Money with Menaces

From time to time the odd genuine email drops into my spam folder by mistake, so I check it regularly. Spam-wise, I get targeted with a load of old crap. We all do – it’s the price we pay for being plugged in and switched on. They’re a mixed economy, often amusing and frequently daft. If I wanted Viagra, I’d buy it over the counter from Boots. And why would I need dodgy cut-price US car insurance or bargain-bucket bullets?

Sometimes, though, my scam spam turns more threatening. Recently, some pond life with terrible, often pompous, English calling himself ‘Fergus Bateman’ claimed to have hacked into my devices. Allegedly, he’d been monitoring my activity.

Fergus wrote…

“I found that you’ve been a frequent patron to erotic websites. It seems you have quite a bold side when it comes to finding satisfaction through these platforms.”

And that he’s…

“… come across some adult recordings featuring you, displaying intimate interactions I have that you might not want publicly shared.”

Erotic websites? My bold side? Intimate interactions? Oh no, has Fergus uncovered my saucy seventies Polaroids? And, he says he’s also stolen my address book and social media IDs so I’d better pay him the ‘trivial amount’ of $12,000 within 24 hours* or else.

Twelve grand? Trivial?

Well, Fergus, the bedroom blackmailer, social misfit and all round shit with your silly big words like ‘cognizant’ (US spelling) and ‘elucidate’, extortion may be the name of your game but the only money game I play is Monopoly.

So do your worst. Or better still, get a job.

All joking aside, there’s a serious point to all this. Scammers scam just like muggers mug because there’s money in it. Online or on the streets, theft is as old as the hills. And with social media becoming increasingly toxic, who knows who the good guys are anymore? Maybe it’s time to unplug and switch off?

*Of course, the 24 hour deadline came and went and still no one’s had the dubious pleasure of seeing my wee willy on screen. But I do sometimes wonder what happened to those old Polaroids.

Coughs and Sneezes Spread Diseases

Despite having had both the COVID and flu jabs, from the end of November I’ve endured a never-ending stream of colds which have all merged into one long snot-fest not seen since I was a nipper. And to add to my misery, the start of meteorological winter gave me a nasty rasping cough that kept us both awake with my constant hacking. Why are these things always worse at night?

My dreaded lurgy subsided a little over the festive period – I think over-indulgence of the Devil’s brew masked the pain – only to re-emerge as an ear infection earlier this month. ‘Winter pressures’ as they’re called in the trade, always put a huge strain on health services at this time of year but, according to those in the know, hospitals are fuller than normal at the moment, particularly with grey tops like us.

My sore ear needed more than just a couple of paracetamol so off I trudged to the quack. The practice nurse had her own theory about why coughs and sneezes are worse this winter. COVID’s back in town, she thinks, newly minted. Not so deadly but still dangerous.

Just when you thought it was safe to bin those bleedin’ face masks.

Jack on Wiki

Blimey, you could knock me down with a feather boa. I’ve made it onto Wikipedia. Ok, it’s only the cut-down, ‘Simple English’ version but it’s still Wiki nonetheless. I’ve been cited in a page about LGBT rights in Turkey. The article says:

Jack Scott, a British writer who moved to Turkey with his partner and who is the author of Perking the Pansies: Jack and Liam Move to Turkey, said his “obvious union with Liam has never attracted bad publicity from any Turk”, talking to the real estate company Quest Turkey.

What I actually said was…

“My obvious union with Liam has never attracted bad publicity from any Turk. I just assume, as non-Moslem foreigners, we are infidels and Hell-bound anyway so it hardly matters what we do.”

Not quite the same, but never mind. You can read the full Wiki article here:

LGBT Rights in Turkey

Even though my first book is pretty old hat these days, I’m chuffed with the plug. In fact, I have noticed a recent spike in sales across the pond. A coincidence? Who knows?

So it seems I’m nearly famous, in a fly-by-night, here-today-definitely-gone-tomorrow kinda way. We left Turkey in 2012, so infamy has come late in the day. Well, at least it’s not posthumous.

