Dad, Food And Football

I did it.
I spoke to my Dad.
We chatted for about half an hour until he couldn’t speak anymore.
He had to have another bit cut out of his mouth last week and his throat was very sore.
It was upsetting but at least I have done it.
He told me that his brother has been diagnosed with an aggressive form of prostate cancer and there is nothing they can do for him.
I thanked Dad for the top notch DNA and we had a good giggle.
I asked how he was doing with the cigarettes and booze and apparently he is persevering.
As he said, “Bit fucking late to stop now and why put myself through the stress!?”
I was inclined to agree with him.

I wore my ‘I Fuck Nuns’ tee-shirt today.
It always cheers me up and cooked up a storm, another thing that cheers me.
From the glut of Sleepy Mansions Runner Beans I have made a Goulash.
I made my favourite comfort eating pie too.
Layered with horseradish, beetroot, red cheese and onions. Repeat the layers and whack in the oven for 45 minutes.
Yummers!
When you cut into it the colours look amazing.
Covered both my religious halves.
Offending Catholics and comfort eating!

England are playing Germany this evening.
Nearly all the first choices for the team are injured, so I’m getting myself mentally prepared for a jolly good spanking.
Thank G-d it’s only a friendly.

Tomorrow I have been writing this blog for a year, so prepare yourselves for the last post!

I Don't Know

I think the burning question of the moment is, ‘Is Carlos Tevez a Cardassian?’
Either way, he has an unusually shaped neck and shoulders.
As you can probably tell, yesterday was another day filled with football.
Joy!

The Big little brother came round in the afternoon and we got totally mashed.
We drank wine, vodka and espressos
He staggered into a taxi at 10pm.
He was due home to his girlfriend at 5pm, so he went to ATM’s for reasons of personal safety.
I’m not having an easy one today.

My Dad phoned this morning and left a message.
He’s dying.
He has about a week to live and wants to see me.
For some reason I can’t bring myself to go or even call him back.
Is that selfish?
Probably.
It’s weird though because I adore my Dad.
I just don’t want to see him all ravaged by the cancer.
I don’t want to be upset.
I don’t want to see him upset.
I don’t want to have to say goodbye.
I don’t want him to go.

Pomp And Circumstance

I went to bed at 3am and was up again at 6.30am.
Watching TV can usually lull me back to sleep, this morning that wasn’t working.
So I laid on the sofa with John the Ipod and we had ‘The Empire Sessions’.
John chose Elgar, Pomp and Circumstance.
Amazingly, I got another 2 hours sleep.

Mr Next Door, the one with the Chinese wife, has played “You’re My Best Friend” by Don Williams, ALL day.
I think he might be a bit down, it’s been on repeat.
I’m now having visions of him sat, rocking, on the kitchen floor, surrounded by dead bodies.

I, on the other hand, am extremely happy.
My beloved Spurs won 4 nil, had a goal disallowed and could have scored more.
That’s more like it.
Now that we have Setanta, thanks to the Virgin/Sky spat, I have watched Football and Rugby all day.
Which means I have turned over the control of TV viewing to the Housemates.
It seems fair and guarantees viewing for tomorrow!
At the moment we are watching Mrs Brown, to be followed by Bright Young Things.
That will have to go on after Match Of The Day though.
‘Air Miles Sassy’ is in France for 2 weeks so I have been texting her results throughout the day.
She managed NOT to piss her cats off before she left this time, which was nice!

This evening we have sampled the first of the Sleepy Mansions Chillies.
(They can be seen in the corner of the picture in yesterday’s post)
Christ they are hot.
Quite a few Scovilles in those spiteful little fuckers.
I had a tiny taste and the burn was hellish.
So bad, I dived straight in the fridge for yoghurt.
The yoghurt and sporadic green and blue bits but the heat was so bad I had a spoonful anyway.
Then half a pint of milk.

PS.. I didn’t see MOTD.

