Wimbledon, Threesome And Rain

Best conversation exchange of the day.
Sue Barker is sat with Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe.
Wimbledon is rained off so we have been watching a documentary about Billie Jean King.
It finishes and we are back in the studio.
Sue says a little bit about how amazing it is to have them both there. Past champions and rivals, all that bollocks.
Then they all start going on about how wonderful Billie Jean is, the guys ask why she isn’t there with them and Sue Barker says,

“Ooh, wouldn’t that be wonderful? A threesome with Billie Jean on the end”.

Easy Sue! Easy!
I roared with laughter and kept going until I was coughing.
I now sound like Bonnie Tyler.
That was worth every penny of the licence fee!
Connors and McEnroe are brilliant. They bring a ‘fun’ element to stuffy Wimbledon.
It’s like they don’t quite get it.
Very similar is the character in the film Best In Show, who commentates on a ‘Crufts’-like event as if it’s an NFL game.
Brilliant! Wimbledon is funny!

Today really feels like a Sunday.
It’s been SO gloomy all day.
Constant, pissing rain. Cold greyness.
A totally monochrome day.
Even the fucking clips from Wimbledon were in black and white and too small for the TV screen.
Anything earlier than the 1990’s had huge black borders and short shorts.

Shrimp, Booze And Brats

People, I’m in all sorts of trouble.
Mr and Mrs Next Door invited the inhabitants of Sleepy Mansions round for food and booze.
The Chinese relatives cooked up what can only be described as a feast.
The smells were amazing and we got to taste proper Chinese fare.
As some of you are aware I have a love/hate relationship with seafood.
I love it, it hates me.
I know if I eat it I will be violently ill within a few hours but it’s a short lived illness and I’m prepared to go through it.
Last night I had barbequed prawns and squid and it was gorgeous.
The Chinese relatives were brilliant. They cooked, topped up glasses and ran around being the perfect hosts.
I puked my guts up last night and this morning my bowels are in a somewhat delicate state.

We met new people and even met the next door but one neighbour. Through her we were introduced to her sister in law. She is married to the brother of her Dutch husband.
I listened to her for a bit and said,
“You don’t sound Dutch”.
“Oh, I’m not”, she replied “I’m Canadian. I’m from Vancouver”.
“Fuck Off!” I said “One of my bestest mates is in Vancouver! In Richmond!”
“Fuck Off!” she said “I grew up in Richmond!”
It’s a village, people, a fucking village.

At this gathering there was a little boy of about six.
Fucking monster more like.
He came steaming out into the garden screaming and shouting like something possessed.
He could not keep still.
For some reason kids like this home in on me and this one was no different. (Maybe they recognise a kindred spirit!)
I tried to, politely; inform him that I didn’t appreciate being whacked repeatedly with his wind up torch but to no avail.
Swapping seats with someone made no difference; he was determined to get to me.
His Mother, I might just add, was nowhere to be seen and didn’t once try and control her brat.
When I pointed this out to Mr Next Door he leant close and quietly said,
“She has lost ALL her friends because of that fucking kid”.
I was not at all surprised. Little shit.
He hit me again and my patience had been used up.
“Touch me again you little shit and I’ll punch you in the back of the head” I whispered to him.
That’s when I knew he wasn’t right.
Other kids I have had occasion to use this method with stay the fuck away from me!
Not this one.
He stood there, grinning, as if I had given him directions to the seafront in Arapahoe.
I got him to come and sit (I sat, he just jumped up and down like Tigger!) with me and taught him how to play Paper, Scissors, Stone.
The rest of the guests looked relieved that someone was doing something with him.

When he had to go he was really sweet and I got a kiss on the cheek.
His Mother didn’t even say ‘thank you’ for doing her fucking JOB.
“Come on”, she said, “Or you will be too tired for tennis tomorrow.”
A hand on my elbow stopped me from losing it and shouting,
“Tennis? Fucking Tennis? Spend some time with your kid and stop punting him on to other people! You fucking waste of organs!”

Aaaaand Rest.

Kosher-Roo

People, I’m in a bit of a panic.
Is Kangaroo Kosher?
I’ve had THE most gorgeous meal this evening in a pub called The French Horn.
It has recently been taken over by an Australian couple and they have ‘Roo as well as Crocodile Tail on the menu.
The lack of scales and fins put the Croc immediately into the Trief area of the menu, but Kangaroo?
Where does this fit?
It chews the cud but has the wrong feet.
What an animal eats and the shape of its feet are important in dietary law.
It was fucking lovely though! One of the most tender, tastiest pieces of meat I’ve eaten in a long time.
Totally yummers.
Trouble is, I didn’t even think of it’s Kasrut status until I was more than halfway through it.
Even then, it was too tasty to stop!

Ah, fuck it! I’m going straight to hell anyway.

Wilts And Wimbledon

I have been out and about in the fields of Wiltshire. The photo shows a ‘Jessie Eye’ view!
It has been lovely and sunny which seems to have brought out loads of butterflies, swallows and an Emperor Dragonfly.
As we walked up the lane we were warned that at least two dogs have been bitten by snakes recently.
“You fucking what?!” I managed to stop myself from saying out loud.
Crisp-e and I both choose holiday destinations by looking up the danger that is posed to us by the local wildlife.
Especially the small stuff.
If there are insects that can potentially kill us, we won’t go there.
Now I am faced with dangerous bitey fuckers in my own country!
Not fucking funny.

