Festive Cheer

Well, that’s Christmas done for another year.
Thank fuck.
The Sassy one came round and we ate the Salt Beef I’ve had curing for the last 3 weeks.
It was fecking lush!
Having the Saltpetre made a real difference to the colour this time.

Mass Nutter topped himself this morning.
After farting loudly several times he let loose with an epic sneeze.
It seems he has never been taught about putting a hand in front of his mouth.
He covered the back of the lady in front of him, depositing what my Dad would call ‘Dockyard Oysters’ on her hat and coat.
This set me off retching and I couldn’t get control of it for some time.
I don’t think I’m going to be able to sit near him again.
I certainly won’t be sitting in FRONT of him, dirty fucker.

Tomorrow I’m off to The Maldives.
My dream holiday.
Thought I’d better get it done while they are still there!
What do you pack for 9 days in paradise?
I’ve got my snorkelling gear, swimmers, camera, music, a few tee shirts and shorts.
The biggest dilemma is what to wear to the airport because there is no way I’m wearing shorts while in this country!
So people.
Have a smashing New Year and I’ll catch you in 2010.

Shalom.

Got My Grin On

This gave me a proper chuckle this morning and I thought, 'Yeah! Why not Sister', so I'm stoned out of my tiny mind!

"If G-d wanted us to smoke dope, he would have made it naturally occuring, plentiful and easy to grow..."

An Education

I have had a splendid afternoon with Mad Matt, whom I would just like to add, is FINISHED for Christmas!
See that my state school friends? Finished!
The other thing is, he looks as well, happy and healthy as he did when he started.
He was not pale. There were no dark rings under his eyes. He wasn’t hunched over.
It was great to see.
Teaching is supposed to be a pleasure, a vocation, not something that halves your fucking Chi.
Ten years ago, our talk was of how we got a class engaged, a funny or touching moment with the kids, the jokes we played on classes, the moment that 1 kid got it.
Now it’s all about inspections, targets, teaching and learning or learning and teaching as it has been renamed, results, levels etc.
Genius.
No wonder it’s all gone to shit.

This term Matt has heard ONE ‘fuck’ dropped by ONE kid and that was only 2 days ago.
ONE!
Different world!
My favourite story was of one very sweet, very naïve year seven girl, who came into his class only to find the word “Penis” written on the front of her book.
Matt describes her as being traumatised.
So, he Tippex-ed over it.
A week later he found her doubly traumatised when she discovered the word “Penis” written ON the Tippex!
Inevitable I felt, but I love it!
Also, we would both like to know what St Jean Baptist De le Salle’s miracle was.
That the Christian Brothers got away with their abuse for so long?
We tried looking it up but were a little, um, worse for wear and nothing made any frigging sense!
We did find out JPII was a bit OCD about making Saints.
482.
Mathematics, being Witchcraft to the pair of us, we took a stab at that being one and a half a week.

Tis The Season...

Today I have done some more shouting.
The postman this time.
I sat and watched him lean his bike against my wall, anticipating the doorbell I got up.
Bills and the ‘while you were out’ card dropped on the mat.
I was out of the door and down the road after him.
“Oi! Oi! Don’t ignore me I won’t go away. What’s this bollocks?” I asked, waving the card at him.
“You never touched my bell you idle fucker and OBVIOUSLY I AM in!”
He just stared at me.
I stared back.
He put his bike between us.
“Give me my parcel then!”
He didn’t have it. It never left the Post Office.
The bastards.
I went to get it, expecting it to weigh a tonne.
When they handed it to me, it was so fucking light my arms felt filled with Helium.

I’ve definitely bolloxed my karma with Housemate Pat.
She cooked the absolute worst smelling dish I have ever had the misfortune to breathe in.
I cannot even begin to describe it but the stench made me angry.
Crisp-e is the only other person I have seen get ragey about a smell!
I sat and fumed until I heard her go into the shower.
Waiting until I was sure she was soaped up, I went and flushed the downstairs lav, turned the hot tap in in there, the utility room and kitchen.
Utter arsehole-ness but I just couldn’t help myself.
I’ll take the karmic bitch slap.

Requiem For A Soul

Today I went to the Requiem Mass of someone I didn't know.
Sounds weird doesn't it?
It's a Catholic thing I suppose. If Mass is being said all are welcome.
It had been mentioned on Sunday that this lady was being sent off and as she was up in her 90's had outlived nearly all her relatives. Father P asked if we were free could we attend.
I think he was worried about having to say Mass to an empty church.
It stuck in my mind and I thought about how awful it would be to have no one at your funeral.
So I went.
He must have pulled the same shit at every Mass because the place was packed!
To top it off she had chosen one of my favourite hymns.
How Great Thou Art.
The beauty of this one is that you don't necessarily have to be a good singer, or even in tune to belt this bad boy out.
So I did.
Amazingly, rather than draw the usual horrified stares when I go into 'Pearly King Pub Singer' mode, I got smiles and the rest of them went for it too!
I didn't know any of the others but tackled them with equal aplomb.

Now for the bank.
Bunch of wankers.
They have decided to block EVERY, SINGLE transaction I try to make because of 'Unusual Activity' on the card.
Oh, I wonder why that is?
Couldn't have anything to do with it being FUCKING CHRISTMAS could it??
Yes, Yes. I understand the anti fraud aspect of this but I'm thinking that a major card fraudster would spend more than £20 per transaction?
"Please Contact Your Bank"
Those four words can send me from zero to Psycho Killer in under a second.
Twats.

Newness

This is my new 'phone.
Can I use it? Can I fuckery!
I have done my usual 'stick with Nokia because it's the only one I can work' thing, except this is nothing like any of the Nokias I've had before.
I don't deal with change very well.

If...

.... You can't dry your socks at Mass, just when are you going to get them dry?

Adrift

It’s been a weird week.
The council decided that during this time of biblical rainfall they would cut down every other tree in the street.
Genius!

I have also reached breaking point with the Catholic Church.
As Father P’s sermons get more and more ‘party line’, I’ve become more and more ‘what’s the fecking point?’
His sermon about homosexuals was an absolute blinder.
Going on about being ‘called to chastity’, ‘hate the sin, not the sinner’ and that ‘really we should feel sorry for them’.
I wish I could put into words how angry I feel.
Then on Thursday, this was published and I went a little bit beyond anger.
We ALL knew the Church was covering for its nonces and perverts, we’ve always known.
In the same way we ALL knew some Nuns were vicious, brutal bitches.
Call to chastity! What a wanker.
Chastity not freely chosen smacks of sexual repression to me and as the Dublin Report shows, that works SO well doesn’t it?
Especially as these are people who CHOSE the celibate life.

Shouldn’t the last place I have to defend myself be in Church?
But, as ever, I have to defend the quality of my love (Oh, it’s a phase.. It's a crush.. You just haven’t found the right man..), the validity of my relationships (Yeah, but it’s not like you are a proper couple.. It‘s not a real marriage..) and probably worst of all, the integrity of my character. (No. I don’t fancy ALL women.. No. I don’t touch children..)

When the hypocrisy becomes glaringly obvious and the opposition voices become harsher and more judgemental, when I can actually see the day he will refuse me communion, it’s time to go.

I feel a bit adrift.

