This morning I went to the 8.30 or The Coughing and Spluttering Mass.
It being the geriatric liturgy they were very polite and put their hands over their mouths.
Hands which later, would be held out to me for the sign of peace.
It struck me as being a bit unsanitary so I started my own coughing fit to keep them away.
The lady along the pew from me sounded like bouncy castle deflating as she breathed.
I was already pressed up hard against the end of the seat and couldn’t get any further away.
I clocked this a couple of days ago but it’s taken a while to get bounced around my stoned head.
What an amazing job title THAT is?
Exorcist in Chief!
I have a bible, a candle and I could rustle up a bell from somewhere.
It is now up there, with Black Rod, as my ideal job.
I think I may be getting a lot of work in Spain…….. Among the fucking Clergy, if the end of this article is anything to go by.
I was sad to hear that Joe Dolan had died.
Until recently I couldn’t work out why I loved this song so much or HOW I knew the words.
I was telling my uncle about it and he started laughing his head off.
Apparently it was the first record he ever bought.
He and ATM played it to death.
She was pregnant with me at the time. The uncle is now a solid believer that a baby can be influenced from outside the womb.
The Vancouver bunch paid us a final visit today.
Thank you so much for spending a few of your last, hectic, hours with us.
Much appreciated.
I made the fucking hideous mistake of watching Snow Dogs.
(Waiting for football)
I cried like a baby!
Families reuniting gets me every time but add hounds to the mix and I’m a snivelling, snotting wreck.
This one was the worst yet!
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Searches, Sales And Johnnies
As ever, I’m amazed at what people type in to Google only to end up at my blog post about Sassy’s cats.
The latest being ‘Frist Fucker’ from someone in Valdosta, Georgia, USA.
How nice of you to be totally unembarrassed by your strange proclivities and piss poor spelling.
One can only assume you were trying for ‘Fist’.
It is common knowledge that Google keeps a record of every search made through it.
Now we are being subjected to the post Christmas advertising.
Bastard ‘Sales’.
Why the feck would I want to buy a leather sofa at this time of year?
Or a ‘half price’ kitchen, bedroom or bathroom?
Ho Hum, it’ll soon be New Year and the advertising will be for holidays in fucking Turkey and Greece.
Something I noticed at ATM’s yesterday but has taken a night to leach in is, I’ve been airbrushed from history.
There is not a single photo of me in the house!
A whole corner of the Dining Room dedicated to family snaps, not a single one of me.
It’s not like there were a huge number of me anyway, but it appears ATM only has 2 children these days.
I’ve decided not to let it bother me, besides, if I hadn’t been in the house in the first place, I would never have known.
It made me want my Nan though.
So, I cooked ‘Comfort Food’.
I made her Red Cabbage and Apples! My house smells bloody gorgeous…….. And a little bit like my Nan’s.
That’ll do for me.
My Beloved Spurs did their very best to cheer me up and won 6-4!
Dimitar Berbatov is a fecking Legend!
I also got a late Christmas present through the post today.
One of those Oxfam ‘buy a goat’ affairs.
An absolutely inspired gift.
Condoms!
Johnnies for Africa!
I love it.
The latest being ‘Frist Fucker’ from someone in Valdosta, Georgia, USA.
How nice of you to be totally unembarrassed by your strange proclivities and piss poor spelling.
One can only assume you were trying for ‘Fist’.
It is common knowledge that Google keeps a record of every search made through it.
Now we are being subjected to the post Christmas advertising.
Bastard ‘Sales’.
Why the feck would I want to buy a leather sofa at this time of year?
Or a ‘half price’ kitchen, bedroom or bathroom?
Ho Hum, it’ll soon be New Year and the advertising will be for holidays in fucking Turkey and Greece.
Something I noticed at ATM’s yesterday but has taken a night to leach in is, I’ve been airbrushed from history.
There is not a single photo of me in the house!
A whole corner of the Dining Room dedicated to family snaps, not a single one of me.
It’s not like there were a huge number of me anyway, but it appears ATM only has 2 children these days.
I’ve decided not to let it bother me, besides, if I hadn’t been in the house in the first place, I would never have known.
It made me want my Nan though.
So, I cooked ‘Comfort Food’.
I made her Red Cabbage and Apples! My house smells bloody gorgeous…….. And a little bit like my Nan’s.
That’ll do for me.
My Beloved Spurs did their very best to cheer me up and won 6-4!
Dimitar Berbatov is a fecking Legend!
I also got a late Christmas present through the post today.
One of those Oxfam ‘buy a goat’ affairs.
An absolutely inspired gift.
Condoms!
Johnnies for Africa!
I love it.
Friday, December 28, 2007
The Fear And The Acronym
The Big little Brother decided that today, 24 hours before
ATM arrives back from Florida, that we should prepare the DMT.
In her house.
I have to admit to being panicky that he’d got the wrong day and she would walk through the door.
The thought of her walking into the kitchen and seeing me, the brother and Crisp-e chopping up tree bark in her sooper dooper blender and transferring it to her slow cooker, filled me with utter panic.
The air was thick with pink dust; thank G-d she has an extractor fan!
Once we had started it suddenly dawned on the brother that the ’blender’ was, in fact, ATM’s sooper dooper Smoothie maker.
We continued using it anyway.
All giggling at the idea ATM could drink a Smoothie and end up on a ‘Vision Quest’!
My brother’s complete inability to plan a piss up in a brewery means that the grinding stage was as far as we got.
Huge thanks to Crisp-e for his supervision and ability to read the instructions properly.
The last bit alone, almost certainly saving one or both of us a trip to Odstock Burns Unit!
I’ve also been in the grip of a seriously Bad Hair Day.
For most of the day I have looked like Ernie Wise.
My hair has had something very similar to this going on.
Not a good look for Ernie, let alone me!
For most of the day I have looked like Ernie Wise.
My hair has had something very similar to this going on.
Not a good look for Ernie, let alone me!
I watched The History Boys this evening.
Cracking film.
Although, it makes me slightly uncomfortable the way the gay teachers are portrayed.
Why is any teacher, gay or lesbian, assumed to be ‘interested’ in kids?
Tut Tut Tut.
Choked me up at the end though.
‘Pass it on boys, pass it on’.
I’ve missed Frances de le Tour, how fabulous is she?!
For some reason the last time I saw her (that I remember) was in Rising Damp.
Cracking film.
Although, it makes me slightly uncomfortable the way the gay teachers are portrayed.
Why is any teacher, gay or lesbian, assumed to be ‘interested’ in kids?
Tut Tut Tut.
Choked me up at the end though.
‘Pass it on boys, pass it on’.
I’ve missed Frances de le Tour, how fabulous is she?!
For some reason the last time I saw her (that I remember) was in Rising Damp.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Aftermath
Thank Christ that’s all over.
Christmas was great.
Starting with Christmas Eve and seeing Crisp-e’s family.
They drove down from London for their first Pompey visit.
I was on my best behaviour and didn’t drop a single “Fuck” in front of his Mum.
Phew!
Sassy came for dinner Christmas Day. The absolute highlight being, ‘herself’ leaving with her knickers in her pocket!
She can explain that one all by herself.
I’m far too discreet!
Rob turned up at about 10pm and we drank Vodka and coffee until 3am.
A splendid day!
Housemates, I know it is the season of Goodwill and all that but this won’t wait.
There must be a way of putting opened packets of spaghetti and linguine back in the cupboard.
One that means I don’t feel like a lone Spartan as pasta arrows rain down on me when I open the fecking door.
I was physically damaged by linguine today!
Not a sentence I intend to use again, I can tell you.
Sadly, Benazir Bhutto has been killed by a suicide bomber.
What I find confusing is how a bunch of people who embrace Martyrdom, think that their guy is going to be the only ‘Martyr’ to come out of this act.
This gave me the best laugh of the year on Christmas day.
Tommy you're a fecking LEGEND!
Christmas was great.
Starting with Christmas Eve and seeing Crisp-e’s family.
They drove down from London for their first Pompey visit.
I was on my best behaviour and didn’t drop a single “Fuck” in front of his Mum.
Phew!
Sassy came for dinner Christmas Day. The absolute highlight being, ‘herself’ leaving with her knickers in her pocket!
She can explain that one all by herself.
I’m far too discreet!
Rob turned up at about 10pm and we drank Vodka and coffee until 3am.
A splendid day!
Housemates, I know it is the season of Goodwill and all that but this won’t wait.
There must be a way of putting opened packets of spaghetti and linguine back in the cupboard.
One that means I don’t feel like a lone Spartan as pasta arrows rain down on me when I open the fecking door.
I was physically damaged by linguine today!
Not a sentence I intend to use again, I can tell you.
Sadly, Benazir Bhutto has been killed by a suicide bomber.
What I find confusing is how a bunch of people who embrace Martyrdom, think that their guy is going to be the only ‘Martyr’ to come out of this act.
This gave me the best laugh of the year on Christmas day.
Tommy you're a fecking LEGEND!
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Expressed
Perhaps after being awake all night smoking dope and drinking espresso, the 8.30am Mass was not the best one to attend.
I had a total Tourettes moment and shouted out ‘Bollocks’ during the Priest’s sermon.
I knew as soon as it was out of my mouth that it was unacceptable, so I did what any normal person would do and looked behind me for the culprit.
He was stood outside as I left. I looked at him, shook my head and said,
“We’ve got to talk”.
He half chased me up the road and shouted after me,
“I’d like that”, but I was off to get some cigs and I really didn’t want anyone seeing me pursued by a man in a dress.
I have a certain reputation to uphold!
Talking of which, the Polish lady with the damn fine arse was there again!
Last night the ‘Girls’ from Mayhem and Mad Matt came round for a Christmas drink.
It was, as usual, a debauched affair.
Much wine and much laughing.
Mrs D left in a very delicate state. Mad Matt didn’t leave at all but found a bed and crashed out.
I was zooming and having amazing palpitations so stayed up and enjoyed the ride.
Should be quite an interesting come down.
I had a total Tourettes moment and shouted out ‘Bollocks’ during the Priest’s sermon.
I knew as soon as it was out of my mouth that it was unacceptable, so I did what any normal person would do and looked behind me for the culprit.
He was stood outside as I left. I looked at him, shook my head and said,
“We’ve got to talk”.
He half chased me up the road and shouted after me,
“I’d like that”, but I was off to get some cigs and I really didn’t want anyone seeing me pursued by a man in a dress.
I have a certain reputation to uphold!
Talking of which, the Polish lady with the damn fine arse was there again!
Last night the ‘Girls’ from Mayhem and Mad Matt came round for a Christmas drink.
It was, as usual, a debauched affair.
Much wine and much laughing.
Mrs D left in a very delicate state. Mad Matt didn’t leave at all but found a bed and crashed out.
I was zooming and having amazing palpitations so stayed up and enjoyed the ride.
Should be quite an interesting come down.
Friday, December 21, 2007
It's Later Than You Think
I’m loving this website!
I have seen and written little missives like that myself!
A house favourite was the one left on the bathroom window encouraging housemates to close the window after opening.
The threat being I would hide the fucking keys and glue the bastards shut if they didn’t.
Fortunately, I started this blog, so manage to vent quite a bit of Lodger Rage here!
You may have noticed.
My peeve for this week is the total inability of one of them to wring out the dishcloth.
Why dump it on the side without even the most cursory of squeezes?
Why would someone do that?!
Rinse it, wring it out, drape it over the tap for the next person.
For some reason this doesn’t seem unreasonable to me.
Although, since Pat has moved in, finding chopsticks in the cutlery drawer really makes me smile!
Today I started preparing this.
I’ve seen it done but have never attempted it myself.
It won’t be anywhere near ready for two weeks.
The main problem is going to be finding space in the fridge for it but
where there’s a will, there’s Housemate crap being slung out!
It wasn’t easy looking for Thyme in the pitch black, in the garden; so lack of fridge space won’t be stopping me.
I watched the film ‘This is England’ this evening.
I’ve been wanting to watch it for ages but got spanked on the Housemate vote each time film choices came up.
This is the time I grew up in. My Dad lived in an area that looked exactly like that.
I was 13 when the film was set and I saw shit like this going on.
It really brought it home how an ideology was imposed on a cultural ‘movement’.
The ‘Original’ skinheads were about the look and the music.
Black and white mixed together.
Only later did it become associated with British Nationalism.
I was in a little gang like Woody’s; it was about Ben Sherman, Ska Music and getting stoned.
We were all different colours and backgrounds.
With that in mind, this song is the Sleepy Family anthem.
At the end of any family ‘do’, it is requested by my Dad and my siblings and I scream it out!
He loves it and wants it at his funeral.
I have seen and written little missives like that myself!
A house favourite was the one left on the bathroom window encouraging housemates to close the window after opening.
The threat being I would hide the fucking keys and glue the bastards shut if they didn’t.
Fortunately, I started this blog, so manage to vent quite a bit of Lodger Rage here!
You may have noticed.
My peeve for this week is the total inability of one of them to wring out the dishcloth.
Why dump it on the side without even the most cursory of squeezes?
Why would someone do that?!
Rinse it, wring it out, drape it over the tap for the next person.
For some reason this doesn’t seem unreasonable to me.
Although, since Pat has moved in, finding chopsticks in the cutlery drawer really makes me smile!
Today I started preparing this.
I’ve seen it done but have never attempted it myself.
It won’t be anywhere near ready for two weeks.
The main problem is going to be finding space in the fridge for it but
where there’s a will, there’s Housemate crap being slung out!
It wasn’t easy looking for Thyme in the pitch black, in the garden; so lack of fridge space won’t be stopping me.
I watched the film ‘This is England’ this evening.
I’ve been wanting to watch it for ages but got spanked on the Housemate vote each time film choices came up.
This is the time I grew up in. My Dad lived in an area that looked exactly like that.
I was 13 when the film was set and I saw shit like this going on.
It really brought it home how an ideology was imposed on a cultural ‘movement’.
The ‘Original’ skinheads were about the look and the music.
Black and white mixed together.
Only later did it become associated with British Nationalism.
I was in a little gang like Woody’s; it was about Ben Sherman, Ska Music and getting stoned.
We were all different colours and backgrounds.
With that in mind, this song is the Sleepy Family anthem.
At the end of any family ‘do’, it is requested by my Dad and my siblings and I scream it out!
He loves it and wants it at his funeral.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Hypocrite, Diva, Dyke And Queen
I decided it might be a good idea to take my back out for a walk, see if it helped with the stiffness at all.
It didn’t.
To add insult to injury, I was overtaken by octogenarians and kids who have only been walking two minutes.
I dropped in on the Ex brother in law and picked up the cards that the Irish bunch always send there.
It doesn’t matter how many change of address cards and letters that are sent. They refuse to believe it and after five years I’ve given up trying.
His kids are in Florida with my sister and ATM, so he is very grumpy about Christmas too.
So, the Pope-zi has been meeting with the President of France.
That’s nice.
I wonder what the twice married, self confessed lapsed Catholic had to say to the old boy.
Considering a week ago the Pope was telling us that ‘people who divorce threaten the peace of the world’.
Make your fucking mind up!
Last month he was threatening to excommunicate politicians who vote for a woman’s right to choose.
I’d love to know how that would work.
Is a picture of you sent to every Catholic Church in the world?
Pinned up behind the altar like those police photos of ‘habitual drunkards’ behind the counter in the Off Licence?
A little CV of your ‘crimes’ and the command not to ‘serve wafer’.
I’m finding it difficult to find any evidence that Priests convicted of paedophilia are excommunicated.
Shagging kids is fine but voting with your conscience is not.
Strange.
This has made me chuckle all day!
Cher, having the same problems as mothers of Lesbians everywhere!
I know what was been said in that restaurant, I can hear her now.
“Couldn’t you have your hair just a little bit longer? A colour would cover the grey… You have such lovely long lashes a little bit of mascara… Are all your tops so baggy?… They look like Army boots… Oh darling, a tattoo? Did it have to be so big?… They make pretty bras you know… You need to moisturise…”
I could go on but having been free of it for the last 5 years I’d rather keep it that way!
At 5pm today the Queen became the oldest Monarch this country has had.
I think that is pretty cool.
G-d Save The Queen!
It didn’t.
To add insult to injury, I was overtaken by octogenarians and kids who have only been walking two minutes.
I dropped in on the Ex brother in law and picked up the cards that the Irish bunch always send there.
It doesn’t matter how many change of address cards and letters that are sent. They refuse to believe it and after five years I’ve given up trying.
His kids are in Florida with my sister and ATM, so he is very grumpy about Christmas too.
So, the Pope-zi has been meeting with the President of France.
That’s nice.
I wonder what the twice married, self confessed lapsed Catholic had to say to the old boy.
Considering a week ago the Pope was telling us that ‘people who divorce threaten the peace of the world’.
Make your fucking mind up!
