Germs, Death And Friends

This morning I went to the 8.30 or The Coughing and Spluttering Mass.
It being the geriatric liturgy they were very polite and put their hands over their mouths.
Hands which later, would be held out to me for the sign of peace.
It struck me as being a bit unsanitary so I started my own coughing fit to keep them away.
The lady along the pew from me sounded like bouncy castle deflating as she breathed.
I was already pressed up hard against the end of the seat and couldn’t get any further away.

I clocked this a couple of days ago but it’s taken a while to get bounced around my stoned head.
What an amazing job title THAT is?
Exorcist in Chief!
I have a bible, a candle and I could rustle up a bell from somewhere.
It is now up there, with Black Rod, as my ideal job.
I think I may be getting a lot of work in Spain…….. Among the fucking Clergy, if the end of this article is anything to go by.

I was sad to hear that Joe Dolan had died.
Until recently I couldn’t work out why I loved this song so much or HOW I knew the words.
I was telling my uncle about it and he started laughing his head off.
Apparently it was the first record he ever bought.
He and ATM played it to death.
She was pregnant with me at the time. The uncle is now a solid believer that a baby can be influenced from outside the womb.

The Vancouver bunch paid us a final visit today.
Thank you so much for spending a few of your last, hectic, hours with us.
Much appreciated.

I made the fucking hideous mistake of watching Snow Dogs.
(Waiting for football)
I cried like a baby!
Families reuniting gets me every time but add hounds to the mix and I’m a snivelling, snotting wreck.
This one was the worst yet!

Searches, Sales And Johnnies

As ever, I’m amazed at what people type in to Google only to end up at my blog post about Sassy’s cats.
The latest being ‘Frist Fucker’ from someone in Valdosta, Georgia, USA.
How nice of you to be totally unembarrassed by your strange proclivities and piss poor spelling.
One can only assume you were trying for ‘Fist’.
It is common knowledge that Google keeps a record of every search made through it.

Now we are being subjected to the post Christmas advertising.
Bastard ‘Sales’.
Why the feck would I want to buy a leather sofa at this time of year?
Or a ‘half price’ kitchen, bedroom or bathroom?
Ho Hum, it’ll soon be New Year and the advertising will be for holidays in fucking Turkey and Greece.

Something I noticed at ATM’s yesterday but has taken a night to leach in is, I’ve been airbrushed from history.
There is not a single photo of me in the house!
A whole corner of the Dining Room dedicated to family snaps, not a single one of me.
It’s not like there were a huge number of me anyway, but it appears ATM only has 2 children these days.
I’ve decided not to let it bother me, besides, if I hadn’t been in the house in the first place, I would never have known.
It made me want my Nan though.
So, I cooked ‘Comfort Food’.
I made her Red Cabbage and Apples! My house smells bloody gorgeous…….. And a little bit like my Nan’s.
That’ll do for me.


My Beloved Spurs did their very best to cheer me up and won 6-4!
Dimitar Berbatov is a fecking Legend!


I also got a late Christmas present through the post today.
One of those Oxfam ‘buy a goat’ affairs.
An absolutely inspired gift.
Condoms!
Johnnies for Africa!
I love it.

The Fear And The Acronym

The Big little Brother decided that today, 24 hours before
ATM arrives back from Florida, that we should prepare the DMT.
In her house.

I have to admit to being panicky that he’d got the wrong day and she would walk through the door.
The thought of her walking into the kitchen and seeing me, the brother and Crisp-e chopping up tree bark in her sooper dooper blender and transferring it to her slow cooker, filled me with utter panic.
The air was thick with pink dust; thank G-d she has an extractor fan!
Once we had started it suddenly dawned on the brother that the ’blender’ was, in fact, ATM’s sooper dooper Smoothie maker.
We continued using it anyway.
All giggling at the idea ATM could drink a Smoothie and end up on a ‘Vision Quest’!

