Eeeee! Me poor da. He has now put up and taken down the three pictures he printed out for me, which he very kindly put into clip frames.
You see, the problem is not the pictures; they look perfect done in an A3 size. The images in question are from my book Lost2bFound.
They feature the Front cover and little old me; the other two pictures are from the inside of the book, and the black dog. One where a man is falling into a deep, dark chasm, and the other where he is on the edge of a cliff.
You have to read my book to really understand the connection between the black dog, chasms, and cliffs. It's all to do with how I was feeling at a certain point in my life, saying which that damn black dog has never really left, but hey, that's another story.
No pictures in this blog post, as it was a spur-of-the-moment thing; I didn't even know if I was going to write about it. However, lately, I have been writing about everything, the most ridiculous things that just pop into my head.
For instance, I wrote another two poems this morning. One while lying awake in bed, then another when I got up to make a cup of tea and have a few slices of toast, while standing at the kitchen bench. This was after I took wor Nev for a walk around the block.
I don't know where the day has gone today. I had a meeting at work at 10:00 a.m. Then, I spent a little time with my boss/supervisor, and we went for a lovely chat at a local cafe, where we had coffee and a sweet treat of cake and pie.
I really enjoyed our conversation, as I recounted to Sue my ideas for my new book; we have shared interests, and it's so good when someone is on the same wavelength. I feel so very fortunate to have some lovely, kind, and caring people in my life.
Anyhoo, getting back to poor Ern.
As soon as I came into the house, I got my "OCD head" on, and I was on to my dad. "Yer cannit leave thum like that. It makes the wall look all wonky." My dad came in from his dog end. "What's the matter, like?" he says.
"Whey the not straight, and too close together?"
"Whey they look alreet to me?" He replied.
"Where's yer spirit level thingy?" I say.
So poor Ern's off to his shed and comes back with his spirit level and I take it from him, put it up against the wall and the pictures, then I'm like all: " Yer see, yer see, wonkly as fuck, yer cannit leave thum like that man."
My poor dad then, for the third or is it fourth time? Takes the pictures down. Well, now we have fucking holes dotted all over the wallpaper, from where the pictures have been put up and taken down. So they are going to have to go back up again, but I'm not having them wonky like...Nee fuckin way. A'll end up having a nervous breakdown as it stresses the hell out of us.
My dad then goes out and comes back with this geet big picture frame. Its massive, way too big and am thinking, "Here we go he's going to cowboy it."
He puts the three pictures into the frame; they fit horizontally perfectly, but the frame is about four to six inches too high, vertically. "Ah think a can cut the frame down," my dad says, "And then all a need to dee is get a new bit a glass." Nice one.
So Ern is just about to head off to his shed when he stops and, quite out of the blue, says, "Ye kana the deeds to the hoose and the will an that? Whey ave been hunting high and low for six weeks, and a cannit find them."
I give me da a reassuring hug.
My dad is a bugga for keeping things to himself when he is worried, and I thought he sounded concerned. "Howay, let's go and have a look where yer thought there were, see if we can't find thun."
Anyway, long story short, we have hunted high and low, and all we have managed to find is the power of attorney, so we haven't a clue where this grey postage bag they were supposed to be in has toddled off to..
The investigation carried on after searching Ern's dog end, and his bedroom. I ended up in the wor loft. When I was up there, I started with my silly thoughts, and when I got downstairs, I wrote the following on my phone.
Wor Loft
Opening the hatch with a hooked metal pole — twisting, turning — the hatch drops down.
Upon its lid is fastened a small remote control—a push of the On button— and the buzz and flicker of a fluorescent light come to life.
Using the same metal pole, I reach for the ladder.
It slides down gently, not quite touching the floor.
An old rubber bath mat is placed on the floor to protect the wooden surface,
so that when weight is on the ladder, it doesn't leave scratches or scores.
Three separate catches now require attention — one, two, and three —
releasing individual sections, allowing the ladder to touch the floor while staying secure.
And now comes the daunting bit — stepping on the first rung.
How the hell do I get to the top?
You see, I only have one leg, and hopping won't work.
Fortunately, I'm wearing my prosthetic limb,
so I move up slowly, step by step — making sure my fake knee isn’t bent and is beneath me.
When I'm almost at the top, I place my hands on the loft floor,
pull myself up and in, and take a stressful breath.
I shuffle on my bottom to clear the lofty hole —
I don't want to stumble back and end up where I began.
Now you may ask yourself, “What's he deeing up there anyway?” — and I’ll try to explain.
You see, my dad’s going around the bend — he’s lost the deeds to our house, and also his will.
I’ve tried helping, hunting high and low — all around the house.
Every cupboard, every drawer — no success, they can’t be found.
“Dear me Ern well were’d yer put em?”
“Ah divn’t knaa, it’s been si weeks that ave been lookin.”
A process of elimination — I’m acting like a detective —
And I thought to myself, “I’ll try the loft; it’s the only place I haven’t looked.”
Now, our loft is canny big; my dad has it all boarded out.
It's just another place to put your stuff — the stuff you really should just hoy out.
So, keep up with me, as I may lose you here when I try to recall all the things I’ve seen and found scattered throughout.
Old hardback books, all stacked in piles — but alas, no Atom Chasers.
