Monday, April 30, 2007
Poor old Jess the Hound is now missing four toenails and is most miserable.
I'm controlling the urge to go and punch the vet.
He ballsed up her feet when he clipped her nails in the wrong way.
Grayhounds are finely bred running machines and have to be treated delicately.
The 'Culchie' vet is more at home with his arm up a bovine arse or tossing off a champion racehorse at Lambourn.
What really fucks me off is that you have to PAY to put right what you have already PAID for him to fuck up in the 1st place!
Got you over a barrell, like the dentist.
Where else can you go?
Some stuff that has popped into my head today....
On a train, does what someone is reading, play a part in your decision to sit near them, or not?
Can you second guess Karma?
If, for a fleeting moment, you thought it might not be a tragedy if a certain person croaked; then thought,
"Fuck! That's bad Karma! Someone I REALLY love may get the fallout",
and you start 'praying' the original person lives a long life?
Will you wipe out the bad Karma?
Some of you may have noticed a change in dope supply!
Sunday, April 29, 2007
I got up at 11.30am, realised my grievous mistake, took a pill and went back to bed.
When I got up a couple of hours later I knew this was going to be an all day-er.
I could smell the alcohol coming off me.
I feel like I’m being stabbed in the eyes, my stomach is churning, I would vomit if I could be arsed to move.
Some torturous bastard is cooking outdoors and polluting the air for us all.
Basically, I’m under the weather and it’s all self inflicted. Thankfully ITV3 are having a Morse weekend. So easy to veg out in front of.
I had a brilliant time at Crisp-e's. The food, the booze, the company, were all perfect.
I have been reading an article about the earthquake in Kent. They interviewed one resident who is 9 months pregnant.
Her major worry was that it,
‘might’ve brought on a premature birth’.
If she is 9 months gone I would argue that the child wouldn’t be premature, but, about fucking time!
There’s a great story in the Torygraph.
The Catholic Church in England and Wales is starting up a Manga Comic to encourage ‘people’ into the Priesthood.
Mmmm.. People.. That’ll be boys then?
The article reads,
“The Church hopes that its manga comic, with pictures of Nuns and Monks playing pool and surfing the internet, will improve the image of the vocation, which leaders believe is seen as ‘monotonous and boring’”.
Fucking excellent! I can’t wait to see this gem!
It’s also going to be a shock for the poor brainwashed bastard when he ‘joins up’ and finds himself surrounded by 90 year olds.
Internet? I don’t think so!
Googling the names of the people you share a house with would take you straight to The Ferns Inquiry!
Nuns at a pool table? Jaysus.
That’s the kind of stuff you find on ‘specialist’ porn sites.
I know. I’ve looked!
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Kev, yesterday and Crisp-e today!
We are in to the star sign of Taurus.
It’s mine in a couple of weeks but as it is an ‘odd’ numbered one, I won’t be celebrating.
I don’t do odd numbers.
If I buy fruit and veg or tins, it’s bought in 2’s, 4’s or 6’s. Two squirts of deodorant under each arm! You get the idea.
I know other people who are ’counters’.
They count everything they do. Stairs, brushing their teeth, combing their hair etc.
Which one are you?
It’s boiling hot out in my garden but I can’t sit out there because of the noise pollution.
Screaming bastard kids in their paddling pools.
We are 5 minutes, tops, from the beach.
Fuck off down there and scream!
I’ve heard, “Don’t splash him/her”, “Keep your pants on”, but not once has anyone said,
“Stop fucking screaming, you shrill little shit!”
Except me, of course.
That’s when I thought it better if I came indoors.
This evening I’m off to Mr and Mrs Crisp-e’s.
He is having a ‘Fine Wine and Spirits’ party for his birthday.
I blame Sainsbury’s, he has discovered their stock of 10 and 15 year old Calvados.
I have Vodka in the freezer preparing for the occasion.
Friday, April 27, 2007
While half hobbling, half hopping to the bathroom I stubbed my fucking toe.
I stood on the landing and roared. The felines appeared from nowhere and legged it, which enraged me even more.
I showered, dressed, put on boots and went in search of arses to kick.
Not a cat to be found.
They’ll get hungry before I calm down.
Here we go.
Six people, including three grandmothers, have been arrested accused of Satanic abuse.
