OMG! I've just become an Ordained Priest of the Church of the Latter-Day Dudes! Coo-el!
I can't believe it! I've wanted to do this since...ohhh...let me think....since I saw it on some random guy's site earlier this evening! Isn't the Internet just the coolest??? I'm beginning to worry that I'm getting an online American accent. Bovered? Me? Ahm ah bovered? (Think that's sorted it!)
Anyway, back to ME BECOMING A DUDEIST PRIEST!
I got a certificate an everything! - it's embossed!
I've even got a new link badge on the site (did you notice it?)
Isn't it brilliant when you have days where you end up doing something that you had absolutely no clue about when you woke up? Doesn't it add a bit of mystery to life?
Come to think of it, most days are like that for me.
My whole life is a mystery.
JUST AS WELL I'M AN ORDAINED PRIEST THEN, ISN'T IT? I can go and meditate/chill, and ask myself deep and meaningless questions.
Of course, I could do that before (and did), but it wasn't the same. Now that I'm a priest, I can do it professionally, as it were.
PLUS - according to the Church of the Latter-Day Dudes website, I can now officiate over weddings in certain states! How cool is THAT!? Of course, this is an American-based site (again, of course!), so I reckon I'll have a bit of a hunt to find anywhere in Britain that will recognise my newly acquired Dudeist Priest credentials. But, hey! who cares? I've never been a priest before!
As Dudeism is based on the teachings of "The Dude" in the film "The Big Lebowski", (very loosely, and I stress, very loosely, combined with the basic ideals of Buddhism and Taoism) I think that the official garb of my new priest status is a bathrobe. That's cool. Can do. And that the main teachings of my new found religion are "Take it easy, man". Also, fine by me.
I reckon my next task will be to establish my own country online, specifically so that I can nominate Dudeism as the Official Religion, and bathrobes as the official National costume. Excellent!
World domination draws ever nearer!
Watch this space.....! (it doesn't do anything, except give you something to focus on)......
(seriously, you can stop now)
(really - you're beginning to freak me out a bit, man)
Now and again, something (or someone!) happens that inspires me to write a piece of poetry.
My mother is a constant source of amazement to me. Whatever life throws at her, she catches, and handles with grace and aplomb. I wrote this poem for her years ago, before the advent of the National Lottery (thus the reference to the "pools" - a national sweep stake here in the UK which she used to enter regularly).
The area in which I live was the first in Britain to be switched over to the new, improved digital television receivers.
At the time, I must have been one of only a handful of people who didn't rush out to buy a "digi-box" which would have enabled me to get the new, digital signal once the old, analogue signal was turned off.
"Why not?", I hear all five of you readers calling out simultaneously (I'm very impressed you managed that, dear readers!). "Why didn't you rush out to buy a digi box?" (Wow, you must have been practising together!).
It was my eldest brother's birthday recently, and I decided that I would make him a present. This had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that I happened to be skint that week (!). It was going to be an entirely altruistic gesture of sibling love. I set about thinking what I could make him that he'd really like. That would really mean something. That he could get lots of pleasure from. (That wouldn't cost much for basic materials!). Hmmmmm......... Then it came to me..... I could make him a batch of TABLET!
It amazes me how many stories I hear on the radio news that don't make it to television news. It's such a shame, as the stories that get missed out on television are often the ones that I think are the best. Okay, so we need updates on what the government/economy/USA is doing, as it affects our daily lives. But what about the alligator loose on the streets of a small town in Germany??? Or the arm found on the motorway here in Britain??? Or the riot in Northern Ireland that was stopped because a policeman played ice-cream van music over his police car tannoy??? These were the stories that stopped me in my tracks recently.
Prologue: Yesterday, one of readers commented that he thought my blogs were very like me - a bit too long winded. I was cut to the core at the injustice of the remark. But remembered reading somewhere that, in order to gain followers, a good blogger will respond to comments, thereby creating a loyal readership. I have decided to follow this advice so, having received a comment (from one of the four of you out there, you know who you are) I have decided to wipe away my tears, and treat it as positive, constructive criticism, and write a shorter blog. Any of the three remaining readers are more than welcome to send a protest comment about my blog being too short. I'll be waiting.......
Here follows the actual blog post......
When I was a little, I used to sit in my Dad's lap while we watched a children's television programme called Trumpton together. A mythical town, set somewhere in England (Trumptonshire - no, really, I looked it up!), it had a cast of plasticine characters who all got on famously with each other, in a stop-motion animated kinda way. Every episode would bring a minor emergency (bring out the Trumpton Fire Brigade!), or a celebration, or some sort of event which would be handled in a very sensible manner by the inhabitants of the town, and which could only be described as exciting if you lived in a very tiny place where not much happens (like, a caravan on an island, an island where you are the sole occupant). If you were a child in the late '60's/early '70's , late '70's/early '80's, you will know Trumpton. And Camberwick Green. And Chigley.
