Final Destination

He's gone.

Thank you to all who wished him well on his journey.

For Those....

... Who do.

Please say a prayer for the Nutty Daddy away in the Wesht of Ireland.

He was taken in to hospital last night and is in his last few hours.

St Joseph, Patron of departing souls, pray for him.

Well...

.. Five weeks without smoking.

I understand why people 'inflict' their non smoking on others; because these have possibly been 5 of THE most joyless fucking weeks of my existence; remembering I was educated by Nuns and abused by my Step Father.. Yes... Fucking sobering isn't it?!

Horrible. Utterly awful.

I don’t deny I physically FEEL ‘better’.

I sleep better, less disturbed, less teeth grinding but I am beyond fucking miserable.

And I can’t write.

My processes don’t work anymore.

I no longer ‘skin up’, a time when I formulate what I want to write... Access to the keys being blocked by the Whats On TV rolling mat.

A pipe.

A tobacco-less pipe.

The Coitus Interruptus of dope smoking.

It ALMOST gets you stoned but the fit of oxygen sapping coughing rips any real satisfaction from it.

You can’t even enjoy the minuscule amount of stoned you get because your throat feels like it’s had a treatment for barnacles.

I had a beautiful moment in the queue for the Post Office today. It was out the door and under the scaffolding that was up for, Christ knows what.

On it were a couple of blokes in their 50's and 'The Boy'.

The Boy was early 20's, stripped to a pair of shorts and ripped like you wouldn't believe.

He was a magnificent specimen of what the muscled male body can look like.

I was caught looking.

One of the older guys shouted at me,

'Oi! Love! I bet you're wondering where you can get one of these?'

He indicated his younger colleague with a flamboyant flourish of his hand.

I shook my head.

"Nah mate! I was wondering if he had a sister!"

Huge hilarity ensued.

The older guys fell about laughing.

Ho Hum..

Catch Up

A few days to catch you up on.

I’ve made it to day six without a cigarette.

Day three was the worst and I did briefly think about buying 10 but didn’t crack.

Fortunately, the weather has been blinding the last few days and I’ve occupied myself in the garden.

I’ve taken millions of photos, potted more vegetables and herbs than the Mansions Kitchens will ever use.

I went to the Geriatric Mass on Sunday, just in case the Screaming and Crying Mass riled me up.

Laugh? I nearly died trying to hold it all in.

Sunday was a warm one so the summer wardrobes were on show, plus the new summer sandals.

Warm feet, no hosiery and new shoes resulted in, for one old dear, a shoe which ‘farted’ with each step.

She appeared oblivious as she walked the length of the church.

During the consecration the lady with the goatee started a really intense coughing fit.

She was doing that thing where you try ‘swallowing’ the cough and trying to keep it in with your mouth shut.

The effort put in to this caused what only can be described as a, catastrophic loss of sphincter control.

She let rip with a fart which sounded like a cross between the clapping favoured by flamenco dancers and bubble wrap being wrung out.

It’s duration also made it impossible to ignore.

I didn’t kneel before my G-d, more fell to my knees in hysteria!

Sadly though these will be my last few weeks of attending Mass.

Father P is leaving and I can’t be arsed to go through the stress of ‘training’ up a new one.

Monday was my first day of Jury service.

The most utterly, pointless and boring day of the year so far.

Eight hours of my life I am never going to get back, which if my Carboxihaemoglobin levels were anything to go by, I could probably do with.

My level was recorded when I started on the patches and because I have absolutely no semblance of deferred gratification, I tested it again yesterday.

The first reading was more or less, “Fucking Hell! Call an ambulance and turn the faulty boiler off!” at 40ppm.

Four days later it was 19ppm.

Blimey!

The Last...

... Cigarette I smoke, The Supreme Being willing.

I have patches and all housemates bar one are non smokers, thank fuck!

Cooking With...

.... Crisp-e and Sleepy.

First, make fire!

Secondly, rake over the coals to ensure an even burn. Garden implements are perfectly acceptable for this purpose.