My brother’s complete inability to plan a piss up in a brewery means that the grinding stage was as far as we got.
Huge thanks to Crisp-e for his supervision and ability to read the instructions properly.
The last bit alone, almost certainly saving one or both of us a trip to Odstock Burns Unit!

I’ve also been in the grip of a seriously Bad Hair Day.
For most of the day I have looked like Ernie Wise.
My hair has had something very similar to this going on.
Not a good look for Ernie, let alone me!

I watched The History Boys this evening.
Cracking film.
Although, it makes me slightly uncomfortable the way the gay teachers are portrayed.
Why is any teacher, gay or lesbian, assumed to be ‘interested’ in kids?
Tut Tut Tut.
Choked me up at the end though.
‘Pass it on boys, pass it on’.
I’ve missed Frances de le Tour, how fabulous is she?!
For some reason the last time I saw her (that I remember) was in Rising Damp.

Aftermath

Thank Christ that’s all over.
Christmas was great.
Starting with Christmas Eve and seeing Crisp-e’s family.
They drove down from London for their first Pompey visit.
I was on my best behaviour and didn’t drop a single “Fuck” in front of his Mum.
Phew!
Sassy came for dinner Christmas Day. The absolute highlight being, ‘herself’ leaving with her knickers in her pocket!
She can explain that one all by herself.
I’m far too discreet!
Rob turned up at about 10pm and we drank Vodka and coffee until 3am.
A splendid day!

Housemates, I know it is the season of Goodwill and all that but this won’t wait.
There must be a way of putting opened packets of spaghetti and linguine back in the cupboard.
One that means I don’t feel like a lone Spartan as pasta arrows rain down on me when I open the fecking door.
I was physically damaged by linguine today!
Not a sentence I intend to use again, I can tell you.

Sadly, Benazir Bhutto has been killed by a suicide bomber.
What I find confusing is how a bunch of people who embrace Martyrdom, think that their guy is going to be the only ‘Martyr’ to come out of this act.

This gave me the best laugh of the year on Christmas day.
Tommy you're a fecking LEGEND!

Expressed

Perhaps after being awake all night smoking dope and drinking espresso, the 8.30am Mass was not the best one to attend.
I had a total Tourettes moment and shouted out ‘Bollocks’ during the Priest’s sermon.
I knew as soon as it was out of my mouth that it was unacceptable, so I did what any normal person would do and looked behind me for the culprit.
He was stood outside as I left. I looked at him, shook my head and said,
“We’ve got to talk”.
He half chased me up the road and shouted after me,
“I’d like that”, but I was off to get some cigs and I really didn’t want anyone seeing me pursued by a man in a dress.
I have a certain reputation to uphold!
Talking of which, the Polish lady with the damn fine arse was there again!

Last night the ‘Girls’ from Mayhem and Mad Matt came round for a Christmas drink.
It was, as usual, a debauched affair.
Much wine and much laughing.
Mrs D left in a very delicate state. Mad Matt didn’t leave at all but found a bed and crashed out.
I was zooming and having amazing palpitations so stayed up and enjoyed the ride.
Should be quite an interesting come down.

It's Later Than You Think

I’m loving this website!
I have seen and written little missives like that myself!
A house favourite was the one left on the bathroom window encouraging housemates to close the window after opening.
The threat being I would hide the fucking keys and glue the bastards shut if they didn’t.
Fortunately, I started this blog, so manage to vent quite a bit of Lodger Rage here!
You may have noticed.

My peeve for this week is the total inability of one of them to wring out the dishcloth.
Why dump it on the side without even the most cursory of squeezes?
Why would someone do that?!
Rinse it, wring it out, drape it over the tap for the next person.
For some reason this doesn’t seem unreasonable to me.
Although, since Pat has moved in, finding chopsticks in the cutlery drawer really makes me smile!

