Subtitles And The End

Why do I turn up the subtitled bits of a film?
They are talking… and yes, they are talking ‘quietly’ in a language I DON’T understand.
What they are saying is flashed across the bottom of the film, in a language I DO understand, so why do I increase the volume?
It doesn’t make the script of the subtitles any bigger, which is what I actually need.
I’ve also noticed I want other people to “Shush”, while I’m reading.
What’s that about?
I blame the Godfather part two.

Things I have learnt this year…

Insure. The. Fucking. Cats.
To be more brutal when culling self seeded tomatoes.
I can grow Butternut Squash.
People will buy my photos.
I like cooking soups.
Brussel Sprout soup is shite. I was bored, they were cheap, ‘nuff said.
With a bit of planning the garden will feed the house.
Not to buy Aubergines unless I have a specific recipe for them. They don’t keep.
I HAVE to learn how to use the Mac.
I need more exercise.
I should visit my Brothers and Sisters more. They make me laugh SO much.
WD40 gets grease out of a Cashmere jumper but you do smell like a mechanic for a couple of washes.
Not to take part in any kind of BBC phone vote.
Peter O Toole should have won an Oscar for Venus.
I look old enough to mug. The fucking cheek of it.
Housemate Pat is Buddhist. They asked at the hospital.
That sometimes you’ve just got to let go.
Gavin and Stacey never disappoints.
Housemate Claire cooks a pot roast beef that tastes so good it’s sordid.
My Dad likes to talk to me as much as I like talking to him. How cool is that? I’m delighted he told me.
I still hate the Pope.
That while in the garden, shouting “You black twat” at my cat, is probably not a good idea in my multicultural neighbourhood.
I can watch the moment my Great Grandfather died on ‘youtube’. Most freaky.

Have a good one and may it bring you all it should.

Happy New Year.

Boxing Day

These photos sum up my day yesterday!

These, give you a glimpse of my day today...

Allow me to introduce some of the men of my family.

A brother in law, a brother and a Dad!

And now for the Girls! A niece, a sister and a sister in law!

I adore being around this bunch.
I have never felt like and 'Outsider' with these people. Eccentricity is expected, like a default position.
They REALLY get my grin on.

Best of all!!!!! Check out my autistic nephew M.

This is the first time he has interacted with any of us.
Singing and dancing just happens when we are together and M got involved! Look at his cousin's face!
This made my Dad cry.

As a treat.
I am going to allow you to see me.
Me, holding a child.
Here you go..... Me (My huge Christmas Zit) and my nephew, Ronnie.

I absolutely never, ever hold children, but there was something about this one!
His utter wilfulness appeals to me.

Violence Of The Lambs

I decided to do an experiment and cook a leg of lamb in the slow cooker.
Load of garlic cloves, Rosemary, 2 bay leaves, chopped up ginger, salt & pepper and a glass of white wine.
In the pot for 7 hours. (2.5lb leg)
An experiment I probably should have conducted earlier in the year when a fuck up would have been less of a… Well… A fuck up!
It was precisely 2.5 inches too long for the pot.
Fucker.
After violently swinging at it with a cleaver for five minutes, spattering meat up the walls and a near miss with my thumb, I gave up and went for the tool box.
I found a Tenon Saw and a hacksaw.
Neither looked particularly wholesome or the slightest bit washable.
There is a circular saw under the stairs but I’d ruled that out early on.
Fortunately, I remembered that Crisp-e bought one of those knives that cuts through those pens which can stab through tin cans, or something.
It took twenty minutes and was worth every swear filled minute.
The smells that are coming from the kitchen are heavenly.

First bit of Christmas TV gold.
Gavin and Stacey Christmas Special.
A bit darker than usual and kind of ‘setting up’ series three but still immense.

Merry Christmas people, may what ever gets your grin on visit you.

Random Thoughts On Tuesday

Stuff that happened, I was told or popped into my head on Tuesday.

Today, heaven is Helen Hunt in a wet tee shirt.
Hubba Hubba!
Thank you ‘As Good As It Gets’.

There was a queue in the Deli for cheese but Rue Albert Tesco was more or less empty.

Don’t go shopping with someone who is buying a ‘Secret Santa’ gift.
This exchange will give you an idea of how my brain works.

ME.. Do you like this person?
BUYER.. Why would that have anything to do with my choice. I’m getting her earrings.
ME.. Well, if you are not so keen on her just buy any shit worth a tenner and we can go to the Café Distress for a Vodka.
BUYER.. I said Coffee.
ME.. I heard Vodka.
BUYER.. She only wears small earrings.
ME.. What’s wrong with her ears then?
BUYER.. There’s nothing wrong with her ears! Why would you think there is something wrong with them?
ME.. If she wears little earrings she must not want to draw attention to them.
BUYER.. Her ears are fine!

Browsing, browsing, browsing.
Bored, bored, bored.
Owner/Friend appears.

O/F.. Hello! Hello!
ME.. J, for fuck’s sake sell her a pair of earrings for someone with sticky out ears, so I can go and have a Vodka.
O/F.. Are they really big ears?
BUYER.. Sleepy! For fuck’s sake! There is nothing wrong with her ears AND I said coffee.
ME.. I heard Vodka.

More browsing and locked cupboard opening.
At last earrings are selected, wrapped and paid for.

O/F.. They’re nice. Understated. Won’t draw attention to her ears.
BUYER.. There is nothing wrong with her ears!

We departed for the Café Distress.

BUYER.. Sleepy, you’re a cunt.

A five minute walk later, I had Vodka.

I had a real urge to find some of this this! It started when I was about six.
My childhood viewing totally primed me for magic mushrooms and LSD!
This is also from an era in my life when my diagnosis was ‘Hyperactive’ and they were drugging me with all the shit that was around before Ritalin.
My Grandmother’s Mogadon, also known as Nitrazepam, being a ‘privately’ administered top up to the prescribed shite.
The pills were crushed between two teaspoons, jam was put on one and the powder sprinkled on top.
Apparently, a dose that used to put my Nan out for 20 hours would give them a three hour respite from my incessant questioning, demands to be taken to the library, fire lighting and taking things apart.

Amazon packaging is NOT, ‘a perfectly acceptable form of Christmas wrapping’.
I have a vague recollection of being told this before.

I’ve cooked a huge saucepan of my Nan’s Red cabbage.
The smell soothes me and makes me feel happy.

WTF And Tesco

You fucking what?
I can honestly say that I have felt true hatred very few times in my life, but I hate this cunt.
My stomach tightens and I start to chew the inside of my mouth.
I see his face and I really wish harm on him.
How’s that for irony? The fecking Pope banjaxing my Karma.
The Fucker!
Look what he’s wearing for Christ’s sake and he calls me a ‘deviant’.
Man of G-d? My Arse.
What’s worse, I’m one of those deviants who actually turns up to Mass! Not just at Christmas.
A deviant who is one of the few who understands the proceedings in English.
The Panzer Pope doesn’t want us ‘touching’ each other during the sign of peace, how long before the whole thing is reverted back to Latin?

The ‘big’ Tesco was totally hellish at 8.30 this evening when I decided to do my Christmas food shopping.
Turkeys were actually being snatched from hands!
I was so stoned I got the giggles watching that and approached hysteria when I saw the shenanigans around the sprouts.
The pickled onions had been decimated and Chablis was on offer.
I had a list and was in and out in an hour, 20 minutes of which was spent queuing.
The people in front had a grand total of 206 quid’s worth, then they produced coupons.
Piles and piles of coupons.
By the time they had finished their bill was down to £68.
Fuck me!
To say I was impressed would be an understatement.
I am going to be trying some of that shit next year.

Watched Iron Man tonight.
Does anyone else feel that they couldn’t get John Malkovich for the ‘Obadiah’ role, so they dressed Jeff Bridges up to look like him?
It niggled me the whole way through, for some reason.

Sneezing Sunday

I read somewhere in the last couple of days that sneezing is linked to sex.
That thinking about it brings on the sneezing or something.
I’d link to it if I could be in any way arsed.
I have been very sneezy today and each time, I thought,
‘Oh that’s linked to sex.. Was I thinking about sex just then?’
I had a ponder.
‘No! I was thinking how boring the WBA v Manchester City game was. Was I thinking about sex now? Yes. Yes, I was. Thanks a fucking bunch!”
I think there is a flaw in their research but I haven’t read the article properly.
Either way I started to have thoughts, of an impure nature, about the Polish woman at Mass and because I flicked past an episode, Captain Janeway and Seven of Nine.
A bit later on it was Celia Imrie, how wrong is that? Celia Imrie? Where did that come from?
But she does have absolutely magnificent tits.
I haven’t sneezed since I started thinking about sex though.

