What's it all about?

Ok, so one of my dear friends on the 'interweb' thing, miles and miles away in the safety of another continent, gave me the monicker of "The Old Goat" and even sent me a little statue thingie of 'Myself' which sits on one of the computer speakers as a constant reminder of her regard for me.

The name 'Old Fart' is one that is more and more being used in reference to my little mishaps, none intentional, but hilarious to the observers - including my dear, devoted family, who find great fun in them.

Now, these monickers I can accept, I can live with, but recently I have discovered a further metamorphosis in myself. I have always considered myself to be a reasonable sort of chap, able to see and accept others' faults and actions, always able to 'let things be'.

Not any more, it seems, as I discovered, quite by accident, that I have become a 'Grumpy Old Man'. I have to admit in all conscience that I haven't noticed this transformation. When did it happen? When? Was it a slow, chrysalis thing or was it a Eureka moment?

I don't honestly know, but I think I might grow to enjoy the status and recognition it brings. "Grumpy Old Man" - now, that sounds nice.

So, that's what this blog is all about - my daily, or if not daily, periodic grouses at life around me, those little happenings that simply irritate or totally piss me off. If I ever master the means of posting pics, then there will be some of those too.

So, where does the blog title come from?

Well, I have a mobile phone which I carry in my trouser pocket at all waking hours. It is there for emergency only, so that, on the rare occasions when I'm allowed out on my own, I am able to call for help should it be needed. Also, 'they' - that is the group of self appointed 'minders' who carry on their daily lives as part of my family - may contact me to make sure that I've not wandered too far off the intended track and that I can at least remember where I live.

If I don't answer quickly enough when they ring, they tend to panic, especially My Darling Bride. I mean, if I can't hear it , then how the heck am I supposed to answer the thing? We tried setting the phone on vibrate so that I would feel it against my thigh, but I've discovered that I do not always feel the vibrations - it depends on how the legs are behaving, or perhaps if what passes for a brain up there is not too preoccupied elsewhere.

I cannot always hear the ring tone against a backgroud of other sounds so - I'm to be assimilated into the Borg! The Boychild is setting me up with one of those wireless earphone things that hangs onto the ear with an earphone. I heard the name Bluetooth somewhere in this context - does that mean the thing bites? Hopefully, when it rings, it will shout directly down my ear without having to compete with all those other sounds. I do hope it's simple to operate.

So, having caught sight of that girl on Star Trek going by the name of Seven of Nine, I thought that, if I'm to be assimilated by the Borg, then I shall be a spare unit, not nearly good enough for their purposes, hence Nine and a Half of Nine.

Keep watching.