Today I started preparing this.
I’ve seen it done but have never attempted it myself.
It won’t be anywhere near ready for two weeks.
The main problem is going to be finding space in the fridge for it but
where there’s a will, there’s Housemate crap being slung out!
It wasn’t easy looking for Thyme in the pitch black, in the garden; so lack of fridge space won’t be stopping me.

I watched the film ‘This is England’ this evening.
I’ve been wanting to watch it for ages but got spanked on the Housemate vote each time film choices came up.
This is the time I grew up in. My Dad lived in an area that looked exactly like that.
I was 13 when the film was set and I saw shit like this going on.
It really brought it home how an ideology was imposed on a cultural ‘movement’.
The ‘Original’ skinheads were about the look and the music.
Black and white mixed together.
Only later did it become associated with British Nationalism.
I was in a little gang like Woody’s; it was about Ben Sherman, Ska Music and getting stoned.
We were all different colours and backgrounds.

With that in mind, this song is the Sleepy Family anthem.
At the end of any family ‘do’, it is requested by my Dad and my siblings and I scream it out!
He loves it and wants it at his funeral.

Hypocrite, Diva, Dyke And Queen

I decided it might be a good idea to take my back out for a walk, see if it helped with the stiffness at all.
It didn’t.
To add insult to injury, I was overtaken by octogenarians and kids who have only been walking two minutes.
I dropped in on the Ex brother in law and picked up the cards that the Irish bunch always send there.
It doesn’t matter how many change of address cards and letters that are sent. They refuse to believe it and after five years I’ve given up trying.
His kids are in Florida with my sister and ATM, so he is very grumpy about Christmas too.

So, the Pope-zi has been meeting with the President of France.
That’s nice.
I wonder what the twice married, self confessed lapsed Catholic had to say to the old boy.
Considering a week ago the Pope was telling us that ‘people who divorce threaten the peace of the world’.
Make your fucking mind up!

Last month he was threatening to excommunicate politicians who vote for a woman’s right to choose.
I’d love to know how that would work.
Is a picture of you sent to every Catholic Church in the world?
Pinned up behind the altar like those police photos of ‘habitual drunkards’ behind the counter in the Off Licence?
A little CV of your ‘crimes’ and the command not to ‘serve wafer’.
I’m finding it difficult to find any evidence that Priests convicted of paedophilia are excommunicated.
Shagging kids is fine but voting with your conscience is not.
Strange.

This has made me chuckle all day!
Cher, having the same problems as mothers of Lesbians everywhere!
I know what was been said in that restaurant, I can hear her now.

“Couldn’t you have your hair just a little bit longer? A colour would cover the grey… You have such lovely long lashes a little bit of mascara… Are all your tops so baggy?… They look like Army boots… Oh darling, a tattoo? Did it have to be so big?… They make pretty bras you know… You need to moisturise…”

I could go on but having been free of it for the last 5 years I’d rather keep it that way!

At 5pm today the Queen became the oldest Monarch this country has had.
I think that is pretty cool.
G-d Save The Queen!

Pain

I read in the local rag that my recent internet problems were down to routine maintenance that they managed to make a complete bollocks of.
Nice of them to let us know.
I don’t suppose they will be offering any compensation; it would be nice to think that they’d let us have a movie for free.

I am in a world of spasming pain.
My back went on me as I was picking up the laundry basket.
There was a ‘click’ and everything seized up.
It makes ordinary tasks a complete trial.
Coughing and sneezing are dreadful.
Sitting on the toilet is a ten minute activity. Walking there takes just as long.
Getting in and out of the shower is a 2 person job, which would be fun if it wasn’t such agony.
Throwing empty cigarette packets at the fire is an absolute no-no, unless you want to shout loud enough to freak the cat right out.

The gathering last night was a great laugh.
Sassy and Schnee got to meet each other at last and enough wine was imbibed to count as ALL of our 5 a day fruits for some time to come.
I fell up the stairs but was lucky enough to wake up hangover free.
Unlike some other poor unfortunates.