I’ve watched two cracking films today.
My Big Fat Greek Wedding and A Matter Of Life And Death.
In the first, everything is cured using Windex and spit roast lamb.
In the second, David Niven just expects heaven to look like England and to join a queue, “I wonder where I report?”
Both are brilliant; but you have to admit that they knew how to do colour in 1946.
It also reminds me of the time when I lived with the Grandparents and life was ‘perfect’.

Consensus

This is the text I sent out this evening.
“Wouldn’t it be brilliant if Bruce Forsyth dropped dead on live TV?”
The general consensus was,
‘LOL’

Wine, Texts And Photoshop

Last evening Mad Matt dropped by with a bottle of Chablis and a belly full of laughs!
We were joined by Mr & Mrs Crisp-e and for a short while the Sassy one.
We polished off a few bottles of wine, a Chinese Takeaway and many, many smokes.
It soon became apparent he wasn’t going to make it home and the spare room was made up.
I couldn’t tell you what we laughed about but I know we did a lot of it, my sides ached this morning.

The chuckles have continued this evening via text.
I have discussed with many people the concept of the “Shudder-Wee”.
(I’ve probably blogged it before but I’m too stoned to check)
That extremely satisfying piss which ends with a pleasurable shudder.
There is also the “Shudder less, Shudder-wee” which feels like it should end with a shudder but doesn’t, and its absence is disappointing.
It also sounds like a Nigerian Prince.
The text I received from MM was this,
“Just watched a man have a shudder wee and thought of u x”
I replied as only one could,
‘I’m touched beyond measure x’
Why the hell he would be observing another man having a slash was a question I thought I’d save for later.

Photoshop Elements, in partnership with the Apple Mac, have conspired to make me a raging, frustrated mess.
1. I’m pretty much clueless as to how the Apple actually works. Preferring to use the laptop.
2. I’m pretty much clueless as to how Photoshop actually works.
Preferring to get Crisp-e to do it for me.
I need some sort of guide that doesn’t presume that you have the SLIGHTEST idea.

If the fact that there are 18 of them wasn’t advert enough for sterilisation.
Starting all the names with a J has got to be.

Ink And Auras

The trip to get more printer ink was painless.
Sassy accompanied me and we took the opportunity for a swift coffee in the Café Distress.
One of the great things about our ‘fugees is the café culture they have brought with them.
Today, The Distress looked as if it was predominately Bulgarian.
They were definitely Eastern European because I couldn’t pick out anything recognisable in what they were saying.
Loathed as I am to say it, Latin HAS had its uses, unlike the physical assault as a teaching method, that hasn’t been much of a boon at all.
There were about 10 dark, stocky men who greeted each other with handshakes and shoulder punching.
One took up the ‘Tony Soprano’ position and the rest arranged themselves deferentially around him.
For some reason I really wanted them to produce a chess set or a deck of cards.
I was amused that he was drinking a cappuccino with lots of froth and chocolate.

The Sassy one needed to collect dry cleaning so I ended up waiting for her in the ‘hippy, crystal, self-help book, Enya and whale song’ shop.
I don’t go in there often because the moment I cross the threshold I feel bewildered.
The yoga practising, tofu eating, wild haired women who work in there feel the need to follow me and tell me what the labelled thing I‘m looking at is.
In Europe all the shopkeepers immediately presume I’m local and speak to me in ‘gibberish’, here they all presume I’m a thief.
Do shoplifters wear a look of bewilderment as cover I wonder?
Their suspicion interferes with my Chi and gets my Chakras all feisty.
Fortunately, a couple who looked like they had been sharing a can of Tennant’s Super came in and I was abandoned amongst the Rose Quartz and Pythagorean Tuning Forks.
Sassy came to the rescue and we giggled at the CD of ‘Chill Out Music for Nervous Dogs’, before escaping with our Aura’s unmolested.

I have put the new ink in the printer but it insists there is fuck all there and keeps telling me to replace the cartridges.
Screaming, “I fucking well HAVE you bastard!” at it, then at the computer, does absolutely fuck all to resolve the situation.
The sooner we get technology I can talk to/shout out and it just does it, the better.

I’m pissed off with Nigella.
She has been showing us her Christmas shit on BBC2.
Surprisingly, given my ‘anything with a pulse’ reputation, I don’t find her remotely attractive.
What’s pissing me off is the way she is always filmed as if we are spying on her.
Making us into peeping toms.
Fuck off BBC, if I chose to stalk someone it wouldn’t be Nigella!
Besides, I’m too easily distracted to follow someone around.

A Tuesday

A need for cigarettes drove me out in to the world today.
It was a mistake.
I saw one of my old supply teachers, the one who had attempted to teach us Germish, leaning on his sticks against a wall.
I asked if he was ok because he looked like he had broken down.
“I remember you!” he said using a name I was known by at school.
Then came the total fuck up your day question.
“Tell me, did you ever make anything of yourself?”
How the hell do you answer that?
“Um, well it depends on your criteria Mr R…”
I was too stoned and too taken aback to come up with anything remotely intelligent, so I opened my mouth and,
“Well, I’m a neighbour of yours!” came out.
He laughed and smacked me on the back a few times and I carried on my not so merry way.
Old Fecker!

I spent the afternoon printing out some of the black and white photos I took in Amsterdam, while trying to make some sort of sense of this.
I’m none the wiser but it looked fucking ‘epic’!
The ink ran out so this means I’m going to have to leave the house tomorrow and interact with people again.
I am not looking forward to that.

There really is no reason to laugh at this poor man’s misfortune but it cracked me up!
“…. it blew up spectacularly, bursting the doors off the oven.”
I know I’m going to hell!

The 'Dam Or Be Damned

Amsterdam was as I had left it. Fucking cold and watery.
The hotel/hostel we stayed in was a five minute walk from the station and the red light district.
It was clean, warm and had its own bathroom. The cigarette burns all over the bath suggested they had a lax policy concerning the smoking ban which is all you really need from a cheap hotel.
I did hope that the seven notches carved out of the edge of the table represented ‘bunk ups’ and not ‘kills’ but I realise when it’s cheap you can’t have everything.


Before we left we heard news that the Smart Shops had been banned from selling Magic Mushrooms and we were a bit pissed off as a ‘trip’ had been part of our plans.
On Saturday the Big little brother went out to get us some Party Pills to help celebrate his birthday.
He returned so excited he could barely contain himself.
The Mushroom menus come out at night!
Being an inventive people, the Dutch have got around the ‘shroom ban with Truffles.
The brother had found Mexican Mushrooms and Truffles called Philosophers Stone (Sclerotium).
I had the Sclerotium and J had both!
After an hour or so J suddenly stood up, looked around and announced,
“I declare it good times!”
Taken a little by surprise I replied,
‘Thank Christ somebody has!’
This little exchange sent us both into deep, belly laughing hysteria.
They were extremely euphoric and I giggled and giggled.
I even got to the point where I knew I’d have to stop or burst into tears.
At some point ATM ‘phoned to wish him Happy Birthday.
J was really coming up on the ‘shrooms and the first words out of his Mum are,
“Feel any different?”
J, not realising she meant, did 21 feel different, looked panicked and blurted out,
“I’ve taken Magic Mushrooms!”
This tickled me for a long time.


Laying on the bed I got the feeling of rushing down a tunnel, like a ‘Shroom Flume.
There was nothing I could do about it other than keep my elbows tucked in.
An extremely pleasant and intense experience although texting was a bit of a trial.
I was the last one to go to sleep and the first one up the following morning.
Joints were smoked, vodka drunk, and book read as I waited for the ‘Hardcore of a Generation’ to wake the fuck up!


We caned the coffee shops and were stoned about 18 hours a day.
I stormed my way through some heady hash from Africa and the Indian continent.
Aaah. I miss proper hash.
Starting with White Russian, travelling through Hawaii and Asia, I smoked six different varieties of weed.
Most agreeable.
I also realised that I smoke cannabis for totally different reasons to my brother and his mates.
They smoke to get absolutely, positively fucked up.
Whether a smoke is an Indica or a Sativa is important to them as well as the strength of it, but most of all they want to be left dribbling and staring in to space!
I like to smoke and see what the effects are.
Some make me want to draw, some make me want to write, others make me very aware of music and some make me want to be active.
They just wanted to get ‘retarded’.


