I started a blog about a year or so ago. It sounded to me as though 'blog' would be an alternate name for 'traffic jam', but now it has turned out to be a very useful place for airing one's scribbles.
Unfortunately, time being what it was and business being the same, I've not had very much time to give it my attention.
So thanks to my computer-savvy daughter, we are now attempting to upgrade and polish off the 'Hallam Chronicles.'
This blog will consist of excerpts & chapters from the FOUR books I have written, the latest being: 'Dumpster Chronicles: Dropped At Birth.'
This will be released in October and available at your local Stop & Shop or convenience store!
And now, read on!
Once a year my art publishers organize an exhibition tour of my recent paintings in Japan through a distributor called Art Collection House based in Tokyo.
This year the tour started in the U.S.A. with three shows on the West coast: Newport Beach, Beverly Hills and Universal City. Then on to Japan for three weeks, returning to the States via a show in Hawaii.
Two months ago in late June I had total knee replacement surgery, my rehabilitation has been satisfactory but this marathon tour would certainly put it to the test! I estimated that I would be trapped on a plane for a total of forty two hours during the month of travel.
The next three days will be spent at 'shows' in and around Tokyo.
We start at 11.30 in Hotel 'Robby' (cleverly avoiding lunch) and travel to the various locations where I am told there will be five 'special' guests. Myself, the hundred or so ACH staff and the unfortunate guests are held captive there till 8 p.m. (this is not a misprint!) at which point we drive back to the ANA hotel by 9.00 p.m. (cleverly missing Dinner) but in time to collapse into bed after a well earned Shiatzu massage.
All three days will be much the same. The object of this exercise is a little obscure but I personally feel that it is part of a Japanese ceremony featuring an enforced dietary cleansing regime.
My hosts are dutifully ensuring compliance. (Come quick see Hallam-san cleansing and falling down. This is one for our scrapbook!)
Delightful morning; cloudless sky and breathable air.
Old style show with a very small stage area. This is not the Shinjuki Lumine in Tokyo by any stretch of the noodle! I am secreted behind curtain ready for grand entrance.
A rather weak drum roll, elevator rock Muzak, and it is time for the ‘great man’ to enter upstage-left from behind the off-blue curtain.
'Prease puttin hand togever for Kelly Holland!'
That's me; I'm on.
Now that Christmas is here, it brings back memories of the last winter's blizzard excitement.
The following is the story of the Blizzard of last winter as featured in Dumpster Chronicles II: The Cyber Years.
Winter comes once a year. During the Winter months there will be snow storms, gale force winds and ice pellets the size of buffalo testicles.The sea will go berserk producing giant waves that will threaten homes in coastal areas. Temperatures will slither down to the point where if one is dumb enough to step outside, one’s breath freezes.
There are power outages so nothing works and life becomes a throw back to the good old days when wood fires were the only form of heat and cooking. Birds freeze in the trees.The front door is frozen shut. Entire communities are gripped with the fear that they may never get to visit Walmart or watch TV ever again.
At present we are in the grips of one such severe blizzard and so I dutifully prepared for the worst. I bought what seemed like a small forest of wood so that I could crank up a fire. Of course it is inadvisable to light a fire when the wind is gusting to upwards of eighty miles per hour. The smoke would be pushed back down the chimney setting off all the smoke alarms and causing mild asphyxiation.
I stocked up on food supplies, mostly cold cuts because there would be no way of cooking hot food, together with a hundred or so assorted bottles of booze.
I filled large containers with water for emergency drinking, washing and flushing crap down the toilet.
I was ready for the onslaught.
This is really too much. I mean really! I was just starting to congratulate myself for surviving the Blizzard when look what happens. I wake up to a surprise. Another snowfall crept in during the night and has undone all my work in clearing my front driveway. It is over the pail and it pisses me off. And it is still snowing. Granted it is what the Met boys refer to as ‘light’ which is small consolation to the poor sods that are going to have to don arctic gear and return to the dreary business of shoveling. We must be getting close to a hundred inches of the white stuff this winter. The emergency room at the hospital is full to overflowing with people who have done serious damage to their lower backs resulting from them trying desperately to move several tons of snow.
