There was an earthquake last night and it seems everybody but me felt it!
Tremors from Scotland to the Isle of Wight
I was up at 1am and nothing, not a wobble.
In an interview, some bloke from Lincolnshire said,
“I was woken up. It was hell.”
Um.. Hell?
I don’t think so.
Being buried under your house for days with injuries and no food or water is hell.
A few ornaments falling off the shelf is most definitely not.
I’ve noticed stuff today.
Like how small the writing is on posters at the eye clinic.
Sadistic fuckers.
Then twins came in.
I couldn’t help thinking what a head fuck that would be for the poor double-visioned bastards.
There were two old, deaf sisters who for some reason couldn’t swap seats with each other.
Doing so they’d have been on each other’s hearing side.
Also, moving me from one waiting room to another doesn’t make me feel I’m getting to the doctor any quicker.
Another thing I’ve noticed is, old ladies with bikes that have a basket on the front, never fucking ride them.
The bikes have bags and all sorts of crap hanging off them but THEY are never ON them.
I see three old dears regularly, but I’ve never, once, seen any of them on the bicycle.
Maybe it’s just Pompey.
This bloke’s lucky he can see at all.
If he’s using double doses of Viagra the fucker should be blind!
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Simple Things
I decided not to tackle the grumbling, stinking sink today.
I slung bi-carbonate of soda and vinegar down it and pretended it wasn’t there.
I kept imaging what I would find in the u bend and it put me right off.
Tomorrow.
Instead, I cooked.
Check it out.
Butternut squash and chickpea soup!
I’ve also done meatballs in vodka sauce for tomorrow.
Great sink avoidance strategies.
There have been ‘revelations’ that the hideous Paul Burrell twat is gay.
Really? Gay you say?
I would never have had an inkling.
Now, hands up if that came as a real shock to you.
Another one from the Celebrity Jungle.
He and Biggins didn’t seem to have any obvious problems swallowing animal genitalia.
I’m not saying it’s a clear sign, but if you can get a kangaroo cock and balls down without gagging, it suggests certain ‘leanings’ to me.
I had Phantom Cat Syndrome this afternoon.
So convinced that a feline was rubbing up against my leg, I put my hand down to stroke it.
Nothing.
No cat.
It mildly freaked me out and sent me in search of the boys just so I could shout, “Fuckers”, at them.
I’m wearing new socks.
Sometimes having new socks is as good as having new shoes.
Not that interesting but it’s really made my day!
Simple things. Simple things.
I slung bi-carbonate of soda and vinegar down it and pretended it wasn’t there.
I kept imaging what I would find in the u bend and it put me right off.
Tomorrow.
Instead, I cooked.
Check it out.
Butternut squash and chickpea soup!
I’ve also done meatballs in vodka sauce for tomorrow.
Great sink avoidance strategies.
There have been ‘revelations’ that the hideous Paul Burrell twat is gay.
Really? Gay you say?
I would never have had an inkling.
Now, hands up if that came as a real shock to you.
Another one from the Celebrity Jungle.
He and Biggins didn’t seem to have any obvious problems swallowing animal genitalia.
I’m not saying it’s a clear sign, but if you can get a kangaroo cock and balls down without gagging, it suggests certain ‘leanings’ to me.
I had Phantom Cat Syndrome this afternoon.
So convinced that a feline was rubbing up against my leg, I put my hand down to stroke it.
Nothing.
No cat.
It mildly freaked me out and sent me in search of the boys just so I could shout, “Fuckers”, at them.
I’m wearing new socks.
Sometimes having new socks is as good as having new shoes.
Not that interesting but it’s really made my day!
Simple things. Simple things.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
The Catholic And The Yid
I had every intention of going to the 8.15 Mass but couldn’t be arsed to get up.
At the 10.15 I decided to sit somewhere nearer the front, away from the back pew rockers and nutters.
When I got the first lungful of incense, I remembered why I sat at the back.
Something seems to happen to old women when the hit the 75ish mark.
They sit at the front of the church and all of a sudden the back of their hair ceases to exist for them.
The front and their face is all pristine and made up, the back is a fucking birds nest.
There was a superb moment when a Dad held a little baby up in front of his face, just as it sneezed.
It covered them both.
Who knew a baby could be that full of snot!
Most entertaining.
What has pissed me off today, is the priest telling us to write to our MPs encouraging them to vote against any further ‘Abortion Liberalisation’ and ‘the removal of the need for a father from law and birth certificates’.
I’d be interested in just how many kids have ‘Father Unknown’ on their birth certificates in this city.
I don’t want my politics and religion being mixed up.
For some reason this has always enraged me.
There are still people who take what the priest says, as part of Mass, as ‘gospel’ and don’t even bother to form their own opinion.
Separation of church and state works in France.
I started talking loudly, suggesting that nobody take ANY of their medication because it could have been tested or produced from ‘illegal’ sources.
I was bundled out, in front of the priest’s procession before I could shout,
“KEEP YOUR ROSARIES OFF MY OVARIES”!
Just as well I suppose.
My beloved Spurs won The League Cup Final, against Chelsea.
People, I’m not afraid to admit that I wept!
I had Crisp-e on the ‘phone for the last 5 minutes, which were sphincter tighteningly tense.
I am now tucking in to my second bottle of wine in celebration.
Robbie and The Sassy One have been round and have eaten my culinary experiments!
I’ll let you know of any deaths in the morning.
Tottenham ‘til I die!
At the 10.15 I decided to sit somewhere nearer the front, away from the back pew rockers and nutters.
When I got the first lungful of incense, I remembered why I sat at the back.
Something seems to happen to old women when the hit the 75ish mark.
They sit at the front of the church and all of a sudden the back of their hair ceases to exist for them.
The front and their face is all pristine and made up, the back is a fucking birds nest.
There was a superb moment when a Dad held a little baby up in front of his face, just as it sneezed.
It covered them both.
Who knew a baby could be that full of snot!
Most entertaining.