Which brings me on to the words I heard most this weekend:
Epic, Retarded, Sketchy, Spin Out, Blatantly and the most heard sentence;
‘I could do with something to eat’.
I swear to Christ they needed to eat something hourly.
Not just munchies, full fucking dinners!
But it’s done. My baby brother is twenty one and I was delighted to be a part of it.




This is one of my top ‘Dam tunes from this visit. Heard in the Hill Street Blues coffee shop while smoking Manali Charas.
Good times.

Wanking kills. Those hellish Nuns were right!

The Bang And The 'Dam

Who knew The Sally Bang were so fucking fierce!

Tomorrow I leave for Amsterdam.
I’m so looking forward to this trip.
I thought I’d check out the forecast for the next few days having frozen my tits off there more than once.
Snow!
Heavy snow is forecast for the ‘Dam.
The Big little Brother is delighted. His plan is to head straight for Tara’s Irish Pub, sit by the fire in the big comfy chairs and go silly with the Brandy.
After a coffee shop, of course!

This is my tune of the day.

Tame Tuesday

Tuesday was a lot less hectic.
I watched a cracking movie called Mongol.
The filming was beautiful and for a sometimes violent film I found it strangely calming.
I read somewhere it was part of a trilogy; I really hope it is.

Cousin Markus became a father today!
A little girl, who will be known to the world as Aliyana, which is Spanish for Beautiful Girl.
I’m chuffed to bits for him!
I have seen a picture and she is stunning… But I WOULD think that!

Spent my evening thinking about packing for the ‘Dam.
I have a 20x20 clear bag for toiletries I don’t actually have yet.
I’ve found some European plug adaptors and some warm socks but that’s about it on the packing front.
I’m stressing about whether to take my new camera.
There is so much I’d like to photograph but I’m worried it would be like wearing a massive “Mug Me” sign if I took it.
A lot needs to happen tomorrow.

Manic Monday

Monday was a really weird day.
Housemate Pat’s doctor called and said that she needed to go into hospital.
She started to tell me what was wrong but I managed to stop her at ‘uterus’.
The point of this call was to tell me I needed to get there, in a taxi, with her packed bag and take her.
My response was along the lines of,
‘What! Me? Are you mad? Why? I’m just her landlady!’
I ended up agreeing to go and set about packing a bag.
I’ve never packed a bag for a hospital stay in my life!
ATM or my Grandmother did that.
I remembered it involved buying slippers and Pears soap but that was about it.
She couldn’t have chosen a more inappropriate person for the task.
It’ll be like a Lucky Dip for her when she does open it!
There definitely are slippers and soap in there; I’m too traumatised by trying to find her underwear to remember anything else for sure.
I got her there and booked in, then wanted to leave.
The nurse led her to a bed and as I had her bag, I had no choice but to follow.
I started to get really worried when the curtain was pulled behind me.
“You can sit over there” I was told.
“Can I fuck!” she was told.
I slung the bags on the bed and escaped.
An hour later I was told they were keeping her in.
I was out of there! Almost bathing in the hand wash that smells of vodka.

I went for a mooch around the cemetery opposite for an hour to try and clean the hospital off me.
I pitched up at Housemate Claire’s office to eat my sarnie in the warm.
Then I marched to Crisp-e’s to vent my spleen.
Thanks for that mate.

The ‘Dam trippers dropped by this evening to have a smoke and sort out the arrangements.
We had a smoke.
No arrangements were made.
Unless you count the discovery that three of us can use the same ‘phone charger!

Jupiter and Venus have been getting up to something complicated which made the night sky breathtaking.

It looked exactly like the cover of the Peter Pan book I had as a kid.

A sliver of a Crescent Moon with the brightest star just below the lower point.

It's the only time I've wanted a sooper dooper telephoto lens.

No Shame

Perhaps someone can explain this to me.
Why would you bother trying to Emotionally Blackmail a person with Asperger’s?
Let us look at just two points of the disorder.
‘Failing to notice the body language of others and appearing insensitive to the views and feelings of others.’
Mind reading and telepathy ARE NOT part of it.
So if you had a motor accident last fucking Sunday and don’t mention a word of this ‘alleged’ accident until this Sunday, of course I have been a thoughtless cunt in not asking you how you are.
If you received a text message saying,
“Could you look after J in her old age?” would you think that meant that Jessie would end her days living with you or would you need the, ‘for a long weekend’ at the same time as the initial message not four fucking days later?
Four days in which you have received other texts slagging you off for ‘not really caring or giving a shit’.
It seems to me that some people find the idea of an Asperger’s person bizarrely ‘exotic’ and amusing; then when that person acts and behaves in the only way they can these people freak out.
Well, fuck off! FUCK OFF!
It’s not like I can fucking change.
Don’t you think that if I could, I would have done it years ago and saved myself some pretty vicious beatings?

My day got worse.
Some fucking gobshite whore’s son tried to mug me on my way back from the off license.
As I was walking home he cycled up behind me and tried to grab the bag of wine.
I banjoed him straight off his bike, the fucker, then ran home to get my bat.
Fortunately, some would say, the bastard was gone by the time I got back because I was ready to get fucking Medieval on him.
Housemate Claire cracked me up with her response.
Shaking her head she said,
“Before 7? On a Sunday? Some people have no shame!”
No mate. They don’t.

But maybe this tosser will think twice before doing it again.
My knuckles are bruised and scraped, I felt a little shaky for about 15 minutes but we had wine with dinner!

A Short One

I have had THE most hideous hangover today.
A head pounding, stomach churning cracker of a hangover.
Felt absolutely vile until about 7pm, thankfully the vomiting had finished by 2pm.
My health was restored by a combination of tea, toast, scrambled egg and Marmite.
Thank Christ for Marmite.

Can you imagine the conversation between this couple!
“Darling. ‘Army Fuckers’. Is that one of yours?”

I can’t really get my head around this one.
Other than we live in a very fucked up world.
Don’t worry. I haven’t just noticed this!

Passports

I was convinced the fucking Passport people were viciously taunting me.
They sent me my mutilated old one like some stark, ‘I have scissors’ warning but no new one.
The timing is getting tight and it is torture waiting.
Then at 13.44 it arrived recorded delivery!
Much joy in Sleepy Mansions.
Sleepy is going to Amsterdam next week!
Whoo Hoo!

This stuff that’s going on in Mumbai.
I have a question.
When they asked for all those who had British passports to step forward, it is quite likely that Asians with British passports were there, were they shot?
Or did they ask for the ‘white’ British to step forward?
Just a thought.

The Christmas adverts are assaulting me with ‘Music’ this year.
Specially recorded albums by specific wankers.
I haven’t got a fecking clue who Il Divo are or where they came from, but I do know that just because you sing Amazing Grace in fucking Italian doesn’t make it ‘Opera’ or even nice.
Worse than this bunch of tossers are, ‘The Priests’.
WTF!
Just needs an album of Torch Songs by the Synod of the Church of England for the complete emetic set.

This afternoon I’ve got myself so stoned my ears ache from grinning!

Divisions

I have decided that there is another division in humankind.
Along those, ‘Marmite, love it or hate it?’ lines.
Those who have a fascination for squeezing spots and those who find it the most gut churningly vile thing on earth.
I count myself, vehemently, among the latter.
Yesterday I discovered my mate Crisp-e is in with the former and like the Tame Pharmacist, positively salivates at the prospect.
How utterly horrific is that?
See, you think you know a person then BAM! They hit you with shit like this!
I also discovered he does unspeakable things with jam.
I’ll save that for another day.
It must be these kinds of differences that keep good friendships going.

I have had to declare a house-wide sock amnesty.
We all dry stuff in the airing cupboard and because I only wear black socks I grab them all when I see they are dry.
It’s never occurred to me that Housemates may also wear black socks.
Why would it?
I can’t wear non matching, I can see slight differences in blackness, feel minute differences in thickness and it ‘bothers’ me, greatly!
All part of my bizarre charm!
Now I have too many that don’t match and something has to be done before I freak right out.

Another ex pupil. RIP.

This is my tune of the day. Check her backing singers!

The revisited joke of the day was the one about Noel Coward looking at the ceiling during an introduction and saying,
“Edward Woodward… Edward Woodward.. It sounds like a fart in the bath”.
Cracked me up, again!

