Bat Shit

Today Housemate Pat and I struck the language barrier over laundry.
For some reason she washes EVERYTHING on the hand wash cycle.
This means the machine goes into error mode on the spin because everything is too fecking heavy.
I tried to explain it to her this morning.
“What about Bat Shit?” she said
‘Bat Shit? How do you get bat shit on yourself?’
“No, Bat Shit upstair in my room.”
Total panic.
‘There’s bat shit in your room? Where the fuck is bat shit coming from?’
When she said,
“I SLEEP in Bat Shit” I got what she was on about.
Bed Sheets!
Managing a straight face,
‘Are they satin or silk?’ I enquired.
It turns out they are cotton and have no fucking business on a hand wash.
So far she has managed to block the kitchen sink so that it bubbles back noodles and bean sprouts rendering it unusable, flood the bathroom and is on her way to sending the washer into a breakdown.
Eeesh.
Housemate Claire, who has been here nearly four years, hasn’t even broken a glass!

When it was bearable I was out in the garden.
Check out this mutant radish! One between two I think.
After reading that Squash can be trained to climb, I attached an old bike wheel to the wall (Recycling! Boom Boom!) and set them on their way.
I’m pretty pleased with their progress.

I nearly forgot this! Isn't it just brilliant!

After The Weekend

To say that I ‘bashed the granny’ out of this weekend would be a slight understatement.
It was positively caned!
Saturday the Usual Suspects were gathered to eat, booze and see Schnee and Kev while they visit from Canada.
My Big little brother, failing to learn from past lessons, tried to ‘medicine’ me.
Silly, silly lad!
After the sixth E the boy knew he was beaten!
Although, I was impressed with his capacity for Vodka.
It definitely runs in the family.

Sunday I had a lovely gentle day with Schnee and her family.
The Grandkids are an absolute delight and a joy to be around.
Gorgeous and well behaved.
Spot on.

I ended up watching Wimbledon today, specifically Andy Murray.
I’m not a great fan of tennis having been put off by ATM in my childhood.
When we got home from school during Wimbledon fortnight, the curtains would be drawn, ATM would be sat in front of the TV and there would be 70p on the shelf in the hall with the instruction, “Go to the chip shop”.
For a fortnight my sister and I lived off chips and curry sauce.
We would have killed for a Turkey Twizzler!
The up side was that it was a good time to get her to sign stuff you didn’t want read too closely, like report cards and detention permission slips!

Apparently it is going to be one of the hottest days of the year tomorrow, so I’m seeing a day in the garden in my future.

Tuesday June 24th

I was woken up in one of the worst possible ways this morning and after a piffling one hour and ten minutes of sleep.
Kenneth the gobshite, freeloading, fucker of a feline not only sneezed full in my fecking face but straight in my open mouth.

That’s when I debunked a theory.
Cats DO NOT always land on their feet, especially if they become reacquainted with the floor via partial ceiling and a wall.
After launching him I fled, open mouthed, to brush my teeth and gargle.
I haven’t been overly friendly to the little ponce today and he has stayed right out of my way.
Which was good because I had a bit of a ‘moment’ with some secateurs.
‘Lightly prune apple trees’ said my book of garden everything.
Well, all I can say is thank Christ I’m not a hairdresser!
The apple has had the tree equivalent of a bowl cut and I don’t think it’s happy.

I spent the whole day outdoors and am a little bit sunburned.
It wasn’t that hot at 8am but by midday it was Scorchio.
Unfortunately, by noon I was covered in all manner of creatures, dirt, compost and shite; any attempt at applying sunscreen would have resulted in a hideous Black and White Minstrel homage.
I’m sure the tops of my ears can actually be seen on Google Earth!
Housemate Claire caught it a little bit worse and is an attractive lobster/magenta colour.
She assures me she’ll be back to white tomorrow without any hint that her Melanin has been troubled.
While I, on the other hand, fully expect to breakfast with a walking blister.

A Smiley Day

This morning I didn’t mind being woken up!
Schnee and Kev were on my doorstep safe and sound from Canada.
Troops, gird your loins for the weekend.
We are partying.

Sassy and I ventured down to Waitrose, with a stop at WHSmith.
She is a terrible influence, on top of the 5 books that are in the queue to be read, I now have two more.
So, using that ‘secret gay serum’ that the Right Wing are convinced we all possess, I made her buy a toolbox!
More disturbingly, she is really happy with it.
I’ll have her discussing power tools in the most reverent tones before she knows it.

The Sleepy Mansions Urban Allotment is starting to serve its purpose.
I pulled some rhubarb, just enough for one, so Sassy has had that.
Then this evening, Mrs Next Door without the Kids leant over the wall holding out a bowl and asked for some Rocket Leaves.
Excellent!
Sassy also has three nice big flower beds that were doing nothing.
One is now home to three tomato plants and two more will house courgettes!

Check this out.
Elle magazine of all places.

On A Sunday

At 3 ‘o’ clock this morning TP and I were out and about on the seafront.
We were armed with a flask full of hot chocolate mixed with Baileys Irish Cream and some Cadbury’s chocolate fingers!
The reason was Sooper Steph and Hardcore Helen were doing a midnight walk.
The cause is close to my heart and it was booked out before I could get on it.
So this was my tiny contribution by way of support.


I’ve spent much of my day out in the garden.
But I also had an urge to put some good clobber on. Not spend the day as a total slob.
It’s Sunday after all.
So I’ve hand cut the grass in a Dior shirt with gold cufflinks, Old Navy jeans and Timberland boots.
As my Grandmother would say,
“We have standards Darling!”


I thought this might be of interest.
Somebody in Oslo got to my blog by typing “Fuck Gril UK deaf” into google.
My thought was, if you are looking for a deaf Girl does nationality really matter?
Then there is the person from Carol Stream, Illinois who got here by searching for “Spiders and Storms”.
It made me laugh because I can’t believe there is a place called Carol Stream.
Carol Stream is a lady your Mum works with!
Another that caught my eye is from some nonce at the National Engineering Services in Riyadh.
In a country that stones women for wearing the ‘wrong’ clothes some delightful son of Allah searched for “Give your Sester (sic) a Fuck”.
Nice to see Sharia law is on top of those little perversions!
They all end up at my post about Sassy’s cats! Which involves no porn, incest or deaf sex whatsoever.
As I have warned before, any searches for kiddie porn goes straight to a police website; so search on ‘Gril Fuckers’!


I have cheered myself hoarse for Spain, as I did for Russia yesterday.
Germany versus Turkey on Wednesday.

Come on the Turks!
Even Crisp-e can’t bring himself to support the Hun.




Check out the Hungarian Black Chilli!
It's doing its thang!

Miffed

I had so much I wanted to say.
Much bitchiness to get off my chest.
But this just tops everything.
I live with slovenly sluts.
Yes. I wrote the note and No, I'm not ashamed.