I’ve been watching a bit more of Wimbledon than I usually do.
Is it me, or are the women players getting better looking?
There are the ever present ‘Helga Heifers’ but on the whole they seem to be prettier.
Unfortunately, most are blonde and as many of you know, I don’t do blondes.
There is a ‘but’.
Maria Sharapova.
Not for the reasons you are all thinking, but out of curiosity.
If she sounds like that playing tennis, what the fuck must she sound like in bed?!
You’d need those thighs around your head to save your eardrums!
I want Mauresmo to win with Martina and Billie Jean commentating. There would be a symmetry to that.
Unsurprisingly, Henman is out. Why do people even bother to go along and cheer for him?
Talk about the triumph of hope over experience.

Back to Pompey tomorrow.
Back to rain.

The Damned

http://www.pinknews.co.uk/news/articles/2005-4742.html
What fucking century are we living in?

It gets worse.
http://www.ukgaynews.org.uk/Archive/07/June/2602.htm

When does it start mattering?
When people who read a fucking made up book start spouting their shit about someone you give a crap about?
Maybe when blue eyed people are persecuted, beaten and killed for something they have no choice about?
Do you think any gay person chooses it?
Who would choose a half life, where you can’t really be honest to everyone about yourself?
Who would choose to have complete strangers screaming that you are going to hell?
Or that you were born with ‘an inherent moral evil’?
Who would CHOOSE that?

Remember, what’s in ‘The Bible’ was chosen by a bunch of blokes during the 8th/9th century. They chose the Gospels that suited them and strengthened their positions.
Basically the books that made no mention of the part women played in Christ’s ministry and made any woman he came into contact with a slag.
Except his mother, of course. But they got round that one didn’t they?
A virgin?
My, damned to hell lesbian, arse!

How many of you have said, “Oh, I have a gay friend, they are great laugh, I have no problem with it.”?
But how many of you would do the “No, I’m Spartacus” bit if they were getting seven shades of shit kicked out of them?
In your heads you’d like to think you would.
The reality is a lot different.

Ah, fuck it. I can’t be bothered. Nothing will change and I'll just wind myself up.

Sporrans, Swamps And Sport

The Scottish Sporran has fallen foul of the mental-ness that is European legislation.
A permit will be needed to wear one. They are traditionally made out of Otter or Wildcat fur and they are endangered species.
Some are made out of Badger and more scarily Hedgehog!
Jeez!
Not a mention of the fucking knives that are worn down the sock. Given that at least three teenagers have been stabbed to death in the last few days, it’s a bit fucking rich!

It has rained incessantly for the last 24 hours.
Glastonbury was a complete mud bath.
It always amazes me that people roll around in the stuff. I can never get it out of my head that, until a few weeks ago, cows were shitting and pissing in that field.
E.coli anyone?
Eating there would fill me with horror too.

“What can I get you?”
“Mmmm, I think I’ll have the Botulism Burger with a side order of Salmonella please.”
“There you go, that’ll be £12.50”.

Fuck that for a fun festival experience.
I have camped at Ullswater, in The Lake District, where it rained for three days solid.
I dug a trench around the tent with a dessert spoon to prevent the lot being washed away.
This just caused a torrent to rush through the tent in front. The occupants got a bit bitter and twisted, like I gave a shit.
They should have sorted out their own moat.

Wimbledon started today, so that’s rain guaranteed for the next fortnight.
It also guarantees that my housemates will hear the shout of,
“Married yet Virginia?”
Every time I hear her dulcet tones commentating!

In Memoriam

Last night I was thinking about my Aunty Rosie.
She was a ‘married in’ Aunt and not ‘the full shilling’ as my Grandfather used to say.
His own daughter is way more mental but as I have mentioned before, as an ’Aunt of the blood’ she was ‘highly strung’.
My Uncle had left her but never divorced her. I think it was useful to him when he wanted to fend off various girlfriends and their thoughts of marriage.
He supported her though. Paid the mortgage, paid for her car (including petrol), paid for his kids. She wanted for nothing like that but she only wanted him and never got anyone else.

Rosie was used as an unpaid babysitter for my sister and I during the summer holidays.
We were close in age to her kids and we all got on well. Paul was the brother I wanted and Anna was the sister mine wanted!
She took us on a day trip to France once and allowed my 12yr old cousin, Paul, to drive us all to the ferry port!
We also drank and smoked ourselves absolutely silly.
We used to convince her to drive us to Rowland’s Castle, where there was a hump back bridge.
Paul would push and hold her leg down on the accelerator and we would hit the top of it doing about 60mph!
One time the car bounced three or four times, we twatted our heads off the roof and totally fucked the axle!
Renault 12’s were not built for such abuse.
But laugh? Fuck me did we laugh!
We would spend our summers on the beach at Hayling Island with her. Drinking pop and eating ’sand’ sandwiches.

I was in Portugal when she died, too soon and too young. I missed her funeral.
She is buried a few rows away from my Grandfather and when I visit him I visit her.
I just wanted her remembered ’in words’- out there for the world to see.

Auntie Rosie, you were top drawer and I will never forget you.

Frogs And Fascists

I’m in Wiltshire for M’s first exhibition in a local Gallery. It was a great, pissed up, night and was a real success.
Have a look at http://www.madeinwiltshire.org.uk/.
When she eventually takes the disc in you will be able to see her photos on the website.

The weather today has alternated between monsoon and sunshine with it being unbearably muggy in between.
Most of the tadpoles in the pond have transformed into froglets and have moved out.
It’s horrible walking around trying not to stand on them or even worse, THINKING you are standing on them.


