An almost endless convoy of 4X4’s and People Carriers have arrived to pay homage to next door’s new arrival.
I don’t think the new parents have been too impressed by my railing scraping activities.
Windows were shut, with venom.
But when am I supposed to do it?
The new baby seems to cry all the time so I can’t be waking it up.
The gate has loads of curly bits on it which is taking forever and requires me to exchange skin from my knuckles for the paint.
A painstaking job, in every sense.
If I’m honest, Nitromors in a graze isn’t my most favourite activity with a sting.
I’m praying for rain, but the weather people cheerily inform me that August is going to be totally sunny and hot.
Which means no excuse not to do the frigging railings.
Had a groovy visit from Mad Matt this afternoon. He had hideous tales from Mayhem and I was so glad not to work there anymore.
Good to hear how people are doing though.
I am mashed, my back is killing me and my knees are a study in pain.
If I ever show signs of ‘DIY’ again people, stage an intervention.
Do whatever it takes to stop me.
Removing the wine from my vicinity is always a good start.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
News, Stripping And Marrow
I think me and my paper ‘fugee are going to fall out, I’ve already had a bit of a shout.
He looked blank and nodded a lot.
The ‘Final’ of the local paper is out early afternoon.
I used to get it about 3.30pm.
It’s now regularly arriving at 7.30pm.
That’s too late.
To me, it’s old news by then and I don’t want to read it. I’m the same if someone reads it before me. I used to get ‘ragey’ about that.
It’s MY paper, I get to go first.
I’m a lot better since I started reading the national papers online.
But the one that comes through the door, is mine.
I’ve been back out at the railings.
Remember those?
The ones I started stripping months ago.
I can no longer use ‘shitty weather’ and ‘injury’ as an excuse not to do it.
Curses!
Thanks to Sassy the Stripper for her help today.
You need to see her in her yellow ‘marigolds’.
It’s a vision from G-d people, I’m telling you, a vision from G-d.
I’ve learned today, that cutting a marrow in half, is a two person job and if one is stoned, a three person endeavour.
There are hidden perils.
Like a wafer thin half and a fat fucker half.
It’s like that old recipe for Jugged Hare that begins,
“First, catch your Hare”.
Mmmmm.
Slightly more complicated than first anticipated.
Thus went my experience with Stuffed Marrow.
From raw they take fecking ages to bake.
Another surprise.
For something so full of water.
My Grandmother used to whip one up in minutes, or so it seemed.
This bastard was in there an hour and a half and still wasn’t quite done when I dished it up, but I was hungry.
I roasted it with plums from the tree (that I thought was an apple tree for 4 years) in the garden, they were lovely and sweet.
He looked blank and nodded a lot.
The ‘Final’ of the local paper is out early afternoon.
I used to get it about 3.30pm.
It’s now regularly arriving at 7.30pm.
That’s too late.
To me, it’s old news by then and I don’t want to read it. I’m the same if someone reads it before me. I used to get ‘ragey’ about that.
It’s MY paper, I get to go first.
I’m a lot better since I started reading the national papers online.
But the one that comes through the door, is mine.
I’ve been back out at the railings.
Remember those?
The ones I started stripping months ago.
I can no longer use ‘shitty weather’ and ‘injury’ as an excuse not to do it.
Curses!
Thanks to Sassy the Stripper for her help today.
You need to see her in her yellow ‘marigolds’.
It’s a vision from G-d people, I’m telling you, a vision from G-d.
I’ve learned today, that cutting a marrow in half, is a two person job and if one is stoned, a three person endeavour.
There are hidden perils.
Like a wafer thin half and a fat fucker half.
It’s like that old recipe for Jugged Hare that begins,
“First, catch your Hare”.
Mmmmm.
Slightly more complicated than first anticipated.
Thus went my experience with Stuffed Marrow.
From raw they take fecking ages to bake.
Another surprise.
For something so full of water.
My Grandmother used to whip one up in minutes, or so it seemed.
This bastard was in there an hour and a half and still wasn’t quite done when I dished it up, but I was hungry.
I roasted it with plums from the tree (that I thought was an apple tree for 4 years) in the garden, they were lovely and sweet.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Lava And Recovery
Housemates and houseguests, I would just like to take this opportunity to remind you of the quirky, somewhat Heath Robinson, nature of our hot water and heating system.
When a person is in the shower and you turn a tap on in the kitchen, the nature of the shower water is transformed.
In fact it turns the water into something akin to Lava Flow.
If you flush the downstairs lavatory, Lava Flow.
If you put your laundry on, Lava Flow.
If you use the hose in the garden, Lava Flow.
You get the idea.
This morning my relaxing shower almost turned into a trip to fucking Odstock!
I won’t name names but you know who you are.
Grrrrr.
Sleepy Mansions played host to one of its notoriously debauched dinners last night.
Today I’ve had one of those weird hangovers.
The disembodied kind.
I didn’t feel sick, my head didn’t hurt but I felt like someone had kicked seven shades of shit out of me.
Paying particular attention to my ribs and lower back.
Made all the freakier by one of last nights guests sending me ‘phone pictures of Morris Dancers.
A fetish that she is obviously just feeling comfortable enough to come out about.
As part of my recovery, I have watched the film ‘Alexander’ this afternoon.
Not exactly what I’ve read about him, but enjoyable enough.
I can’t claim to be a huge Colin Farrell fan either, but does he look a total prick with blond hair?
Or is that just me?
At least I had Dexter to look forward to.
I know where I am with a serial killer.
Far more at home.
When a person is in the shower and you turn a tap on in the kitchen, the nature of the shower water is transformed.
In fact it turns the water into something akin to Lava Flow.
If you flush the downstairs lavatory, Lava Flow.
If you put your laundry on, Lava Flow.
If you use the hose in the garden, Lava Flow.
You get the idea.
This morning my relaxing shower almost turned into a trip to fucking Odstock!
I won’t name names but you know who you are.
Grrrrr.
Sleepy Mansions played host to one of its notoriously debauched dinners last night.
Today I’ve had one of those weird hangovers.
The disembodied kind.
I didn’t feel sick, my head didn’t hurt but I felt like someone had kicked seven shades of shit out of me.
Paying particular attention to my ribs and lower back.
Made all the freakier by one of last nights guests sending me ‘phone pictures of Morris Dancers.
A fetish that she is obviously just feeling comfortable enough to come out about.
As part of my recovery, I have watched the film ‘Alexander’ this afternoon.
Not exactly what I’ve read about him, but enjoyable enough.
I can’t claim to be a huge Colin Farrell fan either, but does he look a total prick with blond hair?
Or is that just me?
At least I had Dexter to look forward to.
I know where I am with a serial killer.
Far more at home.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Caution
I think I’d just like to send a cautionary word to the people in Turkey and Egypt plus the two in California who have ended up at my blog by typing “Gril Fucker” in to their search engine.
If I can see what you are up to, so can the authorities.
I am, of course, presuming that this is because you have misspelled ‘Girl’.
You fucking sick bastards.
Funnily enough they end up at the post about Sassy’s Cats!
While on the subject of nonces, *Chris Langham.
The actor who is on trial for downloading kiddie porn and having a sexual relationship with a 14 year old.
He has been claiming that he only looked for ‘research’ purposes.
Yesterday in court he said that he was sexually abused as an eight year old when his family lived in Canada.
Doesn’t that kind of negate the need for ‘research’?
You’ve fucking lived it! You Nonce
He wept in the dock and said, ‘I’m not a paedophile’.
If you have sex with 14 year old, YES YOU ARE!
If you want to watch it online, YES YOU ARE!
Astronauts have been going into Space after a night on the piss.
Well, Wouldn’t you?
