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A certain Mr Davies voluntarily exited this site
many years ago – the site back then paid cursory attention to this one man’s selfless act of heroic overstatement in cutting off his own knees and for his self declared misdemeanour of challengingly advertising tissue from his Blob exchange.The Truffle site rumbled on, somewhat shocked, somewhat amused, but still fully intacta. It was a lightening event but did not register on the Richter scale.
When the many years rested Davies returned sporting a new bright green anorak and Tee shirt, replacing his de rigueur dismal black of old, it sparked a change. He was refreshed reinvigorated and displayed a new irrepressible energy. Yes, he soon became rampant. Whether people like rampant or not is a personal choice, however soothsayers and historical reporters have oft reported it to be a state generally preferred to ‘dead in the water’.
There are certain events that affect a site’s wellbeing. One has to go back to 2006 for the last significant seismic event which was the sad death of Daylight.
It has to be said that racing as a product is tarnished and in the doldrums and this affects the heath and wellbeing of any racing forum. I don’t think Davies was unaware of this it’s just his love of the sport found ways of dealing with it.
When this newly remodelled sparky Davies, on a grey day, suddenly picked up his Waitrose hamper and left the Teddy bears in the picnic area – to picnic alone – all hell broke loose !
There was pandemonium. This was a seismic event. There are ways of sugarcoating with dressed up figures to sort of make the post Blob decline seem like normal ….Blah Blah Blah, One a penny two a penny, hot crossed figures – but the reality is, we are now living in a desert, and have suffered a serious loss of caffeine.
Yes when Blob left, the site took a huge gasp – possibly it’s last, and it has been surviving pretentiously on life support ever since that grey day – when the forum clock stuttered and stopped. Sorry Jim.
The site refuses to bend – it still has good commentators – they can blurb as good as ever – the problem is that what one can no longer ignore is that they are now commentating and reporting from a desert wasteland and they are mostly living in tents with small cacti for microphones. I have spotted a twig type bivouac adorned with camel dung. There is always one.
Blob finally got one of his wishes
THE BISCUIT TIN
THE ONLY SURVIVOR
NOTHING MUCH MOVES
A FEW FLIES LOOT
THE FEW SCRAPS REMAINING
NOTHING TO DISTRACT
DRAW THE CURTAINS
IT’S GONE MUTE.
Here’s a BOGOF on boredom.
Purrr !Graham Greene once wrote that writing was essentially a boring occupation, which in essence, consisted of a man or woman, or possibly a they, sitting alone and isolated in an empty room – a room that exactly mimicked strict exam room nervousness and turgid atmosphere – ring 999 – beam me up Scottie, and get me outta here – ” You may begin ” with just twitchy fingers and an itchy pen sitting somewhere in the mist – not forgetting the blank head, ninety percent full of air and ten percent full of aspiration or fake plots..
Greene suffered for many years, possibly twenty, with depression.
His doppelganger however poo pood happy pills and talking therapy – he was living the writer’s dream and fakin’ it, but unlike the real Graham didnee need Medicare or Prozac pretenders- he was living the grandiose life of old Riley – the life on the farm with no milking !whilst poor Graham the real angst ridden hero was scratchin’ his gringo head in a South American hell hole, all viewed from his pokey room looking out on a blue seascape he saw as a shade of grey.
The doppelganger possessed not an inch of literary talent but that didnee really matter, he could act on a sixpence and was consequently treated like royalty and the bees knees.The late great Barry Dennis wrote, on this very platform
…’Racing is soooooo boring.”
Hang on Barry isn’t it at Steepledowns or Porttman Park or Pitman Park, where the crowds throw their hats in the air at the the finish and all in glorious technicolour
Let’s have a look through the square window, some 21 years back
Keith the Teeth famously wrote..
BLAH BLAH BLAH
This forum is boring.Well hang on Keith that’s
Buy one get two free !!!I wanna say SHAGGY DOG and ‘Hang On’ for the third time
THE RISE AND RISE OF IAN DAVIES
His remains were exhumed on Talking horses and the later coroner report stated that although he appeared dead from the neck down, he was still able to move his mouth and was and is still talking volumes, something the coroner referred to as – the Davies corpus.
It’s a shaggy dog story
that will never be bettered.‘Not posted for ages and the likelihood is I won’t post again.’
What the hell happened to your Neez ?
You’ve given up the clippity clop – life goes on. Your wife’s pleased your £12 monthly racing subscription saving seems to go a long way in the veggie market. Your wife’s pleased (repetition), your son doesn’t care he’s into girls gaiters and penalties.
Interesting commonality Neez you share share share with Blob and Raz. All three of you produced sons. One each and that’s enough. Your boy has just reached 18 so enjoy your birthday this month a little bit more – take the back seat now he’s grown.Put the slippers on.
As for the Rag and Mop they do all this real ale and you a wifebeater drinker. I am more mop and your rag but guess we could sharpen our tongues on a pint of directors.When you posted I was already down river. Good poem that and interesting too. I don’t know any beaches near Leicester – Wells is one and yeah I was scratching my head the other night trying to remember where cybermum and hubby Nev took their bucket and spade holidays. It wasn’t Scarborough. Course that’s a long long time ago. Last time I was in the Loughborough Road area I was about 20 and slept the night standing up in a telephone box sleeping rough. I went to a party – nice girl with a shaggy dog – got plastered and missed my lift so hitched back to Bankbroke hence the B and B in a red box.