Last month he was threatening to excommunicate politicians who vote for a woman’s right to choose.
I’d love to know how that would work.
Is a picture of you sent to every Catholic Church in the world?
Pinned up behind the altar like those police photos of ‘habitual drunkards’ behind the counter in the Off Licence?
A little CV of your ‘crimes’ and the command not to ‘serve wafer’.
I’m finding it difficult to find any evidence that Priests convicted of paedophilia are excommunicated.
Shagging kids is fine but voting with your conscience is not.
Strange.
This has made me chuckle all day!
Cher, having the same problems as mothers of Lesbians everywhere!
I know what was been said in that restaurant, I can hear her now.
“Couldn’t you have your hair just a little bit longer? A colour would cover the grey… You have such lovely long lashes a little bit of mascara… Are all your tops so baggy?… They look like Army boots… Oh darling, a tattoo? Did it have to be so big?… They make pretty bras you know… You need to moisturise…”
I could go on but having been free of it for the last 5 years I’d rather keep it that way!
At 5pm today the Queen became the oldest Monarch this country has had.
I think that is pretty cool.
G-d Save The Queen!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Pain
I read in the local rag that my recent internet problems were down to routine maintenance that they managed to make a complete bollocks of.
Nice of them to let us know.
I don’t suppose they will be offering any compensation; it would be nice to think that they’d let us have a movie for free.
I am in a world of spasming pain.
My back went on me as I was picking up the laundry basket.
There was a ‘click’ and everything seized up.
It makes ordinary tasks a complete trial.
Coughing and sneezing are dreadful.
Sitting on the toilet is a ten minute activity. Walking there takes just as long.
Getting in and out of the shower is a 2 person job, which would be fun if it wasn’t such agony.
Throwing empty cigarette packets at the fire is an absolute no-no, unless you want to shout loud enough to freak the cat right out.
The gathering last night was a great laugh.
Sassy and Schnee got to meet each other at last and enough wine was imbibed to count as ALL of our 5 a day fruits for some time to come.
I fell up the stairs but was lucky enough to wake up hangover free.
Unlike some other poor unfortunates.
Nice of them to let us know.
I don’t suppose they will be offering any compensation; it would be nice to think that they’d let us have a movie for free.
I am in a world of spasming pain.
My back went on me as I was picking up the laundry basket.
There was a ‘click’ and everything seized up.
It makes ordinary tasks a complete trial.
Coughing and sneezing are dreadful.
Sitting on the toilet is a ten minute activity. Walking there takes just as long.
Getting in and out of the shower is a 2 person job, which would be fun if it wasn’t such agony.
Throwing empty cigarette packets at the fire is an absolute no-no, unless you want to shout loud enough to freak the cat right out.
The gathering last night was a great laugh.
Sassy and Schnee got to meet each other at last and enough wine was imbibed to count as ALL of our 5 a day fruits for some time to come.
I fell up the stairs but was lucky enough to wake up hangover free.
Unlike some other poor unfortunates.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Connections And Cleaning
I’ve been having serious Connectile Dysfunction with the Broadband.
Frigging Virgin Media have joined my shit list.
You name it, I gave it a go. I restarted, turned off, turned on and unplugged every imaginable electrical item vaguely connected to the Internet.
No joy.
I got connectivity back this morning.
Yesterday I gave the house a deep clean.
It smelt of Flash, Windolene, Cannabis and burnt hair.
It was colder than a Witch’s Tit so the fire was lit.
The logs were too wet to burn, they sat there hissing and spitting flaming bark shrapnel onto the cat.
The cat is too stupid to move and laid there with smoldering fur.
It’s his own fault for being such a heat whore.
If you want to know where your hot water pipes are, borrow Kenneth.
I want a version of one of these.
It will be called a ‘Stupidity Card’.
I would be able to present it to shop staff as soon as they began to piss me off.
So, from the moment I walk in really.
It would enable me to hand them a list of what I want, they will bugger off and get it.
The whole transaction will take place in silence.
I’ve started reading a new book; it’s early days but seems okay.
The writer is extremely descriptive though and I’m finding myself skipping her paragraphs about hair colour, how it is tied up and the location of wispy bits.
Sometimes less is more.
“She had brown hair” will do for me.
I’m not one of those people who pictures the characters in my head as I‘m reading, that’s what TV is for!
I don’t believe anyone sits there and actually tries to work out how to pronounce Polish names.
You take an imprint of it in your mind so that you recognise it and the character.
If you are still reading out loud or your lips move, books with names like ‘Janet and John’ are going to be more your level.
Schnee and the gang are round for food and booze this evening.
Updates later.
Frigging Virgin Media have joined my shit list.
You name it, I gave it a go. I restarted, turned off, turned on and unplugged every imaginable electrical item vaguely connected to the Internet.
No joy.
I got connectivity back this morning.
Yesterday I gave the house a deep clean.
It smelt of Flash, Windolene, Cannabis and burnt hair.
It was colder than a Witch’s Tit so the fire was lit.
The logs were too wet to burn, they sat there hissing and spitting flaming bark shrapnel onto the cat.
The cat is too stupid to move and laid there with smoldering fur.
It’s his own fault for being such a heat whore.
If you want to know where your hot water pipes are, borrow Kenneth.
I want a version of one of these.
It will be called a ‘Stupidity Card’.
I would be able to present it to shop staff as soon as they began to piss me off.
So, from the moment I walk in really.
It would enable me to hand them a list of what I want, they will bugger off and get it.
The whole transaction will take place in silence.
I’ve started reading a new book; it’s early days but seems okay.
The writer is extremely descriptive though and I’m finding myself skipping her paragraphs about hair colour, how it is tied up and the location of wispy bits.
Sometimes less is more.
“She had brown hair” will do for me.
I’m not one of those people who pictures the characters in my head as I‘m reading, that’s what TV is for!
I don’t believe anyone sits there and actually tries to work out how to pronounce Polish names.
You take an imprint of it in your mind so that you recognise it and the character.
If you are still reading out loud or your lips move, books with names like ‘Janet and John’ are going to be more your level.
Schnee and the gang are round for food and booze this evening.
Updates later.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Party, Bruising And DNA
Just a reminder to friends.
Don’t bother with knocking the door this week, it won’t be answered unless you text first.
We are about to enter ‘Hell Week’.
When every fecker, who already gets paid to do their job, will knock on the door and expect some sort of Christmas ‘bonus’ from me.
Carol singers can piss off too.
Tuneless bastards.
The singers, not the friends.
I found this today, which was a surprise because I was convinced he was dead.
I’ve always had the feeling that there is something just slightly ‘wrong’ about him though. I’m sure I saw a programme about his house and life in Sri Lanka; he was surrounded by young male servants.
Just a feeling.
Somehow I have managed to bruise the palm of my hand.
I did have an absolute skinful yesterday but don’t think I fell over and the knees of my jeans are clean.
The ultimate test.
Friends had a pre Christmas party.
I use the term ‘party’ loosely!
You know your mates are a bit older than you, when their ‘Chill Out’ room has the Ch4 Racing on.
Nobody smokes, they assume you have retired when you say you aren’t working and Jamie Cullum is a controversial choice for the stereo.
Had a fantastic time being inadvertently offensive with (Not to!) the guy with early onset Parkinson’s Disease.
(We met the party before and we had a great time telling each other our favourite Jew/Gay and Disabled jokes)
The bruising may have occurred when I had a total spaz out while trying to change a light bulb.
The hallway now has light but no lightshade.
Fucking up lighters, what is the point of them?!
Why the hell would I want to light up the poxy ceiling?
We no longer have one.
Watched the last ever Parkinson tonight.
Is it just me, or does Jamie Cullum look like he is a chromosome shy of a ‘condition’?
You know what I mean?
Like people who look like they have Downs Syndrome but they don’t.
He looks like he avoided Dwarfism by one letter in a sequence.
An A, G, C, or T in the wrong place can be the difference between boarding the Disorient Express to the ‘special school’, or a walk to the local Comp!
I include myself in that; although, I NEVER caught the Short Bus and the only people in my peer group with head protection, rode motorbikes!
This is my tune of the day. A blast from the past but still a cracker!
Don’t bother with knocking the door this week, it won’t be answered unless you text first.
We are about to enter ‘Hell Week’.
When every fecker, who already gets paid to do their job, will knock on the door and expect some sort of Christmas ‘bonus’ from me.
Carol singers can piss off too.
Tuneless bastards.
The singers, not the friends.
I found this today, which was a surprise because I was convinced he was dead.
I’ve always had the feeling that there is something just slightly ‘wrong’ about him though. I’m sure I saw a programme about his house and life in Sri Lanka; he was surrounded by young male servants.
Just a feeling.
Somehow I have managed to bruise the palm of my hand.
I did have an absolute skinful yesterday but don’t think I fell over and the knees of my jeans are clean.
The ultimate test.
Friends had a pre Christmas party.
I use the term ‘party’ loosely!
You know your mates are a bit older than you, when their ‘Chill Out’ room has the Ch4 Racing on.
Nobody smokes, they assume you have retired when you say you aren’t working and Jamie Cullum is a controversial choice for the stereo.
Had a fantastic time being inadvertently offensive with (Not to!) the guy with early onset Parkinson’s Disease.
(We met the party before and we had a great time telling each other our favourite Jew/Gay and Disabled jokes)
The bruising may have occurred when I had a total spaz out while trying to change a light bulb.
The hallway now has light but no lightshade.
Fucking up lighters, what is the point of them?!
Why the hell would I want to light up the poxy ceiling?
We no longer have one.
Watched the last ever Parkinson tonight.
Is it just me, or does Jamie Cullum look like he is a chromosome shy of a ‘condition’?
You know what I mean?
Like people who look like they have Downs Syndrome but they don’t.
He looks like he avoided Dwarfism by one letter in a sequence.
An A, G, C, or T in the wrong place can be the difference between boarding the Disorient Express to the ‘special school’, or a walk to the local Comp!
I include myself in that; although, I NEVER caught the Short Bus and the only people in my peer group with head protection, rode motorbikes!
This is my tune of the day. A blast from the past but still a cracker!
Saturday, December 15, 2007
More Questions Than Answers
I know that it’s wrong but you have got to laugh at this!
My doctor concedes that I have ‘an extraordinary capacity’ for drugs but I’m sure I’d notice some fecker sawing off my leg, no matter how mashed up I was.
Isn’t the word Soothsayer just brilliant?
I have been using ‘Visionary and Dreamer’ when filling in the occupation box on forms but I will be adding Soothsayer.
I may save it for the next census.
The idea that some great, great, great niece or nephew could look through the family history and find that amuses me.
“Bloody Hell! Great Aunt Sleepy was only a fecking Soothsayer!”
Then checking an earlier census to find my religion listed as ‘Jedi Knight’.
They would discover that at the time of the Poll Tax Riots I was occupied as a ‘Sexual Adventurer’.
Fantastic.
I believe it is your duty to lie on questionnaires.
When constructing the surveys they must allow for lying. If nobody lies the results will be skewed.
I’m providing an important service.
Doing it face to face is best, you see an instant reaction.
Next time you are stopped in the street by some fool with a clipboard have some fun.
I have an ‘obvious’ chest so I tell them I’m Male.
When they start to say anything, “Biologically” is added with a whisper!
Lie about kids, pets, ethnic group, income, the lot.
Guarantee you will fly through the questions, if you get started at all; because you don’t have to think about anything and you don’t have to remember your bullshit!
Congratulations to the Hindman tribe and their newest addition, Eleanor.
Mazel Tov!
My doctor concedes that I have ‘an extraordinary capacity’ for drugs but I’m sure I’d notice some fecker sawing off my leg, no matter how mashed up I was.
Isn’t the word Soothsayer just brilliant?
I have been using ‘Visionary and Dreamer’ when filling in the occupation box on forms but I will be adding Soothsayer.
I may save it for the next census.
The idea that some great, great, great niece or nephew could look through the family history and find that amuses me.
“Bloody Hell! Great Aunt Sleepy was only a fecking Soothsayer!”
Then checking an earlier census to find my religion listed as ‘Jedi Knight’.
They would discover that at the time of the Poll Tax Riots I was occupied as a ‘Sexual Adventurer’.
Fantastic.
I believe it is your duty to lie on questionnaires.
When constructing the surveys they must allow for lying. If nobody lies the results will be skewed.
I’m providing an important service.
Doing it face to face is best, you see an instant reaction.
Next time you are stopped in the street by some fool with a clipboard have some fun.
I have an ‘obvious’ chest so I tell them I’m Male.
When they start to say anything, “Biologically” is added with a whisper!
Lie about kids, pets, ethnic group, income, the lot.
Guarantee you will fly through the questions, if you get started at all; because you don’t have to think about anything and you don’t have to remember your bullshit!
Congratulations to the Hindman tribe and their newest addition, Eleanor.
Mazel Tov!
Thursday, December 06, 2007
A Brace Of Birthdays
I will begin with my composting horror.
For some reason I am the only one in the house who is able to open the back door and empty the indoor compost bin.
I wasn’t happy when the lid wouldn’t come off and was cursing Housemates under my breath.
Then, the instant Karma.
The seal was broken, there was a sucking sound, and the lid flew off in my hand and spattered my face with fucking Tiger Worms.
To say I was livid, is a little bit of an understatement.
I went mental.
Stuff was kicked.
You have no idea how difficult worm slime is to get off glasses.
I noticed two things while out shopping today.
There is no easy way to carry a 9 pack of toilet roll if there isn’t a handle and everyone stares at you, in an embarrassed way when you do.
I could understand it if it was a massive box of Tampax or Condoms.
I wanted to shout,
“What? WHAT? Your arse self cleaning then?”
Bloody people!
As if I wasn’t self conscious enough already!
Today the BIG little Brother is 20!
To be honest, I’m surprised he made it past 3.
When I think of the stuff my sister and I used to get him to do.
For entertainment purposes.
That’s one of the downsides of having older, borderline sadistic Sisters.
One of the upsides is when your birthday is on a Thursday, and you spunked all your money on an Infected Mushroom gig and drugs; one of them will buy booze and make sure you get mashed up.
He’s coming round later.
It is also the birthday of someone I have a lot of respect for and think a lot of.
Someone who has never cruised through anything.
Never had that luxury.
Someone who has to work twice as hard to achieve what the rest of us take for granted.
But he does it and through his relentless hard work, he achieves it.
For that he will always have my admiration.
Laurence, being 21 doesn’t make you a man.
You have been one for a while now.
Being 21 is when you start becoming a better man and from what I’ve seen, you are well on your way.
Happy Birthday Dred.
I also know he will be squirming and embarrassed if his Mum reads this to him.
Stop It!
This has caught my eye and raised a smile today.
Surly? The French? No? Really?
For some reason I am the only one in the house who is able to open the back door and empty the indoor compost bin.
I wasn’t happy when the lid wouldn’t come off and was cursing Housemates under my breath.
Then, the instant Karma.
The seal was broken, there was a sucking sound, and the lid flew off in my hand and spattered my face with fucking Tiger Worms.
To say I was livid, is a little bit of an understatement.
I went mental.
Stuff was kicked.
You have no idea how difficult worm slime is to get off glasses.
I noticed two things while out shopping today.
There is no easy way to carry a 9 pack of toilet roll if there isn’t a handle and everyone stares at you, in an embarrassed way when you do.
I could understand it if it was a massive box of Tampax or Condoms.
I wanted to shout,
“What? WHAT? Your arse self cleaning then?”
Bloody people!
As if I wasn’t self conscious enough already!
Today the BIG little Brother is 20!
To be honest, I’m surprised he made it past 3.
When I think of the stuff my sister and I used to get him to do.
For entertainment purposes.
That’s one of the downsides of having older, borderline sadistic Sisters.
One of the upsides is when your birthday is on a Thursday, and you spunked all your money on an Infected Mushroom gig and drugs; one of them will buy booze and make sure you get mashed up.
He’s coming round later.
It is also the birthday of someone I have a lot of respect for and think a lot of.
Someone who has never cruised through anything.
Never had that luxury.
Someone who has to work twice as hard to achieve what the rest of us take for granted.
But he does it and through his relentless hard work, he achieves it.
For that he will always have my admiration.
Laurence, being 21 doesn’t make you a man.
You have been one for a while now.
Being 21 is when you start becoming a better man and from what I’ve seen, you are well on your way.
Happy Birthday Dred.
I also know he will be squirming and embarrassed if his Mum reads this to him.
Stop It!
This has caught my eye and raised a smile today.
Surly? The French? No? Really?
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Adverts And Heroes
Bastard adverts.
Why do you only get adverts for classical music and cold remedies in December?
‘Voices of the Valley’ is really getting on my tits.
A Welsh Male Voice Choir belting out ‘favourites’ in their unique close harmony way.
