Wednesday, February 28, 2007

In A Mosque On Purim

Talk about the ‘fervour of a convert’.
I am in love with Little Mosque On The Prairie.
Schnee, Thank you so much for pointing it out.
I beg anyone who hasn’t seen it, to go to youtube immediately and have a look.
It’s brilliant.

Today is Purim. A Jewish holiday you can eat, drink and smoke while observing it! The only one I think.
It celebrates the time when the Jews in Persia were saved from extermination.
Esther was married to the Persian King but had kept her Jewishness a secret from her husband, because her Cousin Mordechai had told her to.
Haman was the King’s advisor and hated Mordechai so plotted against the Jews.
He told the King the Jews wouldn’t observe his laws because they had a set of their own. (Usual shit!)
The King left it up to Haman to decide their fate.
He chose getting rid of them.
Esther was asked to go to the King and let him know the score. This was really dangerous because anyone who went to the King without being summoned, was put to death.
Fortunately, the King was pleased to see her and she told him about the plot.
The Jews were saved and Haman was hanged on the gallows set up for Mordechai.
During the celebrations, loads of noise has to be made! Feet stamped, Booing and hissing. Rattles, like the old football ones are swung about. Apparently, this is so we don’t hear Haman’s name.
The Talmud says, ‘ a person is required to drink until he cannot tell the difference between, “Cursed be Haman” and Blessed be Mordechai’.
It’s also about doing charitable things too and sending presents.
People dress up and put on shows. It’s Carnival time!

I’m celebrating at the weekend!

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Peeling, Raining And Raging

For some reason the skin on the ends of my fingers has started to peel off.
It’s not sore or anything and appears to be a single layer but I can’t work out why it would start happening.
As a kid I used to suffer with horrendous eczema and even now have occasional flare up’s. Dry patches appear at the tops of my arm or on my hip and the finger peeling isn’t that.
Then again it could be the limescale remover in the Cif. Waitrose had run out of the usual and sent me this shit instead.
The cheek!
How dare they assume I have limescale.

I was meeting Crisp-e at his house, so I got ‘Janis’ out for a ride.
10 minutes before I was due to leave it started pissing down. As mentioned before, cycling in Pompey means you are always against the wind. So today I had that, AND horizontal rain.
I was ‘drownded‘.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long for Mr and Mrs Crisp-e to arrive, but my peeling had progressed to the first knuckle.

‘Janis’ is a boon for Pompey rush hour, if only fat fucking bastard car drivers would move over.
Get off the double yellows will you.
I am ashamed to say I got a bit ragey about this. Having to bump up onto the pavement or stop and push along the kerb.
So I stopped being careful.
Fuck ‘em! I thought.
I had seven wing mirrors in the stretch from the hospital to the junction (between 600 to 800 metres).
I had a few shouts but they were going, fucking nowhere, and I was long gone.
I caught a knuckle and my elbow twice but it was worth it.
Greedy Gobshites.

The wankiest question of the day occured on ‘Sleep Clinic’, BBC2.

“Have you been practising breathing?”

It was out before I knew it.
I yelled at the TV, momentarily forgetting, I was not alone.

“Well, only since some bastard pulled me from a screaming bitch and slapped my arse, you twat!”

After the initial shock, there was chuckling.

Monday, February 26, 2007

Trivial Memories

Last night, I had one of those really rare moments.
A pleasant memory involving ATM.

It was one of those holidays when we were all together, that meant a game of Trivial Pursuit was the law. During the game ATM got the question,
‘who was the fourth Marx Brother?’
A few people did that staring off in to space thing then said,
‘got it’.
You know damn well they haven’t.
Then there are those who will try and act it out.
ATM started whining about it being too noisy to think and if we shut up she’d get it.

I feel it pertinent to add, ATM is very competitive and this was for a pink cheese.
Silence descended with faces being pulled and nods towards Herself.
In that mimed, ‘Ooooh, get her’, way.
Then someone thought it might be good to poke the angry, menopausal lioness.
‘Is there a time limit?’
‘Shut the fuck up! I nearly had it then! See, this is not fair, it’s badgering! You badgered it out of my mind’
My Grandfather, whom we all presumed was asleep said,
‘Is that watching people have sex in their car?’
My sister chuckled and in full Pompey mode said,
‘Weeeee! Bless ‘im! No Pampam, that’s dogging’.
‘Shut up, shut up, shut up,’ chanted ATM.
Fortunately, Cannabis Sativa had rendered me impervious to my family’s madness and I repeated the question to ATM.
We then had a good three minutes of her mouthing the question and the names of the Marx Brothers she knows to herself.
‘Where does the dog feature in all that?’ asked my Grandfather.
I was sucked in.
‘Where did you find out about dogging Pamps?’
‘Discovery Channel’.
I nodded like this was perfectly normal conversation to have with an octogenarian.
My sister told me that the Uncles had hooked him up to NTL to keep him entertained.
“’ee’s got all the fucking porn channels!” she gleefully whispered to me.
We both looked at him, our beloved pissed up Pampam, back at each other and cracked up laughing.
He just looked up, smiled at us and carried on singing to himself.
I had never loved him more.
(That was our last Christmas with him)

ATM entered the righteous, ‘are we still playing this’, phase.
We piped down and started watching her as she thought.
“I can’t think with you all staring at me! It puts me off.”
My sister, emboldened by vodka, implores,
“Mother! Come on, for fuck’s sake! It’s not that hard, think of all the words that go with Marx.”
ATM’s frown smoothed and she started to smile
“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!”
“Tell us then!” said my sister.
Totally straight faced and without a hint of humour, she triumphantly answered,
“It’s Skid!”

