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!