It was the morning after the first barrage of heavy snow and high winds, which are the leading characters in the production of ‘How to meet your Blizzard; the sequel’. I sat drinking my coffee and gazing at the windows that were coated in thick ice and snow and unrecognizable as windows. I now know how Scott of the Antarctic must have felt. I thought that it would be a good idea to take a peak at what things looked like outside, so I heaved open the front door and was drenched by thick snow from the drift that had piled up during the night. I dusted off my sopping trousers and peered out onto what used to be my front driveway. The snow had done a really good job of obliterating it. My vehicles were almost buried and it looked doubtful that they would be moving any time soon. Snow was still falling but at least the winds had abated and the temperature was edging into double digits. It was a depressingly bleak outlook but I did have a shovel and although it might take a while it would perhaps be worth the effort to clear some of the larger drifts.
I donned my arctic coat and boots.
It’s that time of year again. January; snow; blizzards; freezing rain and ice storms. And that’s just in the south. Up north weather conditions reach arctic proportions. It’s all part and parcel of Mother natures way of letting us know who is the boss when it comes to meteorology, climatic bed wetting and global warming.
However there are compensations. At this time each year we are treated to the NFL playoffs to decide which two teams will meet in the Super dooper bowl.
The NFL is an abbreviation for American Football League and right at the outset we have a problem here. American football is a game played for the most part, with the Hands. I will repeat that; a game played with the hands; not the feet.
This does not speak very highly of the founder’s familiarity with body parts. After all, it is well within the grasp of even the most simple minded, that hands are up top and feet are down below. However, as it is with so many ‘traditions’, the faux pas was not realized and it was decided to pretend that it never happened. Hand ball became football and that was all she wrote. Get over it.
So the Super Bowl bonanza rolls around each year come hell or high water.
XLVIII as it is affectionately known among the Romans, is a game between the AFC (American Football Conference ) and the NFC (National Football Conference)
‘Conference’ is an interesting term.
The dictionary defines it as meeting, convention, seminar, colloquium, symposium, forum, summit. ( Or perhaps in this case the spectacle of two sets of gladiators trying to tear the living crap out of each other! )
This year is a first. The event will be held in the Met Life Facility in New Jersey at an outdoor stadium. Yes OUTDOOR. I mean really! Someone needs to have extensive therapy. In all likelihood there will be ice particles the size of buffalo droppings and the playing field will resemble the trenches at Verdun. It is supremely optimistic to hope that the game will in fact be played but what the hey. On the 2nd at ( TV abbreviation for electro static testosterone ), all will be revealed.
We are all waiting with baited breath, clean underwear and appropriate team sweat shirts for Sunday’s big TV bonanza ‘The Super Duper Saucer’. The final football game of the season that will decide who will be crowned king of the cow pasture for another year.
The winning team will receive silver saucers inscribed with the pertinent statistics for them to place on their mantle shelves or the mantle shelve’s of their parents for safe keeping. The heros will be fated, baited and heavily weighted. They will be guests on religious programs, Youtube and spokespersons for the very latest in almost everything that’s worth a wank.
The dust and hullaballoo will eventually fade and by Monday morning life will get back to some semblance of normalcy. The media will add up the vast piles of cash which they have received from global sales of T.V. commercials during the extended broadcast and take the rest of the year off. All in all the advertising boys are feeling pretty chuffed with themselves.
In 1970 I had been living in the States for almost two years. The five years I had spent with my partner Ruth in the wacky world of entertainment was drawing to a close. We had sung our way around Europe; we had performed on the stages of the glittering carrousel of concerts, club dates, film and T.V shows. We had recorded albums for Polydor and worked with some of the leading musicians of that period. It had been a dizzying whirlwind and on the whole an exiting and rewarding trip. But the end was in sight; we had both burnt out in the rough and tumble of ‘show biz’ and the music industry. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world; but now it was time to regroup.
I decided to take a much needed break and planned a trip back to see the folks in the U.K.
Past three o’clock on s cold and frosty morning,
Past three o’clock good morrow masters all.
I am preparing to travel to Mass general Hospital in Boston for a couple of ‘procedures’ We won’t dwell on the nature of those tests; suffice to say it is not going to be a walk through the park. It will be akin to a medical kit inspection; make sure everything is squeaky clean and ready to engage.
Step one is to go down a rather elaborate check list of the things that I must not do prior to my visit. No food; no coffee; no alcoholic beverages of any description. My body must be as pure and clean as the driven snow. Paperwork that I must take with me; an assortment of different pills to be taken at different intervals; I.D’s of my current insurance coverage; a good book and my Ipod. A chronicle of my medical history for the past hundred years and my Family medical history from the year dot. A list of the various addresses, phone numbers and doctor’s names and phone numbers.