Great Things

Twenty five years ago today I was playing truant from school. I was sat with thousands of others on Southsea seafront.
After a two hour wait I saw Henry VIII’s warship, Mary Rose, break the surface after laying on the bottom of The Solent for 437 years.
It was an amazing ‘hair stand on end’ moment.
A great thing.

Another great thing that has happened today.
Doris Lessing is the first British woman to receive a Nobel Prize for Literature.
The general consensus appears to be, ‘about bloody time’.
From her appearance on the News I’d say she was pleased, but decidedly underwhelmed.
When told by a reporter as she got out of a taxi at her home she responded, “Oh Christ”.
She said that she had won every other prize in Europe and they were just giving her this one before she died.
Cracking!
Brilliant grumpy old lady.

Another great thing happened today.
M in Wiltshire had a photo used by the BBC News!
It was a piece about Autumn colours coming early and it was one of four photos used.
Hers was the best though!

I America it is National Coming Out Day today!
Did you ever hear of such a thing?
I really can’t see that catching on here.

And finally…. People, as I have ALWAYS contended, Vodka is good for you!

Tate And Fate

The Tate Modern’s latest installation is basically a fecking big hole in the floor.
It’s 548 feet long, in some places 3 foot deep and 10 inches across.
It is called ‘Shibboleth’ and is by Colombian artist Doris Salcedo. It has been the subject of many TV news stories, newspaper articles and radio shows.
Still, after all that, two people have managed to fall in it!
How?
There are posters describing the ’art’, warning signs and of course, a frigging great hole in the ground.
Some people are beyond stupid and these definitely fall into my ‘walking organ donor’ group.

We have had a ‘Wake’ for Helmut the tortoise..
Sassy, Rob and the usual subjects attended.
We toasted the utter pointlessness of his petdom.
Bearing in mind he was asleep half the fucking year!
The strange thing is that this reptile hung around longer than Parents, Grandparents and siblings. What a Dude!
We have drunk 7 bottles of wine, half a bottle of Slivovitz, tea from Raffles Hotel in Singapore and Cointreau.
I’m considering posting the recipes I made up.

Housemate Claire is having to choose the way she is ‘put back together’ after her surgery.
The choice being staples or stitches.

From my experience of motorcycle crashes, broken noses with the bone protruding from a nostril, appendix operation, cuts in my mouth, split lips, cuts over my eyes, cuts in my scalp, lacerations on my back and thighs from a belt.
Cuts under my eyes, cuts in my upper lip, the stab wound in my shoulder, the stab wound at the top of my hip, the stab wound between 4th and 5th rib on the left.
The cut nerve in my right thumb and little finger. The slashes in my wrist (Self Inflicted)
Repairing the rape damage the Step Dad had done to my anus, which I think was the most unpleasant.

Before you start believing I am THE most accident prone person on earth, I’d just like to say that all injuries were a 50/50 split from ATM and Step Father number one. (Except the bike smash and the appendix!)
All of them were secured using ‘Silk’, not a fucking staple in sight.
Surgeons like nothing better than showing off their skills.
I’ve watched Grey’s Anatomy.
Sutures all the way!

I’d be interested to hear any positive ‘Staples’ stories.

Pesky Kids

Horror of horrors.
Now, two of the brats next door have a fecking Recorder.
The baby has her own persistent, annoying noise.
One of them has partly mastered the first few bars of ‘Three Blind Mice’, the other one is just breathing in to it and hoping that will bring forth some sort of ‘tune’.
It doesn’t.
I defy anyone to get anything vaguely resembling a tune out of one.
Instruments of torture.
There is probably evidence them being used during the Inquisition.

As most of you know I’m not very good with small children.
They are too unpredictable for me.
I have even less interest in babies.
The words, “Would you like to hold him/her?” fill me with dread.
My response of,
“Dear Christ in heaven, NO!”
is not always well received.
What gives people this idea that you want to hold their baby?
They sit there going on about how fecking wonderful parenthood is, that they couldn’t be happier, how you should try it.
Oh Yeah?
Then why are you trying to give the squealing thing to me?
(There has to be some sort of bonus for being resolutely homosexual. For me, it would be the 'child-free' status)
Baby On Board signs in cars affront my sensibilities too. How they are going to make it less likely you crash is beyond me.
Despite all that, this has got to be the best use, ever, for a small child!
My sister and I used to do similar things to her kids.

Newton And Karma

Thanks to Newton we know ‘that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction’.
Today I have become acutely aware of it.
I knew there would be some payback for missing Mass and watching Sport all day yesterday.

Being of ‘mixed religion’ I try not to piss G-d off too much. I never know which one I’m going to get.
The G-d of one faith is a vengeful G-d and will smite and smote down through the generations.
The other one, although claiming to have made me in love, appears to hate me and wants me to be guilty/sorry all the time.
Ho hum.

This morning they joined forces.
I was supposed to be helping the Tame Pharmacist in the shop but was left behind.
Getting out of bed I narrowly avoided stepping in cat sick.
While making my cup of tea, water splashed out and burned my foot and the milk I put in had gone off.
Lumpy tea.
I gave the toast a miss.
I slipped in the shower and smacked my knee so hard that when I put weight on it I fell against the sink.
This is when the ‘g-ds’ double teamed me.
Falling against the sink caused my Star of David to stab me straight in the chest.
I took the hint and went to lunchtime Mass.

It was in Polish which was an excellent experience.
It’s easy to sit there and let your mind wander when it’s in your own language.
Reading the newsletter, checking if you like or even know the hymns, hoping the bloke who shouts out doesn’t sit near you etc!
When it’s in Polish, you pay attention.
You can’t drift back in to listening and immediately pick it up again.
You do it in ‘English’ in your head, even the Priest’s bits.
It makes you feel more involved somehow.
The afternoon was misfortune free.

Sports On Sunday

I found myself in a frightening and uncomfortable position last night.
Cheering the bloody French on against the All Blacks.
(Although, the New Zealand kit seems to prove Grey is the new Black!)
I don’t need to remind anyone of my abiding dislike and distrust of our Gallic neighbours but I’d rather England play them in the Semis!
My tactical cheering helped! The French won.
Allez les Bleus!
Crisp-e and I discussed the chance that England could actually win again.
Doing the double.
I told him I would book my trip to Australia there and then if we did.
That is a sledging you have to personally deliver.

A bizarre moment came in the boxing.
Amir Khan fighting Scott Lawson.
We’ve all seen boxing movies, the music to come out to is your fighting music.
The tune that gets you all riled up and ready to batter someone.
Scott Lawson marches out to ‘Delilah’.
Delilah?
Not a song I associate with pugilism for some reason.

Today my life has gone like this: The Archers omnibus, Chinese Grand Prix, Rugby, Football, cook the dinner, followed by more Rugby.
Some days it just all comes together!
I willed Fiji on against the South Africans, sadly it just wasn’t to be but they have done themselves proud.
Totally disappointed by Scotland.
Argentina as a Rugby playing nation just doesn’t work for me.

Working in the Pharmacy this week. Watch this space.

Rugger, Chuckles And Bugger

As expected I had feck all sleep last night. E numbers are hideous.

This afternoon I think I broke the world ‘holding your breath’ record.
I lasted the whole of the second half of the Australia v England rugby match.
It wasn’t pretty, but we won!
As Crisp-e text me straight afterwards,
“Fucking come on! Fucking have that you arrogant convict bastards..”
Ignore National sporting rivalries at your peril, they’re deep and they are real.
The faces of the Ozzy team were a treat.
Let’s be honest, no one really minds seeing an Australian prop forward cry!

My favourite story of this week has got to be the Fighting Nuns in Bari!
I’m loving the one who has barricaded herself in.
The trouble is, as with fighting dogs, it only takes a few bad apples and all of them have to be muzzled.
I know Vatican II changed fashion for the good Sisters but seeing them muzzled would freak me right out!
Although, on the hellish Sister MB it would have been a real boon.

Later on I watched The Illusionist.
It surprised me by being really bloody good. Rufus Sewell always plays a great ‘Baddie’.
He has such disturbing eyes.

The only real bugger of the day is that I found my Tortoise dead this morning.
I’ve had him since my 5th birthday, so I’m gutted.
I’d been expecting his demise since my sister’s one woke up dead a couple of years ago.
RIP Helmut the Tortoise, you weren’t the most entertaining of pets but I loved you anyway.

Celebrate

On Friday I did the ‘Tame Pharmacist’ a favour and went and helped out in the shop.
I started with the immensely challenging job of counting Prescriptions.
Then adding up how many ‘items’ were on them.
The highlight being seeing ‘scripts written by Dr’s Hatfull, Daily and Ding.
Dr Ding! I ask you?
Then, I was printing labels for a Pharmacist who appeared to have had an Amphetamine based breakfast.
She was Daggers.
As in Dagenham, 2 train stops on from Barking!
I know why Sister Mary Margaret beat Latin in to me now.
I also have the answer to, “When am I EVER going to need this shit?”
Just so I’d know ‘PRN’ on a prescription means ‘as required’.
‘Beating, PRN’, must have been overlooked/skated past on the school prospectus by my Mother.

This evening I went to my good friend Q’s Fortieth Birthday celebration.
(In the pic, for those who don’t know, Q is the brown one. For those of you in London, you would have seen him on posters in the underground for Navy recruitment! He‘s a slut!)