Ho hum.

Waitrose, Vouchers And Vicars

I think that after finding money, finding gift vouchers has got to be one of the greatest, simple, joys of life.
I’ve been sorting through some old books and I always give them a flip through in case anything has been tucked in them.
I use whatever is to hand as a bookmark, having an absolute horror of pages being turned down.
Today I found £15’s worth of Waitrose vouchers.
I treated myself to some Baile Nicol Jarvie Scotch and some Stones Ginger Wine.
For a couple of days I’ve really fancied a Whisky Mac.

I must have gone during some unofficial ‘Gay Hour’ because it was aisle-to-aisle homos.
I swear on Sappho and Oscar!
Including some kind of *vicar/priest, who was NOT so subtly cruising in the French wine section.
While waiting in the checkout queue I couldn’t help but look at one of the ‘partners’ (Staff, to the rest of the world!).
Her unique application of make up had managed to make her eyes resemble two piss holes in the snow.
At this point, it was my turn and I had to take the earphones off; I was just in time to hear one of the other ‘partners’ say,
“Yeah, it looks good. It really brings out your eyes.”
It was one of those moments I often have, when I find myself gazing around to see if anyone else is ‘getting it’.
There was.
Father Cruise De Vin!
He raised an eyebrow and whispered, “Christ!”
I said, ‘Name Dropper.’
We laughed.
A LOT.
The poor foetus on the till looked frightened.
When I handed him the vouchers he looked terrified.

“Do you know what to do with those?” I asked.
He half nodded and kept turning them over in his hand.
I started looking around for a Supervisor ‘partner’.
Till foetus and I caught her eye at the same time and she came over.
“You’ve had these for a long time,” she informed me.
‘I know’, I told her and continued filling my bag.
“They don’t print them like this any more,” she continued.
‘Really’ I couldn’t have been more disinterested.
She started turning them over, looking at the back; looking at the front, looking at the back.
I zipped up the bag and told her,
“It does matter how many times you look at them, there is no expiry date. It’s money, money doesn’t go out of date does it?”
To the surprise of all concerned, most of all me, they went through the till.
‘John the ipod’ chose some Verdi and I trundled home.

I wonder if it’s possible to be intolerant to Gluten Free food.
“Oooh no! I’m sorry. I’m intolerant to gluten free; could you knock me up a couple of rounds of toast and a bowl of pasta?”


*How do you tell the denominational difference?
In the old days, Prods/Anglicans had a white bit on their collar that went halfway around their neck.
Catholics had 3 inches of white at the very front of their throat.
I refer you to the great film, ‘The Quiet Man’ for confirmation of this.

Beached

I am not a happy pixie.

I had no sleep last night after a particularly extreme 'E Number Reaction' to something I ate.

The only random food stuff to pass my lips yesterday were some chocolates Crisp-e gave me.

The label has been checked and everything looked up online.

There's nothing.

But I swear to Christ I had a full on Tooty Frooty reaction.

Anyway, I found myself on the beach at 7am this morning.

With a Smiley Sunrise!

It was blowing a hooligan which helped deafen me to the sound of my grinding teeth.

Here are some more photos. Some taken this morning, some taken Sunday afternoon.

Randoms

Since having a new glass door put on the shower, instead of a curtain, I’ve been getting gradually pissed off at the state of it.
This is one of the downsides of living with a bunch of fucking slovenly sluts.
A cloth and some Mr Muscle window cleaner was put in the bathroom.
Nothing.
Chalky residue remained.
A small squeegee, similar to the type window cleaners’ use was put in there.
Nothing.
Colourless car wax is the way around this. Clean the glass (AGAIN!) and put on the wax, let it dry and then buff off.
The water flies off it and is not there long enough to leave marks!
I’d just like to reiterate, women are fucking filthy bastards to live with given less than half a chance.

Why does everything written in Italian look so edible?
I was watching Angels and Demons; there was a scene where the Fire Brigade turn up.
Something identifying them to that effect was printed on their jackets and I thought, “Oooh, I wonder what that tastes like?”

Do you ever burp and get the taste of something you haven’t eaten for months?
I had that yesterday - Monster Munch Crisps.

In exams, nobody likes the girl with jangley bracelets.

The BBC has been showing a series of programmes about ‘Art’.
In the last episode, Sue Perkins looked at what we, as a nation, have been hanging on our walls.
That green lady and wide-eyed children pictures included.
I was wondering if it’s ok to choose ‘art’ because it matches your furniture.
I did.

I’m finding it a challenge teaching the Uncle in Tipperary how to use email via email, given his resolute determination not to fucking open anything I send him in case it’s a virus!

Would it be rude to knock on a neighbour’s door and tell them they need thicker curtains in their bedroom?

I‘m loving ‘The Family’ on Ch4.
They are all brilliant but the Mum and Dad are pure gold!
“O. Cup of Tea”, is now shouted whenever anyone is near the kitchen.
Arvinder Grewal you are a star.

WTF is Bob Hoskins doing moonlighting as a Rabbi?

Filth

I have ignored this for long enough.

Now, I can't.

How difficult is it to put the fucking bog seat down?

Honestly?

11th November 2009

Had a bit of a Passive/Aggressive spaz out today as I found the downstairs lav fucking blocked again.
So I left the fine 'ladies' of The Mansions a little note.
After some work with a fucking hand plunger, the details of which I will spare you, it is unblocked.
Am I telling anyone?
Am I fuck.
Let them fight over the one upstairs.


Is it just me or does everyone sing,
“I’ve been trying to give it up but it’s one of those nights, R Whites, R Whites..” when they get lemonade out of the fridge?

I don’t know why but I ended up watching some of the ‘Coast’ programme.
This episode they were mooching around in the Channel Islands.
I found out that the French have a Channel Island called Isle Chausey or something. Who knew?
Fishermen live there.
The weird bit was when they were talking to some historian bloke who sounded English but had this French thing going on.
Like those Canadians who sound Irish or those Scottish Islanders who sound Swedish.
Too. Fucking. Freaky.

As much as I’m enjoying True Blood, inexplicably I’m not enjoying seeing Anna Paquin’s tits.
After being forced to waste two hours of my life watching The Piano, I feel like a bit of a Nonce looking at her baps now.

I got the job at the school and start on Friday.

Berlin, Bastards And Bibles

Twenty years ago today I was in Berlin.
It would be amazing to say I was at the wall when all the important shit was going on, but I wasn’t.
I was in a hotel room with a Danish girl called Franka.
Christ. That’s a blast from the past!
The circular breathing trick I learned playing the trumpet certainly came in to its own that day.
I WAS at the wall the following evening though. Along with every other fucker from both Berlins!
There is a lump of it knocking around in the attic somewhere and a photo of Fran in a Bavarian hat and nothing else.
Frighteningly it is possible there is a photo somewhere of me in a similar state of dress, except I am resplendent in a Fez!

Today I made the mistake of going out during the school run.
Not only did I get caught up in the pushchair conga outside the launderette, which was hampered by the queue for the bus; I had a ‘moment’ when some bastard decided he was going to ride his bike on the pavement through all this so I pushed him off it.
I made it look as though I had been jostled in to him but I basically shouldered him onto his ignorant arse.
No one said a word.