Thirdly, present the meat. In this case, lamb shanks. Crisp-e had already performed some alchemy on these. He'd have to tell you what that was though! It involved herbs and four hours of cooking.

Skewer the shanks and get them over the coals.

Cover with the homemade 'Tandoor'. A terracotta pot with something heavy dropped through the bottom.

BBQ!

Cover it over for a little bit.

Baste those bad boys. The cigarette is completely optional.

As you can see the meat can be stripped off with a spoon.

Finish of so the skin crisps up all lovely.

The meat was served up in warm tortillas, salad and a mint sauce. There are no photos of this as they didn't last that long!

They were the best thing I have eaten in ages.

Thanks Dred!

A Spirit

I can't begin to tell you how much this chokes me up.

It also reminds me of a book called Snow Goose I read as a kid.

The first book I remember making me cry.

Pentecostal Sun

Um.... Yes....

If we can ignore for the moment that I have shoulders like Mark Spitz, this is an hour of shirtless weeding in the Mansions garden today.

It's been a little bit warm.

I have a 'shine' due to Aftersun because I sting now!

It has been an absolutely glorious day.

Mrs D came round to enjoy the sun, watch me weed, drink wine, eat cheese and be utterly confused by her phone!

A superb day!

This is what a confused woman looks like while tackling a 'touch' phone!

Bless her.

A 40...

... Year old with her Dad!

I'm still waiting on people to send their photos.. But here are a couple to keep Schnee going!

This is why you don't give Dyslexics Word Search puzzles!

Look at his poor little face not being able to understand. Apparently EVERYTHING appears correct to him!

Mocking the afflicted is not usually so open. Most wait until they are at least in the staff room.

Seeing as this 'afflictee' would be IN the staff room, we were out and proud with our piss taking!

Yes! Shameful pictures as well... My cousins made me wear that hat for 40 minutes and pressed the button that played 'Happy Birthday', which only I could hear, whenever possible.

Aftermath

Check out my birthday cake!

Housemate Claire made it for me.

‘Nutella Cake’!

It is beyond fecking Yum and is Coeliac friendly.

I had a great birthday and some cracking gifts.

Books, book tokens, speciality vodka, wine and a day Clay Pigeon shooting!

Oh! Yes! I will be ARMED!

The main celebration is on Saturday.

My Father is leaving his house, the Nottingham contingent are coming south, the locals are mobilised and the Irish are flying in.

It should be epic!

If my niece wrote a blog I think her post yesterday would go something like this:

I popped into see the mad lesbian auntie this afternoon.

She opened the door with her ear on her right shoulder.

‘Oh! Have you got a crick in your neck?’ I asked.

“Darling! Come in! Come in! No! Hydrogen Peroxide in my ear” she cheerfully told me, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

The scene that greeted me in the front room was, well, carnage.

It looked like the sofa had been sexually assaulted.

Half the covers were off, cushions were all over the floor and the cat was looking traumatized.

‘Oh Dear! What happened?’

“Oh? This? At 2 this morning I decided to wash all the covers, forgetting that getting it undressed is a lot easier than getting its clothes back on!”

I laughed.

“I’ve cried in frustration then kicked the shit out of it” she said.

Her head was still tilted.

‘And what’s with the Peroxide?’ I asked.

“Cleaning the wax out of my ear. There’s a huge lump in there and it won’t shift. This shit is sizzling the fuck out of it!”

I left the house laughing and laughed all the way to the car.

I’m sure at some point during her drive home she put her hand on her baby bump and thought, ‘Please G-d, don’t let it have any of her DNA!’.

Bi Polar Grandfather, Asperger’s Great Aunt, you’d hope something balanced would be coming from the Dad’s side.

His Mum is adopted and they have no clue to her background!

Yeee Ha!

Baby Russian Roulette!

At last we have a government.. Or something that is doing an impression of one.

So the ‘Tactical’ vote for the Liberal Democrats, to keep the Tories out, like they fucking told us to do, was totally pointless then?

They will NEVER get a vote from me again. Not even for the local council.