My sister and I cried with laughter. Made all the funnier as ATM couldn’t understand what was amusing.

Sometimes, it’s good to remind myself that there were happy times.

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Whacko, Homo And GP's

So, Michael Jackson is ’ready to convert to Islam‘.
I bet they are just fucking made up about that.
All the Imams and Ayatollahs waiting with open arms, just dying to accept their Brother.

I bet they thought it couldn’t get any worse after Cat Stevens.
‘Morning Is Broken’ is easily denied.
Now all headlines will be,
‘alleged Kiddie Fiddler and Muslim, Michael Jackson….’ or what ever name he chooses.
Does anyone else think he will go for the full Burka as a look?
He’s done the Hijab as a ‘white‘, heterosexual Christian.
Do we really believe the press are really going to restrain themselves from getting *(alleged) Paedophilia and Muslim in the same sentence?
Jermaine, who converted in 1989, thinks,
‘he can do a lot of good…’
Jermaine, Mate. That’s the last thing that will come from this.

There is an advert that has been on for a while.
Now, it is really getting to me and I have to “Mute” it when it’s on.
There are a bunch of “multicultural” kids, asking ‘intelligent’ questions that are supposed to encourage people into teaching.
Science teaching seems to be their focus at the moment.
I’m fine until we get ‘camper than a row of tents’ boy.
Sat with his silent twin.
“What is dark matter?” He whinges.
If it is possible to ‘Mince’ verbally, he does it.
I want to SHOUT out,
“Dark Matter is what the bloke who pulls out of your arse will have on his dick!! You screaming fucking Queen!”
But, I restrain myself.

I am sure that there are GP’s out there in the blog-o-sphere.
So, I need to ask this question.
Is it possible to get a ‘cold in your kidney’s’?
This was a massive fear of my Grandmother’s and led to her buying vests huge enough that when tucked in to knickers, (And they HAD to be tucked in.) they hung out of the legs.
I think they would still fit! With the added bonus that my boobs would be in the correct position, now!
It would be also good to know if it is possible to get Haemorrhoids from sitting on a damp kerb, or any kind of concrete or bare brick.

Schnee. Get Heelers to ask Dr Barn. If he doesn’t know this……….

*Just covering myself! The man seems to be short of money.

Friday, February 23, 2007

Star Struck

Unsurprisingly, adverts are pissing me off.
The ‘new’ Tena Lady panty liners.
Thin as a rizla but can hold up to four gallons of water, or something.
One of the lines used is,
“….and no one need know, unless you tell them”.
That’s good then, because before Tena Lady I was wondering how to broach the subject. Jeez!
I’m sure there are loads of women out there who are dying to own up to pissing their knickers.

The thing is they don’t HAVE to tell anyone!
You can tell who they are.
They’ll be the women who cross their legs if they cough, sneeze, laugh or turn on a tap.
I also have the answer for the lady whose ‘contacts are killing her’. Wear your fucking glasses you vain bitch! Don’t waste your money on Acuvue Moist.
Don’t believe the Lyclear propaganda either. The resident pharmacist reckons they are immune to everything.
It’ll be nits and the cockroaches left after the Nuclear meltdown.

Just my opinion.
Why on earth would we want anything to do with the American military on our soil?
(The women of Greenham Common, just on a some sort of camp out, were they?)
Let alone some Star Wars shit they couldn’t get to work last time.
Fucking Hell! Just had a blast from the past!
Remember when we thought Ronald Reagan was a complete and utter trigger happy wanker?
Next time we look at the world map there be a big fucking target where the UK used to be.
Bring back Ronnie!

While on the subject of Septics.
What the fuck goes on with that Judge presiding over the Anna Nicole Smith body custody thing? Sitting there crying his eyes out. Give it 6 months and he’ll have a show, just like Judge Judy.
‘Seidlin Squins’, a court show that you win by making the judge weep!
The sadder your case, the better.
What is it with Yanks and dead, blonde slappers?

Thursday, February 22, 2007

A Lotta Bottle

Housemates.. I think we are going to have to establish a new rule.
Whenever anyone leaves the house, they HAVE to take a bag of bottles to the bottle bank.
By anyone, I include visitors to the house, meter readers and window cleaners.
It’s getting out of hand!
I also have to own up to being the reason we have so many peppers. For some reason, I always think we need some.

D the Dealer turned up, sporting a new coat and a new aroma.
It took me ages to put my finger on exactly what it was, then it hit me.
Wet Dog wearing Patchouli oil.
An interesting perfume and one, I feel, Susskind overlooked in his writings.