A Trip With The Doctor

I accompanied Sassy deep into Bandit Country as we ventured to Currys.
(Bandit Country is the area of this town I’m most likely to bump into ex pupils or family.)
We were greeted by a bewildering array of televisions and I was really glad I didn’t have to choose.
The moment of pure gold came after the choosing.
At the checkout.
Personal information is entered on the till which then prints all the guarantee bollocks.
“Miss, Ms or Mrs?” asked the granddaughter of Midas.
“It’s Dr.” replied the Sassy One.
I couldn’t stop the grin or try and hide it, especially since I could see the screen and that option was fecking offered!
As we stood waiting Sassy looked at me and said
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Yes you fucking should! You worked hard for that! And, a bloke would have”.

The fun and games began when we unpacked it.
The lead for the mains power was one of those two pronged affairs that works in Singapore and the US but is as useful as tits on a Nun here.
Sassy ‘phoned Currys and was told to bring it back, which she did and was furnished with a good old English three pronged plug.
There were still problems.
No connection with the satellite signal.
The Sky people were contacted and informed us a scart lead was needed.
This was not provided.
Housemate Claire to the rescue with her box of leads and stuff!
Still no joy.
Sassy’s not a happy camper and in her considered, doctorial opinion Currys are cunts.
You can’t argue with an education like that!

Last episode of Boston Legal tonight.
Am bereft until next year.
Road Trip anyone?

Train From Wiltshire

The trip home from Wiltshire was hideous.
Instant frigging Karma.
Bibles may offer an ideal emergency Rizla but there are repercussions.
As always, three coaches for about 400 people.
I had chosen this particular train because there were no changes and it was only an hour and nine minutes, not too long to stand.

I managed to squeeze into a seat opposite a strange, spotty boy reading Derren Brown, ‘Tricks of the Mind’ and a rotund bearded man who stared at me a lot.
Maybe the boy had been working his ‘magic’ but I was glad when they both got off.
My ticket was checked and I was told I was going to have to get off 3 stops from home and get a bus.
Adding another smoke free hour to my trip.
Fucking great!

G-d knows I hate the Loser Cruiser with a passion so I’m sure s/he chose this as my ironic slap on the legs.
Then I thought, ‘TP passes the station on the way home from work’
Sleepy you fecking genius!
A text was launched in to the ether.
G-d was way ahead of me.
Tuesday = Day Off for TP!

As I sat fuming and convincing myself that a shout of “Flame On!” would probably work and I could fly home, a particularly attractive lady got on and sat opposite me. She perked me up a bit.
TP, being a fecking trooper text back and offered a lift anyway.
That’s when the lady opposite found out about the bus and went into a “I’m going to be late for work” panic.
So, before G-d could put the kibosh on my plans I offered her a lift.
A good deed!
While waiting outside the station I met Loony Loocie The Nightmare Ex Neighbour.
(During her mental breakdown she told all the neighbours that I had attacked her and all sorts!)
She was still with us when the lift arrived.
I sighed at G-d and thought, “Ok, Ok. I get it” and offered her a lift home too.

Train To Wiltshire

I’m in Wiltshire for a couple of days which meant that I had to catch the Cardiff train.
I’ve bitched about this train before, really busy service so they only put three coaches.
As you all know I’m not actually the most social of people, especially with ‘the public’.
I’ve discovered a great way of keeping other passengers away from me and more importantly, from talking to me.

I took the cover of a Gideon bible I liberated from a hotel
(The pages are brilliant in case of dire Rizla emergencies. I’ve smoked the whole of St Paul. Wanker. But I digress) and put it over the book I’m reading!
Not a Fecker would sit anywhere near me, even the couple who had actually booked the seats looked and moved on!
It works even better than smiling manically and patting the seat next to you.

I’ll catch up in a few days.

June Eleventh

The fucking window cleaners woke me up yet again!
The closed curtains must still be too subtle a hint.
I asked how much.
“A fiver babe”
‘What? It was four quid last time’
“Yeah, it’s gone up. I told you last time”
‘No you fucking didn’t. Last time you were bullshitting me that you ran a monthly service when I hadn’t seen you for 3!’
He tried to stare me out.
Can you believe it?
Fool.
I had been awake under two minutes, didn’t have my specs on and used to have ‘Staring’ competitions with the sister when we were grounded.
He looked away first.
‘So, it’s 4 quid this time and five when I see you in three months’.
“It’s a monthly service” he insisted.
I shook my head and said,
‘Let’s not get started on that one again’.
I made sure I gave him a 5 pound note AND waited for the change.
Knob.

I haven’t spoken to my sister in nearly six years over the theft of £5000
Check out Prince Jefri!
Are you really ‘on the run’ if you have £3 billion? And just how pissed off is his brother?!
I’m bitter and twisted about five grand but would never take it near a court.
Just cut them out of my life.
I have learned from it though, never again will I fall out with someone over money.
The loss of money is nothing.

I surfed in to this last night and as an experiment put all the sweeties I wanted in the basket.
Over £65!
I don’t fecking think so.

June Tenth

Check it out!
One of the MANY baby newts that are sharing my Bucket Pond with the tadpoles.
Annie the Frog has reappeared and I’m delighted.
She better start tucking herself into the fucking slugs pretty swiftish!
Apparently they don't like slithering over crushed shell.
I'm going to crush up the shells of the snails I've dispatched and use them.
I thought they also might serve as a sinister warning to those still living and munching in the garden.
Bastards.

Spare a thought for the Sassy one.
While on a trip to our nation’s capital, some fucker stole her bag.
Fortunately it was her overnight bag; they got away with her ipod, sunglasses and from her description some underwear that was so rank in nature it had no business travelling home anyway!
Even on Network South!
Although, I do have an image in my head of an overweight, hirsute, Eastern European bloke, prancing around in front of a mirror in Sassy’s “Little bit of ‘lastic and her little bit of lace”!

Today I discovered if you put my name in to a Facebook search it becomes immediately apparent that I am totally the wrong colour for my name.
I have Race Dysphoria! I'm trapped in the wrong skin tone!

Questions

Where have all the Proper Pikey’s gone?
Not those who want to tarmac your drive or buy any ‘scrap’ gold you may have.
(Scrap gold? Whoever heard of such a thing?)
I mean the ones who used to knock the door and ask if you needed knives or scissors sharpening. I had to teach myself how to get an edge on garden shears from the interwebs.
Most dangerous it was.

Many, many things are sprouting in the Sleepy Mansions Urban Allotment.
Self seeded tomato plants are springing up all over the place.
I leave them until they are about 5 inches tall then stick them in a pot.
It feels wrong just to uck ‘em out when they have fought so hard to survive.
There is also an element of Darwinism in their selection.
A wide variety of toms have been eaten by this house, and composted, so I’m hoping for a bit of variety in the seedlings.
If you visit, expect to leave with one.