This has pissed me right off today.
Fuck off.
Where in the bible does it say to be a Christian you have to wear a silver ring?
Surely, it says quite the opposite. Shouldn’t she have given the money to the poor?
Why does she need to wear a ring to tell her to keep her knees together?
I saw her on the news and she seemed to be wearing clothes of more than one fabric, that’s a No No (Lev 19:19). I hope she attends a church that has no statues or Graven Images as they are known in the 10 commandments. She better be watching what she eats as well. A pork chop or a prawn will condemn her to hell before she gets a chance to fuck herself silly.
I could go on and on.
Funny how these ‘Christians’ only want to refer to the old testament when they want to Gay Bash.

Bugs, Storms And Spiders

Today has been sunny, muggy and I’ve been reading in the garden.
I was doing a mooch for snails among the fruit trees and saw this bad boy.
I have never seen one like this before. There are loads of different types out there.

The promised rain didn’t start spitting until about six this evening. Seagulls had been heading inland since about 4.30 so I’ve been out in the garden and battened down the hatches.
The thunder is grumbling and rolling in from the Solent and it’s going to be a bad one.
Pompey is quite well protected by the Isle of Wight to the south and Portsdown Hill to the north.
If a storm does come in though, it can’t ‘get out’ and it just bounces around over the Island until it has blown itself out.

As I was sat in my chair typing this, I felt something tickle my arm.
I moved it and a fucking great big black house spider was on me. The laptop was slung to the floor, I jumped up and the bastard shot under my chair.
I don’t mind spiders.
That is, ‘I don’t mind them existing’ but I don’t want to touch them and I certainly don’t want them running all over me.
That kind of shit will make me a bit stamp happy.
I thought I could cope knowing it was under there but I couldn’t.
Moving the chair I accidentally ran the fucker over and killed it.
Now I want to know, how do these things have babies? Are there eggs somewhere and how close to my chair are they likely to be?

Bruises, Tribes And Books

This is the attractive shade of purple my knee is today!
It also shows how shite at leg shaving I am but I held my hands up to that a long time ago.
Knees are fecking awkward shaped things to be messing about with, especially with something sharp.
From the look of it, I could also do with some sun before I get fucking Rickets.

A stroke of channel hopping luck meant that I surfed into one of my favourite episodes of ‘Tribe‘, with Bruce Parry.
A great series that follows Bruce as he totally immerses himself in the life and culture of some of the ‘last tribes’ of the world.
In this episode he spends time with the Sanema people of the Venezuelan Amazon and takes part in their Shamanistic festival.
Basically, his skin is painted and DMT is fired up his nose.
While he is preparing for his experience he comes out with some brilliant lines,
“I haven’t eaten in 24hrs, I’m wearing a second-hand loincloth, I’m covered in red paint and about to take a massive dose of Hallucinogen. Not your usual Thursday.”
Quite, Bruce. Quite.

The day has been gorgeous, although rain and storms of biblical proportions are forecast for tomorrow.
Wellies are going to be a must for Glastonbury, big time!
At 7.15pm I was sat on my apple tree log, with the ipod, a freezing cold bottle of Bud, the warm sun setting behind a horizon of roofs, reading Richard Dawkins’ The G-d Delusion.
Diablo Rojo by Rodrigo y Gabriela was shuffled into the mix and ironically, I’ve never felt more convinced that there WAS a Supreme Being.
I closed my eyes and absorbed the world from my little corner of it.
A moment of pure bliss.

I have finished Bogmail by Patrick McGinley and did The Portable Virgin by Anne Enright in one hit this morning.
Many thanks to Lenten for those.
I will get them logged on www.bookcrossing.com and ‘release’ some and take some to Canada for Schnee to read and release.
Dawkins and Will Self tomorrow.
Fabulous!

Splits And Spits

True to form, last night was a totally debauched affair.
Much, much wine was consumed and we tucked into Sassy’s Tortuga Rum.
Jaysus!
It’s fine until the fresh air gets to you.
As I was staggering up the path to the front door, I put a foot on a slippery leaf and did the splits.
I mean the FULL splits, one leg in front, one behind.
Today I can’t begin to tell you the pain I’m in.
I have strained parts of my groinal area that I’m not entirely sure ARE ’groin’. It’ll be a few days before I’m back on my bike, that‘s for sure!
I had to roll onto my side to get out of the hideous position I was in.
Being pissed out of my brain didn’t ease this.
As I tried to get up I slipped again, smashed my knee and have a painful purple bruise.
Cracking night!
Sassy knocks up an absolutely blinding curry with all the trimmings!

Mrs Next Door has relatives over from Hong Kong.
I think there are about 5 of them.
For such little people they make one hell of a noise moving about.
They seem to stamp everywhere they go in the house, so much so I thought people had broken into mine.
I had Chinese neighbours at my old place and they were exactly the same.
Moved around like a herd of bison.

I watched David Beckham’s last match for Real Madrid this evening. A match Real had to win to take the title and for some reason I wanted Beckham to leave Spain a winner.
They made hard work of it but eventually got the win.
Posh was there with their new best friends, Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes.
What really got on my tits was the need, of all three, to wear sunglasses.
This was an evening match, 9pm kick off, no fucking sun around then even in Spain.
If the lights were so bright they had to protect their eyes, how come the other 80 000 in the stadium didn’t?
Fucking tossers, using up seats that proper fans should have been in.