The only time I want to hear “Men of Harlech” is when I’m watching bloody Zulu!
Grrrr.
But in the Ad and shown on the cover of the album, there are six fat Taffs.
Six.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d argue that was a sextet rather than a frigging choir.
The little snippets you hear certainly sound like more than Six!
The Scots Dragoon Guards have released a bagpipe Greatest Hits CD.
Bagpipes?
Because of course, no Christmas is complete with the sound of strangled cats.
Every classical singer and X Factor winning tosspot has released something ‘festive’.
The adverts follow one after the other.
They don’t even break them up with the cold remedy and Argos ads.
I might be a tad more interested if Eminem released some Gregorian Chant.
Or if the Dragoons did a medley of Marilyn Manson, Rammstein and Nine Inch Nails on the bagpipes.
Andrea Bottcelli’s Tupac covers would be interesting listen, as would Katherine Jenkins and Charlotte Church covering t.A.t.U.
The Choir of Westminster Abbey with their version of ‘Jerry Springer - The Musical’.
It is also the law that at this time of year all adverts should contain snow, Robins, log fucking fires and smiling, happy families.
What bollocks.
I can’t help myself but keep looking at this.
The tagline was, ‘is this the worst facelift in Hollywood?’
Umm.. I think the response would be a resounding,
Hell Yes!
I’ve seen corpses with better colouring than her.
Well, it was the last episode of Heroes tonight.
I have been loving this series but I have to admit to being just a little bit disappointed with the ending.
Am I alone?
I couldn’t tell you how I expected it to end but I was left…………….. Unsatisfied.
Not for the first time today!
Why do you only get adverts for classical music and cold remedies in December?
‘Voices of the Valley’ is really getting on my tits.
A Welsh Male Voice Choir belting out ‘favourites’ in their unique close harmony way.
The only time I want to hear “Men of Harlech” is when I’m watching bloody Zulu!
Grrrr.
But in the Ad and shown on the cover of the album, there are six fat Taffs.
Six.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d argue that was a sextet rather than a frigging choir.
The little snippets you hear certainly sound like more than Six!
The Scots Dragoon Guards have released a bagpipe Greatest Hits CD.
Bagpipes?
Because of course, no Christmas is complete with the sound of strangled cats.
Every classical singer and X Factor winning tosspot has released something ‘festive’.
The adverts follow one after the other.
They don’t even break them up with the cold remedy and Argos ads.
I might be a tad more interested if Eminem released some Gregorian Chant.
Or if the Dragoons did a medley of Marilyn Manson, Rammstein and Nine Inch Nails on the bagpipes.
Andrea Bottcelli’s Tupac covers would be interesting listen, as would Katherine Jenkins and Charlotte Church covering t.A.t.U.
The Choir of Westminster Abbey with their version of ‘Jerry Springer - The Musical’.
It is also the law that at this time of year all adverts should contain snow, Robins, log fucking fires and smiling, happy families.
What bollocks.
I can’t help myself but keep looking at this.
The tagline was, ‘is this the worst facelift in Hollywood?’
Umm.. I think the response would be a resounding,
Hell Yes!
I’ve seen corpses with better colouring than her.
Well, it was the last episode of Heroes tonight.
I have been loving this series but I have to admit to being just a little bit disappointed with the ending.
Am I alone?
I couldn’t tell you how I expected it to end but I was left…………….. Unsatisfied.
Not for the first time today!
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Conquering Everest, Surviving Cancer And Poxy Flowers
C the builder came round this morning to look at the double glazing.
There have had some issues with it for a while.
Some cosmetic, some not.
Told Everest about it and they came back.
They looked, they listened, they nodded, they wrote stuff down and then they were never seen or heard from again.
C agrees that I can have them for all sorts.
Big mistake.
Don’t piss me off.
C is proper Pompey and one of the nicest guys you’d ever meet.
I only ever see him with Rick the Right Wing Sikh, but he was alone today.
It was weird, like seeing someone without their make-up on.
You know it’s them but there’s something not quite right about them.
About 20 years ago he was diagnosed with bowel cancer and was given months to live.
He said he just decided,
“Nah, I ain’t fuckin’ avin it! I’ve got a Missis and fuckin’ kids!”
He and his wife started to look into experimental treatments that were going on in America at the time.
One involved Caffeine Enemas.
Yep, firing coffee up your Jacksie.
They went for it and, well, he’s still here!
My first question which unfortunately didn’t remain unasked was,
‘Do you get a Doctor or a Barista for that kind of thing?’
Anyway, watch out Everest. I’m coming for you.
British Gas didn’t like it and you certainly won’t.
My gripe today is Flowers.
Cut flowers in particular.
Housemate Claire has been sent numerous bunches of flowers.
How these aid her recovery is beyond me, but people seem to think it works.
The gripe is, ‘When do you chuck them out?’
Is it when the first one dies? When the last one dies? When half of them die?
When they start dropping staining, sticky pollen everywhere?
How about when the water is a green, stinking gloop and the stems have all but dissolved?
When they are dry, crispy and the petals drop all over the fucking floor?
No?
THEN WHEN!?
And rest……………………And breathe…………...................
For future reference, NEVER buy me flowers.
Give me the money and I’ll buy a book.
This is my tune of the day.
It gives me that ‘silver paper on a filling’ feeling, but in my stomach.
Beautiful.
Happy Hanukkah!
Just outed my self as a Tom Lehrer and a South Park fan.
Youtube really DOES have something for everyone!
There have had some issues with it for a while.
Some cosmetic, some not.
Told Everest about it and they came back.
They looked, they listened, they nodded, they wrote stuff down and then they were never seen or heard from again.
C agrees that I can have them for all sorts.
Big mistake.
Don’t piss me off.
C is proper Pompey and one of the nicest guys you’d ever meet.
I only ever see him with Rick the Right Wing Sikh, but he was alone today.
It was weird, like seeing someone without their make-up on.
You know it’s them but there’s something not quite right about them.
About 20 years ago he was diagnosed with bowel cancer and was given months to live.
He said he just decided,
“Nah, I ain’t fuckin’ avin it! I’ve got a Missis and fuckin’ kids!”
He and his wife started to look into experimental treatments that were going on in America at the time.
One involved Caffeine Enemas.
Yep, firing coffee up your Jacksie.
They went for it and, well, he’s still here!
My first question which unfortunately didn’t remain unasked was,
‘Do you get a Doctor or a Barista for that kind of thing?’
Anyway, watch out Everest. I’m coming for you.
British Gas didn’t like it and you certainly won’t.
My gripe today is Flowers.
Cut flowers in particular.
Housemate Claire has been sent numerous bunches of flowers.
How these aid her recovery is beyond me, but people seem to think it works.
The gripe is, ‘When do you chuck them out?’
Is it when the first one dies? When the last one dies? When half of them die?
When they start dropping staining, sticky pollen everywhere?
How about when the water is a green, stinking gloop and the stems have all but dissolved?
When they are dry, crispy and the petals drop all over the fucking floor?
No?
THEN WHEN!?
And rest……………………And breathe…………...................
For future reference, NEVER buy me flowers.
Give me the money and I’ll buy a book.
This is my tune of the day.
It gives me that ‘silver paper on a filling’ feeling, but in my stomach.
Beautiful.
Happy Hanukkah!
Just outed my self as a Tom Lehrer and a South Park fan.
Youtube really DOES have something for everyone!
A Matter Of Taste
Does anybody else smell a rat with this bloke?
It seems odd he turns up not long after the wife sells up, what looked like a substantial property, and buggers off abroad.
I wonder if his life insurance has recently paid out.
Just a thought.
Since Housemate Claire’s Diabetes diagnosis, food experimentation has commenced in Sleepy Mansions.
I won’t beat around the sugar free bush - It’s shite.
Diabetic flapjacks are what I’d imagine munching a tampon to be like.
There is endless chewing but you never really get to the feeling where you want to swallow.
Although Mad Matt seems to like them, but I think he was brought up on coal.
Wholemeal everything presents its own problems, like being able to crap through the eye of a needle at 30 paces.
Wholemeal scones look like those fake rocks you hide the spare key in and wholemeal Pasta never seems to reach a point where it is actually ‘cooked’.
Neither does brown rice, not that I like rice. Horrible stuff.
I want sweeties.
I never used to but I do now.
In the last few days have developed a serious Crunchie habit.
Hanukkah starts at sundown tomorrow so remember to get something oily in to eat.
I recommend a big bag of doughnuts and knocking up some Latkes.
Yummers.
The question of the day came up in conversation with Sassy.
“Why do I always think old people are going to be well spoken?”
It seems odd he turns up not long after the wife sells up, what looked like a substantial property, and buggers off abroad.
I wonder if his life insurance has recently paid out.
Just a thought.
Since Housemate Claire’s Diabetes diagnosis, food experimentation has commenced in Sleepy Mansions.
I won’t beat around the sugar free bush - It’s shite.
Diabetic flapjacks are what I’d imagine munching a tampon to be like.
There is endless chewing but you never really get to the feeling where you want to swallow.
Although Mad Matt seems to like them, but I think he was brought up on coal.
Wholemeal everything presents its own problems, like being able to crap through the eye of a needle at 30 paces.
Wholemeal scones look like those fake rocks you hide the spare key in and wholemeal Pasta never seems to reach a point where it is actually ‘cooked’.
Neither does brown rice, not that I like rice. Horrible stuff.
I want sweeties.
I never used to but I do now.
In the last few days have developed a serious Crunchie habit.
Hanukkah starts at sundown tomorrow so remember to get something oily in to eat.
I recommend a big bag of doughnuts and knocking up some Latkes.
Yummers.
The question of the day came up in conversation with Sassy.
“Why do I always think old people are going to be well spoken?”
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Awake And Confused
As I didn’t sleep *AT ALL last night I decided to check out the 8.30am Mass.
I was hoping there‘d be no kids.
I was right.
In fact, I was probably the youngest one there by half a century and several Popes.
Much like Waitrose on pension day.
The speediness of the responses was not a problem this week.
The total opposite.
It was like waiting to hear from the BBC correspondent in Moscow.
A couple of seconds time lag, a finger in the ear and a bit of shouting.
I don’t think everyone had switched to the “T” position because there were enough whistles and clicks going on to call Whales ashore.
None of this helped with the feedback on the priest’s radio mic thing, which only worked when he faced left.
Every time he did I heard, “Walk like an Eeeegyptian”, in my head.
Thankfully, they dispensed with the singing.
Can you imagine that?
The only one worth singing with this lot would be, ‘Nearer My G-d To Thee’.
Except when you are going up for communion and then they move so slowly time actually stops.
The sedate pace gave me time to contemplate why they let people who can’t read, or those who have ill fitting dentures near any of the books at the front.
One of the Intercession readers had us praying for ‘Paris’ instead of ‘The Parish’.
That could be dentistry or dyslexia.
I don’t mind the Advent stuff too much.
I’m partial to a bit of Isaiah, especially after Handl has had a fiddle with it.
As it were.
Weirdly, I’m not sure how I feel about this.
It confuses me.
I would love to see some changes going on in the Church, huge changes.
But they aren’t likely to happen any time soon.
Conditioning I suppose.
I don’t like watching Women’s football either, it’s just NOT the same.
Yet again, the defence at my Beloved Spurs are conspiring to make me destroy my TV and the rest of my front room furniture.
Talk about a team who can snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
They are really beginning to try my patience now.
Lost 3-2 after being 2-1 up.
I always used to tell the kids at school, ‘Ask the question, no matter how stupid you think it is. I guarantee someone else will be thinking the same’.
So I am going to follow my own advice.
Can someone, for the love of Christ, tell me what the fuck ‘Cranford’ is all about?
Is it about hats?
Am I missing something or am I supposed to want to slip into a coma?
*That’s nearly 48 hours straight with no sleep.
I was hoping there‘d be no kids.
I was right.
In fact, I was probably the youngest one there by half a century and several Popes.
Much like Waitrose on pension day.
The speediness of the responses was not a problem this week.
The total opposite.
It was like waiting to hear from the BBC correspondent in Moscow.
A couple of seconds time lag, a finger in the ear and a bit of shouting.
I don’t think everyone had switched to the “T” position because there were enough whistles and clicks going on to call Whales ashore.
None of this helped with the feedback on the priest’s radio mic thing, which only worked when he faced left.
Every time he did I heard, “Walk like an Eeeegyptian”, in my head.
Thankfully, they dispensed with the singing.
Can you imagine that?
The only one worth singing with this lot would be, ‘Nearer My G-d To Thee’.
Except when you are going up for communion and then they move so slowly time actually stops.
The sedate pace gave me time to contemplate why they let people who can’t read, or those who have ill fitting dentures near any of the books at the front.
One of the Intercession readers had us praying for ‘Paris’ instead of ‘The Parish’.
That could be dentistry or dyslexia.
I don’t mind the Advent stuff too much.
I’m partial to a bit of Isaiah, especially after Handl has had a fiddle with it.
As it were.
Weirdly, I’m not sure how I feel about this.
It confuses me.
I would love to see some changes going on in the Church, huge changes.
But they aren’t likely to happen any time soon.
Conditioning I suppose.
I don’t like watching Women’s football either, it’s just NOT the same.
Yet again, the defence at my Beloved Spurs are conspiring to make me destroy my TV and the rest of my front room furniture.
Talk about a team who can snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
They are really beginning to try my patience now.
Lost 3-2 after being 2-1 up.
I always used to tell the kids at school, ‘Ask the question, no matter how stupid you think it is. I guarantee someone else will be thinking the same’.
So I am going to follow my own advice.
Can someone, for the love of Christ, tell me what the fuck ‘Cranford’ is all about?
Is it about hats?
Am I missing something or am I supposed to want to slip into a coma?
*That’s nearly 48 hours straight with no sleep.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Saturday
I loved The Tudors last night!
My favourite moment was when Cardinal Wolsey leant down to Cardinal Campeggio and called him a “Cunt”.
Much cheering and applauding in Sleepy Mansions!
Get it out your Eminence, get it out!
At about 3.30 this afternoon it was dark enough indoors to turn the lights on, but not dark enough outside to draw the curtains.
If you have the light on people can see straight in and EVERYBODY looks!
They can’t help it.
It’s like having to touch anything with a ‘Wet Paint’ sign attached to it.
I hate it and end up screaming,
“What?” at the window.
This evening I noticed our local Indian ‘stay open all night’ shop sells predominately Polish goods.
Jars and tins of unpronounceable stuff with pictures of unrecognisable vegetables on them.
It also smells of feet in there and I’m not sure why, the door is always open.
The trip to the shop is when I saw that the people in Number 3 have got their Christmas Tree up.
Bastards.
Thus starts my season of monumental grumpiness and Carol Singer avoidance.
This is my favourite tune of the day.
For some reason it just gets my grin on.
The video of Dolores is there because…..
Well, just look at that mouth!
She has a mouth made for…. Um.. You decide!
My favourite words of the day are Upwellings and Oblique.
I like what they make you do with your tongue when you say them.
The Freudian among you can just stop yourselves, right now!
My favourite moment was when Cardinal Wolsey leant down to Cardinal Campeggio and called him a “Cunt”.
Much cheering and applauding in Sleepy Mansions!
Get it out your Eminence, get it out!
At about 3.30 this afternoon it was dark enough indoors to turn the lights on, but not dark enough outside to draw the curtains.
If you have the light on people can see straight in and EVERYBODY looks!
They can’t help it.
It’s like having to touch anything with a ‘Wet Paint’ sign attached to it.
I hate it and end up screaming,
“What?” at the window.
This evening I noticed our local Indian ‘stay open all night’ shop sells predominately Polish goods.
Jars and tins of unpronounceable stuff with pictures of unrecognisable vegetables on them.
It also smells of feet in there and I’m not sure why, the door is always open.
The trip to the shop is when I saw that the people in Number 3 have got their Christmas Tree up.
Bastards.
Thus starts my season of monumental grumpiness and Carol Singer avoidance.
This is my favourite tune of the day.
For some reason it just gets my grin on.
The video of Dolores is there because…..
Well, just look at that mouth!
She has a mouth made for…. Um.. You decide!
My favourite words of the day are Upwellings and Oblique.
I like what they make you do with your tongue when you say them.
The Freudian among you can just stop yourselves, right now!
Friday, November 30, 2007
Panic, Games And Cats
This morning I got up and had ‘Toker’s Panic’.
That is when the street outside your house is crawling with Police and you convince yourself that they have come for you.
The words ‘Personal Use!, Personal Use!’ bounce around your head.
It certainly makes one feel alive for a few minutes!
I had a smoke and a cup of tea to calm down.
Then watched them tow away a car.
Not a crappy old thing either.
I want this game SO bad it’s unnatural!
www.shipoffools.com/kitschmas/05_vatican_game.html
It’s based on Monopoly and it’s about becoming Pope.