Fifteen children at a school outside Rome have, allegedly, been abused at the teachers’ houses and in the woods.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.. Of course they have.
There hasn’t been a good ‘Moral Panic’ case for some while. They keep trying to wind the ‘Internet Paedophiles’ into our consciousness but I think “Terrorism” has the upper hand at the moment.
Funny, how when the Church seems to be having a bit of a ‘wobble’ in terms of control, this sort of shit starts appearing.
Haven’t Mexico just legalised abortion causing The Church to excommunicate anyone who voted ‘yes‘?
This church story has cracked me up though. A silent order of Nuns are being allowed to ‘talk’ over the internet!
You can email them and ask questions about what it’s like to pray all fecking day!
If you have to ask, you need a slap upside the head.
Who else thinks that this isn’t all the good Sisters will be receiving by email?!
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Of course he should. It’s his job and he wants to go.
The moment his unit is targeted and others start dying because of him?
We’ll all change our fucking tune and start saying he should never have gone.
I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he is already there and all this bollocks is just a smokescreen.
But when we really get down to it, who fucking cares?
My Big little brother and I are planning a trip.
He has discovered something that South American Shaman used for ‘Vision Quests’.
It is extracted from root bark, which has been sent to him. So there is a bit of home chemistry involved.
The chemical extracted is found, in small amounts, in the body. Apparently it is released when we dream and when we die. It has been argued that this chemical is responsible for the visions during near death experiences.
It is also released by the pregnant body 40 something days after conception. Some believe this is the soul going into the body.
It produces intense ‘entheogenic’ hallucinations and most report spirit guides who come to them.
Joe Rogan sold it to me with the line,
“I was told not to give in to astonishment”.
Oh yes! That’s my kind of Psychedelic!
I am really looking forward to this and have started ‘packing for the trip’ already.
If it is as Deity based, as most say, I have a few questions I want to ask.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
The Uncle and I were up until nearly 4am putting the world to rights.
He saw off a bottle of Jameson’s and I did a bottle of Stolly.
I couldn’t tell you what we talked about, but that is the nature of the kitchen table in Sleepy Mansions.
Every mark, burn, stain and scratch has a story to tell and memories of laughs.
I have laughed until I cried around that table. Eaten some of the most gorgeous food with some of the most amazing people in the world.
It’s solid, heavy and made of oak. Most of the time it is set up to seat four but it has extension bits that mean we can get about 10 round it. At a squash.
Last night there were eight of us and we laughed, scoffed and boozed.
They say the kitchen is the heart of a home, my kitchen table is its soul.
Kenny the Cat has begun his summer of slaughter early this year. Last night he brought in a mouse which was obviously part of a catch and release programme.
He dropped it on the kitchen floor and the little bastard legged it. I had it cornered and was about to dispatch it, when Ken pounced. He ran with it into the front room where he dropped it again and it made a run for the fireplace.
Caught again, it was taken out of the front room window for murdering.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
The relatives from Tipperary South arrived yesterday.
If you ‘family hop’ around Ireland, I suppose you have to expect the return visit.
We went to visit my Big little brother and his girlfriend.
They have got an apartment at Gunwharf Quays and we went for a mooch.
I gave him vital money saving tips, like using an extension lead to ’use’ electricity from the communal hallway. The socket is perfectly placed, just outside his door.
It’s gorgeous and spotlessly clean!
I loved seeing him in his home, settled and happy.
I couldn’t help remembering my sister and I hoovering him after a ‘Thomas the Tank’ incident when he was about 2!
He was watching an episode where Thomas gets stuck in snow, liked the idea of it, so opened the beanbag he was sat on and spread the tiny white ‘beans’ everywhere.
Rubbing them round the carpet had given them a static charge and they clung to every bit of him. Hair, mouth, ears everywhere.
The Hoover was the only option.
After this, whenever we took him out and the wind blew his hair he’d scream and try to hold it on! He was much the same about haircuts.
The Daily Nazi had a story today about a bloke in Zizzi Pizza Restaurant in London.
Brandishing a knife, he jumped onto a table, dropped his strides and cut his dick off!
He and his ’chap’ were taken to hospital where they were surgically ’reunited’.
Which begs the question, who picked it up?
Towards the end of the article it said that the man had been, ’detained under the Mental Health Act for his own safety’.