Tapas And Tunes

This photo shows the reason that Asda online should let me by veg by numbers, NOT by weight.
As you can see Leeks will be playing a huge part in our diet this coming week!


I managed to use quite a bit of it last night.
The BIG little brother and Tashy came round for Tapas-y food. Tashy is a vegetarian so there were only a couple of meat dishes. Nearly all the ingredients we had are considered excellent for those having Chemo as well, which is great.
They also brought their Top 5 cd's with them for me to rip onto the Apple.
This is a new rule at Sleepy Mansions for all who come to eat!
We munched, laughed, drank six bottles of wine and I have 9 new albums.


This is what some of those leeks and potatoes became.
The non posh glass in the foreground is mine. I can't be trusted with the 'crystal' so drink out of, what was once, a Nutella jar!
I almost have a complete set and ironically haven't broken a single fecking one!
It's early days yet and Crisp-e and I haven't got pissed in the garden for a while!


The third dish up is stuffed vine leaves that I make using the Sleepy Mansions vine.
Somehow they taste better because of it.
It doesn't seem to produce nice grapes but I'm determined to eat some part of it, seeing as I have to prune and contain the thing.








This is what it looked like at the end. Minimal left overs for lunch today!
I had my Brother drinking from a Nutella jar by the end and we decided that Poteen would probably taste excellent out of them. We also wondered how much effort there would be involved in setting up a still.
We were onto the Vodka by this point.

Tonight, 'the usual suspects' are all round to Sassy Manor for food and fun.

Lenten.. We will set a place for you.

*f.e.c.... Freaking, Enmity And Chemo

People, I am totally freaking out.
The subject of ‘Heidi’ came up last night.
German girl, hills, goat boys and ‘The Grandfather’, you know the one.
The version I’m talking about is the German one released in 1978.

Katia Polletin played the lead character.
In ‘78, I was 8. I loved Heidi, but with hindsight I realise I had a serious crush on Katia. I knew I wanted to do something with her but I was unsure of what. To me, she was gorgeous.
So, I had a mooch on imdb to show the others the one I meant.
I found her. But no picture, google images supplied that.
Now this is wear the freaking begins.
When I look at pictures of a pretty child, whom I used to fancy rotten, does this make me a FUCKING NONCE!
I DO NOT fancy kids, but I still have the memories of the feelings, the kid I was had.
Fuck, that is a really clumsy sentence and I’m not sure if it makes sense, but I know what I mean.
To make it worse, some fecking ponce in Massachusetts got to my blog by typing, ’Paedophiles in Cobh’ into google search.
WTF!

Katia, never acted again, so there are no pictures of her as an adult! I am sure she is gorgeous.
I need to see pictures of her as an adult.
My sanity depends on it.
So, Katia when you google your name and this comes up, have a heart!
A small passport sized photo will do.

I went with Claire for her first lot of Chemotherapy today.
The appointment was for 9.30am and we were there in good time.
At 10.10am a large, flustered woman, whose trousers were just that bit too short, came and told us there were no drugs for Claire.
The Consultant hadn’t done the prescription.
Fucking Great.
Poor Claire, sat there shitting a brick about the treatment and they tell her it’s going to be twenty minutes longer.
Nice one Dr Caroline Archer, you complete cunt.

We went for a coffee and then, for me to have a smoke, off hospital grounds.
Have to be right off the site. Bollocks.
Back we trundled.
I was getting more and more agitated and sarcastic.
At 11.55am I could contain myself no longer.
I looked at Claire. She knew what was coming, half rolled her eyes and nodded.
Off I went to the desk and asked if there was any FUCKING danger of Claire having a MORNING appointment.
Which for me, was extremely restrained.
If it had been my appointment there would have been constant, far louder swearing and possibly chair kicking.
Actually, I tell a lie.
I wouldn’t be in a NHS hospital, fucking BUPA all the way here!
You can't be TOO Socialist with your health.

12.30pm we were taken through to a suite of rooms with recliner chairs and drip stands.
Claire got a nice corner position and the nurse went through her spiel.
I think on your notes, along with DOB, Bloods etc, should be your level of academic attainment.
Jeez! Talk about being spoken to like an idiot.
When she told Claire she had to take the anti sickness pill after, then see if she felt nauseous, I had to jump in and ask how she would know she felt nauseous, if she had taken a pill to stop that very thing?
I don’t think she liked me.

I went for a wander with ipod ‘John’ and ended up in the Chapel.
The pews were horrible to sit on so I laid down.
I was listening to Elgar’s cello concerto, communing with my G-d. When some Vicar-y type (Black shirt, white collar) slapped my leg and said,
“You can’t do that here”.
I asked him what he was on about.
He told me I ‘Couldn’t just lay there’ and I told him I wasn’t.
He asked me what I WAS doing.
This is how it went.

“I think you’ll find I’m in my Father’s House communicating with him in the way that suits me best.
In fact, I am SO at home here I see this as my ‘bedroom’ (I did the fingers in air thing), so would you kindly fuck off and leave me to it”.
I stuck the headphone back in my ear and he, indeed, fucked off.
Knobber.

2.30pm we got out.
2 fucking 30!
My nicotine levels were so low I was close to a ‘Nicobetes’ hypo.
I lit up in the car park. An amazing social test. At least 6 other people saw me smiled, pulled out their smokes and sparked up!
That’s as near to Revolution as I got today.
It’s a start.

Claire was patient, brave and brilliant and I’m a little fuzzy as to who was there for support…..

