PBM

I mentioned the purple balloon monkey in my last blog, something that has become an icon of awareness in my life.

What am I talking about?, well, I watched my mum deteriorate with dementia, that’s the word they applied to her condition, an all encompassing “she’s had it” type of condition that the medical authorities, with all their resources, could not fix.

But, the PBM is not really about my mum, it’s about all of us and something we should watch out for and maybe, if we slide down the same chute as my mum, something we won’t even see coming.

I’ve talked in the past about the fire and police services phoning up and asking for cash from the coffers to send little blind Timmy to the circus, about vacuum cleaner salesmen cold calling and demonstrating how good the Stratosucker 2000 multi purpose pocket vacuum is at removing ball bearings welded to a steel plate, and of course, mattress salesmen delivering free trial mattresses and then becoming extremely annoyed that you didn’t pay the $5000 for the masterpiece and left unmentionable stains.

Well, if I did tell you, I’ve probably forgotten already.

In my young boyish days, the Liverpool rag and bone man gave me balloons and semi-dead goldfish for silks and bike frames, in the more recent years, everyone has been lining up to coerce something out of me, using trickery, illusion and the occasional tempting purple balloon monkey.

One day I’ll give the deeds of the house away to a nice man in a top hat clutching one of those desirable items,

I’ll have my roof partially reshingled by passers by and my driveway will constantly be black and sticky with the $40 of engine oil and tar that I just paid $700 to have applied by another charmer.

I’ll win allsorts and won’t even have to leave my house.

Readers Digest and Publishers Clearing house will give me a good annual five or six million dollars, I’ll gladly pay the taxes and border brokerage fees on free intercontinental holidays from nice men on the phone and I’ll feel safe in the secure knowledge that the three thousand bottles of Fairy Liquid in the garage are going to make me a fortune one day.

The kids won’t need the inheritance anyway.

I’ll have my monkey.

Density or Destiny

Every day I look at this picture now. It’s fixed to my wall and hopefully, it fixes my destiny. A time when peace will prevail, no more panics, no more deadlines, no more bosses spoiling my day.

There comes a point where things have to be simplified, I’ve seen what older people go through, some lose their bookmarks, marbles and sense of reason. Others grow incredibly wise and manage their twilight years in a great way.

Hopefully, I’m part of that second group.

But, just in case I’m part of the first group, I’ll sort and simplify and hopefully end up out there on my campground searching for my marbles with no other irons in the fire.

This before I give away my fortune to someone at the door with a purple balloon monkey and a goldfish.

Now where did I leave that checkbook?

Wicked Stepmother

So Heather Mills and my dad Paul McCartney are going their separate ways, fine, as long as I get my four-hundred and fifty two million quid out of the deal when dad dies in thirty two years time.

He knows where I am.

I've not been that impressed with Heather, as a stepmother she has not been kind to us kids, or Uncle Mike for that matter. I've talked this over with my sister Stella quite a few times and she usually says "who the hell are you?".

She's funny, I laugh and laugh because she's always joking around and wears goofy clothes.

We McCartney's are like that.

My mum was never convinced that I was hers, she always thought I was the milkman's.

I personally was sure that Paul was my dad because he was always there for me, always helped out with money and made sure things worked out.

He played the soundtrack of our lives you know, with a little help from his friends.

And I don't think Heather was ever one of them.

A magical moment

It was October 1985 and it was my birthday.

Nancy surprised me with a birthday party in California, a Keg party, lots of beer, friends, Ray and Stacey. Lots of beer - did I mention that?

We piled into a room and we did the bottlecap trick, with a real fork, Nancy was my mark and for six or ten iterations, people in the room gazed amazed at the ability of the English dude to find the penny under the bottlecap.

One chap was fascinated and was convinced it wasn't voodoo or real magic, well, he had the right didn't he?. He tried many variants, sheltering his moves (from me, not my mark) and then after several frustrating attempts he decided that the only way to beat the system was for himself to be the only one in the room.

So we all trooped out of the room, went and had another beer from the keg, then, when he was ready, we all trooped back.

Everyone was agog, the white boy looked at the five bottle caps, asked the usual question "are you sure it's under one of these?" waved the fork and felt the vibrations. My mark, Nancy Baker just smiled and soaked in the moment, if it was, it was, if it wasn't, well, there was more beer and the game was up.

With a confident flourish, I flipped a cap.

It was.

Fifteen people in that room believed in magic for a moment.

One skeptical guy was in total awe and confusion, his logical mind scrambled by the turn of events.

In the corner, one pretty tall California girl thought that the English boy was cool.

Dave thought that Dave was very lucky.

And you know, he was right for more than one reason.

Because, outside in the yard, the Keg was still half full.

Life aboard the Black Pig

We all sit here in the workhouse ship, slaves, trapped in our workstations as our taskmaster parades up and down the boat, trying to catch his captives eating a cheese butty, gazing at the sky or using google maps. There is seldom a moment in the day when he catches us paddling, because that's what we're supposed to be doing and well, he wouldn't actually "catch" us doing that would he?

As for cheese butties, if I had one for every human in our boat that's been replaced with an exact duplicate, then I would be in the Guinness book of records for person with the most tasty snacks in his belly. I'm tired of the personality changes that are going on all around me, people who used to play golf, have a pint and paddle with the rest of us have become guarded and sneaky, drones of the new regime, spies and felons.

Banging the drum.

It's a natural progression, buddies and squash partners changing their hats and climbing the corporate ladder, progressing through the ranks and attaining incredible heights of importance and responsibility.

Steering the Black Pig with big pointy hats on.

The Yes men. In fact, most of the time, the very yes men, who will under any circumstances say yey and agree with their masters, whatever the consequences or impracticality of their agreements.

And what of the oarsmen, the engines of the ship?

Well, they're leaving and won't be coming back, it's at the point where it's not about money any more, they're just jumping over the side and the trend has been that all those on the port side are away first.

Which is why we've started going around in ever decreasing circles.

Less people with paddles.

More people with whips.

I wish I could stay.

Cut and Paste

Hola!

Cut and Paste.

We started the turning of the handle that will pull the boot back and launch the steel ball down the zig-zag staircase. It's an odd feeling to realise that the countdown timer has been started.

What the hell am I talking about?, well, we're going to cut and paste ourselves from central Canada, or Eastern-ish Ontario, to the very West bit of Canada. British Columbia.

The handle in this case is the purchase of a piece of land out there, something of a stakehold in the future, a foot in the door, a new place that we will eventually call home.

So, I decided to tell you, my invisible friends, because I can't tell THEM, because they won't like it, they don't like good news, they just want the control. I think we're all very aware of the others, no, not voices in our heads, not paranoid illusions or hallucinations. Them.

And its becoming more and more difficult to decide who is on our side any more, where the line between the good guys and the sneaks end. They are everywhere.

So, I've done a bit of control-c and at some undisclosed point in the future, there will be a control-v when we paste ourselves out of their lives. And, you guys will find out before those guys.

Unless I start to suspect you as well . . .