Clegg’s name has been mentioned so often in the last three days I was convinced Capello would name him in his World Cup Squad.

Isn’t Democracy fucking grand?

The First Hour...

... Of my 4th decade.

It's my BIRTHADAY! Whoo Hoo!

The Last Hour...

... Of my 30's!

Could be worse.

Windows And Weirdness

I made the absolutely horrific mistake of cleaning the front room windows.

To tell the truth I can’t remember the last time I did it. Or if I ever have!

Armed with Mr Muscle spray and kitchen roll I had at it. Only to be shamed into stopping by the colour the paper quickly turned.

It was that special yellow/brown colour that used to be reserved for pub ceilings before the smoking ban.

The difference is amazing, my world is no longer Sepia toned!

Today is the last day of my thirties and I feel a bit weird.

It’s hard to explain, but I think I’m supposed to feel more ‘grown up’ than I actually do!

In my head I’m still about 15.

My Superego exerts a bit more power these days, well, as much as mine can.

“It” is there though, the elemental, uncivilized and primitive me.

And the Ego?

Fucked.

Barely remains sane playing fucking Switzerland with the other two fuckers and being constantly stoned.

I now intend to get totally and utterly mashed up.

Election And Connection

I had no idea who to vote for so decided to indulge in some ‘Election Roulette’.

The first fucker to knock on the door would get my vote.

Unless it was the BNP or any other of the Nazi parties.

Not a one came near me.

It was local elections too, so I voted for the bloke who was the most help with the trees.

Even when I was stood in the booth looking at the paper I didn’t know where to put my cross.

So while I was there, wondering whether to spoil my ballot, I decided there should be a ‘Don’t Know, They’re All Shit’ option.

None of them have convinced me they can organise a piss up in a brewery.

We’re fucked whatever way it goes.

I also had Connectile Dysfunction the whole of the Bank Holiday weekend.

Virgin Media? Fucking load of shit.

I was ‘phoning for three days, arguing with Indians called Ryan.

Fucking Ryan? Yeah, popular name in the Punjab that one.

One of them started every sentence with “I suppose..”

‘I suppose it is unplanned maintenance in your area’, ‘I suppose you could be back on by the 7th of May’.

It got very heated.

Eventually I got through to a British call centre and things seem to get sorted.

I’m still not sure if it was them or James the giant Apple engineer.

My money is on James.

Cantate Sunday

Today, because I decided to watch the Match Of The Day repeat, I ended up at the 10.15am Mass.

AKA the ‘Screaming and Crying’ Mass.

Given the numbers who plod out for the Children’s Liturgy, the Roman Catholic Church shouldn’t have any trouble sustaining itself.

But...

But if, as I believe, they are there because their parents are thinking ahead about school places.... It’s fucked!

There was a magic moment before kick off, when the old lady with barely any teeth and the old lady with barely any English got into it over the collection bags.

I’m not sure how that one got resolved. I’d like to think they took it in the car park and had a bit of a scrap.

It was the one with scant English who waved it under my nose.

Then there was the moment of absolute gold.

A little boy, unimpressed by the mystery of Transubstantiation, was hugging and grabbing his kneeling Father’s leg.

Getting no response other than the finger to the lips “Shush” sign, he waited until ‘we were not worthy to receive’ anything then BIT his Dad right on the cheek of his arse!

Watching a huge black man grip the pew and throw his head back in a silent scream was brilliant.

From the way he looked at his son I just knew; another time, another place and this kid wouldn’t be sitting down for a week.

I couldn’t keep my shit together after that!

Random

This random thought may have something to do with the Vodka, the Weed, the Insomnia or the Temazepam OR, more realistically, a combination of the four!

BUT....

What happened to, "Champion The Wonder Horse"?

(Works well if you sing it in your head! If you know the tune that is!)

Mmmmm...

I think I'll roll another!

A Brace Of Nutters

Bro-in-Law J is out of hospital.

Proving that a 28 day Section is a complete and utter load of bollocks.