Home

I’m back in a fecking frigid Pompey.

My Beloved Spurs won!
I believe I’ve overcome my Jonah-dom by watching wearing my retro shirt and my flat cap backwards.
Although, this look doesn’t agree with everyone.
Sassy asked why I looked like I should be in ‘90’s boy band.

I can leave it un-remarked no longer.
Housemate Pat has THE most hideous, hacking, phlegm shifting, lung wrenching, drag up your toenails cough I have ever heard.
I suggested to the other housemates that she might be Tubercular.
Allegedly, I wasn’t using my quite voice.
I didn’t fucking care, I HAVEN’T had a BCG injection.
Being treated for TB is not high on my ‘to do’ list.
I try and avoid antibiotics if I can.
I’m saving those for when I have to go into a NHS hospital and my wounds are swabbed with the toilet brush.

I also learned not to ask if someone’s wife is insured if their brother has dropped dead aged 38.
Apparently it is not ‘the done thing’ to enquire, even if it seems like the most obvious question in the world.
Ho hum… You live, you learn.

Yapper Type Dogs

Why is it that people with little yapper type dogs that get all aggressive and bark at your hound always say things like; ‘Oh don’t mind him’, ‘He’s all mouth’ and bollocks like that?
Control the little fucker then, because what I have on the end of my lead isn’t all mouth.
Two thousand years of selective breeding mean he wants to rip your pointless little fucker to bits.
All he sees is an annoying, barking rabbit.
So don’t smile and tell me, ‘He doesn’t mean it’ because mine fucking well does!
They are also the owners who would be straight to the police demanding that my dog is put down when it's their dog that shouldn't even have been bred or born in the first place.
A Shih Zhu? What's that all about? A dog whose arse is indistinguishable from its head.
Pointless.

Here endeth the rant.

Strictly Panic

I wouldn’t say I’m a fan of Strictly Come Dancing but I’ve watched bits and pieces of a few series.
This time round I’ve had a look because of John Sergeant.
He isn’t the greatest mover but he has a go and his efforts are amusing.
Now all the judges are up in arms because ‘better’ dancers are getting voted of and apparently this ‘makes a mockery of the competition’.
Well, ’duh’!
He was obviously asked to do it because the producers of the show wanted him to make a dick of himself.
The judges are turning up on all sorts of news and chat programmes whining that he should be voted out.
Fuck off! He’s the best thing in it!
I really hope the British public keep him in. I think people look at him and think, ‘Aah, he could be my Granddad or Dad’.
His Paso Doble has got to be one of the greatest TV moments ever!
Check out the moves at about 18 seconds in. Described as looking as though he was taking the recycling out!
Gold! Pure Gold!
I’ve never voted in any TV related thing before but John Sergeant has my vote every time!
Sassy sent me this!

Laugh? I nearly hurt myself!
I have often tried to explain to people how incomprehensible my Dad’s Dad sounded.
He’d say something and we would look at Gran for a translation!
If the old bastard wasn’t dead I would swear he did the voice over for these!

I’m in a bit of a panic.
My passport runs out in February and to travel it has to have three months on it.
I’m not sure whether to risk sending off for a new one and keep fingers crossed its back in time for the ‘Dam trip or to try and travel on it and hope they don’t notice.
I feel sick and a bit stressed.

A moody Wiltshire sunset for you to look at!

Princes, Paupers And Ponces

Yesterday evening I watched a programme about Prince Charles.
Part of his 60th birthday celebrations and all that bollocks.
I know I’m setting myself up for a bit of grief, but I like the bloke.
Really like him.
I was quite indifferent before I watched but by the end of it I felt a bit sorry for him.
Fuck off with the ‘Oh, but he’s loaded..’ shit. You just think that having his money will make you happy because you haven't got any.
It won’t.
Especially if every slip of the tongue and fuck up was splashed all over the paper.
The woman you love slagged off and they also go for your children.
Think about some of your most embarrassing balls ups on the front pages of The Sun.
Still envious? I’m not.

Then this evening a new programme called ‘Apparitions’ started.
If the rest of the series is as good as the first one, the BBC has got a winner.
I love a bit of the paranormal, so I’m sold.
Schnee, this is SO for you. You’ll love it!
It did make me think though.
Am I the only one who thinks that, “Seminary”, is just the wrong word to be used for anything priest related?

Just so we remember; the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Bingo!

My hope that I would wake up ‘all better’ were explosively dashed 5 minutes after my morning cup of tea.
At about four this afternoon normal service was resumed and I was allowed to keep water down.
I managed to time a cigarette run while I was ‘empty’ and got to see some blue sky.

While having a trawl through Youtube I found this.
Not something I have really considered but I suppose I should!

I saw an advert today for online bingo.
An extremely attractive, scantily clad woman who was draped across a bed, seductively touching the laptop keys with her beautifully manicured fingers.
She wanted you to play bingo with her.
I have seen a few chuck out times at the bingo and I can swear on the bible none of what was spilling out looked remotely like that!

My beloved Spurs beat Liverpool 4-2 this evening!
My Football funk has lifted, at last.

Disasters And The 'Dam

Yesterday started disastrously.
While taking the recycling to the bin the front door slammed and locked me out in monsoon conditions.
I leant on the doorbell for ten minutes before it became obvious that there was no way Housemate Pat was going to let me in.
Sassy was at work so I couldn’t get hold of the spare keys.
Mrs Next Door With The Kids let me stand in her garden yelling at Pat’s bedroom window.
I had the best Mike Reid “Eastenders” ‘PAT!’ moment.
She eventually got up and trying not to swear in front of the children, I asked her if she could let me in.
She wasn’t happy but I was soaked to my underwear and really couldn’t give a shit.

My next disaster was potato related.
While carrying an armful of spuds to the kitchen one dropped.
Instinctively I volleyed it, attempting a kind of ‘keepie uppie’, hoping to catch it.
I connected with it so sweetly it flew up, at great speed, and hit me straight between the fucking eyes.
My glasses flew off into one of the buckets of water filled with torn newspaper and my nose bled like I’d opened an artery.
I decided it was probably better if I didn’t leave the house.

I cooked a curry and Sassy and the Random One joined us for the scoffage.
Then the Big little brother arrived. With mates.
I always love my brother’s friends they are so diverse and a great laugh.
He is 21 during the early days of December.
We are going to AMSTERDAM to celebrate!
Oh Yes!
This will mean I have had a ‘Dam trip with both of my brothers.
Fucking excellent!

Today I have some sort of bug.
Without going into too much detail, it’s one of those bugs that requires your arse and head to be over the pan at the same time.
I chose arse on bog and head in a bucket.
Most distressing.

The Weekend

The Mass Nutter has added a new string to his ever more eccentric bow.
Spitting.
He ran through the usual rocking, head slapping and nose picking then leant forward and spat on the floor.
The looks on the faces of the kids in the pew in front of him were priceless.
Moving from shock and horror to hysteria with a very brief stop at disgust.
Probably mirroring my own expression.

Yesterday was messy.
I got a call from a mate I went to Uni with.
A mini reunion was occurring and was I in?
Was I ever!
I have also been introduced to the loveliness that is pear cider and the unloveliness of a pear cider hangover.
We played darts and I had my breasts grabbed by ‘the girl who never turned up to lectures’.
An interesting end to the evening!
Thanks Mr E, Mr C and Miss G I had a fucking great time and it was brilliant to see you all.

Taking The Piss

Getting a urine sample from my cat is impossible.
The vet told me to shut him in a room overnight with a bowl of water and a litter tray.
At 4am he wanted out and was determined that digging the carpet at the door would be the quickest way.
He totally refused to use the tray.
As the 10am appointment time approached there was still nothing.
So I phoned the vet.
“Keep him in until midday” she said.
I told her he had never used a tray, even as a kitten he didn’t like it.
He has always gone out.
I also mentioned that I thought it a bit cruel keeping him in seeing as he has a bladder problem.
She got a little short with me.
“We need to test his sediments!”
I suggested she find another way of collecting them.
When I heard her sigh and I could almost see her eyes rolling.
I’d had enough.
“Do you know what? He’s fine. He’s happy, eating and pissing when you let him. So I think we’re done. I’ll be in later for some of the ‘special’ food. Thank you for everything”.
I hung up.
There was an instant when I did think, ‘Mmm, maybe that was a mistake’, but I got over it.
I did expect some attitude when I went in; instead I got the incomprehensible South African and a fucking Loyalty Card!

