JC in Wonderland

My doctor has prescribed two Co-codamol tablets four times a day for the pain in my back. I took the first batch mid afternoon yesterday which after about an hour, certainly did dull the pain. Unfortunately shortly after that I was wrestled to the sofa by a fatigue so huge and overwhelming that I never even heard Jeremy Kyle mention the words “best friend” and “Uncomplicated sex” and drifted off into a deep and meaningful psychosis siesta.


The afternoon nap isn’t something that I have generally embraced yet, and feel that this kind of down time is pretty much wasted & inexcusable, unless you have just stepped off a return flight from New Zealand or have been involved in the recent 3 day riots and dirty protests against the existence of Jedward!

Anyway, during this drug induced sleep I realised that I had invented the wheel, but then affirmed that the world is in fact flat, so then cancelled the patent and put my money into shares of Esperanto! Which now makes me wonder if I will ever make another commercially astute decision again?

Truthfully though, I really have felt a little odd ever since I started these tablets but will have to carry on until an un- medicated exceptable back pain allows for ’normal service and driving to be resumed’

O.M.G.

Facts are generally simple, whilst a fax- machine is a bit heavier and more cumbersome. I found this out today when I attempted to lift the works fax machine to make way for the companies HHU (Hand Held Unit) for the start tomorrow of a 4 day stint at meter reading (again)


So just to recount the actual details, I was about to pick up the fax machine from work top height, when even prior to even getting hands on, a shooting pain starting from the bottom of my back went off like a Fenny Popper . The upshot of this was a very nasty case of tourettes and a rather pronounced ‘follow through’ walking stance. As (awkwardly) as it now stands, I think the chances of any meter reading getting done tomorrow is about as likely as me getting jiggy with the Pope.

Needless to say I have had to forgo the banger racing extravagances for a more sedate hot tea and ibuprofen cocktail.

Chocolate face painting and all that jazz

Last Sunday we erected our extensive (patented) bucket footed gazebo to the delight of an expectant crowd of chocolate lovers and fudge fanatics. We had a prime location outside Fenny’s derelict post office, which we had cunningly chosen in the hope that absent minded OAPs would flock there with their pensions completely forgetting it has been shut for the last couple of years. To our left was a French face painter who for a couple of quid would slap a layer of undercoat on you and then call you Marcel. I am kidding of course, SHE was French, and her talent seemed to be in producing something between the drummer from Kiss and the Cadburys cream egg Goo adverts. On our right were a bag lady and her bag daughter selling ....er.. Bags, and behind (from the derelict post office) many dozen feral kids with high foreheads and too many meddling fingers seemed to magically appear with annoying consistency from nowhere, like the shop keeper in Mr Benn. After a very short time the phrase ‘kid in a sweet shop’ AND ‘charity begins at home, NOT just outside your squat, you little b*stards’ found its way to my lips’ The day was also peppered with musical wonders from the cream of Beds, Herts & Bucks singer songwriter & karaoke giants which caused an ebb and flow of potential Simon Cowells to pass our treat tent where we would entice them in like the Witch from Hansel and Gretel. All in all the day was a great success, selling a good amount of confectionery and getting the CCC name out there.   

I love caravans.... like this!

This is how we intend to spend Bank Holiday Monday at Northampton Stadium... Wooohooo!!!!

Salad n chilli sauce?

Quite frankly my life/blog these days is nothing but a rollercoaster of celebrity name droppings. Hot on the heels of George Solt OAP Mountain man, today in Brackley I met a guy called Mr Doner who runs a kebab van. So I was just perusing the interweb and wondering if his business had a website only to find his life story in the Northampton Chronicle. For anyone who can’t be arsed to read the article it clearly states that his father (who was a kebab wrangler man and boy) lived until he was 110, which just goes to prove that the Governments latest scare tactics of stating that by 2050, 90% of children will be so fat that they will have to wash themselves with a rag on the end of a stick is pure piffle and poppycock    

Gaddafi in BB House!

I believe that ousted Libyan leader Colonel Gaddafi and the speakers wife Mrs Sally Bercow are in fact one and the same!

Can I have the million pounds now please?

Its only a big hill. Whats all the fuss?

Whilst discussing the matter of hair loss with a local hippy the other night, a chap that we went to school with came up in the conversation and this concise and succinct evaluation of his life thus far was compressed into the following single line “Completely bald at 17. Became a scientist, then his wife left him”

Local hippy puts foot in mouth

After only catching part of a radio interview with a MP yesterday I wasn’t really sure if the subject was University or Prison places when the minister said ‘that there weren’t enough places for young people and students, and due to the potential tripling in what they need to pay back there was a chance many would be devastated.’ Imagine all those rioters not being able to go to the prison of their choice!

The minister in question was David Willetts who then went on to say that students as from 2012 would pay less back, despite being charged three times as much to go through Uni. Surely someone should report him to the FSA for miss selling. I really don’t understand how a £20K debt can work out less than a £60K debt?