Really? You think?
Sunday, April 22, 2007
In March, His Nazi-ness declared that Hell was an actual place.
He claimed people had forgotten about the ‘Inferno’ but it definitely existed and people go there for eternity.
This month, he has changed the teaching on Limbo.
Just like that, because he said so, it doesn’t exist anymore.
Limbo is the place unbaptised babies and children go because their ‘Original Sin’ had not been expunged. All the ‘good’ people in the Old Testament are there too.
So, The Church, with the help of St Augustine, made up the concept Limbo.
Not in heaven, (but if you pray or pay enough, they can be got out),
not in Hell either.
So one ‘Made Up’ place doesn’t exist anymore and one does?
Makes you wonder what all those Nuns who pray for the Souls in Limbo will do now.
Start praying for ‘Vocations’, I suppose, not much danger of them praying for fucking ‘Sense‘, is there?
Not to worry, another generation or two and things will have to change.
They will have to start looking at the idea of ‘married’ clergy.
Check out how many Religious Orders, male and female, have ‘Associate’ members. People with faith but who, for various reasons, don’t want to join up.
It would be interesting to see how many of these people are in the closet.
My money is it being on over 50%. Experience would also back this up!
Saturday, April 21, 2007
I’m still battling with the railings.
So many people have walked by and said,
‘Ooh!, That’s a horrible job and takes ages!’
Where were you informative fuckers two nights ago, when I was coming up with this superb plan?
Sassy marched down the road bearing mugs of tea, a pair of Marigolds and got stuck in.
While scraping we came up with a new business for her,
Sassy’s Disorderly House.
Run along similar lines as Cynthia Paine’s.
Clients with ‘trades’ most welcome, especially one who can plumb in a toilet.
Sassy will offer verbal humiliation and physical chastisement with a plunger in return.
They have been a blessing and a curse.
I can see!
I can see all the bits I have missed on the railings.
My uncle said he would come round and have a look which sent me into a bit of a panic.
That is actually ‘Family Speak’ for,
“I’ll come round, judge your work and tell you what you SHOULD have done”.
My new Spex! Same stoned eyes!
Friday, April 20, 2007
A strand of Wire Wool has sliced, like fucking cheese wire, through my finger.
To the bone!
I have homemade stitches and am repaired.
I refuse to go to A&E, I value my ‘MRSA free’ status too much, it’s also 5 hours of my life I won’t get back.
Last night after a bottle of wine, I decided that I would spend today scraping the years’ worth of paint from the railings in front of my house.
I started at 10.30am, at 10.40am I realised I had made a dreadful mistake.
It’s taken 7hrs to do about a fifth of it.
Having learned most of my DIY skills from my Grandfather, Nitromors was already slapped on and there was no going back.
This stuff is the consistency of semolina and burns through anything.
My Grandfather wouldn’t use anything that did have serious warnings on it.
None of this, ‘rinse your eye with water’ bollocks, the gear he used would have,
‘If you get this on you, phone this number and quote this code. Help will be dispatched. DO NOT TOUCH ANYONE’.
Didn’t see them coming at all, a brace of them spreading the Good News down the street.
“Do you think G-d is happy with the way we are running earth?”
said the Old Dear.
I looked between them.
“Ladies”, I said, “ I think you’ll find your G-d hates me and as an active homosexual I‘m going straight to hell!”.
They looked bemused.
I winked at the younger one,
“I’m past practising!”
They got it then, and moved swiftly on.
My next door-but-one neighbours have two cleaners go in.
Only the two of them live there which confirms what I always suspected.
They are dirty bastards.
She dyes her hair 'plum', which according to my Nan, is a sure sign.
Lots of my neighbours come home for lunch and one kisses goodbye to someone who isn’t her husband!
She had a massive heart attack and died while on the phone to my Aunt.
The Aunt wasn’t the most stable of people to begin with, so you can imagine the effect that had on her!
The family say she is, ‘highly strung’,
I say she is, Fucking Mental!
Over 20 years later, I can still remember what I was thinking as I was told she was gone.
‘Mmmm.. 20th April, Hitler’s birthday’.
It’s also the day, in 1968, when Enoch Powell delivered his ‘Rivers Of Blood Speech’.
Even if you disagree with the man’s politics, you have to admit he was a great Orator.