What has pissed me off today, is the priest telling us to write to our MPs encouraging them to vote against any further ‘Abortion Liberalisation’ and ‘the removal of the need for a father from law and birth certificates’.
I’d be interested in just how many kids have ‘Father Unknown’ on their birth certificates in this city.
I don’t want my politics and religion being mixed up.
For some reason this has always enraged me.
There are still people who take what the priest says, as part of Mass, as ‘gospel’ and don’t even bother to form their own opinion.
Separation of church and state works in France.
I started talking loudly, suggesting that nobody take ANY of their medication because it could have been tested or produced from ‘illegal’ sources.
I was bundled out, in front of the priest’s procession before I could shout,
“KEEP YOUR ROSARIES OFF MY OVARIES”!
Just as well I suppose.
My beloved Spurs won The League Cup Final, against Chelsea.
People, I’m not afraid to admit that I wept!
I had Crisp-e on the ‘phone for the last 5 minutes, which were sphincter tighteningly tense.
I am now tucking in to my second bottle of wine in celebration.
Robbie and The Sassy One have been round and have eaten my culinary experiments!
I’ll let you know of any deaths in the morning.
Tottenham ‘til I die!
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Booze Blues
Tesco are considering putting up the prices of their alcohol.
They have agreed that cheap booze is causing ‘binge drinking’ amongst the young.
Not my fucking problem.
Why should I be punished for someone else’s piss poor parenting?
Put the age up to 21, I don’t care.
Drinkers are taxed beyond reason as it is.
That’s why we were all fecking off to France for our booze and smokes in the first place.
Not that it matters, in my experience the parents buy it for them.
I’ve confiscated vodka on a school trip only to be informed,
“You better fucking give that back, my Mum bought that for me.”
My reply was that I’d return it to the Mother, which I did.
Her reaction?
“Ah Bless! I bought that for her to ’ave on the trip. Weren’t she allowed it?”
I managed to stop myself screaming,
‘Of course not! She’s fucking 15, you mental bitch!’
Fine. She might like being in charge of a pissed up teen, I don’t.
Especially when they feel they can sue YOU for anything the kid does to injure themselves.
I want to be able to sue a parent for having the brass neck to send their terminally thick offspring to a mainstream school.
With extra damages if the child is particularly fucking ugly.
The sink in the kitchen is making strange noises.
Expensive sounding noises.
Stuff needs replacing noises.
I’m ignoring it, hoping it goes tits up while I’m not here.
Great line from the rugby,
“You are not allowed to tread on people anymore, you should be, but you can’t”.
You have got to love Brian Moore!
Is it just me or do these just sound really fucking itchy?
I’d also like to know how they get from China to our bathrooms.
The bamboo wafts away on a passing thermal does it?
Tell me how the Chinese get them here in an ‘eco-friendly’ manner.
You just got to love the Catholic Church in South America don’t you?
All her children were ‘born prematurely’…
Prematurely? Prematurely?!!
(Helps it you take your voice up an octave on each of those!)
I should fucking say so!
Seven kids before she is 17.
They have agreed that cheap booze is causing ‘binge drinking’ amongst the young.
Not my fucking problem.
Why should I be punished for someone else’s piss poor parenting?
Put the age up to 21, I don’t care.
Drinkers are taxed beyond reason as it is.
That’s why we were all fecking off to France for our booze and smokes in the first place.
Not that it matters, in my experience the parents buy it for them.
I’ve confiscated vodka on a school trip only to be informed,
“You better fucking give that back, my Mum bought that for me.”
My reply was that I’d return it to the Mother, which I did.
Her reaction?
“Ah Bless! I bought that for her to ’ave on the trip. Weren’t she allowed it?”
I managed to stop myself screaming,
‘Of course not! She’s fucking 15, you mental bitch!’
Fine. She might like being in charge of a pissed up teen, I don’t.
Especially when they feel they can sue YOU for anything the kid does to injure themselves.
I want to be able to sue a parent for having the brass neck to send their terminally thick offspring to a mainstream school.
With extra damages if the child is particularly fucking ugly.
The sink in the kitchen is making strange noises.
Expensive sounding noises.
Stuff needs replacing noises.
I’m ignoring it, hoping it goes tits up while I’m not here.
Great line from the rugby,
“You are not allowed to tread on people anymore, you should be, but you can’t”.
You have got to love Brian Moore!
Is it just me or do these just sound really fucking itchy?
I’d also like to know how they get from China to our bathrooms.
The bamboo wafts away on a passing thermal does it?
Tell me how the Chinese get them here in an ‘eco-friendly’ manner.
You just got to love the Catholic Church in South America don’t you?
All her children were ‘born prematurely’…
Prematurely? Prematurely?!!
(Helps it you take your voice up an octave on each of those!)
I should fucking say so!
Seven kids before she is 17.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Ire And Eire
The trip to Ireland began with some serious anger.
They tried to take my Zippo lighter away from me at security.
The BAA website states you can carry one lighter on your person, but doesn’t specify type.
Trying to argue this with the ‘Supervisor’ Nazi was going nowhere.
I suggested taking the flint out and rendering it useless that way.
Supervisor Nazi was having none of it.
She took all of the innards and left me with the case.
Even though her colleagues were agreeing with me.
Totally eviscerated my Zippo.
What could I have done with it anyway? Lit a fart?
Antisocial, but not exactly terrorism.
They tried to take my Zippo lighter away from me at security.
The BAA website states you can carry one lighter on your person, but doesn’t specify type.
Trying to argue this with the ‘Supervisor’ Nazi was going nowhere.
I suggested taking the flint out and rendering it useless that way.
Supervisor Nazi was having none of it.
She took all of the innards and left me with the case.
Even though her colleagues were agreeing with me.
Totally eviscerated my Zippo.
What could I have done with it anyway? Lit a fart?
Antisocial, but not exactly terrorism.
Arguing got my boots removed and x-rayed and my 100mls of shampoo tested.
I wanted to have a big old freak out but decided that as I was hiding some personal use weed about my person, it was best just to leave it!
I wanted to have a big old freak out but decided that as I was hiding some personal use weed about my person, it was best just to leave it!