End of a Vera

I am bereft. After 14 series over 13 years, we’ve just watched the final two episodes of Vera, featuring the dishevelled and irascible detective from the fictitious Northumberland and City Police Force, played with great panache by the wonderful Brenda Blethyn. Based in and around England’s most northerly county, Vera blends the gritty streets of Newcastle with the desolate beauty of shore, moor and heath. The Northumberland landscape itself is an essential character. Vera wouldn’t be Vera without the dramatic vistas and hit-and-miss Geordie accents.

I love a traditional whodunnit – all that CGI-stuffed superhero nonsense isn’t for me. Vera does it old school in her battered Land Rover wearing her signature outfit of floppy hat and weather-beaten raincoat. Despite the twisting plots and false leads that make the brain hurt, Vera always gets her man. Because not all heroes wear capes.

And I’m not alone in loving a bit of Vera; the show is broadcast in around 180 territories worldwide and dubbed into various languages. But now Brenda Blethyn, at the incredible age of 78, has decided to hang up her mac and hat for good. And who can blame her? I’m missing her already.

Wherever I May Roam

The last time I received a sexual health sales pitch from Britain’s favourite high street pharmacy, it was about erectile dysfunction. Bloody cheek, I thought. No floppy problem here at Pansy HQ, no siree. Not yet, anyway. The penny must’ve dropped with the caring people at Boots the Chemist because now they recommend ‘Roam’, a masturbation cream…

“… for better penis play, heightened sensation and more intense orgasm. Unlike lubes, this transforming balm keeps you going for longer. STROKE, GLIDE & ELEVATE your solo play time. Enriched with extra caring COCONUT & SHEA.”

And apparently, it’s great for ‘edging’ and ‘jelqing’. Any idea? No? Me neither. In my day, we just called it wanking. And why ‘Roam’? Something to do while waiting for a bus in the rain? Sure beats fumbling to get the brolly up. Need some light relief in the meat and two veg aisle at Tesco’s? Or maybe getting a bit bored queuing up to ride the ‘Big One’ at Blackpool Pleasure Beach? Best whip out your Roam from your man bag and pleasure yourself instead. The mind boggles.

Still, at £4.99 with 50% off in the sales, it’s a steal. And it’s vegan too, so that’s alright then. Too late for Liam’s Christmas stocking, though.

Top of the Pansy Pops 2024

The 2024 top of the crop had a distinctly thespian theme – gays and the arts. Could it be any more of a cliché? Or maybe it just reflects a need for a distraction in worrying times. Who knows? Also thrown into the mix were celebrating the life of a dearly departed, a fond memory from our lotus-eating days in Turkey, and a few Greek postcards from gorgeous old Corfu Town. Oh, and then there was the little piece about my money-making side hustle as an Only Fans porn star. If only.

For some inexplicable reason, a 2020 post about a game old bird fit for the pot waddling around our modest small holding took off. Why? It’s a mystery.

Also, numbers-wise, Perking the Pansies enjoyed the best year since 2016, so there’s still life in the old blog yet. I thank you.

Happy New Year. Let’s hope for a lot more peace for 2025.

Perky Daffodils

Ringed by wonky tombstones, our pretty village church sits on top of a small hill. Called ‘All Saints’ – to cover all the holy bases – the unassuming little building is an eclectic blend of eras – Norman, Georgian, Victorian and modern. The Norman bell tower features a rare folksy thatched roof, and the east…

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The Palladium of Drag

I recently stumbled upon this delicious titbit – pun intended – on Faceache about drag life at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern way back in the sixties. Click the image to see the clip. One of my old witterings from 2015 came flooding back. At the time I wrote: “I’m sure I’ve been here before.” So…

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A Load of Bowls

The sedate game of bowls has ancient roots going way back to the time of the pharaohs. Nowadays, the Brit variety is traditionally associated with carefully manicured greens, well-versed etiquette and the grey herd in their virgin white togs. But in recent years, this most genteel of sports has attracted fresher blood, none more so…

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Pruning the Pansies

You know you’re getting long in the tooth when Santa brings you a shiny new pair of secateurs for Christmas. It simply confirms my suspicion that old fairies don’t go disco dancing, they just end their days pruning the pansies at the bottom of the garden. That’ll be me, then.