He opened with one of his usual random statements.
“Did I drop a gold guitar pick here? I keep losing stuff.”
I decided to be as equally random.
“Your Flat’s still damp then?”
He looked blank for a few seconds and said,
“Yeah! Wow! Did J tell you?”
He then started patting himself down, looked at me wide eyed and said,
“Fuck! My phone’s gone.”
I shook my head, held out some currency, a bag of empty wine bottles and he was gone.
Nag Champa gets rid of his smell pretty effectively.

Tonight, Boston Legal was pure gold. I laughed out loud! In their respective roles, William Shatner and James Spader are gods.
It just gets better.


Five minutes ago, over the noise of Terminator 3, there was an almighty crash
quickly followed by the sound of sirens.

I went outside and could see the reflected blue from flashing lights.
At the bottom of the road and just round the corner a car had clipped a lampost and slammed into the walls of some houses.
The car was empty and some poor copper was screaming into a radio.
Being a concerned citizen, I of course took photos and a bit of video on my phone.

A taxi driver then turned up and told me they had been chasing the car for a while.
The police spotter plane is still circling.

It all goes on in Southsea!

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Strolling And Foaming

I was out and about this morning. Not for any real reason other than it was a blinding day.
Blue skies, bright and sunny but just a little bit cold.
One of those days that when you step outside you automatically take a deep breath, and smile.
Unfortunately, this made other people cheerful and for some reason, convinced their inner nutter, to talk to me.

My ‘shield of misanthropy’, (Obvious ipod earphones, 1000 yard stare and a surly look) failed me, and some bloke started talking to me.

He was relentless and I had to take them out.
I find “Fuck Off” comes out rather loudly with them in.
It was then that I noticed it.
He was one of those who accumulate white, frothy, nastiness at the corners of his mouth.
This truly turns my stomach.
G-d took pity on me, relieved me of my short term memory loss and gave me full connection with my Random Access Memory.
I remembered advice from Mad Matt, instantly.

The foaming man was rambling on about the weather, the time of year and other shit.
I held my hand up, smiled and politely said,
“Can I just stop you there?”
While he was waiting for what I was going to say next, I put my headphones back in and walked away.
I didn’t look back.
Although, I would have loved to have seen the look on his face.

I have been watching Barcelona v Liverpool.
Does anyone else think that Ronaldhino looks like one of those Aztec dried mummy things?

Light Blue Touchpaper...

Sometimes when I read stuff in the papers I can feel it winding me up as I go. A tight knot in my stomach and I start breathing out heavily.
This is the one that has got me today.

Mohammed Riaz covered his home, wife and four daughters in petrol and burned them all to death. He died 2 days later in hospital from his injuries.
The reason?
He was pissed off because of their ‘Westernised’ lifestyle, clothing and the fact that there were plans to have alcohol at his son’s 18th Birthday.
The son was terminally ill with cancer and they were having the party early. He died six weeks after the rest of his family.
A very sad story all round.
What has fucking annoyed me is that when they did an autopsy on the ‘religious’ Mr Riaz it turned out he had sclerosis of the liver.
Now correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t you get that from abusing alcohol, over quite a few years?
Again, correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought alcohol was banned in Islam.
Fucking hypocrite.
Don’t get me wrong, I know that there are hypocrites of all religions, but for some reason I find this case particularly galling.

My favourite Europeans have been at it again.
During Manchester United’s match in Lens last night, United fans, fearing a Hillsborough repeat, tried to climb the fence.
There was one entrance, that was also the exit, and the arrival of supporters at the same time caused a bit of a crush.
The French police responded sensitively, with batons and tear gas.
The implication being, that no matter how ‘rehabilitated’ the English fan abroad, they are still there to cause trouble.
Most of the fans were staying 25 miles away in Lille and at the end of the match, found out that the French had arranged no public transport back to Lille.
To me, this helps to prove what I’ve always suspected, the French are one baton charge away from being Nazis!

Schnee’s post has reminded me of a strange conversation I had with a Pompey taxi driver.
As we pulled up outside my house, and I started doing the strange back seat break dance you do when pissed and trying to get money out of your pocket.
Out of the blue he asked me if I knew ‘the lady at number 38 was a prostitute?’.
It wasn’t until I had staggered indoors that I felt outraged!
Why the fuck would he think I’d know the lady down the road was a Pro?
Did he think we got a ‘Neighbour Discount’ or something?
We get all sorts through the door.
Cards for window cleaners, restaurants, beauty salons, people who want to align my Chi with crystals, decorators, all political parties and gardeners.
Not once have I had a ’knob a neighbour’ or ‘roger a resident’ card.
Most disappointing.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Tossed, Beaten And Battered

Today is Shrove Tuesday or as it is known in my house, Pancake Day!
Whoo Hoo!
When we were kids pancakes were filled with Golden Syrup, lemon juice and sugar.
There would be a competition between my Uncle and Grandfather as to who could eat the most. The 23 scoffed by Uncle M is still the family record.
I think I have managed 4 then felt sick.
For a long time I thought that was what everybody had in their pancakes, that it was a kind of law. Like Horseradish with beef.
But as I have got older and shared the day with lots of different people, I have found that each family seems to have their own traditions as to what goes in.
One friend introduced me to pancakes spread with Nutella and then rolled, quite yummy.
Another has tinned mandarins. Mix those with the Nutella and it’s even better, apparently.
So, what will be in or on yours?

