The Lighter

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It never fails to impress me what I find whilst taking Titchika, my Alsatian, for a walk in the woods.
Usually this consists of lost tennis balls and discarded trainers, although I did once manage to find a Volvo Peta engine, in a plastic fishbox, tied down under a tarp; there were no vehicle tracks, skid marks, or anything to distinguish how it got there at all.

Now, couple of days ago, while I waited for Titchika to come back from chasing squirrels, I happened to look down and saw some sort of shape covered in mud. I stooped down and picked it up and, after a wiping some soil from it, found it to be an old cigarette lighter.

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Above: the cigarette lighter found in the woods

I put it in my pocket and took it home with me, intending to clean it up and, maybe, get it working, if it wasn’t altogether unredeemable.

Me being me, I forgot about it for a couple of days, until I put my hand in my jacket pocket, before taking Titchika for her morning walk. So, when I returned home, I got to work on cleaning it up a bit; I gently scraped off many years worth of soil and mud that had ingrained into the lighter’s body and crevices.

Whilst cleaning the lighter and as it wasn’t very far away from where I found a pouch of coins earlier this year; I began to wonder to whom the lighter once belonged: male, female, young, old, were they in the woods exercising their dog, just passing through or, perhaps, working?
Also, I wondered if the coins and lighter were owned by the same person, but I discounted that idea when I found that the lighter was gas-fuelled, not petrol, and the latest coin year was 1927.

Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon

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That’s right! Today I’m doing nothing. Not a thing!

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I had a nice long lie-in, had breakfast, got back into bed, got dinner, wrote another 500-words of the story I’m writing while listening to Huey Morgan (of Fun Loving Criminals fame) on BBC 6Music.

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I need to take Titchika for her walk, though, before Star Wars: Attack Of The Clones comes on in an hour, so asta luego, amigos!

Photos of Plymouth

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Just a few monos while pootling around town on a Thursday afternoon with nothing better to do . . .

Plenty of retail premises to let in Plymouth; over-expansion in good times, closures aplenty in the bad times

Walking and loitering on Royal Parade

I did well to find this urban gem!

1950’s lighting still looks good, to me

When the oil runs out, next week, saddle sores begin

Everything must go: people, goods, the lot!

The blandness of modern life encapsulated: stop at red, go at green, baa!

The clothes, the pram, the dog: Plymouth in a nutshell

Plymouth Civic Centre: one of the worst-looking buildings ever?

Just Another Day In The Life

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After taking Titchika, the Alsatian, for a walk in the woods, I had my breakfast, consisting of two soft-boiled eggs and toast, caught the last half hour of The Yangtze Incident, starring Richard Todd in full stiff-upper-lip mode, and followed this by a brief job search.

I got changed and caught the bus into town for a brief wander around the shops, spotting a nice jacket in M&S for £80. Bored by this point, I put a football (soccer) bet on at Ladbrokes, then headed down to The Gog And Magog, a Wetherspoons pub, on the Barbican in Plymouth; their butterfly-chicken burger and pint of Guinness for less than five pounds is excellent value for money. I read in What’s On In Plymouth magazine that Dara O’Briain (is that how you spell his surname?) is on at the Pavillions soon; I might get a ticket. I read 24/7 too; this funky, little mag tells you about more arty gigs and events, directed more at the Yoof Cultcher (Youth Culture).

After this, I was feeling a little full, I am a skinny fuck*r, after all, and went for a walk to the Mayflower Steps, the last-known point of departure of the Pilgrim Fathers before their journey, alongside the Speedwell, to the Americas. I bumped into an old work-mate, Dominic, who is a drummer in a group, The Waterboarders, and his girlfriend; he’s a good bloke who also suffers a bit of back-trouble through work.

I headed back into town for a coffee upstairs in a Costa cafe; not bad coffee, but I normally prefer Nero. There were a bunch of young students, about 18 – 19 years of age, giggling and talking loudly out of their arses. They weren’t that annoying though, and a couple of the girls were good-looking (but a bit thick).

Now, as I look around, I find that most of the people here are of about a similar age, attire and haircut/style, as I probably would be if I was their age. Fashion was never my strong-point, as some friends will testify. One friend is constantly accuses me of being an Eighties Throwback; I don’t mind this, I’m not shallow. Coming from him, in fact, it’s a compliment; I remember picking him up once from Plymouth railway station in, what I can only describe him as wearing, Trying Too Hard To Appear Younger Than He Really Is-style. He’s a great bloke, genuine and honest, he really is, but he can have a huge ego. However, as the old saying goes: “New friends are silver; old friends are gold.”

Anyway, I’ve finished my coffee, which went cold rather too quickly due to the over-powerful air-con, and I’m about to head home and take the dog for a walk; finishing the day as I started it.

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