I associate my Nan with love, hugs and food! I’ll commemorate her later by making bread and playing something by The Fureys!
I don’t have a problem with butterflies.
They are pretty, floaty and try and stay away from you.
Moths, are a different kettle of fish all together.
There is something sinister about Moths.
They fly straight AT your head.
There is nothing floaty about their flight and I’ve yet to see a pretty one.
(Maybe a White Plume Moth, but that came straight at my head.)
Try and bat them away and they just ‘Matrix’ you.
Hovering in front of your face, their little moth leg gesturing
“Come On Then”,
A ‘Morpheus’ Moth.
Schnee, engage Sports Filter.
I have to admit to being a bit pissed off.
Jacqui Oatley has ‘stolen’ my fantasy job. She is to be the first female commentator on Match Of The Day.
I have had my eye on this job for at least a decade. I’ve spent years saying exactly the same things as Motty and co, minutes before them!
Not the bollocks either,
‘That was a yard short of an inch perfect pass’, What? Idiot.
But not everyone is happy. The Daily Nazi Sports writer, Steve Curry, said he didn’t want to hear a woman ‘screeching’ at him.
He also suggested that she may have been ’Fast Tracked’.
Fucking Fast tracked!
First woman in more than 40 years of the programme and she has been Fast Tracked?!
Thursday, April 19, 2007
I wasn't going to let it happen this year. I went out there armed with shears, secateurs, trowel, spade, cannabis tin and huge mug of tea.
I had to come in for a few hours because it was so scorching hot.
Is there anything quite like the ‘Oh Shit’ moment you have when you manage to pull or dig up something that has bulbs at the root?
And the immediate, panicked, effort to stuff them back into the ground before they notice.
I go by the general rule, that if it has bulbs it must be flowers not weeds.
I do it every year and every year I make a mental note to remember they are there.
For all the fucking good it does me!
I’m also considering renaming the garden “Connaught”.
Fields of fucking Stones.
At some point in the past the Anderson Shelter has been pulled down and broken up.
The debris is about 6 inches below the surface of the ‘soil’.
When I hit half a brick or a grapefruit sized bit of concrete with the spade, I’m not fucking happy.
It jars my back.
It's the same pissed off-ness I get when old dears say,
“Oooh!, You can’t beat the old workman. Did a proper job back then”.
I look at my house, that hasn’t got a single straight line or right angle, and think,
They need fucking battering with a Spirit Level.
Sodding Romans managed it with a lump of lead on a string!
If they’d done a proper job I would have a back like a tuning fork every third spade full.
The BBC2 programme, ‘It’s Not Easy Being Green’, has introduced me to the most hideous thing on earth.
The menstrual cup or 'Moon Cup' as it was euphemistically called.
A plastic, funnel like contraption that is worn ‘internally’..
I’m explaining no more.
It was horrible.
Made worse when the lady said it could be, “Popped in the dishwasher”..
I felt as sick as a plane to Lourdes.
I’d rather use Sphagnum Moss and risk an Aphid infestation, you fucking dirty bitch!
This is what it looked like by the time I had finished this afternoon!
The wood has been added to keep 'Hissing Helmut' away from my Rhubarb and Herbs.
To great effect, if you look closely between the Bay Tree and the composter!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
All bits and pieces and mashed up.
One in particular is really clear.
Being dragged to the fucking Hairdressers with my Grandmother when I was 7.
I can still feel the crushing boredom of these trips.
It seemed to take hours and hours.
It only got interesting once she was rendered deaf and immobile by a hairdryer.
A monstrous thing that looked like a massive boiled egg with hoover tubing.
Then the fun would start!
I’d get on the floor and gather up hair into huge piles and using one of the foot long hairsprays, I’d see how far I could blast it.
To protect myself from the spray I’d hold one of those ‘face shield’ things in front of mine.
“Get up off the floor!”, featured as much as,
“Jesus Christ! Don’t TOUCH that!”, in my childhood.
Fortunately, those were the days I used to be ‘frisked’ for matches and pen-knives before I left the house, otherwise it could have been catastrophic!
Once the Saturday Girl or Trainee had wrestled the can from me, I’d go for a bit of chair spinning.
The length of time spent at that activity depended on when I had last eaten.