He is back on medication, the kind that makes it impossible for him to stand still.

The Psychotropic Shuffle I call it.

Poor fucker.

After much discussion, soul searching and general fucking stress; the decision was made to let him stay in the house.

A long, long time ago someone gave me a second chance and it changed my life.

I think of it as my ‘pay it forward’ opportunity.

There has also been a huge change of situation for him.

He is going to be a Grandfather.

Yep. More Great Aunt-dom for me.

The niece, L, is pregnant and she has told him that she not only has no compunction about sectioning him again, he will NEVER see his Grandchild if he doesn’t get his act together.

A Bi-Polar man can do without a £600 a week Mephedrone habit for fuck’s sake.

Another condition of him staying in the house - No Dealing.

An inconvenience for me but life saving for him. Fingers crossed.

Most people will think I’m a fool. That he will fuck me over again.

Maybe he will.

But if I don’t give room to a bit of optimism, a bit of faith in his assertion that he wants to change, I feel that somehow that it will diminish me.

He didn’t remember holding a knife at my throat or screaming in my face the myriad of ways he was going to kill me.

Surprisingly, he does have a recollection of me standing up to him, just NOT why.

(My Fight or Flight instinct, as blogged about before, kicked straight in to Fight and I shouted back, “that kind of intimidation only works on those afraid to die you cunt!.... And I AM NOT!”. I pushed myself into the blade until blood was drawn and he stepped away.)

Crisp-e came round this evening and we have decided that John Davidson should be awarded an OBE.

Via the BBC, we first met John as a sixteen year old in the late 80’s.

For me and most people I know, he was our first introduction to Tourette Syndrome.

I laughed ‘til I cried.

Then every time there was an ‘update’ or another programme about those afflicted I made sure I watched.

The last one, which was filmed a year ago, was different.

It upset me.

The humour was still there and I laughed until I was in pain but hearing him talk of his loneliness, his yearning for a family of his own.... It got me.

I think he has done great work in making Tourette’s ‘acceptable’.

Some prick should give the fucker an award!

Here’s a little bit of John (and Chums!)

“I’m up to my knees in fucking cow pat”, is what I pull to the forefront of my mind when I have the overwhelming urge to be rude or punch someone.

Cracks me up!

Loss

Today Jessie left the world.

She was brave and dignified.

I'm in physical pain as a hole the size of a Greyhound has been torn in my soul.

Our Man In Austria

This is the latest from Crisp-e, who is on a school skiing trip.

No correspondence about the 'powder', food, booze or the kids.

Just texts about our shared FA Cup Semi Final heartbreak and the above picture.

You are MORE than ready for marriage my friend!

Seriously....

Sometimes, the only question can be, ‘Are they fucking mad?!’

Easter Time

To say Easter was eventful would be a slight understatement.

Without going too far into the details because they depress the fucking arse off of me, the bi-polar ex bro-in-law lost his shit.

He threatened to kill me, whacked golf balls up the street while naked and took two of his mates hostage.

He is now sectioned for 28 days.

The house is an utter shithole and to be perfectly honest I don’t want him back in it.

He was given the opportunity to rent it because I didn't want my niece and nephew visiting him where he used to live.

They are now 21 and 18. I'm sure I've done my bit.

I have awful guilt at the moment.

On a more cheerful note, the Edible Estate is under way.

I love planting beans because the result is almost instantaneous. There are 3 types this year, Climbing French Beans, Barlotto and, of course, Runner Beans.

Earth Hour

It got a bit Gothic here for earth hour.

To Be Honest

The conversation went like this...