Anyway, earlier this week I went to Olney (home to one of the finest pancake races known to man) to visit the electrical meter of a gentleman by the name of George Solt. If like me, you are unaware of Mr Solt’s claim to fame then I can tell you that he is the oldest man to climb Kilimanjaro and holder of a Guiness World Record certificate to prove it. Unfortunately for me the said certificate was hung on the wall directly under his meter which made it possible for him manoeuvre the fascinating subject of Meters I have seen and loved around to a rather long winded story of a walk up a hill. Here it is IF anyone is interested

Fenny Poppers

Concrete Cow Confectionery has a pitch at the Fenny Poppers Festival this Sunday and during this busy week of preparations I was put in charge of designing an effective means of holding a Gazebo down to the tarmac pavement. Of course I rose to the challenge and after some early misses

I produced my patented gazebo leg; Heavy Bucket Foot which basically attaches the bottom of the gazebo to a not inconsequential weight. This is cleverly disguised by an attractive up turned bucket which stops small children picking up the bricks inside and then using them to raid and loot local charity shops.

Here is the final plan which only took the whole weekend to design, source and produce.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!

I am sure like me; you often ask what actually matures in caves. Well, the obvious three are Bears, Bats and small cuddly toys, but following a recent vacation to Cheddar Gorge and in gratitude for keeping James and Kirsty’s cats fed and watered and on the moral straight and narrow we were given some cave matured cheese. At just shy of £23 a kilo I reckon that it is better than Gold and should be one of the stock markets preferred commodities offering a good return and very tasty supper when taken with port. This stuff is so good that I am actually thinking of changing my name by deed poll from Cheshire to Cheddar rather than my original ideas of either Gordon Zola or Simon Cheesestring, which in the cold light of day would be really stupid for a man of my maturity.

J J J Jive Talkin

On Saturday as I made my way through the now war torn Fenny Stratford I kindly stopped to let out a couple of cars from the local registry office. The second of the vehicles that pulled out was a top of the range black Mercedes with tinted windows and a personalised plate B3 GEE. Unfortunately even in the stop start traffic it wasn’t possible to make out who was driving which was a tragedy!


This week, due to a recent unforeseen emergency (“you will be able to laugh about this all the way to the job centre”) early retirement of a member of the data recovery staff, I and others have been asked to cover some meter reading duties. With my all terrain feet and my almost sixth sense to smell out an electricity meter in hiding I was allocated the last two week. Whilst it is an healthier option to my usual position of fitter, remover and general meter roustabout and ALMOST comes close to the fairytale life of a postman (but without the luxury of wearing shorts all year)it does have its downside, which is namely the weather. One day last week it was the hottest this year, closely followed by an entire day of torrential rain. Still, it is always worth any amount of sunstroke or trench foot when you get little stories like the woman that turned the immersion heater on in January and forgot about it until they got a bill for about two grand a few months later.

World gone Crazy!

I remember the rioting under Thatcher when people were mostly angry about her huge candy floss hair (oh and maybe a little bit about the poll tax too) but back then it was clearly much more responsible rioting and dignified social unrest.


I believe, as incredible as it seems in 2011 Britain, that the problem is that there are STILL people who don’t have a massive HD screen TV, and want Jeremy Kyle as prime minister. They also wonder if they can ever believe what they are being told, now that the free press and Rupert Murdoch has been dismantled and the News of the World no longer available.

It’s clearly a world gone crazy.

Amazingly as I blog this, from war torn Bletchley I can see the police helicopters  circling and a previous work colleague has just called, stating that IKEA (up the road) is on fire. Obviously I cannot substantiate this, but would suggest that you hang on to your flat pack furniture as it could be an investment for the future!

Concrete Cow Sunday



 "And whats this?

On Sunday Concrete Cow Confectionery dusted down its new green stripy gazebo and headed over to The Bowl-Boot to see if any Eastern bloc immigrants would part with real cash for the finer things in life like Concrete Cow sweeties. Unfortunately the general answer seemed to be “nie.” However all was not lost (well, at least not in my eyes) when after a comfort break in the actual portaloos Reggie Yates trained on before his epic voyage into the bowels of Kibera, I was returning to the Concrete Cow tent of confectionery delights and spied a woman in full African dress and Don King electric hair seated in my chair behind the big chocolate table. As I got closer and started to think how nice it was that Steph makes friends so easily and that I might suggest that she could possibly take up work as a cultural attaché, the woman upped and left. Steph said ‘thank god you are back’ and proceeded to tell me that the woman just appeared around the side of the car and put her shopping down and plonked herself in my chair. Then in a scene very reminiscent of Borat at the cheese counter enquired what everything was, but at each revelation pulled a face to suggest that it must be poisonous! This possibly should have been the highlight of the day had it not been for the emergency job I did in Brackley where a hugely grateful woman blessed me and the company for offering such a quick and efficient service on a Sunday. She went on to tell me through gritted teeth that their new house, where I performed the miracle of light and power would have been getting locks fitted and shelves put up that very afternoon had her in-laws not hidden their drill that she wanted to use before going on holiday.


I will give that relationship only a few weeks, unless there is a mystery tool box murder of his parents