Sassy and I met for coffee and saw one of those splendid moments that seem to occur along Rue Albert.
Some bloke, so drunk he could hardly stand, harassing another.
He was almost pushed over twice but this part man, part Weeble wouldn’t go down.
They continued this down the middle of the road until they were out of sight.
Sassy said, “See? This is why I love The Rue Albert!”
I nodded, “This is why I love Pompey nutters!”
Snaggle-toothed Barista Boy chimes in with, “He ain’t Pompey, he’s French. He’s always down here and he’s always shouting in someone’s face”.
“Ahh!” we nodded.
As if his being French explained everything.
The police car screamed past us as we walked home.
Just as I thought it, Sassy said, “I bet he’s in Tesco!”
They all end up in Tesco.

This is my tune of the day.

A Rant And Some Beer

Housemates. I swear to fucking Christ if I find out which one of you is boiling up water in the saucepans and then not washing them, I will evict you.
It’s fucking nasty and really, really annoying.
Why should I have to do a load of washing up before I can even start cooking?
Believe me, I am petty enough to take the pans away and make you ask for them.
While we at it, how’s this for a plan. If you fucking break it, you replace it. Fucking genius isn’t it?
I will make sure I have a plate, a knife, fork and spoon, a mug, and a bowl.
Once you have destroyed everything else and nothing is left perhaps you’ll get it.
You bunch of cunts.

Sassy and I hit the ‘Distress’ again today and continued working our way through the beer menu.

We did these.

Well, except the Peroni. The Tame Pharmacist did that.
We dragged ourselves to the Thai restaurant, to line our stomachs, before it all got too messy.

Thanks to Sassy's "Disco Mix" this is my new ear worm.
Takes me back!

A Civilised Day

Today Sassy and I walked to Chav Ave.
I have to say that as Town Centres go, ours is fucking grim.
It’s been a long time since I’ve taken that walk and things have really changed.
It is also a walk that takes you past about 15 pubs without TRYING to do a crawl.
The University has got to be the biggest landowner in this city now.
They have huge buildings everywhere.

I even went into Debenhams with her.
For those of you who are interested in such matters, she has bought a cracking Little Black Dress!
The teenaged girls who had followed us in to the changing room could barely contain themselves when I answered one of her “Thigh” related queries with,
“Yeah, but you’ve got a fucking lovely arse!”
They were trying on very skimpy tops then stepping out of the cubicles to show each other.
There was much pulling and pushing of boobs. Most distracting.

We caught the Loser Cruiser back to Rue Albert and breakfasted at The Cafe ‘Distress’.
Didn’t know benign perving could give me such an appetite.
I ordered smoked salmon and poached egg on toasted brioche with Hollandaise sauce.
What I got was all of the above on two Crumpets with salad.
Interesting!
The waitress had told us the brioche was gone and offered Bagels as a replacement.
Which I agreed to.
That’s why I was slightly surprised by the bold use of a Crumpet.
Trying on stuff must also be hungry work; Sassy opted for the Full English, which in all likelihood, will bypass her thighs!

A civilised day.

Thanks to Barack Obama, I now have to make good on my promise.

“ImustNotcallthemSeptics, ImustNotcallthemSeptics, ImustNotcallthemSeptics, ImustNotcallthemSeptics”

It might take a while!

Dad And The Septic Vote

I have been to see my Dad today, always good for a giggle.
I’ve trained myself not to ask how he is because he actually tells me!
He just told me anyway today.
I was mentally LaLaLaLaLa-ing but it has something to do with what my Dad insists on calling a "Hepidural", into three locations in his spine.
It will all be slow release and should keep his pain under control for 4 weeks or so.
As I said, LaLaLaLaLaLa!

His one man campaign to piss every single one of his neighbours off continues at a pace.
It’s the parking area, his fence and pavements this week.
People keep dumping shit in the car park so he phoned the councillor for his area, at home.
He proceeded to tell the man that since he and his wife drew more money than anyone else on the council, (all wages and expenses are printed in the local paper) he ought to do something about “my fuckin’ car park instead of watering your hangin’ fucking baskets, you cunt!”
Has the tact of a diplomat and a gift for Anglo Saxon does the Old Man.

In the last 25 years he has moved the gate in his back fence at least 5 times.
Now he has moved it on to the side. This is where the pavement bit comes in.
He’s dropped the kerb and had the area up to the ‘double’ back gates blocked paved.
One of the neighbours whose name according to Dad, is ‘Fuckin’ Lard Arsed Mare’, has complained.
Dad’s winning argument is that now he is disabled he has to get his Mobility Scooter in and out.
His ‘mobility’ vehicle looks very similar to this.
I love my Dad!

Right. Come on you Septics!
If you vote in Obama I will try not to call you Septics anymore.
I promise to try, but I find so many of you totally disagreeable.
Come on people, we fucking hate you over here.
On mass, as a people, we fucking hate you! Sorry, but it’s true.
Do this one thing and redeem your nation.
If not, don’t bother getting a passport, you are not welcome outside your own borders ever again.
I think Ricky Gervais, more or less, says it all in this.

Yikes

This was the front page of my local paper on Saturday.
They call them the ‘family from hell’.
There was a time I called families like them an appointment at Parents Evening or Progress Review Day.
Lookers aren’t they?!

November 1st 2008

I’m sure many of us have started watching a film with the resolute determination to hate it.
Mainly because we lost out on the Housemate vote, but that could just be me.
I didn’t want to like The Bucket List and I tried desperately not to get choked up, but I did.
Bastards!

I’d like to know if they will be instigating these tests for those already in the priesthood.
Starting with the Panzer Pope and working their way down, as it were, Cardinals, Archbishops, Bishops, Priests, Monks and Nuns.
There’ll be fuck all left and a pregnant priest will be the least of their fecking worries!

I have been at Mr and Mrs Crisp-e’s for dinner.
The most delicious Beef Stifado I’ve ever eaten. Honestly.
It was one of those meals that left you wishing there was more.
Crisp-e, like Janis, is one of those good teacher types who will go away on school trips.
He does tend to limit his skills to the skiing trips and I’ve noticed only moves to schools that offer skiing trips!!
I can hear his indignation as he reads these words.
Every summer he manages to find some sort of ski related bargain.
This year it’s a hat.
Not just ANY hat. Headgear that can only be worn WITH the glasses.
Have you ever heard of such a thing? Me either.
Then he took the glasses off and, bugger me, he’s fucking right!
He looked a cock.
I publish the picture to give you a look at where we started for me to get to ‘Cock’.


It’s a worry isn’t it?
Moments like this are forgiven because the boy can cook like an angel!

Halloween Vet Horror

I had to take Murff to the vet for his check up this morning.
The usual receptionist was off and I was faced with an ex pupil.
(The Tame Pharmacist said ‘I thought he looked like one of yours’)
It also appeared that he and dental hygiene had been estranged since his school days.
He was one of those you clock in year 7 and think, “Christ, that boy is gay!” but the parents insist that he isn’t, has lots of girlfriends and it’s your fault he is bullied.
“Ooooooh!” he screamed, “Is that our Murphy? He is such a sexy cat!”
He minced from the desk to come and irritate us both.
At this point Murphy decided it was time to do the ‘I’m beaten and starved’ cry, which made reception boy jump an octave to, fucking shrill.

The vet wasn’t the usual one either.
I’m not convinced this one was born a woman. As she was handling the cat I kept thinking that she had arms like my Dad.
I swear the cat looked at the size of her fingers and sat down quickly.
All is well with Murphy but he has got to stay on the special, expensive, only available from them food.
Funny that.
She judgementally told me that he had put on weight and was obese.
I reminded her she had said NOT to let him out and there isn’t an awful lot of exercise to be had indoors.
I think that’s when she started to hate me.
I doubt my, ‘I Club Seals’ shirt helped with that either.
He has got to go back next week with a urine sample that, somehow, I have to take from him.
That should be fun, with cat piss being so aromatic and all.
I had to face reception boy again and his constant squealing, “I know you from somewhere! I do! G-d! Your face is sooo familiar!”
He then loudly listed a load of gay venues he might have seen me at and I admitted to one, to shut him up.
Looking at him wide eyed and horrified while miming Shush didn’t work.
He WAS outing me in front of the full waiting room for fucks sake!
I was there fifteen minutes and left £45 poorer, trying not to make eye contact with the Gossip-y woman from Mass.