Connections And Cleaning

I’ve been having serious Connectile Dysfunction with the Broadband.
Frigging Virgin Media have joined my shit list.
You name it, I gave it a go. I restarted, turned off, turned on and unplugged every imaginable electrical item vaguely connected to the Internet.
No joy.
I got connectivity back this morning.

Yesterday I gave the house a deep clean.
It smelt of Flash, Windolene, Cannabis and burnt hair.
It was colder than a Witch’s Tit so the fire was lit.
The logs were too wet to burn, they sat there hissing and spitting flaming bark shrapnel onto the cat.
The cat is too stupid to move and laid there with smoldering fur.
It’s his own fault for being such a heat whore.
If you want to know where your hot water pipes are, borrow Kenneth.

I want a version of one of these.
It will be called a ‘Stupidity Card’.
I would be able to present it to shop staff as soon as they began to piss me off.
So, from the moment I walk in really.
It would enable me to hand them a list of what I want, they will bugger off and get it.
The whole transaction will take place in silence.

I’ve started reading a new book; it’s early days but seems okay.
The writer is extremely descriptive though and I’m finding myself skipping her paragraphs about hair colour, how it is tied up and the location of wispy bits.
Sometimes less is more.
“She had brown hair” will do for me.
I’m not one of those people who pictures the characters in my head as I‘m reading, that’s what TV is for!
I don’t believe anyone sits there and actually tries to work out how to pronounce Polish names.
You take an imprint of it in your mind so that you recognise it and the character.
If you are still reading out loud or your lips move, books with names like ‘Janet and John’ are going to be more your level.

Schnee and the gang are round for food and booze this evening.
Updates later.

Party, Bruising And DNA

Just a reminder to friends.
Don’t bother with knocking the door this week, it won’t be answered unless you text first.
We are about to enter ‘Hell Week’.
When every fecker, who already gets paid to do their job, will knock on the door and expect some sort of Christmas ‘bonus’ from me.
Carol singers can piss off too.
Tuneless bastards.
The singers, not the friends.

I found this today, which was a surprise because I was convinced he was dead.
I’ve always had the feeling that there is something just slightly ‘wrong’ about him though. I’m sure I saw a programme about his house and life in Sri Lanka; he was surrounded by young male servants.
Just a feeling.

Somehow I have managed to bruise the palm of my hand.
I did have an absolute skinful yesterday but don’t think I fell over and the knees of my jeans are clean.
The ultimate test.

Friends had a pre Christmas party.
I use the term ‘party’ loosely!
You know your mates are a bit older than you, when their ‘Chill Out’ room has the Ch4 Racing on.
Nobody smokes, they assume you have retired when you say you aren’t working and Jamie Cullum is a controversial choice for the stereo.
Had a fantastic time being inadvertently offensive with (Not to!) the guy with early onset Parkinson’s Disease.
(We met the party before and we had a great time telling each other our favourite Jew/Gay and Disabled jokes)

The bruising may have occurred when I had a total spaz out while trying to change a light bulb.
The hallway now has light but no lightshade.
Fucking up lighters, what is the point of them?!
Why the hell would I want to light up the poxy ceiling?
We no longer have one.

Watched the last ever Parkinson tonight.
Is it just me, or does Jamie Cullum look like he is a chromosome shy of a ‘condition’?
You know what I mean?
Like people who look like they have Downs Syndrome but they don’t.
He looks like he avoided Dwarfism by one letter in a sequence.
An A, G, C, or T in the wrong place can be the difference between boarding the Disorient Express to the ‘special school’, or a walk to the local Comp!
I include myself in that; although, I NEVER caught the Short Bus and the only people in my peer group with head protection, rode motorbikes!

This is my tune of the day. A blast from the past but still a cracker!

More Questions Than Answers

I know that it’s wrong but you have got to laugh at this!
My doctor concedes that I have ‘an extraordinary capacity’ for drugs but I’m sure I’d notice some fecker sawing off my leg, no matter how mashed up I was.