Blood,Gore And Beans

Today I’ve watched Hannibal Rising and Apocalypto.
Really enjoyed the first.
Hannibal is such a likeable killer somehow.
I was left totally knackered by the second.
All that fucking running.
Both were brutal but in such different ways. Apocalyto was the one than got a gag reflex from me though.
(The dead bodies when he makes it through the corn)
Why is it, when that happens, I pull whatever I’m wearing over my mouth and nose?
I definitely couldn’t smell anything and I would have been sick INSIDE my clothes if I had, so what’s that all about?
The other bit that made me cringe was him running with things in his mouth.
Made me feel quite queasy.
I’ve got a ‘thing’ about eyes and sharp things.
Luis Bunuel’s fault, completely.
In return he gave me another ‘thing’ about Catherine Deneuve.
For which I am most grateful.
She made 1985 pass quite quickly, with an underlying fear of blindness and the fires of hell.

Check these bad boys out!
The first crop of Sleepy Mansions Runner Beans!
They were beyond tasty.
Much effort, by one of the Housemates, went in to keeping the plants slug and snail free.
She got quite frightening and ‘genocidal’ in the methods of slaughter at one point.
The hard work SO paid off.

The King

So, Elvis has been dead for 30 years.
Eeeeesh!
Don’t worry, I’m not going to get all teary and wistful, but something hit me with a fucking great thwack today.

This is my thwack upside the head.
Can you remember when you were a kid, listening to your Mum talk about stuff that happened 25 years ago?
I’d think, ‘Fuck me! That’s longer than I’ve been alive, how the hell does she remember this shit and why?’
Well, I can remember something that happened 30 years ago.
I’ve turned into Her.
Thwack!
I’m fucking old!

What’s worse, it’s gone ‘dry’ again and has been for a few weeks.
This means that my memory is starting to work properly and I don’t fucking like it.
If it wasn’t ‘dry’ I would NOT instantly know I was alive when ‘The King’ had that last perch on the throne.
Usually, I’d have to remember what year I was born and see if the date came after that.
Today, horrifically, I could recall everything, instantly.

My Grandmother and ATM sat on the edge of a bed crying their eyes out.
Asking what was wrong, being told.
Then wondering what the fuck THEY were crying for.
Looking at my Grandfather, who rolled his eyes to Heaven, nodded at the door and got us the hell out of there.
He spent a lot of that day shaking his head and finding stuff for us to do outside the house.
He was my King that day.

I’m also convinced that more people know the words to an Elvis song than they do their National Anthem.
I know all the verses to an embarrassing number of his tunes.
I know one verse of G-d Save the Queen.

The Shame

My beloved Spurs are having a disastrous start to the season and lost again last night.
They are at the bottom of the league.
They spent millions on new players during the summer and it would appear not one of them is worth a toss.
I can see Jol the Orc being jobless in the not too distant future.
The fans won’t wear this shit for long.

As you know I am easily pissed off by adverts but, unusually, I find my self missing some.
What happened to the ads about the dangers of flying kites near power lines?
Or the cartoon Northern couple who sit on the beach waving at the drowning sailor.
My particular favourite would have to be the kid who could translate the strange noises of Charlie the cat.
“Miaow, Miaow, Growl, Miaow”
“Charlie says, Never go with strangers.”
Then Charlie would get a whole raw fish to eat.
A simpler time I suppose.
When was the last time you flew a kite?

While on the subject of a simpler time.
What songs are you slightly embarrassed to admit you like?
I’ll get the ball rolling with my top five cringers!

* Gypsy Woman - Don Williams
* Father To Son - Cat Stevens or anyone else who has covered it.
* Viva Forever - The Spice Girls
And the two absolute ‘hang your head in shamers’
* Two little Boys - Rolf Harris
* Puff The Magic Dragon

My Grandfather used to sing the last one to us until my Nan banned it because we’d cry so much when the boy died!
Lassie was banned for similar reasons as were certain episodes of Little House On The Prairie.
As for Watership Down, Jaysus! ATM had to remove us from the cinema after our wailing became too loud and was setting the other kids off.

Football, Boisterous Bovines And Meteor Showers

It’s back!
The football season started Saturday.
Thank all that’s Holy.
My summer depression has lifted!
My beloved Spurs were involved in the first match against Sunderland and lost in the 93rd minute.
On the whole the game was shite.
I can’t look at Martin Jol. If ever a man had a face for Middle Earth, it’s him. I can’t put my finger on what he looks like, but he looks like ‘something’.

