tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93135802011-08-01T16:31:09.294-07:00Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.comBlogger401100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-87820900383072833722011-04-01T15:24:00.000-07:002011-04-03T12:00:21.482-07:00

I'll today speak briefly about my current circumstances in the town in northern Mexico where I've been since September 2009. As a fugitive from American justice I cannot name this town publicly.I and my three remaining men, Freddy Mikey and Squeaky, are under the protection of the town's police chief. He had become admiring of us because our exploits reminded him of those of Mexico's great hero,

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-81739731194565300402011-03-30T20:29:00.000-07:002011-04-03T12:13:42.822-07:00

My last posting was dated *Monday, May 31st 2010* - getting on for a year ago. With all my worries, and with all the changes in my life - I haven't had time of late, to write much in this web-log.I'm now 115 and will turn 116 this coming June. I don't know anyone my age. This makes it lonely for me, for I would so like to have someone to speak with who is at the same stage of life as I.

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-53325669946220247102010-05-31T23:11:00.001-07:002010-05-31T23:29:58.306-07:00

It's been a while since last I posted on this web-log. I seem always to say this each time I post. But at 114 going in 115, I find time playing funnier and funnier tricks on me. It seems like two weeks since last I posted, but in normal earth time it's actually been over five months. So today's is my first posting in 2010.2010. Can it really be that? I mean, would anyone seeing me as a baby in

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-37755719781850479912009-12-22T16:19:00.000-08:002011-04-03T12:10:57.670-07:00

I'll today talk about a meeting with a man in a little town in the state of Chihuahua in northern Mexico, where I and my men, Mikey Squeaky and Freddy, now are. I can reveal no more at this time as to the town we are in, for, as outlaws, we must forever be careful. You who are reading this may be a policeman anxious to grease your way to the top of your profession. And how better than by being

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-54976054723738810162009-12-14T16:11:00.000-08:002010-08-20T10:22:50.024-07:00

I do apologise to you, dear readers, for not having written in so long. Given that I'm on the run from the law, and that I'm so old (114), you may be forgiven for becoming worried each time I take a break from writing. Indeed, the reality is that at any time I could find myself in jail, and being charged for multiple murders, or I could be dead from old age. Either way I'd be unable to continue

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-28422367170229631162009-09-22T16:08:00.000-07:002010-05-29T23:47:27.341-07:00

I feel again sufficiently well to continue speaking of what I spoke of last time, about my late son, Albert, and how utterly he had failed me. Albert couldn't have been more unlike the sort of son which an Englishman proud and true, such as I, would want. Naturally, I wasn't wholly to blame for Albert's cowardice in refusing to take up arms for England in its war against the Germans; his pathetic

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-14200935803551134312009-09-21T16:04:00.000-07:002010-05-29T17:16:32.677-07:00

It was seventy years ago this month, September, when the Second World War began. I would therefore have expected that - since I commanded many thousands of men in this war, thus giving a shot in the arm to my military career which had been flagging in peacetime - I would have been thinking much about Hitler, Poland, Chamberlain, and all of that.Not so, for I've been thinking instead of my late

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-86756425300075712452009-09-14T15:56:00.000-07:002010-05-29T17:16:48.822-07:00

I'm writing this from Mexico. I made a snap decision to come, since I was feeling as much a prisoner in Texas, as I would have in a real jail. Texas in particular, and America in general, just wasn't the Land of the Free. My men, Mikey Squeaky and Freddy, felt as did I, and I thus easily talked them into moving with me to Mexico.For me, this move to a new land, Mexico, is the beginning of a new

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-79403014851615339972009-08-08T13:24:00.000-07:002010-05-29T17:11:52.465-07:00

I've just noticed that it's almost four months since my last posting. It seems like only last week. However, you must understand that at my age, 114, time flies ever more quickly. This might be the same for you, dear reader, even though you might only be a forty-something, for I've heard forty-somethings - who to me are mere children - say they don't know where the time goes, and how old they're

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-13607292849657513602009-04-06T14:31:00.000-07:002010-05-29T15:18:41.895-07:00

This morning is a fine spring morning here in the city in Texas where I live. As I've said in previous postings, I cannot name the city for fear of the police, since they want me for questioning in the matter of the deaths of several men. So, because I'm an outlaw, I don't normally venture outside during the day for obvious reasons. But on especially beautiful spring days, I do venture outside,