A position I should be able to run for, anyway!
“Thou art Sleepy, the rock on whom I will build my apathy.”
When we were grounded as kids, my sister and I used to play Monopoly or Game of Life.
Monopoly got violent when I ran out of money and robbed the bank. Which, obviously, meant punching my sister in the face during the said robbery if she was Banker.
The Game of Life never ended well either, it was a frigging minefield.
There is a square you land on and you HAVE to get married.
Spouses and children were represented in your ‘Family Car’ by Pink or Blue markers.
I always ‘married’ another pink marker.
This used to drive my sister over the edge and she would run to ATM shouting that I wouldn’t play properly.
With the benefit of hindsight, I can see ATM did her best.
“If Sleepy wants to marry another lady, that’s perfectly alright. She can have a pink marker in her car if she wants. Some ladies like ladies.”
She would look at me and ask if I couldn’t have a blue marker, just for the benefit of the game.
The answer was always the same.
No!
I fecking couldn’t!
And while we are at it, I’m not having the ‘children’ markers either.
When my sister used to put them in my car anyway, I would throw them out and shout, ‘Abortion’.
That, as you can imagine, went down SO well.
ATM used to let us out because she couldn’t bear having us grounded in the house together.
There are ‘designer’ cats out there called Asheras.
Apparently they are part African Serval, part Asian Leopard and part House Cat.
Unsurprisingly, they cost thousands; can reach 40lbs fully grown and live 25 years.
My run of the mill Pompey house cats slaughter their way through birds, mice, frogs, voles, rats and, I’m sure, other wildlife that they don’t bring home.
What the fuck would you find on the rug with a cat like that?
Headless foxes? Smaller cats? Kate Humble?
What manner of nastiness would that animal cough up on your bed?
Actually, after some thought, I wouldn’t totally object to Kate Humble.
Ho Hum! Me? A blonde! Who knew?!
Finally, RIP Jane Rule, and “Thank You” so very much.
That is when the street outside your house is crawling with Police and you convince yourself that they have come for you.
The words ‘Personal Use!, Personal Use!’ bounce around your head.
It certainly makes one feel alive for a few minutes!
I had a smoke and a cup of tea to calm down.
Then watched them tow away a car.
Not a crappy old thing either.
I want this game SO bad it’s unnatural!
www.shipoffools.com/kitschmas/05_vatican_game.html
It’s based on Monopoly and it’s about becoming Pope.
A position I should be able to run for, anyway!
“Thou art Sleepy, the rock on whom I will build my apathy.”
When we were grounded as kids, my sister and I used to play Monopoly or Game of Life.
Monopoly got violent when I ran out of money and robbed the bank. Which, obviously, meant punching my sister in the face during the said robbery if she was Banker.
The Game of Life never ended well either, it was a frigging minefield.
There is a square you land on and you HAVE to get married.
Spouses and children were represented in your ‘Family Car’ by Pink or Blue markers.
I always ‘married’ another pink marker.
This used to drive my sister over the edge and she would run to ATM shouting that I wouldn’t play properly.
With the benefit of hindsight, I can see ATM did her best.
“If Sleepy wants to marry another lady, that’s perfectly alright. She can have a pink marker in her car if she wants. Some ladies like ladies.”
She would look at me and ask if I couldn’t have a blue marker, just for the benefit of the game.
The answer was always the same.
No!
I fecking couldn’t!
And while we are at it, I’m not having the ‘children’ markers either.
When my sister used to put them in my car anyway, I would throw them out and shout, ‘Abortion’.
That, as you can imagine, went down SO well.
ATM used to let us out because she couldn’t bear having us grounded in the house together.
There are ‘designer’ cats out there called Asheras.
Apparently they are part African Serval, part Asian Leopard and part House Cat.
Unsurprisingly, they cost thousands; can reach 40lbs fully grown and live 25 years.
My run of the mill Pompey house cats slaughter their way through birds, mice, frogs, voles, rats and, I’m sure, other wildlife that they don’t bring home.
What the fuck would you find on the rug with a cat like that?
Headless foxes? Smaller cats? Kate Humble?
What manner of nastiness would that animal cough up on your bed?
Actually, after some thought, I wouldn’t totally object to Kate Humble.
Ho Hum! Me? A blonde! Who knew?!
Finally, RIP Jane Rule, and “Thank You” so very much.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Blasphemous Joy
I’ve spent my day trying to think of things to name Mohammed.
Both cats now have it as a middle name.
Kenneth Mohammed and Murphy Mohammed.
Everything in the fish tank is a Mohammed and I’m thinking it quite suits the Hoover.
The Laptop is called Moses, the toaster is Vishnu and the TV is now referred to as The BVTV.
The Blessed Virgin TV.
I wonder if there are people in Spain, Portugal and Latin America called ‘Hay-Zeus’, who are ‘not expecting’ The Inquisition at the moment.
Or, The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith as it is now known.
The Inquisition hasn’t disappeared into the mists of time, it’s just been re-branded.
Trying to move away from their BDSM roots I think.
Tell me this isn’t an early Gimp mask.
For the less squeamish, check out the ‘Pear of Anguish’.
Now that thing, has barely been adapted in hundreds of years and is used during gynaecological examinations to this day.
Freaky shit was afoot on Graham Norton’s show tonight.
Glenn Close can make the most disturbing baby noises using her arm!
Crying baby, angry baby, happy baby etc.
Most scary.
Cats making noises on a TV show set my cats off.
Dogs barking make other dogs join in.
It made me wonder if all the babies within earshot of the TV started up.
He also had a singer called Amy McDonald on, who sounds like she is singing with someone else’s voice.
Although, that could be the weed!
More freaky stuff is occurring in the Sleepy Mansions airing cupboard.
I cannot for the life of me reach the top shelf.
Not without standing on Mohammed the Hoover and that seems a tad blasphemous.
I’m a short arse but I’m taller than Housemate Pat, yet her stuff is on the top shelf!
There is some ‘House of Flying Daggers’ shit going on here and I will catch her at it.
The fantastic news of the day is that Housemate Claire’s surgery was successful.
No more cancer!
She will have to carry on with the Herceptin for a while, as well as having a course of Radiotherapy.
Apart from all that, it’s really good news.
She looks so much happier, a total weight off her mind.
Celebrations are planned!
Both cats now have it as a middle name.
Kenneth Mohammed and Murphy Mohammed.
Everything in the fish tank is a Mohammed and I’m thinking it quite suits the Hoover.
The Laptop is called Moses, the toaster is Vishnu and the TV is now referred to as The BVTV.
The Blessed Virgin TV.
I wonder if there are people in Spain, Portugal and Latin America called ‘Hay-Zeus’, who are ‘not expecting’ The Inquisition at the moment.
Or, The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith as it is now known.
The Inquisition hasn’t disappeared into the mists of time, it’s just been re-branded.
Trying to move away from their BDSM roots I think.
Tell me this isn’t an early Gimp mask.
For the less squeamish, check out the ‘Pear of Anguish’.
Now that thing, has barely been adapted in hundreds of years and is used during gynaecological examinations to this day.
Freaky shit was afoot on Graham Norton’s show tonight.
Glenn Close can make the most disturbing baby noises using her arm!
Crying baby, angry baby, happy baby etc.
Most scary.
Cats making noises on a TV show set my cats off.
Dogs barking make other dogs join in.
It made me wonder if all the babies within earshot of the TV started up.
He also had a singer called Amy McDonald on, who sounds like she is singing with someone else’s voice.
Although, that could be the weed!
More freaky stuff is occurring in the Sleepy Mansions airing cupboard.
I cannot for the life of me reach the top shelf.
Not without standing on Mohammed the Hoover and that seems a tad blasphemous.
I’m a short arse but I’m taller than Housemate Pat, yet her stuff is on the top shelf!
There is some ‘House of Flying Daggers’ shit going on here and I will catch her at it.
The fantastic news of the day is that Housemate Claire’s surgery was successful.
No more cancer!
She will have to carry on with the Herceptin for a while, as well as having a course of Radiotherapy.
Apart from all that, it’s really good news.
She looks so much happier, a total weight off her mind.
Celebrations are planned!
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Connections
Today I have made the strange connection between laundry and toast.
Toast always falls buttered side down.
When you walk through the house with laundry, underwear will always drop gusset side up.
Especially if you don’t notice them escaping from the bundle and other Housemates have visitors.
Another connection.
Are Gorillas good or bad?
In the Cadbury’s advert the Gorilla is an amazingly superb drummer.
In the Harpic ’Rim Block’ advert he is the dirty bastard who stinks up the toilet for everyone.
(Probably best if I don’t relate the image Rim Block conjures in my head!)
What’s the story?
Have one in your band but don’t let them use your bog?
So, on one hand we have this person and on the other, we have this one.
I know which I would rather have Social Services taking an interest in.
See?
Everything has felt connected today.
Housemate Claire had her second lot of Herceptin.
It hasn’t made her as horribly ill as the first lot did but she isn’t 100%.
Tomorrow she finds out whether the surgery has been successful and she is cancer free.
At last I have found something that I’m willing to donate to ATM!
I’m keeping the kidneys and liver portions thank you very much.
Toast always falls buttered side down.
When you walk through the house with laundry, underwear will always drop gusset side up.
Especially if you don’t notice them escaping from the bundle and other Housemates have visitors.
Another connection.
Are Gorillas good or bad?
In the Cadbury’s advert the Gorilla is an amazingly superb drummer.
In the Harpic ’Rim Block’ advert he is the dirty bastard who stinks up the toilet for everyone.
(Probably best if I don’t relate the image Rim Block conjures in my head!)
What’s the story?
Have one in your band but don’t let them use your bog?
So, on one hand we have this person and on the other, we have this one.
I know which I would rather have Social Services taking an interest in.
See?
Everything has felt connected today.
Housemate Claire had her second lot of Herceptin.
It hasn’t made her as horribly ill as the first lot did but she isn’t 100%.
Tomorrow she finds out whether the surgery has been successful and she is cancer free.
At last I have found something that I’m willing to donate to ATM!
I’m keeping the kidneys and liver portions thank you very much.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Political Nan
I’ve had the Lib/Dem councillor knocking the door this evening.
He introduced himself, double barrelled surname; and tried to shake my hand.
I was having none of it.
I held them up and away from him and said,
“Cooking”.
He stepped back.
“Any problems in the local area you would like to see addressed?” he asked.
That’s like being asked your Top 10 Albums, not something you can do on the doorstep in 30 seconds, from a cold start.
I told him that there probably were but I couldn’t recall them just now, but did he have a piece of paper.
He left a questionnaire and said to put it in the letterbox, it would be collected.
Loads of tosspot questions.
If he doesn’t already know the problems in his constituency, I’m the last fucker he should ask.
One of the questions was whether I thought there should be more trees planted.
Where I want them planted and would I help planting.
Ok. No problem.
Until I get to a later question.
Something along the lines of using ’derelict’ land for building affordable housing.
I answered,
“Sounds good, but haven’t I just planted a load of trees on this land?”
In the less than roomy box for ‘anything else’ I wrote,
“Knock my door, I have some questions”.
Did he?
Did he bollocks.
Took the questionnaire though.
Now, I’m sure, I’m in their ‘database’.
Not that I’m worried.
It’s a bit like the Quakers taking a Fatwa out on you.
Does everyone have a ‘good Nan’?
It came up in discussion over dinner with Mad Matt this evening.
Everybody I know seems to have had a Grandmother who was better than the other one.
One you had more fun with, who remembered your name, or was nicer, or gave better presents or was alive!
With mine it came down to porridge.
With one Nan we got milk, sugar and syrup.
The other gave us water and salt.
That Granddad used to throw a teacup of whisky on it while her back was turned.
Which helped marginally with the taste, but lit up the potentially latent ‘Alcoholic Gene’ like a frigging Christmas Tree.
My question is about whom the ‘Nan’ belongs to.
Which side?
Is it always your Mum’s Mum who is the favourite?
He introduced himself, double barrelled surname; and tried to shake my hand.
I was having none of it.
I held them up and away from him and said,
“Cooking”.
He stepped back.
“Any problems in the local area you would like to see addressed?” he asked.
That’s like being asked your Top 10 Albums, not something you can do on the doorstep in 30 seconds, from a cold start.
I told him that there probably were but I couldn’t recall them just now, but did he have a piece of paper.
He left a questionnaire and said to put it in the letterbox, it would be collected.
Loads of tosspot questions.
If he doesn’t already know the problems in his constituency, I’m the last fucker he should ask.
One of the questions was whether I thought there should be more trees planted.
Where I want them planted and would I help planting.
Ok. No problem.
Until I get to a later question.
Something along the lines of using ’derelict’ land for building affordable housing.
I answered,
“Sounds good, but haven’t I just planted a load of trees on this land?”
In the less than roomy box for ‘anything else’ I wrote,
“Knock my door, I have some questions”.
Did he?
Did he bollocks.
Took the questionnaire though.
Now, I’m sure, I’m in their ‘database’.
Not that I’m worried.
It’s a bit like the Quakers taking a Fatwa out on you.
Does everyone have a ‘good Nan’?
It came up in discussion over dinner with Mad Matt this evening.
Everybody I know seems to have had a Grandmother who was better than the other one.
One you had more fun with, who remembered your name, or was nicer, or gave better presents or was alive!
With mine it came down to porridge.
With one Nan we got milk, sugar and syrup.
The other gave us water and salt.
That Granddad used to throw a teacup of whisky on it while her back was turned.
Which helped marginally with the taste, but lit up the potentially latent ‘Alcoholic Gene’ like a frigging Christmas Tree.
My question is about whom the ‘Nan’ belongs to.
Which side?
Is it always your Mum’s Mum who is the favourite?
Monday, November 26, 2007
Rant And Regal
Housemates.. If you order something to be delivered, it’s not going to be a surprise to you when it turns up.
It fecking is to me!
And I object to having to get up after 90 minutes sleep to open the bastard door.
Especially when the addressee, is IN.
Do I have to remind anyone of “The Next Catalogue” incident?
Don’t make me shout.
None of you like it.
Also, if you are using the smallest saucepan we have, on the largest gas ring we have; that strange chemical, burning smell will be the fucking handle melting.
If the smell didn’t give you a hint, what part of your porridge recipe said?
“Serve with cold milk and honey once surrounded by thick, black, noxious smoke”.
You complete and utter moron!
The highly empathetic of you may have picked up on my lack of sleep in the last few days.
Weirdest thing I’ve seen today was during the programme, Monarchy: The Royal Family at Work.
We were shown the White House preparing for the Queen’s arrival and footage of a black lady painting it, telling us that there were many kinds of white.
The White House is not any old white.
It’s ‘Whisper’ White, not China, not Navajo.
Whisper.
The irony was not lost on me.
Funniest thing was a posh bloke, talking about some art, using the word ‘interregnum’.
The camera had panned round onto a room full of Yanks and you could tell they were all wondering what their arses had to do with anything!
Prince Phillip was as ever, brilliantly grumpy.
I think he nicked the pen when he signed the White House visitor’s book.
He may have used is own but I really, really hope he robbed it!
I love him.
On a related note, no one wears a bit of bling like our Queen.
It fecking is to me!
And I object to having to get up after 90 minutes sleep to open the bastard door.
Especially when the addressee, is IN.
Do I have to remind anyone of “The Next Catalogue” incident?
Don’t make me shout.
None of you like it.
Also, if you are using the smallest saucepan we have, on the largest gas ring we have; that strange chemical, burning smell will be the fucking handle melting.
If the smell didn’t give you a hint, what part of your porridge recipe said?
“Serve with cold milk and honey once surrounded by thick, black, noxious smoke”.
You complete and utter moron!
The highly empathetic of you may have picked up on my lack of sleep in the last few days.
Weirdest thing I’ve seen today was during the programme, Monarchy: The Royal Family at Work.
We were shown the White House preparing for the Queen’s arrival and footage of a black lady painting it, telling us that there were many kinds of white.
The White House is not any old white.
It’s ‘Whisper’ White, not China, not Navajo.
Whisper.
The irony was not lost on me.
Funniest thing was a posh bloke, talking about some art, using the word ‘interregnum’.
The camera had panned round onto a room full of Yanks and you could tell they were all wondering what their arses had to do with anything!
Prince Phillip was as ever, brilliantly grumpy.
I think he nicked the pen when he signed the White House visitor’s book.
He may have used is own but I really, really hope he robbed it!
I love him.
On a related note, no one wears a bit of bling like our Queen.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Christ, The Noise.
Today’s Mass has to have been the loudest I’ve been to this year.
Kids screaming all over the place, throwing stuff and running about.
We would have been gagged and our hamstrings cut with a nail file before that happened.
It made it difficult to concentrate on the regular nutters and almost impossible to hear the priest.
He’d got a face full of incense and was reacting to it like pepper spray, with the coughing and the streaming eyes thing.
