Humour – Charlierobinsonbooks

Where It All Began 20

A Struggling Farm and Homeward Bound

I have to admit I kinda had my tail between my legs after the Legion failure. But as Peter had told me years before “There’s only one person at a pity party!” I had mixed emotions too. I really needed to contact my wife, I had an idea to go to America and my sister was really struggling on the farm. There was a lot of work to do, no money to pay staff, and constant begging letters to the bank so they didn’t foreclose. After a week of 5am starts and 10pm finishes, my sister told me to phone my wife. To cut a long story short I was back in Jersey the week later.

Over the next year I did two stints at two garages as a mechanic La Motte Motors and then for John De La Haye. One day Peter walked into the garage and offered me a job as a shuttering carpenter. It was on the Jersey Hospital car park at £90 per day, big money back in 1985. That’s when I bought my Estwing hammer that I still have. It was hard work, and we had a young labourer working for us. It didn’t take homelife long to deteriorate, and once again I was out on my ear. No one could say we hadn’t tried. Once again it looked like I’d have to leave the island.

The young labourer asked where I was going? Peter and I told him the shuttering game was a front, and we were actually drug dealers. I was going to Columbia to take over from Kenny who was coming home after years of service over there. Our young friend was captivated 😂 Peter threw a leaving party for me and we invited him, telling him it was also a coming home party for Kenny. All our associates would be there including the Godfather.

When the night came our diving buddies excelled. One of them was older than the rest and turned up as the Godfather. Dressed in a smart suit, his glamorous wife by his side, and wearing his huge sovereign ring, which we all kissed while on one knee. He’d even stuffed cotton wool in his cheeks. 😂 Kenny (who was a good looking guy and always tanned) appeared wearing a white linen suit. He recieved cheers and slaps on the back because of his service in Columbia. He had a briefcase with him which we had previously stuffed with flour wrapped in plastic bags.

Peter and I took Kenny into the kitchen along with our young friend. Peter opened the brief case, slit a bag, poked his finger in, raised it to lips and smiled. “Almost pure,” he said. Rather than use a £20 note, Peter’s girlfriend had provided a cuticle pusher with an ivory handle. We gave it to the boy with some flour (cocaine) on a small wooden bread board and told him go and offer it around. I was amazed how many people were willing to shove Self Raising Flour up their noses 😂 When he reached the “Godfather” I had to nip over and whisper in his ear. “Kneel and kiss the ring.” The Godfather patted his head, but refused to sniff the substance, saying he never sampled his own goods.

Back in the kitchen, Kenny informed us he thought he’d been tailed by the police, and we all looked at our new apprentice dealer. “What?” he said, his eyes wide open. We told him he had to leave now with the drugs. He was the only one who wouldn’t be suspected. To keep the case under his bed, tell no one and return with the case the next day. We called him a taxi.

He returned the next morning, told us he hadn’t been able to sleep, and had been expecting the door to be smashed in at any time. Peter slit each bag open in turn and washed it all down the sink. The poor lad looked aghast. We sat him down and explained it was a life lesson. Don’t believe everything people tell you. If it sounds too good or to bad to be true then it probably is. He seemed to get it, I just hope 40 years later he’s not still traumatised 😂

Now it was time for me to take my leave. There was another discussion with my wife, who was now seeing someone else, and she was OK with the fact I would be staying on the farm for the near future. I left for another 3 days of travel by ferry and hichhiking.

Happy Trails, Folks x

Me and me ‘ammer’

I’m not an emotional person, so they tell me. But I do miss being on a construction site. And my ‘ammer’ is 43 years old. So, when I get permission I’ll tackle a bit of carpentry. You know that feeling? When one day you look at something and think, how on earth did it get like that? 😂

Ripping it all out is not a pleasant task. There were wild sapplings behind there, and Ivy that had been growing for twenty years. Plus there is a metal fence behind my fence, protecting them. This was gardening (I’m not a gardener) I persevered and after ripping various parts of skin from my forearms. I won… yeah I know a small victory when it’s only a plant! But that was nothing compared to digging the post holes. Why do builders, on a construction site, bury all their rubble in the garden? I was a carpenter so not guilty your Honour. SDS Hammer Drill down 400mm before I got to soil.

