My new year's day began with a mild First-World problem when I found my coffee-maker had sprung a small leak
sometime in the early hours of a new 2023. Yeah... I know, these are the times when one's fortitude is tested to
the maximum, but the surrounding details finds me not fully confident that it is an actual leak and more testing
-I believe, is required.
I currently find myself in the role of Patrick McGoohan's character from the movie 'Escape From Alcatraz', when
Warden Arthur Dollison is squatted down on the shore of Angel Island musing on a the floating chrysanthemum
head being tossed about by the waves. Was there a break-out from my coffee-maker whilst I slept last night or is
there another reason... an act I'm aware of and all of this is just a lack of adventure in a senescent man of 62?!
Belonging to the age-group my wife and I are presently card-carrying members of, partying like its 1999 on New
Year's Eve has been long-ago taken off our 'To Do' list and when ten o'clock rolls around, the odd eager firework
exploding on the final day of December can now find us tucked soundly beneath the bed covers and wondering
what tomorrow might bring.
But as a nod to all the excitement, last night I filled up the water-reservoir of our coffee-maker and poured in some
new coffee that our son had brought that very day. He and his girlfriend had worked through the Christmas period
and it was only on the 31st, could they visit their respective families and deliver any belated-gifts.
For the our son's old parents, it was a couple of bags of selected ground-coffee for their battered coffee machine.
Let's get this out in the open first... I did spill some of the water as I prepared the brew, last night. I know I did
and I wiped it up, this included moving the device and capturing any of the liquid that had sneaked beneath its
rubber feet. If I stay in the role of the Warden of Alcatraz, I would state without conviction (see what I did there?!)
...that everything that was supposed to be confined, was secured when I turned off the kitchen-light to retire for the
night.
Later, as the usually-dark sky exploded with burning pyrotechnics and loud noises, I struggled to discover sleep and
like many of us in later-years, took inventory of our past and calculated our failures against our successes. Just for
the record, the small dribble of water I'd earlier induced was not one of them.
Then I finally succumb to the arms of Morpheus and ran amongst my dreams where my scalp enjoyed a fine mane
of hair again and the loons-wearing chicks listening to the latest sounds on their hand-held radios ruminated on my
slim ass as I passed by. A merry world of emotive abstract where one's frontal lobe tosses out reasoning and allows
dreams to become a reality.
If my wife's belief has merit, it must have been during this journey of self-satiating delusion that the Frank Morris and
the Anglin brothers-version of water decided to make their escape from my coffee-maker.
Why during the early hours of New Year's Day was such extrication undertook? What made this particular date any
more important than the previous evening? The kitchen counter was dry the night before when I performed my alchemy
and ensured no aqueous escapees had attempted a breakout. Warden Dollison would've approved of my methods and
-I am sure, even saluted my no-nonsense attitude of a semi-Luddite still willing to utilise modern gadgetry for purposes
attached to laziness.
My people are scouring the scene as I type and no stone will be left unturned. If the fluid-versions of Morris and his two
cohorts are out there... I will find them. As Patrick McGoohan's slightly-Irish tones will vouch... "No one has ever escaped
from my coffee-maker. And no one ever will".
sometime in the early hours of a new 2023. Yeah... I know, these are the times when one's fortitude is tested to
the maximum, but the surrounding details finds me not fully confident that it is an actual leak and more testing
-I believe, is required.
I currently find myself in the role of Patrick McGoohan's character from the movie 'Escape From Alcatraz', when
Warden Arthur Dollison is squatted down on the shore of Angel Island musing on a the floating chrysanthemum
head being tossed about by the waves. Was there a break-out from my coffee-maker whilst I slept last night or is
there another reason... an act I'm aware of and all of this is just a lack of adventure in a senescent man of 62?!
Belonging to the age-group my wife and I are presently card-carrying members of, partying like its 1999 on New
Year's Eve has been long-ago taken off our 'To Do' list and when ten o'clock rolls around, the odd eager firework
exploding on the final day of December can now find us tucked soundly beneath the bed covers and wondering
what tomorrow might bring.
But as a nod to all the excitement, last night I filled up the water-reservoir of our coffee-maker and poured in some
new coffee that our son had brought that very day. He and his girlfriend had worked through the Christmas period
and it was only on the 31st, could they visit their respective families and deliver any belated-gifts.
For the our son's old parents, it was a couple of bags of selected ground-coffee for their battered coffee machine.
Let's get this out in the open first... I did spill some of the water as I prepared the brew, last night. I know I did
and I wiped it up, this included moving the device and capturing any of the liquid that had sneaked beneath its
rubber feet. If I stay in the role of the Warden of Alcatraz, I would state without conviction (see what I did there?!)
...that everything that was supposed to be confined, was secured when I turned off the kitchen-light to retire for the
night.
Later, as the usually-dark sky exploded with burning pyrotechnics and loud noises, I struggled to discover sleep and
like many of us in later-years, took inventory of our past and calculated our failures against our successes. Just for
the record, the small dribble of water I'd earlier induced was not one of them.
Then I finally succumb to the arms of Morpheus and ran amongst my dreams where my scalp enjoyed a fine mane
of hair again and the loons-wearing chicks listening to the latest sounds on their hand-held radios ruminated on my
slim ass as I passed by. A merry world of emotive abstract where one's frontal lobe tosses out reasoning and allows
dreams to become a reality.
If my wife's belief has merit, it must have been during this journey of self-satiating delusion that the Frank Morris and
the Anglin brothers-version of water decided to make their escape from my coffee-maker.
Why during the early hours of New Year's Day was such extrication undertook? What made this particular date any
more important than the previous evening? The kitchen counter was dry the night before when I performed my alchemy
and ensured no aqueous escapees had attempted a breakout. Warden Dollison would've approved of my methods and
-I am sure, even saluted my no-nonsense attitude of a semi-Luddite still willing to utilise modern gadgetry for purposes
attached to laziness.
My people are scouring the scene as I type and no stone will be left unturned. If the fluid-versions of Morris and his two
cohorts are out there... I will find them. As Patrick McGoohan's slightly-Irish tones will vouch... "No one has ever escaped
from my coffee-maker. And no one ever will".
Read The TV Guide, yer' don't need a TV.