Yesterday we got our first look at the letter bomber who was pissed off at people linked to motoring enforcement.
It looked like an old school photo, a particularly dodgy one at that.
For those of you who have played the ‘Exam Invigilation Game’ at Mayhem, he would have got a vote in the, “Stand behind child most likely to be a serial killer” category.
Although, it wouldn’t be a surprise to see him the, “Picture in Paper with tagline, then turned gun on self” group.
It’s funny how sometimes a kid will have a certain look about them.
This bloke had it.

Monday, February 19, 2007


I have been totally freaked out by a TV programme tonight.
“The Twins Who Share A Body”.
Abby and Brittany Hansel.
We are talking about one body, two heads.
Two hearts, two sets of lungs but one of everything else.
It just made me think about all those ‘lone’ activities a teenager would participate in.
What if one of them is Gay and the other isn’t?
Or one wanted to be sexually active and the other didn’t?
How do you have a private chat with anyone?
They each worked an arm but couldn’t feel anything in the arm that wasn’t ‘theirs’.
Which brought me straight back to those ‘lone’ teenage activities!
For one of them it’s going to feel like someone else is ‘doing it’!
How cool!
This also made me wonder, if they took it in turns to wipe the shared arse.
They had to take two driving tests and each have a licence.
By the end of the programme I really admired them. They were both very different personalities and absolutely lovely girls.
Their parents have never allowed any tests on them, other than those that have been totally necessary.
They seem to have grown up as normal as is possible in that situation.

How long do you have to own a pair of jeans before they become ‘work jeans’?
I bought a new pair of jeans today with the idea that another pair will have to rotate in to the work jeans position.
I busted the arse out of my last pair.
How do you choose?
It’s the same with a pair of trainers or shoes.
At what point do they become ‘fuck-up-able’?

My beloved Spurs are in to the quarter finals of the FA cup, but have drawn Chelski, which isn’t such good news.
This has made me think of my Grandfather.

My Uncle M sat with my Grandfather’s third wife as she lay dying.
Pampam was in the living room watching football.
When my Uncle went in and said,
“She’s gone Dad”.
He looked up, nodded once and said,
“Bloody Spurs lost too”.

Started watching ‘Heroes’ tonight. I think I’m going to like this!

Sunday, February 18, 2007

Artex And Schnorbitz

I am a bit better today and have managed to keep down toast and a Jacobs cracker.
However, my bowels remain in a somewhat, delicate state.

This post is the result of one of the many surreal conversations Sassy and I share. Today we covered Mother/Daughter relationships, Belle and Sebastian, also, for some bizarre reason, Bernie Winters and Schnorbitz and 80’s fashion.

At some point during the early 80’s ATM acquired quite a serious Artex habit.
You know the stuff?
Slapped on walls and ceilings like plaster, then swirled about, patterns and ‘peaks’ made.
ATM blamed my sister and I for any speck or smudge of dirt in the house, so she chose her ‘Texture’ with that in mind.
Her actual words were,
“I want something that will keep these bastards off the walls.”

There had once been a fight and footprints had been left on the walls as we fell down the stairs.
That was also the day we found out just how purple the vein in her temple could go.
We decided it was Imperial Purple. (I Claudius had been on!)

Broken Leather was it’s cheerful name.
Broken bottles, razors and barbed wire was the reality.
Wheeling a bike down the hallway was a mixture of ‘Krypton Factor’ precision and running the gauntlet at a medieval joust to face the Gorgon of Greek myth at the end.
Firstly, the door was absolutely forbidden to slam open in to the wall.
Secondly, Portsmouth doorways are extremely narrow. You have to lift the bike in and then somehow stand behind it and wheel it, by the saddle, ‘no handed’ in to the house.
Holding the handlebars would result on lumps of knuckle flesh being gouged out by this shit on the walls.
Balancing the bike, you had to shut the door using the lock, no kicking or slamming it shut allowed.
No leaning the bike against the wall. No matter how carefully.
Bits of this vicious stuff would snap off and in a perverse reversal of ‘Hansel and Gretel’, would lead a raging ATM straight to you.
The hoover would be already plugged in, waiting for you, when you returned from the shed if there were ’bits’.
Then there is the awkward dogleg at the bottom of the stairs. Heaven forbid you get the line wrong and catch the paint on the banisters with the pedal.
Tippex worked a treat covering these up.
It didn’t last.
ATM was a smoker and after a while it became obvious.
Tippex doesn’t come in ‘White, with hint of 20 a day smoker’. Extremely remiss of them.
If you really fucked that up and grabbed for the handlebars, de-fleshing would commence.
You would snatch your hand back, thereby exposing your elbow to the wall of pain.
It was at this point ATM would appear from the kitchen and you’d get the first hint of which of her split personalities she was inhabiting that day.

See? I bet no one else had this kind of excitement each day!!

Wikifray And RSS


Will someone tell me how the fuck I get rid of this RSS thing?

I don't know how I got it and I don't fucking want it.

I DO NOT want anything of mine appearing on this 'Fray' thing.

