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[belalugosisdad]

There’s a gap on my pillow.....

MitziMoo, Mitzerella, Pretty Little Mitz – 01/06/06 -13/06/20

My first meeting with Mitzi was somewhat uneventful. It was the 2nd October, 2016, a gorgeous Sunday morning, and probably the last of the year. Or, at least, that was what I thought when I decided to have a day out by the sea, and drove the 160-odd miles to visit Rachel in Portsmouth.

I knocked on Rachel’s door, at about 12:30pm, waking her up. She sat me on the sofa, insulted me at my arriving so early (!) and unannounced, and went back upstairs to make herself presentable.

When she returned, she was shadowed by two small furry figures. The black furry figure was called Mollie, and demanded fuss and attention. The white, furrier figure, who I was to learn was called Mitzi, walked past me, throwing a custard-curdling gaze over her kitty shoulder as a greeting, probably due to her premature awakening as she entered the kitchen feeding zone, then disappeared back upstairs without so much as a “how do you mew”.

As I got to know her better, I found that she had possibly the loudest meow of any cat ever. She also had a variety of voices, varying from the full on furry yell when she was hungry and / or wanted attention, to a cuter, more affectionate meow when she wanted snuggles, generally at bedtime. There was also the dreaded, deep, howling, truncated meow which indicated that she had caught something, and was bringing it for inspection. This was often accompanied by a loud, rumbling purr that could only be measured on the Richter scale

She loved playing the bubble game, which involved a bottle of bubble mixture, and she would try to catch each bubble. Her bubble-catching was so fervent that It was as though she believed that each bubble caught would save the soul of another cat. Her lightning reactions and incisive claws meant that she rarely failed.

Oh, and she sniffed everything.

One afternoon, Rachel had gone to the gym, and I was installing some new speaker cabling at Rachel’s house. As I dragged each piece of furniture out, Mitzi ran into the space, sniffing each part of the newly exposed area, and looking at me to let me know that everything was OK, it had passed inspection, and I may proceed. I did consider getting her some overalls for the future, as she was always very keen to help with DIY matters.

After I finished, I put the tools away (with furry assistance) and sat down, with a view to using a sound meter to test the 6 speaker levels, and balance the surround system while it was fairly quiet.

The next thing I knew, Mitzi had gone from sniffing the new installation, to sitting on the arm of the sofa. Suddenly she was on my lap, and, that was it. We were engaged!

Bedtimes commenced with getting into bed, assisted by Mitzi, who would come over for snuggles. Early in the morning, (about 3AM, as she was a very punctual cat) she would alight onto the pillow, rumbling loudly, and wrap herself around my head.

Due to her black and white colouring, and generous build, she was nicknamed MitziMoo, as she resembled a feline Friesian cow. I often tried to get a picture of her looking over her shoulder, so that I could create pastiche of the Pink Floyd album cover, to be called Atom Heart Mitzi, but she would never stand still for long enough.

Her white fur got everywhere. In an attempt to prevent the spread of it to all corners of the universe (I often found Mitzi’s fur in Birmingham) I bought her a Furminator grooming brush. She found that she loved being brushed.

Lots and regularly.

She would appear every 45 minutes, sit patiently, and then yell at the top of her furry little lungs for a brushing. Such was her punctuality, that it generally occurred at approximately 25 minutes past the hour (i.e. “it’s time for my 11:30”).

It didn’t solve the problem.

It was as if she was producing more fur so that she could be brushed more often, sometimes 8 times in a day. The brushings increased, and the fur got more plentiful. After I eventually developed cramp and raw palms from the endless brushings, I began to investigate the possibility of a vacuum attachment.

She and I had an almost psychic link. She knew what time I would awake, so that she would be (literally) lying in wait next to me, displaying her legendary, vast fluffy white tum, and a furry yell would emerge from the depths as soon as my eyes opened. She would then chase me down the stairs, screech to a halt in the kitchen, and demand that the door would be opened. I would then open the kitchen door, whereupon she would eagerly go outside and start eating grass.

Then yell to be let back in.

By this time, I would have made coffee, and put some food down for her. She would then proceed to the dish and eat hungrily, whilst I took my coffee to bed, and started to read. The tranquillity would soon be shattered by the unmistakeable sounds of feline vomiting.

Clearly the grass had done its work.

She always knew when I was getting ready to leave on Sunday evening. As I gathered my things together, she would appear for a last brushing before I left.

She had been ill for a while, and had a number of health issues by the time she reached 14. I don’t want to dwell on the details. That’s the worst thing about any partnership.

There is always a dark thought in the recesses of your mind that, one way or another, anything that you love will break your heart someday. That day arrived on 13th June 2020.