DAD.. I’ll tell you what lover, I haven’t been right. I went in the toilet Monday and started puking blood. It went everywhere, up the walls, fuckin’ everywhere. Bright red it was. Fresh.
JOON.. It looked like a slaughterhouse in there.
ME.. Jesus Christ Dad, that’s not fucking good. Have you been to the doctor?
(Step-Mum rolls her eyes heavenward and gets the hell out of the room!)
DAD.. Doctor? Doctor? All a bunch of cunts. They’ve halved me fuckin’ tablets! Why the fuck would they do that?
ME.. Um. Because your Liver’s fucked Dad. You’ve abused it so much it can no longer deal with your tablets.
DAD.. Oh. D’you reckon that’s it then? What about the bleeding?
ME.. That’ll be the varicose veins in your oesophagus bursting and bleeding.
DAD.. Varicose veins? What the fuck caused that?
ME.. Your drinking you prick!!
(Much laughter at this point)
DAD.. What about the bile I bring up for no reason? It looks like egg yolks.
ME.. There is a reason you tosser! The booze! Your Liver is failing. GO TO THE FUCKING DOCTOR!

My siblings started turning up at this point and the chat went no further.
I came home, asked people who know about this stuff and did some online research.
It was worrying.
Actually, it was frightening.
I left it a few days then text my findings to my step-mum, asking her if I should tell Dad or not.
She was great, saying that the information may have more impact coming from a ‘concerned daughter’ rather than a ‘nagging wife’.
She's been trying to get him to the Doc for over 6 months.
I told her to make sure his life insurance premiums were up to date and we had a good laugh.
So I phoned him.

It went like this..

ME.. Hey Dad! I’ve done some research into what you were telling me. Asked some doctors and that.
DAD.. Oh! Nice one! And?
ME.. Dad I’m going to give you the worst case scenario. All your symptoms point to the end stages of Liver Cirrhosis.
Your Liver is shutting down. I’m not telling you to stop drinking, (The reason he won’t go to the doctor. He doesn’t want to hear that!) just cut down. Yeah?
If you don’t you won’t be here to see my birthday and all you will ever be to Ronnie (The Grandson) is an image in a photo.
Anyway, it’s just for your information. I'm not nagging or telling you to STOP drinking. Just ease up, yeah?.
DAD.. Well thanks for that Darlin’, I’m just going to go and rethink my life.

I laughed at that point thinking it was another of his ‘quips’.
We said goodbye and I thought well that’s that. At least I’ve given him the information, it’s up to him now.
He phoned today.
The ansaphone message was, ‘This is ground control to Major Tom. Can you hear me Major Tom??’ and that was it!
Made me laugh a lot.
I called.

ME.. This is Major Tom to ground control.....
DAD.. HAHAHAHAHAHA... (My Dad has a filthy laugh!) You all right Winkle?
ME.. Of course. How are you?
DAD.. That’s what I’m calling about. I went to the Doctor the day after you phoned and have had Liver function tests, blood tests and my heart x-rayed. All sorts.
ME.. Fuck me! Really?
DAD.. Yes.
ME.. Fuck me! Nice one Dad.
DAD.. You put the fuckin’ fear of Christ in me Darlin’! Everything you told me was absolutely right.
ME.. Did you tell them the truth though Dad?
DAD.. For the first time... Yes. My Liver is fine at the moment, I’ve knocked everything, except beer, on the head. They’ve sorted out my tablets, at last, and I feel brilliant!
ME.. That is such good news Dad. Thanks for going to the quack.
DAD.. NO! Thank you Darlin’. Thank you for being straight with me and telling me the truth of the situation.
ME.. Love you don’t I!? It’s some sort of illness. It makes me give a shit about you for some reason! We joke about you dying and that, but I’m not ready to let you go yet.
DAD.. I know. I realise I’m not ready either.
ME.. Does that mean you will leave your house and visit your kids?
DAD.. Does it fuck!
Much laughing from the both of us at this point.
DAD.. Except your birthday. Whatever is happening for your birthday and wherever, I’ll be there.
ME.. Brilliant! I love you old man.
DAD.. Love you daughter.

We said our goodbyes and that was the end of it.

Sometimes it's good to be the one who, 'utters unbearable truths'.