*This is the Chemo

Meters, War And Spices

The first face I saw today belonged to the Meter Reader.
A sullen Scotsman who told me what he was here for and that he had a bad back.
It seemed very random at the time but there was method in his madness.
He got me rummaging in the cupboard doing his fucking job for him!
When I stood up, he was leaning against the airing cupboard door, a study in pain.
I gave him one of my Ibuprofen and sent him on his way.
My good deed for the day out of the way early on.
Splendid!

News from the Middle East caught my eye.
I know lots of people, who over the years and various conflicts have thought,
“Fuck it! Build a wall around the lot of them and let the fuckers get on with it”.
It was my Grandfather’s thought on Northern Ireland and a few other places.
Israel had a go at building the wall and everyone was outraged.
Now news from the Gaza Strip is about Arab shooting Arab.
They are getting on with it.

Although, to me, Fatah and Hamas sound like warring factions of a Mediterranean Restaurant’s Starter menu.
I may begin my own Middle Class faction called, The Baba Ganoush or The Falafel Freedom Fighters.
I haven’t decided which will sound more sinister when I do the youtube video in my crocheted balaclava, beheading tofu with a fine Sabatier knife to the soundtrack of ‘All Around My Hat’.

While we are warmongering.
Thatcher has been on the TV today. Falklands Anniversary and all that.
I know she’s had a stroke, but Jesus!
Does it make your voice drop two Octaves? She could sing Bass now!

Who else has a Spice cupboard that is a cross between a Mensa Spatial awareness test, Jenga and a memory game?
Every time I open the bastard door something falls out and hits me in the head or drops on my knuckles.
I get rage-y then and stuff gets thrown around.
Tomorrow everything is coming out of it and rearrangement will commence.

Also, what is the etiquette with Pernod?
Is it Pernod then water or water then Pernod?
See the dilemmas I am presented with during the course of my day!

Hormones, Ponds And Graves

John, my ipod, seems to be having a bit of a crisis.
It’s called ‘John’, after the music god, John Peel.
(All genuflect and hum a few bars of Teenage Kicks.)
This is a sample of the shuffle list from the last couple of days.

* Mornings Eleven - The Magic Numbers
* More Rock ‘n’ Roll - Ruarri Joseph
* I Robot - Save The Robot
* Depeche Mode - Blasphemous Rumours
* Back To Black - Amy Winehouse
* Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd
* Teenagers - My Chemical Romance
* Knights Of Cydonia - Muse
* The Future - Leonard Cohen
* Going To A Town - Rufus Wainwright
* Close to Me (Remix) - The Cure
* The Staunton Lick - Lemon Jelly
* Bang Bang You’re Dead - Dirty Pretty Things
* Robot On Drugs - Save The Robot
* Fly Me To The Moon - Frank Sinatra
* Empire - Kasabian
* Trains To Brazil - Guillemots
* Steal Away - The Furies

See what I mean? The fucker is sentient!
For the most part, I’d say it was a little bit depressed and a bit hormonal.
I wonder if it has synchronised with me?
I’d better not think about that too deeply, not while I’m this wrecked!
Save The Robot would also suggest some MDMA and Cocaine use that ’John’ has kept secret from me.
The last tune convinced me that anyone with a tin whistle, pint of Guiness and a supply of Prozac can write an Irish song.
I missed breakfast this morning and was hungry, I nearly have a fecking Album.

I have ‘planted’ a pond in my garden!
Well, a massive yellow bucket affair from B&Q is now full of water and some bricks.

Just have to wait for creatures to move in now.
The huge old Apple tree trunk that I was going to chop up for logs is now a make shift ‘seat’ and flower bed.

Its' also a place for frogs and newts to mooch about.
Maybe a bog garden if I get some membrane. We’ll see.
Hopefully Crisp-e will sort me out a bunch of Canadian Pondweed and M in Wiltshire will let me have some snails.
I have raided Sassy’s Garden for lumps of white stone to go round the edge. I will have to do another bagful.
For protection.
I found the Tortoise, on his back, at the bottom of the hole this morning and he doesn’t look like he’d be much of a swimmer.

The hole was dug on Sunday and the ‘bucket’ fit perfectly.
If there is anything useful my Dad has taught me, it’s how to dig a hole.
I can actually dig a grave. And have done!
It was one of the tests everyone on his firm had to be able to pass, and as his daughter, I had to be very good indeed.
If you couldn’t dig a grave without the sides collapsing, you didn’t last a week.
Dad’s reasoning being,

“If they can’t be trained to dig a fucking ‘ole, they can’t be trained for fuckin’ much, can they Babe? Get rid of ‘im!”

I have to admit he had a point.
This was back in the day of the Youth Training Scheme (YTS) and Dad could get through two, sometimes three a week!
Jumped up little tossers who thought they were going to be laying bricks their first day.

Shears, Sugar And Shite

I’ve been a bit MIA today.
It’s been nice.
Flitting from thing to thing, starting something and not finishing it until a few hours later.
I’ve been stoned since about 11 this morning and have kept it going, not allowing for any ‘breakthrough straightness’.

I have taught myself how to sharpen garden shears without any life threatening injuries being incurred.
You all know what I can do to myself with Wire Wool.
I used the sharpening stone, WD40 and just tried to remember what the Grandfather did.
There was the temptation to use the brilliant knife sharpening steel that Crisp-e bought me.
As the thought popped into my head I knew it was a bad idea and it would end in stitches.
I listened to Sensible Sleepy.