The best exchange of the day happened to the Tame Pharmacist.
A customer came in with a walking stick and a limp.
TP enquired as to the problem and was told that although the foot was injured, the problem was dental.
A joke was made along the lines of, ‘Oh, the top and the bottom’,
To which the customer replied,
“Yeah! Face, Feet and Fanny… They all go when you’re Fifty!”
Cracker!

Today my Grandmother would have celebrated her Eighty Ninth birthday.
She has been gone 25 years but I think about her nearly every day, especially when I am cooking.
I often wonder what our relationship as adults would have been like.
What would she have thought about my life?
Without a doubt she would have had an opinion!
I also think about all the questions I would love to have asked her.
Questions I wouldn’t have dared to ask as a child. Questions that I didn’t have back then.
If you had the chance to ask one question of a relative who has died,
Who would you ask and what would the question be?


Ex-Housemate Mikey got his Masters today!!
Whoo Hoo!
Phd next.
Well Done mate!

My Day, With Pictures.

Check it out!
I'm not sure it counts as a 'Crop' but I am claiming it as such.
The first crop of Sleepy Mansions radishes!.









Then there was this.
Which instantly made me think,


".... And what the fuck were you munching before you underwent the makeover?!..."






I love Foxgloves.
I collected the seeds from the Wiltshire countryside last year, threw them around while pissed one night; and Ta Da!
One grew.
Nestled right in with the Pear Tree!








Sassy came for tea and we tucked into the Madeira cake we couldn't manage yesterday.
Very, Very Yum!

Euro Birthday

Today is Sassy’s birthday!
This evening we have celebrated with what can only be described as, ‘Traditional English Birthday Tapas’.
The stuff of our youth. Check it out!
Shipham’s paste sandwiches, cheese and pineapple on sticks, jelly, blancmange, ice cream, Fairy cakes and all the trimmings.
Most importantly chocolate fingers!
Housemate Claire made a Madeira cake but we were all too bloated to attempt it.

Joy abounds at Sleepy Mansions.
My football void is filled, for a few weeks at least.
Euro 2008 started today.
I’m kind of relieved England didn’t qualify, there’s no stress; or any of the other home nations come to that.
It’s worse if a couple of them are in, all of a sudden people start claiming Scottish, Welsh, and Irish heritage out of the blue.
“But your surname is Singh?!”
‘Yeah. We’re the Dublin/Cardiff/Glasgow Singh’s innit? One of the Uncles emigrated from Slough.’
I have decided to follow the Czech Republic, Croatia and Poland.
The ‘Tractor Factory’ teams as Sassy calls them.
Although I did notice there were a disturbing number of ‘headbands’ on show in the Czech team.
A bit of a worry.

The Big little Brother came round last night.
We smoked, drank, philosophised, exchanged music and I took photos of him playing my guitar.
I took a shot of my Grandfather strumming on his guitar in 1988; I wanted to see if I could get an almost identical shot of his Grandson 20 years later.
I think I have almost got it.
I’ll scan the other one and frame them up together for him.

Grrrrr Day

My day started pretty grumpily.

Housemates, if you now find yourself reaching for sunglasses when you enter the bathroom, that’ll be because the suite is actually fucking white.
Surprise!
You see people, the yellow spray bottle labelled “Flash” isn’t a suggestion it’s a cleaning product.
Grrr.

After one of the Housemates hogged the washing machine ALL DAY yesterday, I stopped her at the top of the stairs today.
“Oi! No chance mate! You beat me to it twice yesterday, my turn.”
The ’black wash’, being the largest pile, went first.
As soon as I opened the door I saw the carnage that is “Kleenex” and it wasn’t mine.

Grrrr.

Then to tip me right over the fecking edge in to utter rage.
Was this.

I lift the washing up bowl to find this stinking under the wire fucking plate drainer thing!
What the fuck is that about?
Raw liver?
I swear on all that’s holy, if I find out that was pig product I will go fucking postal.
The whole kitchen has been bleached in to submission.

GRRRRRR!
And……. Rest…….

I got stoned and retired to the garden to fume; it seemed the only sensible thing to do.
Combining my recycling jag with the weed I came up with this.
Pot Head!

It comes with a lid for night time while seedlings are small.

I am looking in to all sorts of recycling ideas but this is fecking awesome.

The Weekend

Yesterday, Mr and Mrs Next Door Without the Kids, invited the inhabitants of Sleepy Mansions round for dinner.
Homemade Chinese food with a seafood theme.
(Prawns, Scallops, Fresh Sea Bass and Squid!)
I hate Chinese food and am allergic to seafood but a free dinner is a free dinner!
The thing is I LOVE scallops and squid.
I will eat them in the certain knowledge that within 2 hours I will be hurling them up.
It’s all over very quickly and the nausea is fleeting.
I also hope that eventually I will build up a resistance to them.
It was a splendid meal and a cracking night.

Today, Housemate Claire did the Race for Life.
I have never been more proud of a friend than I am today and got quite emotional about it.
Especially since the last lot of treatment wiped her out and the PICC line has been giving her a huge amount of discomfort.
During the week she mentioned that Rib of Beef was her favourite cut of meat, ever.
So I got some for today’s dinner as a treat. (Check it out! From a Proper butcher and everything!)
Oh My!
What an amazing tasting roast dinner we had.
Sassy joined us, with a wicked Cheesecake she had made and a cheeky Muscadet.
We scoffed, drank, grooved to tunes, delighted in the fact Schnee will be here for her birthday celebrations and laughed.
Laughed lots.

Check out the Slug Pub!
Works really well. They are loving Death By Budweiser!

Injuries

The day started well.
A delivery from Amazon and then an instant dilemma.
They have sent two copies of the same book, The Romanov Prophesy by Steve Berry.
They haven’t charged me for it so my problem is, send it back or register it at Bookcrossing and ‘release’ it.

At last my Chilli seeds have sprouted.
I was starting to think about giving up on them but I’m so glad I didn’t.
As an experiment I planted a couple of seeds from a butternut squash we had a couple of weeks ago, amazingly they have come up.
Now I have to learn about their cultivation and see if they will grow ‘upwards’.
I’m sure it can be done.

This afternoon I got out a bottle I’d been saving for its unusual shape.
I had a ‘garden’ idea for it.
It had a collar on it, that half metal half lead like stuff round the neck
“A steak knife will go through that fecker like butter”, I thought and set about it.
It went through something all right.
The big fleshy bit below my thumb and out just under the webbed bit.
It bled like a Prince of Russia.
The knife was serrated so pulling it out removed what can only be described as ‘Innards’ or ‘Giblets’.
Somehow I got it all back in.
Disturbingly, when I looked for the knife I discovered that, in shock, I had returned it to the knife block!
I ‘phoned the Tame Pharmacist and explained the situation, adding that it being a Friday I didn’t fancy a trip to A&E.
Stitches were brought home and Rambo like repairs took place by the pond with me swinging from Tortuga Rum (Thanks Sassy!) and toking on Holland’s finest.
It aches like a bastard and there is some considerable swelling.
The shocker is this isn’t the first time I’ve needed stitching due to trying to remove this bit from a bottle.
The last time I hit a finger.
Ironically, I’ve been using a chisel for the last few days and have been waiting for just such an injury.

