Wet In Wiltshire

I am in a very wet Wiltshire.
The garden has taken off in the fortnight I haven’t seen it.
The tadpoles are still legless and fat but the water boatmen and diving beetles are putting in an appearance.
The Columbines are going to seed but the poppies are bursting out.
We’ve planted out the Tobacco plants I transplanted from Pompey and the bulbs we put in ages ago are coming up.
The bird bath and all the feeders are being well used but nothing in the nest box, yet.
We were so lucky being able to watch the Blackbird nest last year.
The rose I’ve been training up the arch we put in, is in flower and covered with buds.
In short, it’s looking fucking wicked!

I was also a complete tosser and dropped my camera onto concrete.
Not my greatest moment.
My own fault.
It had been precariously jammed into my pocket, and it was pointed out to me that it didn’t look safest way to transport it.
The camera didn’t like it very much, spat it’s batteries out and reset the date and time to somewhere around the turn of the 19th century.
It’s working at the moment, so fingers crossed!
At the time I wanted to punch myself in the head.

Springwatch is back in BBC2.
Schnee check out the webcam’s, for a taste of home!
I want to punch Bill Oddie about the head, violently.
Kate Humble, Eeeesh!
I want to do ‘rude things’, outdoors, with her.

She is very patient with Bill, but she does laugh like she wants him to shut up!
I love BBC nature programmes. I just don’t think they can be beaten.
ATM’s cousin is a sound recordist, who has worked with Attenborough on some of The Blue planet series.
He says that he is brilliant to work with. A really sound, down to earth bloke.
Which was nice to know.

I would have been really disappointed if he was a ‘lovey’ wanker.

Tasty, Pastry And Grrrr

Fucking advertising has me at it again!
Now I want to eat a fucking Skoda, lick it at the very least.
Apart from the Julie Andrews soundtrack, it is a brilliant ad.
A full sized car made from cakes and sweeties.
Murder when I have the munchies!
The trouble is they will now ‘do it to death’ and I’ll end up hating it.

I’m sure I am not the only person who when peeling potatoes, looks in the pot and thinks ‘I’d better do another one, maybe two‘.
What the fuck happens to them when they are mashed.
Five roast spuds seems enough for any person, mash ‘em and there’s barely a spoonful.
Where do they go?
We had quite a bit of left over beef and gravy. I’ve slung it all in a pot with leeks, peppers, herbs from the garden, peas and two cans of Guinness, pastry on top.
Ta Dah! Steak and Ale Pie.

Not that I could eat it because a housemate wanker insisted they knew what pastry I wanted when clearly, they fucking didn’t.
I’m actually beyond angry now, and have that ‘blank’ feeling that Ritalin used to give me.
It’s a tiny ping pong ball sized, leaden knot in my stomach at the moment but it will get heavier, bigger and harder to contain.
I know it’s going to explode out and stuff WILL get broken.
Grrrr..
I ate some of the raw pastry, so I’m bound to get fucking worms, just to top it off.
Starving, with an itchy arse…. Great!

Rage Managed

In the film Peter Pan, the one with Robin Williams, he is with the Lost Boys and doesn’t remember who he is.
The Lost Boys aren’t sure either until the smallest one starts pulling his face about to get a smile.
Then he says,
“Ah, there you are Peter!”
Well, I’ve had that moment with Ian Paisley.
He has got his knickers in a twist concerning Church comments about his ‘pact’ with Sinn Fein deputy Martin McGuinness.
He roared,
“It is the ploy of Satan to attack those whom G-d has appointed as leaders”.
Ah, there you are Ian!
Nothing quite like political debate based on reasoned arguments.

I read today that the Parents of Madeleine McCann are going to meet the Pope in Rome on Wednesday.
Why? What the fuck use is he going to be?
They also said they were not going to leave Portugal without their daughter.
Some old Nazi in a dress can change that then?
If the Catholic Church are taking on this couple as the Catholic Poster Family.
Fucking Hell.
If this couple had adopted their three kids, the other two would be back in foster care by now.
Christ! Can you imagine the public crucifixion if it were a Gay or Lesbian couple?
None of this shit would be happening for them. Muck would be being raked up to smear them.
Used as justification as to why Gay people shouldn’t be allowed to have kids.

I don’t forget that at the centre of this a little girl is missing, but we know who is to blame, even if public opinion has been ‘Managed’ to the point that no one will hear a bad word said against them.
I remember a similar time just after Diana died.
They fucked up, not even absolution from the Pope can take that away.

British Bank Holiday

A new advert is getting on my tits.
This one is for Evian water.
It has a load of cute babies doing some sort of synchronised, Esther Williams swimming thing.
They are in full possession of those cute ‘babies bums’, but at the front they are as challenged as Barbie and Ken.
Don’t get me wrong, I WASN’T looking for anything.
It’s just they were conspicuous by their absence.