Last night, armed with a bottle of wine and a torch, M, Jessie and I sat in the middle of a Wiltshire field and awaited the Perseid Meteor shower.
I had a joint and laid back to stare at the sky.
It was a bit early but I still saw the occasional streak of light.
Then, as it was almost pitch black, out of the gloom appeared a herd of boisterous bovines.
They charged us.

I was on my feet and using the trusty maglite torch, I turned Jedi Knight, swinging the beam of light at them as we headed for the gate.
They still kept coming and charged the moment we turned our backs.
Thank G-d I had listened to The Archers omnibus that morning.
William Grundy taught me how to cope with charging cows. (Well, The Agricultural Story Editor did!)
You stand your ground, apparently, and they stop. I took it a stage further and ran AT them, waving my arms and growling.
I’m a Taurean after all!
I still don’t know what the growling achieved but it helped me.
Not something I’d like to do again while stoned and half pissed!

To quote Hemingway:
‘Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter’s honour’.

Tagine, Ice And 5th

I cooked a meal today that involved a pomegranate.
In the words of Billie Holiday, it’s a Strange Fruit.
The recipe called for it to go in the cous cous, which I’m never sure how to prepare anyway. I do it a different way every time.
I have never had to open a pomegranate and there are no real instructions that come with the thing.
I tried to peel it, not very successfully. When I got in, it was full of seeds.
I used my ‘phone a friend’ option and discovered that the pips ARE the fruit.
Who knew?
The Lamb Tagine was yummers though.
Had no choice really, it was in the oven for seven and a half hours.

The news has been going on and on about the British tourists who were injured while on holiday in the Arctic.
The Fucking Arctic?!! Jaysus!
Self inflicted injury in my book.
A ‘bit’ fell off an iceberg, caused a wave and knocked the boat they were on about.
What the fuck are you doing spending your Summer holidays in the Arctic?
If that is your choice of destination, don’t be surprised when you encounter pieces of iceberg.
They grow there you tossers.

The 5th Element is on! So that’s your lot people!

Enough And Drama

I am now at the point that when the McCann’s are on the news, I mute it.
I also skip any article about them and their child in the paper.
I’m sick to death of the alleged ‘sightings’ and other bollocks.
I’d really like to know who is paying for the British police officers who are out there doing the job the Portuguese were supposed to have done months ago.
A British laboratory is going to be doing the analysis on the blood found in the apartment.
How the fuck was that missed?
Now, some nonce in Switzerland has shot someone and killed himself and police are claiming a link.
So, do all paedophiles know each other?
Like Yanks who presume that you know all their acquaintances in London.

My road has been a bit lively today.
This afternoon some drunken tosser let his dog off the lead and it was hit by a car. (She was fine, had a graze over her eye)
While I was checking out the dog his equally pissed up ‘mate’ was shouting abuse at the neighbours and kicking cars.
He lobbed bricks, from a house having building work, in to the middle of the road.
He then walked up to dog owner and shouted that he wanted his ‘fucking money in 5 days or his head would be fucking kicked in‘.
Charming.
The lady opposite Sassy phoned the police.
This was about 5.30pm, it’s now nearly 10pm and, as yet, they are a no show.
Which is encouraging.

Mmmm And The Art Of Reincarnation

It’s all going wrong in my washing machine.
My net curtains are in there!
I think I may have over done the Napisan.
Superb stuff to wash your whites in but fucking hectic if done three sheets to the wind.
I keep expecting to hear a bang and the lower floor start filling with foam.

I have had an easy day.
In fact, so mellow I surfed into http://www.ratemyturban.com/
Gave me a huge smile!
Sat opened mouthed at news from Tibet, where the Chinese government have ‘banned’ any form of reincarnation without ‘Official’ permission.
That actually repeated on me all day.

“I was thinking of reincarnating”
‘Have you filled in the forms?’
“Forms?”
‘Will this be your first reincarnation, or have you been before?’
‘I think this is about my 14th incarnation, if not more’.
“Have you the Visas from your previous visits?”
‘Ummmm’
“I think you’ll find that is Ohmmm…. Access denied…. Next”.