I saw this soon after and it did nothing to improve my mood.
They are such Wankers.
Come on! We want more of this despotic shit so more people leave and the Church HAS to change.
Especially seeing as there are now probably more breeding Pandas than there are priests.

I have seen Crisp-e today and in keeping with our usual ’High Brow’ conversation, Slug slime and wet toilet wipes were hot topics!

Chives And Roman Invasion

I Did have some Chive seeds to plant but absolutely no deferred gratification!

So, the Chives you see are a Waitrose special.

There is Spearmint in the wooden pot and Parsley in the terracotta one.

I also got rid of the Euphorbia today.

It was getting big and near to seeding.

Following Sassy's advice about the general Pikey nature of Euphorbia, it's gone.

It was an experiment. I'd never seen one full grown and was curious.

Now I have!

It has been replaced with a Canary Palm thing, which is fecking vicious.

I have sliced my hands on the leaves, spiteful bastard!

I love it.

It may not stay where it is, but for the moment it's cool.

I've also discovered that some of the snails I have been 'rehoming' are quite rare in my area and are protected throughout Europe.

Ooops!

Helix Pomatia.

These are the L'esgargot that French People like.

Eating something equipped with a 'Love Dart'?

The Dirty Bastards.

They were brought to Britain, two and a half thousand years ago by the Romans; allegedly.

They left my garden yesterday, via an over arm throw administered by me.

Not a Roman.

Recycling The Bank Holiday

The dreary start to the Bank Holiday meant that I was stoned before breakfast!
This led to Early Onset ‘Carpentry’.
Made worse when the day started to cheer up.
These are the legs to an old garden table. I unscrewed the caps on the bottom, cut a couple of them down a bit and sunk them in to the ground.
I’ve stuck a Strawberry in one and Oregano in the other.
The two either end are going to have chives in.
It’s an experiment!
The table top is now providing a sturdy, level base for the mini greenhouse thing.
I have also been doing unspeakable things to slugs and snails.
I tried drowning them in a bucket.
Not wholly successful or guilt free.
I’ve resorted to the old method of, “Throw Them As Far A Possible”.

My inner conspiracy theorist was tweaked this evening.
The interwebs went down, alleged Virgin updates.
My mobile phone wouldn’t work; allegedly the network was too busy.
But the TV worked, I have access to what ever “they” pipe in to my television.
Mmmmmm..
What are you hiding from me?

Choons And Chocolate

The complete and utter bollocks that is the Eurovision Song Contest was on this evening.
I gave it a huge body swerve.
The only highlight, if it can be called a highlight is hearing Wogan getting steadily more pissed and insulting.
So, with that in mind, my post is mainly music related.

This is my tune of the day. (“Hey! Ebo! Ebo Ebonettes!)
I was about 13 when this came out.
Thank Christ the skipping never took off over here; it was bad enough with ‘Fame’ and fecking leg-warmers.
You will probably hate yourself for tapping your foot to this but I bet you do!
Best pop use of Steel Drums, Ever!
This was a song sung when we were in the car as kids.
5 kids, work tools and a dog in the back of a Robin Reliant, (Ours looked like this but was blue!)
Step Mum and Dad in front.
With Dad moaning,
“Five of ‘em Joon!, Five of the feckers, and not a bastard one of ‘em can carry a fucking tune!”
He’d put up with it for a short time before his knuckles would whiten on the steering wheel and he would roar,
“Shut Up! You Fuckers! My ears will bleed. Joon, Stop Them!”
This would elicit raucous laughter from us!
Superb use of lyrics that you don’t have to pay for.

Another legacy from this time are Chas and Dave.
That song was a particular favourite.
When the car was stolen Dad was livid because he lost their cassette.
Never mentioned the car.
Although none of my siblings care to admit it, we all have their Greatest Hits in our collections.
It is just SO our Dad, and brings back great childhood memories!

This evening has being spent at Mr & Mrs Crisp-e’s.
It’s Mrs Crisp-e’s birthday celebration.
There are way too many Taurean /Gemini types in my circle!
Weirdly, I’m all right with the fellow Taurean’s, it’s the Gemini’s that are the worry!
ATM’s a Gemini.
They half frighten me, half freak me out and if we are using ‘Maury’ stats, they half incite me to violence!

Sweeties have been discussed this evening.
I believe sweeties, ‘Candy’, whatever you call it, is so very personal.
Revels.
Now, Revels are a mixture of all sorts of sweets.
Nastiness sold in a chocolate guise.
Nothing is recognisable other than the Minstrel.
Chocolate blobs.
Fruit hidden in chocolate.
My point was that the ‘Malteser’ used in the Revel mix was basically the ‘spastic malteser’.
The one that was slightly too oddly shaped to make it in to the actual Malteser packet.
The Moomim Malteser.
Now, this is how politically correct we have become.
Referring to a Malteser, A FUCKING SWEETIE, as a spastic stopped conversation dead and brought about gasps.
This was amongst people who have known me for years and know how inept I am!
Spastic is now a word I can’t use with very close friends.

How long will it take for words referring to my sexual preference to become as equally unacceptable?

Lot's Chavs

Anyone who knows me will know I’m not a ‘handbag’ person.
The polar opposite in fact.
So you can imagine my surprise when I received the pictured bag as a Secret Santa gift.
However, the sentiment on the bag is spot on!
It’s plastic and won’t degrade so I decided to put it to a ‘green’ use.
Now it is home to a Trailing Lobelia!

This afternoon I had an experience that I would count as being ‘Particularly Pompey’.
I’ll set the scene.
3.50pm at a busy traffic crossroads.
Him.. Skinny, tattooed, white teeshirt, blue tracksuit trousers and white trainers.
Heroin Chic.
Her.. Small, dumpy, clothes a size too small and looks twenty years older than she probably is.
Turkey Twizzler Chic.
Both reek of booze.
His name seemed to be, “Please Babe” and hers was “You Thick Shit”.
This had to be shouted right in her ear.

I just knew they would be going my way and tried to let them get ahead of me.
Unfortunately the constant stopping to scream, “You Thick Shit” was slowing them down and I started to catch up.
The trick in these situations is to make no eye contact, with either of them.
This is difficult because she, in particular, will be trying to catch your eye.
He will be looking at you to see if there is any kind of sympathy for her or judgement for him.
Either could end up with you being dragged in to the situation.

Here is where you adopt what I call ‘Deaf Man’s Stare”.
Your face has to be devoid of expression and you stare at a point 100 metres in front of them.
Pretending you can't hear a word.
Most importantly keep walking and don’t look back.
This is the most dangerous time.
He will be waiting for that glance over your shoulder.
This is when he is likely to strike with the,
“What! What are you fuckin’ lookin’ at? You fuckin’ want some?”
Remain strong, think of Lot and DO NOT look back!