Now for a Housemate rant.
We are going to have to work out a better system for indicating that something has run out.
There is no plain white flour in the house.
There is wholemeal shite, stone-ground wholemeal shite, Half & Half wholemeal shite, self raising and one that was fucking extinct for a bastard millennia, Spelt or something.
We have endless types of sugar.
White sugar, Icing sugar, Caster sugar, Black Sugar, Brown Sugar. Sugar that looks like bits of amber, sugar that you can’t even get a spoon in and fucking Sugar Cubes!
Plain fucking flour? Is there buggery.

Today was the day the ‘Green Bin’ is emptied.
People, I am indignant.
I had an ‘Admonishment’ hanging from the handle.
A piece of recycled card, that looks like the “Fuck Off, I’m Shagging” signs from hotel rooms.
Apparently, “Today they have noticed I have included….” stuff that cannot be recycled.
Mmmm. Here is a selection from the choice they gave me.
Glass bottles.
Drinks Cartons.
Foil.
Plastic Packaging e.g Food trays, tubs and pots..
Well, you get the idea.
They tell me to go to the Bottle Bank for the glass and just to ditch the other stuff in black bags, for landfill I suppose.

This is where the money is people.
If you have ‘spare’ money invest in any kind of ‘green’ rubbish collection.
Especially ‘Curb-side Collections’.
People are inherently lazy.
‘Where there’s muck there’s brass’ as the saying goes.
I say, Where there’s recycled muck, there’s DOUBLE the brass.
You will make a mint.
To those of you who took my advice, 12 years ago, to invest in Russian Gas companies.
Now do you believe me?
And this is the last ’Freebie’ you get!

Proxy Tutting

This morning I awoke at 6.30am.
I got up had some tea and toast, had a joint, indulged in some light self abuse and went to the 10.15am Mass!

This is where G-d had a little ironic chuckle at my expense and hit me with the instant Karma thing.
It wasn’t until I was well into ‘singing Hosanna to the King of Kings’ that I saw the little white dresses trundling up the centre of the church.
In my head, I did the slow motion, “NOOOOoooooooooo! Fuck Off!”.
It was too late, I was boxed in. Pillar one end, old dears with sticks and handbags the other.
I had to stay.
First Holy Communion.
Pet Catholic hate Number One!
The noise of kids was deafening.
I couldn’t hear the priest, he couldn’t hear himself and I could see him fiddling under his dress to turn up his mic.
I presume that was what he was doing, he got louder whatever he was up to.
I then realised I had unwittingly sat in ‘Tutters Row’, smack bang behind Church Nutter!
He is a rocker, a clapper and an own head slapper.
The Tutters tutted every scream, cry, giggle, hand clap, head slap and Shhh there was!

The joint kicked in, I got my grin on and started to enjoy myself.
I nearly burst when ’Head Slapper’ leant across the front of the woman next to him and started blowing gently into the air.
The lady, on her knees, started to do that shuffle thing, away from him, thinking that this was some kind of Loony Augustinian foreplay.
I thought it was quite sweet.
The sun had caught all the specks of dust in the air and he was blowing them away from himself and her.
I took communion.
This is the Priest I have an arrangement with, if he refuses me Communion in front of the whole church, I will punch him where he stands.
Seems fair to me. He lives with it.
Through all the bits I couldn’t hear, mainly due to the tutting and stick dropping, all I had in my head was this.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=cxS9qSU-25E

And as she says, “… Even sinners have a soul”.

I don’t know what made me go today.
Maybe I was the ‘proxy’ for an amazingly patient woman in the West of Ireland, who sometimes doesn’t make it because of her husband’s Alzheimer’s.
Somehow, I feel I earn her double points if I go.
Like offsetting your Carbon Footprint.
She gets the cynical, misanthropic, homosexual saying prayers, and she earns serious ‘Holy Miles’!
So, if you feel like offsetting your ‘Catholic Footprint’, have this one on me.
I also took the huge hint and said prayers for four kids, a Dad and a Mum.

Shalom

Rings, Floaters And Flies

I woke up to a gorgeous day and a dilemma.
Do I get straight out into the garden and start doing something, finish scraping the Railings or ease into the day with the BBC’s Saturday Kitchen and a bit of internet porn.
As it turned out I couldn’t concentrate on anything.
My day has felt very disjointed and unsettled.

My favourite line of the day occurred on the lunchtime news concerning Bush meeting the Pope.
The presenter said with a straight face, which leads me to believe it was a bet,
‘The President dispensed with kissing the Papal ring’.
I was on my own and I laughed out loud!
I’m sure he fucking did!

This afternoon I went out in the garden. I cut the grass with shears until I got bored.
I rolled a joint, stuck the Magic Numbers on the ipod and laid down in the cut grass.
I was looking at the shapes the ‘floaters’ in my eyes make. There is one that looks like a cross between a Dragon and a Seahorse. If I move my eyes slightly it moves by bending in half.
Some are just spots that drop, slowly, from top to bottom.
Some dart away as you try and look at them and you are never quite sure what shape they are.
There was not a song on the album I didn’t like. I recommend giving it a go.

I came in to be confronted by one of my absolute pet hates.
Fucking flies.
Why can they get themselves in the fucking house but not out?
Bastards.
Some flies I can deal with, for a bit, but the Raid WILL come out.
But some are SO fucking loud and buzzy.
I have spent the last hour or so, sat with a can of Raid, committing murder.