Actually, it just so happens that Father Christmas got my letter. My old secateurs were knackered. I know I’m supposed to keep ’em sharp and clean but I just can’t be arsed because life, as they say, really is too short. The new pair will be handy come springtime for the annual horticultural nip and tuck.

My new pansy pruners weren’t made by bobble-hatted little elves shackled to work benches in Lapland sweat shops. No, like everything these days, they were manufactured in China. Still, they look like they’ll do the business. The same can’t be said of the instructions.

Sprout long new thingses?

Pickling oil?

Body’s each spot?

Inscrutable or what? 🤔

Buddy, Can You Spare a Dime?

Homelessness is a complex issue, and there are so many reasons why someone might find themselves without anywhere to live. But we live in a rich country and I can’t help thinking that the scourge of homelessness is worse than it needs to be. I’m not given to petty envy. I’ve nothing against the wealthy as long as their wealth has been honestly acquired and they pay their dues instead of squirrelling it away in various tax havens. As for tax dodging billionaires, how much money can any one person possibly spend on themselves in a lifetime? As Francis Bacon – the 17th-century former Chancellor of England, not the famous artist – allegedly said:

“Money is like muck, no good except it be spread.”

But, more positively, there is help available to those who both need and seek it, at least there is in Norwich. I recently picked up this Pathways Norwich signposting leaflet.

Is it enough? Is it ever? Sleeping rough must be tough at any time of year. Imagine how much rougher and tougher it gets as winter cloaks the streets. I know Christmas can be expensive and many people struggle to pay the bills but, buddy, if you can spare a dime, please do.

Whatever Christmas means to you, wishing you and yours a warm, dry and peaceful yuletide.

Pantos and Parties

Storm Darragh barrelling across angry skies couldn’t keep us from our annual panto and party pre-Christmas pilgrimage to The Smoke. The London Palladium pantomime this year is Robin Hood, starring the outrageous queen of high and low camp, Julian Clary, and his usual cast of merrie men and women. The vocal act is Jane McDonald – every pensioner’s favourite cruise-line crooner – as Maid Marion. And the likely lass from Yorkshire can really belt out a tune. Lavish, filthy and with a plot as flimsy as a Christmas twig, the show is a belly-laugh sacrament that’s become a firm festive fixture for these two village people.

The gusty winds and horizontal rain drove us into various watering holes to dry off and warm up. Everywhere was rammed. But even these two old merry men don’t drink before midday, so we spent one morning wandering around the splendid Museum of Science, one of the holy trinity of world-class museums along Exhibition Road in South Kensington – the V&A and the Natural History Museum being the other two must-sees. Like the pubs, the various galleries were rammed, not with dripping trippers but with wide-eyed kiddies in backpacks and waterproofs. It’s a fascinating place to spend a few hours, whatever the weather.

We also had the good fortune to catch up with family for much-missed hot gossip and to meet the latest editions to the clan – twin girls. And gorgeous they are too! It made these two old festive fairies very proud great uncles.

Flight, Fight or Fancy

On a recent shopping and supping matinee in old Naaridge, we spent the afternoon watching the macabre horror flick The Heretic. Hugh Grant is bone-chilling as the over-courteous villain who menaces with oh-so-typical English charm as he dissects faith with a pair of nervous Mormon missionaries. Struck dumb as we left the cinema, we needed a drink to loosen the tongues and unpick what we’d just witnessed. Despite – or perhaps because of – a round or two of the Devil’s brew, we weren’t able to make too much sense of the religious experience we’d just had.

When we got back to the village, we had a final snifter at our local. A couple of likely lads in football kit were sitting at the bar. They kept looking across. We couldn’t think why at first. Usually this means one of two things – fight or fancy. Had we pulled? Fat chance at our age. Should we flee? We soon realised that what they actually fancied was the signed Norwich City FC shirt hanging on the wall behind us. Well, at least they didn’t want to beat us up.