Not a great prospect when you know he is going to be handling a bit of wafer that will end up in your mouth.
The head slapper was there but has had a new string to his bow of unusual behaviours, extreme nose picking.
Although it had a serious ‘Yuk’ factor, it was fascinating to watch.
The hymns this week were chosen from the neglected classic,
“100 Hymns For Organists Who Never Hit The Same Note Twice.”
I love this article.
The Irish cousins have ‘medicined’ me with this stuff.
Believing that an enormous capacity for Russian vodka will in anyway prepare you for Poteen, is folly.
It leaves you with the most basic of Limbic functions.
Working lungs and heart, sometimes in sporadic bursts, but that’s about it.
As something that brings ‘a shock of joy to the heart’? You can’t go wrong.
The lesson I have learned is, never have more than one and never finish the one you have.
Absinthe has a dreamy Fairy associated with drinking it.
Poteen is more likely to be a Lurcher breeding, bare knuckle fighting, Traveller Family.
Not so great for marketing purposes.
This afternoon I watched my Beloved Spurs draw and the film about William Wilberforce, ‘Amazing Grace’.
What a hero.
Had me quite choked up at times.
The football and the film!
I’ve eaten left over curry and had a glass of Indian beer.
Not a bad way to spend a day.
Kids screaming all over the place, throwing stuff and running about.
We would have been gagged and our hamstrings cut with a nail file before that happened.
It made it difficult to concentrate on the regular nutters and almost impossible to hear the priest.
He’d got a face full of incense and was reacting to it like pepper spray, with the coughing and the streaming eyes thing.
Not a great prospect when you know he is going to be handling a bit of wafer that will end up in your mouth.
The head slapper was there but has had a new string to his bow of unusual behaviours, extreme nose picking.
Although it had a serious ‘Yuk’ factor, it was fascinating to watch.
The hymns this week were chosen from the neglected classic,
“100 Hymns For Organists Who Never Hit The Same Note Twice.”
I love this article.
The Irish cousins have ‘medicined’ me with this stuff.
Believing that an enormous capacity for Russian vodka will in anyway prepare you for Poteen, is folly.
It leaves you with the most basic of Limbic functions.
Working lungs and heart, sometimes in sporadic bursts, but that’s about it.
As something that brings ‘a shock of joy to the heart’? You can’t go wrong.
The lesson I have learned is, never have more than one and never finish the one you have.
Absinthe has a dreamy Fairy associated with drinking it.
Poteen is more likely to be a Lurcher breeding, bare knuckle fighting, Traveller Family.
Not so great for marketing purposes.
This afternoon I watched my Beloved Spurs draw and the film about William Wilberforce, ‘Amazing Grace’.
What a hero.
Had me quite choked up at times.
The football and the film!
I’ve eaten left over curry and had a glass of Indian beer.
Not a bad way to spend a day.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Party And Parents
Last night’s 50th birthday party was a blast.
Everybody dressed up.
I ended up wearing black trousers, my ‘I F Nuns’ tee-shirt, an inverted cross, I had a baby’s bottle full of vodka and a massive nappy over the trousers.
I was Rosemary’s Baby!
It’s bloody horrible wearing a nappy, I couldn’t walk properly but I had somewhere handy to store my cigarettes.
I did get a good laugh handing my baby bottle over the bar and ordering my vodka in fluid ounces.
They got a great laugh testing it on their wrists before handing it back!
There was a scary moment, when I was waylaid by the lady with the wandering hands.
My friends, who could see I was in trouble, did as they always do.
Stood out of her eye line, but in mine and laughed their heads off.
Bastards.
The more I think about this, the more it pisses me off.
All week there has been an ‘outcry’ about lesbians and IVF treatments.
The way I see it is that some one night stand slapper has more rights than people who plan a child for years.
Those who sit in clinics trawling through the background, health history and educational achievements of the potential sperm donor.
What happened to the rights of that one night stand ‘Sperm Donor’ then?
If the child is up for adoption, it must follow that a lesbian couple can adopt it.
A judge has already said that the father has no rights and the Cardinal doesn’t seem to have an opinion on this one.
Don’t get me wrong, I have absolutely no interest in being a parent, foster parent, step parent, I’m a pretty crappy aunt and the cats could probably do with a Social Worker.
But, I’m pro choice.
If that’s your choice, have them, but keep them the hell away from me.
Everybody dressed up.
I ended up wearing black trousers, my ‘I F Nuns’ tee-shirt, an inverted cross, I had a baby’s bottle full of vodka and a massive nappy over the trousers.
I was Rosemary’s Baby!
It’s bloody horrible wearing a nappy, I couldn’t walk properly but I had somewhere handy to store my cigarettes.
I did get a good laugh handing my baby bottle over the bar and ordering my vodka in fluid ounces.
They got a great laugh testing it on their wrists before handing it back!
There was a scary moment, when I was waylaid by the lady with the wandering hands.
My friends, who could see I was in trouble, did as they always do.
Stood out of her eye line, but in mine and laughed their heads off.
Bastards.
The more I think about this, the more it pisses me off.
All week there has been an ‘outcry’ about lesbians and IVF treatments.
The way I see it is that some one night stand slapper has more rights than people who plan a child for years.
Those who sit in clinics trawling through the background, health history and educational achievements of the potential sperm donor.
What happened to the rights of that one night stand ‘Sperm Donor’ then?
If the child is up for adoption, it must follow that a lesbian couple can adopt it.
A judge has already said that the father has no rights and the Cardinal doesn’t seem to have an opinion on this one.
Don’t get me wrong, I have absolutely no interest in being a parent, foster parent, step parent, I’m a pretty crappy aunt and the cats could probably do with a Social Worker.
But, I’m pro choice.
If that’s your choice, have them, but keep them the hell away from me.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Maury, Footie And Arrange Me
Every now and then I catch an episode of ‘Maury’ (Povich).
Often, when I’m trying to avoid “Cash In The Attic”, or ‘Crap in The Attic’ as it’s known in Sleepy Mansions!
It usually involves some rotund, pram faced teen, crying two tears out of one eye because she doesn’t know the paternity of her child.
Um.
Three words.
You Nasty Slut!
But what is really pissing me off is the term they use.
“Maury, I’m 100% sure, he my baby Daddy”.
What?
He my baby Daddy?
Speak some known language will you and stop fucking up mine.
It’s bad enough you can’t spell correctly.
The first time I hear it in this country will be the day I start planning to leave.
Erin Go Bragh.
Although, after recent travels, Canada has a certain appeal.
Unsurprisingly, Steve McClaren has been sacked as England football coach.
The 2.5 million pound pay off should help soften that blow for him.
He wasn’t the FA’s first choice for the job and he didn’t even make mine or Sassy’s short list.
But is anyone at the Football Association falling on their sword?
Are they buggery!
The whole FA chief executive needs culling.
The players have to take some responsibility for what happens on the pitch.
Bunch of overpaid, underachieving Prima Donnas.
As Sassy, quite rightly pointed out, we were outplayed by a better side.
This evening my eye was caught by the programme ‘Arrange Me A Marriage’.
‘English’ people set up with an ‘arranged partner’ along Indian family lines.
The first show had some ‘Horsey’, career woman who wanted a man who didn’t mind that she hadn’t gone to University.
She wouldn’t consider anyone shorter than 6ft.
Or if they had kids already.
Mmmmm…
Aneela, the woman running the show is a nice Indian lady but, as always, I’m freaked out by Indians with Scottish accents!
She got their whole families together for a ‘viewing’, Mum’s, Dad’s, Aunt’s, Uncle’s etc, which may work for Indian families but with ‘English’ people?
OH DEAR CHRIST!
To quote Will Truman,
“I haven’t seen anything so awkward since the Richard Gere/Jodie Foster kiss in Sommersby.”
When she chooses the one to meet, the Mother’s were introduced.
It was so funny.
I hope they do a ‘Gay’ one!
Can you imagine?!
I dread to think what/who ATM would choose for me.
My Dad would do me proud, too many times we have found ourselves eyeing up the same women.
We then both say,
“Euew! That’s SO wrong!”
And neither of us want her then.
For some reason it doesn’t seem so wrong when it’s my brothers.
How weird is that?!
Today’s ‘Shameless Homo’ award has to go to John Barrowman.
On this evenings Strictly Come Dancing: It Takes Two programme, he was on the point of drooling while he offered to help Gethin Jones with moving his hips.
Oh, yeah… Really?
You could hear the studio crew pissing themselves laughing.
Well Done John.
Shameless!
Often, when I’m trying to avoid “Cash In The Attic”, or ‘Crap in The Attic’ as it’s known in Sleepy Mansions!
It usually involves some rotund, pram faced teen, crying two tears out of one eye because she doesn’t know the paternity of her child.
Um.
Three words.
You Nasty Slut!
But what is really pissing me off is the term they use.
“Maury, I’m 100% sure, he my baby Daddy”.
What?
He my baby Daddy?
Speak some known language will you and stop fucking up mine.
It’s bad enough you can’t spell correctly.
The first time I hear it in this country will be the day I start planning to leave.
Erin Go Bragh.
Although, after recent travels, Canada has a certain appeal.
Unsurprisingly, Steve McClaren has been sacked as England football coach.
The 2.5 million pound pay off should help soften that blow for him.
He wasn’t the FA’s first choice for the job and he didn’t even make mine or Sassy’s short list.
But is anyone at the Football Association falling on their sword?
Are they buggery!
The whole FA chief executive needs culling.
The players have to take some responsibility for what happens on the pitch.
Bunch of overpaid, underachieving Prima Donnas.
As Sassy, quite rightly pointed out, we were outplayed by a better side.
This evening my eye was caught by the programme ‘Arrange Me A Marriage’.
‘English’ people set up with an ‘arranged partner’ along Indian family lines.
The first show had some ‘Horsey’, career woman who wanted a man who didn’t mind that she hadn’t gone to University.
She wouldn’t consider anyone shorter than 6ft.
Or if they had kids already.
Mmmmm…
Aneela, the woman running the show is a nice Indian lady but, as always, I’m freaked out by Indians with Scottish accents!
She got their whole families together for a ‘viewing’, Mum’s, Dad’s, Aunt’s, Uncle’s etc, which may work for Indian families but with ‘English’ people?
OH DEAR CHRIST!
To quote Will Truman,
“I haven’t seen anything so awkward since the Richard Gere/Jodie Foster kiss in Sommersby.”
When she chooses the one to meet, the Mother’s were introduced.
It was so funny.
I hope they do a ‘Gay’ one!
Can you imagine?!
I dread to think what/who ATM would choose for me.
My Dad would do me proud, too many times we have found ourselves eyeing up the same women.
We then both say,
“Euew! That’s SO wrong!”
And neither of us want her then.
For some reason it doesn’t seem so wrong when it’s my brothers.
How weird is that?!
Today’s ‘Shameless Homo’ award has to go to John Barrowman.
On this evenings Strictly Come Dancing: It Takes Two programme, he was on the point of drooling while he offered to help Gethin Jones with moving his hips.
Oh, yeah… Really?
You could hear the studio crew pissing themselves laughing.
Well Done John.
Shameless!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Appalling
Housemates, you’d better hope and pray that I NEVER find out who perpetrated the atrocity I found in the bathroom this morning.
I mean it.
It was nasty and I won’t clean up again.
I have managed to avoid making any comment about the McCann’s in the months since May.
I can resist no more.
They are now saying that they thought their family was being watched by a ‘Predator’.
Oh really?
Yet still they fucked off out and left their children alone.
Appalling people.
While on the appalling theme.
(Schnee, engage sports filter)
The England football match was complete and utter shite.
I’ve seen some terrible football in my time but this sucked arse.
Even when they got it back to 2-2 I didn’t hold out much hope.
3-2 to Croatia and we are out of the next European Championships.
England were boo-ed at Wembley.
Quite rightly.
My sleep is very disturbed at the moment.
I can’t settle, I can’t get comfy, I’m too hot, I’m itchy, I’m too cold, the duvet is too noisy and when I do sleep I have strange dreams.
Last night I had a bizarrely erotic dream about somebody highly inappropriate.
Usually I forget dreams when I wake up but this one won’t go away and it’s making me feel a little uncomfortable.
I have to go to a party on Friday.
The dress code is ‘Film Stars’ and I can’t think of anyone to go as.
I’m getting a bit panicky now as it is not something I can’t get out of.
Sensible suggestions welcomed.
Don’t even bother thinking of anyone who wears a dress or skirt.
That, just ain’t happening!
It’s been a miserable day all round and it’s pissing with rain again.
Happy Thanksgiving to the Yank readership.
I mean it.
It was nasty and I won’t clean up again.
I have managed to avoid making any comment about the McCann’s in the months since May.
I can resist no more.
They are now saying that they thought their family was being watched by a ‘Predator’.
Oh really?
Yet still they fucked off out and left their children alone.
Appalling people.
While on the appalling theme.
(Schnee, engage sports filter)
The England football match was complete and utter shite.
I’ve seen some terrible football in my time but this sucked arse.
Even when they got it back to 2-2 I didn’t hold out much hope.
3-2 to Croatia and we are out of the next European Championships.
England were boo-ed at Wembley.
Quite rightly.
My sleep is very disturbed at the moment.
I can’t settle, I can’t get comfy, I’m too hot, I’m itchy, I’m too cold, the duvet is too noisy and when I do sleep I have strange dreams.
Last night I had a bizarrely erotic dream about somebody highly inappropriate.
Usually I forget dreams when I wake up but this one won’t go away and it’s making me feel a little uncomfortable.
I have to go to a party on Friday.
The dress code is ‘Film Stars’ and I can’t think of anyone to go as.
I’m getting a bit panicky now as it is not something I can’t get out of.
Sensible suggestions welcomed.
Don’t even bother thinking of anyone who wears a dress or skirt.
That, just ain’t happening!
It’s been a miserable day all round and it’s pissing with rain again.
Happy Thanksgiving to the Yank readership.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Cheerful Whistling
This morning I was rudely awoken by some cheerful bastard whistling while he swept the street.
Loud, complicated whistling full of trills, warbling and smug whatnot.
My Dad would go mad if he heard any whistling in the morning and shout, “Dead Man's Whistle!”
We were never sure if that was what was going to happen to the whistler or if it was what the whistling was called.
I think it’s an old Navy superstition to do with storms.
So I woke up with that line in my head, started the day pretty frigging grumpy and wondered if it were possible to 'Channel' someone still alive.
I was immediately annoyed by my post.
Grown women who put hearts or circles over lowercase i’s or j’s need beating half to death.
I don’t care if it is an invite to your child’s party, stop yourself!
I have similar feelings for people who will tell you they still have their first teddy bear, like it is a GOOD thing.
Stop it you freaks and certainly don’t offer to show it to me.
Jeez!
The only teddy I remember, and it certainly wasn’t the first, I set on fire when I was about 5.
Nearly took out the sofa with that one.
My Grandfather, recognising a potential 'Criminal' problem, made sure we had a bonfire every week.
Which I lit.
The regular frisking for matches and lighters began around that time too.
Many things change in life but my Pyromania is a constant!
The good news of the day is that Housemate Claire is home from hospital.
Whoo Hoo!
She looks 100% better.
She has some discomfort from the surgery, one of her arms is weaker than the other and she is a bit stiff when moving.
The diabetes is starting to come under control.
I haven’t asked whether the source of the insulin in the fridge door is Human or Pig.
I’m not sure I want to know really.
But she’s home, and can start getting better properly, without being woken every hour to see if she is asleep.
If I could whistle it would be a loud, cheerful one.
Loud, complicated whistling full of trills, warbling and smug whatnot.
My Dad would go mad if he heard any whistling in the morning and shout, “Dead Man's Whistle!”
We were never sure if that was what was going to happen to the whistler or if it was what the whistling was called.
I think it’s an old Navy superstition to do with storms.
So I woke up with that line in my head, started the day pretty frigging grumpy and wondered if it were possible to 'Channel' someone still alive.
I was immediately annoyed by my post.
Grown women who put hearts or circles over lowercase i’s or j’s need beating half to death.
I don’t care if it is an invite to your child’s party, stop yourself!
I have similar feelings for people who will tell you they still have their first teddy bear, like it is a GOOD thing.
Stop it you freaks and certainly don’t offer to show it to me.
Jeez!
The only teddy I remember, and it certainly wasn’t the first, I set on fire when I was about 5.
Nearly took out the sofa with that one.
My Grandfather, recognising a potential 'Criminal' problem, made sure we had a bonfire every week.
Which I lit.
The regular frisking for matches and lighters began around that time too.
Many things change in life but my Pyromania is a constant!
The good news of the day is that Housemate Claire is home from hospital.
Whoo Hoo!
She looks 100% better.
She has some discomfort from the surgery, one of her arms is weaker than the other and she is a bit stiff when moving.