It’s a typical Bank Holiday weekend. It’s slashing down with rain, grey, miserable and fuck all worth watching on the TV.
There’s no food in the house, the cats are on tuna, I’ve run out of anti-inflammatory tablets and as kd lang would say,
“…. and on top of all of my tears and regrets, I’m down to my last cigarette.”
The internet is running really slowly. I keep thinking that it’s later than it is. A ‘Double French’ Day, where time just drags and for a moment you think you understand the Theory of Relativity.
In fact, I think I wish it was tomorrow.

On a positive note. A lady Australia contacted me through my flickr page.
She has written a book on garden herbs and she was asking for permission to use one of my photos in her book.
My Chives are going global!
Not a sentence I’d ever imagined I would use.
I was quite chuffed about that. Another one of my photos on there was used in a magazine article about what is happening at the site of the Twin Towers.
Flickr is a great place to look at and share photos but there is a dark side.
Rebekka Guoleifsdottir found her photos were being sold online by a photo printing site, without her permission or remuneration of any sort.
When she posted about it on flickr, the ‘powers that be’ removed her post.
Censorship is all around us.

Queen

Last night I became a Monarchist for a few hours.
The Grandfather would have being spinning in his grave!

We bought ‘The Queen’ on pay per view.
I was absolutely determined I was going to hate every minute, but I lost the housemate vote, yet a-fucking-gain!
I loved the film. I know it is ‘propaganda’ but I loved it.
Prince Philip IS my Grandfather!
His answer to everything was to take the ‘boys’ out for a walk and shoot something!
This is the kind of, spit and Vaseline as a ‘cure all’ man, that I grew up with.
My favourite line was spoken by the Queen,
“No guns Phillip, it is Sunday!”
Brilliant!
The kind of thing my Granddad would do and the kind of thing my Grandmother would say!

The film reminded me why I voted Labour and for Tony Blair, all those years ago.
It also brought home to me that there may have been a purpose to Diana’s death.
If she hadn’t died, her life and impact on the ‘world’ would never have been addressed.
Nothing within the ‘Royal Firm’ would have been looked at or modernised, without the events in Paris.
Her son would NEVER have had the chance to be a ‘Modern King’, without her death, nothing would have changed.

Those who know me well know I am a squinny.
For those of you who don’t know the word, that means, I cry easily.
Only in front of those I ‘Trust’, and am happy in their company.
Some have accused me of keeping my bladder behind my eyes.
For a long, long time I thought this was a ‘weakness’.
Until I was trained that this wasn’t the case. That in fact, to show emotion was a strength.
To ‘show your arse’ as my Dad would say, is very brave.
But still, only a few get that from me.

The Queen was slated for not showing that kind of emotion.
I felt for her, I know how difficult it is.
We know she ‘misjudged’ her people back then, but she made it right.
She did good.
I am now, an Elizabeth II fan.
Don’t fuck with my Monarch! She Rocks!

The Day We Went To London

It’s not until I get to London that I remember just how much I hate it there.
We walked from Waterloo to Covent Garden and went for a pint in the Punch and Judy pub.
“Arse Rape,” my Big little brother replied when I pointed out the price of the drinks.
We stood out on the balcony and played guess the nationality of the school groups.
Which was not as easy as it used to be. Europe is definitely becoming more ethnically diverse.
One group, we were convinced were Italian because of their ‘high tans’, turned out to be Germans!
I find checking out the staff is usually a good indicator.
We were all surprised to see that they were just allowed to go off on their own.
My brother joined us when we took the last lot of Mayhem kids to New York and said,
“Fucking Hell! Can you imagine letting the Mayhem lot loose here!”
Sadly, I could.
The arrests, the shoplifting and the fighting. Made me shudder and thank all that’s holy I’m out of that game.

We got the tube to Shepherd’s Bush. Actually I should call it the underground sauna.
We were rammed in like cattle and the temperature had to have been over 100 degrees.
I was rammed into my brother’s armpit and was hanging onto his waist to stay upright.
I suppose I was lucky it was a family armpit, the little Japanese man hanging onto me wasn’t so lucky.
I was sure he had his eyes screwed shut at one point trying to stop time, but he could also have been avoiding me dripping sweat on him!
London Underground has gone one better than the Nazi’s and combined the packed trains WITH the ovens.

The gig itself was absolutely amazing.
I’ve only been to one better and that was when Pink Floyd played when the Berlin Wall came down.
If you get the chance to see Rodrigo y Gabriela I urge you to go. Even if you have to do a bit of travelling to get there.
You will be amazed at what they can do with a couple of classical guitars.
Their version of Stairway To Heaven is the prettiest you will ever hear but they topped that with Floyd’s ‘Wish You We Here’.
The whole of the Empire sang it to them. It was one of those ‘hair stands up’ moments and I got quite tearful!
Our Grandfather played Flamenco guitar and both of us said how much he would have loved to have been there.
I believe that because we were thinking it, somehow he was.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPhVpIlc1vs&mode=related&search
This is one of my favourite tracks from their album. Reminds me of the ‘Old Man’ so much.

This caught my eye. It's not everyday you see an eight foot unicycle! But it begs the question why the lock? Who the fuck would steal that?

Would all of you who say your prayers offer one up for Housemate Claire. She was diagnosed with breast cancer yesterday and if there is anybody who doesn’t deserve it, it’s her.
I am devastated.
Lord, in your mercy.

