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!