I’d forgotten how fast Mass is said in Ireland.
I tried with the responses but started to sound a little bit ‘Special’, so stopped.
The priest read the wrong Gospel so just started over again, then tried to quote a poem but couldn’t remember it all.
All most entertaining.
Joyously there was no ‘sign of peace’.
There were a whole load of prayers I don’t ever, ever remember saying and I was on my knees at different times.
I tried with the responses but started to sound a little bit ‘Special’, so stopped.
The priest read the wrong Gospel so just started over again, then tried to quote a poem but couldn’t remember it all.
All most entertaining.
Joyously there was no ‘sign of peace’.
There were a whole load of prayers I don’t ever, ever remember saying and I was on my knees at different times.
I’ve been fed to within an inch of my life.
Apparently there are different ‘levels’ of hungry.
You may not be hungry enough for a Full Irish but hungry enough for a biscuit.
Similar to Hobbits knowing about Second Breakfast.
I’ve stood in Cashel High Street watching workmen let passing ‘auld fellers’ stand and stare in the hole in the road with them.
Health and Safety, my arse.
A flat cap and a roll up was there only defence against injury.
I’ve spent a few hours throwing a ball for a cute but mad Springer Spaniel, named Molly.
I’ve met up with Lenten and can report he is well.
The Aunt and The Uncle are as ever, Brilliant!
You may not be hungry enough for a Full Irish but hungry enough for a biscuit.
Similar to Hobbits knowing about Second Breakfast.
I’ve stood in Cashel High Street watching workmen let passing ‘auld fellers’ stand and stare in the hole in the road with them.
Health and Safety, my arse.
A flat cap and a roll up was there only defence against injury.
I’ve spent a few hours throwing a ball for a cute but mad Springer Spaniel, named Molly.
I’ve met up with Lenten and can report he is well.
The Aunt and The Uncle are as ever, Brilliant!
Friday, February 15, 2008
Brilliantly Funny
I can't remember how I surfed into this but I think it's superb!
Saying, 'I gave you the clap', face to face can be a tad awkward.
This is brilliant!
Saying, 'I gave you the clap', face to face can be a tad awkward.
This is brilliant!
Hounds, Rage And Eire
I’ve been in Wiltshire for a few days.Blue, the new Greyhound, is settling in wonderfully.
He has a cracking personality and character, but absolutely no social skills.
He steals food and drink (Tea, wine and Bailey’s!) and tries to lift his leg in the house.
He is learning how to walk on the lead without yanking the shoulder of the walker from its socket.
His ‘prey’ instinct is still very strong. He will go for anything small, furry and feathery.
Greyhounds go from 0 to 35mph in seconds, can see for almost a mile and have the most amazing peripheral vision.
You have to be aware of him all the time.
Jess, on the other hand, is his polar opposite.
She avoids little dogs and is totally uninterested in cats.
You can eat your dinner off your lap, unmolested.
Jessie is so very patient with him and they get on brilliantly.
I usually find being out and about in the countryside very calming, except for yesterday.
We were driving along a narrow country lane when we encountered another car.
Expecting the driver to pull in to the passing place 6 feet in front of him, M carried on.
So did the other driver, seemingly, without slowing down.
There was an almighty smash as wing mirrors hit, more or less destroying M’s.
He stopped and jumped out of his car.
So did I.
This well-dressed, well-spoken 70 year old man came at me shouting and screaming,
“Why didn’t you pull over? Are you stupid?”
I said nothing until he called me a Prick.
Nought to Psycho in under 2 seconds.
(As I’m typing this I can feel my heart racing and myself winding up again)
Then I went apeshit.
“Right, now YOU have sworn at ME, I can FUCKING start.
Why the fuck didn’t YOU pull in, you senile fucking cunt? Eh?
Where the fuck did you expect us to go? The passing place is your side you prick!
You thought you would bully your way through, just as you are trying to do now.
You have made a fucking HUGE mistake, you wanker because I’m a medicated fucking mental!
Now, I suggest you turn your geriatric fucking self round and run old man.
Fucking RUN!”
I starting walking towards him and he ran people!
He ran like he hasn’t in decades.
Can’t be easy in sensible Brogues either!
By my third step he was in his car and driving away.
Idiot.
It took me over two hours to calm down.
Thank G-d for Diazepam! Or I’d still be raging.
Gives you an idea what I was like before the anger management and the removal of ‘E’ numbers from my diet!
Ho Hum.
Anyway, off to Ireland tomorrow for a few days.
I’ll be here.
If you click on the ‘zoom out’ about 6 times, it’ll give you an idea just how far into the arse end of nowhere I’m going!
I haven’t decided if I’m taking the laptop yet, it’s a pain in the arse at airport security, but so handy when I’m away.
I like to get my photos downloaded, in case I do something stupid, like erase the lot!
So, you may hear from me or you may not.
Finally, todays “I know it’s wrong to laugh but…..”
Also, that’s some serious fecking Limescale!
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Rehab, Rugby And Today
Britney Spears, Amy Winehouse, Eva Mendez and Kirsten Dunst. Anyone else want to check themselves into rehab?
Looks like Heath Ledger has put the ‘detox’ up them.
Kirsten has booked in because, and get this, ‘She is crying a lot’.
I find myself screaming, your fucking point?
Kirsten. Love.
Fucking crying? Really?
Dear Christ, that is every teacher I know at LEAST once a week!
I can’t help thinking that these people need some kind of ‘Chav Buddy’.
A ‘Mental Mentor’ to show them the real world.
Some low income, low achieving, high conceiving, benefit drawing, ‘trailer trash’ they can swap with for a month.
Live their lives, on their budget, in their home, with their kids and see how close you get to tears then.
Fuck Off!
Yesterday’s Rugby commentary gave me a laugh.
Gabby Logan says to the camera,
“I’m sat here with two of the best Hookers ever”.
Camera then pans to a pair of THE most cauliflower eared, battered, broken nosed, beat up, looking feckers you’ve ever seen.