Service Resumed

After almost a fortnight weed free. Normal service has resumed.
Thank G-d.
Having to use man made painkillers has left me in all sorts of trouble.
The main problem being they do bugger all for the pain and wrecks my internal workings.
Both make me extraordinarily grumpy and bad tempered.

This has cracked me up!
It really isn’t any wonder some of them preferred to remain anonymous.
I won’t be entering.
The one photo I have of myself is a testament to another age.
A time when photographing your children stark bollock naked seemed to be all the rage and didn’t get you arrested.
Family albums would suggest that until the age of three I was naked or partially clad most of the time.
I remember hating shoes and refusing to wear them, I don’t recall hating clothes.
Except dresses.
Well, that’s that one answered!

I know I’ve mentioned this to Sassy.
I’m convinced Avram Grant should be in a Scooby Doo cartoon being unmasked as the ‘baddy’.

Ho Hum.
Back to the weed!

May Twentieth

Almost everything today has conspired to piss me off.
Starting with Home Delivery Network.
Whoever they are.

I was sat in my front room and saw the delivery van pull up outside.
The driver got out and knocked a door across the road.
He then came and put a “Sorry you weren’t in, left parcel with neighbour” card through the door and ran, yes RAN back to his van.
I opened the door and shouted to him as he tried to drive away,
“Why didn’t you knock the door?”
He replied that he did and ‘you weren’t in’.
“I fucking obviously am! I watched you. You came nowhere near the house.”
He drove of at speed. Must have been because his pants were on fire.
Lying fucking wanker!

So I ‘phoned the company and complained.
I will ‘phone again tomorrow and complain and will keep doing so until I get some sort of ‘compensation’.
I should have checked out this site earlier in the day.
Then I would have been ready for him, on a multilingual level!
So, just to reiterated, Home Delivery Network are untrustworthy liars.

The other thing that has pissed me off today and has for quite some time is the total inability to buy a ripe Avocado.
If you want to eat anything Avocado related you have to plan your meal about 10 days in advance and buy frigging bananas to speed up the process.
I really object to having to pay an extra £1.25 for ripe ones.
Fecking huge rip off.
If they CAN supply ripe ones, why should I pay a premium for them?

May Nineteenth

On my way back from the shops this morning I was accosted by a bloke who started jabbering away to me in Polish.
I stood shaking my head saying, “English. I speak English”.
He took a step back with a look of shock on his face.
Then he called his friend over, who fortunately did speak English.
He explained the where looking for directions to a road. I told them where it was then asked why his friend had spoken Polish to me if he had an English speaker with him.
He told me that his friend was absolutely convinced I was Polish and still was!
“You look Polish! You look so familiar to us!”
He then went on to say that they hoped I wasn’t offended.
I told him that one of my Great Grandfather’s was Polish, which he translated to his friend.
More excited Polish.
“My friend says He knew it!”
A bizarre start to the day.

My little ‘bucket’ pond was getting some nasty, slimey green algae in it.
Crisp-e recommended buying a barley straw thing to go in there. Apparently it helps with the problem.
I had some straw that the tortoises used to sleep in, so I stuffed it in one of those net things that you get onions in and sank it in the pond.
It works a treat!
The water has cleared, the slimey shit has gone and I can see to the bottom.
There is a Newt down there!
Nice tip Crisp-e and thank you.

Spare a thought for poor old Kenny the cat.
He has sunburn!
The pink bits around his nose and lips are swollen and sore.
I have tried to get cream on him but the git licks it off.
Any tips or ideas will be gratefully received.

May Eighteenth

After yesterday’s festivities I managed to drag my arse from bed and went to Mass.
I always thought that the time before it actually started was for saying your prayers and getting your head in the right place.
I really object to this period being used for us to practise the bloody hymns.
Choose fucking hymns everyone knows to begin with you wankers.

There was a Food Festival on this weekend and I had a trundle down there at lunchtime.
It was superb!
There were loads of stalls and farmer’s market type things going on.
I’ve got myself a Hungarian Black Chilli plant which I can’t wait to see in fruit.
I was very tempted by a huge Paella pan but seeing as I don’t like the shitey stuff it would have been a bit of a waste of shekels.
Still, a nice looking pan though!
I got Crisp-e an excellent apron. He doesn’t like the one he has got; apparently it’s a bit Poncey!

This afternoon Sassy, The Tame Pharmacist and I went down to the Common to see the Pompey FA Cup winning side.
As it turned out we saw sweet FA and heard even less!
But it was great to be there and be part of it.
It only happens every 70 years!
The BBC news claims 200 000 people were out to see them.
There are only 200 000 people in the city so I kind of doubt their figures.

Why aren’t the United Nations doing anything about Burma?
I thought one of their purposes was to protect people from their governments?
It’s a fecking disgrace.
A sniff of oil and the Septics would be all over it like a rash.

May Seventeenth

Today I have been at my Dad’s celebrating his 60th birthday and my niece’s 13th, it was brilliant!
I met my 6 week old nephew, Ronnie, for the first time and he is an absolute cutie.
(That’s him with my Dad)
I even held him! Something I don’t usually do.
To me they are ‘boring’ until they can do something, like talk.
Surprisingly, for one who carries the Sleepy gene he actually DOES sleep.

We did a “This Is Your Life” thing for my Dad.
We had photos, music and a newspaper from the day he was born.
I think he liked it, he cried a lot which is usually a good sign!

On top of the joy of being with my family, Portsmouth won the FA Cup!
The city is on an absolute high.
Everyone out and about this evening is singing, smiling and dressed in blue.

Fantastic.

To my Cardiff supporter friend, Rhys... Sorry Mate.

Here is the Birthday Boy and Girl!

Happy Birthday to you both.

May Thirteenth

Kenneth the Cat has always been one on his own.
I’ve never encouraged any of the felines to be ‘Lap Cats’ but Kenny won’t even be picked up.
He just doesn’t like it. He bitches, scratches, growls and whines to get away.
As I let him jump from my arms this evening with a resounding,
“Be nice! I fecking feed you! Ungrateful fucker!”
Mr Next Door With The Kids said,
“Yeah, and stop bullying our cat.”
What do you say to that?
I wanted to respond,
‘And your point? Your poncey cat wants to butch himself up a bit. Bloody Poof! That’s what happens if you take a cat to France for several years. Ruins ‘em so it does!’
I didn’t.
I apologised! I fucking apologised for my cat!
A creature beyond training or ‘owning’.

Happy 21st to niece Sinead.

May Twelfth

‘Sex can become like a drug’
Really?
Thank Christ they got an expert on the subject to tell us!
Can somebody not shut this bloke up?
Really?

Nice to know a high profile Catholic has no problem using contraception or being open about it, except when staying with the Queen.
Strangely, she has no such shame about shagging there though!