It was also to celebrate him leaving the Navy after 20 odd years.
He is responsible for the resurgence in Navy boxing and taking boxing into some of the most shitty, run down schools in our area.
He WON’T take it to Mayhem because of the way the Head treated me.
Bless him.
Four times I tried to get school involved but the Head would have none of it.
His loss. Wanker.

I’m mashed.
Have been fed E numbers, had a joint.
Been drinking Sliwowica and vodka!

Catch me later….

Shalom.

Accosted And Consultants

I had the strangest experience along ‘Rue Albert’ today.

Being a polite well brought up individual, I held the door to a shop open and let a little old lady out before going in.
When I left I found she had waited for me.
She started going on about how unusual it was to find polite people these days etc.
I smiled, told her ‘No problem’ and tried to get away.

People, she grabbed hold of my hand and started walking with me.
I was mildly freaked out.
I’m not good with being touched.
I tried to gently shake her off but she was having none of it.
I gave in and asked her where she was going, carried her bag, held her hand and walked her home.
She told me she was 84 and then out of the blue said,
“Are you a homosexual?”
I was moderately freaked out.
I um-ed and ah-ed and then said, “Yes”.
Then started hoping that she wasn’t one of the old dears from Mass.
I don’t need that shit.
She stopped at a gate and I handed her the shopping, as she took it she said,
“Forty years ago I would have gone for you! Just my type!” and winked.
I was totally freaked out.
She was laughing her head off as she went inside.
I smiled all the way home.
Gives you hope doesn’t it?!

Housemate Claire had her appointment with the Consultant today.
Her ultrasound confirms that the tumour has broken up.
This is not good.
They will only be able to get 70% of it with a Lumpectomy.
Claire has decided that is unacceptable.
The surgeons don’t want to do a Mastectomy as it’s a bit fecking brutal.
Instead they are going to give her Breast Reduction Surgery.
The excess fat removed will contain all the cancerous shite and they’ll do the other one so she is ‘balanced’.
She’s having a boob job on the NHS and is delighted!

To all of you who have had words with your various Deities on her behalf, Thank You.

Blessed are you our G-d,
Creator of time and space,
Who has supported us,
Protected us and brought us to this moment.

Headlines, TV And Dad

I keep seeing the headline that Miss Moneypenny has died.
Well, the actress who played her.
The problem is I don’t see Moneypenny, I see Miss Funnyfanny.
Go on!
Imagine it being said with Connery’s accent.
Catchy isn’t it?
Thought I’d infect others with that.

Surfed into an episode of Hill Street Blues this afternoon.
So many young and now famous faces.
It was a programme we were allowed to stay up and watch if we were good.
The music just whipped me back to ATM’s front room during the 80’s.
The annoying clock that used numerous ball-bearings to indicate the time.
Which sounded like hammers and anvils being dropped on girders every hour.
The remote on the VCR was attached to it by wire.
My sister had a selection of leg warmers and I had lots of ‘Day-Glo’ socks, which were never worn as a pair.

I went to see my Dad last night.
First time in a few years.
I have tried to avoid it because I got it into my head,
‘I didn’t want to see him die’.
It was like we had never been apart.
He tried to get me to argue with him a few times but I ‘Matrixed’ those attempts.
We hugged a lot and got pissed.
Him grabbing bits of his mouth and showing me the cancerous areas was a bit hectic and I really hate seeing him without his teeth in.
The sense of humour was exactly the same we drank, smoked a joint and laughed a lot.
He is still smoking but has told the hospital he’s given up.
Gregory House is right, ‘They all lie’.
Amazingly and scarily he’s drinking 2 litres of Cinzano Bianco a day!
No mixer, straight up, from a half pint glass.
He’s fucking hardcore my Dad!

We talked about the different places I have visited in the time we haven’t had contact.
My Step Mum loves to travel but Dad isn’t a patient man and without a smoke his temper is quick and epic.
I told him about nicotine patches and the joys of Temazepam mixed liberally with alcohol. I also mentioned that, while he still could, he should get out and see something of the world.
We discussed Prague and Budapest.
This morning he phoned to tell me they were booking a trip to Rhodes!

Nice one Pa!

Rain And Pikeys

Today it has pissed with rain and I have been on Pikey Watch.

On her way out Sassy knocked the door and shared her suspicions of Pikeydom on the street.
I knew what she was going to say when she opened with,
‘I don’t want to sound snobby, but…..’
We had both spotted the same pair of unsavoury looking characters who were spending too much time walking up and down the road.
They had even looked in her window.
Trouble is it is also Freshers’ Week so there are quite a few strange looking people wandering about. They usually have a map printed from Google, a hangover, and a bewildered look.
The dead give away for 1st year students is the older couple with them.
Her, red eyed, panicky and smiling too much; him, bored, or looking at his watch and bitching about traffic on the A34, or using a key to poke at rotten window frames.

This is the time of year when Albert Road is awash with beer, kebabs and vomit.
Various staggering groups from different university ‘Societies’, usually holding up one member who is too drunk to walk.
Accident and emergency is full of booze related injuries and illnesses.
Street crime doubles. Fights and muggings dominate the local paper.
The Chavs will go for students when there are no sailors to fight with.

Housemate Claire had her last lot of chemotherapy last week.
Today she went for a scan.
The tumour has decreased by a third but there are now ‘bits’ around it.
This could be the tumour breaking up or they’ve made it angry and it’s gone ‘apeshit’
We won’t know much until she has seen the consultant next week.
The waiting bit is really shit.

Sad as it may sound, I have a favourite Weather man.
Dan Corbett is fucking brilliant. Check out his work!
I find myself watching his hands! It’s like a ballet!
It may also surprise you to learn he’s straight. So the BBC website says.

When I started writing, my beloved Spurs were 4-1 down to Aston Villa.
Fucking VILLA?
I felt a sacking coming on.
It finished 4-4.
The second half was heart stopping!
On our 125th Anniversary.
COME ON YOU SPURS!

Happy 18th to my cousin Meg!

Today

The Big little Brother turned up at midnight looking like he’d been ridden hard and put away wet.
He’d also had an unusual wardrobe malfunction.
Shoes that looked like slippers and cut off’s with an enormous hole in the crutch. The hole didn’t become apparent until he sat, cross-legged on the floor.
An unnerving experience.
He was smoking that Spice stuff that I can’t stand. I cannot begin to describe how nasty this stuff smells and tastes.
Thank G-d for the weed!
We drank wine, watched Rome, checked out our ’Science Project’ chatted and laughed.

This morning I had the Breakfast of Champions.
Chicken and Spinach Curry and a Chapatti. So much better the following morning.
I almost had a Cobra beer but 8am is a little early, even for me.
A huge mug of tea worked just as well.

Crisp-e visited this afternoon and it was great to see him. It’s been ages.
I had my first mooch around the garden for a few weeks.
The pond has cleared at last and I have a baby newt in there!
The Elodea has taken and looks green and healthy.
The snails are growing and are doing their stuff keeping it clean.
I’m really chuffed.

My junk mail has been inundated with notices that someone or other has added me as a friend on Facebook.
Cool.
But I’m confused. I do not have a Facebook account. Never have.
Schnee, explain this madness to me please.

Euro Rage

A few things have caught my eye over the past week, with this one especially pissing me off.
The first piss off being I can’t remember which advert it is.
Anyway.
There is an advert with a bouncing Pound sign in it. Like this £.
Ahh.. But it isn’t!
It has TWO lines across it. Like this € .
The stealth Euro.
They are trying to get us used to the idea my friends, by using our beloved TV against us.
I’m on to it.
The Fuckers!

Lessons in queuing are going to be given to foreign students visiting the Isle of Wight!
Residents have complained that they push to the front of queues for buses.
This has cracked me up.
How do you teach that?

“Right, if you’d all like to line up, one behind the other…..
Yes, that’s it…
Excellent!
Now, either stare at the sky or look at your feet.
Under no circumstances talk to anyone”.

Apparently the French, Germans and Scandinavians are the worst offenders.
Unsurprisingly, Eastern Europeans have no difficulty with the concept of queuing.
You also have to remember that the average age on the Island is 92.

Could this be the perfect example of that ‘Elephant in The Room’ thing?
To paraphrase Murray,
“Your man Jason is a cake boy!
He’s a disco dancing, Oscar Wilde reading, Streisand ticket holding, friend of Dorothy. Know what I’m saying?”
Jeez!
The Daily Nazi doesn’t usually hold back on calling a Queer a Queer.

A Wanderer Returns

I’m back from Canada.
I had a fucking blast! I’m in love with Vancouver.
I am not in love with jetlag.
I went to bed at 3 in the afternoon, got up for a curry at 5, went back to bed.
Got up at 10.25pm, had drop more curry and went back at 1.30am.
Got up at 5am, wanting a beer and went back at 8.30am.
Got up for the last time at 3.15 this afternoon.

A few tips for Vancouver bound travellers.