Isn’t the word Soothsayer just brilliant?
I have been using ‘Visionary and Dreamer’ when filling in the occupation box on forms but I will be adding Soothsayer.
I may save it for the next census.
The idea that some great, great, great niece or nephew could look through the family history and find that amuses me.
“Bloody Hell! Great Aunt Sleepy was only a fecking Soothsayer!”
Then checking an earlier census to find my religion listed as ‘Jedi Knight’.
They would discover that at the time of the Poll Tax Riots I was occupied as a ‘Sexual Adventurer’.
Fantastic.

I believe it is your duty to lie on questionnaires.
When constructing the surveys they must allow for lying. If nobody lies the results will be skewed.
I’m providing an important service.
Doing it face to face is best, you see an instant reaction.
Next time you are stopped in the street by some fool with a clipboard have some fun.
I have an ‘obvious’ chest so I tell them I’m Male.
When they start to say anything, “Biologically” is added with a whisper!
Lie about kids, pets, ethnic group, income, the lot.
Guarantee you will fly through the questions, if you get started at all; because you don’t have to think about anything and you don’t have to remember your bullshit!

Congratulations to the Hindman tribe and their newest addition, Eleanor.
Mazel Tov!

A Brace Of Birthdays

I will begin with my composting horror.
For some reason I am the only one in the house who is able to open the back door and empty the indoor compost bin.
I wasn’t happy when the lid wouldn’t come off and was cursing Housemates under my breath.
Then, the instant Karma.
The seal was broken, there was a sucking sound, and the lid flew off in my hand and spattered my face with fucking Tiger Worms.
To say I was livid, is a little bit of an understatement.
I went mental.
Stuff was kicked.
You have no idea how difficult worm slime is to get off glasses.

I noticed two things while out shopping today.
There is no easy way to carry a 9 pack of toilet roll if there isn’t a handle and everyone stares at you, in an embarrassed way when you do.
I could understand it if it was a massive box of Tampax or Condoms.
I wanted to shout,
“What? WHAT? Your arse self cleaning then?”
Bloody people!
As if I wasn’t self conscious enough already!

Today the BIG little Brother is 20!
To be honest, I’m surprised he made it past 3.
When I think of the stuff my sister and I used to get him to do.
For entertainment purposes.
That’s one of the downsides of having older, borderline sadistic Sisters.
One of the upsides is when your birthday is on a Thursday, and you spunked all your money on an Infected Mushroom gig and drugs; one of them will buy booze and make sure you get mashed up.

He’s coming round later.

It is also the birthday of someone I have a lot of respect for and think a lot of.
Someone who has never cruised through anything.
Never had that luxury.
Someone who has to work twice as hard to achieve what the rest of us take for granted.
But he does it and through his relentless hard work, he achieves it.
For that he will always have my admiration.
Laurence, being 21 doesn’t make you a man.
You have been one for a while now.
Being 21 is when you start becoming a better man and from what I’ve seen, you are well on your way.
Happy Birthday Dred.

I also know he will be squirming and embarrassed if his Mum reads this to him.
Stop It!

This has caught my eye and raised a smile today.
Surly? The French? No? Really?

Adverts And Heroes

Bastard adverts.
Why do you only get adverts for classical music and cold remedies in December?
‘Voices of the Valley’ is really getting on my tits.
A Welsh Male Voice Choir belting out ‘favourites’ in their unique close harmony way.
The only time I want to hear “Men of Harlech” is when I’m watching bloody Zulu!
Grrrr.
But in the Ad and shown on the cover of the album, there are six fat Taffs.
Six.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d argue that was a sextet rather than a frigging choir.
The little snippets you hear certainly sound like more than Six!
The Scots Dragoon Guards have released a bagpipe Greatest Hits CD.
Bagpipes?
Because of course, no Christmas is complete with the sound of strangled cats.
Every classical singer and X Factor winning tosspot has released something ‘festive’.
The adverts follow one after the other.
They don’t even break them up with the cold remedy and Argos ads.