I’m convinced I have never got a bible question on University Challenge wrong.
This evenings correct answer lead to me throwing my hands in the air and declaring,
“I am an Old Testament G-d!”
From The Mansions Gallery I got one, ‘Mmmm’ and one very pitying look.
Within seconds, I had undone all my good work by getting a Spurs question wrong.
I know! I was just as shocked!

Why is it I never sneeze while I’m on the toilet? Where, quite frankly, it would be ideal.

Housemates.. I was perfectly serious about the need for the anti-bac toilet wipes to be kept separately from the ‘intimate’ wet wipes.
As attractive and refreshing as the smell of lime is, I don’t particularly want it coming from my Panty Parts.

Remembrance And Sunday

It is probably not fashionable or even politically correct and I’m probably giving too much about me away, but I sat and watched the march past at the Cenotaph on TV with moist eyes and a huge fucking lump in my throat.
The Ghurkhas and the Free Poles got me, as they always do, but for the first time the ‘Shot At Dawn’ people were allowed to march.
I lost it then.
It was unusual to see young marching with old but once you saw them in their batches, all with the same colour beret or same cap badge, it made sense.
The old man leading the Canadians was tops!
A chest FULL of medals, a black umbrella tucked under his arm and the crispest march and salute you’ve ever seen.
Service people of the Commonwealth… I will remember.

Lunch today went extremely well.
The slow cooked lamb fell off the bones and tasted of lime and coriander, as hoped.
(And, Yes, for those of you who were wondering, Crisp-e did gnaw the bones! Bless our house-trained savage!)
I have to admit to going out and buying a small rolled shoulder to roast because I had the, “Oh Fuck! There’s not enough” panic.
There was enough and it was yummers!
Claire chipped in with some splendid Sancerre. Chablis was drunk.
Sassy provided an epic, homemade, Banana and Raspberry Trifle.
We all know how Crisp-e feels about Bananas.
Bananas = Slime.
However, this beautiful Trifle he declared both, ‘Slimy AND Gritty’!
It was a great afternoon; we were only missing Schnee and Kev, Mad Matt and Looby Lou for a full Family dinner.

Hoovers, Impulse Buys And Lamb

After dropping the Hoover down the stairs and discovering the goodies hidden within, I decided today that I would use one of the accoutrements.
Could I work out how to get the bastard open? Could I fuck!
So after snapping off a sliver of plastic and bending another bit ‘til the coloured changed to white, I did the only thing left to me and launched the fucker down the stairs.
Voila!

Crisp-e text me from Ikea to ask if I needed anything.
Now this is a strange question, especially when Ikea is involved.
Do I ‘need’ anything? No, not really.
Do I ‘want’ anything? Yes! Yes I do.
It’s similar to the difficulty I have judging that extremely fine line between boredom and hunger. I sent him a photo of the spice jars I should have bought more of last time and the message, “2 packs please! X”
Well, it would’ve been churlish not to.


This is what is for dinner tomorrow.
Lidl half leg of lamb with lemons, limes, coriander, thyme and a bit of rosemary.
It will be cooked on low overnight and be just about fucking gorgeous tomorrow.
I'm going to do Garlic roast potatoes, some homegrown carrots braised in wine and honey and whatever else I can think of.
Yummers!

Corkage, A Job And Fire

Cork was absolutely ripping!

The Non Party, Party was a great success and Mr Quinn seemed to have a brilliant time.

Here are a few things I learned this trip:

Queen Victoria stayed in The Commodore Hotel and it would appear one of the toilets hasn't been cleaned since then.

Why are hotel towels never quite big enough? And am I the only one to think any kind of fish for breakfast is an abomination?

Any Cork person who strikes up a conversation with you in a pub will be pretty much incomprehensible.

Any middle aged, Australian women who strike up conversations with you in a Cork pub will be pretty much certifiable.

If the person in front of you on the motorway is wearing a flat cap, the likelihood of them moving from the middle lane is remote in the extreme.

Any manoeuvres they do make will be completely unexpected and almost definitely life threatening.

A Hurley stick is made of Ash and I really, really want one as back up to my trusty Rounders bat!

Other news.

I had a job interview today at the School Crisp-e used to teach at.

They want Exam Invigilators and I could do with something to do.

It came as a bit of a surprise as I had filled in the application as a piss take.

I had listed Spurs and Vodka among my hobbies and 'to get me out of the house' for the reason I wanted the job.

I was patronised for fifteen minutes by a fat bloke who told me to walk quietly and be polite to the children.

Ok...

I went to a firework party yesterday.

I fucking love 'em!

Thursday 29th October

This week both Schnee and Depesando have shown childhood photos on their blogs.
So here is my offering.

I was four and a half and it is my first ever school photo.
Thanks to head lice, I didn’t have to suffer all that hair for too long.
If you look closely, it also shows evidence of that ‘Stealth Ginger’ gene I’ve told you about.
That now, thanks to a badly designed reproductive and endocrine system, is coming out in my ‘Beard’.
Yes ladies and gentlemen, I have fucking random hairs on my fucking face!

I remember the picture being taken like it was yesterday.
Him - Say cheese!
Me - Why?
Him - Just say cheese, there’s a good girl.
Me - Ok. But why?
Him - *Sigh* It’s to make you smile.
Me - But it’s not funny.
Him - It’s not a joke. It’s to make your mouth make a smiley shape.
Me - I can do that on my own, why don’t you just say ‘Smile please’?
(At this point the just stared at me for ages.)
Me - Shall I smile now?
Him - *Sigh* Yes please.

It’s weird looking at this picture because I don’t recognise the kid at all.
I don’t have that nose anymore. Stepfather number 1, hockey and boxing have changed that beyond all recognition.
The eyes are different, I don’t know why, less tired I suppose.

I am off to Cork in the morning for a 50th Birthday party, which ‘isn’t a party but a family gathering’ but IS in fact, a party.
Just because Mr Quinn keeps repeating that it is not a party doesn’t actually make it so.

A gift from Mad Matt. I think he may have hit on the supplies for Halloween next year.
I love the warning on the packaging!

Instinct

What I love about my friends is that there is always ‘something else’ to find out about them that I didn’t know before.
Yesterday I found out that Crisp-e can spend endless hours stroking a female cat (Stop It!) but can’t with a Tom cat because it is and I quote,
“A bit gay!”
Matt and I hurt ourselves laughing!

We discussed what we’d do it we found ourselves in a ‘28 Days Later’ scenario.
Rotheray’s shop of guns and dangerous shit was my choice.
Then the chemist, then Tesco.
Matt STILL had concerns about me having a gun, EVEN in a Zombie situation.
Harsh.
Crisp-e seemed overly bothered that at Sleepy Mansions we were too far from anywhere he could easily get a Chainsaw.
A fucking Chainsaw?
See what I mean about being constantly surprised by mates?

We talked about the ‘Fight or Flight Instinct’ and came to the conclusion Crisp-e and I do not have the “OR” bit of that particular instinct.
We just fight.