Expect to be killed/maimed/injured or just downright scared shitless by drivers on their mobile phones.
Prepare to be amazed by the number of Oriental people you see. All signs are in English and Cantonese.
Supermarkets DO NOT sell booze, only Liquor Stores.
No one else finds things named ‘Beaver’ this or that funny.
The price on something is not what you pay. They add on all manner of taxes.
Some bus drivers will threaten to kill you if you cross the road in the wrong place.
Others will give you free tickets just for being a ‘Visitor’.
When it is ascertained that you are ‘British’, do expect to be asked if you know people in towns you’ve never visited. Especially Scotland.
They smoke their dope neat.
Their dope is very strong!
Go to Commercial Drive and eat at Havana. Most Yum. Most cool.
Buy clothes, they are cheap. I can’t recommend Old Navy enough!
Fags are something completely different. Do not ask for 20, you get looks.
It’s almost impossible NOT to eat salmon.
The beggars always ask if you can ‘do them a favour’.
You can.
Point to all the shop windows with ‘Help Wanted’ signs in.
Watch a show called ‘Corner Gas’. You’ll be glad you did.
Have the Elvis Platter at Memphis Barbecue. Crisp-e, this is the place for you! Especially if you are on a Carb free thing again.
Taste Kokanee and Sleeman’s beer.
Go to Granville Island and check out the market.

The two weeks spent with Schnee and Kev were absolutely brilliant.
They are very calm and easy to be around.
I can’t thank them enough for being so generous with their home and time.
Their friends were a great bunch to be around too. Such a good laugh.
Gail, Ross and Lily, the invite still stands!

I read 9 books while I was there.
The number of books I get read is how I measure how good my holidays are.
This rates as one of the best. Ever.

Oh Canada!

As previously mentioned, I’ve been writing this blog for just over a year now.
It started out as a kind of test for myself.
To see if I could keep it going for a year.
I did, so I’m not too sure of the point of continuing with it now.

Anyway, I’m off to Canada in the morning for 2 weeks!
I’ll see how I feel about it while I’m there.

Schnee and Kevin.
Brace yourselves!!

Dad, Food And Football

I did it.
I spoke to my Dad.
We chatted for about half an hour until he couldn’t speak anymore.
He had to have another bit cut out of his mouth last week and his throat was very sore.
It was upsetting but at least I have done it.
He told me that his brother has been diagnosed with an aggressive form of prostate cancer and there is nothing they can do for him.
I thanked Dad for the top notch DNA and we had a good giggle.
I asked how he was doing with the cigarettes and booze and apparently he is persevering.
As he said, “Bit fucking late to stop now and why put myself through the stress!?”
I was inclined to agree with him.

I wore my ‘I Fuck Nuns’ tee-shirt today.
It always cheers me up and cooked up a storm, another thing that cheers me.
From the glut of Sleepy Mansions Runner Beans I have made a Goulash.
I made my favourite comfort eating pie too.
Layered with horseradish, beetroot, red cheese and onions. Repeat the layers and whack in the oven for 45 minutes.
Yummers!
When you cut into it the colours look amazing.
Covered both my religious halves.
Offending Catholics and comfort eating!

England are playing Germany this evening.
Nearly all the first choices for the team are injured, so I’m getting myself mentally prepared for a jolly good spanking.
Thank G-d it’s only a friendly.

Tomorrow I have been writing this blog for a year, so prepare yourselves for the last post!

I Don't Know

I think the burning question of the moment is, ‘Is Carlos Tevez a Cardassian?’
Either way, he has an unusually shaped neck and shoulders.
As you can probably tell, yesterday was another day filled with football.
Joy!

The Big little brother came round in the afternoon and we got totally mashed.
We drank wine, vodka and espressos
He staggered into a taxi at 10pm.
He was due home to his girlfriend at 5pm, so he went to ATM’s for reasons of personal safety.
I’m not having an easy one today.

My Dad phoned this morning and left a message.
He’s dying.
He has about a week to live and wants to see me.
For some reason I can’t bring myself to go or even call him back.
Is that selfish?
Probably.
It’s weird though because I adore my Dad.
I just don’t want to see him all ravaged by the cancer.
I don’t want to be upset.
I don’t want to see him upset.
I don’t want to have to say goodbye.
I don’t want him to go.

Pomp And Circumstance

I went to bed at 3am and was up again at 6.30am.
Watching TV can usually lull me back to sleep, this morning that wasn’t working.
So I laid on the sofa with John the Ipod and we had ‘The Empire Sessions’.
John chose Elgar, Pomp and Circumstance.
Amazingly, I got another 2 hours sleep.

Mr Next Door, the one with the Chinese wife, has played “You’re My Best Friend” by Don Williams, ALL day.
I think he might be a bit down, it’s been on repeat.
I’m now having visions of him sat, rocking, on the kitchen floor, surrounded by dead bodies.

I, on the other hand, am extremely happy.
My beloved Spurs won 4 nil, had a goal disallowed and could have scored more.
That’s more like it.
Now that we have Setanta, thanks to the Virgin/Sky spat, I have watched Football and Rugby all day.
Which means I have turned over the control of TV viewing to the Housemates.
It seems fair and guarantees viewing for tomorrow!
At the moment we are watching Mrs Brown, to be followed by Bright Young Things.
That will have to go on after Match Of The Day though.
‘Air Miles Sassy’ is in France for 2 weeks so I have been texting her results throughout the day.
She managed NOT to piss her cats off before she left this time, which was nice!

This evening we have sampled the first of the Sleepy Mansions Chillies.
(They can be seen in the corner of the picture in yesterday’s post)
Christ they are hot.
Quite a few Scovilles in those spiteful little fuckers.
I had a tiny taste and the burn was hellish.
So bad, I dived straight in the fridge for yoghurt.
The yoghurt and sporadic green and blue bits but the heat was so bad I had a spoonful anyway.
Then half a pint of milk.

PS.. I didn’t see MOTD.

Blood,Gore And Beans

Today I’ve watched Hannibal Rising and Apocalypto.
Really enjoyed the first.
Hannibal is such a likeable killer somehow.
I was left totally knackered by the second.
All that fucking running.
Both were brutal but in such different ways. Apocalyto was the one than got a gag reflex from me though.
(The dead bodies when he makes it through the corn)
Why is it, when that happens, I pull whatever I’m wearing over my mouth and nose?
I definitely couldn’t smell anything and I would have been sick INSIDE my clothes if I had, so what’s that all about?
The other bit that made me cringe was him running with things in his mouth.
Made me feel quite queasy.
I’ve got a ‘thing’ about eyes and sharp things.
Luis Bunuel’s fault, completely.
In return he gave me another ‘thing’ about Catherine Deneuve.
For which I am most grateful.
She made 1985 pass quite quickly, with an underlying fear of blindness and the fires of hell.

Check these bad boys out!
The first crop of Sleepy Mansions Runner Beans!
They were beyond tasty.
Much effort, by one of the Housemates, went in to keeping the plants slug and snail free.
She got quite frightening and ‘genocidal’ in the methods of slaughter at one point.
The hard work SO paid off.

The King

So, Elvis has been dead for 30 years.
Eeeeesh!
Don’t worry, I’m not going to get all teary and wistful, but something hit me with a fucking great thwack today.

This is my thwack upside the head.
Can you remember when you were a kid, listening to your Mum talk about stuff that happened 25 years ago?
I’d think, ‘Fuck me! That’s longer than I’ve been alive, how the hell does she remember this shit and why?’
Well, I can remember something that happened 30 years ago.
I’ve turned into Her.
Thwack!
I’m fucking old!

What’s worse, it’s gone ‘dry’ again and has been for a few weeks.
This means that my memory is starting to work properly and I don’t fucking like it.
If it wasn’t ‘dry’ I would NOT instantly know I was alive when ‘The King’ had that last perch on the throne.
Usually, I’d have to remember what year I was born and see if the date came after that.
Today, horrifically, I could recall everything, instantly.

My Grandmother and ATM sat on the edge of a bed crying their eyes out.
Asking what was wrong, being told.
Then wondering what the fuck THEY were crying for.
Looking at my Grandfather, who rolled his eyes to Heaven, nodded at the door and got us the hell out of there.
He spent a lot of that day shaking his head and finding stuff for us to do outside the house.
He was my King that day.

I’m also convinced that more people know the words to an Elvis song than they do their National Anthem.
I know all the verses to an embarrassing number of his tunes.
I know one verse of G-d Save the Queen.

The Shame

My beloved Spurs are having a disastrous start to the season and lost again last night.
They are at the bottom of the league.
They spent millions on new players during the summer and it would appear not one of them is worth a toss.
I can see Jol the Orc being jobless in the not too distant future.
The fans won’t wear this shit for long.

As you know I am easily pissed off by adverts but, unusually, I find my self missing some.
What happened to the ads about the dangers of flying kites near power lines?
Or the cartoon Northern couple who sit on the beach waving at the drowning sailor.
My particular favourite would have to be the kid who could translate the strange noises of Charlie the cat.
“Miaow, Miaow, Growl, Miaow”
“Charlie says, Never go with strangers.”
Then Charlie would get a whole raw fish to eat.
A simpler time I suppose.
When was the last time you flew a kite?

While on the subject of a simpler time.
What songs are you slightly embarrassed to admit you like?
I’ll get the ball rolling with my top five cringers!

* Gypsy Woman - Don Williams
* Father To Son - Cat Stevens or anyone else who has covered it.
* Viva Forever - The Spice Girls
And the two absolute ‘hang your head in shamers’
* Two little Boys - Rolf Harris
* Puff The Magic Dragon

My Grandfather used to sing the last one to us until my Nan banned it because we’d cry so much when the boy died!
Lassie was banned for similar reasons as were certain episodes of Little House On The Prairie.
As for Watership Down, Jaysus! ATM had to remove us from the cinema after our wailing became too loud and was setting the other kids off.