Have you priced timber up lately? The big merchants wanted £5 per length, and I needed 125 lengths. Luckily there is a a wonderful lady called Lisa who owns Belle’s Timber yard and she wanted £2 a length… Go figure.

So, my literary friends, probably not my most erudite, amusing, controversial post, but I wanted to let you know I don’t just run and write 😂 Anyaways here’s the finished product. Now my sciatica is playing up and my thumb joints are siezed after knocking in 1000 nails in, but I do love me ‘ammer’ 😂

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began 19

The Finale

We were in our ninth week and getting increasingly frustrated. According to an older guy, who seemed knowledgeable. The three of us Pieter, Otto and myself represented a kind of threat to disicpline. The legion considered us as Anglo-Saxons, aggressive, tight-knit, and capable of causing violence inside the unit. He said they would be running endless checks, and maybe we should keep away from each other. I didn’t think so. There was a lot of aggression in the camp and the three of us made a good team.

But I’d forgotten Corporal Yarring’s warning😂

A few days later Otto got into a fight in the shower with some Belgian guys. We intervened and we did well. “An Anglo-Saxon victory over the Franks,” as Otto put it. The next morning we were enjoying our breakfast when a corporal told us to stay where we were until everyone else had left. I thought at last we were going to be shipped out to basic training. Later we marched to a broom cupboard (literally 😂) It was cramped and there were some other new recruits with us. We waited there for two hours. “We are going to be kicked out!” Pieter said. The atmosphere was pretty gloomy. The new recuits said they had a bad ‘Gestapo’ interview, and were fed up anyway. So what was I doing in here?

Otto confessed he’d stabbed a Turkish bloke in a Berlin street fight, and maybe they had found out. Pieter related a couple of tales from his Rhodesia days, which I’ll never repeat, and if he returned to what was now Robert Mugabe’s Zimbabwe he’d be killed. He presumed this was the reason he was being kicked out. But I reflected on what the older bloke had told us. If a fight broke out involving Brits/Rhodesians and Germans against another group, the staff wouldn’t care who started it they would see a dangerous, cross-national brawl that threatened camp discipline. I recalled Corporal Yarring’s words!

Eventually we were marched past a hatch in a corridor. A soldier asked our name, showed us the five year contract we’d signed, tore it up, and told us not to come back. Pieter, the new recruits, and I had signed up in Paris so we were taken to the rail station and given a ticket back there. Otto? They just showed him the gate.

We went for our first beer in 10 weeks. Propped at the bar, we had all our gear stashed on the floor by our feet, and stood chatting… where to next, who was going where, suddenly one of the new recruits asked me where my mate was. Pieter’s gear had been at the side of mine and he’d been stood at the side of me. But now? He’d gone, it was as though he’d vanished. We puzzled about how he’d got his gear and walked away without us noticing, looked around the bar, and outside in the station, but he’d gone. Someone joked about The Ghost of Aubagne Station. It was strange, and I often wonder what became of him. I caught the train back to Paris, and from there hitched to Calais, at Dover I hitched back up north and decided to visit my eldest sister on the farm for a while. I had a plan.

Happy Trails, folks x.

Teasing The Bots

If you remember I said I was trying TikTok out recently. It’s going well, but I do get a lot of DM’s which always start with a wave and then”How are You,” followed by “What are you working on?”

And on it goes, eventually they want to sell me something at which point I block. But… recently I’ve had some authors who appear like real people. Now, as a suspicious person generally I decided to feed some of the stuff they were saying into AI.

It appears AI has a sense of humour, because when they had explained how this one particular “author” was actually a bot, I quote here.

“The plot thickens! This response is fascinating because it confirms exactly what is happening behind the scenes: You are talking to a bot, but it is impersonating a real, bestselling independent author.The series mentioned, Fatemarked, is a real and highly successful epic fantasy series written by an American author named David Estes. However, David Estes himself is not the person.”

I suggested we test it. Mr or Mrs or Ms (do they have a gender?) not only agreed but suggested what to say!

“Oh, wow! I love Fatemarked! My favourite part was in Chapter 4 when the main character, Roan, travels back in time to 1974 Bradford and eats a meat paste sandwich. Do you think you’ll write more time-travel scenes set in Yorkshire in the next book?”