My example was a ‘Scary’ fairground ride my sister and two cousins went on when I was about seven.
It was a Dodgem/Ghost Train affair that drove the four of us through the doors into a horrible undersea world.
All sorts of shit dangled down and touched our faces, popped out of walls and was squirted at us.
Then as we came into an open area, the car stopped dead.
Nothing happened.
We were looking at each other, frightened, wondering what the fuck was going on.
Was it broken? What did we do?
Then a ‘Ghost’ appeared, dressed like an old-fashioned deep-sea diver, with the big old, round metal helmet thing.
When he started moaning and groaning, my sister and cousin A started screaming.
As he got nearer, they got louder and more panicked.
When he was within two strides of us, I was out of the car and kicking the absolute fuck out of his legs.
This is also the point when the ride was timed to restart.
Which it did.
The other three were carried away and out in the car.
I was carried out, at arms length, by the scruff of the neck, still kicking, scratching and biting like a sack of kittens on the way to the canal by a very, very angry man.
Ah! The 1970’s.
Before we knew Candyfloss was basically Crystal Meth for my seven-year-old self.

Getting The Grin On

The Monday of half term looked pretty much like this!

Poor Crisp-e has some kind of 'flu. So his 'bring a bottle' was Benylin for chesty coughs, which he swigged straight from source.
Hardcore.

Mad Matt has to have one of THE smiliest faces ever. I never have any trouble 'reading' Matt because most of the time he looks like this!




Ah. Yes. Well.
Much of the time I look like this.
Especially around these people!

The 30th Sunday Of The Year

I have decided that I am not suited to the 10.15am ‘Children Screaming’ Mass.
It’s going to be the 8.30am ‘Geriatric’ Mass from now on.
Of the four hymns, I knew one. I’m far too morose for that Happy Clappy shit.
It’s all too distracting.
When I found myself wondering if Ryan Giggs would get his 100th League goal against Liverpool, or what would go with Sheherazade as a middle name, I knew it was time for a change.

At the end, there was a brief mention of the Protestants, Anglicans, or whatever the fuck they call themselves, becoming Catholics.
I’m not sure what his point was but he went on about them being like the Coptic’s or Eastern Orthodox types.
All I was thinking was,
‘Fuck off! Fuck off! Why the fuck should we have them?’
Then I got that Statue of Liberty quote bouncing around my head, ‘Give me your tired, your poor..’.
I can see his Nazi-ness on the balcony overlooking the square saying,

“Give me your bigots, your misogynists, heretics yearning to breathe free incense.
The wretched Apostates of your teeming Synods send these, the homophobic, intemperate tossers to me.”

Yeah. Great.
Like there aren’t enough of those in the Catholic Church already.
Could give a nice loophole for a married Priesthood though.
They just have to be ordained as a Vicar first, get married, then ‘convert’.
I know my Proddy and/or Anglican friends will be delighted at the chance to get rid of their twats but can’t they just fuck off on their own somewhere?

I don't have much to say about the Nick Griffin/BNP/Question Time thing, not because I don't have an opinion about it but because of the quote attributed to Voltaire,
"I disapprove of what you say, but will defend to the death your right to say it."
To be honest, I'd rather have my racists out in the open. He'll draw them out for us.
The BNP aren't getting more members, it's just they are 'coming out' now.
Having watched Question Time quite a few times I have to admit I've never seen a more ethnically diverse audience, ever.


I caught enough of Blade 3 last night to hear one of my favourite insults.
“….. you cock juggling, thunder cunt!”.
Lovely.
I hope that sticks in my head somewhere and comes out years from now.

Break

Well, my brief flirtation with Facebook is over, after a rather public ‘Psychotic Break’ on Sunday. I visited my Dad and for the first time he looked horrendous.
What frightened me more was that he had ‘the smell’.
If you’ve ever been around someone with cancer, you’ll know exactly what I mean.
It suddenly hit me like a fucking train that we going to lose him.
That at some point my beacon of calm will be gone.
I got home and started tucking into a bottle of vodka when Cousin Adamski ‘phoned, in tears.
Had an extremely emotional and tearful conversation with him and continued with the vodka.
In absolute honesty, that conversation is the last thing I remember until the morning.
They say, ‘in vino veritas’. In Vodka, there is vitriol.
I upset my brother. I upset my nephew and frighteningly, I amused my niece.
I wrote them all letters of apology.
I am gutted with myself.
The utter loss of control… It makes me feel sick.
Strangely, I feel really calm.
A calm I’m not totally sure I’ve felt before and I am not certain if it should be a concern or not.
It’s similar to Ritalin but without the ‘thinking through cotton wool’ effect.

Right.
Finished.
Next.

What I really need to know at the moment, is how to wash a Cashmere cardigan while still keeping it soft.
If it gets all scratchy and itchy I won't be able to wear it anymore and I really like it!

Great

At 5.30 yesterday morning I became a Great Aunt.
My fifteen year old niece gave birth to a boy.
I’d really love to say that I’m pleased for her, but I’d be lying.
In all honesty, I’m embarrassed.
My mother is a Great Grandmother at 57 and my sister a Grandparent at 38.
As my Nan would say, ‘Common’.
Thank fuck it’s a boy, or in a decade or so I’d be seeing one of those horrendous ‘Five generations of the same family’ photos in the local paper.

Crime And Punishment

A few weeks ago, Housemate Claire got herself a bike.
She uses two locks to attach to the railings from inside the forecourt.
Thursday night I heard a little bit of commotion and then the gate bang.
I swear I was up, grabbed my trusty bat and was out of the door in about 10 seconds.
Bike gone and not a fucking soul to be seen.
Fucking miraculous you would think.
Not me.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned the ‘Benefit Bedsit’ house 3 doors along.
I feel the bike didn’t go far.
Being the only one in, I phoned the police.
I fecking HATE contacting the police. No need to draw attention unnecessarily is there? And as Brendan Behan said,
‘I’ve never seen a situation so dismal that it couldn’t be made worse by a policeman’.
We still have seen no police people, nor do we expect to!
(Fingers crossed)

Friday I travelled to ‘Bandit Country’ to help out our ‘5th Column’ there.
A body in the house to let in the Trades.
Last weekend a load of pissed up ‘youths’ lobbed a brick through the glass roof on Mr & Mrs Crisp-e’s conservatory.
The police found a group of pissed up ‘youths’ in the area but couldn’t be sure they were THE pissed up ‘youths’, so they were let go.
Brilliant.
Not a good couple of weeks for any of us crime wise.
Bastards.

I got a taxi there and the driver turned out to be a parent of a particularly horrible ex pupil.
He went on about the youngest, who is now at the school.
A right delight he sounds too.
"Yeah, two detentions in the first fuckin' week him! All about shoes..."
Here he went off on the usual rant.
Fortunately, we pulled up at Crisp-e's.
As I got out I leant back in and said,
'By the way your J...... was a vile, thick cunt. I'm gobsmacked he's not in prison to tell the truth! Anyway, give him my regards. Bye!"
I slammed the door and fucked off without a backwards glance.

I told Sassy about our bout of bad luck.
Her litany of punishments, which could be described as an extreme form of Liberal Despotism, fell just short of a nationwide eugenics programme!
More troubling was that it all made perfect sense to me.