Football, Boisterous Bovines And Meteor Showers

It’s back!
The football season started Saturday.
Thank all that’s Holy.
My summer depression has lifted!
My beloved Spurs were involved in the first match against Sunderland and lost in the 93rd minute.
On the whole the game was shite.
I can’t look at Martin Jol. If ever a man had a face for Middle Earth, it’s him. I can’t put my finger on what he looks like, but he looks like ‘something’.

Last night, armed with a bottle of wine and a torch, M, Jessie and I sat in the middle of a Wiltshire field and awaited the Perseid Meteor shower.
I had a joint and laid back to stare at the sky.
It was a bit early but I still saw the occasional streak of light.
Then, as it was almost pitch black, out of the gloom appeared a herd of boisterous bovines.
They charged us.

I was on my feet and using the trusty maglite torch, I turned Jedi Knight, swinging the beam of light at them as we headed for the gate.
They still kept coming and charged the moment we turned our backs.
Thank G-d I had listened to The Archers omnibus that morning.
William Grundy taught me how to cope with charging cows. (Well, The Agricultural Story Editor did!)
You stand your ground, apparently, and they stop. I took it a stage further and ran AT them, waving my arms and growling.
I’m a Taurean after all!
I still don’t know what the growling achieved but it helped me.
Not something I’d like to do again while stoned and half pissed!

To quote Hemingway:
‘Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter’s honour’.

Tagine, Ice And 5th

I cooked a meal today that involved a pomegranate.
In the words of Billie Holiday, it’s a Strange Fruit.
The recipe called for it to go in the cous cous, which I’m never sure how to prepare anyway. I do it a different way every time.
I have never had to open a pomegranate and there are no real instructions that come with the thing.
I tried to peel it, not very successfully. When I got in, it was full of seeds.
I used my ‘phone a friend’ option and discovered that the pips ARE the fruit.
Who knew?
The Lamb Tagine was yummers though.
Had no choice really, it was in the oven for seven and a half hours.

The news has been going on and on about the British tourists who were injured while on holiday in the Arctic.
The Fucking Arctic?!! Jaysus!
Self inflicted injury in my book.
A ‘bit’ fell off an iceberg, caused a wave and knocked the boat they were on about.
What the fuck are you doing spending your Summer holidays in the Arctic?
If that is your choice of destination, don’t be surprised when you encounter pieces of iceberg.
They grow there you tossers.

The 5th Element is on! So that’s your lot people!

Enough And Drama

I am now at the point that when the McCann’s are on the news, I mute it.
I also skip any article about them and their child in the paper.
I’m sick to death of the alleged ‘sightings’ and other bollocks.
I’d really like to know who is paying for the British police officers who are out there doing the job the Portuguese were supposed to have done months ago.
A British laboratory is going to be doing the analysis on the blood found in the apartment.
How the fuck was that missed?
Now, some nonce in Switzerland has shot someone and killed himself and police are claiming a link.
So, do all paedophiles know each other?
Like Yanks who presume that you know all their acquaintances in London.

My road has been a bit lively today.
This afternoon some drunken tosser let his dog off the lead and it was hit by a car. (She was fine, had a graze over her eye)
While I was checking out the dog his equally pissed up ‘mate’ was shouting abuse at the neighbours and kicking cars.
He lobbed bricks, from a house having building work, in to the middle of the road.
He then walked up to dog owner and shouted that he wanted his ‘fucking money in 5 days or his head would be fucking kicked in‘.
Charming.
The lady opposite Sassy phoned the police.
This was about 5.30pm, it’s now nearly 10pm and, as yet, they are a no show.
Which is encouraging.

Mmmm And The Art Of Reincarnation

It’s all going wrong in my washing machine.
My net curtains are in there!
I think I may have over done the Napisan.
Superb stuff to wash your whites in but fucking hectic if done three sheets to the wind.
I keep expecting to hear a bang and the lower floor start filling with foam.

I have had an easy day.
In fact, so mellow I surfed into http://www.ratemyturban.com/
Gave me a huge smile!
Sat opened mouthed at news from Tibet, where the Chinese government have ‘banned’ any form of reincarnation without ‘Official’ permission.
That actually repeated on me all day.

“I was thinking of reincarnating”
‘Have you filled in the forms?’
“Forms?”
‘Will this be your first reincarnation, or have you been before?’
‘I think this is about my 14th incarnation, if not more’.
“Have you the Visas from your previous visits?”
‘Ummmm’
“I think you’ll find that is Ohmmm…. Access denied…. Next”.

Schnee had a similar situation with Canada.
Except that revolved around qualifications and the use of “Eh”.

Birthday Girl

This is the Birthday Girl viewing one of her presents.
I tried to get her to expose her cueball head to the light. But she was having none of it!

You know, sometimes when you have those days when everything goes right and because it’s so perfect you put it down to a higher being?
I have had such a day today.
Everything was just perfect.
G-d’s hand must have played a part!
We, at Sleepy Mansions, celebrated Claire’s birthday.
Much grape has been consumed.
Red and White.
Weed has been involved too!
Animal flesh has been searing over lumpwood something or other.
Wood that’s already been burnt, basically.

This is his Crisp-e-ness. Fresh from London to enjoy the day with us!

He is my best 'Bald' Mate! In fact, he is my best mate regardless of follicle status!

I'm liking the Telly Savalas thing going on at his neck!

He won't thank me for pointing it out, at all!

This is Mrs Crisp-e!

She finds him funny! Just as well!

Then again, she can do Maths, which, in my Church would get you burned at the stake.

Fucking Witchcraft!

Mrs Crisp-e is exempt such trials, because she can do accounts!

Proper handy!

This is Mad Matt, The frighteningly dyslexic science teacher!

The Man who performs experiments that are just 'this' side of legal!
Basically, he is that science teacher we wanted, without the dementia.

Not Yet anyway!

A few more of these and maybe he'll be that science teacher your parents wanted sacked. Just because you had burn holes in your uniform!

If everything is all over the place..... That's because I'm pissed out of my mind! and will view this in the morning and not remember 'typing' it!

Taxis And Gambling

Last evening started bizarrely, as only a taxi ride in Pompey can.
The driver told me tales of nastiness that had happened to people who had tried to do a ‘runner’ on him. The bollocks kicked, the mouths punched, the tenners ripped from pockets, etc.
Stabbings of other drivers he had attended.
I was not looking particularly ‘Gypo’ or ‘Chav’ last night.
Both of which, I’m sure I can claim.
I refused to talk to him and made no effort, whatsoever, during the ride.
Just stared out of the window.

I won £36 last night plus I got my ten quid stake back!
The taxi guy on the way home was the business.
“Ello Lover, had a good night babe?”
Ahhh… Proper Pompey, I can cope with that.
“I’ve won 36 quid tonight!! Whoo Hoo!”
“’ave you babe!?? Blinder!
I’ve never won fuck all down there; Cunts!
Great night out though, innit?!”
You have to laugh at the total lack of effort to even try and be civilised!
And at the idea that the use of that word would be inoffensive to their ‘fare’.
Regardless of gender.
I spent my gambling winnings on weed, it seemed appropriate somehow.

This weekend is Claire’s birthday celebration.
The actual day is Sunday but birthdays can last up to a week here!
The ‘usual subjects’ and Claire’s family will be around.
Sassy & Crisp-e, we will raise a glass for you.

It has been a Scorchio day. Not a cloud in the sky.
This has been the view from my garden chair all day.
Brighton Pride is on, I guarantee there are some seriously sunburned people there!

Lists And Piss Takes

Today, The Times had a list of the 50 Greatest Sporting Insults. My favourite came 4th and was an exchange between Rod Marsh and Ian Botham.
“How’s your wife and MY kids?”
“The wife’s fine, the kids are retarded”.
That made me laugh out loud.
The Independent had a list of the Top 20 reasons men and women have sex.
With, ‘to get closer to G-d’, appearing often enough to warrant a mention. Which I find a tad disturbing. Were the Clergy polled?
I find any mention of G-d, apart from the shouting bit near the end, a bit of a passion killer.
Another paper had the list of Top Elvis songs.
It’s 30 years since he died, so brace yourselves.
The Daily Nazi has the poxiest ‘Summer Quiz’ ever. It takes about 2 minutes to do.
It’s August therefore No News?

Nobody seems to be all over that fact that George W. Bush is surprised that our Prime Minister isn’t a twat.
“He’s not a dour Scotsman!” and “He’s a Scotsman with a sense of humour”.
Hang On, Hang On; racial stereotyping, anyone?
Billy Connolly isn’t the only one. There is the cracking Frankie Boyle too!
I bet George was freaked that he didn’t arrive in a kilt and full battle wode.
I’m sure he could have dipped into a wealth of transsexual material.
At the press conference it appeared he was trying to stop himself jumping up and down shouting,
“He’s not a wanker!”

The Gift! Jaysus, the Gift.
If there’s a man more unsuited to a Bomber Jacket, you’d be hard pressed to look beyond Gordon Brown.
And a ‘Bomber Jacket’?
Are they taking the piss or what?
Next time you go Gordon, take a Sniper Rifle for the surviving Kennedy’s, or perhaps a replica of Tower Bridge for the people of Minneapolis?
They started it with the Ironic presents!
I’m thinking a “Break Glass In Case Of Emergency” thing with the condom in, for the Pope.
Some tar and feathers for the French?

I shall stop before I start to fully ’channel’ my Grandfather.
A great trip down memory lane for me but not entirely Politically Correct for the rest of the world.
I make no apologies for him; he was a product of a different time.
A time of Empire, stiff upper lips and joining the Army when the whole idea was to GET shot.
I’ll let you know how I get on at the dogs!

