Being me has its drawbacks. To exist in a world dominated by humans it is imperative that you have the ability to defend your self and loved ones from those humans who have absolutely no regard for others of their species.
I dare not venture down the night road on my own on foot for fear of becoming a target for some two legged sewer rats. I do go out at night but it is by car. Today's society has made me paranoid, albeit mildly, about the night time creatures who, grouped together, become these 'hard nuts', 'tough guys' who fancy making a name for themselves by attacking one, maybe two innocent people going about their lives. Sometimes though, aggressive attacks come in different styles:
I remember just the other year when I decided to walk to the shop to get a couple of bottles of wine, as you do. Of course it was dark and I had to venture across this park. Going by car was not an option because I had already had the enjoyment of partaking in a two bottle red wine session. No, I was determined to walk the walk. Being a fairly mild night and with the power of red grapes running through my veins, I went for it.
Then I saw them. A group of six loud teenagers messing about in the fenced off children's swing and slide area that unfortunately was just a few feet from the path I was treading. My spider senses were on red alert. I should have turned back. I foresaw the blonde haired girl say something intimidating to me. I was right! "Hey Mister, do you want to be my granddad?" She laughed when her words of utter stupidity left her arguably, uneducated mouth. I of course ignored her. I kept my eyes focused on the large unkempt dotted faced youth who I visualised as making an aggressive move on me. You know, the show of to the girlfriend bit. Well thankfully on that score I was wrong.
Making my way back I wondered why I hadn't taken my own advice and had gone the long road way back home. Well it was because my anger had been lit. My whole being was cloaked in this bubble of fearlessness. As the path took me back to near touching distance of the pack I switched my mobile on and kept it to my ear. I could hear the wife's questioning voice so I whispered to her to just listen.
"Hey mate. Don't you like me? I thought you wanted to be my granddad." Now you can probably guess what she was meaning, I certainly did. The girl must have been no more than 14 years of age, but yes she was dressed much older. After she spoke her words that in an instant could have changed my life for the worse, I stopped right in front of them and said into the mobile: "Did you get that love?" The youth's smirk changed to a forced smile and he said to me: "Take no notice mate, she's just playing!" With a sigh of relief I continued home.
The incident I have just described was of a different type of aggression than being set upon by violent thugs. Never the less, it could have resulted in so much more pain and suffering than a few punches and kicks could do. My fear was that because I had ignored her, she was going to shout the one descriptive word that would have cut me and my family to shreds. Mud sticks does it not?
I'm a writer not a fighter, but sometimes I wish I was more aggressive. If I had been I would have told that pathetic girl too f#ck off and sent the wife to sort her out!
Thursday, 22 March 2012
Wednesday, 29 February 2012
I Only Have One Leg...
“I ONLY HAVE ONE LEG...SO GIVE ME SOME BENEFIT”
I have just been reading about Her Majesty’s Government proposal to implement The Welfare Reform Bill on Her Maj’s subjects. Apparently the new reforms will make it simpler for those genuine cases to be awarded disability allowances and incapacity benefits and other taxpayer sucking handouts. The media via the news papers have shown us examples of those cheating subjects who knowingly receive thousands of £’s in benefits.
Now surely one must obtain a thorough medical examination and a Doctor’s signature for say a bad back, before they qualify for these benefits. I mean that is surely standard commonsense procedure is it not? So how is it possible for subjects of The Queen to carry out such awful fraudulent misdemeanours against their fellow taxpaying err, subjects of The same Queen? Could I George Cargill B.A., obtain thousands of £’s by claiming that I only have one leg?
THEY TAKE EVERY POUND I EARN OFF MY JOB SEEKER’S ALLOWANCE!
In respect of my claim for benefit allowance because I write on a form that I have only one leg, I expect NOT TO HAVE A LEG TO STAND ON. I should be subject to a medical examination by at least my own Doctor before I receive a penny!
BRITAIN
WAKE UP!
I have just been reading about Her Majesty’s Government proposal to implement The Welfare Reform Bill on Her Maj’s subjects. Apparently the new reforms will make it simpler for those genuine cases to be awarded disability allowances and incapacity benefits and other taxpayer sucking handouts. The media via the news papers have shown us examples of those cheating subjects who knowingly receive thousands of £’s in benefits.