Schnee had a similar situation with Canada.
Except that revolved around qualifications and the use of “Eh”.

Birthday Girl

This is the Birthday Girl viewing one of her presents.
I tried to get her to expose her cueball head to the light. But she was having none of it!

You know, sometimes when you have those days when everything goes right and because it’s so perfect you put it down to a higher being?
I have had such a day today.
Everything was just perfect.
G-d’s hand must have played a part!
We, at Sleepy Mansions, celebrated Claire’s birthday.
Much grape has been consumed.
Red and White.
Weed has been involved too!
Animal flesh has been searing over lumpwood something or other.
Wood that’s already been burnt, basically.

This is his Crisp-e-ness. Fresh from London to enjoy the day with us!

He is my best 'Bald' Mate! In fact, he is my best mate regardless of follicle status!

I'm liking the Telly Savalas thing going on at his neck!

He won't thank me for pointing it out, at all!

This is Mrs Crisp-e!

She finds him funny! Just as well!

Then again, she can do Maths, which, in my Church would get you burned at the stake.

Fucking Witchcraft!

Mrs Crisp-e is exempt such trials, because she can do accounts!

Proper handy!

This is Mad Matt, The frighteningly dyslexic science teacher!

The Man who performs experiments that are just 'this' side of legal!
Basically, he is that science teacher we wanted, without the dementia.

Not Yet anyway!

A few more of these and maybe he'll be that science teacher your parents wanted sacked. Just because you had burn holes in your uniform!

If everything is all over the place..... That's because I'm pissed out of my mind! and will view this in the morning and not remember 'typing' it!

Taxis And Gambling

Last evening started bizarrely, as only a taxi ride in Pompey can.
The driver told me tales of nastiness that had happened to people who had tried to do a ‘runner’ on him. The bollocks kicked, the mouths punched, the tenners ripped from pockets, etc.
Stabbings of other drivers he had attended.
I was not looking particularly ‘Gypo’ or ‘Chav’ last night.
Both of which, I’m sure I can claim.
I refused to talk to him and made no effort, whatsoever, during the ride.
Just stared out of the window.

I won £36 last night plus I got my ten quid stake back!
The taxi guy on the way home was the business.
“Ello Lover, had a good night babe?”
Ahhh… Proper Pompey, I can cope with that.
“I’ve won 36 quid tonight!! Whoo Hoo!”
“’ave you babe!?? Blinder!
I’ve never won fuck all down there; Cunts!
Great night out though, innit?!”
You have to laugh at the total lack of effort to even try and be civilised!
And at the idea that the use of that word would be inoffensive to their ‘fare’.
Regardless of gender.
I spent my gambling winnings on weed, it seemed appropriate somehow.

This weekend is Claire’s birthday celebration.
The actual day is Sunday but birthdays can last up to a week here!
The ‘usual subjects’ and Claire’s family will be around.
Sassy & Crisp-e, we will raise a glass for you.

It has been a Scorchio day. Not a cloud in the sky.
This has been the view from my garden chair all day.
Brighton Pride is on, I guarantee there are some seriously sunburned people there!

Lists And Piss Takes

Today, The Times had a list of the 50 Greatest Sporting Insults. My favourite came 4th and was an exchange between Rod Marsh and Ian Botham.
“How’s your wife and MY kids?”
“The wife’s fine, the kids are retarded”.
That made me laugh out loud.
The Independent had a list of the Top 20 reasons men and women have sex.
With, ‘to get closer to G-d’, appearing often enough to warrant a mention. Which I find a tad disturbing. Were the Clergy polled?
I find any mention of G-d, apart from the shouting bit near the end, a bit of a passion killer.
Another paper had the list of Top Elvis songs.
It’s 30 years since he died, so brace yourselves.
The Daily Nazi has the poxiest ‘Summer Quiz’ ever. It takes about 2 minutes to do.
It’s August therefore No News?