After Challenger spectacularly decorating the sky and the last one coming back with bits and fucking pieces hanging off it!
Just think about what you are sat on and how it’s propelling you into the universe.
I like a ‘Rush’ as much as the next man, but Fuck That!
You’d have to be on something.
Cousin M and I spent the day drinking tea, getting wrecked and watching films.
Most satisfactory.
I send apologies for getting Mr & Mrs Crisp-e out of their ‘hangover bed’ at the unholy hour of 11.40am, by ringing their doorbell insistently!
I hope you are both feeling much better!
Mr and Mrs Next Door have another little girl.
She cries.
Watch this space......
*Homophobes please note, He is heterosexual.
If I can see what you are up to, so can the authorities.
I am, of course, presuming that this is because you have misspelled ‘Girl’.
You fucking sick bastards.
Funnily enough they end up at the post about Sassy’s Cats!
While on the subject of nonces, *Chris Langham.
The actor who is on trial for downloading kiddie porn and having a sexual relationship with a 14 year old.
He has been claiming that he only looked for ‘research’ purposes.
Yesterday in court he said that he was sexually abused as an eight year old when his family lived in Canada.
Doesn’t that kind of negate the need for ‘research’?
You’ve fucking lived it! You Nonce
He wept in the dock and said, ‘I’m not a paedophile’.
If you have sex with 14 year old, YES YOU ARE!
If you want to watch it online, YES YOU ARE!
Astronauts have been going into Space after a night on the piss.
Well, Wouldn’t you?
After Challenger spectacularly decorating the sky and the last one coming back with bits and fucking pieces hanging off it!
Just think about what you are sat on and how it’s propelling you into the universe.
I like a ‘Rush’ as much as the next man, but Fuck That!
You’d have to be on something.
Cousin M and I spent the day drinking tea, getting wrecked and watching films.
Most satisfactory.
I send apologies for getting Mr & Mrs Crisp-e out of their ‘hangover bed’ at the unholy hour of 11.40am, by ringing their doorbell insistently!
I hope you are both feeling much better!
Mr and Mrs Next Door have another little girl.
She cries.
Watch this space......
*Homophobes please note, He is heterosexual.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Floods And The Beyond
More flood irritation.
A new word seems to have entered our vocabulary.
It’s certainly entered mine.
Bowsers. Not even sure if that’s how you spell it.
These are the big blue water containers that are on the streets of those areas without any.
I have NEVER heard this word before and I’m sure I’m not the only one.
Now reporters are using it in nearly all their reports as if we should know exactly what they are talking about.
I thought they were supposed to inform AND educate us.
Here’s a word for you that needs no explanation,
Tossers.
My Great Grandmother ’saw’ things when her hands were in water and my Grandmother ’saw’ things in fire.
My paternal Great Grandmother was an Irish ‘Traveller’ and she ’knew’ stuff as well. But I didn’t know her well or long enough to find out how she picked up her information.
When I was ten I was rushed to hospital, from school, with a dodgy appendix and my Nan was there before the ambulance.
She had seen it in the fire.
I have what I call my ’feelings of dread’. It’s feels like a tennis ball of lead in the pit of my stomach.
Remember that feeling of being sat outside the Head’s office or waiting for parents to find out something naughty you have done?
It’s very similar to that.
The last ’dread’ feeling was when cousin Markus’s Granddad died.
Markus arrived 2 hours later and told me what had happened and the feeling went.
But I also have dreams.
Which for someone who sleeps as little as I do is rare!
I had a dream about my Aunt when she died, I saw her with blood around her mouth and later found out she died of a burst stomach ulcer.
I don’t claim to hear voices but I would be interested if anybody else has similar experiences.
A new word seems to have entered our vocabulary.
It’s certainly entered mine.
Bowsers. Not even sure if that’s how you spell it.
These are the big blue water containers that are on the streets of those areas without any.
I have NEVER heard this word before and I’m sure I’m not the only one.
Now reporters are using it in nearly all their reports as if we should know exactly what they are talking about.
I thought they were supposed to inform AND educate us.
Here’s a word for you that needs no explanation,
Tossers.
My Great Grandmother ’saw’ things when her hands were in water and my Grandmother ’saw’ things in fire.
My paternal Great Grandmother was an Irish ‘Traveller’ and she ’knew’ stuff as well. But I didn’t know her well or long enough to find out how she picked up her information.
When I was ten I was rushed to hospital, from school, with a dodgy appendix and my Nan was there before the ambulance.
She had seen it in the fire.
I have what I call my ’feelings of dread’. It’s feels like a tennis ball of lead in the pit of my stomach.
Remember that feeling of being sat outside the Head’s office or waiting for parents to find out something naughty you have done?
It’s very similar to that.
The last ’dread’ feeling was when cousin Markus’s Granddad died.
Markus arrived 2 hours later and told me what had happened and the feeling went.
But I also have dreams.
Which for someone who sleeps as little as I do is rare!
I had a dream about my Aunt when she died, I saw her with blood around her mouth and later found out she died of a burst stomach ulcer.
I don’t claim to hear voices but I would be interested if anybody else has similar experiences.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Tats, Prats, And UFO's
I have decided to have another tattoo.
As with my others it has taken me a couple of years to choose the design that I’m going to have and where it is going to go on my person.
I also want to be the only person with the tattoo.
My first one, the guy who did it destroyed the design as soon as it was inked onto me and the second I designed myself.
I’m going to have to do the same with this one.
But, I need help.
For the life of me I can’t find the music for Mozart’s Great Mass anywhere online.
I can’t see it being covered by copyright after this long and I’ve lost my temper trying to find it.
Any help would be much appreciated.
A story in the Daily Nazi has left me incredulous and with a burning desire to get the fuck out of this country.
A young Mum was in a shop and her kid started having a tantrum because she wasn’t allowed sweets.
She picked the kid up and went back to her car. Sat her in there still screaming and carrying on and stood outside the car with her son.
The girl calmed down so she got in the car and off they went home.
The next day the Police were on her doorstep to give her a bollocking!
They told her it was ‘inappropriate to reprimand her in light of the Madeleine McCann case’.
Can you fucking believe that?
People bitch that kids don’t get enough discipline at home and when this woman tries to instil some in her kid, a fucking nosey do-gooder made a note of her number plate and called the filth.
The Police should get round to the person who complained and ask why they were taking such a CLOSE interest in a young family then do them for wasting their time.
Although, this story about UFO’s really caught my eye because ATM and I saw EXACTLY the same configuration of lights behaving the same way over her house in 1983!
As with my others it has taken me a couple of years to choose the design that I’m going to have and where it is going to go on my person.
I also want to be the only person with the tattoo.
My first one, the guy who did it destroyed the design as soon as it was inked onto me and the second I designed myself.
I’m going to have to do the same with this one.
But, I need help.
For the life of me I can’t find the music for Mozart’s Great Mass anywhere online.
I can’t see it being covered by copyright after this long and I’ve lost my temper trying to find it.
Any help would be much appreciated.
A story in the Daily Nazi has left me incredulous and with a burning desire to get the fuck out of this country.
A young Mum was in a shop and her kid started having a tantrum because she wasn’t allowed sweets.
She picked the kid up and went back to her car. Sat her in there still screaming and carrying on and stood outside the car with her son.
The girl calmed down so she got in the car and off they went home.
The next day the Police were on her doorstep to give her a bollocking!
They told her it was ‘inappropriate to reprimand her in light of the Madeleine McCann case’.
Can you fucking believe that?
People bitch that kids don’t get enough discipline at home and when this woman tries to instil some in her kid, a fucking nosey do-gooder made a note of her number plate and called the filth.