Now surely one must obtain a thorough medical examination and a Doctor’s signature for say a bad back, before they qualify for these benefits. I mean that is surely standard commonsense procedure is it not? So how is it possible for subjects of The Queen to carry out such awful fraudulent misdemeanours against their fellow taxpaying err, subjects of The same Queen? Could I George Cargill B.A., obtain thousands of £’s by claiming that I only have one leg?
THEY TAKE EVERY POUND I EARN OFF MY JOB SEEKER’S ALLOWANCE!
In respect of my claim for benefit allowance because I write on a form that I have only one leg, I expect NOT TO HAVE A LEG TO STAND ON. I should be subject to a medical examination by at least my own Doctor before I receive a penny!
BRITAIN
WAKE UP!
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Being George Part two
‘Hey you’ve got to hide your love away,’ sang The Beatles although I didn’t become aware of this poignant lyric driven song until the Peterhead Years (1968-1971). Being George meant that I wasn’t in love or anything near at that point in my life. I just dreamt. I wished that I’d been the one who had written that song.
In the real plane of existence I was fighting to survive in the juvenile playground of Peterhead’s junior educational facility branded: The North School. What a dire dreary place it was. Strangely enough when I revisited the so - called junior school nearly thirty years after my sunshine exit(my RAF dad had got the posting of a life time, a three year stint in Cyprus; oh lucky me), the Victorian building looked so small. I stood aghast in what used to be the main assembly room, where I would be forced to recite The Lord’s Prayer. Being George, even in my tender years I had a strong belief in myself to know what was right and what was wrong. Respect has to be earned by those who feel the need to have it and not forced upon those less fortunate in wealth or birth. I will only bow my head to another human under duress. As for God and religion, man has been able to spoil the whole concept and turn it into one of control and power. The barbarism, brutality and mindless torture perpetrated by so –called men and women of God that are etched with blood in the annuals of human history, brings me to tears. I hope that God makes those who make use of His name for their own Earthly gain pay with eternal damnation.
It was in my existence in this harsh Scottish school that I endured the frightening character slaying of bullying. There I was a four – eyed tunnel nostril, short legged seven year young school lad who was looking forward to my pre 11+ school years. Little did I know that some monstrous moveable mountain had already marked me out as fresh meat. He made my first term a complete and utter misery. Every time the bell would go for break time, he would be waiting for me. I’d have a whack round the head, pocket money pinched, and amongst other things he would grab my school tie and pull it tight. You may ask why didn’t I tell a teacher or my older brother Robert. Firstly instinct told me that grassing to a teacher would make it worse for me in the long run. Secondly, I didn’t want Robert to get hurt- although Robert being three years older than me probably would have sorted ‘it’ out. I call the bully ‘it’ because well, why shouldn’t I?
Being George means that you have a rather long fuse and have a long endurance span. I would probably make a good spy who is under torture. However that said, once I break, I break! Half way through my second term I had had enough of ‘it.’ Oh I can still see the surprise in the monsters face when as he approached me with those fat fingers ready to grab my throat. Its ears rang red with my verbal assault of threats and explicates and the barrage of punches into its stomach doubled it so. Let’s just say, I never saw such a monster again. Little did I know that I’d be a victim of bullying again, six years later!
Being George in Peterhead did have its many good points. The town has a fairly big harbour, well to me it did anyway, and many a time I would go and do some fishing there. I can see myself in my grey shorts with my legs dangling, holding a make shift fishing rod which amounted to a small but longish tree branch with a long string tied to it. At the end of the string I must have had a worm or something. As I write, I cannot remember ever catching anything but a cold!
There was also our pet dog, Tina. Tina was a black Labrador who we kids spoilt but loved. It was such an awfully sad day when our dad had to take Tina away because she couldn’t come to Cyprus with us.
Oh I have just seen myself sat on the large RAF transportation bus. I’m looking out of the window and seeing, what was my home for those past three years, 9Cattle Drive disappear into my past forever. Goodbye my best friend William Young and your one sided toast. Goodbye Mr Whippy Ice Cream, Mackintosh toffee and snow. Goodbye cold bitter mornings and the greyness of Scotland and The North School. Hello sunshine and all round summer. Hello Cyprus!