I have always had a fascination with books and at that time the ‘Appointment’ book was the biggest I’d ever seen.
They had one in the Doctor’s Surgery but that one was safe behind glass and protected by Harpies in Tweed and sensible shoes.
To keep me out of trouble I was allowed to sit behind the desk and look at the book.
There was no story, it was full of ugly handwriting, ugly names and ugly numbers.
Luckily, it was written in pencil and there was a eraser right next to it.
I got rid of all the ugliness and made it ready for beautiful words.
That was the last time I went to the hairdresser with my Nan.
She was so angry she went white.
When we got home she screamed at my Grandfather what I’d done.
The Calypso sounds of pots, pans and assorted kitchen utensils being flung about began.
She went totally ape shit and banished him to the garage.
Being a kind man, he grabbed me on the way out.
He drank Whiskey and talked about getting drunk in Singapore when he was in the Navy, while I tried to see how tightly I could wind the vice with my finger in it.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
I visited him and Mrs Crisp-e today and found “Geezer” in a poorly way.
I have been fearing for Geezer for a little while now.
At first it was small, subtle things.
Next catalogues, Nespresso refill guides, booklets for handmade chocolate, “Man” creams and moisturisers, eating certain food groups on particular days
I thought nothing of it.
Then, The John Lewis catalogue appeared, discussions turned towards dining room suites, soft furnishings and ‘white‘ goods.
Whatever the fuck they are!
I had missed the signs, the Geezer had taken a terminal blow.
Home Ownership had delivered it’s deadly virus.
This afternoon I found the Geezer at death’s door.
He was painting a fence, all fine, up until the point he actually began to extol the virtues of Teak oil and a paintbrush!
Like my name was Ken or Norman, or something.
When he started discussing bread recipes, my Inner Geezer was whispering,
‘Aye, Aye, What the fuck’s going on here!’
Eyebrows were raised.
Crisp-e’s Geezer rallied for a bit as we pissed ourselves over the notion of ‘Obese Eyeballs’!
But on the way out I heard the death rattle loud and clear.
I tripped over a pair of green Wellington Boots.
I have to come to terms with the fact that Geezer is gone.
The replacement is an upgrade though.
Settled Crisp-e is a joy to be around.
Makes cracking bread too.
Crisp-e's 'feisty fucker' fish!
Monday, April 16, 2007
In Yiddish it is called Yahrziet, which translates as, 'Time Of Year'.
It is the time to light a special candle and commemorate him.
I remember the times I spent with him in the garden. I got him all to myself. So I chose to commemorate him by spending time outdoors.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Or I was, until I encountered fucking Stinging Nettles. Fuckers!
Stinging Nettles have a lot to answer for.
After wasps and Pete Docherty, there is nothing more 'pointless' on the planet.
And don't any of you say 'Nettle Soup', I'll fucking Cyber Slap you!
Hands up anyone who has MADE Nettle Soup from scratch?
That's the kind of shit you buy at a Hippy Vegetarian Cafe, with half the proceeds going towards freeing Tibet.
(Don't hear of that so much these days!)
Surrounded by pasty people, wearing hemp clothes and bamboo shoes.
Their fucking badly behaved children called things like, Aurora and Merlin, running around screaming.
Probably because their skin is irritated by their Peruvian jumper, woven from the hair round a Llama's arse.
A place with such horrors on the menu as;
A fillet of organic Parsnip, Whipped Artichoke livers, served with a Chickpea Coulis.
Nasturtium Ice Cream and a Dandelion reduction, to finish.
See what I mean?
Stinging Nettles have a lot to answer for.
Friday, April 13, 2007
I had an altercation with a driver while out and about on the bike.
That’s a lie actually, I had a fight.
Man in a van pulled out in front of me and I nearly went into his passenger door.
When I shouted,
“TWAT!”, through the open window he was so startled he jumped.
He then had the fucking cheek to pull over, get out and start having a go.
Unfortunately, I was up for it and went back.
Insults were exchanged, then he made the HUGE mistake of trying to grab me by the throat.
There are two reasons not to do this.
1. ATM has been doing that for years, and I have learned to move quickly.
2. I’m an ABA Boxing Tutor.
I was SO angry that he was trying to blame me AND grab me,
I punched him.
I punched him so hard, he was ‘out’ before he hit the deck.