As many of you know, I am a fan of Prince Phillip.
I think the bloke is great and it helps that he is almost an exact replica of my Grandfather!
Tonight there was the first part of a documentary about his life on TV.
Sir Trevor McDonald doing the honours, so plenty of opportunity for him to put his foot in it.
I like the bloke even more now and make no apologies for it.
They don’t make them like him anymore.

“The term ‘hero’ irritates me greatly. The opposite is true. I continue to have pangs of conscience that I did so little.”
Irena Sendler.
They don’t make them like her anymore.
A Hero.
May she rest in peace.

May Eleventh

Today is my birthday.
It’s an even numbered one so it has been celebrated!
Last night a leg of lamb was barbecued, friends came round and vast amounts were drunk.
Guitar was played in the garden and there was much laughter.
It was brilliant. A perfect night.
I received some belting presents.
Lots of books from Mad Matt, a garden ornament from Crisp-e, an inspired packet of smokes and can of Red Bull from Mrs A, a Hypotrochoid Art Set (Spirograph!) from Sassy, Booze, Booze, Booze from all and sundry, a book token and my absolute favourite, a retro Spurs shirt!
Heaven.
Thanks to all who came and celebrated with me, it couldn’t have been better.

Now I am just chilling out with a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé and a joint, which will be followed by a bottle of Sancerre and quite possibly, another joint!

Nature gave me a birthday present too!
The radishes I planted the other day are sprouting.
I’m delighted!

The Stench

After 15 packets of Nag Champa, several kilos of Soda Crystals, temper tantrums and doing everything I could think of with the sink without actually taking it apart; the general aroma of something decomposing in the house became to much and the ‘Professionals’ were contacted.

Sleepy Mansions is a Victorian building, built in what used to be a swamp.
Excellent planning.
Over the years shite has shifted, settled and caused the house to lean a little bit to the right.
(The left when you are leaving!)
Being my father’s daughter, I had long ago clocked that the drainage piping would have been ‘leaned’ on and given their age, possibly cracked.
So when British Gas offered a yearly insurance for drains, sewers and all that nastiness, without looking, I nearly had their arm off.
They were contacted and sent me a Dynorod ‘Man’.
I use the term Man loosely, as in one sentence he had a four octave range.
Last heard when the Big little brother was 12!

I’d accidentally discovered the problem an hour before he arrived but let him go through his routine.
This involved stating that he couldn’t smell anything.
(Given his job, I’m sure it’s a bonus!)
Flushing both toilets several times.
Turning on the kitchen tap.
Then he explained the problem was,
“Further Down”
How they would dig up my floor, cut out pieces of pipes, put a camera down and ascertain the problem.
He was making his way to the door when I suggested he look at the kitchen drain.

People, it was filth.
There was a ball of congealed fat the size of a Space Hopper.
“That’ll be your problem”
He sagely informed me.
“You fucking think?”
Was my reply.

It’s sorted.
At last, Sleepy Mansions smells as it should.
Cannabis reigns supreme!

Oh No! Who is giving this bloke advice?
Year 8?

May Eighth

With the help of a huge dollop of amphetamine I have got loads done today!
I’ve planted seeds for Radishes, Red Scallions, Parsley, Lemon Coriander and Celosia.
How fecking lush do they look?
I’ll be chuffed to bits if they come up.
I’ve seen Sassy, The Ex Bro in law, L and Crisp-e!

Cornelia Mayo is a woman after my own heart!
While on jury service for the trial of a woman accused of possessing weed, she was caught outside the court having a spliff during a break!
You’ve got to love her.

On a dope related note, the sick fucker part of me hopes this is true!
Really.

May Seventh

Last night I made the hideous mistake of thinking it would be a good idea to wash all the seat covers.
Chair, sofa, and cushion covers were all stripped from furniture and washed.
I realised my mistake and what a shitty job it was when it came to getting all the ‘guts’ back inside the covers.

The government have gone and reclassified cannabis as a class B drug, against all advice.
So the moment I heard it announced what changes went on in the joint I was smoking?
Did I suddenly become more susceptible to schizophrenia?
“Err on the side of caution”
My Arse!
Err on the side of fucking votes.

If I had a choice about any of this bollocks.
I’d definitely go for the horse!

Check out these Dutch tulip fields.
So many good and beautiful things come from Holland.

This will either make you pull a WTF face or make you start smiling immediately and exclaim, “Christ! I remember that!”

Cinco De Beltane

It has been an excellent Bank Holiday weekend culminating in last night’s Cinco de Beltane celebration with Housemates, Sassy and the Random One.
I made Mexican food for Cinco de Mayo and we lit up the garden with candles and a fire for Beltane.
Much Tequila and wine was drunk and the police spotter plane was repeatedly mooned.
The picture is slightly blurred, that would be due to me being more than slightly drunk.


While gardening I managed to dislocate my finger.
I wanted to let rip with a resounding, “FUUUUUUUUCK!” but it was really early so I kicked the shit out of the compost bin instead.
I relocated it but Housemates aren’t convinced the finger is actually straight anymore.
The garden is starting to look the business.
The pear, the apple and the plum trees all have fruit coming.
The tomato seedlings are doing well and the blackcurrant and the vine both have healthy shoots.

I’m seriously considering getting a pet chicken maybe two, I don‘t know if they need company.
I think it would be cool to have them mooching around the garden and if I get it from this place it’ll be good karma.
Tikka and Pathia are the front running names, although Pasanda has a nice ring to it.

I don’t know why I keep looking at this, but there is something hypnotic about it.

It pleases me that there are people like this out there!

This is my tune of the day.
Listen and I bet you have a little bit of a sing.
It is also an effective earworm, so expect to keep humming it!

May Third

This is the frog that has set up home in my mini pond!

She is called Annie.

I spent most of my day in the garden trying to work out what were weeds and what weren’t.
I’m pretty piss poor at recognising seedlings.
Tomatoes, Tobacco plants and Cannabis are all I can identify with 100% certainty.
Basically I just pull everything up until someone tells me otherwise.
Huge amounts were hacked, um, I mean, pruned from the Bay tree and the Rosemary bushes.
Neither seems to compost well and the bin men won’t take garden waste.

My inner pyromaniac combusted in my mind, waving matches and enticing me with firelighters.
So I decided to burn it and was immediately faced with the problem highlighted by Peter Kaye.
“You are never sure if it’s legal to have a bonfire in your garden”.
An attempt at lateral thinking and a large joint led me to the Barbeque.
Bay and Rosemary smell lovely when burning, helpfully masking the smell of the other crap I cremated.
A few snails were accidentally roasted, so I’m going to have to do something to restore the Karmic balance.
It was quite smokey and I smell a tad like charred Bouquet Garni.