In the real plane of existence I was fighting to survive in the juvenile playground of Peterhead’s junior educational facility branded: The North School. What a dire dreary place it was. Strangely enough when I revisited the so - called junior school nearly thirty years after my sunshine exit(my RAF dad had got the posting of a life time, a three year stint in Cyprus; oh lucky me), the Victorian building looked so small. I stood aghast in what used to be the main assembly room, where I would be forced to recite The Lord’s Prayer. Being George, even in my tender years I had a strong belief in myself to know what was right and what was wrong. Respect has to be earned by those who feel the need to have it and not forced upon those less fortunate in wealth or birth. I will only bow my head to another human under duress. As for God and religion, man has been able to spoil the whole concept and turn it into one of control and power. The barbarism, brutality and mindless torture perpetrated by so –called men and women of God that are etched with blood in the annuals of human history, brings me to tears. I hope that God makes those who make use of His name for their own Earthly gain pay with eternal damnation.
It was in my existence in this harsh Scottish school that I endured the frightening character slaying of bullying. There I was a four – eyed tunnel nostril, short legged seven year young school lad who was looking forward to my pre 11+ school years. Little did I know that some monstrous moveable mountain had already marked me out as fresh meat. He made my first term a complete and utter misery. Every time the bell would go for break time, he would be waiting for me. I’d have a whack round the head, pocket money pinched, and amongst other things he would grab my school tie and pull it tight. You may ask why didn’t I tell a teacher or my older brother Robert. Firstly instinct told me that grassing to a teacher would make it worse for me in the long run. Secondly, I didn’t want Robert to get hurt- although Robert being three years older than me probably would have sorted ‘it’ out. I call the bully ‘it’ because well, why shouldn’t I?
Being George means that you have a rather long fuse and have a long endurance span. I would probably make a good spy who is under torture. However that said, once I break, I break! Half way through my second term I had had enough of ‘it.’ Oh I can still see the surprise in the monsters face when as he approached me with those fat fingers ready to grab my throat. Its ears rang red with my verbal assault of threats and explicates and the barrage of punches into its stomach doubled it so. Let’s just say, I never saw such a monster again. Little did I know that I’d be a victim of bullying again, six years later!
Being George in Peterhead did have its many good points. The town has a fairly big harbour, well to me it did anyway, and many a time I would go and do some fishing there. I can see myself in my grey shorts with my legs dangling, holding a make shift fishing rod which amounted to a small but longish tree branch with a long string tied to it. At the end of the string I must have had a worm or something. As I write, I cannot remember ever catching anything but a cold!
There was also our pet dog, Tina. Tina was a black Labrador who we kids spoilt but loved. It was such an awfully sad day when our dad had to take Tina away because she couldn’t come to Cyprus with us.
Oh I have just seen myself sat on the large RAF transportation bus. I’m looking out of the window and seeing, what was my home for those past three years, 9Cattle Drive disappear into my past forever. Goodbye my best friend William Young and your one sided toast. Goodbye Mr Whippy Ice Cream, Mackintosh toffee and snow. Goodbye cold bitter mornings and the greyness of Scotland and The North School. Hello sunshine and all round summer. Hello Cyprus!
Thursday, 23 February 2012
Being George
Sometimes I get pretty cheesed off with having to exist as me. My self depreciation has nothing to do with my wife,family or friends; just me! I don't even know if 'self depreciation' is the correct term,and is in context with what I mean. Nor am I going to do any research to reach any conclusion. I just can't be arsed! Mind you, I don't know what I have got to moan about being George, because as I now describe in the following paragraphs, I had a fantastic child hood.
Once upon a time in a far off land called the Kingdom of Fife, two small nostrils were born to the world of 1961. Over the years these nostrils flared into the twin tunnel - like structure that they are today. Of course had I been able to pick my own nose back in 1961, I would have chosen a cute one similar to Brad Pitt for example. Alas it was a higher power that made me carry the burden of these nostrils through out my entire life. Now I just pick my nose all the time with my thumbs!
Anyway, I cannot remember much about my life from 0 - 4 years only that I was my grannie's favourite and me and my family lived with my mum's mum until my RAF dad got posted to Singapore. I do seem to recollect having a girl - friend called Janet back in Tayport. Sometimes my mind will replay black and white memories of Janet. Oddly I can see her face as I write this blog that no one will read.