The Police should get round to the person who complained and ask why they were taking such a CLOSE interest in a young family then do them for wasting their time.
Although, this story about UFO’s really caught my eye because ATM and I saw EXACTLY the same configuration of lights behaving the same way over her house in 1983!
Damp Gripes
This whole ‘Flood’ thing is starting to get right on my tits now.
One thing is doing it in particular.
Some fucking reporter finds some twat, who usually looks a chromosome short of a warthog, to show them round their ruined home.
They point out the fucked up plasma TV, stereo, computer etc, then turn with a seriously sad look on their face and say “… and unfortunately the Jones’ have no insurance”.
What?
Am I supposed to feel sorry for these pricks?
You manage to stump up the fucking monthly payments for the TV, (because sure as shit they didn’t buy it outright) then pay for some insurance you fucking tossers!
I find it hard to feel sorry for these people I’m afraid.
Last week I accidentally caught an episode of ‘Dexter’.
What a cracking show!
I absolutely love it and with the fervour of a convert I urge you all to watch it, if you haven’t already.
A serial killer working for the police is a clever premise.
One thing is doing it in particular.
Some fucking reporter finds some twat, who usually looks a chromosome short of a warthog, to show them round their ruined home.
They point out the fucked up plasma TV, stereo, computer etc, then turn with a seriously sad look on their face and say “… and unfortunately the Jones’ have no insurance”.
What?
Am I supposed to feel sorry for these pricks?
You manage to stump up the fucking monthly payments for the TV, (because sure as shit they didn’t buy it outright) then pay for some insurance you fucking tossers!
I find it hard to feel sorry for these people I’m afraid.
Last week I accidentally caught an episode of ‘Dexter’.
What a cracking show!
I absolutely love it and with the fervour of a convert I urge you all to watch it, if you haven’t already.
A serial killer working for the police is a clever premise.
Mrs Next Door is having her baby induced tomorrow.
Fucking great.
Another wailing brat for her to lose the plot with.
Fucking great.
Another wailing brat for her to lose the plot with.
There were a few of these in the garden today.
I think it is a Comma.
I think it is a Comma.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Huntleys And Palmers
Channel 4 are showing a series of programmes relating to the repeal of the homosexuality laws 40 years ago.
Tonight the programme was called ‘A Very British Scandal’ and was centred around the trial of Peter Wildeblood, Lord Montagu and Michael Pitt-Rivers during the early 50’s.
It has left me fucking raging.
There were interviews with men who were young gay men at the time.
The stories they told were awful.
Police kicking in their doors, searching without warrants and arresting them.
Police Agent Provocateurs wanking in public toilets then beating and arresting THEM for gross indecency.
Young men arrested and blackmailed into ‘grassing’ up others.
At trial, when asked outright if he was a homosexual, Wildeblood answered that he was.
One of the very first to do so. Up until that point the Press were laying odds for an acquittal.
He got 18 months.
When I start my Church of The Latter Day Pissed Up Testicosticals he will be one of its Saints.
Along with all those poor bastards who committed suicide because of their prosecutions.
Incorporated into the prayers will be wishes that every copper involved in that shit burns in Hell.
One of the more amusing bits was during the dramatisation of the deliberations of The Wolfenden Committee.
Lord Wolfenden suggested, for the benefit of the ladies present, that homosexuals be referred to as Huntley’s and the prostitutes as Palmers after the biscuits that were on the table!
Tonight the programme was called ‘A Very British Scandal’ and was centred around the trial of Peter Wildeblood, Lord Montagu and Michael Pitt-Rivers during the early 50’s.
It has left me fucking raging.
There were interviews with men who were young gay men at the time.
The stories they told were awful.
Police kicking in their doors, searching without warrants and arresting them.
Police Agent Provocateurs wanking in public toilets then beating and arresting THEM for gross indecency.
Young men arrested and blackmailed into ‘grassing’ up others.
At trial, when asked outright if he was a homosexual, Wildeblood answered that he was.
One of the very first to do so. Up until that point the Press were laying odds for an acquittal.
He got 18 months.
When I start my Church of The Latter Day Pissed Up Testicosticals he will be one of its Saints.
Along with all those poor bastards who committed suicide because of their prosecutions.
Incorporated into the prayers will be wishes that every copper involved in that shit burns in Hell.
One of the more amusing bits was during the dramatisation of the deliberations of The Wolfenden Committee.
Lord Wolfenden suggested, for the benefit of the ladies present, that homosexuals be referred to as Huntley’s and the prostitutes as Palmers after the biscuits that were on the table!
Friday, July 20, 2007
Royal Rain
Today it has pissed and pissed with rain.
Heavy sheets of it fell for about 10 hours.
I can’t remember seeing it fall so hard for so long but I’m sure it has.
Flooding across the Southern half of England has been horrendous.
Our turn to experience what the North has had the last two weeks.
The part of the River Avon that flows through the village, is running at 7ft.
It’s usually ankle deep!
There are massive logs and uprooted fence posts being washed along at a rate of knots.
Golf.
I hate fucking golf.
Is there a more pointless spectator sport in the world?
Perhaps snooker or chess.
The whole BBC2 programming day has been given over to this fucking boring ‘sport’.
As the late, great Linda Smith said, “Golf is something that gets people who should stay indoors, outdoors.”
The Queen has been out and about visiting in the pissing rain.
Western Super Mare got her today.
Everywhere she goes brats give her flowers, wouldn’t it be really shite if she had hay fever?
Her vacant look and fixed grin could be down to huge amounts of Piriton anti-histamine she throws down her neck.
That’s why she is driven everywhere and we never see her operating heavy machinery.
Poor bitch, at the age when most old dears are at home watching ‘Cash In The Attic’ she has to shlep around the country smiling and shaking hands with arseholes.
G-d love her.
Heavy sheets of it fell for about 10 hours.
I can’t remember seeing it fall so hard for so long but I’m sure it has.
Flooding across the Southern half of England has been horrendous.
Our turn to experience what the North has had the last two weeks.
The part of the River Avon that flows through the village, is running at 7ft.
It’s usually ankle deep!
There are massive logs and uprooted fence posts being washed along at a rate of knots.
Golf.
I hate fucking golf.
Is there a more pointless spectator sport in the world?
Perhaps snooker or chess.
The whole BBC2 programming day has been given over to this fucking boring ‘sport’.
As the late, great Linda Smith said, “Golf is something that gets people who should stay indoors, outdoors.”
The Queen has been out and about visiting in the pissing rain.
Western Super Mare got her today.
Everywhere she goes brats give her flowers, wouldn’t it be really shite if she had hay fever?
Her vacant look and fixed grin could be down to huge amounts of Piriton anti-histamine she throws down her neck.
That’s why she is driven everywhere and we never see her operating heavy machinery.
Poor bitch, at the age when most old dears are at home watching ‘Cash In The Attic’ she has to shlep around the country smiling and shaking hands with arseholes.
G-d love her.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Slapping
People who need slapping up side the head.
Anyone who calls their house Casa Mia, Dunroamin or a combination of their names such as Kenpat.
People who pay £500 for a ticket to hear Barbra Streisand wail, not only do they need their head slapping they need it looked at!
People who carry dogs in bags or ‘dress’ them up.
People who wear sandals and socks.
Tossers who name their children after whole football teams.
Victoria Beckham, in fact she can have one either side of her head!
Anyone who doesn’t pick up their dog’s crap.
Women who wear ballet pumps with anything other than a fucking tutu.
Does anybody else think it is a bad idea to piss off Russia?
Although, the statement from them that, ‘4 British diplomats have been declared Persona Non Grata’ made me chuckle.
It’s been ages since I’ve heard that term.