Thankfully I remembered to buy sweets for the Trick or Treat fuckers.
This year I have gone for high E number content in deep reds and purples.
Everything has at least six numbers and three colourings, not that easy to find I can tell you.
I love that we are so multi-cultural around here. Weird, wonderful and possibly unregulated sweeties.
Hyperactive vomiting is something to behold.
Hopefully they will go back to some other kid’s house and do a bit of bed trampoline.
If my plan works it should look like a suicide bomber has gone off!

What Just Happened?

I can’t help thinking that we’ve missed something while this entire Jonathan Ross / Russell Brand thing has been going on.
My mind keeps wandering back to the government woman and the “It would be a good day to bury stuff” bit.
I’ve trawled everything, short of Hansard, to make sure they haven’t fucked us over; like the whole 42 day detention thing.
I just don’t trust ‘em.
I don’t give a shit what either of them said really and like 99.9% of the 30 000 who complained, I didn‘t hear it.
I can’t stand Ross on a good day and I think Brand did the honourable thing in resigning.
Loved the picture of Stalin in the background of his resignation video!
I also think it’s a real shame that he’s gone, he did make me laugh.
Hasn’t done his DVD sales any harm!
He’s been on Channel 4 tonight.
What’s the betting viewing figures are through the roof with people tuning in just so they can be outraged?
And they will.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling we’ve been royally fucked in the last few days.
Something has slipped by us.

Many blogs ago I mentioned the palpitations that I get sometimes.
My heart beat goes all over the show; races, misses several beats, slows down etc.
Probably to do with the weed but who knows for sure.
It is a real buzz and I find it fascinating.
For ages I’ve wanted to know what it sounds like.
I know what it ‘feels’ like and you don’t get to really ‘hear’ it from the inside, if you get what I mean.
Yesterday I got the best gift ever…… A Stethoscope!
I’ve listened to cat hearts, housemate hearts, my heart, my lungs, my stomach, my knees when they do that popping shit, the walls and the floor!
It’s fucking great!

My Beloved Spurs pulled off some magic last night. A 4-4 draw after being 4-2 down.
To fucking Arsenal!
The equaliser coming in extra time. I screamed myself silly.
My heart, which I was sadly listening to, was barely distinguishable from a Dormouse.
Cracking!

Murff Update

WHOO HOO!

Murphy has made a wonderful recovery. Thank G-d!

He didn't need surgery in the end and was given special food to break up the remaining crystals in his bladder.

The vet seemed convinced they were caused by the dry food I give them to eat. I'm not so sure.

If this were the case why hasn't Kenneth had the same problem?

Anyway, he's peeing and eating and I am more than relieved, although I am £565 poorer.

Fucking animals!

Thanks Artemesia, for reminding me to do this update!

Murphy

This is Murphy. He is my 'baby boy' and is very ill.
He has been at the vets since yesterday morning when I noticed he couldn't pee.
His urethra was blocked and his bladder was full of 'crystals'.
There are two huge ones left in there and he will be operated on this afternoon.
I have already been warned that it's going to top £500 to get him right and that he may not survive the surgery.
Ideal timing, cos the last thing I've got is 500 fucking quid!

Come on Murff! And keep it cheap!

Monday 20th October

This morning I scared the shit out of some idiot from Scottish Power.
Stand at my door and tell me with total authority that I’ve been put on a higher gas tariff will you?
I don’t think so. I’m not even with Scottish Power.
I roared, “I fucking better not be!” as I opened the door wider.
He ran out of the forecourt and shut the gate.
Then he tried to explain that gas had gone up for everyone.
I told him to fuck off with his scaremongering and started to step out of the door, that’s when he ran.
Little tosser.

This was in my house over the weekend.
She is Meghan and is Housemate Claire’s newest niece.
I don’t DO baby type persons but I held this one.
The weird thing, well, weird to me, is that I held her Mother when she was the same age.
I’ve now held two generations of this family.
Most freaky!
From what I've experienced, she makes a hell of a lot of noise and has loads of fucking 'stuff'.
Her Dad speaks Afrikaans to her and it just does something to me.
It sounds fucking hideous.
A brutal language for a brutal regime.
I’d love for someone to prove me wrong, but I don’t believe anything can sound gentle and loving in a language that has all the tonality of a Dutchman with phlegm.

I clocked Camille on Jools Holland the other night, thought I’d share her with you.
I am liking the look of her very, very much!

I’m off to Wiltshire for a few days. Catch you later.

Moody

I know I shouldn’t laugh but I just can’t help myself. I wish I had seen that!
I’m comforted in the knowledge that SOMEONE as sick as me was there because we have photos of the glorious event!
Then there are the things that make you go Mmmm?

This has been the most useful site of the day.
Somehow I’ve managed to cover myself in some fucking hideous, brown, sticky, unidentifiable goop; which lives in the cupboard under the stairs.
Today it had attached itself to the hoover and by the end of my chores I managed to look like a prisoner on a ‘dirty protest’.
More annoyingly I can’t find this where this shite is coming from.
I open the door and the cupboard just smiles back at me. All clean, gleaming, full of alcohol and utility meters.
It also appears to be where umbrellas go to die.
There are loads in there.
All sizes.

I was pretty pissed off so went for a mooch along the seafront.
What is it about living a five minute walk from the sea that means I hardly ever go there?
I remember now.
Women with strollers marching along 4 abreast, the old, the disabled, the truanting, the trysting, the cycling and the fucking jogging.
It needs lanes.

On the way home I was confronted with the ‘Lollipop’ person.
I understand that they do a brilliant job getting five year olds, whose parents can’t be arsed to collect them from school home safely, but stay the fuck away from me.
I’m nearly fucking 40. I can do this unaided.
You may have not noticed the stares of pure venom that are aimed at me from the cars you stop, I have.
I choose to cross at that stretch of road because it’s safe. Not because I want you to hold up all the traffic for me.
Knock yourself out with the people with kids but stay the fuck where you are when it’s me, ok?
I then encountered the scrum of parents at the school gate, blocking the pavement.
Spread out will you?!
After the third ‘excuse me’, with no response I allowed Asperger’s Sleepy out.

She is never far beneath the surface.
I shouted, (and I can have a shout)
“I’ve been fucking polite! Now! Fucking move!”
It was like the parting of the Red Sea and I marched on my merry Mosaic way.
There will be Karmic repercussions but I'm ready for them.

It’s been a moody day in Pompey.

Thursday 16th October

I have decided that there IS an instrument which in the hands of a child can sound worse than a Recorder; and is harder to insert.
A fucking piano.
They have got one next door and it drills in to my head.
The bastard child hasn’t hit the same note twice.
I keep looking at the trumpet on the mantelpiece in front of me and thinking,
“I’ll practise that about 11 tonight”.

Sassy sent me this yesterday and I’ve had huge fun with it!
Typing in ‘lesbian’ got me the slogan “Get real, Get lesbian” and another one (I’ll let you guess the word I typed in), “Look, Ma, No cunniligus!”
That cracked me up and repeated on me all day as I tried to imagine a time I would ever shout that at ATM.
Thankfully, I couldn’t.

Sarah Silverman was on 8 out of 10 Cats this evening.
Her description of that hideous Palin woman was truly inspired.
“… She is everything gross about a beauty pageant contestant, without the desire for world peace…”
I do like her!

I’m considering whether to email one of my Aunts telling her there has been a dreadful mistake.
One of her daughters has invited me to her wedding.
I will, of course, decline but it was really nice to be asked!
I try and keep it to one wedding per cousin and I went to her first one.
The one she spent the whole of the reception texting the guy she is marrying this time.

Today is The Nutty Daddy’s birthday. He’s 78 years old and doesn’t have a clue who he is, let alone how old he is.
He has been hard work the last few days, so those of you who do, please offer one up for The Sainted Mammy.

This is my tune of the day.

Poverty

Today is blogactionday for poverty.
So I was having a mooch through news stories, websites, organisations, trying to find something worthy and good to say.
Most were all about how I could give, give, give; money, money, money.
The one that really caught my eye was www.poverty.com and this page in particular.