St Joe

Today is St Joseph’s Day so I went to Mass.
Hysterical.
One of the old geezers at the front got a bit confused, thought the second reading was the Gospel and stood up.
This caused most of the people behind to follow his lead, quickly sitting as they realized their mistake.
It looked like a geriatric Mexican wave.
By the time the ‘wave’ hit me I was laughing so much, I couldn’t help it.
So I stood, raised my arms then sat down like it was an ACTUAL Mexican wave.
This corpsed Father P and I could see his shoulders going while he stared into his lap.
When it WAS his turn, he did really well to get through the Gospel with me grinning at him like an idiot!
I thought about my Step Mum, Joseph being the ultimate Step Dad.
Can you imagine his, ‘you're not my Dad’, arguments?

Cum Dederit

"When He Shall Give Sleep..."

If only.

Train-ing

Having been to Wiltshire for the weekend, I am now in a position to compare and contrast rail travel in the UK to rail travel in North America.

My outward journey to the English countryside wasn’t the overcrowded, three coach affair to Cardiff Central I usually catch.

Therefore the travellers were slightly different.

Not students going home or pensioners with a pass going to Salisbury.

The track suited couple with the case of Stella Artois alerted me to this.

(It’s on offer in Lidl)

They had spent their time on the platform trying to extract each others tonsils’, lingually.

After witnessing this horror, my aim was to sit as far from them as possible.

I failed.

They appeared and sat in the set of four seats in front of mine, backs to me.

This placed me in the unfortunate position of being able to see their foreplay through the gap.

Five minutes into the journey the old couple across the aisle from me had moved and the male snogger stopped to ask,

“D’ye wanna a fuckin’ beer, mon?”, declaring himself one of those pissed up, unintelligible Jocks.

O joy.

She didn’t want one, but this didn’t deter him.

On and on and on he went.

By the time we got to Cosham, I’d had enough.

“She’s pregnant you torpid twat!”

I could see him looking at her.

“That right? You up the duff?”

Thank fuck they realized Portchester WASN’T Chichester and got off.

My outward journey from Vancouver to Seattle started hellishly early.

Many thanks to Schnee for taking me to the station. I really couldn’t have coped with the Skytrain that early.

I had booked online and had been directed to go to the Amtrak window for my tickets.

All good, until it becomes apparent there is no such fucking window.

There is a wooden lectern with an Amtrak sticker but no window.

I am not afraid to ask for directions, so looked around for someone.

Two “Staff” I encountered didn’t have a word of English between them, then I saw the Sikh.

Thinking, ‘Great! Now, some sense’, I asked where the window was.

I was utterly shocked when he too, didn’t have a word either.

How bad is that? I just assumed he’d speak English!

Eventually some bloke turned up at the lectern with tickets.

Then I had to go through customs.

After having my fingerprints scanned and paying $6 dollars to get into America, I was in my window seat on the train.

It was very clean and roomy which gave me the sinking feeling I’d got into Business Class by mistake.

I hadn’t.

My mistake had been in forgetting just how colossal some Yanks allow their arses to get.

This was ‘normal’ size!

Double the width of the British Rail bastards.

On this trip I was the ‘Jock’ everyone wanted to avoid!

The Cascades line is possibly one of the best train rides ever.

They are not joking when they say it hugs the coastline.

At one point I looked out of the window and a Bald Eagle was flying along, at eye level, within touching distance.

I had headphones on a said in that overloud headphones voice,

“FUCK ME! WOW!”

To say I drew looks would be an understatement.

At least it stopped the Korean man next to me believing my leg was an extension of his.

In four hours I was in Seattle being greeted by Prof M who fed me soul food.

Check out the Matzo ball soup.

How beautiful does that look?

Tales of Seattle and the return journey to follow and that, my friends, is a fecking doozy!

Nuns were involved.

‘nuff said.

Really?

Could it look worse?

The Pope-zi and his brother. The brother has just admitted to hitting choir boys.

Nice family.

If Anyone...

... can enlighten me as to just WHAT THE FUCK the Gospel reading was about today, I'd be more than grateful.

Heaven was shut?

Father P bottled it and went on about Na'aman and I left baffled, as I often do.

IWD

Fuck! Yeah!

Kathryn Bigelow, Sandra Bullock, Sandy Powell and Mo'nique!