Filth, Tips And Dogs

Why is it that people think if they use a clean glass and drink water out of it, that it can go straight on the drainer for wiping up?
What special properties does water have that will render everyone immune to their germs and nastiness?
Pisses me right off.

Thankfully it rained today, so I excused myself railing scraping and did sweet FA all day.
I knocked up a curry for housemates but that was about it, nice, lazy and stoned.

Tomorrow night I’m going to the dogs.
Greyhound racing with the next door neighbours. I’d forgotten that the Chinese like a flutter until Mrs Next Door started going on about giving her tips.
It was after 2 ‘Pardons’ I realised she wasn’t saying Chips and got it into my head we were going to the casino and I had imagined the Greyhounds altogether.
Good Grass!
I’m shite as a Tipster anyway.
My method of choosing a greyhound goes along the lines of,

a) Does it look like Jessie?
b) Has it got a good name?

That’s it. No great science involved.
It’s the same with horses unless the Irish cousins text a tip.
Which have been conspicuous by their absence this Goodwood Week, I’d just like to add.
There are no grudges held over the Grand National tip!!
Honest guys!

Sassy is in the USA and I am feeding the feline equivalent of ’Hinge and Brackett’.
They have also been to the vet. Their greatest living joy. Not.

Sun, Stiffs And Spliffs

Sunset over Portsmouth from my attic room window.
Yep, that is the Spinnaker Tower on the right.
Or, ‘The Dick In The Dock‘, as it’s known around here.
Alternatively, The ‘reason my bastard council tax is so high’ Tower.

A big item on the news has to do with the programme showing a man’s demise from Alzheimer’s.
Yesterday everybody was up in arms that such a thing could be filmed.
It was disgusting, a disgrace, where was the dignity blah, blah, blah.
The film maker came forward to say, actually it wasn’t his last moment on earth, but his last conscious moment and ITV had got that bit wrong.
Now everyone is upset because they were “Lied” to and they are not going to watching someone die.
For fuck’s sake! Make your minds up you sick bastards.


These are the fruit of the Sleepy Mansions plum tree. I wish they’d stop now though, I’ve run out of things to do with them.

They've been baked, roasted, eaten as they are, chopped and slung in stuff, chopped in fruit salad and those that rotted on the tree are in the composter.

My Big little brother has been round this evening. We have had a good giggle. In my stoned state I paid more attention to how my cats use their personal door.

The Cat Flap.
Why do they approach it as if going through it will result in a trip to Narnia?
They do it several times a day and always appear surprised that they end up in the same garden.
They haven't been confronted with snow or Mr Tumnus yet.
Catnip must have more of an effect than I first thought.
It's got stronger.
My 'Fellah's' aren't used to this form of 'Skunk' catnip.
JAYSUS! They are schizophrenic!
They also get quadriplegic when using it.
Probably from the 'skunk' nature of the catnip.
Their front legs and head go through perfectly, then they drag the back half through like they are paralyzed or some some sort of Seal.

DIY Hell

An almost endless convoy of 4X4’s and People Carriers have arrived to pay homage to next door’s new arrival.
I don’t think the new parents have been too impressed by my railing scraping activities.
Windows were shut, with venom.

But when am I supposed to do it?
The new baby seems to cry all the time so I can’t be waking it up.
The gate has loads of curly bits on it which is taking forever and requires me to exchange skin from my knuckles for the paint.
A painstaking job, in every sense.
If I’m honest, Nitromors in a graze isn’t my most favourite activity with a sting.
I’m praying for rain, but the weather people cheerily inform me that August is going to be totally sunny and hot.
Which means no excuse not to do the frigging railings.

Had a groovy visit from Mad Matt this afternoon. He had hideous tales from Mayhem and I was so glad not to work there anymore.
Good to hear how people are doing though.
I am mashed, my back is killing me and my knees are a study in pain.
If I ever show signs of ‘DIY’ again people, stage an intervention.
Do whatever it takes to stop me.
Removing the wine from my vicinity is always a good start.

News, Stripping And Marrow

I think me and my paper ‘fugee are going to fall out, I’ve already had a bit of a shout.
He looked blank and nodded a lot.
The ‘Final’ of the local paper is out early afternoon.
I used to get it about 3.30pm.
It’s now regularly arriving at 7.30pm.
That’s too late.
To me, it’s old news by then and I don’t want to read it. I’m the same if someone reads it before me. I used to get ‘ragey’ about that.
It’s MY paper, I get to go first.
I’m a lot better since I started reading the national papers online.
But the one that comes through the door, is mine.

I’ve been back out at the railings.
Remember those?
The ones I started stripping months ago.
I can no longer use ‘shitty weather’ and ‘injury’ as an excuse not to do it.
Curses!
Thanks to Sassy the Stripper for her help today.
You need to see her in her yellow ‘marigolds’.
It’s a vision from G-d people, I’m telling you, a vision from G-d.

I’ve learned today, that cutting a marrow in half, is a two person job and if one is stoned, a three person endeavour.
There are hidden perils.
Like a wafer thin half and a fat fucker half.
It’s like that old recipe for Jugged Hare that begins,
“First, catch your Hare”.
Mmmmm.
Slightly more complicated than first anticipated.
Thus went my experience with Stuffed Marrow.
From raw they take fecking ages to bake.
Another surprise.
For something so full of water.
My Grandmother used to whip one up in minutes, or so it seemed.
This bastard was in there an hour and a half and still wasn’t quite done when I dished it up, but I was hungry.
I roasted it with plums from the tree (that I thought was an apple tree for 4 years) in the garden, they were lovely and sweet.

Lava And Recovery

Housemates and houseguests, I would just like to take this opportunity to remind you of the quirky, somewhat Heath Robinson, nature of our hot water and heating system.
When a person is in the shower and you turn a tap on in the kitchen, the nature of the shower water is transformed.
In fact it turns the water into something akin to Lava Flow.
If you flush the downstairs lavatory, Lava Flow.
If you put your laundry on, Lava Flow.
If you use the hose in the garden, Lava Flow.
You get the idea.
This morning my relaxing shower almost turned into a trip to fucking Odstock!
I won’t name names but you know who you are.
Grrrrr.

Sleepy Mansions played host to one of its notoriously debauched dinners last night.
Today I’ve had one of those weird hangovers.
The disembodied kind.
I didn’t feel sick, my head didn’t hurt but I felt like someone had kicked seven shades of shit out of me.
Paying particular attention to my ribs and lower back.
Made all the freakier by one of last nights guests sending me ‘phone pictures of Morris Dancers.
A fetish that she is obviously just feeling comfortable enough to come out about.

As part of my recovery, I have watched the film ‘Alexander’ this afternoon.
Not exactly what I’ve read about him, but enjoyable enough.
I can’t claim to be a huge Colin Farrell fan either, but does he look a total prick with blond hair?
Or is that just me?
At least I had Dexter to look forward to.
I know where I am with a serial killer.
Far more at home.

Caution

I think I’d just like to send a cautionary word to the people in Turkey and Egypt plus the two in California who have ended up at my blog by typing “Gril Fucker” in to their search engine.
If I can see what you are up to, so can the authorities.
I am, of course, presuming that this is because you have misspelled ‘Girl’.
You fucking sick bastards.
Funnily enough they end up at the post about Sassy’s Cats!

While on the subject of nonces, *Chris Langham.
The actor who is on trial for downloading kiddie porn and having a sexual relationship with a 14 year old.
He has been claiming that he only looked for ‘research’ purposes.
Yesterday in court he said that he was sexually abused as an eight year old when his family lived in Canada.
Doesn’t that kind of negate the need for ‘research’?
You’ve fucking lived it! You Nonce
He wept in the dock and said, ‘I’m not a paedophile’.
If you have sex with 14 year old, YES YOU ARE!
If you want to watch it online, YES YOU ARE!

Astronauts have been going into Space after a night on the piss.
Well, Wouldn’t you?
After Challenger spectacularly decorating the sky and the last one coming back with bits and fucking pieces hanging off it!
Just think about what you are sat on and how it’s propelling you into the universe.
I like a ‘Rush’ as much as the next man, but Fuck That!
You’d have to be on something.

Cousin M and I spent the day drinking tea, getting wrecked and watching films.
Most satisfactory.
I send apologies for getting Mr & Mrs Crisp-e out of their ‘hangover bed’ at the unholy hour of 11.40am, by ringing their doorbell insistently!
I hope you are both feeling much better!

Mr and Mrs Next Door have another little girl.
She cries.
Watch this space......

*Homophobes please note, He is heterosexual.

Floods And The Beyond

More flood irritation.
A new word seems to have entered our vocabulary.
It’s certainly entered mine.
Bowsers. Not even sure if that’s how you spell it.
These are the big blue water containers that are on the streets of those areas without any.
I have NEVER heard this word before and I’m sure I’m not the only one.
Now reporters are using it in nearly all their reports as if we should know exactly what they are talking about.
I thought they were supposed to inform AND educate us.
Here’s a word for you that needs no explanation,
Tossers.