There is also this plant/mutant thing I liberated from Sassy’s garden last summer.
Back then in was about 10 inches high.
Look at the Triffid fecker now!
The bits at the top seem to be the flowers and if you cut leaves off, it “bleeds” white, milky stuff.
I’m wondering if it is some kind of basic Aloe.
I love it though. It has great form.
Plus it just looks so prehistoric and basic.
Any help in identifying it would be greatly received.

Mr and Mrs Next Door With The Kids had a blazing row this afternoon.

I heard her shout,

"I could understand it if it was Manchester United or Liverpool but it's CARDIFF!"

Call me psychic, but I feel it in my water that Mr Next Door WTK, will not be going to the FA Cup Final!

May First

I had a wonderful surprise this afternoon.
My ex brother in law was insistent that I go round at a certain time, not something he has done before.
I was worried that he might be having one of his ‘breaks with reality’, so shot round there.
Instead I saw the Niece and Nephew I haven’t seen in nearly six years.

They have grown up so much.
Obviously.
My niece is so like my sister it’s uncanny. To look at, her mannerisms, the way she speaks, everything.
But she’s still in there, the baby I saw born nineteen years ago next month.
My Loz.
The Nephew is gorgeous. Tall, handsome and frighteningly bright.
He is studying Accountancy, Economics, Business Studies and Critical Thinking at college.
They both have great senses of humour.
Very similar to mine and my sister’s.
We laughed a lot and it was so comfortable. No awkwardness or silences.
It has made my year!
I’ve missed them so much.
It took all my self control not to launch myself at them.
From seeing them every day from the moment they were born to nothing was a heartbreak I hope I never feel again.
It was a physical pain for a long time.
I got hugs and kisses when I left and I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling yet.

Today is local Election Day so I went and did my duty, especially as it’s International Workers Day.
I’m still missing the May Day Parade from Moscow.
Red flags, tanks and Goose Stepping. Ho Hum.
What is it with people not telling you how they voted?
I can remember asking my Grandfather and him reacting as if I’d broken some huge taboo.
I would also like to know who those people sitting outside are and why they want to look at my voting card?
Not that they ever get to see it.
When they ask they get my politest,
‘Can you bollocks!’

I’m hoping to Christ that the ‘Irish’ characters don’t stay too long in the new series of “Heroes”.
Piss poor accents I can just about cope with, but a brother with a Southern accent and the sister with a Northern one is just fecking appalling.

This is my tune of the day.

Rain, Pain And Gain

I woke up after three and a half hours sleep believing I had a collapsed lung.
I didn’t.
I had a cat sat on my back, staring at me.
It has been a shitty, wet horrible day and I’ve managed to stay in doors thanks to Sassy picking up my smokes for me.
Even with that, I have managed to commit a social faux pas without leaving the house.
The after school meeting spot for parents appears to be right outside Sleepy Mansions.
I don’t object to that.
I do object to their brats running up and down screaming or climbing all over the railings.
Today it was particularly bad and went on for ages until I bawled,
“Fuck Off!” in their general direction.
Totally forgetting I’d opened the window because the cat was being a twat about the cat flap.
There was immediate silence followed by a swift dispersal.
The Big little Brother reckons it won’t be long before I’m collecting vicious stray cats to throw at them.
I must admit to being quite taken with that idea!

Horrific details from Austria are being revealed daily.
The more I read the more I wonder how you punish Josef Fritzl.
Even if he were locked up for the rest of his life, the Austrian authorities have to honour his ‘basic human rights’, by law.
He’ll be banged up in a room with a window, he’ll be allowed out for exercise, he’ll have cable television, access to educational classes and medical care, a choice of meals, phone calls and most galling of all, the right to have visitors.
There is often talk of punishment fitting crime.
What fits this?
Personally, I’d stick him in with some arse raping sociopath who has access to an unending supply of Viagra.
That’s just me and I HAVE watched a lot of “Oz”!

Changing the subject totally.
Where do umbrellas come from?
There are at least 7 in the house and I have NEVER bought one in my life, they just appear, so where do they come from?
I think they appear from the same realm that steals my socks.
For every ten odd socks I find they must send me an umbrella.

This is my tune for the day.
It cheers me right up, reminds me of a brilliant trip to New York and a bar called Ruby Fruit!

Poles, Trains And Stars

I’ve had to chuckle.
There is a panic on because many of the Polish workers are going home.
Oh No!
Who the fuck is going to do their jobs?
Um..
How about all the English people who bitched about ‘them’ taking ‘our jobs’?
The next lot of school leavers?
Problem with that is employers expect them to be able to read, write and have basic English.

I had a bit of a capture the other day.
I was travelling back from Salisbury on the train and didn’t have time to get a ticket.
You can pay on the train so I sat and waited for someone to come.
No one did.
By the time I was two stops away from home I was thinking how fecking gutting it would be to have to pay now.
The train pulled into my station and I was out of there.
Then I got the guilts.
So, to avoid the karmic bitch slap, I have divided the price of my ticket between three homeless people along Rue Albert.
But I would just like to say it wasn’t my fault and I was prepared to pay.

This is a fucking travesty.
If Stonewall or any of the Gay and Lesbian support groups have got ANYTHING about them, they will get behind this case and fight for these two.
We expect Straight ‘but not narrow’ people to support us and our fights.
Why can’t that work the other way?
It’s the honourable thing to do.

My tune for the day.
It’s an old one but I love it and make no apologies!
I would like to know why Teutonic, blond types have such trouble with bleaching and highlighting.

Back

What is it with Austrians and underground bunkers?
This latest one sounds absolutely horrific. I seriously doubt there is any coming back from that kind of mental hell.


I bought myself a new camera. A Canon EOS 400.
It’s lovely to play with but I really do need to read the instruction manual.
There is so much more going on with this one.


Happy Birthday to Crisp-e!
He rustled up an amazing Chinese meal on Saturday which was kind of weird because I’d had an Italian meal, cooked by a Chinese chef on Friday.
He was so thoughtful and only cooked stuff I liked!


Housemates.
Yet again I have had to wash up saucepans before I could use them.
You bunch of skanky fecking bitches.


People, I’m gutted.
Humphrey Lyttelton has died.
I’ve listened to him on Radio 4 ever since I can remember.
I’ve seen him at the Marlborough Jazz festival.
Strangely, he has been more of a constant in my life than family have.
Rest easy Humph and Thank You.

A Rant And A Service

I’ve lasted as long as I can but now I’m going to have to mention His Nazi-ness.
The Panzer Pope is in the US at the cost of $1.2 a day, A FUCKING DAY!
So to all those pious, holier than thou fuckers who look at me when I refuse to put money in to Peter’s Pence.
There’s your reason.
He is ‘deeply ashamed’ by the sex abuse scandals.
Really?
The Congregation for The Doctrine of Faith was in charge of disciplining the paedophile priests, which for the last 25 years or so was under the direct control of Cardinal Josef Ratzinger.
AKA The Pope.
I’d also like to know what the hell he has on his feet?
Talk about a Friend of Dorothy.
A few gays start mobbing him and he'll be clicking those feckers together whispering,
'There's no place like Rome, There's no place like Rome....'
The man to his right in the photo is his 'personal secretary' Monsignor George Ganswein, also known as ‘Gorgeous George’.
The Vatican is keen for us to know that is what his ‘Female Fans’ call him.
Female Fans?
He’s a fecking priest! How can he have female fans?
Don’t you just dream of that description?
Well? Don’t you?!