I might be a tad more interested if Eminem released some Gregorian Chant.
Or if the Dragoons did a medley of Marilyn Manson, Rammstein and Nine Inch Nails on the bagpipes.
Andrea Bottcelli’s Tupac covers would be interesting listen, as would Katherine Jenkins and Charlotte Church covering t.A.t.U.
The Choir of Westminster Abbey with their version of ‘Jerry Springer - The Musical’.

It is also the law that at this time of year all adverts should contain snow, Robins, log fucking fires and smiling, happy families.
What bollocks.

I can’t help myself but keep looking at this.
The tagline was, ‘is this the worst facelift in Hollywood?’
Umm.. I think the response would be a resounding,
Hell Yes!
I’ve seen corpses with better colouring than her.

Well, it was the last episode of Heroes tonight.
I have been loving this series but I have to admit to being just a little bit disappointed with the ending.
Am I alone?
I couldn’t tell you how I expected it to end but I was left…………….. Unsatisfied.
Not for the first time today!

Conquering Everest, Surviving Cancer And Poxy Flowers

C the builder came round this morning to look at the double glazing.
There have had some issues with it for a while.
Some cosmetic, some not.
Told Everest about it and they came back.
They looked, they listened, they nodded, they wrote stuff down and then they were never seen or heard from again.
C agrees that I can have them for all sorts.
Big mistake.
Don’t piss me off.

C is proper Pompey and one of the nicest guys you’d ever meet.
I only ever see him with Rick the Right Wing Sikh, but he was alone today.
It was weird, like seeing someone without their make-up on.
You know it’s them but there’s something not quite right about them.
About 20 years ago he was diagnosed with bowel cancer and was given months to live.
He said he just decided,
“Nah, I ain’t fuckin’ avin it! I’ve got a Missis and fuckin’ kids!”
He and his wife started to look into experimental treatments that were going on in America at the time.
One involved Caffeine Enemas.
Yep, firing coffee up your Jacksie.
They went for it and, well, he’s still here!
My first question which unfortunately didn’t remain unasked was,
‘Do you get a Doctor or a Barista for that kind of thing?’

Anyway, watch out Everest. I’m coming for you.
British Gas didn’t like it and you certainly won’t.

My gripe today is Flowers.
Cut flowers in particular.
Housemate Claire has been sent numerous bunches of flowers.
How these aid her recovery is beyond me, but people seem to think it works.
The gripe is, ‘When do you chuck them out?’
Is it when the first one dies? When the last one dies? When half of them die?
When they start dropping staining, sticky pollen everywhere?
How about when the water is a green, stinking gloop and the stems have all but dissolved?
When they are dry, crispy and the petals drop all over the fucking floor?
No?
THEN WHEN!?

And rest……………………And breathe…………...................

For future reference, NEVER buy me flowers.
Give me the money and I’ll buy a book.

This is my tune of the day.
It gives me that ‘silver paper on a filling’ feeling, but in my stomach.
Beautiful.

Happy Hanukkah!
Just outed my self as a Tom Lehrer and a South Park fan.
Youtube really DOES have something for everyone!

A Matter Of Taste

Does anybody else smell a rat with this bloke?
It seems odd he turns up not long after the wife sells up, what looked like a substantial property, and buggers off abroad.
I wonder if his life insurance has recently paid out.
Just a thought.

Since Housemate Claire’s Diabetes diagnosis, food experimentation has commenced in Sleepy Mansions.
I won’t beat around the sugar free bush - It’s shite.
Diabetic flapjacks are what I’d imagine munching a tampon to be like.
There is endless chewing but you never really get to the feeling where you want to swallow.
Although Mad Matt seems to like them, but I think he was brought up on coal.
Wholemeal everything presents its own problems, like being able to crap through the eye of a needle at 30 paces.
Wholemeal scones look like those fake rocks you hide the spare key in and wholemeal Pasta never seems to reach a point where it is actually ‘cooked’.
Neither does brown rice, not that I like rice. Horrible stuff.
I want sweeties.
I never used to but I do now.
In the last few days have developed a serious Crunchie habit.