Nobody seems to be all over that fact that George W. Bush is surprised that our Prime Minister isn’t a twat.
“He’s not a dour Scotsman!” and “He’s a Scotsman with a sense of humour”.
Hang On, Hang On; racial stereotyping, anyone?
Billy Connolly isn’t the only one. There is the cracking Frankie Boyle too!
I bet George was freaked that he didn’t arrive in a kilt and full battle wode.
I’m sure he could have dipped into a wealth of transsexual material.
At the press conference it appeared he was trying to stop himself jumping up and down shouting,
“He’s not a wanker!”

The Gift! Jaysus, the Gift.
If there’s a man more unsuited to a Bomber Jacket, you’d be hard pressed to look beyond Gordon Brown.
And a ‘Bomber Jacket’?
Are they taking the piss or what?
Next time you go Gordon, take a Sniper Rifle for the surviving Kennedy’s, or perhaps a replica of Tower Bridge for the people of Minneapolis?
They started it with the Ironic presents!
I’m thinking a “Break Glass In Case Of Emergency” thing with the condom in, for the Pope.
Some tar and feathers for the French?

I shall stop before I start to fully ’channel’ my Grandfather.
A great trip down memory lane for me but not entirely Politically Correct for the rest of the world.
I make no apologies for him; he was a product of a different time.
A time of Empire, stiff upper lips and joining the Army when the whole idea was to GET shot.
I’ll let you know how I get on at the dogs!

Filth, Tips And Dogs

Why is it that people think if they use a clean glass and drink water out of it, that it can go straight on the drainer for wiping up?
What special properties does water have that will render everyone immune to their germs and nastiness?
Pisses me right off.

Thankfully it rained today, so I excused myself railing scraping and did sweet FA all day.
I knocked up a curry for housemates but that was about it, nice, lazy and stoned.

Tomorrow night I’m going to the dogs.
Greyhound racing with the next door neighbours. I’d forgotten that the Chinese like a flutter until Mrs Next Door started going on about giving her tips.
It was after 2 ‘Pardons’ I realised she wasn’t saying Chips and got it into my head we were going to the casino and I had imagined the Greyhounds altogether.
Good Grass!
I’m shite as a Tipster anyway.
My method of choosing a greyhound goes along the lines of,

a) Does it look like Jessie?
b) Has it got a good name?

That’s it. No great science involved.
It’s the same with horses unless the Irish cousins text a tip.
Which have been conspicuous by their absence this Goodwood Week, I’d just like to add.
There are no grudges held over the Grand National tip!!
Honest guys!

Sassy is in the USA and I am feeding the feline equivalent of ’Hinge and Brackett’.
They have also been to the vet. Their greatest living joy. Not.

Sun, Stiffs And Spliffs

Sunset over Portsmouth from my attic room window.
Yep, that is the Spinnaker Tower on the right.
Or, ‘The Dick In The Dock‘, as it’s known around here.
Alternatively, The ‘reason my bastard council tax is so high’ Tower.

A big item on the news has to do with the programme showing a man’s demise from Alzheimer’s.
Yesterday everybody was up in arms that such a thing could be filmed.
It was disgusting, a disgrace, where was the dignity blah, blah, blah.
The film maker came forward to say, actually it wasn’t his last moment on earth, but his last conscious moment and ITV had got that bit wrong.
Now everyone is upset because they were “Lied” to and they are not going to watching someone die.
For fuck’s sake! Make your minds up you sick bastards.


These are the fruit of the Sleepy Mansions plum tree. I wish they’d stop now though, I’ve run out of things to do with them.

They've been baked, roasted, eaten as they are, chopped and slung in stuff, chopped in fruit salad and those that rotted on the tree are in the composter.

My Big little brother has been round this evening. We have had a good giggle. In my stoned state I paid more attention to how my cats use their personal door.

The Cat Flap.
Why do they approach it as if going through it will result in a trip to Narnia?
They do it several times a day and always appear surprised that they end up in the same garden.
They haven't been confronted with snow or Mr Tumnus yet.
Catnip must have more of an effect than I first thought.
It's got stronger.
My 'Fellah's' aren't used to this form of 'Skunk' catnip.
JAYSUS! They are schizophrenic!
They also get quadriplegic when using it.
Probably from the 'skunk' nature of the catnip.
Their front legs and head go through perfectly, then they drag the back half through like they are paralyzed or some some sort of Seal.