A very Happy Birthday to Mrs Crisp-e today!

Garden, Gig And Greek Gags

Strange things are afoot in the gardens of Sleepy Mansions.
One of the apple trees has suddenly declared itself as something totally different.
It is, in fact, some kind of ‘plum’ tree. When I saw the budding fruit on it I realised that I’d never seen an apple on it at all!
Which is a bit sad after nearly four years.
The serious ‘trim’ it had has kick started something.

Tomorrow I am off to London to see Rodrigo y Gabriella at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire.
The Big little brother sorted the tickets out ages ago and it’s come round really fast.
We are making a day of it, starting with lunch in Covent Garden. There is a blinding Mexican that sells Margarita’s by the jug that I‘m determined to get to.
Crisp-e has recommended Belgo’s for their selection of beers and garden area.

Sassy came round for football and booze.
Neither of us were particularly taken with the game, although there was some hope for about 3 minutes.
The best bit of the whole build up was some reporter from the evening news talking to Scousers out there for the match.
The two she had managed to get hold of were wearing laurel leaves around their heads and sporting bright red toga affairs.
“What brought this about?” she said, gesturing at their attire.
“His Mam really” says one
“Yeah, she owns a florist and suggested the headgear” said the other.
“Then we thought we’d just wear the lot. Less luggage!”
“Where are you keeping your passport?” said the half chuckling reporter.
They looked at each other through pissed up eyes, and one replied, looking downwards,
“Somewhere near the Acropolis!”
They then fell about laughing as the bemused reporter handed, swiftly, back to the studio.
Brilliant!

Happy Birthday to the nephew H.
“16! Big Boy! And I’m out for fun,” as the song says.
Love and miss you mate.

Boozing And Bouncing

I had just got of the train at Fratton and a text demanding ‘Bloggage’ arrived.
So, this is for Sassy.

I’ve never had a problem with flying, but landing in a wicked side wind at Cork has made me rethink that.
As my dad would say,
‘My ring dropped so low you could’ve cut 12 washers off it’.
I was stamping on an imaginary brake and holding my breath, the way I used to do when my sister first passed her driving test.

The hotel had a cracking view over Cobh harbour and an excellent view of the cathedral.
Fucking torturous building.
This place had bells that chimed every fucking 15 minutes, day and night.
Not just normal, ‘Play up Pompey’ kinda chimes. This bastard place plays fucking hymns.
By the second day I was looking into what I’d need to do to start a ‘Reformation’.
Since the time of Henry VIII, Catholic’s have not allowed to ring bells in England.
Priests weren’t allowed out in full regalia either but I don’t know if that has changed at all.
I didn’t think I’d be able to stop myself at a ‘95 Theses’ or make the Polish night porter understand, “Hammer”.
Considering he had such a problem with, ‘Fried Egg’.
I was freaked by the Chinese lady with the Cork accent.
She forgot my eggs and I misunderstood, “They are still in the kitchen” for “they are still in the chicken!”

As most of you know, I find the whole First Holy Communion thing horrendous and was generously excused attending church.
I was not excused the debauched boozing and bouncy castle that followed.
I had a little go until the ill-fitting nature of my bra became all too obvious and I was reefed out of it by a load of kids.
Apparently Bouncy Castles are now the ‘law’ at any kids do in Ireland these days.

I had an absolutely amazing day with Mr & Mrs Lenten and the Junior Lentens!
It is so rare to come across such well behaved, funny, ‘free range’ kids.
They are just themselves, no matter what!
Jovial Josie and Mellow Maggie have a huge fan in Portsmouth.
(Those of you, who know me well, know I’m not too great with the smaller kids. JJ and MM were very kind to me!)
I think The Boys took advantage of their sisters being downstairs, to have some time to themselves!
The food, the wine and most importantly, the company was just brilliant.
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, all at Lenten Lodge.

Grub, Scoff, Scran, Munch

Thank G-d for Prochlorperazine!
I know it sounds like serious drugs but they’re like sea sickness tablets.
I’m still sick and dizzy but these babies stop my brain telling me I am.

A couple of my favourite TV cooks are Dave and Si, ‘The Hairy Bikers’!
They don’t appear to have had any kind of formal training but just love their grub and enjoy cooking it.
On this evenings show they were in Brussels. They were chatting with one of the UK’s MEP’s. He was saying how European legislation is fucking up our food. He said that in 10 years time we will only be ‘allowed’ decaffeinated coffee and that smoking will be totally and utterly banned.
Fuck that!

Our beef is only hung for 21 days, which is just not long enough. Five weeks is best.
I can’t wait to get to Ireland and have some proper roast beef. It’s not hung for 5 weeks but it’s longer than ours.
The rashers, not that I eat them, are thicker and not full of water.
I know they will make me sick as a dog but seeing as I’m puking anyway, I am going to stuff myself with Bantry Bay Mussels. I will have my pint of Guinness, even though I don’t like the taste of the stuff. To me, it tastes like liquidised brown bread and I don’t like that shit either.
Unless it’s Soda bread, which is a totally different animal all together, it has Bi Carbonate of Soda and buttermilk in it.
Proper corned beef, not that shite in a tin, that my Dad insists is actually dog meat mixed with Guinea Pig.
Sorry, I’m a bit food obsessed at the moment.
All I’ve had for the last 3/4 days are 2 slices of dry toast and gallons of water.