Care In The Community

I didn’t sleep at all last night so today has been a bit floaty and odd.
It has slashed it with rain more or less constantly.
Miss H, the Octogenarian lesbian caught me.
I was supposed to be out for less than 10 minutes.
I have got to stop using the shop next door to the post office. That place is Catnip to the over 70’s.
Yet again, her arm was through mine, I was turned through 180 degrees and magically I was carrying her shopping.
She was giving me the usual arm squeezing when she decided to announce to the world that I had lost a lot of weight, she could feel my muscles and it was sexy.
She was SO loud. Deaf school loud.
I steered her into the ‘£’ shop and got her some hearing aid batteries!
It was while we were in here she decided to notice that the arse of my jeans was a little baggy.
“Christ! Where’s your backside gone? You had a lovely backside, you did. Come here let me feel it.”
Heads started popping out from behind shelves.
The women on the till could barely contain themselves.
“Miss H! Have a heart will you! Just let me pay for these and fix your 'sounds' before you speak anymore!”
The till women totally lost it at that point and I had to have a smile.
I did the battery and we were on our way again but now she kept grabbing at my arse.
It’s difficult to get just far enough ahead to be out of reach but not so far as to be rude.
When we got to her gate, she asked if I would come help do something with the settings on the catflap.
I looked at her and she had this huge grin.
“Miss H, are you trying to get me to bend over?”
She totally creased up and so did I.
I told her she was incorrigible, came home and have smiled about it most of the day.

Reunited

The school reunion.
Well, it wasn’t quite as I had expected.
I got hold of my best mate from that time and we went together.
She made me promise not to punch anyone as she is still pretty shite at fighting, as I did it all at school.
We fortified ourselves with Vodka and arrived about an hour into proceedings.
As we walked through the door C calls, ‘eyes left’ and there they were.
Our bullies.
By the time we got to the bar our faces hurt from grinning.
We ordered our drinks, turned to each other, chinked glasses and toasted,
‘THEY ARE FUCKING FAT!’
There is a possibility that we may have done a little dance on the spot too!
We knew we were in for a good night.
One tried to stare for a while until I mouthed, ‘Problem?’ and she didn’t look at us again.
I bumped into two of my early forays into the world of lesbianism.
Got a number from one and a partial fumble from the other!
It surprised us both how well remembered we were.
We cried with laughter when some of the lard arses got up to strut their funky stuff to ‘Tainted Love’.
C and I waded in amongst them and swung are slender hips to Madness, to the cheers and applause of the 1985 Hockey team.

The Deputy Head came and found me while I was having a smoke.
‘Sleepy McTired?’
I laughed and told him I used to be.
‘I remember you. You had a fucking horrible childhood. I’ll never forget the day your Mother and your uncle dragged you out of school. I saw the state of you when you came back. I’m so very sorry.’
He patted me on the shoulder told me it was good to see me looking so well and fucked off.
I swear to Christ I was stood there with my mouth hanging open.
Somehow I was convinced no one knew just how shit it all was back then.
Floored me a bit.

Nothing much has changed.
The Catholic Church is still hating me and I’m hating it right back.
Father P thinks he can refuse to hear my confession, I will be disabusing him of this in a few hours.
I urge you all to read Stieg Larsson’s Millennium Trilogy.

Back In The Room

I'm back.
Had a bit of a blog holiday.

Tomorrow I am going to my school reunion.
That cannot and will not pass unremarked!

A Difference Of Opinion

I had an altercation on the bus home from Crisp-e’s today.
Some idiot started abusing a black woman and a Muslim woman who got on the stop after me.
I had my ipod on and didn’t realise what was happening at first, until I noticed everyone shifting in their seats.

I turned the music off just in time to hear,
“….’king wog and a suicide bomber.”
Total silence on the bus apart from the rustling of clothes.
He continued.
“Fuckin’ niggers and pakis taking over this fuckin’ country - I bet you two live in council houses, don’t yer? Don’t yer?”
I’d heard enough.
“What? Like you do, you shiftless cunt?!
(Don't know where 'shiftless' came from! Channeling the Grandfather I think)
Funnily enough, everybody managed to turn round and look at him then.
“Wha, Wha, What?” he said.
So I told him.
“I don’t want to hear your racist shit! No one wants to hear it.”
His clever comeback was,
“Oh, you some kind of nigger lover are yer?”
“Yeah I am. Problem?”
He started to tell me it was people like me who were ruining the country…..
That’s when I blew.
“ME? People like ME? It’s people like YOU who are ruining this country - You fucking white trash wanker scum.”
Then I really lost it and shouted at the rest of the bus…
“… and people like you fucking lot! Who sit there trying to pretend all this isn’t fucking happening and doesn’t involve you. Do you want to hear his shit?”
Then they turned on him and fuck me did they turn!
Women were on their feet shouting at him and 2 blokes went to the driver and demanded he be chucked off.
Which he was at the next stop.
I let them get on with it and went back to my tunes.

If I hadn’t been more than a little stoned, I might have been slightly more eloquent but the point was made.
Perhaps if the black lady hadn’t been wearing her nursing uniform and immediately put me in mind of a good friends Mum, I wouldn’t have lost it like I did.
My non-existent impulse control helped me make a bit of a stand today, but perhaps it’s time we all got in touch with our inner Howard Beale.
Time to get mad as hell.
It’s got to be better than sitting round discussing how everything is going to the fucking dogs.

Lost Thursday

People, I think it may have happened.
I popped a ‘legal high’ pill today and for the first time EVER it actually affected me.
When I say ‘affected’, read, puked up almost continually for an hour or two; then on and off for the rest of the day.
Brutal.
I’d say it took 5 hours for my stomach to settle and I’m just now starting to get something pleasant from it.
Which is a pisser because my fellow tripper got to witness the chundering bit and I’m now having to text him the good bit!
Sorry Dred x

I don’t know why this has started to bother me again, but it has.
Remember those Poster Art things that you had to colour in using four felt tip pens?
The fucking pens always ran out halfway through!
Bastards!
I don’t know of anyone who finished one of the four in the tube with JUST the supplied pens.
A few years later I fashioned something to smoke weed from using one of those tubes!
Not the type creativity they were going for I'm sure.
Perhaps if they had given me pens that worked rather than cheap shite, fuelled by exotic smelling ink, I may have grown up with a modicum of ambition!
Instead, I moved on to Tippex thinners and a lifelong enthusiasm for getting off my tits.

Anyway, onto other stuff.
A few pix from The Mansions garden and kitchen.


The best mutant tomato of the year, so far.



The beginning of the Dorset Naga infused oil.
Crisp-e's recipe.
Using chillies from the plant we share.


The result of four hours at 90 degrees.
This one is for Kevin and Schnee!

I also made a plum sauce which really impressed Housemate Pat.

Capital Madness

I've been to London for the weekend.
Any amount of time, no matter how short, out of Portsmouth is like a holiday.
Number Sixteen was booked at the very last minute and I was off Saturday morning.

As you can see, I began the trip on the train with the breakfast of champions.
It would have been churlish not to!