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-54222314607613839822009-03-27T13:32:00.000-07:002010-05-29T15:18:51.057-07:00

I see it's nearly two months since last I wrote. You, if a regular reader, must have thought me dead, since you would know that 113 year-olds, like me, can drop dead any time. Even I think this, which is why I savour each second, minute, hour, day.Although I'm ready to meet my Maker, I would still like to delay this as much as possible. Thus I work-out each day, with each second day an

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-28079683394600264102009-01-26T19:43:00.000-08:002010-05-29T15:19:01.896-07:00

When I ended my last posting I felt so exhausted I thought my final moments on earth were upon me. I expected, then, that I would never write again, never see another film, never read another book, well, at least not in this earthly realm.You may think me excessively maudlin, but I'll explain that I'm 113, being born in 1895. There aren't many my age and still living. I may arguably be the oldest

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-54485859105108175332009-01-26T00:34:00.000-08:002010-05-29T15:19:12.240-07:00

Just because I'm on the run from the American police for having killed many men, and am therefore forced to live underground in a basement of a demolished house in Texas, on the outskirts of a city I cannot for my own safety disclose, doesn't mean I don't still read books and watch films.I've read voluminously throughout the last eighteen months I've been an outlaw, since reading is a wonderful

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-2111042881676659402009-01-05T16:37:00.000-08:002010-05-29T15:19:21.095-07:00

It's nearly a month since I last talked of what has befallen me and my three men, Mikey Squeaky and Freddy, since my arrival in America from England a year and a half ago, to avenge an insult to my monarch Queen Elizabeth, made by Jimmy, a blogger in Texas.In my last few postings I had digressed, talking about that worthless son of mine, Albert, and about my late wife Gladys, for whom Albert was

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-24736515532509421112008-12-26T11:47:00.000-08:002010-05-29T15:19:29.188-07:00

Yesterday, Christmas Day, was the second Christmas I've spent hiding out with my men, Mikey Freddy and Squeaky, in the basement of a demolished house on the outskirts of a city in Texas which I cannot name, for the police may have discovered this web-log, and be reading it every day, hoping it'll reveal clues as to our whereabouts.You, who are first-time visitors to this site, should know that we

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-10931425181703606762008-12-20T01:56:00.000-08:002010-05-29T15:19:37.978-07:00

Last night I dreamed of Lucille, who I had been so in love with ninety years ago. It's been some while since she last appeared in my dreams, so she was due for another visit. I wish she'd appear more often because hardly a day has gone by since 1917 when I haven't thought of her. For me, she will always be the beautiful twenty year-old she was then. The night of love we made before I had to

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-44452427145397185142008-12-17T11:28:00.000-08:002010-05-29T15:19:48.862-07:00

Living in an underground basement of a demolished house is getting on my nerves. I keep thinking I hear heavy boots outside - policeman's boots - and that the police have finally tracked me and my men down and will march us off to jail for killing Jimmy and his men, and for killing the eight men who attacked us under the bridge.We've killed between sixteen and eighteen men here in America in the

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-40467711083955842362008-12-11T16:56:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:53:04.932-08:00

You who are my regular readers will know that I'm on the run from the police in America, because, in the summer of last year (2007), I killed an American, who, in comments I saw which he'd made on someone's web-log, had insulted Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth of England. As a loyal Englishman, I could do no less than demand that this scoundrel (he called himself "Jimmy") apologise, or he would pay a

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-16540396136400852612008-12-04T15:06:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:53:25.296-08:00

Writing this web-log keeps me psychologically grounded, for I feel I'm creating something which people will read long after I go to my Eternal Reward. While writing, I don't dwell on the seriousness of my circumstances.So this web-log is a refuge, but, obviously, I can't hide in it all the time. Accordingly there are long periods in every day when I consider the situation I and my men, Mikey,

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-78082133675022462252008-12-02T15:45:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:53:50.905-08:00

It's December already. Christmas again approaches. Will I live to see it? for, at 113, I take nothing for granted. When much younger I tried to live life in day-tight compartments; then when older I cut this to hour-tight compartments; now, at 113, it's minute-tight compartments. This makes bearable my being forced to live as an outlaw in the basement of a demolished house in somewhere Texas,