Right now. At this very moment in economic time, how interested do you think my government is in a letter from me?
Especially one asking for 0.7% of the national income to be used for aid in poor countries?
You may not have noticed but my government has just used nearly £40 billion of taxpayer money to bail our economy out!
Precisely, what is 0.7% of FUCK ALL?!
People ARE focussed on poverty.
Their. Impending. Fucking. Own!
I know, I know.. Not having clean water and living on a $ a day is an absolute horror to be happening in 2008.
My point is that maybe blogaction for ‘poverty’ could have been delayed.
I’m not feeling particularly generous at the moment.
Sorry, but I bet I’m not the only one thinking it.

Ok. This is quite a scary story but the airport official is class!

“Surprisingly this hooligan was not British,” said an official at Pulkovo. “I understand he was from Uzbekistan where they also like to drink but cannot control themselves so well as Russians.”

Surprisingly? Not British? Cheeky fucker!
I have been trapped on a train with pissed up Russians.
A depressing bunch of melancholic singers who wept and crooned from Nizhny Novgorod to Kirov.
A group that could’ve been Irish, such was the range and depth of their dysphoria.
They sang Kalinka, I sang The Fields of Athenry and a ‘communication’ took place.
They shared their vodka and stole my toilet roll!
I had cash, jewellery and cards, but they stole my fucking toilet roll.
That’s why ‘we’ will never understand poverty.

The world is poorer though.
Poorer for the loss of a brilliant, funny and fair man.
A man who made University seminars a joy to attend and the smoke breaks full of laughs.
A man who encouraged me to apply for the exchange semester in Amsterdam with the line,
“Christ, you should go for that. You’d be like a pig in shit!”
Bob Walinski-Kiehl, you were a gentleman, may you now find peace.

Tune of the day!

The Fear And The Cheer

BBC’s Panorama programme about Obama and that hideous Palin woman was interesting.
It did answer my, ‘who the fuck is he and where the fuck did he come from’ questions.
I nearly choked on my doobie when Jeremy Vine informed us that his answer to questions about drug use in his youth was,
“..I inhaled frequently. That was the point..”
Nice one!
For that Mr Obama, I have contributed a tenner to your online campaign fund and urge every Brit in their right mind to do the same.
The alternative scares the fucking shit out of me.

This is my new absolute favourite, cheer me up in the morning tune.
It’s a proper earworm.

And this made me laugh out loud today!

Tits, Rice And Rights

Dear student on the bike who propositioned me at the Rue Albert traffic lights,

In light of your extremely frank and generous offer; and after much thought and consideration, Yes.
Yes, I think I would like to see your tits!
I understand that an answer before the lights changed would have given me more chance at a glimpse of the aforementioned, but it’s not a question I had anticipated while out buying cigarettes.
I now will factor this into future trips to the Kwikimart and will worry less about dying while crossing Rue Albert.
You’re absolutely right, in this time of economic catastrophe I should be thinking about tits more!
Thanks for that.
As for yours? They were magnificent!

Sincerely,
The Bewildered Dyke at The Lights.

Did I miss something? I am stoned 98% of the time!
But when did ‘we’ start calling Condoleezza, Doctor Rice?
I don’t remember it before.
It was always,
‘American somethingorother Condoleezza Rice was in London/Paris/Peckham….’
Now it’s Dr Rice going places.
Does she have a dream? Has she been to the mountain top?
Just a thought.

If you’ve ever been involved in one of those arguments about ‘the point’ of The House of Lords.
This is the fucking point of them ok?
To stop shit like this happening to us.
Resolutely clinging on to our rights as they are stripped away without us making much of a fuss because the government have got us to believe it’s for our own fucking good.
All of us can be detained. All of us.
Not just brown people who face east when they pray, every single one of us.
Don’t think that doesn’t mean you. The ‘anti terror’ laws were used against Iceland last week.
Fucking Iceland! Over money!

Whoever this is, they are brilliant!

I don’t think I can impress on you how much I love House MD but, I LOVE House!
When I grow up I want to be Dr Gregory House.

Sunday 12th October

A meal from the garden!
Well, it was after the addition of steak, peas and wine!
Yep! Even the potatoes.
The first Sleepy Mansions crop of Charlotte’s and Orla’s grown in bags.
Chuffed-ness abounds!

My bank will be one of those lining up with its hand out tomorrow and I don’t know whether I should be shitting myself or not.
Who does?
I have a strange urge to stockpile batteries, water, candles, stuff to make bread with and buy one of those wind up things that is a lamp which can also charge your ‘phone and laptop.
I remember the power cuts during the 70’s and my grandmother making bread.
My Grandfather made Carrot Whisky and Sloe Gin.
Carrot Whisky is very similar to Poteen but the Carotene in the veg gave a colour approximating Whisky.
It was potent shit!
People used to walk in normally and leave as if their hamstrings had been removed at some point during the visit.
For a particularly twisted 6/7 year old this was the best entertainment by candlelight, ever!

This evening I have watched the start of Stephen Fry's programme about America.
I love Stephen Fry and I know this was only the first episode but I found it a little bit too arse kissy for me.
If he's a Yankophile I'll plummet in to depression.
With the state of Spurs, I'm too weak to fight.

Ta Da!

My first ever Butternut Squash harvest. I'm a little bit fecking chuffed with myself, so I am!

NO MORE! And No More

I can cope no more.
Housemate Pat’s hair gets bloody everywhere.
Is it just me who finds other people’s hair just fucking horrible?
I hate getting into an apparently spotless shower, only to turn the thing on and be surrounded by long black hair.
I’m grimacing as I type.
It clings to everything and I don’t want it on me or winding around my toes.
The plughole?
I can’t even go there with the plughole because if I allowed this fury out, I’m not sure I could get it back in.
My new song to scream tunelessly in the shower is now a bit of Bruce Springsteen.
I can assure you my version has much, more venom!
I text Sassy and said that she had to go.
She found my reaction a little extreme.

Luckily I hadn’t text a half hour earlier when I wanted to kill her.

Who the fuck asks a 105 year old woman about the condition of her hymen?
I ask you, why do we need to know this?

Sad news from Sassy Villas.
Hinge and Bracket are a duo no more.

Hinge, more correctly known as Pudding, died this morning.
She didn’t particularly like people and seemed to spend most of her time frightened.
I’ve fed her, hunted Sassy’s house for her shouting, “Come out you bitch!” and that’s as good as it got.
She was sweet in her own odd way and she will be missed by this human.

May she ever wander heaven, no more than three millimetres from the eternal skirting boards.

Spiders And Zeitgeist

Crisp-e and I seem to be in competition as to whose garden will produce the biggest spider.
Check out Shelob! I’ve been feeding her and two others baby caterpillars for weeks now.
She looks ready to burst those babies out!






The Butternut Squash looks like it might be ready.
Most of the plant seems to be dying back so I’m going to ‘harvest' them tomorrow.


The Big little Brother sent me this today about The Zeitgeist Movement.
(Don’t click unless you have a spare hour!)
He is much enamoured by the whole thing.
It’s impressive but I can’t help feeling that I’ve heard it all before.


Then I read stuff like this and this and I've definitely heard that before. I find myself agreeing with the guy in the movie, ‘You can’t expect decency from people’.

Rubbish Rage

Portsmouth City Council is on my shit list.
Send me semi-threatening letters will you?
I. Think. Fucking. Not!

There is an alleyway that runs along the back of Sleepy Mansions, a place where we once able to put bags for the bin men.
We can’t any more because the big, strong rubbish collectors were getting ‘scratched’ by a Dog Rose.
Instead of asking the person to cut back their plant they banned us from putting our bins out the back.
Tossers.
The stinking assault course of piled high shite was what put the burglars off!

Now the knobs have sent me an ‘Advisory Letter’ about ‘approximately 20 black sacks containing soil and concrete which has been placed in the alleyway’.
Does it take a genius to look over the back walls and see who is having their fucking garden dug out?
*Cough* 2 doors down *Cough*
Mrs Next Door With The Kids was as outraged at the letter as me.
She’s got way more Gauleiter in her than I have and was on the ‘phone spilling the beans in no time.
I’m glad it was her and not me.
No one likes a grass!
At 4ish, when she finally got through.
Some mandarin informed her that the person in charge had gone home and there was a dispute over the ownership of that particular stretch of alley.
Fuck off with your letters then!
Do your research before sending out letters that piss me off.
You really don’t want me down there at the office.
The people who worked in Housing Benefit 15 years ago will swear on the fecking bible that you don’t want me there!
(They swore on it during the Court Case against me. I won.)