All the news programmes are telling me Gordon Brown is the new Prime Minister.
Ummm. Don’t we get a say in this? I understand that the Labour Party chooses who it wants to be the leader but don’t I get a democratic vote to choose the PM?
Maybe I’ve got the wrong end of the stick.

Happy 12th Birthday to my niece CJR... x

Chunder And Chuckles

I spoke too soon.
The vomiting has returned with a vengeance, accompanied with the most horrendous dizziness.
I stood up this afternoon and fell flat on my fucking face. I’m not a stranger to falling over but usually I’ve had a few bottles of wine before my face breaks my fall.

I have laughed and laughed today at Jose Mourinho’s expense.
He was arrested and cautioned after getting arsey with the police about his dog. They seemed to be under the impression that it had been brought into the country without proper vaccinations and rabies jabs.
Jose didn’t want them taking his beloved dog away and some how it ‘escaped’ and went on the run, while he ‘obstructed’ the police.
So, what does Mr super macho have at the end of his lead? A Doberman, a Rottweiller, a Staffie?
Nope, he owns a fucking Yorkshire Terrier!
A little yapper type dog that grows out of old ladies armpits.
Jose, hang your head in shame!

May, Smoke And Nazis

Probably because May is a hectic month for family birthdays (one every 2 or 3 days) I have been thinking of my relatives.
As some of you know I rent one of my properties to my Bi-polar ex brother in law.
I wanted him to have somewhere to live that was safe and he wasn’t constantly burgled and harassed, as he was on the hideous estate where he was living. All this did nothing to help his fragile mental state.
Also, I didn’t want my niece and nephew visiting him there and mixing with the scum that attend Mayhem.
A year after he moved in I had the falling out with my sister and ATM and haven’t spoken to either for 4 years.
Am I being unreasonable to think that while his kids visit him in MY fucking house, that he might bring them round to visit me or invite me to see them there?

In July the ban on smoking in public places comes in to effect.
As a professional smoker, I have no problem with this at all. I actually prefer to eat in a restaurant that is smoke free.
But a news item has got on my tits. They want to ban people smoking when they are driving because they could be distracted.
Fuck off!
In that case I suggest that all radios and audio devices be removed from cars, get the satnavs out, no passengers allowed unless you sit in total silence and kids are not allowed in cars at all.

As if I don’t hate the Catholic Church enough already, they are continuing with their mission to drive me to acts of disobedience.
Hitler’s Pope, Pius XII, who managed to turn a blind eye to the Holocaust, is going to be made a Saint.
Over my fucking dead, homosexual body.
Not much moves me to leave the house and protest, the Poll Tax marches being the last, but I will NOT sit by and watch this happen without a word.
Did he sign the declaration condemning the extermination of the Jews? Did he buggery.
When the Jews of Rome were rounded up what did he do?
Fuck all!
Sainthood for a man described as ‘the biggest moral coward’ of his time, what utter bollocks.
Let’s not forget that the present Pontiff was a member of the Hitler Youth.
I wonder how history will view him when his vitriol and encouragement cause a similar ‘pogrom’ against homosexuals.
Canonisation no doubt.

Check this out. I love 'Alan Shore', not like Sassy and The Chemist do! But I love him.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNUIKUvkSuo&mode=related&search

Country Day

People I am not well.
I have done some serious vomiting today.
I have no idea why but it hasn’t been pleasant.

We had a walk along the canal, the first time in a while because of Jess the Wonder Hound’s poorly feet.
I’d love to show you photos of the Swallows swooping down over the canal but the fuckers were too fast!
They were amazing and really seemed to take great delight in flying.

After the torrential rain we have had the pond in the garden is looking really healthy. The tadpoles are huge and look like legs are going to burst out of them at any moment.
The roses all have buds and some have actually flowered.

I’m feeling too rough to carry on so I will ‘show’ you my day.

Sunday, Death And Porn

My Sunday started brilliantly!
All the papers, coffee (in a cereal bowl, French stylee!) and croissants in bed.
Bliss!
It has heaved with rain all day. May must be the ‘new’ April because it hasn’t stopped pissing down.
It got better when my beloved Spurs (all genuflect!) secured a place in UEFA Cup football next season.
Oh Yes! Come on you Spurs!
I have had a superb roast dinner. I made the gravy, which is becoming a bit of a speciality of mine.
Todays was based, primarily, on Port and was yummers.

I have read a few obituaries today. Mostly that Blow lady who made hats.
It has got me thinking about death. Not my own mortality or anything like that, but what is left behind and more importantly who will be going through my ‘stuff’.
Sometimes I hope I go quickly, you know what I mean? Massive heart attack, gone in a second sort of thing.
Other times I think that knowing you have a finite time gives you a chance to put your ‘house’ in order. Do the things you’ve wanted to do and say what needs to be said.
All this has led me to a question for you all.
If you knew you were dying (and couldn’t get home yourself) what would you want your ’proper friends’ to remove from your house before your ‘family’ got there and started going through your stuff?