The Raid certainly takes the ‘Buzzy’ ones down an octave or two but it makes them fucking unpredictable.
They go into kamikaze mode and ricohet off everything.
Then there is the flying 5 inches off the floor stage, finishing with the ‘Breakdance’ back spin that can go on for hours.
With……. A……… Sporadic……… Buzz……..
Long after you have forgotten it’s there!
Late at night, when you are on your own and stoned, it can scare the shite out of you!

Undies, Banging And Words

I had an underwear panic this morning.
I put on a new bra, then wasn’t sure if ‘everything’ was in its usual position.
To tell the truth I’m not really sure what the slide-y things on the shoulder are for or why I need three different settings at the back.
Nothing worse than seeing a chest with one nipple looking for shoes and the other searching for aircraft.
Well, for me anyway.
I nearly trotted down to Sassy to ask if my ‘Bristol’s’ were aligned but thought the question;
‘Do my tits look like they normally do?’ would be a bit hectic with a minor hangover and possibly socially awkward in the long run.

I tried not to think about it and set about Cillit Bang-ing the house to within an inch of its life.
I used a whole bottle of the shit!
Each time I went for a whiz I cleaned a different thing. Bath the first time, then the sink, then the bog. I shut the door and applied the same principle to the downstairs facility.
I find it so boring doing it all in one hit.
Even the doors and skirting boards got done before I could smoke my ‘Inner ATM’ into submission.
I didn’t touch the Hoover, so that’s progress and good weed!

The bra panic returned later in the afternoon, when I opened the door to a male acquaintance I haven’t seen in a while, and he looked straight at my tits before my face.

Why does the word Spinster sound so much more horrible than Bachelor?
Why does Midge Ure always look like ‘somebody else’?
I always think,
‘Oh, that’s Midge Ure’, then I’m not sure it’s him until he’s introduced.
Then I get myself pissed off because I can’t think who he does remind me of.

Shampoo And Shrines

This morning I got shampoo in my fecking eye.
I was so cross!
I had forgotten what a stingy bastard that is, but it immediately transported me back to my childhood.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who can remember being sat in the bath, with a folded flannel over my face, as ATM poured jugs of water over my head.
The flannel was to keep the stingy shampoo out of my eyes.
For some reason I used to hold my breath, thinking that I would drown otherwise!
We then progressed onto the shower contraption with rubber bits that were jammed onto the taps.
Ours was used over the kitchen sink, with the person receiving the ‘hair wash’ holding the things on the taps.
The water pressure would fire them off, soaking all concerned in the process if you didn‘t.
When my Grandmother or ATM washed their hair, they would wind a towel up into a turban type affair around their heads.
I’ve NEVER managed to do that!
They could walk around, vacuum and wash up in theirs; I couldn’t even walk out of the bathroom without it all collapsing.

I have a question.

The Chemist has been in Sligo visiting the Nutty Daddy and the Sane Mammy.
A trip to the shrine at Knock was involved.
Knowing my absolute horror of the place she attempted to buy me a Virgin Mary with a twist off head, full of Holy Water.
I shudder at the thought.
The Anti Terror Laws saved me from that nastiness.
Not allowed more than 100mls of fluid in hand luggage!
Instead, I have a Tricolour-ed stick of ‘Knock Rock’ with every E number imaginable in it!

But back to my question.
Is there a dispensation for Holy Water on flights?

All reading for fun is on hold in the ‘Collective’ at the moment.
Claire, bought and read, The Breast Cancer Book by Val Sampson and Debbie Fenlon.
Claire is a very reserved person and kind offers from people to, ‘introduce her to someone who has been through it’ are just not her.
Like some of us (Not you Crisp-e! Before you get all hectic again!!) pick up our information through reading, Claire is one of those.
She reckons the book is excellent, so we are all reading it.
Sassy after me!
Schnee, perhaps you could suggest it to Canadian Karen and her ‘readers’.
She had her MRI today and starts chemotherapy next Thursday at St Mary’s.
From then on Sleepy Mansions will be a ‘Smoke Free Zone’.
I know, I know…. I bitch about the smoking ban but that I count as the body Nazis bullying me.
Chemo can make people feel really sick.
Smoking stinks.
I don’t want anything in the house to make Claire feel any worse.

On a brighter note..
HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Sassy!
The Birthday Cake we started this afternoon has been decimated.

Trains And Popemobiles

Today I suffered the horror that is Great Western Trains.
The train from Cardiff to Portsmouth is really busy.
Loads of students, tourists, skates heading back to Pompey the lot.
How many carriages are there?
Two fucking carriages!
There was no way I was paying £33 to fucking stand from Westbury to Fratton.
The Hippy, who elbowed his way on in front of me, dropped his stinking rucksack and Hoola Hoop (I shit you not! One of those things kids swing round their waists) in the space for wheelchairs and pissed off.
I slung all his shite out of the way and planted myself in the space.
I was working on the theory that a skinny twat with a fucking HOOLA HOOP was going to put up little resistance.
I was right.

My favourite piece of TV of the day was that geezer trying to jump on the Popemobile.
The Vatican say,
‘He showed signs of a Mental Imbalance’.
You think?
What struck me as odd was B16 didn’t even turn round.
This Loon was German; he looked like he was shouting which I presume would have been in Germish.
The man in the white dress didn’t stop waving.
He obviously wasn’t educated by the Christian Brothers; he would have been acutely attuned to any assault from the rear if he had.

As you can see, some of the tadpoles now have arms!