Thank you.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Vomiting, Vichy And Vacuous

People, I’m not well. The fucking French are having their revenge on me, without a French person being involved at all.
I have food poisoning.
Kitsch N D’or, the local French restaurant, has tried to kill me.
I’ve had the shivers, projectile vomiting, I can shit through the eye of a needle at thirty paces and I can’t trust a fart!
I am now empty.
I’m also thirsty and fucking perversely, really hungry.
Sassy saved me from certain mental breakdown by getting my ciggies for me.
She was due to knock the door, so when I opened it and found a middle aged Asian man with a clipboard, I was surprised.
I said,
“You are not who I expected”.
He smiled and started looking at my windows.
“Can I interest you in double glazing?”
I groaned and shouted,
For a moment I considered puking on his shoes, but the other end was in that ‘unpredictable’ phase.
He laughed and said,
“Good, because I want you to sign for this Passport!”.
I just stared at him, and he said,
“You didn’t expect that either!”
That really made me laugh and cheered me up considerably.

While bitching about the French, there is some good news.
Maurice Papon is dead.
He was France’s Budget Minister, 1978-1981.
In ‘81 it came out he had been responsible for sending 1690 French Jews to Nazi death camps.
He also did a runner to Switzerland when he was convicted and jailed for 10 years.
The Swiss sent him back, eventually.
He was freed in 2002 after serving 3 years.
French system is as good as ours then?
Last week he had surgery on his dodgy pacemaker and died a few days later.
I would like to speculate on the surname of his surgeon.
I’d like to think it ended with a Stein, Berg, or a Ski!

So Prince Harry is going to Iraq.
Why is this big news?
So he should. He’s in the frigging Army for fuck’s sake! That’s his job. We don’t pay his wages so he can go out on the piss every night and I certainly don’t want one of my ‘Royals’ mixing with Madonna.
Air miles Andy went to the Falklands.
It’s not like he’s going to be put on the front line, like Mr and Mrs Ordinary’s son, is it?
He is the ‘Spare’ anyway. Just makes the Civil List a bit cheaper.

Well, Well, Britney Spears has shaved her head.
Huge speculation on the news about whether she is mental or is it a publicity ploy.
Mmmm.. Let’s think for a minute.
Possible custody battle with Fed Ex. A few months of hard partying, then rehab.
There are many drinks you can buy to get rid of/mask drugs in the system. I’m sure rehab centres help ‘purify’ the body.
Hair can be tested for drugs and the hair doesn’t lie.
Losing the plot or very clever?

The Rage

I am fucking raging!
I haven’t been able to check my email for a few days and when I did I found a shitty email from my Stepmother asking me not to send,
“Indecent emails as the grandchildren use the computer”.
The email she was referring to was sent TWO fucking years ago and was called ‘Chav Nativity’.
Go on, type that in to a google search and tell me what is ‘Indecent’..
She wants to be asking the fucking Grandchildren what they are doing opening HER email and wondering why it’s taken her 2 years to be offended.
You can delete stuff you thick fucking bitch.
Fucking idiot.
Now people might understand why I want fuck all to do with my family.
I am going to change my name by deed poll.
I want nothing that has come from my Mother or my Father.
Cunty Twat Lips, is a favourite at the moment, but I am open to suggestions.
Especially as ATM was vain enough to give me her name as a ‘middle’ name. I want rid of that SO much.
Grrrr…. Sorry people… The rage I feel about this is something else, so much so I want to go out and find a fight.
Fucking family.
I want a blood transfusion.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Womb With A View

I had a traumatic experience with The Daily Nazi today.
Why the fuck we have to know that the Duchess of Cornwall is ‘having it all taken away’, as my Nan would say, is beyond me.
That is part of my trauma but not the worst bit.
This is.
They printed reasons for and methods of hysterectomy, alongside a picture of her.
I do not need to read the word “Vagina” and then look at her.
Given my current state and vivid imagination…………
Well, you can guess the rest.
I don’t need that in my head.
No one needs that in their head!

The drains are still banjaxed and we traded log cutting for a shower with the lady along the lane.
It’s like camping without leaving the house.
They will be here tomorrow, fingers crossed.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Global Shite

I’ve been thinking.
How does Global Warming impact on those who are ‘Seasonally Affected’?
I’m not seasonally affected to the point I have to have even more annoying light bulbs than the ones I’ve got now. I get a bit down in Winter but who doesn't?.
All I know is I like Spring and that time in May when the coats come off!
Mmmm… Boobies!

Now, Global Warming is impacting on my Libido.
Crappy road surfacing, the vibration of the car, combined with the accidental but perfect positioning of the seam in my jeans; made for a ‘distracting’ hour and twenty minute drive to Wiltshire!
I smiled at people we passed, this doesn’t usually start happening until March.
Spring is early, the sap’s rising people and I’m as horny as hell!

Mel’s house in Wiltshire is an old terraced ‘cottage’ and as such, the pipes are as equally old.
Something has gone wrong and all the waste water from Mel’s is bubbling up in next door’s conservatory.
The toilet is becoming particularly troublesome for them.
I’d let Jessie The Irish Hound out and was waiting for her return, when the usually aggressive ‘Mr’ from next door approached me.
I knew something was afoot when he made eye contact and was smiling.
Basically, he was trying to ask us not to use the toilet because a ‘flush’ ended up in his house.
Not a problem, if the drain people are coming tomorrow morning.
They are not.
Next Monday is the earliest.
No bog, no bath or shower and no sinks until next week?
Fuck Off! There has got to be a Health and Safety issue surrounding this.