I hated that shaggy dog !
Diane Avis was a crowd catcher, a firestarter, a raw startling natural beauty that stopped the movement of crowds. John Lennon even ranted she was just seventeen. However, from a historical standpoint, despite her freshness as a lettuce, daisy like innocence, and coolness as a cucumber, many considered she was not quite in the same organic league, or seed bed, as the 33 year old Helen of Troy.
It was said Diane’s erstwhile partner – the Blob, could paint ten thousand words.
Colloralary or begging question …
Why did this house cash out at 9900 ?
Did it have inside on the forthcoming Trojan War ?
In my personal view Diane was a patch better than Helen – she had the Raz factor.
Aristotle qualified the general state of happiness as one that could only really be achieved by dedication of action and this necessitated working on oneself every day and with some effort.
It necessitated virtuous tasks to be undertaken.One modern philosopher who has gained a huge recent following of late, is more downright in his approach, and states that simply by seeing things in a slightly different way and not following the masses, shortcuts to bliss, without Aristotle’s efforts, can quite easily be achieved.
An example of this in one of his recent rittings…
‘Everyone else decamps to the beach, Waitrose is all but deserted, back home you can open your French window on a fine sunny Hampshire day and hear a pin drop, wall-to-wall racing, there is literally nothing not to like.’
The memoirs of a monocled man from South Bromley have highlighted interesting circumstantial and anecdotal evidence of the existence and whereabouts of one Diane Avis. The transcripts in the detailed research denote that she was a woman born in 1987 who spent her younger years living in a shoebox apartment in merry Clapton on sea. Emaciated in form due to her poorly circumstances, she managed to put by and put by, and after a number of difficult years had saved a meagre amount, but enough to be able to escape her then destiny in a small boat. After a rough journey in the company of other paying escapees she landed after some difficult days at sea, on the shores of Bilbao, a Spanish seaport. It was an unearthly hour.
It was some years later in 2004 when she was just seventeen that she realized she was a narcissist. Always dressed in green, her favourite colour, it was a thumbs up for the locals who were happy enough to queue up nose to back of Spanish head, in the moonlight when she danced at her best. One night a tourist visited her small town, who after catching sight of her, was enraptured by her beauty and vivacity and the impressive fact she was a mute. She danced through that particular night like a demon and then suddenly caught sight of his commanding fixated leer, and he danced towards her with hand movements that were mesmerizing, and it was at that moment that her transmogrification happened and she blissfully unified with him. She’d been blobbed.
Weekend fayre
‘Afternoon midweek racing is infinitely preferable – much more civilised.’
An itinerant racing scribe wrote the piece above and I can’t disagree with a word of his oft quoted nail on the head iteration. Pot bellies beer bellies,pushers,shovers,red nickers, picnickers, whippersnappers and sprogs, estate agents bankers and wannabe happy campers for the large part avoided.
Not much value to be found at Lingfield last evening. A damp car park as a slow getaway from a miserable six measly races, with one stuffed full of newbies.
A twelve carded Churchill Downs would die of apoplectic shock 😲Tonight Matthew I’m going to
be BIG TONY.One has to say that apart from jumping well ,Crisp was a good writer and raconteur, not that I have read any of his stuff, and well, he preferred the company of strangers.
I had to laugh at the riposte.
End of report
BIG TONY signing off 👏
Blob’s standout thread in my distorted view, not forgetting Dictators, and he would certainly watch the pennies to keep his racing affordable so think he is approving of any reasonable pricing. 29 Points to points doesn’t come cheap…
I will unusually rekindle his magic and passion with a blast from the past and one of his back numbers…
” I drove down the Melling Road back in the 1990s and it was a great experience, especially for someone who had Aintree burned into their consciousness from watching all those Grand National meeting on TV in childhood.
A phalanx of terraced houses which suddenly ended as I drove over the Grand National course on its approach to the first, cut through the middle of it with the Mildmay course to the left, and across it again and off into the wild blue yonder after that.
It was so brilliant I had to go back and do it again!”
Crisp is not Blob
Mother Theresa is nearer
She had a big
erm…
click.If we are name calling,
Diane Avis
is the only female entity
that is appropriate.
She is not Davies
She is just one of his
click and separated
at the hip.
I have always had total
respect for her,
She can cope with
that acidic tongue
and all his legal threats.I was surprised that Nathan
put up the Euro pop
thread.
Where I was brought up
it was always a six month minimum for a grieving.
If it’s a mate
you might add a couple
of months and the black tie.
Still Nathan is something
else.
Nathan well
He’s unstoppable.The Irritable thread can continue for infinity
but for the rest of us
addicts with any respect
it’s closure.The flies aren’t feeling
themselves but they will
be a staying..‘ Too layzee to breed
too layzee to leave ‘I was introduced to
Bobby G of the Fizz
at a private party
a long time ago – a good
ten years after Cheryl Baker
removed her skirt.
Problem was it was awkward.
He was quiet like a mouse,
and I couldn’t make my
mind up what to say to him.Well grounded advice
and a valuable hack.
I suggest few could better
your knowledge of flea pits
and farthing stores.I do like nosing around charity shops but not so much for pants. I bought a statue of a quarter horse for £1.50 in one about six years ago. It was all half price that day but I still tried to get her down to a nicker but the blonde girl wouldn’t budge and may have fallen back on the word charity.