Wilting In Wiltshire

Today has been a gorgeous one.
Frigging hot though!
We walked for ages. Through fields, along the canal had some munch at Pewsey Wharf and back through the village.
Superb!
I faced down a ‘fierce’ Bull with a twig (all I know about bovines I learned from Withnail and I, not great!) and Jessie the Irish hound ended up with cow shite socks.
Some of the fields were quite boggy and shitty.
Along the canal we saw fish, dragonflies, butterflies, crayfish, swallows, and all sorts of bugs and creepy crawlies.
I still haven’t seen a Kingfisher, which is a real bugger!
But I refuse to sit in full camouflage gear for hours and hours just ’waiting’ for a blur of blue to pass me by like an F14!

I love being in the countryside but I do miss the sea.
I honestly believe that there is a split between ‘coastal’ people and ‘country’ people, but each have merits.
I think I must be coastal. The canals and the rivers are great but there is just something about the raw power of the sea.

Jess the Hound trying to 'blend' in with her surroundings! Just after this photo and we'd walked on a bit, the fecker laid down, couldn't be seen and refused to respond to her name.

There's no bossing an Irish Girl!

Up In Smoke

I have been thinking about the impending smoking ban and the absolute glee the body Nazis have when they tell you about it.
Yeah! Alright! I fucking know!
Pasty fucking vegetarians sneering and taking joy in my upcoming difficulties.
‘I’ll be able to report you!” said one, cheerfully.
Thing is, they are going to die too.
Somehow they have it in their heads that by NOT smoking they will live for ever.
I would love it if some PhD student discovered lentils, puy beans and chick peas were stuffed full of carcinogens and other nasty shit.
These people must be contributing to the hole in the ozone layer or do they fart perfume and shit sustainable fuels?
I think not.

To quote the genius Bill Hicks,
“I smoke. If this bothers anyone, I suggest you look around at the world in which we live and shut your fucking mouth”.
Oh yes!

The weird thing is, all these places that will have to ban smoking, I could go into the toilets and shoot up Heroin without a problem.
I can drink myself into a state of violence.
I can gorge myself into a 40 stone monster, incapable of working, and the state would have to support me.
If I had an ASBO, I could flout it constantly and nothing would happen.
If I sparked up a cigarette in an airport I could be detained indefinitely under the ‘anti terror laws’.
What a load of fucking shit.

Derby Day

I wasn’t much impressed with England last night. Yet again, they managed to snatch a draw from the jaws of victory.
It was nice to see Beckham playing at the new Wembley and there were some good individual performances, his included.
But on the whole, they weren’t much cop.
Was Lampard even playing?
Another thing I’ve noticed is to do with National Anthems. Why do South American anthems always have such long intros? Same with Italy, the singing seems to start suddenly, halfway through.
While on the subject of Italians.
FRANKIE DETTORI! After 14 attempts he has won The Derby!
What a horse! What a Jockey!

There was a programme on BBC2 called The Victoria Cross: For Valour.
It was a documentary about the award and those who received it.
People, I cried.
Some of the stories were so amazing, I sat opened mouthed.
The Ghurka in Burma who was the furthest forward, throwing grenades out of his dug out as fast as they were coming in. One blew in his hand, taking off his fingers and shattering his arm.
He was loading and shooting his rifle with one hand. When support arrived, he had repelled the attack and there were 31 enemy dead.
Robert Henry Cain at Arnhem, had a shell more or less explode in his face as he was firing on tanks. He went blind for a bit but when his sight returned he was back at it. Shrapnel was stuck in his blackened face and his trousers had been blown off.

Heroes.

These men didn’t come home with any kind of “Syndrome” or looking for compensation.
They fought for King and Country.
Having taught History I know our kids don’t get told about heroes anymore.
No more Nelson’s, No more Monty’s.
They ‘write’ essays about Vietnam.
I say ‘write’, but they are given a Writing Frame which they basically copy into their own words, if capable, or word for word if not.
As Jeremy Clarkson, who was presenting, said
‘….. and Beckham is a hero for scoring a penalty’.

Loz, Nymphs And Lymph

Today my niece is 18.
I was there when she was born and I thought she was brilliant from the start.
She used to love to read and when she was 5 we found an encyclopaedia under her pillow.
The Sister asked her what it was there for and she replied,
“It’s where I get my information” but with a tone in her voice that said,
‘Are you fucking stupid or what?’ I laughed so much.
Sometimes ATM used to look at her, forehead creased up, point between us and say,
“That, should be yours”.
THAT? Jesus! I’m not sure who that says the most about.
Fortunately, she is a ‘Girlie Girl’ and would go looking at clothes and jewellery for hours on end.
‘Shopping’, ATM and the Sister call it. To my mind ‘Shopping’ implies purchasing something that you have been looking at. I can’t remember that happening too much.
I am so proud that she has managed to break the cycle of her mother and ATM and get past 17, childless.
Nice one Loz. Love you.

Tadpoles have sprouted legs!
Well, some of them have. The newts are very active. The male is covered in spots, his tail is crinkly on top and his belly is bright orange.
His ‘pulling clothes’ according to the book.
Pulled an Emperor Dragonfly nymph out of the pond. Photographed and slung it back.
First one I’ve seen in this form. 2 years they are a nymph then last a matter of days once they hatch out.
Such a shame.

Housemate Claire went for her appointment with the Cancer people yesterday.
She starts Chemotherapy next week but has to have more scans of her lymph system.
I am scared for her, really frightened.
She doesn’t smoke, she doesn’t really drink, she doesn’t do drugs, she runs the Brownies, she is a good person.
It’s not right.