Six members of the Cabinet have ‘fessed up to smoking dope in their past.
So fucking what?
Why was this the lead item on the national news is beyond me.
Especially when the BBC have been found to be lying, cheating, robbing bastards.
Today is M’s birthday!
Happy Birthday Mate!
Anyone who calls their house Casa Mia, Dunroamin or a combination of their names such as Kenpat.
People who pay £500 for a ticket to hear Barbra Streisand wail, not only do they need their head slapping they need it looked at!
People who carry dogs in bags or ‘dress’ them up.
People who wear sandals and socks.
Tossers who name their children after whole football teams.
Victoria Beckham, in fact she can have one either side of her head!
Anyone who doesn’t pick up their dog’s crap.
Women who wear ballet pumps with anything other than a fucking tutu.
Does anybody else think it is a bad idea to piss off Russia?
Although, the statement from them that, ‘4 British diplomats have been declared Persona Non Grata’ made me chuckle.
It’s been ages since I’ve heard that term.
Six members of the Cabinet have ‘fessed up to smoking dope in their past.
So fucking what?
Why was this the lead item on the national news is beyond me.
Especially when the BBC have been found to be lying, cheating, robbing bastards.
Today is M’s birthday!
Happy Birthday Mate!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Emperors And Gripes
On Sunday the Emperor Dragonfly in M’s pond ‘hatched’.It was amazing to see!
It has been living in there for 2 years as a really ugly, rampantly carnivorous nymph.
Now, it is one of the most gorgeous looking things that fly at this time of year.
In the photo it doesn't have it's vivid blue colour yet but it was only an hour or so old!
I saw two flying down by the river this afternoon and like to hope that one of them was ours!
A story in the Daily Nazi made me chuckle today. A bloke near Brighton discovers that he and one other neighbour are paying Council Tax at a higher rate than all the other neighbours. Band E while the others are band D.
Bugger that for a game of soldiers thinks this guy and complains at the unfairness of it. The council say, 'Ooh, you're right' and promptly puts UP the tax of all his neighbours!
I'm sure they fucking love him for that!
Another news item that caught my eye was about the funeral of a 55 stone woman. Her family were up in arms because they were charged for two burial plots.
Well, yeah!
She didn't fit in a normal sized hole for fuck's sake!
A couple of things I'm sick of hearing about.
The price of the new 'Harry Potter' book. It should be £17.99 but it can be had for £8.99 on Amazon.
Go to the library, it's fuck all!
It doesn't help that the latest film has just been released either.
I will admit that I've read the books but thank fuck this is the last one.
The other thing getting on my tits is Victoria Beckham.
I find myself screaming, 'So Fucking What?' at the TV.
The Septics are welcome to her and, frankly, fucking deserve the vacuous, vapid tart.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Jazz It Up
The Jazz Festival was absolutely spot on!We caught the end of one band that were a mixture of jazz and blues.
Then settled into another venue to see a Canadian woman called Katja Gorrie.
She was extraordinarily skinny and looked frighteningly like Celine Dion with a blonde ‘Amy Winehouse’ bouffant.
We managed to cause offence AND get Shh-ed in the Conservative Club.
Some witch-y old tart called Julie Felix was actually singing Vietnam protest songs.
Fucking Vietnam! Get with the program woman!
Apparently, she opened for Bob Dylan at the Isle of Wight festival and if this was anything to go by, was still on the Acid trip.
I think it might be pertinent to just mention what Marlborough is like.
It’s fucking posh!
There are a lot of middle aged men in salmon coloured trousers, checked sports jackets and Sebago deck shoes.
These blokes also liked to play imaginary drums and piano.
Most freaky.
Dressing down for some of them is removing the tie from their usual suit and sticking some trainers on.
It was a nice day so there were a lot of varicose veins on display.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Hungry And Jazz
Housemate Claire and I often discuss who the definitive ‘Dr Who’ is. This usually goes with age.
Whoever was the Doctor when you were a kid is generally your ‘definitive’.
I grew up with Tom Baker as the Doctor and as it happens he was the best!
Then I started thinking about other things that define your childhood and ended up with the question,
‘Where the fuck has Biafra gone?’ In fact where the fuck was it in the first place?
My childhood ‘famine’ place was Ethiopia.
If we left anything on our plates ATM and the Grandmother would bang on about ’Starving Biafrians’.
I thought it was some made up species, like Vulcans or Klingons.
I have since witnessed my sister shouting at her kids about ’Starving Ethiopians’.
I wonder what her kids will be shouting at theirs.
‘You’re not leaving that, there are people starving in France’.
Actually, that’s a little fantasy of mine!
During the lunchtime news I found myself hoping that Victoria Beckham was epileptic.
All those camera flashes, someone should have dropped to the floor break dancing and swallowing their tongue.
If I see HER one more time it might be me.
I think it was the line, ’they arrived amid a carefully managed media frenzy’, that fucked me off.
How does that work then?
How do you have a ’managed frenzy’?
I am in Wiltshire this weekend.
It’s the Marlborough Jazz Festival! A brilliant day spent drinking around different venues in Marlborough town centre, listening to jazz music from around the world.
I’ll gen you all up on Sunday, hopefully with photos.
Whoever was the Doctor when you were a kid is generally your ‘definitive’.
I grew up with Tom Baker as the Doctor and as it happens he was the best!
Then I started thinking about other things that define your childhood and ended up with the question,
‘Where the fuck has Biafra gone?’ In fact where the fuck was it in the first place?
My childhood ‘famine’ place was Ethiopia.
If we left anything on our plates ATM and the Grandmother would bang on about ’Starving Biafrians’.
I thought it was some made up species, like Vulcans or Klingons.
I have since witnessed my sister shouting at her kids about ’Starving Ethiopians’.
I wonder what her kids will be shouting at theirs.
‘You’re not leaving that, there are people starving in France’.
Actually, that’s a little fantasy of mine!
During the lunchtime news I found myself hoping that Victoria Beckham was epileptic.
All those camera flashes, someone should have dropped to the floor break dancing and swallowing their tongue.
If I see HER one more time it might be me.
I think it was the line, ’they arrived amid a carefully managed media frenzy’, that fucked me off.
How does that work then?
How do you have a ’managed frenzy’?
I am in Wiltshire this weekend.
It’s the Marlborough Jazz Festival! A brilliant day spent drinking around different venues in Marlborough town centre, listening to jazz music from around the world.
I’ll gen you all up on Sunday, hopefully with photos.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Cactus And Cleaners
Every now and then I get one of those emails that go around.Read the questions, delete the ones already there, put yours in and send it on.
One of the questions that always seems to come up is, ‘favourite flower?’
My answer is always ‘the cactus in my bathroom that occasionally flowers’.
It appears to be one of those occasions.
It just sits there for years on end not appearing to be up to much, then all of a sudden,
“TA DA!”
It gets my grin on EVERY time I see it!
I have finished series 2 of ‘Shameless’!
I haven’t laughed as much in ages. I have series 3, 4 and 5 to go as well, because of all that Sky/Virgin bollocks it’s one of those ‘on demand’ deals I get for not going over to Sky.
Well worth losing Bones for!
The bits I recognise from growing up are SO real and extremely well done.
Moving the pissed up Dad’s body out of the way so the rest of the family can enjoy the day, really resonated!
Finding him passed out in the pub.
Finding him battered in the pub.
Finding him unconscious in the street.
Hiding pocket money, birthday money any money really.
Hiding from debt collectors.
Fights with the neighbours, who hated him!
Him disappearing for days at a time playing cards
BUT
Christ, did we laugh!
He said the funniest things.
He never hit us.
We were hugged and told we were loved.
We had the loudest parties, with raucous singing.