My Great Grandmother ’saw’ things when her hands were in water and my Grandmother ’saw’ things in fire.
My paternal Great Grandmother was an Irish ‘Traveller’ and she ’knew’ stuff as well. But I didn’t know her well or long enough to find out how she picked up her information.
When I was ten I was rushed to hospital, from school, with a dodgy appendix and my Nan was there before the ambulance.
She had seen it in the fire.
I have what I call my ’feelings of dread’. It’s feels like a tennis ball of lead in the pit of my stomach.
Remember that feeling of being sat outside the Head’s office or waiting for parents to find out something naughty you have done?
It’s very similar to that.
The last ’dread’ feeling was when cousin Markus’s Granddad died.
Markus arrived 2 hours later and told me what had happened and the feeling went.
But I also have dreams.
Which for someone who sleeps as little as I do is rare!
I had a dream about my Aunt when she died, I saw her with blood around her mouth and later found out she died of a burst stomach ulcer.
I don’t claim to hear voices but I would be interested if anybody else has similar experiences.

Tats, Prats, And UFO's

I have decided to have another tattoo.
As with my others it has taken me a couple of years to choose the design that I’m going to have and where it is going to go on my person.
I also want to be the only person with the tattoo.
My first one, the guy who did it destroyed the design as soon as it was inked onto me and the second I designed myself.
I’m going to have to do the same with this one.

But, I need help.
For the life of me I can’t find the music for Mozart’s Great Mass anywhere online.
I can’t see it being covered by copyright after this long and I’ve lost my temper trying to find it.
Any help would be much appreciated.

A story in the Daily Nazi has left me incredulous and with a burning desire to get the fuck out of this country.
A young Mum was in a shop and her kid started having a tantrum because she wasn’t allowed sweets.
She picked the kid up and went back to her car. Sat her in there still screaming and carrying on and stood outside the car with her son.
The girl calmed down so she got in the car and off they went home.
The next day the Police were on her doorstep to give her a bollocking!
They told her it was ‘inappropriate to reprimand her in light of the Madeleine McCann case’.
Can you fucking believe that?
People bitch that kids don’t get enough discipline at home and when this woman tries to instil some in her kid, a fucking nosey do-gooder made a note of her number plate and called the filth.
The Police should get round to the person who complained and ask why they were taking such a CLOSE interest in a young family then do them for wasting their time.

Although, this story about UFO’s really caught my eye because ATM and I saw EXACTLY the same configuration of lights behaving the same way over her house in 1983!

Damp Gripes

This whole ‘Flood’ thing is starting to get right on my tits now.
One thing is doing it in particular.
Some fucking reporter finds some twat, who usually looks a chromosome short of a warthog, to show them round their ruined home.
They point out the fucked up plasma TV, stereo, computer etc, then turn with a seriously sad look on their face and say “… and unfortunately the Jones’ have no insurance”.
What?
Am I supposed to feel sorry for these pricks?
You manage to stump up the fucking monthly payments for the TV, (because sure as shit they didn’t buy it outright) then pay for some insurance you fucking tossers!
I find it hard to feel sorry for these people I’m afraid.

Last week I accidentally caught an episode of ‘Dexter’.
What a cracking show!
I absolutely love it and with the fervour of a convert I urge you all to watch it, if you haven’t already.
A serial killer working for the police is a clever premise.

Mrs Next Door is having her baby induced tomorrow.
Fucking great.
Another wailing brat for her to lose the plot with.

There were a few of these in the garden today.
I think it is a Comma.

Huntleys And Palmers

Channel 4 are showing a series of programmes relating to the repeal of the homosexuality laws 40 years ago.
Tonight the programme was called ‘A Very British Scandal’ and was centred around the trial of Peter Wildeblood, Lord Montagu and Michael Pitt-Rivers during the early 50’s.

It has left me fucking raging.
There were interviews with men who were young gay men at the time.
The stories they told were awful.
Police kicking in their doors, searching without warrants and arresting them.
Police Agent Provocateurs wanking in public toilets then beating and arresting THEM for gross indecency.
Young men arrested and blackmailed into ‘grassing’ up others.
At trial, when asked outright if he was a homosexual, Wildeblood answered that he was.
One of the very first to do so. Up until that point the Press were laying odds for an acquittal.
He got 18 months.

When I start my Church of The Latter Day Pissed Up Testicosticals he will be one of its Saints.
Along with all those poor bastards who committed suicide because of their prosecutions.
Incorporated into the prayers will be wishes that every copper involved in that shit burns in Hell.

One of the more amusing bits was during the dramatisation of the deliberations of The Wolfenden Committee.
Lord Wolfenden suggested, for the benefit of the ladies present, that homosexuals be referred to as Huntley’s and the prostitutes as Palmers after the biscuits that were on the table!

Royal Rain

Today it has pissed and pissed with rain.
Heavy sheets of it fell for about 10 hours.
I can’t remember seeing it fall so hard for so long but I’m sure it has.
Flooding across the Southern half of England has been horrendous.
Our turn to experience what the North has had the last two weeks.
The part of the River Avon that flows through the village, is running at 7ft.
It’s usually ankle deep!
There are massive logs and uprooted fence posts being washed along at a rate of knots.

Golf.
I hate fucking golf.
Is there a more pointless spectator sport in the world?
Perhaps snooker or chess.
The whole BBC2 programming day has been given over to this fucking boring ‘sport’.
As the late, great Linda Smith said, “Golf is something that gets people who should stay indoors, outdoors.”

The Queen has been out and about visiting in the pissing rain.
Western Super Mare got her today.
Everywhere she goes brats give her flowers, wouldn’t it be really shite if she had hay fever?
Her vacant look and fixed grin could be down to huge amounts of Piriton anti-histamine she throws down her neck.
That’s why she is driven everywhere and we never see her operating heavy machinery.
Poor bitch, at the age when most old dears are at home watching ‘Cash In The Attic’ she has to shlep around the country smiling and shaking hands with arseholes.
G-d love her.

Slapping

People who need slapping up side the head.

Anyone who calls their house Casa Mia, Dunroamin or a combination of their names such as Kenpat.
People who pay £500 for a ticket to hear Barbra Streisand wail, not only do they need their head slapping they need it looked at!
People who carry dogs in bags or ‘dress’ them up.
People who wear sandals and socks.
Tossers who name their children after whole football teams.
Victoria Beckham, in fact she can have one either side of her head!
Anyone who doesn’t pick up their dog’s crap.
Women who wear ballet pumps with anything other than a fucking tutu.

Does anybody else think it is a bad idea to piss off Russia?
Although, the statement from them that, ‘4 British diplomats have been declared Persona Non Grata’ made me chuckle.
It’s been ages since I’ve heard that term.

Six members of the Cabinet have ‘fessed up to smoking dope in their past.
So fucking what?
Why was this the lead item on the national news is beyond me.
Especially when the BBC have been found to be lying, cheating, robbing bastards.

Today is M’s birthday!
Happy Birthday Mate!

Emperors And Gripes

On Sunday the Emperor Dragonfly in M’s pond ‘hatched’.
It was amazing to see!
It has been living in there for 2 years as a really ugly, rampantly carnivorous nymph.
Now, it is one of the most gorgeous looking things that fly at this time of year.
In the photo it doesn't have it's vivid blue colour yet but it was only an hour or so old!
I saw two flying down by the river this afternoon and like to hope that one of them was ours!


A story in the Daily Nazi made me chuckle today. A bloke near Brighton discovers that he and one other neighbour are paying Council Tax at a higher rate than all the other neighbours. Band E while the others are band D.
Bugger that for a game of soldiers thinks this guy and complains at the unfairness of it. The council say, 'Ooh, you're right' and promptly puts UP the tax of all his neighbours!
I'm sure they fucking love him for that!
Another news item that caught my eye was about the funeral of a 55 stone woman. Her family were up in arms because they were charged for two burial plots.
Well, yeah!
She didn't fit in a normal sized hole for fuck's sake!

A couple of things I'm sick of hearing about.
The price of the new 'Harry Potter' book. It should be £17.99 but it can be had for £8.99 on Amazon.
Go to the library, it's fuck all!
It doesn't help that the latest film has just been released either.
I will admit that I've read the books but thank fuck this is the last one.
The other thing getting on my tits is Victoria Beckham.
I find myself screaming, 'So Fucking What?' at the TV.
The Septics are welcome to her and, frankly, fucking deserve the vacuous, vapid tart.

Jazz It Up

The Jazz Festival was absolutely spot on!
We caught the end of one band that were a mixture of jazz and blues.
Then settled into another venue to see a Canadian woman called Katja Gorrie.
She was extraordinarily skinny and looked frighteningly like Celine Dion with a blonde ‘Amy Winehouse’ bouffant.
We managed to cause offence AND get Shh-ed in the Conservative Club.
Some witch-y old tart called Julie Felix was actually singing Vietnam protest songs.
Fucking Vietnam! Get with the program woman!
Apparently, she opened for Bob Dylan at the Isle of Wight festival and if this was anything to go by, was still on the Acid trip.
I think it might be pertinent to just mention what Marlborough is like.
It’s fucking posh!
There are a lot of middle aged men in salmon coloured trousers, checked sports jackets and Sebago deck shoes.
These blokes also liked to play imaginary drums and piano.
Most freaky.
Dressing down for some of them is removing the tie from their usual suit and sticking some trainers on.
It was a nice day so there were a lot of varicose veins on display.