One of them was biting his lip trying not to laugh; the camera crew must have been cracked up because this guy’s eyes were just flicking all over the place!
It’s been a gorgeous day.
I have pruned the grapevine and the fruit trees. The herbs are all cut back and the cats have been looking at me as if I’m mad.
I have the most serious secateur blisters ever.
Today I have cooked a total Mediterranean fare.
I had a yen for soul food.
Roasted garlic soup, Falafel, Kofte kebabs, Tzatziki, home made pitta and Greek salad, tahini and a load of yogurt sauces.
Most yummers.
We are know sat in front of the BAFTA’s saying,
NO!!
You fecking what!
Looks like Heath Ledger has put the ‘detox’ up them.
Kirsten has booked in because, and get this, ‘She is crying a lot’.
I find myself screaming, your fucking point?
Kirsten. Love.
Fucking crying? Really?
Dear Christ, that is every teacher I know at LEAST once a week!
I can’t help thinking that these people need some kind of ‘Chav Buddy’.
A ‘Mental Mentor’ to show them the real world.
Some low income, low achieving, high conceiving, benefit drawing, ‘trailer trash’ they can swap with for a month.
Live their lives, on their budget, in their home, with their kids and see how close you get to tears then.
Fuck Off!
Yesterday’s Rugby commentary gave me a laugh.
Gabby Logan says to the camera,
“I’m sat here with two of the best Hookers ever”.
Camera then pans to a pair of THE most cauliflower eared, battered, broken nosed, beat up, looking feckers you’ve ever seen.
One of them was biting his lip trying not to laugh; the camera crew must have been cracked up because this guy’s eyes were just flicking all over the place!
It’s been a gorgeous day.
I have pruned the grapevine and the fruit trees. The herbs are all cut back and the cats have been looking at me as if I’m mad.
I have the most serious secateur blisters ever.
Today I have cooked a total Mediterranean fare.
I had a yen for soul food.
Roasted garlic soup, Falafel, Kofte kebabs, Tzatziki, home made pitta and Greek salad, tahini and a load of yogurt sauces.
Most yummers.
We are know sat in front of the BAFTA’s saying,
NO!!
You fecking what!
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Under Pressure
I played with blood pressure machines most of last night.
The Tame Pharmacist brought them home for Mrs Next Door to check out.
The experiments conducted would point towards cannabis lowering my blood pressure but the nicotine ‘delivery system’ increasing my pulse rate considerably.
The machines are a bit scary and inflate themselves, which makes your heart race to start with.
A bit unfair I feel.
Basically, with each ciggie I smoke I’m playing Russian Roulette with a stroke.
I love it!
If there is anything that would affect my blood pressure adversely, it’s Lourdes.
Hideous, gaudy, greedy, unholy place that it is.
This year his Nazi-ness is handing out ‘Indulgences’ for idiots who do the pilgrimage.
The indulgence reduces the time a soul spends in purgatory.
What bollocks!
I wouldn’t be surprised if the only way to get the indulgence would be to book the trip through the Vatican Airline.
As if that’s a plane you’d want to get on!
Imagine the coughing, spluttering, moaning and groaning that would be going on.
Nuns and priests all over the place.
What a horror!
In-flight movie, The Song of Bernadette or Quo Vadis.
Jaysus!
I wouldn’t want a miracle cure. I’d want euthanizing.
Pilot may as well just fly the fucker straight into the ground.
A waiter who is leaving Lourdes sums it up,
“I’m leaving, because I can’t stand seeing another revolting, badly-cooked burger sold to innocent British people for €6, when the wholesale price was 50 cents. It’s taboo to say it round here, but I’m disgusted by the greed.”
I’m still amazed people fall for this old shit. Fecking grow up!
Drink water and all your ailments will be cured.
Yeah, right!
If it tastes anything like the filth they give you in Bath, I’d give it a huge body swerve if I were you.
Cloudy, grey looking stuff with a blended pumice stone texture.
For fuck’s sake, you can still taste the Romans in that shite!
It’s been 50 years since the Munich Air Disaster.
I have to admit, as a fan on the terraces, I have sung and chanted about this.
None of it complimentary!
But I would like to just remind people about the goalkeeper, Harry Gregg.
This man ran back into the plane and pulled people out.
Bobby Charlton, Dennis Violett, Matt Busby, Jackie Blanchflower, the pregnant wife of a Yugoslavian diplomat and her daughter.
He always told the truth about it as well.
When others said they helped, he would put the story right.
“No they didn’t, they ran away.”
He called them back and handed them the baby he saved from the burning wreckage.
For over 45 years the poor bastard suffered ‘survivor’s guilt’.
To me, Harry Gregg you are one of the greatest British Heroes.
Housemates, this is going to sound like déjà vu, it certainly does to me.
Who likes getting into a ‘hairy’ bath or shower?
I sure as shit don’t!
I can promise you that all the time my arsehole points downward, I DO NOT want to deal with the ‘Plughole Hamster’.
Rinse the bastard down for fuck’s sake.
Don’t make me start leaving notes.
Nobody enjoys those, least of all me.
The Tame Pharmacist brought them home for Mrs Next Door to check out.
The experiments conducted would point towards cannabis lowering my blood pressure but the nicotine ‘delivery system’ increasing my pulse rate considerably.
The machines are a bit scary and inflate themselves, which makes your heart race to start with.
A bit unfair I feel.
Basically, with each ciggie I smoke I’m playing Russian Roulette with a stroke.
I love it!
If there is anything that would affect my blood pressure adversely, it’s Lourdes.
Hideous, gaudy, greedy, unholy place that it is.
This year his Nazi-ness is handing out ‘Indulgences’ for idiots who do the pilgrimage.
The indulgence reduces the time a soul spends in purgatory.
What bollocks!
I wouldn’t be surprised if the only way to get the indulgence would be to book the trip through the Vatican Airline.
As if that’s a plane you’d want to get on!
Imagine the coughing, spluttering, moaning and groaning that would be going on.
Nuns and priests all over the place.
What a horror!