I got rid of my Grandfather’s porn before anyone else got there.
Made all the easier because he used to get me to buy it for him!
He phoned up one day and asked me how far I lived from a well known sex shop in the city.
Not realising what was happening, I told him.
“Excellent!” he said, “I need you to get me some films”.
I begged him to ask one of his sons or grandsons but apparently I was the only one who could ‘be trusted’ with the task.
I gave in and had to ask him the MOST horrendous question that I’ve ever had ANSWERED.
“What sort of thing do you like Pampam?”
Most people don’t want to even think of their parents being ‘intimate’, imagine that with a Grandparent!
Eeeesh!

I am now tucking in to wine and Calvados.
A lovely day.

Happy Birthday to my Niece Sinead!

Balloons and Books

The funniest thing I have seen today was a bloke trying to ram 10 Helium filled balloons into the boot of his car, in a fecking gale and horizontal rain.
I stood and watched which, I think, made it worse for him because he got all panicked and nearly lost a couple.

The funniest thing I have read today is in Shotts Food and Drink Miscellany and it is, ‘how to clean Ostrich feathers‘.
Brilliant! I don’t know if this info will ever be useful but it’s still nice to know.

I love those types of books. Books of ‘information’.
Dictionaries, encyclopaedias, thesauri, (I’m assuming that’s the plural!) books of lists, dates and quotations.
I love ‘em!
I have quite a serious second hand book habit and have had to ban myself from Amazon.
I’ll read anywhere, even if it is just for 2 minutes and always have a book in my bag.
I don’t know who said this but it’s one of my favourite book quotes.

‘Second hand books are wild books, homeless books; they come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which domesticated volumes of the library lack.’

ATM used to object to me reading at the dining table and I was forced to read the labels of the sauces and stuff on the table.
It was totally different at my Grandparent’s house; there it was almost law to read at the table.
At breakfast it would be a selection of Newspapers and we were expected to discuss an article we had read with my Grandfather.
He would then make us look for the same story in another paper and tell him the differences in the way it had been reported.
My sister hated this; she would sit and cry until he’d send her to my Nan, where miraculously the tears would stop.
I adored it.

I’d just like to say, it’s no wonder they aren’t any closer to finding the girl in Portugal, they’re in fucking church praying for her all the time! Not going to find her in there are they?
In fact, it’s starting to get right on my tits now.
This whole emotional outpouring. Yellow ribbons, Masses etc.
All bollocks.
Just the relief of other people who have left their kids for ‘just 15 minutes’.
Also, has anyone else noticed how the distances have increased?
When it was first reported they were in a restaurant 20 metres away, today it was 50m.

Birthday Birds

I am officially a year older!

I was born on a Monday, May 11th, at 10.25am and weighed 8lbs 3oz’s.
I had fluid in my lungs and was taken from ATM to have them sucked out.
My Pamps was the first one to see and hold me, much to my Dad’s chagrin.
He still isn’t over it and believes it was a moment stolen from him because they didn’t phone him.
ATM’s story is that he was pissed in a pub somewhere and couldn’t be located.
I’m inclined to believe that it’s a bit of both!


So, here are a few people I share a birthday with: Chang and Eng, the Siamese twins, Irving Berlin, Margaret Rutherford, Salvador Dali, Jeremy Paxman and Louis Farrakan.
On my 11th birthday Bob Marley died. Douglas Adams also popped his clogs on a much later birthday.
But my most favourite thing happened on May 11th 1675 in Quebec.
Jean Oudiette was awarded the monopoly on hunting Beaver for 7 years!
Imagine that! All that Beaver just for him.


For a birthday treat, M took me to the Hawk Conservancy Trust near Andover.
I saw a Fish Eagle fly, A Peregrine Falcon, a bunch of Black Kites and two Bald Eagles.
It was magical. The Bald Eagles were released a good 2 miles away and flew in accompanied by the music, ‘1492 The Conquest of Paradise’ by Vangelis. It was breathtaking and I have to admit, brought a lump to the throat.


I got to hold my hand out for a Harris Hawk to land on. It was such a lovely moment!



Good News! Fresh blood at Sleepy Mansions.
Cousin M is moving in at the beginning of next month. I’m really looking forward to having him and his mates around, many of whom, like his girlfriend, are Muslim.
This can only add to the ‘rich tapestry’ of our Collective.
I’m secretly hoping some of them can cook, or at least get food parcels from their Mums that they are prepared to share!

Roll Me Over In Ecover

Why is it than when people describe the size of a spider it is always huge, but only the body?
“I’m telling you it was fucking massive, the size of a dinner plate………… That’s JUST the body!”
I always want to say,
“Christ! Imagine how scary it would’ve been if it had legs?”

An amazing photo of Glastonbury Tor has got me pondering.
It’s one of those pictures I look at and think,
Christ! I wish I had taken that.
So, following that thought, what makes you think,
I wish I’d,

*Written that.
*Composed that.
*Painted that.
*Said that.