The Love

It's all I can think of calling this photo!

Because that's EXACTLY what it shows....

The Love.

This is My Dred, Crisp-e and I...

Look at our faces and you'll know!

We know how to make each other laugh without a word being said and we spend so much of our time together looking like this!

A gift.

Those of you who know us will look at the photo and say,

'Yep! That's them!'

This is me and his soon to be wife!

Thank G-d she 'gets' us, otherwise it could be really arse!

You Couldn't Make It Up

Love it!

*Edit... Uh Oh!

I shouldn't laugh!

I feel an instant Karma moment coming.

The Return

I am returned from Canada.

Had an absolutely MIGHTY time!

Thank you to all there who made my trip so amazing!

The plane home was a bit delayed and I had total tossers behind me, Northerners next to me and a woman with the fattest legs I have EVER seen across the aisle from me.

One of the tossers behind had decided to put her boots in the overhead storage. On her fucking feet or under the seat in front was too avant-garde for her.

When the drink trolley came round she decided her purse was in the storage.

Tosser husband opens it up, frees the boot for gravity to introduce to my head.

Having headphones on I didn’t hear a thing. I jumped out of my skin. Being surprised AND hurt I bellowed, “For Fuck’s Sake! You Prick!”

The male attendant, with extraordinarily well plucked eyebrows, thought a fight was breaking out and made that noise only certain Gay men can make.

It’s a sharp intake of breath and a half swallowed scream all in one.

Sometimes a hand will fly to the mouth or chest.

It’s hard to explain but I know what I mean.

Tosser husband then tells me I’ll be, ‘All right’.

Fucking all right?

I stared at him until he looked away and said, “I’ll fucking have to be, won’t I?”

I went to put my spex back on only to find them banjaxed.

The female attendant noticed at the same time.

I asked who would be paying for them. She went and got me an Incident Form.

Then, as if nothing had happened asked what I wanted to drink.

“3 bottles of White Wine please” was my cheery reply.

‘18 dollars please’, was hers.

I jabbed my thumb behind me, said, “He’s paying” put the ‘phones back on and got on with my book.

Tossers!

The brother was a gem and text me the train times and I was back in The Mansions before midday.

The Sassy one and I hit the greasy spoon for the lunch of champions, egg and chips!

My last view of Vancouver.

I have lots more to tell you! The German House, the trip to Seattle and loads more photos.

*A... The “Plane-tertainment” was tremendous and your letter choked me up, you fucker!

I will 'snail mail' you a letter in return.

Sx

Olympic Journey

So, at 8.18 tomorrow morning I will start my journey to Vancouver from Fratton station.

Whoo Hoo!

I am actually packed and ready to go for a change and anything I’ve forgotten will have to stay that way.

The nicotine patches are close at hand, John the iPod is charged and ready to go and just in case, the phone has music back up.

The two books I have to read should keep most people away from me; Irish Freedom - The History Of Nationalism in Ireland and ‘Sapphistries’ - A Global History Of Love Between Women.

Sorted.

Canadians.. Brace yourselves!

The rest of you... See you in a couple of weeks.

It Begins

My Winter Olympics have started in earnest with the Ice Dancers.

I got 3 to fall over, but I used up most of my energy on the pair dressed in Burberry so failed to get a wobble out of the Chinese.

Thursday I will be there in person. No saving them then!

Well. Isn’t that just dandy?

It’s a sin.

Anyone want to start the applause?

Thanks for that.

Thanks a fucking bunch.

Shame he didn't feel so strongly when he was the Cardinal in charge of sorting this out.

Utter Cunt.

More Filth

Un-fucking-believably I’ve had to unblock the fucking kitchen sink AGAIN!

I am now beginning to wonder if Housemate Pat is a fucking retard.

Seriously educationally sub-normal.

Other than learning what ever fucking language it is she speaks, I can’t think of any way of getting across to her what CANNOT go down the sink.

I’m considering drawing pictures with big crosses through them.

My huge mistake was thinking that the Chinese were like the Japanese and were fucking CLEAN.