The diabetes is starting to come under control.
I haven’t asked whether the source of the insulin in the fridge door is Human or Pig.
I’m not sure I want to know really.
But she’s home, and can start getting better properly, without being woken every hour to see if she is asleep.
If I could whistle it would be a loud, cheerful one.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
The 33rd Sunday
It has been a vile, cold, wet and windy day. Proper shite.I thought, sod it! It’s winter and I lit the fire.
There were baptisms at Mass this morning, screaming kids galore.
I try my hardest to miss services involving kids but it appears Depeche Mode were right, G-d does have a sick sense of humour.
A man who sounded exactly like Sean Connery read, ‘Shaint Paul’sh Epishtle to the Theshiloniansh’.
That got my grin on straight away!
I had the ’shouter out-er’ in front.
A lady with quite severe Down’s Syndrome and three minders.
‘Pairs!’ was a particularly loud and favourite one, but I think she was trying for ‘prayers’.
There was no doubt about the next one.
“Holy, Holy, Holy….”
“TITS! TITS! TITS!”
The two Polish lads next to me almost lost the plot.
The three of us dropped to our knees, foreheads on arms and shook the pew in front with laughter.
Behind me, I had the ‘speed freak’.
All congregations of all denominations must have this person.
The one who has to get the responses out first.
‘The Lord be with you’
‘AndAlsoWithYou’.
‘Lift up your hearts to the Lord’
‘WeLiftThemUpToTheLord’.
As though, somehow, G-d will deal with them first.
It’s verbal pushing in and it’s bloody rude.
The mob usually falls into a rhythm when doing the answering bits.
These people fuck all that up.
Well, they do for me anyway!
This is something we are supposed to be doing ‘together’, go on Saturday night if you want the speedy version.
Today’s hymns were chosen from the ‘Universal Book of Hymns No One Fecking Knows’ as opposed to the ‘Book of 100 Hymns Sung Too High’.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Obituaries And Opinions
As strange as it sounds, I love reading the obituaries. I like to compare between The Telegraph, The Times and The Guardian.
Sometimes they have the same names but not always.
The great and the good having their arses kissed one last time.
Occasionally there is a gem.
This is my absolute favourite obit of the year.
They don’t make them like that anymore.
Although, imagine getting this Bloke as your Legal Aid Brief?!
Check out the last three paragraphs of this article.
The Queen of England is married to an immigrant.
An immigrant whose family had been kicked out of their own country, so he was an Asylum Seeking Immigrant!
Brilliant!
Not for the first time, I have had an evening of being asked my opinion, and then the person getting offended when I give it.
Picture the scene.
A knitting pattern.
Yes! Imagine my distress! While football was on!
A fecking knitting pattern was thrust under my nose followed by the question,
‘What do you think?’
It continued like this.
‘Who for?’
‘My sister’
‘Which one?’
Sister specified.
‘Dear Christ, No!’
‘Oh. Why?’
‘Well, that is for a petite person.’
‘She is petite!’
Raucous laughter, lasting until realisation, I was the only one laughing.
‘Are you serious?’
‘She is petite but at the moment it is hidden by several layers of fat.’
‘Then she’s not bloody petite is she?!!’
‘But! She is underneath’
For my own sanity, I had to stop it before the feedback loop kicked in.
So, not for the first time, I have ended a conversation with,
‘Just don’t fucking ask me, ok? Just don’t ask!’
Sometimes they have the same names but not always.
The great and the good having their arses kissed one last time.
Occasionally there is a gem.
This is my absolute favourite obit of the year.
They don’t make them like that anymore.
Although, imagine getting this Bloke as your Legal Aid Brief?!
Check out the last three paragraphs of this article.
The Queen of England is married to an immigrant.
An immigrant whose family had been kicked out of their own country, so he was an Asylum Seeking Immigrant!
Brilliant!
Not for the first time, I have had an evening of being asked my opinion, and then the person getting offended when I give it.
Picture the scene.
A knitting pattern.
Yes! Imagine my distress! While football was on!
A fecking knitting pattern was thrust under my nose followed by the question,
‘What do you think?’
It continued like this.
‘Who for?’
‘My sister’
‘Which one?’
Sister specified.
‘Dear Christ, No!’
‘Oh. Why?’
‘Well, that is for a petite person.’
‘She is petite!’
Raucous laughter, lasting until realisation, I was the only one laughing.
‘Are you serious?’
‘She is petite but at the moment it is hidden by several layers of fat.’
‘Then she’s not bloody petite is she?!!’
‘But! She is underneath’
For my own sanity, I had to stop it before the feedback loop kicked in.
So, not for the first time, I have ended a conversation with,
‘Just don’t fucking ask me, ok? Just don’t ask!’
Friday, November 16, 2007
Walkabout Catch Up
I’m back from my Walkabout.It started off in Wiltshire and moved to the Pembrokeshire coast for a few cracking days.
Jess the hound loved it. Sandy beaches must feel lovely on Greyhound feet.
I'll put some pics on when blogger starts to behave.
A lot seems to have happened.
First, and most importantly, Housemate Claire has had her surgery.
Everything went well and they got all the cancer out.
She won’t be needing the ‘bigger buns’ anymore, about four cups less!
The not so great news is that she is now diabetic.
She is still in hospital but should be out within the next few days.
In Italy, it turns out the Septic might have stabbed the British girl.
They don’t usually get so up close and personal.
They prefer flying past, really fast and bombing the shit out of the British.
What’s really getting on my tits is the Media insistence on calling her ‘Foxy Knoxy’.
She’s not a Topless Model or some WAG; she’s a fucking murderous Nutter!
‘Horny Hindley’?
No?
I didn’t think so either.
At a house in Margate they are finding bodies buried all over the place.
A few weeks ago they were digging up the garden at a house 5 minutes walk from mine because of this bloke.
I wonder how many people have had a quick look at their house deeds, checking for the name Peter Tobin?
I wonder how many Landlord’s around the country are thinking,
‘Oh Fuck! I recognise him!’, and banning all gardening activities?
I went to see the ex Bro in law today.
A few weeks back his Mum asked if would be okay to decorate the house.
I thought ‘Go ahead! Only adds value to my property!’
She spent £2500!
New bathroom suite, tiles, new flooring and the whole house painted.
The full Schwarma.
People, it’s the worst decorating job I have ever seen.
It looks like someone has got hold of an angry, blind octopus; got eight paint rollers and said,
“Express yourself”.
Somehow the gloss on the bathroom door looks like fecking Artex!
How does that happen?!
There are drips, bald patches, thick patches….
It hurts to continue.
I’m not being ungrateful but she spent good money on that and I think she has been well and truly done.
Today has been fucking freezing which means the ‘Hell Mouth’ that lurks in the kitchen has opened once again.
Everything in the cupboards is stone cold.
Opening a drawer releases a frigid blast that’ll freeze the moisture in your eyes, so that opening the fridge is a blessed relief.
Just to send my bile duct into overdrive, it’s poxy Children in Need and the England match couldn’t be more shite.
To top it all off, my beloved QI is a Children in Need edition.
Grrrr…
It’s good to be home.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Gripes And Chocolate
My ‘Lav’ reading at the moment is a book called ‘Pegasus’ by Greg Loomis.
The blurb told me it was ‘as exciting as the Da Vinci Code’.
It may well be, but for me it has been ruined by piss poor research.
Little things, like insisting us Brits shorten ‘Umbrella’ to ‘Brelly’.
Brolly? Yep, I’ve heard of one of those, but a Brelly? I think not.
Then there is Magdelen College, Oxford.
The author snootily informed me that the English pronounce it ‘Maudin’.
Do they really Mr Loomis?
Do they buggery!
He has proper pissed me off with this and like the other American author, who had characters paying for thing with £100 notes, I won’t read him again.
Why is chocolate gendered?
I get many emails from female friends with lots of jokes about wanting chocolate, craving chocolate and needing chocolate and how it cures all evils.
I don’t get anything like this from my male friends.
It’s more football, breasts and hideous injuries!
If I’ve phoned a male friend and they are a bit down, I never say,
“Ok mate, I’m on my way round, what chocolate shall I bring?”
It is more likely to be,
“Ok mate, I’m on my way round, what Vodka and Smokes shall I bring?”
Ho Hum. It was just a thought.
Crisp-e, don’t panic!
I won’t turn up round yours with bars of Galaxy, Vogue and Clinique products any time soon.
I’m off to Wiltshire for a few days.
So the blog will be on pause.
M hates it. Hates it with a passion, hates me writing it, hates the contact with people I have through it and I can do without the outpouring of insecurity, accusations and petty jealousies.
If I wanted that, I’d contact my Mother.
So, I compromise.
The blurb told me it was ‘as exciting as the Da Vinci Code’.
It may well be, but for me it has been ruined by piss poor research.
Little things, like insisting us Brits shorten ‘Umbrella’ to ‘Brelly’.
Brolly? Yep, I’ve heard of one of those, but a Brelly? I think not.
Then there is Magdelen College, Oxford.
The author snootily informed me that the English pronounce it ‘Maudin’.
Do they really Mr Loomis?
Do they buggery!
He has proper pissed me off with this and like the other American author, who had characters paying for thing with £100 notes, I won’t read him again.
Why is chocolate gendered?
I get many emails from female friends with lots of jokes about wanting chocolate, craving chocolate and needing chocolate and how it cures all evils.
I don’t get anything like this from my male friends.
It’s more football, breasts and hideous injuries!
If I’ve phoned a male friend and they are a bit down, I never say,
“Ok mate, I’m on my way round, what chocolate shall I bring?”
It is more likely to be,
“Ok mate, I’m on my way round, what Vodka and Smokes shall I bring?”
Ho Hum. It was just a thought.
Crisp-e, don’t panic!
I won’t turn up round yours with bars of Galaxy, Vogue and Clinique products any time soon.
I’m off to Wiltshire for a few days.
So the blog will be on pause.
M hates it. Hates it with a passion, hates me writing it, hates the contact with people I have through it and I can do without the outpouring of insecurity, accusations and petty jealousies.
If I wanted that, I’d contact my Mother.
So, I compromise.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
For All The Saints
It’s The Feast of All Saints so I went to Mass.
Holy Days of Obligation bring out a whole different bunch of strange Catholics.
Way more old, deaf and breathless men than usual.
The priest, during his solo bit, mentioned purgatory.
He had my attention.
I thought it was gone, like Limbo.
Nope, purgatory is still there.
He described it as kind of waiting room where we prepare to be received in to heaven.
A spiritual quarantine, just until any residual sin has gone.
Maybe it was the smoke and espresso I’d replaced breakfast with, but it made me think of Brits abroad.
Turn up all pissed and rowdy, wearing the wrong clothes. Taking a few days to get used to the food and plumbing.
If at all!
I now have this idea of purgatory as the ‘Costa del Sol’ of the life eternal.
He also said that the Saints are praying for us, but I find that, like Broad Beans, a little hard to swallow.
The smoke didn’t help with the Gospel either.
It was ‘the Blessed are the Cheese Makers’ one, so I was ‘looking on the bright side of life’ until the next hymn.
I decided to focus on the ‘living saint’ in the west of Ireland.
How, daily, she cares for and loves a man who doesn’t recognise her anymore.
Her quiet determination to do all she can to keep him at home.
Her endless patience with his repetitiveness, wanderings and occasional inappropriate behaviour.
How she can still see the intelligent ‘man’ in the child she now cares for.
How she will sit and rub cream into his skin and feed him his tablets in what ever weird and wonderful way he decides.
How she can do all this while witnessing the gradual loss of the love of her life.
A life on mental ‘rewind’, speeding backwards to an inevitable end.
Hers on ‘pause’.
My most fervent prayer was that she will know when to ask for help.
In Your mercy….
Holy Days of Obligation bring out a whole different bunch of strange Catholics.
Way more old, deaf and breathless men than usual.
The priest, during his solo bit, mentioned purgatory.
He had my attention.
I thought it was gone, like Limbo.
Nope, purgatory is still there.
He described it as kind of waiting room where we prepare to be received in to heaven.
A spiritual quarantine, just until any residual sin has gone.
Maybe it was the smoke and espresso I’d replaced breakfast with, but it made me think of Brits abroad.
Turn up all pissed and rowdy, wearing the wrong clothes. Taking a few days to get used to the food and plumbing.
If at all!
I now have this idea of purgatory as the ‘Costa del Sol’ of the life eternal.
He also said that the Saints are praying for us, but I find that, like Broad Beans, a little hard to swallow.
The smoke didn’t help with the Gospel either.
It was ‘the Blessed are the Cheese Makers’ one, so I was ‘looking on the bright side of life’ until the next hymn.
I decided to focus on the ‘living saint’ in the west of Ireland.
How, daily, she cares for and loves a man who doesn’t recognise her anymore.
Her quiet determination to do all she can to keep him at home.
Her endless patience with his repetitiveness, wanderings and occasional inappropriate behaviour.
How she can still see the intelligent ‘man’ in the child she now cares for.
How she will sit and rub cream into his skin and feed him his tablets in what ever weird and wonderful way he decides.
How she can do all this while witnessing the gradual loss of the love of her life.
A life on mental ‘rewind’, speeding backwards to an inevitable end.
Hers on ‘pause’.
My most fervent prayer was that she will know when to ask for help.
In Your mercy….
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Halloween, TV And Family
Poxy Halloween.
I remembered to get bags of sweeties for the little gits.
I bitched about it throughout the whole purchase.
I’ve had 1 Devil, 2 Skeletons, 3 Grim Reapers, a Dracula, a Witch, and bizarrely, 2 school girls dressed as, well, school girls.
Frighteningly, it was only the St Trinian’s pair who were unaccompanied.
Fireworks are going off all over the place.
Loud, house shaking rockets.
Without the weed I’d be exhibiting the early symptoms of shellshock.
I thought the signers on late night TV were the worst thing a stoned insomniac can be faced with.
I was wrong.
Last night I discovered something even more hectic.
They have people who describe what is happening, during the TV programme.
I am assuming for blind people.
“Dalziel and Pascoe have just pulled into the car park of a pub. They get out of the car and go inside.”
I know! I’m watching!
That is just way too freaky for this stoner.
Another advert has caught my eye.
This one is for Tena Pants.
Not pads, Pants.
Forgive me, but if you have moved beyond a pad, that is a fecking nappy.
I’d suggest your problem is a tad more serious than crossing your legs when you sneeze.
I heard a funny story about my sister and 2 of her kids.
She was going out, leaving her 14yr old daughter, 16yr old son and his girlfriend indoors.
She had had a new sofa delivered that day, so warnings of certain death if anything happened to it were issued.
When she got back, my nephew and niece were bitching, as only siblings can, and inevitably he went too far.
“Right! That’s it! I’m telling!”
She then informed her mother, and I quote,
“H was shagging his girlfriend’s bum on the sofa!”
My sister, slightly taken aback, asked her to repeat.
Apparently, her response could have been heard by Helen Keller,
“What??!!! On my NEW fucking sofa?!”
He went into hyper-denial.
Then, just as the boy thought it was all over, she picked up his phone and accidentally activated the screen saver.
It was a picture of his girlfriend performing, what some of the papers euphemistically call a ‘sex act’, on his person.
Unfortunately, he was artistically back dropped by her new sofa!
I remembered to get bags of sweeties for the little gits.
I bitched about it throughout the whole purchase.
I’ve had 1 Devil, 2 Skeletons, 3 Grim Reapers, a Dracula, a Witch, and bizarrely, 2 school girls dressed as, well, school girls.
Frighteningly, it was only the St Trinian’s pair who were unaccompanied.
Fireworks are going off all over the place.
Loud, house shaking rockets.
Without the weed I’d be exhibiting the early symptoms of shellshock.
I thought the signers on late night TV were the worst thing a stoned insomniac can be faced with.
I was wrong.
Last night I discovered something even more hectic.
They have people who describe what is happening, during the TV programme.
I am assuming for blind people.
“Dalziel and Pascoe have just pulled into the car park of a pub. They get out of the car and go inside.”
I know! I’m watching!
That is just way too freaky for this stoner.
Another advert has caught my eye.
This one is for Tena Pants.
Not pads, Pants.
Forgive me, but if you have moved beyond a pad, that is a fecking nappy.
I’d suggest your problem is a tad more serious than crossing your legs when you sneeze.
I heard a funny story about my sister and 2 of her kids.
She was going out, leaving her 14yr old daughter, 16yr old son and his girlfriend indoors.
She had had a new sofa delivered that day, so warnings of certain death if anything happened to it were issued.
When she got back, my nephew and niece were bitching, as only siblings can, and inevitably he went too far.
“Right! That’s it! I’m telling!”
She then informed her mother, and I quote,
“H was shagging his girlfriend’s bum on the sofa!”