I’ve also been thinking about ‘Green’ issues.
Sleepy Mansions tries to do its bit. Composting, recycling, the ‘cataract’ light bulbs, sustainable sources for the fire, secondary glazing, the whole schmeer.
We use Ecover products in the house. Washing up liquid, dishwasher cubes, lav cleaner, sprays etc.
But, am I alone in thinking that they don’t really work that well and are likely to give you a skin rash?
I don’t have any proof that they are less effective than the ‘un-green’ brands, it’s just a feeling.
I think I have it in my head that they are a bit ‘weak’.
If they don’t hurt the environment, they’ll be fuck all use on dried egg or a particularly stubborn skid mark.
Maybe it’s the packaging. It doesn’t exactly scream “Death to germs and dirt”.
The same way I think recycled toilet paper is going to be rough and scratchy on my arse. I also have worries surrounding its general ‘sturdiness’.

It is my ‘Birthday Eve’!
For a long time I have had a tradition of drinking my birthday in.
That is, I am throwing some sort of alcohol down my throat at midnight!
I have started with a 2005, Jean Vincent Freres, Macon Villages. Which went down splendidly with the curry I knocked up.
I am now on 2005, Gerard Tremblay, Chablis Premier Cru, ‘Fourchaume’.
It is one of the nicest wines I have tasted in ages.
I am determined to sleep tonight and have 37.5mg of Zopiclone for the job, to be taken with the Chablis!
According to the House Pharmacist, if that doesn’t knock me out I am inhuman.
‘Preaching to the choir‘, I told her, ‘ATM has been saying it all my life’.

Cardinal Sins

I thought I would be able to leave this alone.
But I can’t. It’s been snipping away at me all day and I’m going to have to get it out.
I don’t want it hanging around for the weekend!

www.pinknews.co.uk/news/articles/2005-4338.html

If this man had said this about any other group of people, Blacks, Jews, Arabs, Chinese etc. He would be arrested for ‘incitement to racial hatred‘.
He is encouraging people to oppose the Riga Pride March. Does he believe that the Neo Nazis throwing shit last time are going to be ‘nicer’ this time?
If anybody is attacked at this march, the blood will be on the hands of Cardinal Janis Pujats.
Where does he tell the good people of Riga to ‘Peacefully’ oppose the march?

Not that anything would happen to him if it did. Probably just move him on to another ‘Parish‘, where he can continue to spout his bile.
Fucking Paedophile.
Use sweeping generalisations about me; I’ll use them about you.
Tell me I’m fucking unnatural! How dare you!
I can hear him now banging on about how the NATURAL state is for a man to be with a woman.
Celibacy must be UNNATURAL then?

Hope And Thoughts Of Sleep

It’s been a few days coming, but all the bad press the Portuguese have been having about the handling of the kidnap case has got to them.
At last the Portuguese Media have brought up what the rest of the world seem too afraid to mention and what the rest of us are thinking.

What the fuck were the parents thinking, leaving three kids under the age of 3 on their own?
Even if they were being checked on every 15 minutes.
Would they fuck off out to a restaurant and leave the kids if they were at home?
They would be being prosecuted as we speak if they had.
It’s all extremely sad, but come on, we know that kid is dead and there is no getting away from the fact that the parents fucked off and left them.
Checking them every fifteen minutes is bollocks.
EVERY single parent I know, at some point during their child’s life has said to me,
“2 minutes. I was distracted for 2 minutes and he/she was gone, was in the road, had flooded the bathroom, drawn on the wall, drowned the hamster etc….”
In fifteen minutes my sister’s kids could have done a partial demolition of a three bedroom house.
H the Nephew, could have done 2 rooms on his own and actually started on one!
I do pray to all that is holy that she is returned unharmed but sadly, I won’t be holding my breath.

My insomnia, ironically, gives me a lot of extra hours to think about sleep.
I have been wondering if how you were laid in a cot, has any influence on how you sleep as an adult.
For example.
I lay on my stomach, right arm under the pillow facing to the left. One leg on top of the covers.
Others I know, choose a particular side to sleep on. Very few have ever said they fall asleep laid on their back.
ATM says she used to wrap us up tight in a blanket so we couldn’t move about too much and therefore go to sleep.
‘Swaddling’ was the actual word she used.
The moment she said it, I felt short of breath and constricted. The same feeling I get if I am twisted up in the duvet or sheets.

Then, if you share a bed, there is the choice of which side to sleep on. I prefer near the window but away from the door.
I’m sure everybody in the world must use the meeting point of the pillows as the demarcation line down the centre of the bed, that unseen border between the sovereign realms of, ‘My Side’ and ‘Your Side‘.
Just like everyone agrees where the Equator is.
I also believe that, no matter what language you speak, you have said through gritted teeth,
“Get.. Over.. Your.. Own.. Fucking.. Side!”
Possibly accompanied with a kick or strategic elbow ‘nudge’.
Usually due to an argument or an extremely hot night.