In-flight movie, The Song of Bernadette or Quo Vadis.
Jaysus!
I wouldn’t want a miracle cure. I’d want euthanizing.
Pilot may as well just fly the fucker straight into the ground.
A waiter who is leaving Lourdes sums it up,
“I’m leaving, because I can’t stand seeing another revolting, badly-cooked burger sold to innocent British people for €6, when the wholesale price was 50 cents. It’s taboo to say it round here, but I’m disgusted by the greed.”
I’m still amazed people fall for this old shit. Fecking grow up!
Drink water and all your ailments will be cured.
Yeah, right!
If it tastes anything like the filth they give you in Bath, I’d give it a huge body swerve if I were you.
Cloudy, grey looking stuff with a blended pumice stone texture.
For fuck’s sake, you can still taste the Romans in that shite!
It’s been 50 years since the Munich Air Disaster.
I have to admit, as a fan on the terraces, I have sung and chanted about this.
None of it complimentary!
But I would like to just remind people about the goalkeeper, Harry Gregg.
This man ran back into the plane and pulled people out.
Bobby Charlton, Dennis Violett, Matt Busby, Jackie Blanchflower, the pregnant wife of a Yugoslavian diplomat and her daughter.
He always told the truth about it as well.
When others said they helped, he would put the story right.
“No they didn’t, they ran away.”
He called them back and handed them the baby he saved from the burning wreckage.
For over 45 years the poor bastard suffered ‘survivor’s guilt’.
To me, Harry Gregg you are one of the greatest British Heroes.
Housemates, this is going to sound like déjà vu, it certainly does to me.
Who likes getting into a ‘hairy’ bath or shower?
I sure as shit don’t!
I can promise you that all the time my arsehole points downward, I DO NOT want to deal with the ‘Plughole Hamster’.
Rinse the bastard down for fuck’s sake.
Don’t make me start leaving notes.
Nobody enjoys those, least of all me.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Looking East
Last night we helped Housemate Pat celebrate Chinese New Year.
She spent the whole day preparing food.
Mrs Next Door and her niece brought dishes with them as well.
Now, Chinese food has never been a favourite of mine, but this food was amazing.
I even ate Thai noodles.
Pat had made some amazing sushi but tried to kill me with wasabi.
Jaysus, that green nastiness is hot!
A huge amount of wine was drunk and there was even an empty whiskey bottle this morning.
The things you find out about people after a few drinks is amazing.
Mrs Next Door’s Dad is a bigamist! How cool is that?!
Her Mum knows, but is very traditional and won’t get divorced. Fortunately they live in different countries.
It must have been a good night because I have no recollection of going to bed.
I did have a nosebleed during the night and woke up looking like I had survived an autopsy.
Today, I was taken to a hospital appointment as ‘moral support’.
Yeah, I know?!
Who’d take me?
I couldn’t go in the MRI room so entertained my self with a game my sister and I used to play at the hospital.
“Find The Morgue”.
You take the lift down as far as it will go and look for a door with a cheerful name.
That’s usually the morgue.
The one at this hospital is called ‘Rose Lodge’.
There is no Chapel because of extensive building work but there was a prayer room.
I walked in just as a Muslim doctor rolled out his prayer mat.
We had that awkward moment when we just stared at each other, so I said, “Can I have a go?”
He looked really shocked, laughed and said, “Yeah! Alright!”
He showed me how to say the prayers. When to kneel down, when to stand up, when to fold my arms, the lot.
It was excellent!
You have to stand in front of G-d, then thank and praise him.
You also have to ask G-d to show you the right way.
You stand and let G-d know that, in your heart you are ready to pray.
Then you hold your hands up and say, ‘G-d is great’.
Some verses of the Qur’an are recited and you bend over from the waist.
Several more verses are spoken then you bow down and touch your head to the ground.
I probably haven’t explained that very well!
I’m used to spending time on my knees before G-d, but this was a really unique feeling.
Real submission and deference.
This evening I have eaten Kurdish food and fecking yummers it was too!
She spent the whole day preparing food.
Mrs Next Door and her niece brought dishes with them as well.
Now, Chinese food has never been a favourite of mine, but this food was amazing.
I even ate Thai noodles.
Pat had made some amazing sushi but tried to kill me with wasabi.
Jaysus, that green nastiness is hot!
A huge amount of wine was drunk and there was even an empty whiskey bottle this morning.
The things you find out about people after a few drinks is amazing.
Mrs Next Door’s Dad is a bigamist! How cool is that?!
Her Mum knows, but is very traditional and won’t get divorced. Fortunately they live in different countries.
It must have been a good night because I have no recollection of going to bed.
I did have a nosebleed during the night and woke up looking like I had survived an autopsy.
Today, I was taken to a hospital appointment as ‘moral support’.
Yeah, I know?!
Who’d take me?
I couldn’t go in the MRI room so entertained my self with a game my sister and I used to play at the hospital.
“Find The Morgue”.
You take the lift down as far as it will go and look for a door with a cheerful name.
That’s usually the morgue.
The one at this hospital is called ‘Rose Lodge’.
There is no Chapel because of extensive building work but there was a prayer room.
I walked in just as a Muslim doctor rolled out his prayer mat.
We had that awkward moment when we just stared at each other, so I said, “Can I have a go?”
He looked really shocked, laughed and said, “Yeah! Alright!”
He showed me how to say the prayers. When to kneel down, when to stand up, when to fold my arms, the lot.
It was excellent!
You have to stand in front of G-d, then thank and praise him.
You also have to ask G-d to show you the right way.
You stand and let G-d know that, in your heart you are ready to pray.
Then you hold your hands up and say, ‘G-d is great’.
Some verses of the Qur’an are recited and you bend over from the waist.
Several more verses are spoken then you bow down and touch your head to the ground.
I probably haven’t explained that very well!
I’m used to spending time on my knees before G-d, but this was a really unique feeling.
Real submission and deference.
This evening I have eaten Kurdish food and fecking yummers it was too!
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Dust And Ashes
I only managed two pancakes yesterday.