Hungry And Jazz

Housemate Claire and I often discuss who the definitive ‘Dr Who’ is. This usually goes with age.
Whoever was the Doctor when you were a kid is generally your ‘definitive’.
I grew up with Tom Baker as the Doctor and as it happens he was the best!
Then I started thinking about other things that define your childhood and ended up with the question,
‘Where the fuck has Biafra gone?’ In fact where the fuck was it in the first place?
My childhood ‘famine’ place was Ethiopia.
If we left anything on our plates ATM and the Grandmother would bang on about ’Starving Biafrians’.
I thought it was some made up species, like Vulcans or Klingons.
I have since witnessed my sister shouting at her kids about ’Starving Ethiopians’.
I wonder what her kids will be shouting at theirs.
‘You’re not leaving that, there are people starving in France’.
Actually, that’s a little fantasy of mine!

During the lunchtime news I found myself hoping that Victoria Beckham was epileptic.
All those camera flashes, someone should have dropped to the floor break dancing and swallowing their tongue.
If I see HER one more time it might be me.
I think it was the line, ’they arrived amid a carefully managed media frenzy’, that fucked me off.
How does that work then?
How do you have a ’managed frenzy’?

I am in Wiltshire this weekend.
It’s the Marlborough Jazz Festival! A brilliant day spent drinking around different venues in Marlborough town centre, listening to jazz music from around the world.
I’ll gen you all up on Sunday, hopefully with photos.

Cactus And Cleaners

Every now and then I get one of those emails that go around.
Read the questions, delete the ones already there, put yours in and send it on.
One of the questions that always seems to come up is, ‘favourite flower?’
My answer is always ‘the cactus in my bathroom that occasionally flowers’.
It appears to be one of those occasions.
It just sits there for years on end not appearing to be up to much, then all of a sudden,
“TA DA!”
It gets my grin on EVERY time I see it!


I have finished series 2 of ‘Shameless’!
I haven’t laughed as much in ages. I have series 3, 4 and 5 to go as well, because of all that Sky/Virgin bollocks it’s one of those ‘on demand’ deals I get for not going over to Sky.
Well worth losing Bones for!

The bits I recognise from growing up are SO real and extremely well done.
Moving the pissed up Dad’s body out of the way so the rest of the family can enjoy the day, really resonated!
Finding him passed out in the pub.
Finding him battered in the pub.
Finding him unconscious in the street.
Hiding pocket money, birthday money any money really.
Hiding from debt collectors.
Fights with the neighbours, who hated him!
Him disappearing for days at a time playing cards
BUT
Christ, did we laugh!
He said the funniest things.
He never hit us.
We were hugged and told we were loved.
We had the loudest parties, with raucous singing.
And of course, as he often slurred at us,
He’d die for ‘every fucking, pain in the arse, bastard one of us‘.
Bless him!
I loved going to my Dad’s, got me away from the Rapist and the Nutter.
At my Dad’s I wasn’t ‘Weird’ or ‘Hyperactive’, I just fitted in.
“There’s nothing wrong with you Babe, you’re just one of us! Your Mother’s lot can’t cope with that! It’s like sheep trying to raise a wolf!”

Mrs Next Door is now noticeably pregnant and she’s got a cleaner,
‘Just ‘til the baby comes’.
All well and good.
I’ve seen the cleaner three times now and each time she is cleaning the outside of the kitchen windows.
In four years of neighbour-ness I have NEVER seen Mrs Next Door clean the windows.
Ever.
Being my Father’s daughter I can immediately see the problem with this scenario and hear his voice clearly,
“Easy Babe!
You’re going to have to stop her doing that. Himself* will notice and YOU’LL have to do it when he stops the cleaner.
Are you fucking mental? Making work for yourself.”


*In Dad’s head that would be the ‘lazy, useless twat that has got himself tucked up with my girl. She’s TOO fucking good for him. C**T!’
Reverse the gender and it works the same for my brother.

Bitches And Itches

Sassy has done me proud!
While out East on the ‘Fear and Loathing with The Business School’ trip, she has managed to get hold of a sooper dooper dock/speaker affair for John the ipod.
I knew I’d be on a winner, Sassy is an A1 shopper and failing that will find someone who is.
Her cats, on the other hand, are bitches.
One or both has gone Bulimic on me.
Fucking binge eating then puking in protest at having ME feed them.
Fuckers.
Avoided the horror of standing in it, unlike last time.
All under control though Sassy. By the way, I’ve nicked the butter out of your fridge.
Was mid food prep when I realised we had none!

All adverts that begin with the question,
“Itching?”
Then go on to try and sell you a product with a name that is vaguely genital, vaguely medical, should be fucking banned.
I hate them.
BATHE, you dirty, skanky bitches.
Jeez!
Smearing cream on your festering Minge is not going to help.
Other than to provide a perfect growing medium for all manner of assorted nastiness.
Soap and water does the trick. If not, go to the fucking doctor.
The same with any product that needs to be within a metre of your arsehole with an ‘applicator’.
We don’t need to know.
These are not impulse buys. This is specialist shit.
Advertising is supposed to make us WANT stuff we don’t NEED.
I really don’t NEED an itchy ring and I certainly don’t WANT a fanny that requires treatment.

Trash Tree

I’m glad I left the house today.
There is a park at the bottom of the road and someone has started a Trash Tree!
My sister started a Shoe Tree at one of her many addresses and somebody did a Jumble Tree at another.
It only takes one pair of fucked up trainers or a jumper and others will join it, stealthily but relentlessly.
As you can see, this is going to be a Kitchen Appliance Tree.
It could get exciting, but I fear they are a little too far up their own arses round here to get in on the fun.
There are plenty of students though and this should be right up their street.
In certain areas of the city there would be a fridge and a microwave by morning.

Sassy's Grils

Having a mooch through The Sunday Nazi I saw the headline,
‘The Secret Miss England Kept From Her Rivals’.
I was mentally rubbing my hands together and started thinking about what would be a “shock” at one of these events.
‘I bet it’s a cock!’ I thought.
It had to be.
Talk about an anti-climax.
She was deaf I one ear.
One fucking ear!?
Most disappointing.
She could have said she had three nipples, dreadlocked pubes or extra toes, something interesting.
Mutt and Jeff in one ear is pretty piss poor as far as freak status goes.
For me, anyway.

Sassy is away in the East and true to form, she pissed her cats off before leaving them in my care.
She does it so they are all bitter and twisted with ME but love HER to bits when she returns.
It’s sick.
Last time it was the feline horror that is Frontline flea treatment, this time she had their claws trimmed.
At the vet.
A brace of fucked off, middle aged, female cats.
Oh Joy!
The Sassy one insists that her ‘Grils’ are lovely.
The same as parents of monster children do.
(“Oh, He looks like an Angel when he is asleep”
Yeah? Fucking more so after you lift the pillow from his face.)
I have yet to see any evidence of this and it has been a number of years.
The ‘Nice One’ bit me in excitement as I was trying to feed it!
Purred and rubbed, purred and rubbed, then teeth in the leg!
Human Scream of,
“FUCKER!”
Quick reminder to self that it’s not my cat and I CAN’T kill it.
Purr and Rub, Purr and Rub.
If she were a human female, she’s the bitch who would scratch your back knowing it would drop you in the shit with the ‘other half’!
This, it has been pointed out, could be ‘cat sex’ and thinking back, I’ve had some humans as mental as that.
It’s Karma.
The bitterness of all my one night stands and those I never called back, live in Sassy’s Cats.
Don’t fuck with the ‘power’ people, it will find a way to bite you in the arse, subtly, and through your bestest mates.

Seven

Today is the 7th of the 7th 07.
Seven is seen by many traditions as a special or magical number.
So today I’ve been thinking about 7’s and here’s everything that I can come up with, off the top of my stoned head.
I’m sure there will be loads if I can be arsed to check.

G-d rested on the seventh day.
7 is neutral pH and the atomic number of Nitrogen.
Seven Hills of Rome.
7 Dwarves.
Seven Wonders of the World.
7 Deadly Sins.
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers!
7 Sacraments in the Catholic Church.
Seven notes in the Western musical scale.
The Magnificent Seven.
7 sides of a fifty pence coin.
Seven Heavens in Islamic tradition.
7 days in a week.
Seven ages of man.
7 colours in the rainbow.
Seven’s, is the name of a card game the Grandfather taught us.
The Secret Seven books by Enid Blyton.
Seven Samurai by Akira Kurosawa.
7-Eleven.
Seven of Nine. Mmmmm..
7 seas.
Seven Sisters. Stars and the tube station.
7 Chakras.
Seven branches on a Menorah.
7 bones in your neck.
Seven Virtues.
There is no M7 motorway in England.

Friday Night, Saturday Morning

I have been out for a drink with the ‘Girls’.
They all still work at Mayhem or are just about to leave.
One I’ve shagged, one I’ve snogged and one I know wears a padded bra, is a shit kisser and definitely doesn‘t have a tattoo where she says she does.
The other three I haven’t touched!
It could have been awkward but it wasn’t.
Amazingly.
It’s also the first time I’ve been out since the smoking ban.
Pubs smell funny but the gardens smell normal.
Weird.
The ban also pushes pissed up loonies into the ‘mainstream’ of Friday night, Albert Road life.
Whereas they used to be contained inside a pub and didn‘t bother anyone, now they are out, talking shit to ‘passers by’.
I walked past one bloke, staggering around his own leg, who said,
“There are only two things that love you in this world. Your Mum and Your Dog. Remember that”.
It was completely random but I told him I would.