While I’m heartbroken at her passing, death brings into focus the memories of the good times. I’ll carry that around with me forever. Bad memories don’t last as long.

Mitzi, and her various nicknames was an easy name to fit into songs. With this in mind, Mitzi MitziMoo, I miss you. We’ll never again be off to see the Mitzi, the wonderful Mitzi of Moo, and, as The Fuzztones almost sang

“Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey Mitzerella, Where have you gone?

… I want to be your fella, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey Mitzerella.”

There’s a gap on my pillow, and it’s where you should be.

Farewell Mitzi. You really had me at meow. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

[belalugosisdad]

100 years on - another viewpoint.

This morning I had a text from a friend of mine, who was clearly so incensed by the Church & the British media's treatment of remembering the dead (turn all your lights off and light a candle at 10:00 to remember the fallen on 4th August) that he wrote a poem about it.

This resonates with me quite strongly. For any of us who have an interest in history, democracy and respect for our fellow nations, we remember the wars, and understand that the actions of them have shaped the society that we live in. For the Church and the media to hijack the date and tell us how to behave in order to fill more seats and sell more papers is an insult to the dead, not a show of respect. Anyway, here's the poem:

100 Years On My friends will be impressed, my friends will wanna know, That I remembered that war that happened so long ago. I’ll turn off the lights, just like they said, as I sit here and watch Big Brother in bed. I’ll send a Tweet to say I joined in, A post on Facebook, with a selfie thrown in. A "Like", a thumbs up to all of my mates, Better do something before it too late. I need to be told, I need to be asked, to remember the war, I have been tasked! I’ll ridicule those who didn’t partake, They must be heathens, for pity's sake. You know what? I don’t need to tweet I don’t need to share to sit here in quiet reflection to be able to care. Maybe it’s those who don’t make a noise appreciate the girls and boys, Who went to war to save our tomorrow, who had to put up with all of the sorrow. A moment in my mind is worth a thousand posts, a private thought for all for the ghosts. For all of the sacrifice, for all of the pain, For those who fought to be remembered again. But for all those caught in the social media net… Hash Tag…. LestWeForget © Paul Holman 2014

The irony of posting this on a social media site is not lost on me, indeed Paul hasn't posted it anywhere for the same reason. But I think that this is worth sharing, and this viewpoint needs to be recognized.

If you like this, feel free to share it, but be sure to credit the man who wrote it.

Paul, I owe you a drink.

[belalugosisdad]

A great loss to Germany

On 30th March, 2014. one of my best friends in the world lost a beautiful family member. Mau-Mau, the Queen of Essen formerly the Queen of Bochum, had been ill for some time. When I first met her, she was stand-offish. Fully aware of her beauty, she could be stroked and snuggled by appointment only. It took me some time before I was given the honour. A badly timed approach met with an unfriendly song and a withering glare.

A cat, always at the top of her tree, she had stiff competition from her underling, Lord Gizzi-man, but, whilst being an outrageously cool cat in his own right, he never quite scaled the heights of aristocracy that had been bestowed on Mau-Mau. I recall how Mau-Mau used to serenade Nina, her most senior member of staff, first thing in the morning, as a musical alarm, before breakfasting, and running to the heights of her royal tower.

Upon her relocation to Essen, the Queen matured, and became more approachable to her subjects, allowing casual strokes, and occasionally a snuggle or two, before retiring to a corner for some well deserved rest. I recall listening to the comforting sound of her snoring before I went to bed when I stayed in her palace last October. I actually recorded this on my phone, and a more comforting sound there never was.

Unfortunately, Her Royal Highness fell ill earlier this year, and was laid to rest today. May she meet up with Count Luckula, who will undoubtedly show her the best places to sleep, and my mum, who I’m sure will tell her what a wonderful cat she is. My most sincere condolences to Heiko and Gizzi-mann, the people she leaves behind, and especially to Nina, one of my best friends in the world, and somebody who knows and understands me far better than most other people, and who has been there for me in some of my darkest times. I love you all, and may I offer hugs and shoulders from 600 miles away.

Queen Mau-Mau, Essen won’t be the same without you. xxxxxxxxxx    

[belalugosisdad]

A Death in the Family....

Yesterday, my gf lost a faithful, devastatingly handsome, solid, reliable family retainer.

Remembering Lucky, Yvette’s finest cat (I think) July 2000- October 11th, 2012

When I first met Lucky, he was asleep.   In the eight years I knew him, I found that this was one of the things he did best. Whilst being a cat of many talents, he had an ability to sleep anywhere, though his preference was for a comfortable lap, preferably whilst having his tum stroked.