Quite Literally

I’m not sure if this is a question many of you will have pondered, but breakfast choices and general slovenliness have brought it up.
What can you do with leftover porridge?

I can’t think of a single thing, other than getting it out of the pan as quick as possible.
Ready Brek was all the rage when I was a kid.
The propaganda showed this mysterious orange glow around kids as they trundled off to school.
This was to show how warmed up they had been by their breakfast and prepared for the snowy walk.
That made me want it SO bad.
To my ‘strange’ mind, snow meant Ready Brek, so therefore, Ready Brek meant snow!
I can remember the rage I went into when I couldn’t make ATM or my Grandparents understand that there should have been snow the day after we had shopped.

Similar advertising indoctrination led me to believe only Blonde people could use Timotei shampoo.
Remember her?
Long blonde hair, white dress, nice tits, in a field or something; washing her hair in a stream or trough and flinging it back, to show a slow motion water arc.
I was totally bewildered when I found it in my dark haired uncle’s bathroom and couldn’t understand why he could use it.
That is when my Grandfather understood what was going on and had to start explaining advertising to me.
Up until then they hadn’t realised just how ‘Literal’ I was.
(An Asperger’s diagnosis was still over 25yrs away at that point!)

There also used to be a kids programme called “Vision On“.
It was quite progressive for it’s time and had a signer for deaf people.
They had a bloke called Tony Hart who did the ‘Arty’ bit.
He NEVER said a word and the ‘signer’ was always about when he was.
So, you can imagine my horror when he got his own show and the fucker was aurally A1 and had no problem with speech.
It STILL freaks me out! The Bastard!

Freaky, Fuckwit, Freude

Someone who sorts out the advertising on ‘Witching Hour’ TV (I’m not sleeping at the moment, 9 hours in three days) has a blinding sense of humour.
There was an advert for super dooper water purifier kettles which remove all manner of microscopic-ness from the water, followed by one for Oxfam. They wanted ‘only £3 a day’ to prevent this poor little gurrier in G-d‘s enema for the world, carrying shit brown water 17 miles a day on her head.
Genius!

This has left me fit to be tied.
Cardinal Cormac Move O Molester is calling for ’more attention’ to be paid to the fair treatment of ’undocumented migrants’ in this country.
Although, he did say he was not encouraging illegal immigration.
He believes that some way should be found for these people,
“…who work in our country, who contribute to our economy” to have their rights respected.
Mmmm. If you are here illegally, as heartless as it sounds, you don’t have any fucking rights! You are not supposed to be here!

How about this for a plan?
If you’ve been refused leave to stay in the country and you stay anyway, we’ll have an amnesty. You come forward with a sponsor, declare yourself and the ’work’ you have been doing.
We will let you stay but you will be taxed at the highest possible rate for 2 years.
You will have to be proficient in the language and take a citizenship exam.
You know? Just to test your commitment and desire to stay here.
There are millions of Lesbian and Gay people who work in this country, contribute to the economy and are here legally.
He didn’t give much of a shit about their rights being respected a couple of months ago!
What a hypocritical, paedophile enabling prick!
Grrrr.. Just had to get that out.
1.…… 2.…… 3.……. And rest.

On a happier note.
Today is the anniversary of the first performance of Beethoven’s Ninth.
I love Beethoven.
The fact that he was as deaf as a post by the time this was performed I find awesome.
His conducting was a few measures behind and he was still going when the orchestra had finished.
A singer had to turn him around to show him the applause and standing ovation.
I think I find him fascinating as I could imagine nothing worse than going deaf.
I don’t have any great musical talent but listening to music is one of my real joys in life.
“Ode to Joy” is now so culturally embedded.
It was used by students in Tiananmen Square as a statement against tyranny, it’s the European Anthem, and it was played to celebrate the Berlin Wall coming down.
It’s been used in films, sports, PC games and adverts.
Treat yourself. Have a listen!

Freude, schoner Gotterfunken!

Zipping In And Out

Just a question.
At what point, on the walk to your toilet, is it acceptable to start unzipping your fly?

I’m sure I’m not the only one who does this.
If using our downstairs facility, which is through the kitchen and on the back of the utility room, I start halfway across the kitchen.
Using upstairs, I start at the third step from the top.
I think I must just add I only do this at home.
It’s not like I get halfway across the pub and I’m flashing my ‘Mohair Knickers’ to all and sundry.
Actually, that’s a lie.
It happened once, in a club in London, but someone else was undoing my strides.
I have dropped a wrap of speed in the crutch of my shreddies, after foolishly inspecting it while on the lav.
The only time the ‘accident and clean underwear’ fears of my Grandmother were borne out.
I still took it.

While on the subject of bogs.
I have never been able to get my head around how easily and willingly lesbians will have sex in a toilet.
I’ve never met someone and thought,
“Christ! I can’t wait to ‘do you’ in a urine soaked pissoir, after waiting in a queue for fecking ages, to have people banging on the door while I’m on the vinegar stroke.”
Not for me. Too nasty.
Also, gay men get really annoyed if you use their toilet for a whizz, but it’s fine that I can’t get in the ‘Ladies’ because it’s full of men dressed as women.
Just a tip, first lesson on being a ‘lady’, put the fucking seat down!
Better than that, SIT the fuck DOWN and get used to it, we avoid the piss soaked floor that way.