And of course, as he often slurred at us,
He’d die for ‘every fucking, pain in the arse, bastard one of us‘.
Bless him!
I loved going to my Dad’s, got me away from the Rapist and the Nutter.
At my Dad’s I wasn’t ‘Weird’ or ‘Hyperactive’, I just fitted in.
“There’s nothing wrong with you Babe, you’re just one of us! Your Mother’s lot can’t cope with that! It’s like sheep trying to raise a wolf!”
Mrs Next Door is now noticeably pregnant and she’s got a cleaner,
‘Just ‘til the baby comes’.
All well and good.
I’ve seen the cleaner three times now and each time she is cleaning the outside of the kitchen windows.
In four years of neighbour-ness I have NEVER seen Mrs Next Door clean the windows.
Ever.
Being my Father’s daughter I can immediately see the problem with this scenario and hear his voice clearly,
“Easy Babe!
You’re going to have to stop her doing that. Himself* will notice and YOU’LL have to do it when he stops the cleaner.
Are you fucking mental? Making work for yourself.”
*In Dad’s head that would be the ‘lazy, useless twat that has got himself tucked up with my girl. She’s TOO fucking good for him. C**T!’
Reverse the gender and it works the same for my brother.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Bitches And Itches
Sassy has done me proud!
While out East on the ‘Fear and Loathing with The Business School’ trip, she has managed to get hold of a sooper dooper dock/speaker affair for John the ipod.
I knew I’d be on a winner, Sassy is an A1 shopper and failing that will find someone who is.
Her cats, on the other hand, are bitches.
One or both has gone Bulimic on me.
Fucking binge eating then puking in protest at having ME feed them.
Fuckers.
Avoided the horror of standing in it, unlike last time.
All under control though Sassy. By the way, I’ve nicked the butter out of your fridge.
Was mid food prep when I realised we had none!
All adverts that begin with the question,
“Itching?”
Then go on to try and sell you a product with a name that is vaguely genital, vaguely medical, should be fucking banned.
I hate them.
BATHE, you dirty, skanky bitches.
Jeez!
Smearing cream on your festering Minge is not going to help.
Other than to provide a perfect growing medium for all manner of assorted nastiness.
Soap and water does the trick. If not, go to the fucking doctor.
The same with any product that needs to be within a metre of your arsehole with an ‘applicator’.
We don’t need to know.
These are not impulse buys. This is specialist shit.
Advertising is supposed to make us WANT stuff we don’t NEED.
I really don’t NEED an itchy ring and I certainly don’t WANT a fanny that requires treatment.
While out East on the ‘Fear and Loathing with The Business School’ trip, she has managed to get hold of a sooper dooper dock/speaker affair for John the ipod.
I knew I’d be on a winner, Sassy is an A1 shopper and failing that will find someone who is.
Her cats, on the other hand, are bitches.
One or both has gone Bulimic on me.
Fucking binge eating then puking in protest at having ME feed them.
Fuckers.
Avoided the horror of standing in it, unlike last time.
All under control though Sassy. By the way, I’ve nicked the butter out of your fridge.
Was mid food prep when I realised we had none!
All adverts that begin with the question,
“Itching?”
Then go on to try and sell you a product with a name that is vaguely genital, vaguely medical, should be fucking banned.
I hate them.
BATHE, you dirty, skanky bitches.
Jeez!
Smearing cream on your festering Minge is not going to help.
Other than to provide a perfect growing medium for all manner of assorted nastiness.
Soap and water does the trick. If not, go to the fucking doctor.
The same with any product that needs to be within a metre of your arsehole with an ‘applicator’.
We don’t need to know.
These are not impulse buys. This is specialist shit.
Advertising is supposed to make us WANT stuff we don’t NEED.
I really don’t NEED an itchy ring and I certainly don’t WANT a fanny that requires treatment.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Trash Tree
I’m glad I left the house today.There is a park at the bottom of the road and someone has started a Trash Tree!
My sister started a Shoe Tree at one of her many addresses and somebody did a Jumble Tree at another.
It only takes one pair of fucked up trainers or a jumper and others will join it, stealthily but relentlessly.
As you can see, this is going to be a Kitchen Appliance Tree.
It could get exciting, but I fear they are a little too far up their own arses round here to get in on the fun.
There are plenty of students though and this should be right up their street.
In certain areas of the city there would be a fridge and a microwave by morning.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Sassy's Grils
Having a mooch through The Sunday Nazi I saw the headline,
‘The Secret Miss England Kept From Her Rivals’.
I was mentally rubbing my hands together and started thinking about what would be a “shock” at one of these events.
‘I bet it’s a cock!’ I thought.
It had to be.
Talk about an anti-climax.
She was deaf I one ear.
One fucking ear!?
Most disappointing.
She could have said she had three nipples, dreadlocked pubes or extra toes, something interesting.
Mutt and Jeff in one ear is pretty piss poor as far as freak status goes.
For me, anyway.
Sassy is away in the East and true to form, she pissed her cats off before leaving them in my care.
She does it so they are all bitter and twisted with ME but love HER to bits when she returns.
It’s sick.
Last time it was the feline horror that is Frontline flea treatment, this time she had their claws trimmed.
At the vet.
A brace of fucked off, middle aged, female cats.
Oh Joy!
The Sassy one insists that her ‘Grils’ are lovely.
The same as parents of monster children do.
(“Oh, He looks like an Angel when he is asleep”
Yeah? Fucking more so after you lift the pillow from his face.)
I have yet to see any evidence of this and it has been a number of years.
The ‘Nice One’ bit me in excitement as I was trying to feed it!
Purred and rubbed, purred and rubbed, then teeth in the leg!
Human Scream of,
“FUCKER!”
Quick reminder to self that it’s not my cat and I CAN’T kill it.
Purr and Rub, Purr and Rub.
If she were a human female, she’s the bitch who would scratch your back knowing it would drop you in the shit with the ‘other half’!
This, it has been pointed out, could be ‘cat sex’ and thinking back, I’ve had some humans as mental as that.
It’s Karma.
The bitterness of all my one night stands and those I never called back, live in Sassy’s Cats.
Don’t fuck with the ‘power’ people, it will find a way to bite you in the arse, subtly, and through your bestest mates.
‘The Secret Miss England Kept From Her Rivals’.
I was mentally rubbing my hands together and started thinking about what would be a “shock” at one of these events.
‘I bet it’s a cock!’ I thought.
It had to be.
Talk about an anti-climax.
She was deaf I one ear.
One fucking ear!?
Most disappointing.
She could have said she had three nipples, dreadlocked pubes or extra toes, something interesting.
Mutt and Jeff in one ear is pretty piss poor as far as freak status goes.
For me, anyway.
Sassy is away in the East and true to form, she pissed her cats off before leaving them in my care.
She does it so they are all bitter and twisted with ME but love HER to bits when she returns.
It’s sick.
Last time it was the feline horror that is Frontline flea treatment, this time she had their claws trimmed.
At the vet.
A brace of fucked off, middle aged, female cats.
Oh Joy!
The Sassy one insists that her ‘Grils’ are lovely.
The same as parents of monster children do.
(“Oh, He looks like an Angel when he is asleep”
Yeah? Fucking more so after you lift the pillow from his face.)
I have yet to see any evidence of this and it has been a number of years.
The ‘Nice One’ bit me in excitement as I was trying to feed it!
Purred and rubbed, purred and rubbed, then teeth in the leg!
Human Scream of,
“FUCKER!”
Quick reminder to self that it’s not my cat and I CAN’T kill it.
Purr and Rub, Purr and Rub.
If she were a human female, she’s the bitch who would scratch your back knowing it would drop you in the shit with the ‘other half’!