Turns out the guy who crashed into Cousin Adam was already dead.
He’d had a Stroke at the wheel.
A massive amount of amphetamine was also in his system and he’d had mental health problems.
The Cousin feels horrible and hasn’t been able to drive since, which is a bugger, seeing as that’s what he does for a living.

Lidl Moments

During my amble around Lidl today I noticed something.
Somerfield and Waitrose have times when certain people are in.
3 to 3.30pm is the ‘After School Brigade’; Thursday is pension day and just before closing the bargain hunters.
In Lidl it occurred to me that the divisions are along ethnic and shift work lines.
8 to 10.30 it is full of big black women, feeling and smelling the fruit and veg. Shouting at another large black lady, with a Biblical name, to also come and feel the produce
11 until 1 it is mainly Turkish and Polish men in Hi Viz jackets and facial hair.
1 ‘til 3 it’s oriented towards, well, The Orient.
Somewhere near the frozen prawns there was a scrum and I swear to Christ I thought I’d wandered into Disney’s Mulan Parade.
Housemate Pat has told me tales from this aisle.
“You be careful. You lose an eye! It get pretty fierce near the noodle too!”
Encouraging.
I did my usual, ‘Sorry. S’cuse me. Beg your pardon’ thing, as tried not to appear as if I were just pushing people out of the way.
Which, of course, I was.
(I’ve been to Vancouver’s Aberdeen Mall; I’ve seen how it’s done!)
I was glad to get out of there.
Schnee… They’ve got your Horlicks stuff on offer.
Release some children to fetch it for you!

I’m presuming Recorder lessons have resumed at school.
Elder child of next door was blowing hers all through the 6 ‘o’ clock news.
I have to admit there has been some improvement but the high notes are still proving elusive.
The Recorder is STILL my most hated instrument until the child can wheeze out some Mozart or Elgar.
Until then I will continue to scream,
“Shut up you tuneless fuckers!” at the walls of my living room.
It’s only fair.

The Sainsbury’s advert for cream cheese.
“I can’t imagine a muffin without it Mum”..
Is it me? Or is that THE most horrific line, food related or otherwise, one could ever utter to a parent?

A Fool And Her Team

Somewhat foolishly I allowed AQA text services to choose my attire for today.
An electronic version of ‘The Dice Man’ and a sartorial Russian Roulette.
I’m a mess.
I don’t usually choose my clothes along sectarian lines but I’m an Irishman’s nightmare; a vision in Black and Tan.
I’ve had the Wolfe Tones in my head all day.
The politics and views of the Wolfe Tones are not necessarily the views of Sleepy.
Hers lurch schizophrenically from the far left to the far right, depending on how closely they affect her, how much she has drunk, what she has drunk, how much she has smoked and the Company! There are some brief visits to the middle too, but a ‘handler’ is usually bundling her out by then!

Crikey! There are some out there.
Yay! Father Geoff Farrow!
I will say one for you next time I’m in St Swiv’s.
BUT…. The SAINT Paul Newman centre?
He’s only been dead a week!
He’ll be fecking G-d by Christmas.

You may have noticed my lack of comment on my Beloved Spurs.
Just fucking don’t!
Ok?
I was telling Sassy yesterday, I can’t bring myself to watch ANY football such is my depression about them.
I must have been close to hysteria at one point and rambling because I almost wished Venables back on us.
Sassy talked me down.
Thanks mate!

More Sunday

As some of you know, away in the ‘Wesht’ of Ireland reside The Nutty Daddy and The Sainted Mammy.
I’ve blogged about them before but just can't be arsed to work out how to link back.
I bring you tales.
Today his headwear has been mostly a carrier bag, a statement I grant you, but my favourite is the sheet around his shoulders!
How cool is that?
He'll be building 'Dens' next.
I suggested that if his pants went on OVER his trousers we would have the answer to that one.
Being a bit sick I also suggested a Bertie Ahern mask, a Charles Haughey mask and a mirror.
These three items and the addition of The Nutty Daddy equals, ‘fight in an empty house’.
What sport!

According to The Tame Pharmacist and progeny of TND, this is no way to treat Alzheimer’s people.
I can’t even begin to tell you what we’d do to my Dad if he went like that.
I’ve discussed it with my siblings and the general consensus is, “As much fun as possible without actually killing him.”

I discussed with him the idea of a nice eco-friendly, woodland burial the other day.
Explaining that he’d be buried in a cardboard box under a tree of his choice.
As long as he chose Beech or Hazel.
We’d all come and visit him and it would be lovely and peaceful.
His eyes narrowed and his arms folded across his chest.
“There’s an earner in it isn’t there you fucker?!”
(Fecker, Fucker, Bastard and Winkle are all terms of endearment when used with his children and grandchildren)

So I told him about the trees I’d seen on the internet already treated and ‘spored’ with Truffles.
I’d had a couple of wines, so I also told him that as he’d pissed away most of our childhood we’d earn off him in death!
He loved the idea but still bitched about being buried in cardboard.
I told my Step Mum how much these things go for and she shouted at my Dad,
“I’m going to tell everyone that’s what you asked for on your deathbed! Particularly insisting on the cardboard!”
Joon and I 'high fived' each other.
A special moment.

Sunday

Not wishing to take the piss too much..
Fuck it!
Who am I trying to kid?
All they found were red tassels, how gay is THAT!

Cave Canem, Cave Rectum

Yesterday I had one of those surreal conversations that seem to happen to me quite often.
While chatting with M’s sister about how to react if your dog is attacked by another.
I said that I’d probably stick the boot in, as I’d heard of serious bites on arms and hands.
She came out with this gem,
“Oh No. I’ve heard the best way to stop the aggressing dog is to stick your fingers up its arse.”
Delivered straight faced and in all seriousness.
I did the, ‘Ibegyourpardon?’ thing, thinking perhaps I’d rolled the last one rather strong, but no, I’d heard right.
“Christ!” I said, “That’d concentrate the mind”.

I don’t know how wise it would be to acquaint yourself with an animal, that is already quite cross, with an impromptu rectal exam.
Please don’t try this out on your local Common or Heath.
Although, there may be a law positively encouraging it on Hampstead but don’t quote me on it!

Hounds On Thursday

The handsome boy!

Jessie doing her full on Yiddishe Momma impression! I now have tunes from Fiddler of The Roof in my head.

He's a coiled spring! 0-40 in a matter of seconds! Tis true, there are studies and everything. Although, from my research into the breed, I'd go my with, "Yeah? My arse!".

The exception to this rule is a specific syndrome simply called 'Human in The Kitchen Syndrome'.

The Weekend Starts Here

Guess what?
I only fixed the fucking hoover!
I use the term ‘fixed’ in its loosest possible sense.
After having a bit of a spaz at the ‘crunchy’ nature of the carpet, I took the bastard thing apart.
Totally stripped it down. Took out bits that came out, forced out the bits that didn’t.
Then put it back together again, with nothing left over!
I gingerly plugged it in and fired it up and bugger me, it sucks like Gillian Taylforth now.

It’s no secret that I think Stephen Fry should be Prime Minister.
After this week’s Desert Island Discs, Miriam Margoyles has GOT to be in the Cabinet.
I’ve loved her for ages but I love her more now!

It’s Rosh Hashanah and I’m off to Wiltshire to celebrate the New Year with the Hounds!
A time to reflect, slough off all the old hurts, hates and general shite we’ve accrued this past year.
At some point this afternoon/evening I will be stood in the River Avon emptying all the fluff and crap from my pockets.
Once I’ve got the feeling back in my feet I’ll munch some apples and honey.
I should also be considering:
- What’s the most meaningful thing in my life?
- Who in my life means the most to me? How often do I let them know this?
- What have I achieved this past year?
- What do I want to achieve next year and in life in general?

What will actually happen is I will be curled up with the Hounds considering just how bloody gorgeous they are.

Shana Tova people.
“May you be inscribed and sealed for good”

Car, Chutney And Soup

This was parked across the road yesterday morning.
It took every ounce of self control not to roll myself all over it.
I think this and a few models of Jaguar are THE sexiest things in the world.
Look at the lines of it, all round and soft. It’s a work of art.
Beautiful.
Mmmm.


Due to the ‘infestation’ of tomato plants at Sleepy Mansions and less sunlight, we now have a glut of green tomatoes.
I wanted something else to do with them other than the ubiquitous ‘Green Tomato Chutney’.




So I got experimenting and have come up with a green tomato soup.
Amazingly, it tastes bloody nice!.
I even got it together enough to write down the recipe