The Singapore years(1965-1968) I can remember more vividly and these memories play in colour! We used to live in wonderful houses with fans on the ceilings too cool us down because it used to get really hot. I have seen old black and white photographs of my two brothers Robert and little Jimmy posing with me outside the house we lived in for the three year stay. There was me sat between them with a patch over one eye and a plaster on my left arm! I had also split my head open during that time OUCH! This period of my life was certainly a medical one. Every time I hear that hit 'Georgy Girl' by The Seekers from 1967, I see myself back in that Singapore hospital waiting for the operation that had to be carried out on my lazy right eye. I hated that song and it made me hate my name, because some of the other boys took the mickey out of me and kept calling me Georgy.
Peterhead & the North School(1968-1971) Although it was exciting travelling by plane to countries over seas, it was great to smell the British air and watch British television. My sister Barbara was born in 1969 at Peterhead a fishing town just north of Aberdeen.
I can still feel the warm rain as it pelted onto the hot dry barren earth.(This is a piece of non-linear structure for you. This sentence was meant to be part of content describing the Singapore years).
The Peterhead years were tough, both for schooling and surviving on the Cattle Drive estate. I can see clearly the time when my 36 year young pram pushing mum found me having a scrap with some lad. She simply walked on and left us two silly boys to it. I had many scraps which always resulted in my glasses being broke. You see, you was either a Rangers fan or a Celtic fan, and once I realised that the Celtic gang was bigger, I became one of them! There was always fights between the two. The few Aberdeen fans were left alone.
I was into Triang -Hornby train sets and had loads of tracks and engines, football and playing marbles. Wow my best friend William Young has just came to vision in my memory banks. He was a brilliant friend of mine, we were really close. He would take me to his house where we would have bread toasted but only on one side. He, like me was a big Celtic fan. I wonder what William is doing now?
I remember the old coinage, the thruppeny bit, the sixpence piece, half a crown and the shilling. There used to be a sweet shop just over from the school and I used to buy four highland toffee squares for 2p. The money was so much more fun before they forced us to go decimal. Mr Whippy ice creams had just come out...mm, although I'm not sure how much they cost.
Oh, I must say, this blog is taking too long. So I am going to stop it...HERE Part two tomorrow
Once upon a time in a far off land called the Kingdom of Fife, two small nostrils were born to the world of 1961. Over the years these nostrils flared into the twin tunnel - like structure that they are today. Of course had I been able to pick my own nose back in 1961, I would have chosen a cute one similar to Brad Pitt for example. Alas it was a higher power that made me carry the burden of these nostrils through out my entire life. Now I just pick my nose all the time with my thumbs!
Anyway, I cannot remember much about my life from 0 - 4 years only that I was my grannie's favourite and me and my family lived with my mum's mum until my RAF dad got posted to Singapore. I do seem to recollect having a girl - friend called Janet back in Tayport. Sometimes my mind will replay black and white memories of Janet. Oddly I can see her face as I write this blog that no one will read.
The Singapore years(1965-1968) I can remember more vividly and these memories play in colour! We used to live in wonderful houses with fans on the ceilings too cool us down because it used to get really hot. I have seen old black and white photographs of my two brothers Robert and little Jimmy posing with me outside the house we lived in for the three year stay. There was me sat between them with a patch over one eye and a plaster on my left arm! I had also split my head open during that time OUCH! This period of my life was certainly a medical one. Every time I hear that hit 'Georgy Girl' by The Seekers from 1967, I see myself back in that Singapore hospital waiting for the operation that had to be carried out on my lazy right eye. I hated that song and it made me hate my name, because some of the other boys took the mickey out of me and kept calling me Georgy.
Peterhead & the North School(1968-1971) Although it was exciting travelling by plane to countries over seas, it was great to smell the British air and watch British television. My sister Barbara was born in 1969 at Peterhead a fishing town just north of Aberdeen.
I can still feel the warm rain as it pelted onto the hot dry barren earth.(This is a piece of non-linear structure for you. This sentence was meant to be part of content describing the Singapore years).
The Peterhead years were tough, both for schooling and surviving on the Cattle Drive estate. I can see clearly the time when my 36 year young pram pushing mum found me having a scrap with some lad. She simply walked on and left us two silly boys to it. I had many scraps which always resulted in my glasses being broke. You see, you was either a Rangers fan or a Celtic fan, and once I realised that the Celtic gang was bigger, I became one of them! There was always fights between the two. The few Aberdeen fans were left alone.