I’m gutted it's gone.
Two Christmas trees, one is big, the other small — bah, humbug —
They live in the loft, never switched on; Santa doesn't have our address.
Fairy lights in a box, and a couple of old prosthetic sockets that no longer fit.
Old photographs, creased and faded, bring memories of days gone by.
I find a picture of myself, and my memory instantly takes me back
to a time and place when I was seventeen and used to ride my bike.
Another cardboard box to check — this one has some water damage.
From when our roof leaked, and we have had to get it repaired.
The contents in here are stuck together — a complete mess — and need to be chucked.
I remember being most upset as my old seven-inch records got all wet.
The sounds of my youth — their covers damaged — with a saddened heart,
I said farewell as I chucked them in the bin.
The old cardboard box contained various things,
such as receipts that my dad has a habit of keeping.
The bloody things were stapled together and piled up, dating back to before 2011.
Receipts for fuel, receipts for clothes, receipts for shopping and all the bills.
Receipt for receipts to keep things right.
The Ern keeps receipts to keep him right.
Certificates from a computer course that I once di,
my old school report, dressed in red.
A slip of paper with qualifications, a few CSE’s, but nothing major.
An old small tin, flowered in pastel colours, feeling heavy —
and when opened, full of things like a small Ruby ring,
with a diamond ring to keep it company,
gold necklaces and bracelets, and my mam’s earrings.
Old coins, half-pennies, ten-pence pieces, two commemorative coins —
one from 1977 I recall the Silver Jubilee and a street party.
One from 1960, both with pictures of the Queen.
An old safety pin and a couple of badges —
I think they were from when I did the Lyke Wake Walk as a kid.
A silver watch where time had stopped — oh, and a tiny bent nail with a splash of white paint on it.
In another corner, an old perching stool, with a rip, has been there for years, from when I was ill.
A large cardboard picture of a Mini been there since 2001.
A bath seat — you know, one that automatically lowers you into the tub — never used.
I must ensure that I call and return it.
Two old school tellys — I mean, not like real old big box contraptions,
but not like the modern ones that are all slim and have been on a diet.
Speaker, speakers, 5 for a car and two home entertainment systems.
An old lava lamp with no base.
A flat gym ball.
An ornament of an angel and a Santa Claus cup.
A bracket for a telly sat on a make-shift shelf.
Pieces of wood of every description,
the Ern says, “Ye nevva knaa when a good pece of wood will come in handy.”
Empty guitar boxes stood on end, filled with bubble wrap —
just in case, you never know when it’ll come in handy,
and you have to send something back.
A folding chair and an old mirror, handed carefully down to The Ern —
with a word of warning: “Watch you don’t drop it — seven years bad luck.”
A Vango Tempest tent that's only been used once.
A scary lamp with two skulls and a missing shade.
Shoe laces, canvas bags, a glass mouse mat, and a painted picture.
An old fol up table, that’s stood to attention, covered in dust.
Videos, CDs, and DVD movies.
There are even cassette tapes of Guns N' Roses.
A photograph of the kids hanging framed on the back wall,
“Dear me, where does time go? They're both now in their thirties.”
Various other boxes that used to contain collectable figures —
there’s The Terminator, Ash from The Army of Darkness and Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th.
Bits of plastic cladding lay on the floor,
left over from our recent bathroom fitting —
old picture frames, one with Mr Hinks when he was at the coast.
An old car radio, still in its box — Boggle, Word Up, and even some darts.
A chessboard which looked tired, but no pieces to be found.
Vases, cups, more ornamental pieces, trinket boxes, wine glasses,
and pens and pencils in cases.
Bingo balls, with bingo cards, raffle tickets and unused diaries.
A little old spelling machine and a calculator.
TV, remotes, hifi, remotes and remotes for things that need remoting.
The things they work on are no longer there from the last time we had a clear-up.
A plastic foot, a hole in the roof, and the loft insulation hanging.
I didn’t want to touch it and get all itchy,
so I used that fold-up chair to push it back up there.
Oh, and I must tell you about something that made me smile.
You’ll probably think I’m crazy — but here it is.
I’m the type of lad who hates to use an unfamiliar bog.
I'll hold on and hold on until I get home.
That's just one of my intricacies, you see; I have a few —
which leads me to my discovery, which brought me a big smile.
I've got my favourite fork and also a spoon.
I get most upset if they go missing,
Or if someone visiting uses them without permission.
Imagine my surprise when I opened a small flat cardboard box
and discovered a family of the same design —
There were even some matching knives.
I’ve never had a matching knife…
Now, how am I going to end my adventures in the loft?
Is it to tell you I was successful? No — afraid not.
No deeds or will were found.
The only consolation was that we had a good, clear-out.
So tomorrow it’s off to the tip.
I’m careful how I get back down, watching so I don’t slip.
The ladder's catch is pressed in one, two, and three —
And it’s pushed to return to its home — then the hatch is closed shut.
I'm now sitting down, just trying to relax,
When a thought pops into my head:
“A wonda if the in that draw unda the telly.”
Dear me — I've discovered the power of attorney,
but the deeds, which The Ern assures me are in one of those grey postage bags
about the size of an A4, remains the subject of an investigation.
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