I did get some amusement while he was alluding to ‘Feminine Hygiene’ products without actually referring to them.
He went in to what I call, “PC Panic”.
This is the momentary panic blokes have when they think they have been, or are just about to be, Politically Incorrect. They manage to stop themselves but forget to let their faces know.
In this poor fellah’s case it was,

“Shit! Am I allowed to discuss jam rags with the Dykes? Fuck! I should’ve listened to ‘er indoors when she said she’d handle it! Fuck! Oh G-d, can I be sued?”


Just A Quickie

So David Cameron used drugs at Eton. Is anyone particularly troubled by this revelation?
I find two things more disturbing than that.
1. He went to Eton
2. The ‘punishment’ he got.
He was ‘gated’ for a week. Whoooo… Fucking harsh that.
Not allowed out and couldn’t receive visitors.
There was no mention of at what point the Police were called.
Although Eton may set him up for dealing with America.
I’m sure an early training in mutual masturbation and a bit of friendly buggery will give him a head start.

I’m not sure Lentenstuffe will agree, but I thought the Ireland v France match yesterday was the best game of Rugby I’ve seen so far.
There were faults and neither team were perfect but there were flashes of brilliance.
Some of the moves were just beautiful. It wasn’t all about the kicking.
Come on Ireland, sort out the defence and it would be sublime.

Had a mooch through some of the details on the site meter and discovered that someone in Birmingham, got to a page on my blog by typing, “Bare Arsed Nuns” into Google!
I am now thinking of bizarre things to search for, so that I can end up at someone’s blog, freaking them out!
Hence the title today.
Schnee, I know you have some odd ones too!

I’m off to Wiltshire for a few days so I will apologise for the lack of blogging in advance.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Yuk And Yum

Due to the complete and utter wankdom of one of the Housemates, I have been introduced to the darker side of ‘House-Keeping’.
Manually evacuating the Hoover bag.
No fucking attachment for that little treat!
Some of you may believe that plunging my hand through a small hole, into unknown depths might offer some thrill.
On occasion, it has.
I can assure you, this didn‘t.
The residue of a human being I can deal with.
Unidentified clumps of hair, combined with other assorted nastiness, weaken my knees and gag reflex.

My BIG, little brother, his girlfriend, Crisp-e and ‘Chelle and Sassy are coming for dinner tonight.
Crisp-e used to teach the girlfriend but fortunately she is trustworthy. The only real problem is that she is vegetarian.
So I have found a veggie recipe and I’m roasting a chicken for the omnivorous.
Crisp-e goes all Captain Caveman if there is no flesh. He will prowl between the two fridges, looking for cooked meats to eat directly from the packet.
He is also a stirrer.
You know the people I mean.
You invite them for dinner, they come in to the kitchen. You turn your back to check the oven, in a flash they are lifting lids and stirring stuff.
Does my fucking head in!
Invite me to dinner at your fucking house if you want to do that.

Off to cook. Maybe more later.

Friday, February 09, 2007

Tunes, Vicars And Tarts

I had a fantastic start to my day.
I got up, made a cup of tea, flicked through the TV channels and found, ‘The Odd Couple’.
There is something about Walter Matthau’s face that just makes me smile.
I can relate to both characters, on some level.
The eternal battle between my ‘Inner Felix’ and my ‘Inner Oscar’.
Brilliant film.
Ok people, think of the tune..
De De De De Deeee Da Da De Da Deeee Duuum..
Got it?
Right. Now try and get rid of it!
I’ve had it all fucking day and being a ‘giver’, I thought I’d share.
Next stage, looking through itunes for it.

Has anyone else noticed, no one runs off with Vicars, Priests or Nuns anymore?
Or if they do, it’s not ’Big’ news?
When I was a kid there seemed to be a headline in the News Of The World every other week involving carnal Curates’, Bishop Casey, naughty vicars and lusty housekeepers.
What’s that down to?
No vocations, aging clergy, or now that the paedophile stuff has come out they don’t need the smoke screen anymore?

Britney Spears is denying ever, EVER having lesbian orgies and I for one, am delighted.
Of course she is and of course she hasn’t.
I’m still traumatised by the images of her flashing her panty parts getting out of the car.
No self respecting lesbian would go anywhere near a fanny that looks like a badly packed kebab.
Not sober, anyway.
Then again, that may just be me being fussy.
Which, I must admit, is a new experience.
We don’t want her! Much the same with Michael Barrymore.
Why don’t the ones who could actually make a difference come out?
People at the top of their career, whatever that may be?
Because of tossers like that probably.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Spew, Soot, And Smiles

Today I helped my Uncle pull down two chimney breasts and fill a skip to overflowing at a house he is renovating.
I’m knackered, covered in shite, the arse split out of my jeans and I have black snot.
Hopefully I will get some sleep tonight!
Maybe it’s just me, but there is something satisfying about being tired through physical labour.
Although, doubtless, I will be a study in pain tomorrow.