I was into Triang -Hornby train sets and had loads of tracks and engines, football and playing marbles. Wow my best friend William Young has just came to vision in my memory banks. He was a brilliant friend of mine, we were really close. He would take me to his house where we would have bread toasted but only on one side. He, like me was a big Celtic fan. I wonder what William is doing now?
I remember the old coinage, the thruppeny bit, the sixpence piece, half a crown and the shilling. There used to be a sweet shop just over from the school and I used to buy four highland toffee squares for 2p. The money was so much more fun before they forced us to go decimal. Mr Whippy ice creams had just come out...mm, although I'm not sure how much they cost.
Oh, I must say, this blog is taking too long. So I am going to stop it...HERE Part two tomorrow
Wednesday, 22 February 2012
My Own Space
I fell out with reading DC Comics' 'Superman' because the writers went/(have gone) too far with the whole concept of the Kryptonian living on Earth. Superman has been made too god-like and what can you do with a hero like that?
Anyway, I have been sketching ideas for my science fiction short story, The Boy who Could Fly which tells the story of an alien father called Kia, who has travelled back to our planet to see his 12 year old son Davie. The distraught alien father soon realised that he had to save Kia from humankind and their fear of the unknown.
Kia had to leave Earth before his son was born, vowing to his human lover Natalie that he would return as soon as the powers of the Universe allowed. Unfortunately Natalie died when Davie was six and after a few years in a care home, Kia was adopted by an unscrupulous middle - aged couple Mrs & Mr Winthorpe who claimed to be distant relatives of Natalie. This horrible couple discover that there was something different about Davie, in particular his ability to defy gravity. Thus the brutality and inhumanity of man to another being rears its ugly head once again. Kia is used as a pin cushion, blood taken etc, he is even subject to having his body cut open!
By the way folks, since I know that no one actually reads my blogs, I know that my idea is safe!
How does Kia save his son, travel through space and time to get to Earth and what is his & Davie's abilities? Well YOU will just have to read the genius of a story when I actually write the damn thing.
There no earthly reason why an alien being who lands on our planet cannot have superior physical and mental abilities. Like wise, less so.
I have always been fascinated by the stars and the universe. When I look up at the starry night sky after a few minutes it feels like there is no up and down. Our blue world is simply floating in space. It's so mind blowing to conceive the fact that we humans are just dust particles that inhabit this beautiful world that we are allowing to be abused by our rulers. To be honest, I really do not believe that man and his cruel disregard for, well anything that gets in his way, has much baring on what goes on with Earth. When it is ready our planet will shake us off like dandruff if we carry on the way we are doing. Also, if the Sun decides to grow even more potent, we humans will suffer.
It is so fascinating to think that it would take us thousands, maybe millions of years to reach another galaxy. What I see when I look up at Betelguise is how that massive Red Giant was over 500 years ago! King Henry 8th was busy chopping heads off at that time..ish.
How does my alien get to Earth and where is his planet? I haven't figured that one out yet.
LovePeace&Happiness
Anyway, I have been sketching ideas for my science fiction short story, The Boy who Could Fly which tells the story of an alien father called Kia, who has travelled back to our planet to see his 12 year old son Davie. The distraught alien father soon realised that he had to save Kia from humankind and their fear of the unknown.
Kia had to leave Earth before his son was born, vowing to his human lover Natalie that he would return as soon as the powers of the Universe allowed. Unfortunately Natalie died when Davie was six and after a few years in a care home, Kia was adopted by an unscrupulous middle - aged couple Mrs & Mr Winthorpe who claimed to be distant relatives of Natalie. This horrible couple discover that there was something different about Davie, in particular his ability to defy gravity. Thus the brutality and inhumanity of man to another being rears its ugly head once again. Kia is used as a pin cushion, blood taken etc, he is even subject to having his body cut open!
By the way folks, since I know that no one actually reads my blogs, I know that my idea is safe!
How does Kia save his son, travel through space and time to get to Earth and what is his & Davie's abilities? Well YOU will just have to read the genius of a story when I actually write the damn thing.
There no earthly reason why an alien being who lands on our planet cannot have superior physical and mental abilities. Like wise, less so.