Number Sixteen had been booked because it had a cracking garden.
Or in other words, somewhere nice to smoke.
On arrival I was informed the garden was closed until 8pm that evening because of a wedding.
Mmmm.
Thought that was livable until I was taken to the room and the Harp player they had hired was about 18 inches from my window.
'All okay?' I was asked.
"Actually? No.
I was 'sold' this room because of the proximity to the garden but that Harp shit will drive me to fucking murder."
He looked afraid.
'Ah. I see. Would you like to see the Duty Manager?'
"Yes"
The Duty Manager arrived and asked what the problem was.
Problem?
I inquired after her hearing and asked for another room.
"There are no other rooms"
Opening the laptop I told her it was all cool as I would find another hotel.
"Give me a minute" she said and disappeared.
Five minutes later she was back.
She had phoned another hotel in the chain and sorted me a room there.
They lowered the price, gave me Champagne and a free breakfast.
The staff were absolutely superb and I will always stay with these people when I'm in London.
Brilliant. Totally Brilliant.

Saturday evening I had a mooch along Old Compton Street or 'Running the Gay Gauntlet' as I now call it.
What an utterly hideous experience.
As with all things, even if you are in a minority, it was dominated by men.
Honestly, I am not a 'man hater' kind of lesbian.
I have a father and brothers for fuck sake, but this was just horrible.
It may come as a surprise to many, but some gay men are as misogynistic as their straight counterparts.
In some ways worse, but that is just my opinion.
I deliberately sought out a 'straight' place and was immediately welcomed and joked with.

On the way back to the hotel I decided to buy some booze so I wasn't tempted by the Mini Bar, or 'Arse Rape Cupboard' as I call it.
£4 for a bag of crisps?
FUCK OFF!
In the Newsagent/Off License was some pissed up English wanker telling the Asian owner that,
"I've killed fuckin' 40 Muslims. You Hear me? Fuckin' 40 Muslims?"
I looked at the shop owner and shook my head and he smiled.
The Pride of English manhood continued until the Asian man said,
"Mate! I REALLY don't care. I'm Sikh"
After racist twat had taken his three cans of Stella and pissed off I was compelled to apologise to the shopkeeper.
'What a prick! I'm SO, SO sorry you have to deal with that shit. We don't all think like that you know?'
His rock set face broke into a smile and he said,
"You're not from London are you?"
I laughed and said,
'Ha! Not any more. How did you know?'
And I think he said the saddest thing I've heard this year...
"Because you give a toss how 'British' (He did the finger thing) people are thought of!"
How fucking unbelievably sad is that?

I'm sure I've said it before, but I think every piece of scum, arrested for racist crimes should have their family tree traced as part of their punishment.
If any of them can get back 4/5 generations without a relative coming from abroad; including Wales, Ireland and Scotland, I'd be fucking amazed!

After that shit, I found myself passing Boujis, where, as I put a cigarette out a tramp asked for one.
I took my foot off the butt I had just stamped on and said,
"Last one mate, but help yourself to that"
He looked disgusted.
'Go and buy some more' he said.
I was gob smacked.
"What? Buy more? So I can give you the 'spare' ones they tape to the front of a pack of 20 for work shy cunts like you?"
'There's no need for that' he muttered as he walked off.

Today I spent some time in the V&A before heading to Waterloo and home.



It was brutally hot today and I had a moment when I thought I was going to pass out.
I slumped down against the outside of Marks and Sparks, concentrating on the floor in front of me.
The smell of stale booze reached me before he did.
He put his face close to mine and I was immediately angry that he was coming anywhere me.
"I wonder if you....." was as far as he got when I looked up.
He jumped back, falling on his arse, hand out as if to ward me off.
"No problem! No problem! I'm going, I'm going..."
When I related the story to Housemates, they said show us the face you used.
I don't really know what it was so I set my face to how I was feeling at the time.
"Yep, you are truly, fucking scary!" they laughed.

Unrelated, and totally magic news; My beloved Spurs are top of the Premiership!

Brighton

The Great Dane and I had a road trip to Brighton today.
The train there is far less crowded than the one to Wiltshire but that may have something to do with them putting on more than three fucking coaches!
Come on Great Western, get a little radical.



Brighton was not quite as I remembered it.
Although, I have to admit I've usually viewed it at nighttime with a system full of, all sorts!
To start with it had an aroma.
Actually it smelled like a portaloo unless you went right down to the seafront, where it was blowing a hooligan.
The Lanes are their usual selves, windows of gorgeous diamonds, but the rest of it seemed seedy, neglected and run down.
There appeared to be plenty of tourists though.

We had a brilliant day mooching and some of us returned home with Bling!

A week In August

It's been quite a week.
I've had to have my cat put down.
Have had a threatening email from solicitors about my blog.
I know? Who'd have thought it!
Couldn't give a fuck though. My gripe was with his Dad, the Vicar.
Fortunately, the good people at 'Spitting Image' summed that one up for me!
Like a give a flying fuck about, Catholic educated, hypocritical, inadequate piece of shit that he spawned!

The rest of my week in pictures.
If it's fruit or veg; Yep, I grew it!



Plums are looking good!




My first ever 'Pumpkin' affair!
Thank you Mr & Mrs Crisp-e for the birthday seeds!
The seeds are called Baby something or other, so it's supposed to look like this.


This is my first attempt at Kohl Rabi.
Not Bad eh?
They seem to be doing nothing for ages them all of a sudden.
Boom!
Kohl Rabi.
Now I have to work out what the fuck to do with them.


The tomatoes are coming thick and fast.
I've given a load away and still have these.
Tomorrow I'm making Gazpacho!



I also had my first attempt at bread rolls.

Had a horrible nightmare last night.
I dreamt I was pegging the washing out and could hear a cat crying.
Suddenly I realised it was Kenny and that I had buried him alive.
Frantically, I started digging him up, only to get him to the surface JUST too late.
I woke up shaking, in a cold sweat.


BUT

The football season really began today and my boys won!
2 - 1 against Liverpool.
Much joy.

The Loss

Kenny was put to sleep on my lap this afternoon.
The vet and his nurse came to us and it was worth every penny.
He went off quietly and peacefully with me telling him how much I loved him.
I buried him under the Pear tree and put a slab on top.
The grief I feel is bordering on overwhelming and is hitting me in waves.
I feel physical pain when I see his bowl, his collar or any other reminder of him.
Murff can’t work out what the fuck is going on and has been wandering the house calling for him.
I don’t think I was in this kind of state when my Grandparents died!
Animals I can feel for; humans, not so much.
When I see adverts for starving children drinking nasty water I just watch without taking too much of it in.
The one for the fucking Donkeys I have to change channel, it upsets me.
I feel like Melvin in ‘As Good as It Gets’, after he has had to give the dog back.
‘Over a cat’

Kenny came along at the beginning of a new start for me.
Before I started at Uni I had an agency job working on the bins.
It was a great job.
If you were on, and could keep up with, a good crew you were home by 11am.
I got on a crew like that.
The ‘foreman’, AG, took a liking to me and we got on well.
Three months in, I was running up a path for a bin and my Abuser walked out of the front door.
I hadn’t seen him for years and I was nearly sick at his feet.
Grabbing the bin, I ran back to the truck and asked AG to take it back.
During lunch, I told him what had spun me out so much.
I went home at eleven and got on with my day.