But he scratched me.
Fucking scratched me!
Caught me down my cheek and a bit on my neck.
I’m really indignant about that! The Bitch.
Passers-by came rushing and I fucked off out of it.
I made it to Mr & Mrs Crisp-e’s before my knees went shaky and I started to think about what could’ve happened.
Crisp-e, as ever, had just the right medicine for the job and we tucked into some Calvados!
Then to add insult to injury.
Spurs…. I’m saying no more. It’s too painful.
Karma, is indeed, instant.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
The snotty woman behind the counter took my details and asked me to take a seat.
She then offered me a magazine to read.
I enquired as to whether she was taking the piss and she looked blank.
“I’m here because I can’t bloody see and need new glasses! Reading a magazine is the last thing on my mind”.
She looked huffy and went away.
Unluckily, I got the same bloke as I had before and we hadn’t exactly hit it off.
That time when he was looking in my eye, with his face 2mm from mine, I said,
He hadn’t brought a sense of humour into work that day.
I said nothing this time and let him get on with it.
My eyes are cool. The prescription hasn’t changed and I am still Glaucoma free.
Then came the horrific bit.
“Christ!” I said, “If you are going to do me from behind at least pull my hair!”
Fortunately, Mr Optician had punted me on to a ‘Frame Consultant’ bloke, who did have a sense of humour.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Today I got Helmut the grumpiest Tortoise in the West out from hibernation.
He spits and hisses at people due the trauma my Grandfather put him through.
He used to use his walking stick to hook Helmut out from under bushes. The poor bastard was rolled over and over until he ended up at the Grandfathers feet. Just for him to say, ‘He looks fine’ and walk away.
Now he, understandably, hates humans.
He was my 5th birthday present. My sister also had one called Helga but she woke up dead after last years hibernation.
Crisp-e has her rotting corpse out in the garden which he comes and pokes every so often. He is going to have her shell in his classroom.
Why it can’t decompose in his garden is beyond me!
This is getting on my tits today.
People who go on holiday, to what are basically, third world countries then come back and go on about the horrors and deprivations.
Those who come back from places like Thailand and bitch about the sex tourism and poverty, with a bag of trinkets they tell you were, ‘So Cheap!’
Do they think that special flights are laid on for these people?
NO! You knob! They are sat on the same fucking plane as you.
You stop going and there is no flight, no flights, no Noncing!
Jeez, some people’s arrogance knows no bounds.
Ayatollah Benedict XVI is really starting to piss me off too.
According to him, ‘Science is too narrow to explain creation’ and ‘The Darwinist theory of evolution is not completely provable’.
For Fuck’s Sake!
I know some Muslim sects live by 13th century laws, is this the future of the Catholic Church? Not moving forward, but back.
How long before The Inquisition is back in business and The Crusades begin again?
Apparently he is 80 soon.
I’m sure it says in the bible that man’s time is 3 score and 10, so is he sinning by living for longer?
How I yearn for those days in the late 1970’s when the burning question was,
“What lasts longer, a Pope or a wine gum?”
I will be in Cobh in May.
The reason for the trip is what is known as a CKFC.
A Cousin’s Kid’s First Communion.
(I think the whole thing is awful. Little girls dressed up as ‘brides’ turns my stomach. A Paedophile’s dream.)
It is also known as a weekend of drunken debauchery using the Church’s ceremonies as a valid excuse. It’ll be even better if the Priest Uncle is doing it because we will whip through!
The man enjoys a libation.
County Cork beware, I’m on my way.
G-d Save Ireland!
Sarah’s Law is going to get a trial run. It is based on Megan’s Law in America, where parents have the right to know if paedophiles are living in their area.
Can anybody see this turning out well?
I guarantee at some point the news will show footage of the good people of Paulsgrove marching with their misspelled placards and burning down the Paediatricians office.
At last I have made an appointment to get some new glasses!
They are making me have my eyes tested again though. More money they can blag out of me. Bastards!
I’ve chosen the specs and they are almost exactly the same as the pair that got attached to the kite and lost.
I can’t be doing with too much choice, it gets too confusing.
Monday, April 09, 2007
The smell of creosote is possibly one of the best in the world, I love bitumen as well.
Creosote whisks me straight back to 1980 and painting the fence for my Grandfather.