Shameful.
One filled with Nutella and the other with tinned mandarins.
Yummers!
I was trying for the Golden Syrup, Lemon and Sugar one but was feeling a bit sick.
Mass today, reintroduced me to a subtype of catholic I had almost forgotten about.
The Statue Hugger.
Today’s ‘hugger’ took the specialism a stage further and was also a kisser.
She started at Mary’s feet and started working up.
She stopped mid-thigh.
Thank all that is Holy.
The Yid in me can’t get my head around statues; I never have and never will.
Honestly, when I see them, ‘Graven Image’ pops into my head.
There were also a lot of old women with male pattern baldness.
A bizarre fascination of mine!
The Gospel was all about doing good deeds in secret, not being so obvious about prayer and worship.
An unusual reading considering were all left with a fucking great OBVIOUS smudge of ash on our foreheads.
There was an extraordinary moment just at the Transubstantiation bit.
Some kind of Gun salute was fired in the Dockyard.
When this happens the percussion and sound can be heard and felt all over the city.
As he held the host up, the booming began.
Stronger weed but less used.
This has pissed me off.
Why don’t they tell you about the complete and utter nastiness that is sprayed on the crops just before harvest?
Chemical shit made to make the cannabis weigh more.
Chemical shit that has never been tested on humans.
Chemical shit that has never been tested for the affects on mental health.
Report the complete story.
Don’t just say ‘weed is bad’.
The Weed has been fucked about with.
Take control of it. Tax it. ‘Amsterdam’ it.
Just don’t ban it. It doesn’t stop us.
But what is being punted out on ‘us smokers’ now is dangerous.
If you think cannabis is costing the NHS now, you will not believe the damage that is coming.
For some reason I think this too, will end up being about penetration.
It would add a whole new dimension to, ‘Butch enough to get you pregnant’, I suppose.
“Dust thou art; to dust returnest, was not spoken of the soul.”
Shameful.
One filled with Nutella and the other with tinned mandarins.
Yummers!
I was trying for the Golden Syrup, Lemon and Sugar one but was feeling a bit sick.
Mass today, reintroduced me to a subtype of catholic I had almost forgotten about.
The Statue Hugger.
Today’s ‘hugger’ took the specialism a stage further and was also a kisser.
She started at Mary’s feet and started working up.
She stopped mid-thigh.
Thank all that is Holy.
The Yid in me can’t get my head around statues; I never have and never will.
Honestly, when I see them, ‘Graven Image’ pops into my head.
There were also a lot of old women with male pattern baldness.
A bizarre fascination of mine!
The Gospel was all about doing good deeds in secret, not being so obvious about prayer and worship.
An unusual reading considering were all left with a fucking great OBVIOUS smudge of ash on our foreheads.
There was an extraordinary moment just at the Transubstantiation bit.
Some kind of Gun salute was fired in the Dockyard.
When this happens the percussion and sound can be heard and felt all over the city.
As he held the host up, the booming began.
Stronger weed but less used.
This has pissed me off.
Why don’t they tell you about the complete and utter nastiness that is sprayed on the crops just before harvest?
Chemical shit made to make the cannabis weigh more.
Chemical shit that has never been tested on humans.
Chemical shit that has never been tested for the affects on mental health.
Report the complete story.
Don’t just say ‘weed is bad’.
The Weed has been fucked about with.
Take control of it. Tax it. ‘Amsterdam’ it.
Just don’t ban it. It doesn’t stop us.
But what is being punted out on ‘us smokers’ now is dangerous.
If you think cannabis is costing the NHS now, you will not believe the damage that is coming.
For some reason I think this too, will end up being about penetration.
It would add a whole new dimension to, ‘Butch enough to get you pregnant’, I suppose.
“Dust thou art; to dust returnest, was not spoken of the soul.”
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Snot And Saints
I am loaded up with Contac 400.
Housemate Claire, while at the hospital trying to get better, has brought home germs.
Typhoid Clairey, as she is now known.
It’s not even a proper cold.
I can manage about 8 sneezes on the trot and my nose is just dripping warm ‘water’.
Looking forward to the hacking cough when it makes its way to my lungs.
As soon as I saw this photo I got the song from ‘The Meaning of Life’ in my head.
‘Every sperm is sacred, every sperm is good….’
Along with Monty Python, there is just enough OCD ‘clean freakery’ about me that thinks,
“That’s a bloody good idea!”
ATM told me about episodes of Oprah where they swabbed public areas; cinemas, restaurants etc.
The ‘residue’ found on bedspreads in hotels is enough to turn one agoraphobic.
It’s Saint Agatha’s day.
She spurned the advances of some Roman or other and he got bitter and twisted.
He made sure she was persecuted for her Christianity.
Before being burnt at the stake, she was tortured and her breasts cut off.
Unsurprisingly, she is patron of breast cancer patients and amusingly, patron of bell founders and bakers!
My Darwin Award has to go to this guy!
Housemate Claire, while at the hospital trying to get better, has brought home germs.
Typhoid Clairey, as she is now known.
It’s not even a proper cold.
I can manage about 8 sneezes on the trot and my nose is just dripping warm ‘water’.
Looking forward to the hacking cough when it makes its way to my lungs.
As soon as I saw this photo I got the song from ‘The Meaning of Life’ in my head.
‘Every sperm is sacred, every sperm is good….’
Along with Monty Python, there is just enough OCD ‘clean freakery’ about me that thinks,
“That’s a bloody good idea!”
ATM told me about episodes of Oprah where they swabbed public areas; cinemas, restaurants etc.
The ‘residue’ found on bedspreads in hotels is enough to turn one agoraphobic.
It’s Saint Agatha’s day.
She spurned the advances of some Roman or other and he got bitter and twisted.
He made sure she was persecuted for her Christianity.
Before being burnt at the stake, she was tortured and her breasts cut off.
Unsurprisingly, she is patron of breast cancer patients and amusingly, patron of bell founders and bakers!
My Darwin Award has to go to this guy!
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Sunday Takes Its Toll
I had to abandon Mass after 15 minutes.