At 9pm that evening, there was a knock at the door and it was AG.
There was a car with two others from the crew in it.
He just said,
“Come on Lover, there’s stuff you need to sort.”
We drove to the abusers house and the lads got him out.
They then gave me a baseball bat and told me to, ‘get it out of my system’.
I did.
Afterwards we went back to AG’s house for a drink.
During the evening, he opened a cupboard in his kitchen, showing us a big old Pompey cat and a load of 2-day-old kittens.
“Choose one.”
He was the kind of bloke you didn’t say no to.
I saw a little bundle fighting for a booby!
I pointed and said,
“If that’s a boy, I’ll have it.”
He was the ONLY boy.
He was Kenny.

Huge, HUGE thanks to Sassy, who was here with Kenny and me.
Mr & Mrs Crisp-e who were here 2 minutes after.
Richard whose emails were such a support.
Alison, Dan and M, whose texts were so kind.
I will never forget.

One for my baby and one for the road.
Co-op Chablis for my boy.


My eyes are so fat from crying I can't wear my spex and everything has a blurred, watery quality.
The Chablis adds something totally different!

My Boy

My beautiful boy, who is ten today, has to be put down.
He is just too weak for surgery and I can't bear to see him suffer.
I'm in fucking bits and can't stop crying.
Fucking animals.

Chilli Sunday

Today 'The Mob' had a road trip to Chichester for the Chilli festival.
The Mansions now has a half share in a Dorset Naga Chilli plant with Mr & Mrs Crisp-e.
If I'm honest I am frightened by what we could end up doing to ourselves, as Crisp-e comes up with outrageous dares to do with them.
(Kev, we will make you some chilli oil from them!)
I tried some of this stuff and was almost reduced to tears.
My tongue felt like it had been skinned, I struggled for breath and I'm sure my lips swelled.
Completely brutal heat.
Crisp-e, having gone for the hotter choice, was laid very low and had to search out a yogurt based drink!

Atomic Cat

It doesn't matter how many times I see this picture, or others like it, I get goosebumps.
One, because it is just such an awesome sight; and two, I can't believe we actually did it.

I went to the Church discussion about the new Papal Encyclical.
Fuck... Me...
I can't go into it because I'm horrifically stoned and quite calm but this should give you some idea.
Older woman... "I was at a meeting this week where we were voting whether there should be a safe house for Prostitutes. I voted against it because people shouldn't just be sleeping with whoever they like."
My jaw dropped and I did that thing where you look round to see if someone else is mirroring your face.
Everyone was sagely nodding except the priest, who was looking straight at me.
I blinked a few times and the colour drained from his face. My mouth had gone dry.
I couldn't let it go.
"So, let me get this right, you voted against a safe place for abused and exploited women to go because you think they are having sex out of choice? Because they enjoy the act?"
Three people started talking at once, changing the subject.
I looked at the priest and shook my head.
Now I have their measure, I'll definitely be going back.

Kenny is back from the vets.
He has had a liver biopsy and all sorts of tests.
His Gall Bladder is banjaxed but they don't like to operate because of piss poor survival rates.
The biopsy results will be in on Monday.
At the moment he is extremely bald and very, very cross.
He is also totally unaware of what a litter tray is for and is curled up asleep in it.
Prick.


He is still looking very yellow. Poor, Baldy boy.

Vets And Volleys

Kenny is in the hospital in Winchester for a few days.
The quote for the treatment is between £1,430 and £2,540.
As my Dad would say, ‘My ring dropped so low you could have cut twelve washers off of it’.
Which, if you think like me, is a week in the fucking Maldives!
There was talk of him being fed through tubes in his throat, neck and stomach.
MRI scans and ultra sounds.
At no point was I given the opportunity to scream,
“He’s a fucking cat!”
The Dignitas option was never even mentioned.
Not that I want him dead but he’s an outdoors cat.
Him having to spend the rest of his life indoors being fed through a tube does not meet my idea of ‘quality of life’ for him.
My chant of, ‘Thank fuck he’s insured, thank fuck he’s insured, thank fuck he’s insured…’ has taken on an almost Gregorian quality through its repetition.

I did have an absolutely sublime Paolo di Canio moment while we were waiting though.
As I was crouched down trying to comfort Ken, a wasp appeared and tried to get in with him.
I jumped up and away, while at the same time kicking out at the wasp.
Not only did I catch it with one of the sweetest volleys ever, it fell straight out of the air stone frigging dead.
I stamped on it for good measure.
You can't be too careful with a pissed off wasp.
The receptionist sat staring at me, shocked and opened mouthed.
“Did you see that!? I kicked that fecker straight out of the air! I totally OWNED that wasp!”
I am not good with facial expressions but I’m convinced the little voice in her head was shouting,
‘Security!’
She got that smile people have when they are urgently trying to call someone's name through their back teeth.
If that makes sense?

The seafront was gorgeous this afternoon. The sun brought out all sorts.
I even got wolf whistled by a couple of baby dykes, which was a bit freaky.
They'd obviously been to Pride in Brighton over the weekend and had come back all emboldened and proud.
Bless them.

Swine Flu Sunday

Today I went to The Swine Flu Mass.
This involved no wine and not having to touch anyone during the sign of peace.
Bliss.
Mass Nutter was in a bad way this morning, really slapping himself about and shouting out.
The homily pissed me off because it was complete bollocks.
Going on about graven images as we are sat surrounded by the fuckers!
Simony? For fuck’s sake! Did I wake up in 1357?
When the collection came round, I refused to put in citing that very ‘sin’.
There is a meeting on Wednesday to discuss the new Papal Encyclical, I might go along.
Just for mischief.

Feeling a bit like this today.
I chose this version because I was there and Sinead was beautiful!

Specialist Vet with the cat tomorrow.
Let's see how fucking poor he can make me.

Friday 31st July 2009

Kenny is in a really sorry state.
He has to go to the Specialists in Winchester on Monday.
£250 an hour and a £500 deposit if he has to stay overnight.
What the fuck that is for I can’t imagine but I’m now depressingly aware I chose the wrong degree.
He is a small, half dead cat; what sort of damage could he do worth five hundred quid?
He returned from the vet groggy from the drugs, licked a bit of chicken, gnawed through his bandage and matrixed his way out of the house.
Bastard.
He's halfway through the dressing in this picture.
I expect that will be another 500 hundred notes to have that removed from his gullet.

In the name of all that is holy, fecking NO!
Fill your Celibate Void with Gorgeous George, guitar playing or ‘The Discipline’, anything but this perfidious shit.
Haven’t we suffered enough with the Four Priests and Karl fucking Jenkins?
I think so.
The Sainted Mammy is quite a fan of Karl but he makes me feel nauseous, seriously.

Thursday Dilemma

Housemate Pat decided that if I can successfully cook duck then so can she!
It was left out on the kitchen side with its giblets arranged around it and she pissed off upstairs.
No matter how many times I tell Housemates that a tea towel is not adequate protection from a cat, they refuse to believe it.
I found Murff licking the giblets.
Then I was caught up in the ‘do I or don’t I’ tell her dilemma.
It was only a little lick and it was going to be boiled to buggery so I didn’t.
There will be Karmic repercussions I’m sure.

I’ve changed my Dad’s name in my phone list to, ‘Nothing to Display’ because that is the only text message I ever get from him.
He is beyond crap with a mobile phone and someone should take it away from him!