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-38416488798437678072008-11-30T21:05:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:54:10.404-08:00

You who are my faithful readers will know from what I've previously written, that, in the summer of last year, 2007, I had challenged to a duel or boxing match a reader of someone else's web-blog who had left comments on it which insulted Her Majesty the Queen of England. My challenge began a concatenation of events leading me to becoming an outlaw in America, hunted by the police in all fifty

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-61764151421666274752008-11-26T15:39:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:54:34.004-08:00

I will today speak of the beginning of the concatenation of events which led me to become an outlaw in America, hunted by the police in all fifty states. With each passing day I feel more and more that I must record for posterity all which has happened, for, at 113 years of age, I can never know which breath will be my last, when I'll be dispatched to my Eternal Reward.It's not that I feel I may

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-59177353444007562472008-11-22T12:56:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:55:47.819-08:00

I should like today to deliver myself of further remarks about the English Royal Family, for I'm concerned about the fate of the Monarchy when Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth finally goes to her Eternal Reward. My concern centres around her oldest son, Prince Charles, who is so pathetic a figure that each time I say or write the name "Prince Charles" I get pains in my stomach. So, for the purposes of

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-35433560895813403482008-11-21T13:51:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:56:08.991-08:00

I wish today to speak of "my men", for, from what I've written of them in previous postings, they must seem to you, my readers, rather mysterious. In my last posting but one, for instance, I spoke of having "men" in the USA who would track down where in Texas Jimmy lived, so that I might confront him man-to-man because of his insulting comments about the English Royal Family, who have always been

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-33319153087985049322008-11-19T11:05:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:56:33.945-08:00

On my last posting I spoke of my reading on someone's blog a piece on King Edward the Seventh, and the acrimonious exchange in the comments section I had with another reader, "Jimmy", an American from Texas, who suggested we English rid ourselves of our monarchy and get a president, just like in America.This acted like a trip-wire setting off an explosive inside me. So I let "Jimmy" have it in

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-52439095682081007592008-11-15T13:04:00.000-08:002010-05-30T00:39:27.252-07:00

Each morning when I emerge from my underground home - which, if you'll remember, is the basement of a demolished house in a disused lot in somewhere Texas - I curse myself for my hot-headedness, for it is why I'm forced to live here. I could so easily still be living in my cottage in the south of England, sitting at my desk in my study, looking out over mist-covered meadows and grazing sheep,

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-39748274407214813542008-11-12T20:27:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:57:42.656-08:00

These last few days have been emotional ones for me, as you will have noted from my last posting. For me, November 11th will always a special day, being the day the Great War ended. There are only four or five of us left who fought in the Great War. Who will be the last to depart?I do hope it'll be me, for I've much living still to do, despite being on the run from the American police. For

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-2119697765360223832008-11-09T17:02:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:58:25.014-08:00

This time of year, autumn, I associate always with the falling leaves, rain, and mists of my beloved England - so, so different from the Texas where I now am, with its cloudless skies, warm days, and dry sagebrush terrain. And my home here in Texas - an underground basement of a demolished house in a dilapidated area of a city - is as far removed from my rural cottage in England as can be

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-77275528234818782842008-11-06T19:29:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:58:46.734-08:00

Some nights ago I went out to the film "The Duchess". Yes, despite being on the run from the American police from sea to shining sea, I don't let this stop me going out to see films. However, where I used to attend matinees because they are cheaper than evening showings, I now attend films only at night because men, like me, on the run, are more difficult for the police to detect in the dark than

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-83887968667515060922008-11-04T16:13:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:59:05.383-08:00

My being on the run from the police in America has its genesis in the web-logosphere. Sitting in my study each morning in my country retreat in dear old England which I fear I'll never again see, I would read the latest postings on my favourite web-logs. In this way I became so addicted to the web-logosphere that I began my own web-log, which led little by little to my present terrible

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-48312247211965145852008-11-02T12:40:00.000-08:002008-12-14T15:59:24.583-08:00

This'll be the third day in a row that I've written in this blog. Why is this, given I hadn't written anything for a year and a half? Obviously my inner voice is telling me I'm soon to meet my Maker, so I should say all I need to before this happens. This does makes sense, given I'm 113.Paradoxically, I've been feeling very well of late, the result of going to the gym each second day, where for