The day started grimly, with me puking in the skip.
Had shellfish last night.
I LOVE it and G-d punishes me for eating treif.
It’s a trade off I can live with.
I was sweeping the floor at one point and found a huge discoloured patch on the floorboards.
I asked if there had been a problem with damp, which seemed the most obvious.
It was while I was kneeling down, feeling the boards, that my uncle informed me the previous owner had died in the room and had lain undiscovered for 8 or 9 weeks!
The stain was the ‘residue’ of him.
Amazingly, I retained what was left in my stomach while my Uncle was bent double with laughter.
The neighbours only noticed they hadn’t seen him for a bit, when the millions of bluebottles he had ‘nurtured’ were trying to get out of the windows.
I got my own back later in the day when I dislocated my knuckle and fixed it in front of him!
A wheelbarrow full of rubble can get spiteful when you haven’t properly discussed hand positions on the, “One, Two, Three, LIFT” bit.

My favourite quote of the day,

“I’m English, and as such I crave disappointment. That’s why I buy Kinder Surprise.”

Bill Bailey.

Best chat up move and line of the day,

You lick the end of your finger and touch the object of your affection, somewhere clothed, then say,
“Quick, let’s get you home and out of those wet things.”

My Uncle.

That kept me smiling all day!

The England match was so boring I nearly turned it over.
Sod’s Law would’ve meant 5 goals in 5 minutes and I would want to beat something.
So, I watched on.
As they say,
“The triumph of hope over experience……. Like a second marriage.”

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Genes Reunited My Arse

I am sure most people have had a go at tracing their Family Tree through the internet.
Some people I know have got as far back as the 15th century.
I have been trying to do mine on ATM’s side.
I have got as far back as her grandparents and have hit a wall.
Through remembering old stories of my Grandfather’s and using the census I have found his niece.
The daughter of his eldest sister, Edwina Boyle married to George Macdonald.
She seems to have done well for herself, married well and has a successful business.
She married the half brother of Lord Snowdon.

My Grandfather always said his sister was a social climber.
I have emailed her, written a snail mail letter, all to no avail.
I have made it clear that I have no interest in her immediate family all I want is any information that will further my search in to the Great Grandparents.
Not even a letter to tell me to fuck off.
So, I am writing about it here.
I know my Grandfather’s family were ashamed of him. He fought in Spain on the side of the Communists, something his family found abhorrent.
He married my Grandmother, who was considered beneath him.
This is not my fight.
I just want information.
So, Aline Parsons (or either of her sons) of Womersley Food in Lancashire, how rude are you?
You obviously think you are SO much better than the rest of your family.
You have Irish blood, no matter how much your Grandfather tried to hide that fact.
Do you even know where he is buried? I do.
I’m not proud that I have had to resort to this but your ignorance and extreme bad manners have pushed me to this.
I will put every single one of your names in the search area of this and live happy in the knowledge that my Grandfather was absolutely correct in his summing up of you all.

Brought To Book

As I blogged about before, I feel I didn’t read enough last year.
This year I have started off at a sprint.
I’ve read, The Book Of Fathers, which is a cracking book.
The Last Kingdom by Bernard Cornwell.
The Last Witchfinder by James Morrow.
The Magdalene Cipher by Jim Hougan, this is the one I have the problem with.
As the title suggests there is a touch of The Da Vinci Code about this book. It’s not a challenging read by any stretch but when one of the characters started paying someone in 100 pound notes I wanted to launch it through the window.
When Jim started spelling Ochre, Ocher I wanted to burn it.

Ages ago I looked in to the possibility of being a proof reader but was told it is nigh on impossible, unless you know someone in a publishing house and even then it’s not easy. Exams, tests and the like, which you have to pay for.
So, to read such glaring mistakes makes me fucking furious!
£100 note? Fucking ignorant Septic.
Doesn’t take a lot of research that one. Type British currency in to wikipedia you lazy prick.
Three Scottish banks issue a £100 note and they are not legal tender ANYWHERE.

Bad writing I will suffer, with some vitriol, piss poor spelling gets right on my tits but terrible research is just the worst crime. Maybe that is the History graduate coming out.
There is no excuse for it though.
Has anybody else read John Connolly’s books? Not the Connolly who has Harry Bosch as the hero, the other one?
Schnee, you would love these. Excellent crime mysteries with a touch of the ‘Derek Accorah’s’.
I love these.
I’m constantly disappointed in bookshops, when I find he hasn’t written a new one yet.

Monday, February 05, 2007

Method And Madness

I’m sure you all have your own method for picking up magazines in such a way that all the crap inside falls out and gets left behind.
All the loans shit, flower seed advertising, mini magazines that sell the heated slippers, stuff to revitalise polyester and trousers that have a waist size that is double that of the inside leg.
Just to piss me off, what they are doing now is stapling these things into the magazine.
Pull them out and the staples are raised up ready to slice and dice your skin.
Which is precisely what happened to me today with the television mag.
My hands now look like I have defence injuries from a knife attack.
Bastard ‘What’s On TV’ people and their cheap staples.
That wouldn’t happen with The Radio Times.
Shame I’m too tight to buy it.