Hanukkah starts at sundown tomorrow so remember to get something oily in to eat.
I recommend a big bag of doughnuts and knocking up some Latkes.
Yummers.

The question of the day came up in conversation with Sassy.
“Why do I always think old people are going to be well spoken?”

Awake And Confused

As I didn’t sleep *AT ALL last night I decided to check out the 8.30am Mass.
I was hoping there‘d be no kids.
I was right.
In fact, I was probably the youngest one there by half a century and several Popes.
Much like Waitrose on pension day.

The speediness of the responses was not a problem this week.
The total opposite.
It was like waiting to hear from the BBC correspondent in Moscow.
A couple of seconds time lag, a finger in the ear and a bit of shouting.
I don’t think everyone had switched to the “T” position because there were enough whistles and clicks going on to call Whales ashore.
None of this helped with the feedback on the priest’s radio mic thing, which only worked when he faced left.
Every time he did I heard, “Walk like an Eeeegyptian”, in my head.
Thankfully, they dispensed with the singing.
Can you imagine that?
The only one worth singing with this lot would be, ‘Nearer My G-d To Thee’.
Except when you are going up for communion and then they move so slowly time actually stops.

The sedate pace gave me time to contemplate why they let people who can’t read, or those who have ill fitting dentures near any of the books at the front.
One of the Intercession readers had us praying for ‘Paris’ instead of ‘The Parish’.
That could be dentistry or dyslexia.
I don’t mind the Advent stuff too much.
I’m partial to a bit of Isaiah, especially after Handl has had a fiddle with it.
As it were.

Weirdly, I’m not sure how I feel about this.
It confuses me.
I would love to see some changes going on in the Church, huge changes.
But they aren’t likely to happen any time soon.
Conditioning I suppose.
I don’t like watching Women’s football either, it’s just NOT the same.

Yet again, the defence at my Beloved Spurs are conspiring to make me destroy my TV and the rest of my front room furniture.
Talk about a team who can snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
They are really beginning to try my patience now.
Lost 3-2 after being 2-1 up.

I always used to tell the kids at school, ‘Ask the question, no matter how stupid you think it is. I guarantee someone else will be thinking the same’.
So I am going to follow my own advice.
Can someone, for the love of Christ, tell me what the fuck ‘Cranford’ is all about?
Is it about hats?
Am I missing something or am I supposed to want to slip into a coma?


*That’s nearly 48 hours straight with no sleep.

Saturday

I loved The Tudors last night!
My favourite moment was when Cardinal Wolsey leant down to Cardinal Campeggio and called him a “Cunt”.
Much cheering and applauding in Sleepy Mansions!
Get it out your Eminence, get it out!

At about 3.30 this afternoon it was dark enough indoors to turn the lights on, but not dark enough outside to draw the curtains.
If you have the light on people can see straight in and EVERYBODY looks!
They can’t help it.
It’s like having to touch anything with a ‘Wet Paint’ sign attached to it.
I hate it and end up screaming,
“What?” at the window.

This evening I noticed our local Indian ‘stay open all night’ shop sells predominately Polish goods.
Jars and tins of unpronounceable stuff with pictures of unrecognisable vegetables on them.
It also smells of feet in there and I’m not sure why, the door is always open.
The trip to the shop is when I saw that the people in Number 3 have got their Christmas Tree up.
Bastards.
Thus starts my season of monumental grumpiness and Carol Singer avoidance.

This is my favourite tune of the day.
For some reason it just gets my grin on.
The video of Dolores is there because…..
Well, just look at that mouth!
She has a mouth made for…. Um.. You decide!
My favourite words of the day are Upwellings and Oblique.
I like what they make you do with your tongue when you say them.

The Freudian among you can just stop yourselves, right now!