I often wondered if he dreamed about finding new, exciting places to sleep.   The first thing you noticed about him when you met him in his waking state was the size of his upper front teeth. For this reason, in addition to his tendency to sleep during daylight hours, I gave him the nickname of Count Luckula.

The next thing you would notice about him was that his fur was always clean and impeccably groomed. His whiskers were extended and perfectly symmetrical, and his whole ensemble was set off with his gleaming red collar. Without a shadow of a doubt, he had the finest feline tailoring in Birmingham.   His talent for punctuality was amazing. When he was an “outdoor cat”, we could only speculate as to where he spent his nights, but he would always appear at the same time every morning, jumping up to a height of probably 1.5 metres from ground level, attaching himself to the front door and peering through the glazing. Often, you could open the door, and he would hang on while it swung open, and he could drop to your feet, acknowledge you, and head towards the breakfast zone.   A keen sunbather, on warm days he would lie hidden in the grass, working on his tan. I often imagined that he was actually wearing black furry swimming trunks, it was just our fault that we couldn’t see them. On one occasion, we returned to the flat, and we were surprised that he was nowhere to be seen. Then, slowly, we saw his head rise out of the grass, with his magnificent teeth on show, and his tongue extended. Acknowledging our arrival with a kitty wink, his head sank out of view and he returned to his dreams. It wasn’t long, however, before he followed us into the house, in search of a lap and a tum rub.

Always the perfect host, a new face in the flat would be met with a polite investigation, followed by an approach, a tentative paw on the leg followed by a full introduction, his observation that his new acquaintance indeed had a lap, and a declaration that a friendship had been formed.

He loved company, and everybody loved him. Seasoned cat-dislikers never failed to warm to him, and instantly changed their opinion. His presence on your lap was relaxing, always raised a smile, and his purr could be heard from a room away, as though he had an internal road drill. I did have occasional concerns that we might find the furniture out in the hall, as his purrs were so vibrant, I’m sure that the chairs moved occasionally.   His love of company and his talent for punctuality often combined. If I ever shudder about the ‘talking to’ that I would get in my teens from concerned parents, wondering if I really thought that it was reasonable to get home at 2AM on a school night, that was nothing compared to the withering look which Lucky would give you when you arrived home late. He would almost be pacing on the step, consulting his kitty union rulebook, having possibly already telephoned his solicitor for advice on his legal rights and possible compensation.   His sense of mediation and chivalry was the stuff of legend. If there was any problem between the other cats, he would always step in and fix the situation. On one particular occasion, he witnessed a larger cat bullying a newer, younger cat. With a single swipe of his paw, he sent the larger cat packing, and then consoled the younger cat. The purr-fect black, furry gentleman.   A confirmed bachelor, The Count occasionally felt the need to relieve his tension, and often did so with a unique display of four-pawed cushion pushing. A number of soft toys served as an accomplice on such occasions, and in a true macho tradition, upon his “signing of the contract”, he would curl up on said soft toy, and get some well-deserved sleep.   All good things come to an end, however, and now there is a gap in our lives, and, more importantly, on our laps, where Count Luckula should be.

If you ever see a cat with it’s tongue out, you can safely consider that they are paying a tribute to Count Luckula.   The coolest, suavest, most loving, loudest-purring, best-dressed cat I ever met.

I’ve never been a great one for believing in an afterlife, but I’d like to think that he’d be reunited with his best friend, Eddie, and his Uncle Marley. I’m sure my mum would offer him a lap, too.   Raise a glass, or, if possible, a tin of tuna….

Count Luckula, I’ll miss you. xxxxx

[belalugosisdad]

Is somebody having a fucking laugh? I don't know whether to be fascinated or absolutely disgusted. Put it on your shopping list and get arrested in the supermarket. I think of myself as open minded but this is an all time low.......

[belalugosisdad]

Found via Moose Harris's blog, full of fascinating stuff, and stuff like what the rest of us do.

http://mooseharris.sevenpennynightmare.co.uk/blog/

[belalugosisdad]

An observation on the UK's problems in general, written by somebody far more intelligent than I could ever be...

How to create an underclass.

Allow unfettered free market capitalism and adopt globalisation as the ideology.

Allow money out of the UK for foreign investment and as a consequence eliminate jobs by destroying the UK manufacturing base.

Close down large traditional industries such as coal mining and steel production on the basis of inefficiency and low profits and consequently eliminate the unions from having any political power.

Sell essential nationalised services to the private sector and encourage individual greed by offering shares to the public.

Sell off affordable social housing.

Encourage people to get into debt by buying houses and cars, thus create a housing bubble and cause house price increases well beyond inflation taking house ownership beyond the reach of many.

Reduce taxation on high earners.

Increase the wealth gap between rich and poor.

