Crufts!
Such a bastion of Britishness it has to be watched!
This year it was worth it for the delicious irony of Clare Balding announcing, “Fabulous Willy!” as the winner.
I snotted on the laptop screen..
A huge shout of,
‘We think NOT, Clare!’, was the call from the assembled Housemates.
There was a woman who, from a distance looked like Penelope Pitstop, and when she ran, WAS.
Cries of,
“Hay-elp! Hay-elp!” and “Stop the Pigeon!” rang out from the sofa gallery.
I saw a white thing that would have been brilliant for collecting the cat hair that accumulates, like Tumbleweed, along my hallway.
A Maltese something or other.
If you are squeamish about inserting the broom handle, you can always rub it with a balloon before booting it’s arse up the hall.
One of the first things I do when I go into someone’s house, is check out their books and music.
This is a huge clue as to the kind of evening you are likely to have.
No books and a wide selection of club mixes would point to getting straight on the spirits and cutting the night as short as possible.
There are books in every single room of this house. I have so many by the side of my bed, I have some sort of ‘Book Jenga Table’.
They have become interactive furniture.
This has led me to consider the weird selection of books that live in my downstairs lav:
Quicksilver……….. Neal Stephenson
Immoral…………. Brian Freeman
Decipher…….. Stel Pavlou
Time Quake….. Kurt Vonnegut
Cathedral………. Raymond Carver
About Time: Exploring Gay History………. Martin Dubermann
A Cold Heart…….. Jonathan Kellerman
Acid Row…… Minette Walters
The Brentford Chainsaw Massacre….. Robert Rankin
A stack of FHM magazines
The question is, if you were trapped in my bog for 4 hours, (as I have been.*) which one would you pick up first?
*The door on the upstairs facility opens outwards. The bastard cats rucked up the carpet trying to get in at me. When I tried to open the door it all jammed and I was trapped until a Housemate returned and freed me.
I know what Feline Mirth sounds like.
3 comments:
I love all four books in the Brentford Trilogy, so I'd prolly have a re-gander through that one. I've read the Stel Pavlou, but I have the feeling I had intended to read the Neal Stephenson at some point and didn't, so I might flick through that too.
I usually take the opportunity when in your downstairs loo of checking out how other women's airbrushed boobs in the stacks of lad mags compare to my un-airbrushed ones (from memory, no clothing is removed). I usually get bored with that quickly, so I might see if you could make Origami boxes out of moist girlie wipes.
I know for sure that won't be too much detail, because in order to be watching Crufts, you have to be stoned to the rafters.
Schnee.. 'Stoned to the rafters', Damn, busted!
Hmmm, I'd go for the Rankin, and I've always been intruiged by the bundle of FHM's...
But I love Crufts. It's hilarious.
Sensational blog...
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