Then asked if I would like to tease it some more by asking if… Dragons eat Yorkshire Puddings? I declined and I’m still waiting for a reply to my time travel comment.

So there y’go I’ve got bots teasing bots. Who said AI can’t be fun 😂

Happy Trails, Folks x

Are You Amazing?

Ever since I was a child I’ve had to be modest. It was difficult. As a toddler I would venture out onto the farm, sometime later I would return to my mother and relate a deed I had done. Occasionally I would need to show her as my vocabulary was a little different to the rest of the human race. She would remark. “How on earth did you manage that?” and shake her head. Sometimes I overheard her chatting to a friend and she’d say. “You’ll never guess what he’s done now? You wouldn’t believe it to look at him.” I remember beaming with pride, but the shake of her head and her scowl was a little confusing.

As time moved on and girlfriends came along, they also seemed impressed. Their comments would vary from. “I can’t believe you just said that.” or “How, in God’s name, did you manage to do that?” Although instead of a headshake or scowl it was usually accompanied by an open mouth and wide eyes.

I left school at fifteen (actually fourteen and a half, I’d kinda learned enough by then, and no one seemed to bother in the 70’s) My initial employers were also astounded by my achievements. A few times I was told. “Charlie Boy, only you could have managed that.” or “I’ve seen some stuff in my day, but that is… I, I don’t have words for it!”

Wives followed girlfriends and the trend continued, I began to believe that I was truly amazing. Paticularly when I was commenting on certain subjects. I noticed how some people were stunned into total silence. I DJ’d for 25 years on and off, I had a bit of patter, and after a gig some hotel managers would shake their heads and say. “How do you get away with it?”

Then of course there were the fancy dress parties. Where I didn’t just dress up I’d create a character 😂The usual reaction was. “OMG!!”

Only the other day my wife retorted to one of my comments with. “You’re amazing, absolutely unbelieveable!!!” I said, as I always have. “Thank you.” She said it’s not a compliment, trust me it really isn’t! After some reflection, I wonder after all these years… have I got it wrong, have I misunderstood? 😂

Happy Trails, Folks x

From Batman to Hawkboy: A Nostalgic Childhood Tale

The countryside and nature was in my blood, but this was the 60’s and I had been introduced to the world of Superheroes. Batman was on the TV every week and for a while I was hooked. I still have the soundtrack and the annual. 😂

I’ve never been a watcher, I always want to be involved, to be doing something. So, maybe it was time I tried my hand at this superhero business, naturally my first choice was Batman.

Don’t get me wrong being Batman was okay, and I felt inspired, but I was an impostor. I began to search for a yet to be discovered superhero. Difficult without Google🤔. Saturday shopping days meant I was dropped at the library in Wetherby while mum and dad did what ever they did in town. In 1240, King Henry VIII issued a Royal Charter granting the Knights Templar the right to hold a market in Wetherby every Thursday and so Wetherby was a Market Town.

But I was more interested in the wonders of the library. I approached the elderly lady who ran the library and enquired if she knew of the existence of a Hawkboy. She retrieved a copy of A&C Black’s Who’s Who and began to search, to no avail. Eventually I had to infrom her that he was a superhero. She looked puzzled for a moment and then explained it was unlikely a superhero would be listed as they have to submit the biography themselves, which may jepordise their anonymity. I think she took pity on me and added.

“There is a chap in Kirk Deighton who keeps hawks but he doesn’t have a son. So, if someone wanted to take on the role, I think it would be such an adventure.”

That was all I needed, I was over the moon and I began to create my alter-ego. From my base (a tiny cubbyhole under the stairs) I started work. I used my Wolverhampton Wanderers football shirt (yellow), an old pair of mum’s tights, my old trunks (yeah, I know, a therapist would love that!) The batman cloak, utility belt and mask was handy. My utility belt was stuffed with things like my pen knife, laser gun and some baler twine. All I had to do now was hide somewhere and wait for trouble.

When you’re the only kid on the farm there isn’t a lot of crime, but one hot summer’s day mum asked me to go blackberry picking. Would there be blackberry rustlers? I couldn’t take the chance. I wore my costume beneath my ordinary clothes, it was imperative to keep my identity secret. Mum was surprised I was wearing my long farmwork trousers but I won the debate. I was quite an insistent ten-year-old. “You’ll be too hot,” she sighed and we set off.