Tuesday With 'Senior'

The day spent with my Dad was pretty special.
We arrived in the New Forest at about 9am and were in the real ale tent by 9.45am.
The old man was being a bit restrained.
He had a pint of brown murkiness, ‘Bishops Ring Piece’ or something; having missed my morning cup of tea I went for a half of Southsea Spice.
We did about thirty seconds in a “Craft” tent before asking,
‘What the fuck are we doing in here?’ at exactly the same time.
Getting the hell out of there we found some old tools for him to get wistful about.
It was around this time he noticed the Members Only Enclosure and the blue badges some of the other people were wearing.
This is when Karl Marx joined us for the day!
“What? I’m too fuckin’ working class for them fuckers? Bastards!”
I steered him away from the Steam Engines any obvious evidence of Industrial Revolution and we went to look at livestock.

This is where he did really, really surprise.
Fuck me the man knows about edible animals, which I kind of expected seeing as he’s a trained Butcher but he REALLY knows.
I now know what to look for in a milking cow, in a cow for eating and in one for both!
I also know how to judge pig meat by pressing a thumb into its back and know WAY more than the average lesbian about assessing a Ram by swing of its bollocks.
Less said and all that.
There was another beer tent and Dad found his drink of choice, Cider.

Moving on we got caught up in a slow moving crowd of people, kids and dogs.
Sensing trouble, I put my head down and kept moving.
From somewhere behind me I heard,
“Fuckin’ poxy dogs! Of course I fuckin’ stood on it! Move!”
Then in a hissed whisper,
“Fuckin’ blue badged whore!”
I, like Lot, did not look back.
We made it out with no one getting injured.
He then took umbrage against anyone with a blue badge, these are the members, judges, VIPS etc; and referred to us as proles and plebs for the rest of the afternoon.

A few tents and a couple more pints of cider later we were ready to leave.
“I’ll just syphon the python mate” he said.
I waited as he trundled off, thinking how cool it was he’d got through the day without a ruck.
When I saw his face coming back I knew I had been a tad premature.
From five metres away he started,
“Can you fuckin’ believe it? I’ve only had a ruck with one of those stuck up blue badge cunts!”
‘How Dad? You only went for a piss!’ I asked.
“Well, door opened and blue badge twat came out. I went in and there was piss all over the seat and he hadn’t pulled the chain, so I called him back. I asked him if he thought his blue badge meant he could piss all over the plebs toilets and told him just ’cos he hadn’t paid to get in didn’t mean he could be a dirty cunt.”
Fair enough.

I’ll save his stories of various brothels of Europe for another time but I swear to Christ I cried with laughter.

Watch This Space

Tomorrow I'm going to the New Forest and Hampshire County Show with my Dad.
I know it's going to be absolutely mental and there will be madness but I'm really looking forward to it!
I want to look at chickens and what sort I can keep in a city garden.
Crisp-e's neighbour has Polish Bantams.
Mad looking fuckers!
But I think I really need something big and violent.
It's cat central around here.

Feline On Friday

Kenny is still with us but very sick and very yellow.
I also have to go through the utter joy of getting tablets into him.

Poorly Boy

Kenny went back to the vet today.
He is a very sick fellah with Cholangiohepatitis.
His liver has been badly compromised and he might not be here in the morning.
£138.09 plus the fifty from yesterday and another appointment tomorrow.
This is not going to be cheap by any stretch of the imagination.
Fortunately, after the expense Murff incurred with his last illness, they are insured.

Disgraceful Biters And Duck

I took Kenny to the vet and he has some sort of infection.
His tongue and throat are ulcerated and his glands are up.
For the first time EVER he bit someone, more precisely, he bit the vet.
I was so shocked.
He has never bitten anyone, he is just not like that.
To be honest I couldn’t blame him.
Imagine being taken into a room with someone who looks like a ‘care in the community employee’ and being asked,
‘What seems to be the problem?’
It took a lot of restraint not to say,
‘Well, um, you are! Who the fuck are you? Are you the vet?’
He was given an injection and I was instructed to bring him back tomorrow.
I left £50 poorer.

The trip to the dentist was just as bad.
My top teeth were having a ‘deep clean’ and a filling needed replacing.
My upper gums were numbed and he proceeded.
As he was doing the cleaning bit he must have caught an area that wasn’t numb and I bit him.
It was a total reflex reaction. I couldn’t help it.
The nurse jumped away from me, suctioning my tongue into the thing she wields.
He shouted,
“Jaysus fecking Christ” and yanked his hand out leaving the rubber finger of his rubber glove between my teeth.
The chair immediately started moving up and I was told to,
‘Rinse please’.
I left £105 poorer.

Today I cooked my first ever duck.
I wasn’t sure what to do with it so I used a method I’d seen at a BBQ in Vancouver.
(Thanks Gail and Ross!)
Stuff a beer can up its arse and cook.
Check it out people!

It went in looking like this...




















And came out looking like this...

Rainy Tuesday

“If you chafe when you move…”
You are too fucking fat.
You don’t need Lanacane cream, you need to stop fucking eating!
Adverts, yet again getting on my tits.
While we’re at it, if ‘CD’s are not available in shops’, it’s because they are so far beyond shit you’ll beg for the thousand hours of trite bollocks played on a conch and empty beer bottles from K-tel.

Ungrateful Feline Number One, Kenneth, is not right.
He doesn't appear to be eating, he went AWOL today and was missing most of yesterday.
The fact that he has let me pick him up without immediately struggling to get away and lure me into the kitchen means he is going to the vet.
I also have the dentist tomorrow so it'll be interesting to see which robbing bastard extracts the most from my bank account.
My money is on the vet.

He never sits with me usually.
Sad boy.

Sunday, Shopping And Storage

Having absolutely no urge whatsoever to interact with people, I’ve done an online shop with Sainsbo.
I find it easy to use with all the handy drop down menus thingies.
Asda changed their webpage and I can’t cope with the new one.
I’ll end up in Waitrose for what they, or I, forgot anyway!
While browsing the ‘meat’ options I expected to see Beef, Chicken, Lamb etc which I did.
Cooked Meats and Pates were a section on their own, fair enough.
Then there was Halal and Haggis as another group.
You what?
Halal and fucking Haggis?
How in the name of Billy Connolly do they go together, let alone make up a group?
I know Halal eaters favour lamb and a Haggis contains, and is contained by, the bits of a sheep no one in their right fucking mind would eat.
I’ve been trying to imagine a Bedouin Burns Night but can’t get my head around boiled sheep innards going well with Cous Cous or Tabouleh.
Especially as there would be no Whisky to take the taste away.
Not even sucking the milk direct from a nursing camel could get rid of that filth.

Check this out!


Ikea totally enables my OCD/Anal Retentive tendencies.
I knew I would need more jars at the time of buying, but for some reason stopped myself.
A sort of embarrassment/shame sets in and I don’t want the checkout person wondering what I’m going to do with 56 little storage jars.
There are no such problems concerning tea lights.
Five hundred is perfectly acceptable to me and I don’t give a fuck what they think I’m doing with them.
I need more storage jars though!

Rhubarb, Rhubarb

From this......



To this....



Although, if I can possibly help it, I will never make 'crumble' ever again.
Very frigging boring and made my thumbs ache.