This, it has been pointed out, could be ‘cat sex’ and thinking back, I’ve had some humans as mental as that.
It’s Karma.
The bitterness of all my one night stands and those I never called back, live in Sassy’s Cats.
Don’t fuck with the ‘power’ people, it will find a way to bite you in the arse, subtly, and through your bestest mates.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Seven
Today is the 7th of the 7th 07.
Seven is seen by many traditions as a special or magical number.
So today I’ve been thinking about 7’s and here’s everything that I can come up with, off the top of my stoned head.
I’m sure there will be loads if I can be arsed to check.
G-d rested on the seventh day.
7 is neutral pH and the atomic number of Nitrogen.
Seven Hills of Rome.
7 Dwarves.
Seven Wonders of the World.
7 Deadly Sins.
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers!
7 Sacraments in the Catholic Church.
Seven notes in the Western musical scale.
The Magnificent Seven.
7 sides of a fifty pence coin.
Seven Heavens in Islamic tradition.
7 days in a week.
Seven ages of man.
7 colours in the rainbow.
Seven’s, is the name of a card game the Grandfather taught us.
The Secret Seven books by Enid Blyton.
Seven Samurai by Akira Kurosawa.
7-Eleven.
Seven of Nine. Mmmmm..
7 seas.
Seven Sisters. Stars and the tube station.
7 Chakras.
Seven branches on a Menorah.
7 bones in your neck.
Seven Virtues.
There is no M7 motorway in England.
Seven is seen by many traditions as a special or magical number.
So today I’ve been thinking about 7’s and here’s everything that I can come up with, off the top of my stoned head.
I’m sure there will be loads if I can be arsed to check.
G-d rested on the seventh day.
7 is neutral pH and the atomic number of Nitrogen.
Seven Hills of Rome.
7 Dwarves.
Seven Wonders of the World.
7 Deadly Sins.
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers!
7 Sacraments in the Catholic Church.
Seven notes in the Western musical scale.
The Magnificent Seven.
7 sides of a fifty pence coin.
Seven Heavens in Islamic tradition.
7 days in a week.
Seven ages of man.
7 colours in the rainbow.
Seven’s, is the name of a card game the Grandfather taught us.
The Secret Seven books by Enid Blyton.
Seven Samurai by Akira Kurosawa.
7-Eleven.
Seven of Nine. Mmmmm..
7 seas.
Seven Sisters. Stars and the tube station.
7 Chakras.
Seven branches on a Menorah.
7 bones in your neck.
Seven Virtues.
There is no M7 motorway in England.
Friday Night, Saturday Morning
I have been out for a drink with the ‘Girls’.
They all still work at Mayhem or are just about to leave.
One I’ve shagged, one I’ve snogged and one I know wears a padded bra, is a shit kisser and definitely doesn‘t have a tattoo where she says she does.
The other three I haven’t touched!
It could have been awkward but it wasn’t.
Amazingly.
It’s also the first time I’ve been out since the smoking ban.
Pubs smell funny but the gardens smell normal.
Weird.
The ban also pushes pissed up loonies into the ‘mainstream’ of Friday night, Albert Road life.
Whereas they used to be contained inside a pub and didn‘t bother anyone, now they are out, talking shit to ‘passers by’.
I walked past one bloke, staggering around his own leg, who said,
“There are only two things that love you in this world. Your Mum and Your Dog. Remember that”.
It was completely random but I told him I would.
Women’s fashion seems to have taken a turn for the worse.
Most girls are either, wearing stuff that an Aunt had as wall paper during the power cuts, or look like photos of ATM during the 70’s.
Both, fucking hideous.
Friday night Men’s fashion hasn’t changed.
There is the ‘builder and plasterer’ chic.
Blokes in Hi-Vis jackets who have been in the pub since 2 that afternoon and there are ‘The Lads’.
The Lads have on good clothes, gelled hair and are highly fragrant.
Something with one name for both, clobber and aftershave.
By the end of the night one of them and one of those covered in dust and rubble will be fighting.
Some blonde girl, with dark roots, will be shouting,
“Leave it *Wayne/Tyrone/Lloyd/Kev/Steve”
(*delete as appropriate)
There are some big birds out there too.
Large girls in crop tops, who say such delightful things as,
“Are you looking at my fuckin’ stretch marks?”
Heaven forefend.
The top made of Cargo netting had drawn my eye long before that, but thanks for pointing out the fake tanned “Gunt“.
I might have missed it otherwise.
Almost put me off my vodka and pushed me in an Oedipal direction, regarding my eyesight.
I came home instead.
I needed a slash and I wasn’t using the toilets there, I didn’t want an opportunity to be caught alone with any of the aforementioned ‘snog-ee‘s‘!
Now, I’m awake. The booze and chemical cosh has not worked.
Time for Nina.
I’ve had 200 micrograms of Temgesic, 20mg of Temazepam and two bottles of wine.
Nothing!
They all still work at Mayhem or are just about to leave.
One I’ve shagged, one I’ve snogged and one I know wears a padded bra, is a shit kisser and definitely doesn‘t have a tattoo where she says she does.
The other three I haven’t touched!
It could have been awkward but it wasn’t.
Amazingly.
It’s also the first time I’ve been out since the smoking ban.
Pubs smell funny but the gardens smell normal.
Weird.
The ban also pushes pissed up loonies into the ‘mainstream’ of Friday night, Albert Road life.
Whereas they used to be contained inside a pub and didn‘t bother anyone, now they are out, talking shit to ‘passers by’.
I walked past one bloke, staggering around his own leg, who said,
“There are only two things that love you in this world. Your Mum and Your Dog. Remember that”.
It was completely random but I told him I would.
Women’s fashion seems to have taken a turn for the worse.
Most girls are either, wearing stuff that an Aunt had as wall paper during the power cuts, or look like photos of ATM during the 70’s.
Both, fucking hideous.
Friday night Men’s fashion hasn’t changed.
There is the ‘builder and plasterer’ chic.
Blokes in Hi-Vis jackets who have been in the pub since 2 that afternoon and there are ‘The Lads’.
The Lads have on good clothes, gelled hair and are highly fragrant.
Something with one name for both, clobber and aftershave.
By the end of the night one of them and one of those covered in dust and rubble will be fighting.
Some blonde girl, with dark roots, will be shouting,
“Leave it *Wayne/Tyrone/Lloyd/Kev/Steve”
(*delete as appropriate)
There are some big birds out there too.
Large girls in crop tops, who say such delightful things as,
“Are you looking at my fuckin’ stretch marks?”
Heaven forefend.
The top made of Cargo netting had drawn my eye long before that, but thanks for pointing out the fake tanned “Gunt“.
I might have missed it otherwise.
Almost put me off my vodka and pushed me in an Oedipal direction, regarding my eyesight.
I came home instead.
I needed a slash and I wasn’t using the toilets there, I didn’t want an opportunity to be caught alone with any of the aforementioned ‘snog-ee‘s‘!
Now, I’m awake. The booze and chemical cosh has not worked.
Time for Nina.
I’ve had 200 micrograms of Temgesic, 20mg of Temazepam and two bottles of wine.
Nothing!
Friday, July 06, 2007
Jazzed
George Melly is dead. Another great character has gone.
I can remember seeing him on TV as a kid. I fell in love with his hats first, then his amazingly outrageous suits and open bisexuality.
My Grandfather wasn’t keen on Jazz and hardly any was played in the house.
He certainly wasn’t too keen on George; “Bloody Shirtlifter!” seemed to be his considered opinion.
The Grandfather’s thoughts on jazz were not much better,
‘5 people on a stage all playing a different tune. It’s bloody noise, NOISE!”