Mr and Mrs Next Door have had a new gate fitted so I did theirs for them too.
I thought the penultimate day of Passover was as good a time as any to perform a Mitzvah and let them spend the time with their kids.
I am creosote spattered and my arms look like those piebald children who were shown off as Victorian curiosities.
If you are a Reform Jew, today is the last day of Passover, tomorrow if you are Orthodox.
Tradition says that this is the day the Red Sea parted. I have munched so much lamb in the last few days, I’m starting to fear the Welsh!
From now on we are counting down to Shavuot.
It used to be an agricultural celebration, now it commemorates Moses getting the Ten Commandments.
Which takes me straight to a childhood memory from when we were living with my Grandparents.
We had watched Charlton Heston in The Ten Commandments, with my Grandfather’s running commentary of, ‘Bollocks’ and sarcastic huffing and puffing.
A few days later The Agony And The Ecstasy was on.
As the film progressed my Grandmother started getting more and more twitchy and agitated.
Eventually she came out with one of her fantastic lines.
(She had a few!)
She looked at my Grandfather and in all seriousness said,
“I didn’t know Moses painted the Sistine Chapel”.
If I shut my eyes, I can still see the look of utter incredulity on his face, priceless!
I remember laughing so hard and thinking how much I loved these people.
"I've learned that people will forget what you've said,
people will forget what you did, but people will never
forget how you made them feel."
Sunday, April 08, 2007
I know, I know, but I lost the ‘viewing vote’ 2 to 1.
Match Of The Day had mine.
I hope Marcus moves in soon and helps with the electoral imbalance.
I may institute a Sleepy version of Proportional Representation.
It was interesting to see what the others got choked up by.
Bambi didn’t affect me at all but had to be physically removed from the cinema during Watership Down.
Steve Redgrave winning his 5th gold at the 2000 Olympics had me crying like a baby, as did Kelly Holmes winning hers at the last one.
Titanic didn’t touch me, but the Green Mile, Jaysus!
Fucking ET was number one, of course. We were shown the tape of ‘Eliott’ at his audition, which apparently had everyone in the room in tears and was the reason he got the job.
“It’s amazing isn’t it?”, said one of the Housemates, “How can they just cry like that?”.
Being the eldest of five I didn’t find it amazing at all.
I have seen every single one of my siblings suddenly muster up floods of hysterical tears from absolutely nowhere, especially if it would drop one of the others in the shit.
I have been a bit overwhelmed by sounds and noises today.
I was in the kitchen doing my usual thing, trying to remember what I had gone in there for, when the kettle started screaming.
We have one of those modern takes on the old fashioned kettle that sits on the top and has a high pitched whistle.
At the same time the cycle on the washing machine finished and that started beeping to alert me, a text message arrived on my mobile and the land line started ringing.
It was all to much and I was totally overwhelmed.
I think I must get that from my Dad, but his sensitivity to sound revolved around eating.
He wouldn’t eat with his brood of adenoidal children, claiming it was like, “Sitting at a trough!”
He’d have his food on his lap in another room.
Trying to explain that you couldn’t breathe through your nose and would suffocate if you ate with your mouth shut, garnered no sympathy. Just a glare and the question,
We were not allowed any kind of ‘Crunchy’ sweets or food. Celery was banned, no boiled sweets were permitted and I think we were possibly the only children who had to suck crisps.
Sometimes we would forget and bite down and Dad would go from nought to Psycho in a second.
“CRUNCHING!”, he would shout, while fixing you with a stare that would stop traffic.
I’m off out on the piss.
A friend I haven’t seen for ages in town!
We used to work at Mayhem together, when it was fun.
There were three of us who used to hang out and we were a terrible influence on each other.
We’d go to school with such monumental hangovers it wasn’t funny.
The stories about the three of us out ‘on the pull’ are legendary.
All we are missing is an incomprehensible bloke from Limerick for a full reunion.
Sugrue Where Are You??!!
Schnee.. You know how this will end!
Will try and update later.... If still Compos Mentis.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Why the fuck would I want a setting on it that is only good for making charcoal?
I like my toast golden, left to go slightly cold, buttered and marmite-ed right into the corners. I’m sure most people do, marmite optional, of course.
What kind of mentalist would want it pitch black and rock hard?