I read a story today about Jessica Winfield, a transgendered inmate of the high security prison Whitemoor. She complains of the harassment she gets from staff and inmates.
I was feeling a bit sorry for her, until I read what she was in prison for.
Committed when she was ‘Martin’.
My understanding of transgendered people, is that they believe that they have been born in to the wrong body.
Also, like gay people, they suss this out pretty early on and there is nothing they can do about it.
So what the fuck is someone, who believes that there are female, doing raping anyone?
I am not saying that women can’t be guilty of rape.
Just, to my mind, rape seems to be quite a ‘Masculine’ crime.
You see what I mean?

The advert for Virgin credit card is getting on my tits.
Two blokes in a lift talking about the wondrousness of Virgin credit.
They ask a third bloke about it who immediately puts on headphones and starts bopping around.
The two tossers look at each other and one says into the jack of the headphones,
“Why are you pretending to listen to music?”
Which begs my question,
“WHY the fuck are you talking into the jack of the fucking headphones, you wanker?”

This has made me smile.
The Priory rehab place chucked out Jade Goody because she is ‘too angry for anger management’.
Apparently she was being, ‘Antagonistic and attention seeking. She was effing and blinding all the time’.
No? Really?

Sunday, February 04, 2007


I love watching the Rugby. Especially any Ireland match.
It’s during the National Anthem, as the camera moves along the team, it reaches the number 9 at the point when everybody is singing,
“Shoulder to shoulder, we’ll answer Ireland’s call….”
The number 9 is 5 foot tall and he is wedged between two massive guys. His shoulders reach their waists.
Irony, expressed through the medium of Rugby.

It hasn’t been that cold today but I lit a fire any way.
I’ve always loved fire and was one of those kids who would set fire to anything.
I carried matches and later, a lighter, before I smoked.
At 3, I got hold of matches and managed to strike one.
I was so shocked by what had happened, I opened the cupboard under the stairs threw it in and shut the door.
This set fire to some old carpet and the cupboard began to smoke.
My Grandfather began shouting,
“Dear Christ, the gas meter!”
The carpet was dragged out and down the garden and thrown in a heap at the bottom.
Oxygen set that bastard off like a bomb.
Next door’s shed caught fire and because he was a sign writer was full of white spirit.
Fuck Me! Did that go up.
That is one of my earliest memories and the start of a life long love of fire.
I have a coal fire in the front room and I love ‘setting’ it.
Bunching the newspaper into loose doughnuts, arranging the kindling on top.
The scratch, flare and burn of the extra long match bursting into life. Touching the flame to the paper and watching it go up.
There is a special twist to my pyromania, that is probably rooted in my Aspergers’ nature.
Once I have lit the fire it is MINE!
I don’t want anyone else poking and prodding at it. I don’t want anyone else adding coal, logs and when I can smuggle it, ‘Turf’ from Ireland.
It is MY fire. I gave it life.

Burning peat is one of the most beautiful smells in the whole wide world.
(Don’t start whining about the environment! I think filling my house with those energy efficient light bulbs, which means bimbling about in a twilight world of semi half light most of the time, entitles me to a fire every now and then.)
I’m burning a bit at the moment, bought from the Hellish Knock International Airport. It’s about the size of a tobacco tin and cost 4 euro.
The briquettes don’t smell the same as the proper stuff, which are like clods of dried earth, but even with this ‘engineered’ sod, I get a whiff of a stone cottage in Mayo. The memory of a freezing cold quarry tiled floor, an inglenook fire place stacked waist high with turf and a pilgrim soul who said,

Question of the day.... IS a finger of Fudge just enough?

Soundtrack to my day.... Primal Scream
Taj Mahal
Snow Patrol
Amy Winehouse
MC Solaar

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Today Has Been...

I’m back in Pompey.
I am also shorn, clipped and coiffed!
I have my real head back.
Whoo hoo!

Today has been a good day because I’ve seen Sassy, Crisp-e, Mad Matt and we have laughed!
Sassy brought tea, for every time of day, from Raffles Hotel, Crisp-e brought greenery, Mad Matt brought tales from Mayhem and his cheery disposition.
I would just like to take this opportunity to congratulate Daffers.
Not only did she manage to get an ‘Outstanding’ for her teaching during the LEA inspection, she did it wearing odd shoes.
Nice one Daffers, that’s better than the inside out blouse of the last one!
We worked out that Crisp-e has now spent more on cycle locks for his Batty Boy Bike than he spent on the bike itself.
He also came out with my ‘sentence of the month’, so far,

“I drank a can of this stuff called ‘Relentless’, I could see the fucking air in front of me vibrating, kid’s faces were just blurred and people moved like they were in that film, Jacob‘s Ladder.”

We were discussing the myriad of substances we have used to ‘pep’ ourselves up at school.

Today has been a good day because this has made me chuckle. The idea of paedophiles who were “angry and outraged” when they found out the ‘12 year old’ living with them was in fact, 29.
Shame. I think they felt their trust had been abused.

Today has been a good day because England won a game of something sporty.

Today has been a good day because I am wearing new underwear. Both cheeks of my arse are in at the same time and I can be run over without fear of shaming anyone. (Or pulling anyone)

Mildly annoying today.
The child next door has been given a fucking recorder or some sort of blowy instrument. She seems to think ‘panting’/ 'humming' the tune in to it works better than covering the fucking holes and playing it.
I beg to differ.
I hope they manage to sell the house before she moves on to the violin.
That would be too much.