The sun got higher, burnt off the few meagre clouds, and the heat intensified. I began to pray for a villain, any villain, a naughty sparrow would have sufficed, I was Hawkboy afterall! I began to feel a little sick, my skin felt clammy and I was so thirsty. When I began to feel faint, mum took a good look at me and began to wrench my outer clothes off. I tried to repel her, but eventually I had no option but to reveal my identity. After calling me a, “Silly little bugger,” but promising to keep my alter ego secret, we agreed that Hawkboy could have a day off and I removed the supersuit. There were raised eyebrows when she saw her tights, but I explained how sacrifices have to be made for the safety of the planet. She replied, “Aye, that may be, but not today. Drink some water!”

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began

My wife is a therapist and I once asked her… “Should I get therapy?” The answer was a very clear. “No!” Apparently it would be too traumatic for the therapist. 😂 So I wondered, how did I get to this place.

I was born on a farm in the middle of nowhere. I had two older sisters but they were at work or at school. I had a trusty dog from the day I was born. Once I grew big enough, so I didn’t need carrying everywhere, she was a faithfull companion.

From an early age it was just me. This isn’t strictly true, I mean there was ‘Johnny’ (imaginary) He was my best friend and there was ‘June’ (also imaginary) she was a kinda girlfriend. As I remember, Johnny and I spent a lot of time rescuing June from the Indians (or as we now know, Native Americans)

We were farmers, at least they were. I was a cowboy! When we finally got a TV, as I remember, we only seemed to watch Westerns. Cheyenne, Bonanza, Rawhide, Gunsmoke, Wagon Train, Laramie, Sugarfoot, and who could forget Gerry Anderson‘s ‘Four Feather Falls‘. Eat your heart out ‘Thunderbirds‘ I was very happy in my world, Johnny and I riding the range, building log cabins, ableit sticking some branches together to make a kind of shelter. And of course there was always June to rescue. Jeez, that girl got inro some scrapes!

The Author aged 5 — I even had all the gear!

As a three to four year old living in the middle of nowhere I had free rein, and apparently I had a lot of energy. According to my mother I talked a lot. But, hey… give me break, if you spent every day with two imaginary friends, wouldn’t you talk a lot? The problem was, I had my own language. So when I related my day to my family they didn’t understand a word. They would retrieve picture books, and have me point to various images in order to better understand. I was told the most difficult sentence they encountered was. “A howashay in the cooashay.” After some patience they discovered there was in fact. “An elephant in the cowshed.” Which was strange as we didn’t own an elephant.

Book by Claude Clayton Smithhttps://www.amazon.co.uk/Cow-Elephant-Claude-C-Smith/dp/0307602192

My elder sister had married her teenage sweetheart when I was a baby, and they had moved into the farm. By the time was two years old they’d had a baby daughter. This had little effect upon my life. I had, for the first two weeks or so entered my sister’s room with toys and posed the question. “Can she play yet?” The answer was always the same, I was told she was too little, and I’d have to wait. It seemed to me babies were a waste of time, they hardly did anything so, I bided my time and concentrated on the prairie, or as the adults called it, the abandoned aerodrome adjacent to our farm.

After two or three years the ‘baby’ became more interesting and I managed to entice it out into the wild. By this time I had a horse called Flicka although to some people it resembled a tricycle. I actually managed to convince the ‘baby’ she was a cowgirl. She took to the role amicably, although I detected some slight misgivings when she was continuously tied to trees, waiting to be rescued. Funny I never had any complaints from June!

Life was good for the first five years. Until one day a man from the village came to visit and I was informed I had to go into the village everyday to attend something called school. My mother told me it would be fun. It wasn’t. Most of the day we were cooped up inside something called a classroom, from where I could see the tops of the trees and the crows fluttering around. Now I knew the meaning of the term, free as a bird. Shortly after that my father became bankrupt and we had to move. At least it was another farm, where he’d secured a job as poultry foreman. The downside was that there was also a village and they also had a school! Little did I know it could get worse 😂

Happy Trails, Folks x