There were Baptisms going on, screaming kids galore.
It amuses me how the regular non attendees give themselves away.
They are the people in suits and their ‘Sunday Best’.
The regular attendees have on whatever was to hand and clean.
It was all too much for me and I had to get out.
The regular ‘Mass Mental’ added another string to his bow of burning bonkers.
Hitting himself in the head really fast then spitting on the floor.
His nose picking has taken on a ‘Cowboy’ flourish.
Make your forefinger and thumb into a gun, like when you were a kid.
Place the tips of both ‘barrels’ up each nostril, now fire like you were in the shoot out at the Ok Corral.
Returning to nostrils to reload.
When my rocking synched with his, I knew it was time to go.
This! could only happen to Mad Matt.
Mr and Mrs Crisp-e dropped him at the station at 9.20pm last night.
This is the text I received from him at 11.56pm, dyslexia and all.
“Fucking disaster! Train delayd buses runing late got stuck in a faulty caredge and stranded at bersaldon! Next train 6am. 118 think weding chofers r a taxi ferm. And its very cold. Thanks for lovely eve and tunes. Hope 2 see u very soon x.”
As any good friend would do, I immediately forwarded the text to Crisp-e so we could laugh our arses off at his expense.
It started with me calling him the High Priest of Hapless, the list progressed like this:
The Clergyman of Chaos
The Druid of Disaster
The Rabbi of Recklessness
The Friar of Fuck Ups
The Shamen of Shambles
The Monsignor of Misrule
The Pontiff of Pandemonium
The Lama of Lawlessness
The Minister of Mayhem
The Buddha of Bedlam
A Samaritan, fit enough to drive, was dispatched to rescue him.
I saw a programme today that mentioned The Passing Bell.
This is tolled at the instant of a person’s death to invite their neighbours to pray for the safe passing of the soul.
The single tolling bell was also thought to frighten away the devil and his minions.
The Puritans got rid of ‘The Soul Bell’ by an act of Parliament claiming it was ‘a popish practise to be stamped out’.
Catholic churches in England still aren’t allowed to ring bells.
It gradually worked its way back in.
I can’t remember the last time I heard church bells in the city.
Every Sunday when I’m in Wiltshire I hear them.
It seems to be confined to villages these days.
Just as well really, as the man said,
“Never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”
There were Baptisms going on, screaming kids galore.
It amuses me how the regular non attendees give themselves away.
They are the people in suits and their ‘Sunday Best’.
The regular attendees have on whatever was to hand and clean.
It was all too much for me and I had to get out.
The regular ‘Mass Mental’ added another string to his bow of burning bonkers.
Hitting himself in the head really fast then spitting on the floor.
His nose picking has taken on a ‘Cowboy’ flourish.
Make your forefinger and thumb into a gun, like when you were a kid.
Place the tips of both ‘barrels’ up each nostril, now fire like you were in the shoot out at the Ok Corral.
Returning to nostrils to reload.
When my rocking synched with his, I knew it was time to go.
This! could only happen to Mad Matt.
Mr and Mrs Crisp-e dropped him at the station at 9.20pm last night.
This is the text I received from him at 11.56pm, dyslexia and all.
“Fucking disaster! Train delayd buses runing late got stuck in a faulty caredge and stranded at bersaldon! Next train 6am. 118 think weding chofers r a taxi ferm. And its very cold. Thanks for lovely eve and tunes. Hope 2 see u very soon x.”
As any good friend would do, I immediately forwarded the text to Crisp-e so we could laugh our arses off at his expense.
It started with me calling him the High Priest of Hapless, the list progressed like this:
The Clergyman of Chaos
The Druid of Disaster
The Rabbi of Recklessness
The Friar of Fuck Ups
The Shamen of Shambles
The Monsignor of Misrule
The Pontiff of Pandemonium
The Lama of Lawlessness
The Minister of Mayhem
The Buddha of Bedlam
A Samaritan, fit enough to drive, was dispatched to rescue him.
I saw a programme today that mentioned The Passing Bell.
This is tolled at the instant of a person’s death to invite their neighbours to pray for the safe passing of the soul.
The single tolling bell was also thought to frighten away the devil and his minions.
The Puritans got rid of ‘The Soul Bell’ by an act of Parliament claiming it was ‘a popish practise to be stamped out’.
Catholic churches in England still aren’t allowed to ring bells.
It gradually worked its way back in.
I can’t remember the last time I heard church bells in the city.
Every Sunday when I’m in Wiltshire I hear them.
It seems to be confined to villages these days.
Just as well really, as the man said,
“Never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”
Saturday, February 02, 2008
A Day Of It
I have had, what my Dad would describe as, ‘A fucking day of it!’
There was a plan to meet my cousin at a railway station 40 minutes away.
An exchange of ‘herbs’ was arranged.
As he’d pissed me about with the time, my temper was just shy of Psycho.
(Whoever heard of someone, whose business is weighing stuff, not having scales?!)
I got on to the enquiries site and chose my train.
While buying the ticket at my station I was informed there was a bus laid on.
I replied, ‘No. If I’d wanted the bus I would have gone to the Hard’. (Where the bus station is!)
The man mumbled on about work on the track.
So I said, ‘Why doesn’t it say this shit on the fucking website then?’
He tried to tell me it did and I had read it wrong.
I flipped and a LOT of loud swearing ensued.
The station was full of police because of Pompey playing at home.
One came over and asked if there was a problem.
I told him there fucking would be if he got involved.
I must have looked pretty mental, because he went away.
When the bus eventually arrived, I watched as everybody ignored the young mum with a toddler and new baby struggle with her pram.
I asked if I could help, expecting to be put in charge of the pushchair.
She handed me the toddler who took one look at me, realised I wasn’t Mum or Nan, and screamed like I’d bitten her.
This did nothing to improve my mood.
She then handed me the baby in it’s carrying thing while she tried to stow the pushchair away.
The baby started crying because its dummy thing had come out.
Mum was still trying to undo straps on the storage area.
Two screaming kids.
