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'.