My sister, slightly taken aback, asked her to repeat.
Apparently, her response could have been heard by Helen Keller,
“What??!!! On my NEW fucking sofa?!”
He went into hyper-denial.
Then, just as the boy thought it was all over, she picked up his phone and accidentally activated the screen saver.
It was a picture of his girlfriend performing, what some of the papers euphemistically call a ‘sex act’, on his person.
Unfortunately, he was artistically back dropped by her new sofa!
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Laundry, Music And Prayers
My Grandfather used to say that life is about constantly learning.
Today I did that and added a new string to my bow.
The Wool Wash.
I used to just have ‘white wash’ and ‘dark wash’ in my repertoire.
White included greys and some light browns.
Dark was anything blue through to black.
Who knew what a minefield doing the laundry could become?
I don’t understand why at the end of ‘wool wash’ it marinades your jumpers in a load of water but still lets you open the door.
The designers/engineers may as well have programmed in an ironic laugh that ended with the word, ‘Twat’.
I’d also like to know how the little drawer, which gets filled with cleaning products, can look like something furry has died and rotted in there.
John the ipod has been in a strange ‘shuffle’ mood all day.
‘He’ is either having a breakdown or the software is showing signs of strain.
30GB and it’s nearly full.
Check this out for eclectic weirdness:
Take That - Rule The World (Leave it!)
Handel - Ombra Mai Fu
Gogol Bordello - Start Wearing Purple
Vivaldi - Gloria
Nina Simone - Let It be Me
Nick Lowe - The Beast In Me
The Toys - A Lover’s Concerto (Cracker! Forgot I had it!)
Gotan Project - Santa Maria (Del Buen Ayre)
The Klezmatics - I Ain’t Afraid*
Nino Rota - The Godfather Waltz
The Pogues - The Irish Rover
The Rolling Stones - Mother’s Little Helper
Stevie Wonder - Jesus Children Of America
Pulp - Mis-shapes
The Gypsy punk in between Handel and Vivaldi was a bold choice, but
there was something special about hearing the Gloria while on my way to collect cannabis!
I would have freaked right out if The Stones had been played on the walk back.
JTI has picked up on my religious schizophrenia and is covering my back with the vengeful, smiting, smoting Deity of my maternal line with The Klezmatics.
Following it with the main theme from The Godfather was excellent though!
Housemate Claire has her first lot of Herceptin next week and the operation to get the tumour the week after.
As she is going to be under for about four hours she has decided to be stapled rather than stitched, it’s quicker.
Anaesthetic takes its toll on a body.
You know the drill people.
Those of you, who do, offer one up. Those of you who don’t, do whatever it is you do!
Numbers 12:13. (Shortest prayer in the Torah!)
*If you have the time, the inclination or can find it, give it a listen.
Two verses in particular appeal to me.
‘I ain’t afraid of your Yahweh
I ain’t afraid of your Allah
I ain’t afraid of your Jesus
I’m afraid of what you do in the name of your G-d.
I ain’t afraid of your Bible
I ain’t afraid of your Torah
I ain’t afraid of your Koran
Don’t let the letter of the law
Obscure the spirit of your love -- It’s killing us.’
Today I did that and added a new string to my bow.
The Wool Wash.
I used to just have ‘white wash’ and ‘dark wash’ in my repertoire.
White included greys and some light browns.
Dark was anything blue through to black.
Who knew what a minefield doing the laundry could become?
I don’t understand why at the end of ‘wool wash’ it marinades your jumpers in a load of water but still lets you open the door.
The designers/engineers may as well have programmed in an ironic laugh that ended with the word, ‘Twat’.
I’d also like to know how the little drawer, which gets filled with cleaning products, can look like something furry has died and rotted in there.
John the ipod has been in a strange ‘shuffle’ mood all day.
‘He’ is either having a breakdown or the software is showing signs of strain.
30GB and it’s nearly full.
Check this out for eclectic weirdness:
Take That - Rule The World (Leave it!)
Handel - Ombra Mai Fu
Gogol Bordello - Start Wearing Purple
Vivaldi - Gloria
Nina Simone - Let It be Me
Nick Lowe - The Beast In Me
The Toys - A Lover’s Concerto (Cracker! Forgot I had it!)
Gotan Project - Santa Maria (Del Buen Ayre)
The Klezmatics - I Ain’t Afraid*
Nino Rota - The Godfather Waltz
The Pogues - The Irish Rover
The Rolling Stones - Mother’s Little Helper
Stevie Wonder - Jesus Children Of America
Pulp - Mis-shapes
The Gypsy punk in between Handel and Vivaldi was a bold choice, but
there was something special about hearing the Gloria while on my way to collect cannabis!
I would have freaked right out if The Stones had been played on the walk back.
JTI has picked up on my religious schizophrenia and is covering my back with the vengeful, smiting, smoting Deity of my maternal line with The Klezmatics.
Following it with the main theme from The Godfather was excellent though!
Housemate Claire has her first lot of Herceptin next week and the operation to get the tumour the week after.
As she is going to be under for about four hours she has decided to be stapled rather than stitched, it’s quicker.
Anaesthetic takes its toll on a body.
You know the drill people.
Those of you, who do, offer one up. Those of you who don’t, do whatever it is you do!
Numbers 12:13. (Shortest prayer in the Torah!)
*If you have the time, the inclination or can find it, give it a listen.
Two verses in particular appeal to me.
‘I ain’t afraid of your Yahweh
I ain’t afraid of your Allah
I ain’t afraid of your Jesus
I’m afraid of what you do in the name of your G-d.
I ain’t afraid of your Bible
I ain’t afraid of your Torah
I ain’t afraid of your Koran
Don’t let the letter of the law
Obscure the spirit of your love -- It’s killing us.’
Monday, October 29, 2007
A Multicultral Day
I don’t think I need to bang home just how scary some Americans are, look at their President for fuck’s sake.
Individually, some can be quite cool, en masse, they are Septics.
But this from, Fact Checker, at the Washington Post has me really, really worried.
It is from an Associated Press poll:
* 34% of Americans believe in ghosts.
(31% believe George Bush is doing a good job!)
* 23% have seen a ghost.
* 19% accept the existence of spells or witchcraft.
* 14% have seen a UFO.
* 5% have seen a monster in their closet.
Jesus!
After a smoke, I had this weird vision of George Bush in the White House, wondering where he is going to get extra troops for Afghanistan from.
Then calling for the teeth of The Hydra to produce a skeleton army like in Jason and The Argonauts.
Except he wouldn’t be able to say ‘Argonauts’ without ballsing it up.
Tomorrow, the Sleepy Mansions Urban Kibbutz gains another member.
Her name is Pat and she comes from Malaysia.
She moved the majority of her stuff in last week but tomorrow will be her first time living here.
Today she has been cleaning and getting her room ready.
I have to admit that it took me a while to work out what the ‘Hoober’ was, but when she did the vacuuming mime and said it again, I was on it!
She tells me she likes to cook Chinese food, which will please the Housemates and the rest of the collective.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I don’t like it.
Perhaps I can be trained.
When I mentioned a local restaurant to her she declared it,
“Shit!”
My exact thought!
Pat will fit in perfectly I think!
I would like to thank the Polish roofers working opposite the house, for the Master Class in, ‘Arse Crack, accented English expletives and flouting Health and Safety rules’.
I thought tying yourselves to the scaffolding tower, while it flopped around like a cock in a sock, was particularly inspired.
Securing it to the house may have been the better plan though.
A most amusing afternoon.
Bravo Gentlemen, Bravo.
Individually, some can be quite cool, en masse, they are Septics.
But this from, Fact Checker, at the Washington Post has me really, really worried.
It is from an Associated Press poll:
* 34% of Americans believe in ghosts.
(31% believe George Bush is doing a good job!)
* 23% have seen a ghost.
* 19% accept the existence of spells or witchcraft.
* 14% have seen a UFO.
* 5% have seen a monster in their closet.
Jesus!
After a smoke, I had this weird vision of George Bush in the White House, wondering where he is going to get extra troops for Afghanistan from.
Then calling for the teeth of The Hydra to produce a skeleton army like in Jason and The Argonauts.
Except he wouldn’t be able to say ‘Argonauts’ without ballsing it up.
Tomorrow, the Sleepy Mansions Urban Kibbutz gains another member.
Her name is Pat and she comes from Malaysia.
She moved the majority of her stuff in last week but tomorrow will be her first time living here.
Today she has been cleaning and getting her room ready.
I have to admit that it took me a while to work out what the ‘Hoober’ was, but when she did the vacuuming mime and said it again, I was on it!
She tells me she likes to cook Chinese food, which will please the Housemates and the rest of the collective.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I don’t like it.
Perhaps I can be trained.
When I mentioned a local restaurant to her she declared it,
“Shit!”
My exact thought!
Pat will fit in perfectly I think!
I would like to thank the Polish roofers working opposite the house, for the Master Class in, ‘Arse Crack, accented English expletives and flouting Health and Safety rules’.
I thought tying yourselves to the scaffolding tower, while it flopped around like a cock in a sock, was particularly inspired.
Securing it to the house may have been the better plan though.
A most amusing afternoon.
Bravo Gentlemen, Bravo.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Another Sunday
I’ve got to get this out but I’ll get it over and done with quickly.
What is it with people who hold their hands up in the air when they are singing hymns?
Is it really necessary and what purpose does it serve?
I ache today.
Badly.
My shoulders are killing me and the bruise on my arm is purple now.
I also made short shrift of a bottle of Absolut Vodka last night.
Eeeesh..
Cousin Markus visited.
He has jacked in another job.
He was working at DFS, selling furniture.
Making full use of an expensive private education!
I got Nuns, he got Brothers.
Hehehe! I love him!
His manager had decided he was ‘unmanageable’ because, as Markus said,
“I can’t get fucking excited about sofas!”
His other great line was,
“They don’t seem to understand I have NO drive or ambition, and I DO tell them. I want to do as little as possible, for as much as possible.”
Fair enough! Out and proud!
It’s been a weird day, the clocks went back, it’s pissed with rain and the Great South Run was on.
I’ve seen a lot of people wrapped in tin foil limping about, talking about chaffing and blisters.
Childless helium balloons floating past.
Everyone just seems to be waiting for it to get dark, so they can bitch about it being an hour earlier.
I guarantee at least one person will mention S.A.D to you this week.
I will also put money on them telling you they HAVE it.
Tell them there are light bulbs that help and fuck ‘em off out of it.
They will half your chi.
What is it with people who hold their hands up in the air when they are singing hymns?
Is it really necessary and what purpose does it serve?
I ache today.
Badly.
My shoulders are killing me and the bruise on my arm is purple now.
I also made short shrift of a bottle of Absolut Vodka last night.
Eeeesh..
Cousin Markus visited.
He has jacked in another job.
He was working at DFS, selling furniture.
Making full use of an expensive private education!
I got Nuns, he got Brothers.
Hehehe! I love him!
His manager had decided he was ‘unmanageable’ because, as Markus said,
“I can’t get fucking excited about sofas!”
His other great line was,
“They don’t seem to understand I have NO drive or ambition, and I DO tell them. I want to do as little as possible, for as much as possible.”
Fair enough! Out and proud!
It’s been a weird day, the clocks went back, it’s pissed with rain and the Great South Run was on.
I’ve seen a lot of people wrapped in tin foil limping about, talking about chaffing and blisters.
Childless helium balloons floating past.
Everyone just seems to be waiting for it to get dark, so they can bitch about it being an hour earlier.
I guarantee at least one person will mention S.A.D to you this week.
I will also put money on them telling you they HAVE it.
Tell them there are light bulbs that help and fuck ‘em off out of it.
They will half your chi.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Stripping And Tripping
Today, Crisp-e and I have helped Sassy strip her floorboards.
I have a bruise on the inside of my forearm, the smell and taste of charred sawdust in my system and a peculiar vibration in my fingers.
I have an experiment planned for them later!
Not wishing to service the stereotype of lesbians and their affinity for power tools, but I totally loved the industrial floor sander!
Great bit of kit, if a little frightening.
Crisp-e was in charge of the hand held affair, which was even scarier.
This thing had a mind of its own.
Crisp-e wasn’t really ’working’ it; he was just holding the button in the ‘On’ position while it shot randomly around the floor.
He also believes that it was trying to make fire.
I was expecting to see cousin Markus this afternoon but the Big little Brother turned up instead.
Talk about ‘mashed up’.
He was a few hours into a pretty hideous looking ‘come down’ and sat here to await his next delivery.
He also avoided ATM.
He and friends went back there last night and one of them puked all over her garden.
(This amuses me, greatly and endlessly!)
He and his girlfriend have split up and she has been pulling some pretty nasty shit.
Having him arrested for example, after she assaulted him.
He is now banned from his own flat and is back living with ATM.
*Shudder*
(Personally, I’d prefer the cells, but, each to their own.)
Hence, his debauched weekend.
He sent me a text message at 2.30 this morning but he has no recollection of it whatsoever!
An insomniac Little big Sister is handy to have sometimes.
I have a bruise on the inside of my forearm, the smell and taste of charred sawdust in my system and a peculiar vibration in my fingers.
I have an experiment planned for them later!
Not wishing to service the stereotype of lesbians and their affinity for power tools, but I totally loved the industrial floor sander!
Great bit of kit, if a little frightening.
Crisp-e was in charge of the hand held affair, which was even scarier.
This thing had a mind of its own.
Crisp-e wasn’t really ’working’ it; he was just holding the button in the ‘On’ position while it shot randomly around the floor.
He also believes that it was trying to make fire.
I was expecting to see cousin Markus this afternoon but the Big little Brother turned up instead.
Talk about ‘mashed up’.
He was a few hours into a pretty hideous looking ‘come down’ and sat here to await his next delivery.
He also avoided ATM.
He and friends went back there last night and one of them puked all over her garden.
(This amuses me, greatly and endlessly!)
He and his girlfriend have split up and she has been pulling some pretty nasty shit.
Having him arrested for example, after she assaulted him.
He is now banned from his own flat and is back living with ATM.
*Shudder*
(Personally, I’d prefer the cells, but, each to their own.)
Hence, his debauched weekend.
He sent me a text message at 2.30 this morning but he has no recollection of it whatsoever!
An insomniac Little big Sister is handy to have sometimes.
Friday, October 26, 2007
It's Like Riding A Bike
There is no way I could let this one slide past unremarked.
You what?
Check out the paper too.
The Torygraph!
What is getting me is how I missed the reports of the pavement fucker!
Jeez.
And some people think I’m wrong!
You what?
Check out the paper too.
The Torygraph!
What is getting me is how I missed the reports of the pavement fucker!
Jeez.
And some people think I’m wrong!
Ginger Thoughts
I’ll start with a question.
How, exactly, does this help the cause of Ginger people?
Make that 2 questions.
Do Ginger people have a cause?
I have to confess to being a bit Gingephobic and I have absolutely no idea why I am.
I really shouldn’t be.
My Dad insists that ATM had, what he describes as, ‘Auburn Hair’, when he married her.
I’m hindered by the fact that the few photos that remain of that day are in black and white.
ATM also confesses she hasn’t had her natural colour since 1972.
She didn’t answer the day I came back from a visit to my father and said,
“Hey, Dad says you are really Ginger. Is it true?”
Although, I do have to point out that both Dad and my brother grow beards with a high Ginger content.
Thanks to the Human Genome Project and other research we know that Ginger people have 2 copies of a recessive gene. This gene is on chromosome 16 and causes a change in the MC1R protein.
All very clever, but locating the gene for Alzheimer’s or Cancer may be more useful.
The Greeks and Romans wrote of ‘Red Headed’ peoples and tribes.
Boudica was described as having “a great mass of red hair… over her shoulders.”Then there is the association that red heads have fiery tempers.
I’d have to say that ATM had one of those!
That could be a self fulfilling prophecy though.
I have brown and grey hair and my temper can be epic.
Elizabeth I was a red head and for a time it was fashionable.
Painters appear to be champions of the Red head.
Titian red.
Botticelli’s Venus is red and the Pre-Raphaelites didn’t seem to mind a Ginge.
Then again, it has been argued that artists themselves have helped with the prejudice.
Red was Satan’s colour.
Judas and Mary Magdalene have been portrayed as red heads.
Folklore describes red heads as ‘the Devil’s children’ or helpers.
You’d think we’d be a bit beyond that shit now wouldn’t you?
So, I'm coming out.
I must carry at least one of the 2 recessive genes and have a fiery temper.
I’m a “Stealth Ginger”!
Being childless I have saved some poor bastard a daily beating at school.
The equation for that one is:
Ginger Kid + Lesbian Mother = No Fucking Chance.
Then the wonders of scientific research bring us this.
Right, ok.
That works because the human and worm systems are so similar?
Yes?
Crisp-e.. Science stuff, do your ‘splaining thing!