Women’s fashion seems to have taken a turn for the worse.
Most girls are either, wearing stuff that an Aunt had as wall paper during the power cuts, or look like photos of ATM during the 70’s.
Both, fucking hideous.
Friday night Men’s fashion hasn’t changed.
There is the ‘builder and plasterer’ chic.
Blokes in Hi-Vis jackets who have been in the pub since 2 that afternoon and there are ‘The Lads’.
The Lads have on good clothes, gelled hair and are highly fragrant.
Something with one name for both, clobber and aftershave.
By the end of the night one of them and one of those covered in dust and rubble will be fighting.
Some blonde girl, with dark roots, will be shouting,
“Leave it *Wayne/Tyrone/Lloyd/Kev/Steve”
(*delete as appropriate)

There are some big birds out there too.
Large girls in crop tops, who say such delightful things as,
“Are you looking at my fuckin’ stretch marks?”
Heaven forefend.
The top made of Cargo netting had drawn my eye long before that, but thanks for pointing out the fake tanned “Gunt“.
I might have missed it otherwise.
Almost put me off my vodka and pushed me in an Oedipal direction, regarding my eyesight.
I came home instead.
I needed a slash and I wasn’t using the toilets there, I didn’t want an opportunity to be caught alone with any of the aforementioned ‘snog-ee‘s‘!

Now, I’m awake. The booze and chemical cosh has not worked.
Time for Nina.
I’ve had 200 micrograms of Temgesic, 20mg of Temazepam and two bottles of wine.
Nothing!

Jazzed

George Melly is dead. Another great character has gone.
I can remember seeing him on TV as a kid. I fell in love with his hats first, then his amazingly outrageous suits and open bisexuality.
My Grandfather wasn’t keen on Jazz and hardly any was played in the house.
He certainly wasn’t too keen on George; “Bloody Shirtlifter!” seemed to be his considered opinion.
The Grandfather’s thoughts on jazz were not much better,
‘5 people on a stage all playing a different tune. It’s bloody noise, NOISE!”
Something about the discordant element of it has always appealed to me.
Especially as it appeared to get on his tits SO much! He never stopped me listening to it though. He would stomp around, grimacing every now and then and saying, ‘Jesus’, through gritted teeth.

George was diagnosed with dementia and then lung cancer. He refused treatment for the cancer and said that, as a Surrealist he found dementia ‘entertaining and appropriate’.
What a brilliant attitude to have.
He’s dead at 80.
A man who lived the width of his life as well as the length of it.
I hope Bessie Smith is singing at the gates, if and when he arrives.
Thanks George.
Thanks for the Bessie Smith in my collection and my array of hats.

Yesterday I watched the whole of the first series of ‘Shameless’.
Today I’m getting stuck into series two.
Absolutely cracking show! I recognise a little bit too much of my Dad though.
Right.
Scatter!

Conversations

The fear of running out of cigarettes at some unholy hour in the morning drove me out of the house this evening.
Every time I go out, I become more aware of why I should stay indoors.
In the Indian shop I pointed at the three shitty bottles of wine that were on offer and asked if there was anything else.
“We don’t have” he said.
“You don’t have what?”
“Wine! No Wine”
I gestured to the rows and rows of it in front of me and told him
I begged to differ!
“No Wine!”
I then went all ‘English’ and started shouting,
“Offer? Wine offer?” OFF -ER?”
“No wine!” he insisted.
I gave up and went to Threshers.

“I want 2 for a Tenner” I told the foetus behind the counter.
“We’re doing buy 2 get one free” he smiled.
“I want 2 for a Tenner”
“Um.. What you’ll have to do is check the prices for £4.99 bottles….”
I stopped him.
“That is Maths. I don’t do Maths. I want two white and one red, do your stuff”.
I went and waited at the counter while he walked the shop. He didn’t know what to do so he chose my wine and made sure I got three for a Tenner!
When I asked for the king sized rizlas he looked at me and smiled with understanding.
“It was too hectic mate!” I said
“S’ok” he said, “We’re sent on courses”.

All the way home I was wondering how that one comes through from head office.

Dear Colleagues,

There are still places left on next months training course,
“The Stoned and Bewildered - How to choose for them and get them out before they a) Whitey or b) Become incontinent”.

I can imagine the clamour to get on that one!

I bumped into Sassy on the way back home.
“Fucking hell of a day! Fucking Work! I’m going to get myself a curry!”
There’s no real reply to that except,
“Nice one”.
I also warned her away from the Indian shop.

Claire had her second lot of chemo today. She saw the consultant yesterday and it seems to be doing its job because the tumour is shrinking.
Excellent news!
Six more to go.

Perchance To Dream

Sleep is elusive.
I’m just on the brink then, BAM! Awakeness.
I thought listening to Vivaldi’s ‘Gloria’ would be soothing. The tune, not his girlfriend. Although…
Is it buggery! Somehow it led to Bells Whisky, (all that is in the house) and perfect lip-synching with the ipod.
I have a sickness, According to ATM, that is.
So, there is no medical basis to her diagnoses, Or to her assertion that I am the spawn of Satan.
At 14, if you reply, “Well, you fucked him Mother” you get a punch in the mouth!
A great one for a reasoned argument is ATM.
I love to lie on the floor, in the dark with headphones on, listening to music.
That is my illness!

That’s what I’ve been doing for the two and a half hours.
Dario G’s, Carnaval Du Paris, has got to be one of THE most cheerful pieces of music ever! I’ve bounced around to that and ‘P.I.M.P,’ fucking love that tune!
I’m slowing down with Nina Simone; ‘Let It Be Me’ has had a couple of goes.
Anything by Nina is wicked for chilling out to.
There is something weird about having headphones on in the dark.
One: If feels like the ground is moving under you and
Two: You hear whispers and can easily convince yourself someone has broken in.
I’ve just put Tamia’s ‘Stranger in my House’ on just to really freak myself out!
That’s it, Bells makes me paranoid. Knocking that on the head!
Off for a dance about.

Dreams, Lies And Dies

The attendance at my ‘Mopping The Fucking Floor’ inset was piss poor.
‘Fuck You‘, seemed to be the general consensus, so I knew when I was beat and left it alone.

Sue Barker’s dream has sort of come true.
Sue, Martina at a desk and who was on the end. Yep, Billie Jean!
Gave us all a chuckle at Sleepy Mansions.
This also means that it’s pissing down in London. They’ve even had fucking Hail, and its heading this way.

I’m a bit worried about this ‘renewed’ Terrorist threat.
Something is not quite sitting right with me.
Nothing I can put my finger on, a bit like being in the Protestant church on Sunday.
It all seems a tad too convenient.
New ’Scottish’ PM.
Scottish police ask for special powers of arrest.
And get them.
Mmm.. Thought that shit went through parliament first?
Was debated, punted up to the Lords, debated there, back down.
No?
I wonder how many Black and Asian doctors have cancelled their holidays abroad in the last few days.
There are going to be some last minute captures out there for some people.
Sorry. I only did a history degree. Doesn’t prepare one for very much.
Marx and unemployment, basically.
It may also have something to do with surfing into the film, V For Vendetta last night.

Saw Cousin Marcus today.
His Grandfather died this morning and he’s pretty cut up.
He had been sat with him, day and night, for days. M went home for a shower and he died.
I managed to convince him that his Grandad had waited until he’d gone and he left a little bit calmer.
Marcus, like me, was brought up with, and by, his Mum’s parents. He was very close to his Grandad.
It brought up all my ‘Grandfather’ feelings and we had a cuddle and a cry.
Then we had a smoke.
Sorted.

Protest And Party

Housemates. I will be running a Bucket and Mop training session tomorrow evening.
Attendance IS compulsory.
You will learn the art of blending various dribbles of ‘Flash’ products with ‘own brand’ products.
Sponsored by the Waitrose and Asda BOGOF offers.
Mop wringing with Vileda and Weider.
You know how to put the kettle on so we can dispense with the ‘Hot Water’ part of the training.
But, this can be added on request.
I will expect you in the kitchen 7.30pm, sharp. No excuses.
Thank you.

Claire shaved her head this evening. Grade one all over.
Her hair has started coming out in clumps so she has made the decision to get rid of the lot.
Her choice. Not the chemo’s.
Her head is very cue ball like at the moment. It’ll blend in if we ever have any sun this ’summer’!
She has accumulated a vast array of hats and scarves and I think I may have a trip down to the joke shop tomorrow for a mega wig.

Sassy has found her 'home entertaining' mojo!
Another party is in the offing.
Whoo Hoo!
She suggested an (Ironic) Diana theme but it has morphed into a ‘Come As A Royal’ party.
Much planning is occurring in Sleepy Mansions. We have a Mary, Queen of Scots, a Catherine the Great and a Marie Antoinette so far.
I’m seeing Robbie as the Tsar!
I'm just trying to get my face right!
Sassy and I have both expressed a desire to see Mrs Crisp-e as ‘Queeny’ from Blackadder!
Crisp-e, you have SO got to make this happen for us!

Shouting Prods

THIS WHOLE POST HAS BEEN REMOVED AFTER A SOLICITORS LETTER.

ACCORDING TO MY LEGAL REPRESENTATIVE (On whom I spent NO money!), I DID NOTHING WRONG BUT PEOPLE POSTING DID.

IT APPEARS YOUR POSTS HIT A NERVE!

PERHAPS THE PARTY INVOLVED WILL THINK ABOUT THE IMPACT OF HIS BEHAVIOUR IN FUTURE.

From the letter it would appear that the quoting of Shariah Law is a worry.

I have to admit to being amused beyond measure by all of this!
I love the interwebs!