Something about the discordant element of it has always appealed to me.
Especially as it appeared to get on his tits SO much! He never stopped me listening to it though. He would stomp around, grimacing every now and then and saying, ‘Jesus’, through gritted teeth.
George was diagnosed with dementia and then lung cancer. He refused treatment for the cancer and said that, as a Surrealist he found dementia ‘entertaining and appropriate’.
What a brilliant attitude to have.
He’s dead at 80.
A man who lived the width of his life as well as the length of it.
I hope Bessie Smith is singing at the gates, if and when he arrives.
Thanks George.
Thanks for the Bessie Smith in my collection and my array of hats.
Yesterday I watched the whole of the first series of ‘Shameless’.
Today I’m getting stuck into series two.
Absolutely cracking show! I recognise a little bit too much of my Dad though.
Right.
Scatter!
I can remember seeing him on TV as a kid. I fell in love with his hats first, then his amazingly outrageous suits and open bisexuality.
My Grandfather wasn’t keen on Jazz and hardly any was played in the house.
He certainly wasn’t too keen on George; “Bloody Shirtlifter!” seemed to be his considered opinion.
The Grandfather’s thoughts on jazz were not much better,
‘5 people on a stage all playing a different tune. It’s bloody noise, NOISE!”
Something about the discordant element of it has always appealed to me.
Especially as it appeared to get on his tits SO much! He never stopped me listening to it though. He would stomp around, grimacing every now and then and saying, ‘Jesus’, through gritted teeth.
George was diagnosed with dementia and then lung cancer. He refused treatment for the cancer and said that, as a Surrealist he found dementia ‘entertaining and appropriate’.
What a brilliant attitude to have.
He’s dead at 80.
A man who lived the width of his life as well as the length of it.
I hope Bessie Smith is singing at the gates, if and when he arrives.
Thanks George.
Thanks for the Bessie Smith in my collection and my array of hats.
Yesterday I watched the whole of the first series of ‘Shameless’.
Today I’m getting stuck into series two.
Absolutely cracking show! I recognise a little bit too much of my Dad though.
Right.
Scatter!
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Conversations
The fear of running out of cigarettes at some unholy hour in the morning drove me out of the house this evening.
Every time I go out, I become more aware of why I should stay indoors.
In the Indian shop I pointed at the three shitty bottles of wine that were on offer and asked if there was anything else.
“We don’t have” he said.
“You don’t have what?”
“Wine! No Wine”
I gestured to the rows and rows of it in front of me and told him
I begged to differ!
“No Wine!”
I then went all ‘English’ and started shouting,
“Offer? Wine offer?” OFF -ER?”
“No wine!” he insisted.
I gave up and went to Threshers.
“I want 2 for a Tenner” I told the foetus behind the counter.
“We’re doing buy 2 get one free” he smiled.
“I want 2 for a Tenner”
“Um.. What you’ll have to do is check the prices for £4.99 bottles….”
I stopped him.
“That is Maths. I don’t do Maths. I want two white and one red, do your stuff”.
I went and waited at the counter while he walked the shop. He didn’t know what to do so he chose my wine and made sure I got three for a Tenner!
When I asked for the king sized rizlas he looked at me and smiled with understanding.
“It was too hectic mate!” I said
“S’ok” he said, “We’re sent on courses”.
All the way home I was wondering how that one comes through from head office.
Dear Colleagues,
There are still places left on next months training course,
“The Stoned and Bewildered - How to choose for them and get them out before they a) Whitey or b) Become incontinent”.
I can imagine the clamour to get on that one!
I bumped into Sassy on the way back home.
“Fucking hell of a day! Fucking Work! I’m going to get myself a curry!”
There’s no real reply to that except,
“Nice one”.
I also warned her away from the Indian shop.
Claire had her second lot of chemo today. She saw the consultant yesterday and it seems to be doing its job because the tumour is shrinking.
Excellent news!
Six more to go.
Every time I go out, I become more aware of why I should stay indoors.
In the Indian shop I pointed at the three shitty bottles of wine that were on offer and asked if there was anything else.
“We don’t have” he said.
“You don’t have what?”
“Wine! No Wine”
I gestured to the rows and rows of it in front of me and told him
I begged to differ!
“No Wine!”
I then went all ‘English’ and started shouting,
“Offer? Wine offer?” OFF -ER?”
“No wine!” he insisted.
I gave up and went to Threshers.
“I want 2 for a Tenner” I told the foetus behind the counter.
“We’re doing buy 2 get one free” he smiled.
“I want 2 for a Tenner”
“Um.. What you’ll have to do is check the prices for £4.99 bottles….”
I stopped him.
“That is Maths. I don’t do Maths. I want two white and one red, do your stuff”.
I went and waited at the counter while he walked the shop. He didn’t know what to do so he chose my wine and made sure I got three for a Tenner!
When I asked for the king sized rizlas he looked at me and smiled with understanding.
“It was too hectic mate!” I said
“S’ok” he said, “We’re sent on courses”.
All the way home I was wondering how that one comes through from head office.
Dear Colleagues,
There are still places left on next months training course,
“The Stoned and Bewildered - How to choose for them and get them out before they a) Whitey or b) Become incontinent”.
I can imagine the clamour to get on that one!
I bumped into Sassy on the way back home.
“Fucking hell of a day! Fucking Work! I’m going to get myself a curry!”
There’s no real reply to that except,
“Nice one”.
I also warned her away from the Indian shop.
Claire had her second lot of chemo today. She saw the consultant yesterday and it seems to be doing its job because the tumour is shrinking.
Excellent news!
Six more to go.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Perchance To Dream
Sleep is elusive.
I’m just on the brink then, BAM! Awakeness.
I thought listening to Vivaldi’s ‘Gloria’ would be soothing. The tune, not his girlfriend. Although…
Is it buggery! Somehow it led to Bells Whisky, (all that is in the house) and perfect lip-synching with the ipod.
I have a sickness, According to ATM, that is.
So, there is no medical basis to her diagnoses, Or to her assertion that I am the spawn of Satan.
At 14, if you reply, “Well, you fucked him Mother” you get a punch in the mouth!
A great one for a reasoned argument is ATM.
I love to lie on the floor, in the dark with headphones on, listening to music.
That is my illness!
That’s what I’ve been doing for the two and a half hours.
Dario G’s, Carnaval Du Paris, has got to be one of THE most cheerful pieces of music ever! I’ve bounced around to that and ‘P.I.M.P,’ fucking love that tune!
I’m slowing down with Nina Simone; ‘Let It Be Me’ has had a couple of goes.
Anything by Nina is wicked for chilling out to.
There is something weird about having headphones on in the dark.
One: If feels like the ground is moving under you and
Two: You hear whispers and can easily convince yourself someone has broken in.
I’ve just put Tamia’s ‘Stranger in my House’ on just to really freak myself out!
That’s it, Bells makes me paranoid. Knocking that on the head!
Off for a dance about.
I’m just on the brink then, BAM! Awakeness.
I thought listening to Vivaldi’s ‘Gloria’ would be soothing. The tune, not his girlfriend. Although…
Is it buggery! Somehow it led to Bells Whisky, (all that is in the house) and perfect lip-synching with the ipod.
I have a sickness, According to ATM, that is.
So, there is no medical basis to her diagnoses, Or to her assertion that I am the spawn of Satan.
At 14, if you reply, “Well, you fucked him Mother” you get a punch in the mouth!
A great one for a reasoned argument is ATM.
I love to lie on the floor, in the dark with headphones on, listening to music.
That is my illness!
That’s what I’ve been doing for the two and a half hours.