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-63718728347371916342008-11-01T12:24:00.000-07:002011-03-30T21:55:31.201-07:00

Writing in this blog after so, so long, *as I did yesterday*, has made me feel like a new man. Instead of the 113 year old which I am, and often feel, I feel this morning like a sprightly 75 year old. It's as if I had made love with a woman last night, so good do I feel.Of course, being 113, I don't find it as easy to make love with a woman as when I was 75. But my libido hasn't totally gone, so

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-13918317769872219352008-11-01T00:53:00.000-07:002011-03-30T21:51:53.409-07:00

It's difficult to believe it's over a year - *March of 2007* in fact - since I last wrote on this web-log, for it seems just days. This is what happens when you reach my age - 113. But the older I get, the clearer I remember my boyhood and youth in Victorian and Edwardian England. It's what I did yesterday, or even a few hours ago, that I forget.Much has transpired since last I posted, for I've

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-63575957847121258982007-03-04T20:00:00.000-08:002010-05-31T02:35:20.780-07:00

I do apologise for not having written anything for so long. The fact is, I haven’t felt well of late. Not surprising really, given I’m 111, older probably than most of you bloggers out there. But I’m feeling well enough now thank you, to resume writing, seeing films, and reading books. Today - my first day back, as it were - I would like to tell you of the most recent film I’ve seen, “Notes on a

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-15181785683008842012006-08-01T21:33:00.000-07:002010-05-31T02:28:44.816-07:00

Beyond The Sea, a film about the life of Bobby Darin, is a veritable tour de force for Kevin Spacey, the film’s writer, director, performer, and chief actor. It tells Darin’s story elliptically, showing Darin directing a film about his life, a sort of story-within-a-story. It has a theatrical feel, reflecting, I suppose, Spacey’s background in theatre, a love of his re-ignited through his recent

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-1153004258465809212006-07-15T15:46:00.000-07:002010-05-31T01:42:22.357-07:00

The title of this piece doesn’t, unfortunately, describe how my summer has gone so far, for I might better describe it as “My Summer of Lovelessness”. Somehow the feelings of love I have for the diminishing number of beautiful and desirable women I know are not reciprocated by them. Is it their contemplation of my 111 year-old body which puts them off?I should explain that “My Summer of Love” is

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-1145174963138273072006-04-16T00:52:00.000-07:002010-05-31T01:38:59.825-07:00

Joyeux Noel is a Christmas film to warm the cockles of your heart, which, since the film was made in 2005, should make you Americans out there wonder why it wasn’t shown in all the theatres near you in the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave this last Christmas, instead of dreck like “Meet the Fockers” that Hollywood normally puts out at that festive time. Could the problem have been that

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-1144131014351665822006-04-03T23:04:00.000-07:002010-05-31T01:32:18.592-07:00

“The Dogs of Babel”, a novel by Carolyn Parkhurst, was the second book I read this year. Or was it the third? Or fourth? My memory isn’t what it was. But that I read it is what’s important."The Dogs of Babel” concerns the death of a thirty-something married woman who had fallen out of a tall tree in her backyard. Was it an accident, or a suicide? The trouble is, no-one saw her fall except her dog

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-1144043564787605722006-04-02T22:44:00.000-07:002010-05-31T01:28:26.669-07:00

In her book “Reading Lolita in Tehran - A Memoir in Books”, Azar Nafisi, a female academic, tells of her life in ayatollah-ruled Iran. In 1997, having had enough of the ayatollahs, she packed her bags for the USA, where she today teaches English literature at Johns Hopkins University.Azar Nafisi, who was educated largely in the USA, and so became quite American in her values, had originally

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9313580.post-1144011269172852852006-04-02T13:52:00.000-07:002010-06-02T20:51:09.403-07:00

Since I’m an old man with little to do, other than read, see films, and declaim to my fellow drinkers in the pub how the world should be, the handful of friends I have left suggested I start up this thing called a blog, the better to write about the books I’ve read and films I’ve seen.But they advised me to to keep my opinions about the world to myself, so not to frighten off potential

Sir Jeremyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053301956039949971noreply@blogger.com1