ponds, and sharp-eyed visitors will also detect the remains of Bronze and Iron Age settlements nearby.

geiza_dobashi - Creative Commons

The only other Welsh landmark with associated with 'stack' that I can think of, is South Stack lighthouse, off the North Wales coast. The lighthouse is perched on a tiny islet known as South Stack Rock, close to Holyhead Island. There has been a lighthouse on this spot since 1809.

Stu Worral - Creative Commons

I'm quite surprised by where today's Heads or Tails Tuesday has taken me - practically the whole length of Wales, with a little history thrown in for good measure. Funny how a single word can take you on an unexpected journey, isn't it?

Heads or Tails Tuesday

Today's Heads or Tails Tuesday offers a choice of two themes, "Pets" or "Pet Peeves". I've decided to opt for "Pets", because if I start discussing my pet peeves, I'll be here until next Easter.

This first pic is of Liberty. At fourteen, she's quite an old lady now. She has kidney disease, so needs monthly steroid shots, daily medication and a prescription diet. She also has a misaligned jaw after an accident two and a half years ago, plus some missing teeth - and she drools a lot as a result. Liberty can also be a bit whiffy, as she has the tendency to pee and poo in places she really shouldn't. Her saving grace is the fact that she is incredibly affectionate, and demands to be cuddled several times a day. In fact, if I let her, her whole day would consist of one long cuddle. She's so affectionate, I have to fend her off on times, or I would never get anything done. Quite a tiny little thing, Liberty's a very shy cat, and loathes strangers. She hides if anyone comes to the house, but can be tempted out with chicken and tuna.

This guy's called Leo, also known as the Blue Meanie. He's seven now, a number which roughly corresponds to the number of dinners he demands each day. Big and muscular, Leo is a force to be reckoned with. Don't be fooled by the charming exterior. He's a fiend in a fur coat. His crimes include:

• biting and scratching humans until they bleed;
• attacking other cats;
• stealing food, jewellery (UK spelling!) and other items;
• murdering small creatures;
• smashing and tearing household items;
• howling in a loud voice at 3 AM;
• attacking sleeping humans (who awake terrified, and convinced there's an intruder in the house);
• walking over the kitchen counter;
• sitting in the crockery drainer;
• invading kitchen cupboards;
• hiding in the bathroom so that he can attack the bare bottom of any human who uses the toilet;
• drinking water from the toilet;
• chewing house plants;
• clawing the fruit in the fruit bowl (especially grapes);
• opening the bathroom curtains at night, when the light is on. and the human in the bathroom is in a state of undress;
• tearing refuse sacks open;
• stalking the neighbours' toddlers.

Apart from that, he's quite a nice cat. Except on his biting days.

The rest of this post is in remembrance of two dear, departed friends. This big red and cream guy was called Tim. He passed on nine years ago, at the age of eleven, due to kidney failure. He was a magnificent fellow, large and fluffy, and resembled a Maine Coone in many ways, although his parents were just ordinary house cats. Tim had a fantastic temperament with humans, very friendly and confident, and also very loyal. I suspect he wasn't much of a lap cat due to his size - not many laps could comfortably accommodate him. He was a terror where other cats were concerned. If they didn't live in his house, they were fair game for a good thrashing, which he carried out with glee. Dogs also felt his wrath if they got too close. This pic doesn't show him at his best. He was a much nicer, more subtle red colour than this. All of my pics of him were taken with an old film camera, so in order to get his image on to my laptop, I had to take a pic of a pic, with my digital camera.

Last but not least, is Noddy, or Nod the Plod as most people called him, as he never rushed anywhere. He was a lovely, daft old thing, slightly lacking in the brain department, but very friendly and loving. In fact, I used to worry a lot about him, as he would happily wander up to anyone who said hello to him. One Christmas, he got drunk. I left a glass of Bailey's on the table, and went to the bathroom. As I was returning, the phone rang. So it was about ten minutes before I went to retrieve my drink. I found old Nod with his head in the glass, and most of my drink gone. A couple of minutes later, he started to sway a little, hiccuped a few times, did a silly dance, rolled around on the floor, burped, and fell asleep. Luckily, he was fine afterwards. Sadly, his kidneys also failed, in November 2002, just a few weeks short of his fourteenth birthday.