They are not.

They are filthy fucking dirty with some hideous habits.

She hawks up and spits phlegm while in the shower which is sometimes to be found dried down the side of the bath or on the tiles. There has been evidence of this in the sink as well.

I’m also beginning to understand that she just does not give a shit about the house or the people in it.

The day after been asked to sweep up the rice and noodles she spills all over the floor it was there again!

She’s got to go before I chin the idiot.

Cold Calling

I have been getting a call on my mobile from a number I don’t know.

I never answer calls if I don’t recognize the number but this has been a daily call for about 2 weeks.

So today I answered it.

It went like this.

‘Is that Mrs Sleepy McTired?’

‘Yes’

‘Are you having a good day?’

‘Who the fuck ARE you?’

‘I’m from Vodaphone, could you give me the first line of your address please?’

‘Absolutely not’

‘Oh’

‘YOU ‘phoned me. All those details should be on the screen in front of you’

‘I understand but this is just a security question’

‘YOU ‘phoned ME, I’m telling you fuck all mate’

‘This is just a call about services’

‘You won’t be touching fuck all on my services. I want nothing added, nothing removed, Nothing. Actually I do! I want someone higher than you to write to me setting up a security question for the next time one of you twats ‘phones!’

He hung up on me then.

It gives me great joy to get someone who has cold called me to hang up.

Doctor, Doctor

I don’t like going to the doctor.

I don’t like having to talk to the ‘Reception Nazis’.

I don’t like having to sit in the waiting room with other people.

I don’t like the depressing little room my quack sits in.

I don’t like how he NEVER seems to definitively know what the problem is.

I just don’t like it, so I don’t go.

It seems I'm justified.

“Undiagnosed Pychosis”?? “... see things or hear voices”??

WFT?!!

Fucking Ketamine for Christ’s sake!

Well, on a happier and more exciting note, I’m going to the Winter Olympics!

Another one of my dream trips I’m not going to put off any longer.

I don’t care what I see, although I’d prefer the Speed Skating to the Curling.

Schnee and Kev are very, very kindly putting me up.

Huge thanks to them in advance.

So, Vancouver; Brace yourself, I’m off the leash on on my way!

Julie Walters as Mo Mowlam in ‘Mo’ calling Mandelson a ‘Cunt!’.... Pure Gold!

Grey And White

It has been such a grey day. Utterly grey.

I have a friend who comes from County Offaly, which if you’ve never been, is the brownest place on earth.

My friend claimed that the inhabitants had has many words for brown as the Inuit have for snow.

The ‘British’ should have as many for grey; but other than different spelling I can’t for the life of me think of anything other than ‘Battleship’ and ‘Gun Metal’.

Last weekend the laptop finally died.

It had been showing signs of illness for a few days which gave me a chance to back shit up before the blue screen moment.

I now have a MacBook.

I know! I know! You’ve all heard me rant about the imac and how I can’t work it.

When the man in the shop told me that I’d have to learn Windows 7 more or less from scratch I decided, ‘Fuck it! Might as well learn the Apple stuff’.

So that is what’s happening at the moment.

It is proper sexy though! Depesando had me bang to rights when he suggested I might be ‘running my fingers over it going Ahhhhhh’.

I don’t even skin up on it! (There must be at least an eighth in the old one)

During the horrendously frustrating hour trying to get it hooked up to the wifi I got this text from Crisp-e after asking him if he knew what to do.

“Ok. Does Claire know how to? I gotta be honest, when I tried to do mine I lost my temper to the point where Mrs Crisp-e had to take over. Really frustrating. You need Claire, TP or Mrs Crisp-e. Peeps who can be bothered to read through all of the shit and work it out.”

Are we too alike or does he know me TOO well?! Mmmm...

This morning I had a coal delivery from, quite possibly, the oldest coalmen still working.

Their combined age was at least 130 and I carried most of it myself for fear they would die in my hallway.

I have also spent some time in Wiltshire with the hounds.

GAWJUS! As ever.