On a totally unrelated note.
Are people with lisps any better at oral sex?
I surfed into a programme called ‘A Girl’s Guide to 21st Century Sex’ and one of the women giving advice had a lisp.
It was just a thought that popped in to my head.
Particularly difficult one to research.
How, exactly, does this help the cause of Ginger people?
Make that 2 questions.
Do Ginger people have a cause?
I have to confess to being a bit Gingephobic and I have absolutely no idea why I am.
I really shouldn’t be.
My Dad insists that ATM had, what he describes as, ‘Auburn Hair’, when he married her.
I’m hindered by the fact that the few photos that remain of that day are in black and white.
ATM also confesses she hasn’t had her natural colour since 1972.
She didn’t answer the day I came back from a visit to my father and said,
“Hey, Dad says you are really Ginger. Is it true?”
Although, I do have to point out that both Dad and my brother grow beards with a high Ginger content.
Thanks to the Human Genome Project and other research we know that Ginger people have 2 copies of a recessive gene. This gene is on chromosome 16 and causes a change in the MC1R protein.
All very clever, but locating the gene for Alzheimer’s or Cancer may be more useful.
The Greeks and Romans wrote of ‘Red Headed’ peoples and tribes.
Boudica was described as having “a great mass of red hair… over her shoulders.”Then there is the association that red heads have fiery tempers.
I’d have to say that ATM had one of those!
That could be a self fulfilling prophecy though.
I have brown and grey hair and my temper can be epic.
Elizabeth I was a red head and for a time it was fashionable.
Painters appear to be champions of the Red head.
Titian red.
Botticelli’s Venus is red and the Pre-Raphaelites didn’t seem to mind a Ginge.
Then again, it has been argued that artists themselves have helped with the prejudice.
Red was Satan’s colour.
Judas and Mary Magdalene have been portrayed as red heads.
Folklore describes red heads as ‘the Devil’s children’ or helpers.
You’d think we’d be a bit beyond that shit now wouldn’t you?
So, I'm coming out.
I must carry at least one of the 2 recessive genes and have a fiery temper.
I’m a “Stealth Ginger”!
Being childless I have saved some poor bastard a daily beating at school.
The equation for that one is:
Ginger Kid + Lesbian Mother = No Fucking Chance.
Then the wonders of scientific research bring us this.
Right, ok.
That works because the human and worm systems are so similar?
Yes?
Crisp-e.. Science stuff, do your ‘splaining thing!
On a totally unrelated note.
Are people with lisps any better at oral sex?
I surfed into a programme called ‘A Girl’s Guide to 21st Century Sex’ and one of the women giving advice had a lisp.
It was just a thought that popped in to my head.
Particularly difficult one to research.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Pain In The Head
I’ve had a bastard headache all day.
I did all the right things, drank loads of fluids and popped pills.
But it won’t go.
This is the physical backlash for having to swallow down the fury of 2 days ago.
I decided on fresh air.
Big mistake.
I bumped in to ex pupils, who insisted on recognising me.
It usually goes something like this.
“Alright Miss? Still at Mayhem?”
“Hello. Um, No”
I then look in the pushchair and ask,
“That yours?”
“Yeah, you remember I was pregnant at the end of year 10. This is her. Bless ‘er. Little Errazuriz”
“Mmmm.. Unusual. Ah, Nice, her jewellery matches yours.”
“I ‘ad another one but he was a little bastard so he lives wiv his Dad.
Hyperactive our little Nike but I‘ve got to ‘ave him back when his Dad goes inside.”
“Really, how old is Nike now?”
“3 months.”
“Well, it’s been lovely, bye!”
But then sometimes it goes like this, as it did today.
“Oi Miss! Oi, Miss!”
I look up.
“Still a Lesbian?”
Oh Great! That old chestnut. In the queue in the supermarket.
“Yes, Thank You. And You? Still unable to read or write?”
I generally find there is no come back on that one.
I enjoy sharing football texts with Sassy. It’s guaranteed to get bawdy at some point.
The object of her perverted heterosexual lust this evening?
(She’s very out about being straight, I’m fine as long as she doesn‘t ram it down my throat).
Dimitar Berbatov, player for my beloved and beleaguered Spurs.
He is becoming a bit of a problem player for the manager.
I suggested a ‘firm hand’ and I’m sure you can see where the messages went from there.
So, I’ve been peeing every twenty minutes, the ‘pension’ crowd in Somerfield are in absolutely no doubt about my sexual preference, I have the imagery of a good friend being inappropriate with one of my sporting heroes and I still have the fecking headache.
Onward.
I did all the right things, drank loads of fluids and popped pills.
But it won’t go.
This is the physical backlash for having to swallow down the fury of 2 days ago.
I decided on fresh air.
Big mistake.
I bumped in to ex pupils, who insisted on recognising me.
It usually goes something like this.
“Alright Miss? Still at Mayhem?”
“Hello. Um, No”
I then look in the pushchair and ask,
“That yours?”
“Yeah, you remember I was pregnant at the end of year 10. This is her. Bless ‘er. Little Errazuriz”
“Mmmm.. Unusual. Ah, Nice, her jewellery matches yours.”
“I ‘ad another one but he was a little bastard so he lives wiv his Dad.
Hyperactive our little Nike but I‘ve got to ‘ave him back when his Dad goes inside.”
“Really, how old is Nike now?”
“3 months.”
“Well, it’s been lovely, bye!”
But then sometimes it goes like this, as it did today.
“Oi Miss! Oi, Miss!”
I look up.
“Still a Lesbian?”
Oh Great! That old chestnut. In the queue in the supermarket.
“Yes, Thank You. And You? Still unable to read or write?”
I generally find there is no come back on that one.
I enjoy sharing football texts with Sassy. It’s guaranteed to get bawdy at some point.
The object of her perverted heterosexual lust this evening?
(She’s very out about being straight, I’m fine as long as she doesn‘t ram it down my throat).
Dimitar Berbatov, player for my beloved and beleaguered Spurs.
He is becoming a bit of a problem player for the manager.
I suggested a ‘firm hand’ and I’m sure you can see where the messages went from there.
So, I’ve been peeing every twenty minutes, the ‘pension’ crowd in Somerfield are in absolutely no doubt about my sexual preference, I have the imagery of a good friend being inappropriate with one of my sporting heroes and I still have the fecking headache.
Onward.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Them Again
They’re at it again.
My regular ‘Piss Off Sleepy’ merchants.
Yep, The Catholic Church.
The spread of AIDS in Latin America is getting out of hand.
Why?
The Catholic teaching on condoms.
I’ll leave you to imagine the sarcastic slow applause as I say,
‘Oh, Frightfully Well Done!’
How do they think Africa became so infected?
Osmosis?
Not putting your hand over your mouth when you cough?
Stop pretending ‘it’ doesn’t happen.
People fuck other people. Always have, always will. Rules or No Rules. Laws or No Laws. Condoms or no condoms.
I blame St. Augustine.
(Shagged himself silly, saw the light and then ‘banned’ everybody else from doing it. What an Arse.)
I can understand that ‘they’ think it’s a perfect way to wipe ‘us’ out but it’s ‘their’ people who are infected and dying.
I suppose, eventually, they will get their wish.
Once every heterosexual is infected and every foetus that is born doesn’t live to reproduce.
They will have wiped ‘us’ out because WE don’t ‘reproduce’, as we are so often told.
‘They’ do.
Then there is this little gem.
Suspended eh?
What are the chances that this Monsignor Tommaso Stenico is never seen or heard of again?
I’m going with Med/High.
Any offers?
Followed by this.
Ok.. I would have banned it for the title of the talk.
Jeez… ‘Are There Closets In Heaven?’
My gag reflex went into overdrive and I feel slightly embarrassed by them.
My regular ‘Piss Off Sleepy’ merchants.
Yep, The Catholic Church.
The spread of AIDS in Latin America is getting out of hand.
Why?
The Catholic teaching on condoms.
I’ll leave you to imagine the sarcastic slow applause as I say,
‘Oh, Frightfully Well Done!’
How do they think Africa became so infected?
Osmosis?
Not putting your hand over your mouth when you cough?
Stop pretending ‘it’ doesn’t happen.
People fuck other people. Always have, always will. Rules or No Rules. Laws or No Laws. Condoms or no condoms.
I blame St. Augustine.
(Shagged himself silly, saw the light and then ‘banned’ everybody else from doing it. What an Arse.)
I can understand that ‘they’ think it’s a perfect way to wipe ‘us’ out but it’s ‘their’ people who are infected and dying.
I suppose, eventually, they will get their wish.
Once every heterosexual is infected and every foetus that is born doesn’t live to reproduce.
They will have wiped ‘us’ out because WE don’t ‘reproduce’, as we are so often told.
‘They’ do.
Then there is this little gem.
Suspended eh?
What are the chances that this Monsignor Tommaso Stenico is never seen or heard of again?
I’m going with Med/High.
Any offers?
Followed by this.
Ok.. I would have banned it for the title of the talk.
Jeez… ‘Are There Closets In Heaven?’
My gag reflex went into overdrive and I feel slightly embarrassed by them.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Please Release Me
‘I can’t sleep, something’s all over me
Greasy, insomnia please release me
And let me dream about making mad love on the Heath,
tearing off tights with my teeth
But there’s no relief
I’m wide awake in my kitchen
It’s dark and I’m lonely
Oh, if I could only get some sleep.’
Faithless - Insomnia
The insomnia is biting again.
I had a horrendous night last night.
Not really sleep, just a series of fifteen minute naps.
At one point my nose was whistling with each breath, sounding like a distant trumpeting elephant.
It even annoyed Kenny the Cat.
He put one paw on my cheek and batted my nose with another.
Then I became aware of how noisy the duvet is every time I move.
It’s new and sounds like it has been filled with Crunchy Nut Cornflakes.
My Sooper Dooper, designed by NASA, good for your back, indestructible pillow is banjaxed.
Never loses its shape?
Bollocks.
Mine looks like it has been tied in a reef knot.
At about 5am the magpies started their hideous noise.
I’m tempted to get an air pistol but I will try the ‘Spud’ gun and a catapult first.
This afternoon I lost my temper so badly I’m still not over it.
It’s like I’m carrying a cannon ball of mercury in the pit of my stomach, my hands are shaking and my jaw aches from grinding my teeth.
Usually, I’m a ‘smasher up-er’.
I’ve lost count of the number of ashtrays, glasses and mugs that have been launched into the fireplace; Furniture I’ve beaten with hammers and windows I’ve put my fists through.
This afternoon I couldn’t find anything to destroy.
It seems I like my stuff at the moment.
I found the axe but no wood.
So the rage is just sitting there, seething, waiting.
I detest feeling like this. It is such a weakness.
Hopefully, a few more joints and it’ll come out, like the bloke in the Green Mile.
Just dissipate into the ether.
On a gentler note.
I collected over thirty Ladybirds from the railings at the front of Sleepy Mansions.
They are now in the back garden munching their way through the plague of Aphids out there.
I swept the forecourt and front of the house, which was ankle deep in leaves.
When it rains they get slippery and are fecking treacherous bastards.
(I refer you to the ‘Splits’ incident of an earlier post!)
I did next door as well.
But… I’m still off kilter. Poxy temper.
Greasy, insomnia please release me
And let me dream about making mad love on the Heath,
tearing off tights with my teeth
But there’s no relief
I’m wide awake in my kitchen
It’s dark and I’m lonely
Oh, if I could only get some sleep.’
Faithless - Insomnia
The insomnia is biting again.
I had a horrendous night last night.
Not really sleep, just a series of fifteen minute naps.
At one point my nose was whistling with each breath, sounding like a distant trumpeting elephant.
It even annoyed Kenny the Cat.
He put one paw on my cheek and batted my nose with another.
Then I became aware of how noisy the duvet is every time I move.
It’s new and sounds like it has been filled with Crunchy Nut Cornflakes.
My Sooper Dooper, designed by NASA, good for your back, indestructible pillow is banjaxed.
Never loses its shape?
Bollocks.
Mine looks like it has been tied in a reef knot.
At about 5am the magpies started their hideous noise.
I’m tempted to get an air pistol but I will try the ‘Spud’ gun and a catapult first.
This afternoon I lost my temper so badly I’m still not over it.
It’s like I’m carrying a cannon ball of mercury in the pit of my stomach, my hands are shaking and my jaw aches from grinding my teeth.
Usually, I’m a ‘smasher up-er’.
I’ve lost count of the number of ashtrays, glasses and mugs that have been launched into the fireplace; Furniture I’ve beaten with hammers and windows I’ve put my fists through.
This afternoon I couldn’t find anything to destroy.
It seems I like my stuff at the moment.
I found the axe but no wood.
So the rage is just sitting there, seething, waiting.
I detest feeling like this. It is such a weakness.
Hopefully, a few more joints and it’ll come out, like the bloke in the Green Mile.
Just dissipate into the ether.
On a gentler note.
I collected over thirty Ladybirds from the railings at the front of Sleepy Mansions.
They are now in the back garden munching their way through the plague of Aphids out there.
I swept the forecourt and front of the house, which was ankle deep in leaves.
When it rains they get slippery and are fecking treacherous bastards.
(I refer you to the ‘Splits’ incident of an earlier post!)
I did next door as well.
But… I’m still off kilter. Poxy temper.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Cruising Through Monday
I’m definitely going to hell.
Polish Mass has been changed to Wednesday so my mind wandered occasionally today.
I couldn’t stop looking at the damn fine arse of the woman kneeling in front of me!
Eye contact was made during the sign of peace and she sat next to me after communion.
Although, she could have just got the wrong pew on the way back.Her name is Irina and she gave me her number.
I totally, accidentally, cruised Mass!
Then. The Instant Karma.
As punishment, G-d and his Angels of Electronics, prevented my ipod from synching with the computer and downloading the tunes I had bought.
Tunes I wanted to listen to while cooking.
Most frustrating.
A ‘help’ text to Crisp-e soon had it all back doing its thing but too late for a bit of Dinner Preparing Dancing.
I really can’t get my head round “Governor Schwarzenegger”.
It’s the accent I think.
Stood at the press conference saying the greatest problem faced by the fire-fighters was ‘the wint’.
I’d argue the flames aren’t that fecking helpful either.
Housemates..
May I suggest that the problem with University Challenge questions is not their length, it’s you bastards talking over them.
Uni Challenge is one of the few TV programmes I like.
Just shut the fuck up and let me have a go will you?!
Jeez!
Also, whoever keeps putting the EMPTY marmite jar back in the cupboard, I WILL Kill You!
I’m also getting pretty pissed off with being the only person who can work the mop.
How is it I can go away for a week, come back and still mop fucking floors I haven’t even walked on?
It takes the piss.
Good luck to Crisp-e for tomorrow.
He is going to do the same ABA Boxing Tutor course that I did a few months ago.
Get the booze, anti-inflammatory pills and serious painkillers lined up before you leave my friend.
You will thank me tomorrow evening.
I will also suggest texting ahead and having Herself get a bath ready for when you walk in.
Don't even bother with food.
You just need to go 'Withnail'.
Polish Mass has been changed to Wednesday so my mind wandered occasionally today.
I couldn’t stop looking at the damn fine arse of the woman kneeling in front of me!
Eye contact was made during the sign of peace and she sat next to me after communion.
Although, she could have just got the wrong pew on the way back.Her name is Irina and she gave me her number.
I totally, accidentally, cruised Mass!
Then. The Instant Karma.
As punishment, G-d and his Angels of Electronics, prevented my ipod from synching with the computer and downloading the tunes I had bought.
Tunes I wanted to listen to while cooking.
Most frustrating.
A ‘help’ text to Crisp-e soon had it all back doing its thing but too late for a bit of Dinner Preparing Dancing.
I really can’t get my head round “Governor Schwarzenegger”.
It’s the accent I think.
Stood at the press conference saying the greatest problem faced by the fire-fighters was ‘the wint’.
I’d argue the flames aren’t that fecking helpful either.
Housemates..
May I suggest that the problem with University Challenge questions is not their length, it’s you bastards talking over them.
Uni Challenge is one of the few TV programmes I like.
Just shut the fuck up and let me have a go will you?!
Jeez!
Also, whoever keeps putting the EMPTY marmite jar back in the cupboard, I WILL Kill You!
I’m also getting pretty pissed off with being the only person who can work the mop.
How is it I can go away for a week, come back and still mop fucking floors I haven’t even walked on?
It takes the piss.
Good luck to Crisp-e for tomorrow.
He is going to do the same ABA Boxing Tutor course that I did a few months ago.
Get the booze, anti-inflammatory pills and serious painkillers lined up before you leave my friend.
You will thank me tomorrow evening.
I will also suggest texting ahead and having Herself get a bath ready for when you walk in.
Don't even bother with food.
You just need to go 'Withnail'.