Then to top it all the Mum shouted at me,
“Can you put her dummy back in please!”
As calmly and softly as I possibly could, (I WAS holding children!) I replied,
“Um… No. I have only got two hands AND I’m not your fucking husband!”
There was an apology.
For some reason, the process was repeated at the other end.
Without the ‘sharp’ words this time.
The look on my cousin’s face as he saw me with two kids was priceless.
He looked totally confused as he mouthed ‘What The Fuck!’
For all that effort, it’s nice to know that a few of my nearest and dearest are sat at home, slitty eyed and grinning!
It was also comforting to know that the choice to remain childless was fecking inspired!
We’ll say nothing about the rugby, it will only start me off again.
There was a plan to meet my cousin at a railway station 40 minutes away.
An exchange of ‘herbs’ was arranged.
As he’d pissed me about with the time, my temper was just shy of Psycho.
(Whoever heard of someone, whose business is weighing stuff, not having scales?!)
I got on to the enquiries site and chose my train.
While buying the ticket at my station I was informed there was a bus laid on.
I replied, ‘No. If I’d wanted the bus I would have gone to the Hard’. (Where the bus station is!)
The man mumbled on about work on the track.
So I said, ‘Why doesn’t it say this shit on the fucking website then?’
He tried to tell me it did and I had read it wrong.
I flipped and a LOT of loud swearing ensued.
The station was full of police because of Pompey playing at home.
One came over and asked if there was a problem.
I told him there fucking would be if he got involved.
I must have looked pretty mental, because he went away.
When the bus eventually arrived, I watched as everybody ignored the young mum with a toddler and new baby struggle with her pram.
I asked if I could help, expecting to be put in charge of the pushchair.
She handed me the toddler who took one look at me, realised I wasn’t Mum or Nan, and screamed like I’d bitten her.
This did nothing to improve my mood.
She then handed me the baby in it’s carrying thing while she tried to stow the pushchair away.
The baby started crying because its dummy thing had come out.
Mum was still trying to undo straps on the storage area.
Two screaming kids.
Then to top it all the Mum shouted at me,
“Can you put her dummy back in please!”
As calmly and softly as I possibly could, (I WAS holding children!) I replied,
“Um… No. I have only got two hands AND I’m not your fucking husband!”
There was an apology.
For some reason, the process was repeated at the other end.
Without the ‘sharp’ words this time.
The look on my cousin’s face as he saw me with two kids was priceless.
He looked totally confused as he mouthed ‘What The Fuck!’
For all that effort, it’s nice to know that a few of my nearest and dearest are sat at home, slitty eyed and grinning!
It was also comforting to know that the choice to remain childless was fecking inspired!
We’ll say nothing about the rugby, it will only start me off again.
Friday, February 01, 2008
Savaged and Sectioned
Yesterday I woke up to a savage day.
Storm force winds and horizontal rain.
Not a whisper of any snow here though.
Today it was blue skies, sunshine and bitter cold.
St F, over in the West of Ireland sent text pictures of heavy snow.
Jealous? Oh, just a tad!
Didn’t take her long to master her new camera phone!
I know Peter Kaye claims, ‘old ladies with mobile phones look wrong’, but it really suits St F!
It was a bizarre start to the day.
I got in the shower with my glasses on, it took me a while to work out what had happened and why I couldn‘t see.
I’m feeling for Blue today.
While out for a walk he, well, um “Caught” a little yapper type dog.
He was on his lead the yapper one wasn’t.
It ran up to him and then tried to run away.
Instantly, 2 thousand years worth of breeding kicked in and before it had taken four steps, Blue had it.
Greyhounds shake their prey to death and because of the strength in their necks, this doesn’t usually take long.
The little dog was, fortunately, unharmed but I’m pissed off for Blue.
He must be so confused; he was racing up until about six months ago and was being praised for doing that very thing.
People with little dogs seem to think that their hound doesn’t need restraining because they are ‘Small’.
Then they shouldn’t be surprised if it gets savaged.
Season 4 of Boston Legal started last night.
Bliss.
I’ve missed them, all the characters are like old friends.
The image of Jerry getting his groove on was priceless.
This evening was the last of Jam and Jerusalem. Again, some priceless lines, a particular classic from Queenie!
At last someone has given enough of a shit to sort this fecking nutter out!
Mirrored on this side of the water with Winehouse being dragged to rehab.
Although, I have to admit that Amy would be more of a loss to the music world than Britney.
Storm force winds and horizontal rain.
Not a whisper of any snow here though.
Today it was blue skies, sunshine and bitter cold.
St F, over in the West of Ireland sent text pictures of heavy snow.
Jealous? Oh, just a tad!
Didn’t take her long to master her new camera phone!
I know Peter Kaye claims, ‘old ladies with mobile phones look wrong’, but it really suits St F!
It was a bizarre start to the day.
I got in the shower with my glasses on, it took me a while to work out what had happened and why I couldn‘t see.
I’m feeling for Blue today.
While out for a walk he, well, um “Caught” a little yapper type dog.
He was on his lead the yapper one wasn’t.
It ran up to him and then tried to run away.
Instantly, 2 thousand years worth of breeding kicked in and before it had taken four steps, Blue had it.
Greyhounds shake their prey to death and because of the strength in their necks, this doesn’t usually take long.
The little dog was, fortunately, unharmed but I’m pissed off for Blue.
He must be so confused; he was racing up until about six months ago and was being praised for doing that very thing.
People with little dogs seem to think that their hound doesn’t need restraining because they are ‘Small’.
Then they shouldn’t be surprised if it gets savaged.
Season 4 of Boston Legal started last night.
Bliss.
I’ve missed them, all the characters are like old friends.
The image of Jerry getting his groove on was priceless.
This evening was the last of Jam and Jerusalem. Again, some priceless lines, a particular classic from Queenie!
At last someone has given enough of a shit to sort this fecking nutter out!
Mirrored on this side of the water with Winehouse being dragged to rehab.
Although, I have to admit that Amy would be more of a loss to the music world than Britney.