Setting number 4 provides the ideal piece of toast for me.
But does it stay in number 4?
Does it fuck!
There is some malevolent kitchen demon whose job is to wind that bastard up to 9 as soon as your back is turned.
They are the same demons who sprinkle ‘invisible dust’ on the bread. Rendering all blue, mouldy bits invisible until the very last bite.
I’m sure there is some sort of exorcism that is performed using an egg timer, Leith’s Cookery Bible, and the tea light from the fondue set. (To mix up my Archaic Rites!)
I was going to snap the dial off, jamming it at the ideal setting.
Until it was pointed out that this, although appearing perfectly logical to me, was ‘quite odd’.
While we’re at it, we may as well do away with handles on the fridge door.
If the smudged, black fingerprints all down the side of it are anything to go by, Housemates believe it is purely fucking decorative.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
’A gift to the British people’.
Great! Just what we need.
He is the diplomatic equivalent of that ‘sort of’ mate who buys you a fucking excellent birthday present when you only got them a card for theirs.
What did we get him for the Muslim New Year?
He gives us fifteen sailors for Easter.
I was thinking of Harrods vouchers for Eid, but I think he is looking for something along the lines of Nuclear Testing and removal of sanctions.
I’m not sure if we can stretch to that but as ATM used to say when we asked for anything,
Also, do the lads get to keep the suits?
For me, that could be the ‘deal breaker’ in the decision over the choice of 'return' gifts.
3.10am. Still awake. Flicking between GCSE Bitesize Spanish, ESPN Baseball (New York Mets. V. St Louis Cardinals) and the Crime Channel.
A schizophrenic mix and probably not conducive to sleep.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Passover started a couple of days ago and the vengeful G-d of Israel has punished me for not being more observant.
I have had a nosebleed, of biblical proportions, this afternoon.
My ’man-size’ Kleenex tissues were no match for this gusher.
It bled solidly for an episode and a half of Sharpe. I sat with a measuring jug held under my chin and just dripped.
I lost, just shy of, three quarters of a pint.
You can guarantee I will be having some shant tonight.
When I used to give blood, my first stop would be The Leopold public house. Just to replace the pint of fluid, you understand!
I’ve watched a couple of disturbing TV shows in the last few days.
Starting with, The Most Hated Family In America.
Louis Theroux spent some time with the Phelps family who are all members of The Westboro Baptist church, set up by the family Patriarch. An extremely angry man.
The family, some as young as 7, ‘Picket’ the funerals of American service people killed in Iraq.
They hold placards with, ‘GOD HATES FAGS’, plastered across them. They shout anti American shit at the mourners, telling them that the reason there is a war and the reason their loved one is dead is G-d’s punishment on them because of the liberal attitudes to homosexuals.
They also believe that they are the ONLY people living by the teachings in the Bible and the rest of us are going to hell.
All I can say is, I fucking well hope so! I don’t want to spend eternity anywhere near a single one of these cunts.
Then last night there was a programme on Channel 4 called Eunuchs.
I don’t possess testicles but this show made me cross my legs and at one point grab my groin protectively.
As the title suggests, it was about blokes who were not happy about having bollocks and wanted them removed.
They didn’t want sex changes, they just wanted the nuts gone.
A bloke called ‘Master Rick’ used to provide a castration service from his house.
Unsurprisingly, he was arrested on the greatest charge I have ever heard. Even better than my Dad’s, “Drunk in charge of a perambulator”!
He was charged with, ‘Castration Without Malice’. I laughed, loudly!
There was another poor sod who took to his goolies with a thing called a, Burdizzo. This is used to castrate farm animals. It is a massive clamp thing and is used to mash up the ‘twins’ in the sac. The blood supply is cut off and the body reabsorbs the tissue.
There are some pretty frightening people out there.
I’m pleased the British Sailors have been released, but I just have to raise an eyebrow.
President I’madinnytwat was banging on about how angry his people were about ‘the British incursion into Iranian territorial waters’.
How many of you know where your country’s territorial waters begin and end?
I have been on the ferry to France more times than I can remember and I can honestly say I have never seen a marker. The sea didn’t change colour, no klaxon sounded and given my antipathy towards the French, I didn’t feel it in my bones either.
Geography lessons in Iran must be fucking amazing.