Cinco, Salvia And Bores

This is a picture of a freaky looking Ladybird in my garden today.

The Big little brother came round this afternoon and we celebrated Cinco De Mayo with some Salvia Divinorum, also known as Diviner’s Sage.
This is used by Mazatec tribal shaman who consider it highly spiritual.

“Salvia can shift perception in to altered states of consciousness and perception”, according to wikipedia.

It looked like grass and is smoked in a pipe.
A most bizarre experience.
It came on very quickly and I felt as though I was being forced back into my seat, like a rollercoaster ride.
My skin tingled as though air was moving across it at speed.
I looked at my brother and he appeared to be in the same sort of trouble.
For some reason I said,
“Ride it like a ride at Epcot!”
We burst out laughing and got quite hysterical for a while. After about 10 minutes it was over.
It lingered for a little while, making accessing words really difficult.
I must admit it wasn’t one of my favourite drug experiences and I wouldn’t bother with it again.
Another one ticked off the list.

As well as being Cinco De Mayo, and I might just add, it should be law that all French defeats are celebrated; it is Kierkegaard’s birthday.
I like existential philosophers, even though they are not so fashionable and conflict with postmodernists.

But, fuck it!

I suppose a philosophy, that places emphasis on the uniqueness and isolation of the individual experience set in a hostile universe, appeals to my Asperger's nature.
I like to think of them as a bunch of dope smokers round a sturdy kitchen table drinking, giggling and coming up with their stuff.
Maybe they’d be ‘Bloggers’ today.

“I begin with the principle that all men are bores. Surely no one will prove himself so great a bore as to contradict me in this”.

Soren Kierkegaard.

Biting And Snapping

Today started strangely.
Jess trotted downstairs greeted me in her usual way, by shaking in front of me, launching slobber, snot, and eyeball bogies everywhere.
She then pissed all over her bed.
There is no stopping a Greyhound mid flow. I had to wait for her to finish before I could 'deal' with anything.
Then, as I started to lick the Lime Curd from my toast, Jess started to give her ‘unmentionables’ the same, vigorous, attention.
Put me right off.

On the drive back to Pompey from Wiltshire, I realised that I don’t like running over things that are already dead.
It makes me wince.
I know we haven’t killed it but it seems rude somehow.
There was a lot of wildlife mullered by the side of the road.
Foxes, Rabbits, Badgers, and 100’s of Pheasants all with massive crows having a munch.
Lairy things, that hardly bother moving their arses for passing traffic and always make me think of The Omen.
Scared the Bejaysus out of myself with that one when I was a kid. Same with The Exorcist, I turned every fucking light in the house on with that bastard.
Including the loft and the garage.

I used to be a terrible nail biter. I would bite them right down, almost to the quick. Most of the time they were red stumps.
A few years ago I stopped.
Last night, for some reason, I bit all my nails off.
Today I realised just how bloody handy they are and my fingers are sore.
I suppose it’s like being an alcoholic, once a nail biter, always a nail biter.

We took Jess for a trundle along the seafront when we got back and this picture was begging to be taken!

Zen And The Art Of Garden Maintenance

Today, M and I constructed a trellis-y arch thing in the the garden.

The Climbing Rose, that was flopping around like a cock in a sock, is now secured to it and has somewhere to climb. It, being so disorganised, was bothering me.

An hour and a half after coming in from the garden, a fucking large insect-y creature fell off me and legged it across the carpet.

That, freaks me right out.

How fucking long has it been trooping about my person? Where has it been, what's it been doing and has it been in my hair?!

Bastard.

Makes me feel quite unwell and totally 'Un-Zen'.

The fucker was stamped on before I could work through the disgust.

Aaah Fuck! Just had that moment when I'm sure something is crawling on me, I've just slapped myself about the head like a 'mental'.

DIY TIP...

Do NOT use Allen Key on decking that has 'Allen Key sized' gaps in it.

Saw my first Mayfly today!

I took some great photos today.

I will put them on Crisp-e's flickr site later, for those who are interested.

May Day

This morning M presented me with a little bunch of Lily Of The Valley.
M had the misfortune to live in France for 12 years and this is a 'Good Luck' thing they do there on the 1st of May.

My Celtic blood feels Beltane. Summer's here.
I have looked at a lot of fabulous tits and arse today! Sadly, the good weather brings out the 'Biffa's' and the 'Grunter's' and a few who fall into the '1664' range.
16 from behind, 64 when they turn round... Eeesh..

I kind of miss seeing the May Day parade from Moscow on the News.
All the tanks, flags and high kicking soldiers - the height of camp!
North Korea seem to be the only ones left doing any precision marching.

Unlike Schnee, I haven't seen any May Flies, but I have seen the Nymphs alive and well in the pond.
Ugly fuckers!

May Day is The Workers day, a Red day.
It's half time at Anfield,
"COME ON YOU REDS!!"