Dario G’s, Carnaval Du Paris, has got to be one of THE most cheerful pieces of music ever! I’ve bounced around to that and ‘P.I.M.P,’ fucking love that tune!
I’m slowing down with Nina Simone; ‘Let It Be Me’ has had a couple of goes.
Anything by Nina is wicked for chilling out to.
There is something weird about having headphones on in the dark.
One: If feels like the ground is moving under you and
Two: You hear whispers and can easily convince yourself someone has broken in.
I’ve just put Tamia’s ‘Stranger in my House’ on just to really freak myself out!
That’s it, Bells makes me paranoid. Knocking that on the head!
Off for a dance about.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Dreams, Lies And Dies
The attendance at my ‘Mopping The Fucking Floor’ inset was piss poor.
‘Fuck You‘, seemed to be the general consensus, so I knew when I was beat and left it alone.
Sue Barker’s dream has sort of come true.
Sue, Martina at a desk and who was on the end. Yep, Billie Jean!
Gave us all a chuckle at Sleepy Mansions.
This also means that it’s pissing down in London. They’ve even had fucking Hail, and its heading this way.
I’m a bit worried about this ‘renewed’ Terrorist threat.
Something is not quite sitting right with me.
Nothing I can put my finger on, a bit like being in the Protestant church on Sunday.
It all seems a tad too convenient.
New ’Scottish’ PM.
Scottish police ask for special powers of arrest.
And get them.
Mmm.. Thought that shit went through parliament first?
Was debated, punted up to the Lords, debated there, back down.
No?
I wonder how many Black and Asian doctors have cancelled their holidays abroad in the last few days.
There are going to be some last minute captures out there for some people.
Sorry. I only did a history degree. Doesn’t prepare one for very much.
Marx and unemployment, basically.
It may also have something to do with surfing into the film, V For Vendetta last night.
Saw Cousin Marcus today.
His Grandfather died this morning and he’s pretty cut up.
He had been sat with him, day and night, for days. M went home for a shower and he died.
I managed to convince him that his Grandad had waited until he’d gone and he left a little bit calmer.
Marcus, like me, was brought up with, and by, his Mum’s parents. He was very close to his Grandad.
It brought up all my ‘Grandfather’ feelings and we had a cuddle and a cry.
Then we had a smoke.
Sorted.
‘Fuck You‘, seemed to be the general consensus, so I knew when I was beat and left it alone.
Sue Barker’s dream has sort of come true.
Sue, Martina at a desk and who was on the end. Yep, Billie Jean!
Gave us all a chuckle at Sleepy Mansions.
This also means that it’s pissing down in London. They’ve even had fucking Hail, and its heading this way.
I’m a bit worried about this ‘renewed’ Terrorist threat.
Something is not quite sitting right with me.
Nothing I can put my finger on, a bit like being in the Protestant church on Sunday.
It all seems a tad too convenient.
New ’Scottish’ PM.
Scottish police ask for special powers of arrest.
And get them.
Mmm.. Thought that shit went through parliament first?
Was debated, punted up to the Lords, debated there, back down.
No?
I wonder how many Black and Asian doctors have cancelled their holidays abroad in the last few days.
There are going to be some last minute captures out there for some people.
Sorry. I only did a history degree. Doesn’t prepare one for very much.
Marx and unemployment, basically.
It may also have something to do with surfing into the film, V For Vendetta last night.
Saw Cousin Marcus today.
His Grandfather died this morning and he’s pretty cut up.
He had been sat with him, day and night, for days. M went home for a shower and he died.
I managed to convince him that his Grandad had waited until he’d gone and he left a little bit calmer.
Marcus, like me, was brought up with, and by, his Mum’s parents. He was very close to his Grandad.
It brought up all my ‘Grandfather’ feelings and we had a cuddle and a cry.
Then we had a smoke.
Sorted.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Protest And Party
Housemates. I will be running a Bucket and Mop training session tomorrow evening.
Attendance IS compulsory.
You will learn the art of blending various dribbles of ‘Flash’ products with ‘own brand’ products.
Sponsored by the Waitrose and Asda BOGOF offers.
Mop wringing with Vileda and Weider.
You know how to put the kettle on so we can dispense with the ‘Hot Water’ part of the training.
But, this can be added on request.
I will expect you in the kitchen 7.30pm, sharp. No excuses.
Thank you.
Claire shaved her head this evening. Grade one all over.
Her hair has started coming out in clumps so she has made the decision to get rid of the lot.
Her choice. Not the chemo’s.
Her head is very cue ball like at the moment. It’ll blend in if we ever have any sun this ’summer’!
She has accumulated a vast array of hats and scarves and I think I may have a trip down to the joke shop tomorrow for a mega wig.
Sassy has found her 'home entertaining' mojo!
Another party is in the offing.
Whoo Hoo!
She suggested an (Ironic) Diana theme but it has morphed into a ‘Come As A Royal’ party.
Much planning is occurring in Sleepy Mansions. We have a Mary, Queen of Scots, a Catherine the Great and a Marie Antoinette so far.
I’m seeing Robbie as the Tsar!
I'm just trying to get my face right!
Sassy and I have both expressed a desire to see Mrs Crisp-e as ‘Queeny’ from Blackadder!
Crisp-e, you have SO got to make this happen for us!
Attendance IS compulsory.
You will learn the art of blending various dribbles of ‘Flash’ products with ‘own brand’ products.
Sponsored by the Waitrose and Asda BOGOF offers.
Mop wringing with Vileda and Weider.
You know how to put the kettle on so we can dispense with the ‘Hot Water’ part of the training.
But, this can be added on request.
I will expect you in the kitchen 7.30pm, sharp. No excuses.
Thank you.
Claire shaved her head this evening. Grade one all over.
Her hair has started coming out in clumps so she has made the decision to get rid of the lot.
Her choice. Not the chemo’s.
Her head is very cue ball like at the moment. It’ll blend in if we ever have any sun this ’summer’!
She has accumulated a vast array of hats and scarves and I think I may have a trip down to the joke shop tomorrow for a mega wig.
Sassy has found her 'home entertaining' mojo!
Another party is in the offing.
Whoo Hoo!
She suggested an (Ironic) Diana theme but it has morphed into a ‘Come As A Royal’ party.
Much planning is occurring in Sleepy Mansions. We have a Mary, Queen of Scots, a Catherine the Great and a Marie Antoinette so far.
I’m seeing Robbie as the Tsar!
I'm just trying to get my face right!
Sassy and I have both expressed a desire to see Mrs Crisp-e as ‘Queeny’ from Blackadder!
Crisp-e, you have SO got to make this happen for us!
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Shouting Prods
THIS WHOLE POST HAS BEEN REMOVED AFTER A SOLICITORS LETTER.
ACCORDING TO MY LEGAL REPRESENTATIVE (On whom I spent NO money!), I DID NOTHING WRONG BUT PEOPLE POSTING DID.
IT APPEARS YOUR POSTS HIT A NERVE!
PERHAPS THE PARTY INVOLVED WILL THINK ABOUT THE IMPACT OF HIS BEHAVIOUR IN FUTURE.
From the letter it would appear that the quoting of Shariah Law is a worry.
I have to admit to being amused beyond measure by all of this!
I love the interwebs!
ACCORDING TO MY LEGAL REPRESENTATIVE (On whom I spent NO money!), I DID NOTHING WRONG BUT PEOPLE POSTING DID.
IT APPEARS YOUR POSTS HIT A NERVE!
PERHAPS THE PARTY INVOLVED WILL THINK ABOUT THE IMPACT OF HIS BEHAVIOUR IN FUTURE.
From the letter it would appear that the quoting of Shariah Law is a worry.
I have to admit to being amused beyond measure by all of this!
I love the interwebs!