Create resentment during high unemployment by allowing unlimited immigration in a country which is already densely populated.

No jobs for the young in traditional industries as they have been decimated, so no apprenticeships and the normal route into work is eliminated. This has the effect of isolating young people from entering the adult working world and creates a barrier between the young and the older people who have jobs.

Create mass youth unemployment with few prospects other than a poorly paid service sector job or a life on benefits - either way, very little money and a dead-end futile existence.

Change the teaching methods that have proven successful over decades and substitute trendy unproven methods which leave many young people illiterate after leaving school.

Destroy the grants system for further education.

Create training programmes that are useless for future employment.

Have the media idolize celebrities and show endless examples of opulent wealth while at the same time promote the image of the young jobless as idle benefit scroungers.

Make life on benefits increasingly difficult by constantly changing the rules for entitlement while limiting benefit increases to figures below annual inflation.

Make sure those between 16 and 24 receive less benefit than those over 24 despite them being regarded as adults in every other way.

Force young people into pointless work schemes which offer no long term job prospects and are used as a source of cheap labour by unscrupulous employers.

Allow sophisticated psychological advertising to create rampant consumerism leaving poor young people the desire for consumer items but insufficient money to buy them.

Expose our elected representatives as greedy, corrupt hypocrites who can break the law and get away with it, while punishing the poor for petty crimes to the limit of the law.

Put out Government propaganda that further isolates and targets young people as feral, feckless, benefit scrounging criminals.

Let the bankers push unsecured credit to bury the gullible in unaffordable debt, and then blame the poor for accepting what has been offered.

After the banks have created a recession, enforce an austerity package that removes the few social supports that young people have ever had.

Discuss among yourselves. Don't bother me though. I'm busy.....

[belalugosisdad]

Nice one, Brian!!!

[belalugosisdad]

I've been so crap at updating this thing.

Here's a shocker.....

THERE'S A NEW BAND THAT I'M EXCITED ABOUT!! THERE WAS ME THINKING THAT IT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN!!!!!!!!!

Oh, did I mention that their bass player plays a Rick 4003 Tux? All the best bass players have Ricks..........

[belalugosisdad]

I think somebody needs to know why FB is really there, and who it really serves....

[belalugosisdad]

This takes me back!! What a fucking magnificent noise!!!

[belalugosisdad]

This Year's Project........

Well, following the adventures of last year's project, otherwise known as renewal of old, crappy inefficient heating system (and involved 9 weeks with no hot water) I've decided to put a new kitchen in this year.

Not a hard job, you might think, except that:

1. My house is 96 years old. Ish.

2. The plaster is falling off the kitchen walls

3. The electrics are dangerous, badly routed, and in many ways, probably don't meet regulations.

Not to mention that I will need to have some form of working kitchen while the replacement goes on. Even for a 'bloke cooking' type like me.

So, tasks to be undertaken:

1. Remove old, isolated boiler, this will facilitate draining the heating system down, isolating, refilling, and inhibiting. Also, a few mild pipework tweaks are in order. I should have got it finished last year, but it got real cold real quick, and washing your hair in cold water in October ain't fun.

2. Fill flue hole in wall. Expanding foam and mortar. The brickwork won't stand being cut out again, and I can't afford to employ a bricklayer.

3. Rip off old, decaying plaster. Survey electrics, and replace cabling, powerpoints and lighting.

4. Hack up old floor tiles. They're mostly broken and discloured anyway, and they only cover the parts of the floor where the units weren't.

5. Remove and refit back door, and get rid of those poxy drop hinges.

6. Plasterboard walls. Probably using some form of dry lining channel to form a service void for pipework and cabling, on adjoinig wall, probably putting some cavity insulation on outside walls. Celotex or polystyrene kind of thing.

7. New Ceiling. It's easier than overboarding horrible artexed lath and plaster existing, plus it provides a service duct for hot and cold pipework, plus recessed spot lighting.

8. Telephone, TV and network cabling. Network points are gonna get more and more useful, I think.

9. Properly install heated towel rail.

10. Modify gas pipework bracketry to cooker.

11. Paint, decorate walls and ceiling.

12. Fit new floor. Looking at this one.

Update: Just noticed that it's not suitable for wet areas. Bollocks!!

13. Install Kitchen units, new sink, new wastes. Luckily, last year's heating job involved installing new hot and cold water pipes.

14. I'm bound to think of something else.

No mean feat. I'm wishing myself luck. Fuck, I'm gonna need it...

[belalugosisdad]

Voiced by Donald Pleasance, this was a Public Information Film about the dangers of playing near water. This absolutely scared the fuck outta me as a kid!! Honestly, the most likely reason I love horror movies now!! Cheers Donald!!!