I have always been fascinated by the stars and the universe. When I look up at the starry night sky after a few minutes it feels like there is no up and down. Our blue world is simply floating in space. It's so mind blowing to conceive the fact that we humans are just dust particles that inhabit this beautiful world that we are allowing to be abused by our rulers. To be honest, I really do not believe that man and his cruel disregard for, well anything that gets in his way, has much baring on what goes on with Earth. When it is ready our planet will shake us off like dandruff if we carry on the way we are doing. Also, if the Sun decides to grow even more potent, we humans will suffer.
It is so fascinating to think that it would take us thousands, maybe millions of years to reach another galaxy. What I see when I look up at Betelguise is how that massive Red Giant was over 500 years ago! King Henry 8th was busy chopping heads off at that time..ish.
How does my alien get to Earth and where is his planet? I haven't figured that one out yet.
LovePeace&Happiness
Tuesday, 21 February 2012
George the organiser.
I remember the time when I foolishly(with hindsight)volunteered to organise the works Pool & Darts competitions for the Merlin Sports & Social Club. Both competitions had been running reasonably successful for years. Then suddenly all interest faded and the competitions were dropped for a couple of years. The main reason for the lack of interest was the change in shift patterns and no trophy of any kind awarded to the winners.
Volunteers were needed for the new committee and for some weird reason, I put me name forward. During the first meeting the question of who wanted to organise the pool and darts competitions was raised. Out of the mixture of ten different sized noses, it was my nose with the large nostrils that twitched alone. Thus my two year stint as an entertainments organiser began in haste!
I had to barter hard to get the prizes I wanted for the two competitions. The Sports & Social Club treasury was over flowing with money that was supposed to be spent on its members, but apart from the Christmas party, there was nothing else! In the end I had to settle for A small cup for the winners with a cash prize of £25, the runner up received £15, with the two losing semi finalists getting a fiver each. The number of willing participants was well over 40 for each competition. Sadly it was unworkable to have a doubles competition in both games because of the different shift patterns. I gave one month for each best of 3 knock - out round with the onus on the home player to organise the game and fill in the results.
Everything flowed like a gentle river until the Finals Night. I had laid on free food and concessions for the first two drinks for each of the semi finalists. I had liaised with Geoff the Club manager for the first Saturday night in December of that year, 1994. Hahaha, two of the players had forgotten to tell me that they had other pub team finals to attend, so they couldn't come to the one I had organised! I was livid. With just one week to go, I had to cancel the finals night until the week after and on a Sunday.
In the end, a good turn out ensued that a good night was had by all and you should have seen the smiling faces of the winners when they got their trophies, which were presented to them by the Managing Director no less!
Although my enthusiasm faded after that first incredible year, I was persuaded to organise the competitions for the following year. 1995 produced the largest number of entries for both competitions for over a decade. I was well chuffed!
Volunteers were needed for the new committee and for some weird reason, I put me name forward. During the first meeting the question of who wanted to organise the pool and darts competitions was raised. Out of the mixture of ten different sized noses, it was my nose with the large nostrils that twitched alone. Thus my two year stint as an entertainments organiser began in haste!
I had to barter hard to get the prizes I wanted for the two competitions. The Sports & Social Club treasury was over flowing with money that was supposed to be spent on its members, but apart from the Christmas party, there was nothing else! In the end I had to settle for A small cup for the winners with a cash prize of £25, the runner up received £15, with the two losing semi finalists getting a fiver each. The number of willing participants was well over 40 for each competition. Sadly it was unworkable to have a doubles competition in both games because of the different shift patterns. I gave one month for each best of 3 knock - out round with the onus on the home player to organise the game and fill in the results.
Everything flowed like a gentle river until the Finals Night. I had laid on free food and concessions for the first two drinks for each of the semi finalists. I had liaised with Geoff the Club manager for the first Saturday night in December of that year, 1994. Hahaha, two of the players had forgotten to tell me that they had other pub team finals to attend, so they couldn't come to the one I had organised! I was livid. With just one week to go, I had to cancel the finals night until the week after and on a Sunday.
In the end, a good turn out ensued that a good night was had by all and you should have seen the smiling faces of the winners when they got their trophies, which were presented to them by the Managing Director no less!
Although my enthusiasm faded after that first incredible year, I was persuaded to organise the competitions for the following year. 1995 produced the largest number of entries for both competitions for over a decade. I was well chuffed!
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