I think I may have come up with a useful public service, like that ABC thing on the mobile phone that has your emergency contact number.
The DOA Playlist on your ipod.
In this playlist would be all the songs you wouldn’t mind being played at your funeral!
Imagine the music your parents, or worse, your kids might have played to see you on to your way.

This is my tune for the day.
This person has been the object of my lust for the day.
I watched the film this morning and after a night of absolutely NO sleep, it set me up for the day!

Power, Paper And People

The sad reality of my life means that a 2 hour power cut was the highlight of my day.
I was watching the TV, then all of a sudden I wasn’t.
Using all my ‘electrics savvy’ I opened the cupboard under the stairs, looked at the fusebox and shouted,
“What? What is it? What do you want?”
I did the all important flipping on and off of lights, until the fish tank not bubbling confirmed 'The Power Cut'.
For some reason I refused to believe it when the TV went blank.
I went into the street to ‘look’. At what? I have no idea.
Then people started emerging from their houses.
The almost albino students across the road looked relieved when enlightened, believing it had something to do with their “billing issues”.
The Scottish bloke from down the road cheerfully announced,
“Right, if I cannae work, I’m going for a pint”, and disappeared.
The smiley Indian man who never talks appeared and raised his eyebrows.
He was told the problem.
He smiled, raised a hand and off he went.
Not a word!

Could the Housemate who ‘tidies’ the Parozone Antibacterial Wipes, used for sanitising the seat, on to the top of the Antibacterial Moist Toilet Wipes, used for sanitising the arse, please refrain.
As appealing as a ‘lemon fresh’ arsehole is, a bleached clean one certainly isn’t.
Perhaps now you will understand their necessary separation.
If what nearly happened this afternoon does EVER occur, rents will increase 200%, the felines will be allowed to go Free Range (Yes, that means in your rooms!) and I’ll hide the fecking toilet paper.
Sounds reasonable to me.

Have seen Mr & Mrs Crisp-e, Sassy, Mad Matt and the Big little Brother today.
It was nice to have company and to take my mind off the ‘feminine pain that may not speak its name’!
Crisp-e and I decided that there was no way to describe this pain to a bloke, just as there is no way for a man to describe the pain of a kick in the balls to a woman.
As humans, there is no shared pain we can use in comparison to illustrate for us.

Mad Matt and I discussed the idea that as he was Dyslexic and Discalcular could he describe himself as ‘Un-numerate’?
Anyway, we made ourselves laugh.

Stiffs, Semolina And Scooters

I’ve seen a lot of Silvio Berlusconi on the News today and I swear the last time I saw someone that colour I was peering at Lenin.
He looked like he’d been carved from mahogany but I was informed he had only been varnished that colour.
If they used Sadolin, they certainly got a convert in my Grandfather!

I met my next door neighbour today. The one having the noisy building work.
She let it be known that they’d heard me screaming and bitching about the banging.
I let it be known that I didn’t give a flying fuck.
Looking in the window I saw the skirting boards still weren’t on.
I told her I was away the weekend and that it would be an ideal time to get that done!

Right. Opinion please.
Is Semolina an ‘English’ pudding?
The Tame Pharmacist claims that it was never eaten in her ‘Irish’ household and that it is English nastiness that came with school dinner.
This has caused some, um, ‘debate’.
It got a bit racial, with accusations of potato, peat and goat hair based desserts.
Hence the question.
I think it’s one of the best yumminesses in the world.
With jam mixed in for gorgeous pinkness.

To the ‘hard’ lads who ride scooters.
IF you are not brave enough to ride it with both feet off the ground, then you should go back to a pushbike.
Zooming along with one leg hanging down makes you look like a complete and utter wanker!
If I could construct some sort of contraption that would, with the press of a button, flip out from the side of the car and slap you straight off your Honda Hairdryer, I would.

Blinding line from tonight’s Shameless.
Frank Gallagher, after been told he can’t smoke in the pub,
“But you sell E’s!”
“Yeah, I know. But no one ever dies from secondary Tripping!”
Love it.

Words, Bees, Grooves And Smiles

What words have you been deliberately mispronouncing for so long, that you have trouble saying it correctly when you need to?
Mine would be Jugular which I have pronounced JUG-LE-UR for years.
The same with DRAC-LE-UR for Dracula.
EMBLOW for elbow because my little brother used to call it that.
I also can’t say Samuel Pepys without adopting a Stavros accent, which is wrong on so many levels!

Are Bumble Bees THE most stupid bee in the range?
They are always bouncing off things, flying into things and they look as though they find the flowers by accident.
I’ve had to rescue two from the pond. I am assuming it’s two, could be the same thicko twice, and nearly trod on one bimbling across the grass.

It’s my Grandfather’s anniversary today. He has been gone seven years.
It feels like an impossible amount of time.
Miss you old man.
May he, and the souls of all the faithful, unfaithful and irreverent departed, Rest In Peace.

This is my tune of the day people.
Play it loud and I defy you not to get a little bit of a groove on.

Laugh? Something got hurt inside me! It’s a total repeater and will keep you going for ages.
Just the title makes me chuckle.
I guarantee you will see someone and that title will spring in to your head, instantly!

A Sunday Passes

I had every intention of going to Mass this morning but amazingly, I slept!
So I have worshipped at the Temple of Premiership Football.
Easy on my Chi, less trauma for the poor priest and as I have been taught G-d is an Englishman, he’d approve too.
The priest always looks as if he is battling with his ‘fight or flight’ instinct when he sees me, he deserves some time off!

The London Marathon took place today.
Why the fuck would any sane person run, for 26 miles, with no good reason.
The first idiot who did it was relaying a message during a war and had the good grace to drop fecking dead straight afterwards.
Don’t even get me started about the numpty’s who do it ‘dressed’ as something.
Televising it is beyond me as well.
I can’t see the point, unless they put snipers around the course and give them a 10 minute head start before releasing savage hounds and assorted snarling beasts.
They’d get those pantomime horses moving, especially the arse end!

Ungrateful Freeloader Number Two, AKA Murphy the Cat, has developed a disturbing ‘Wheeze’.
It’s a cross between a cough, that yakking sound they make when they are going to puke and asthma.
He looks a bit freaked when it happens, but calms down when stroked.
The other Furry Leech always appears and stares at him.
In my head they talk to each other, in voices like two old Jewish geezers.

Ken…… Nu? Anything?
Murff…. Nothing.
Ken…… Oy! Soon.
Murff…. From your lips to G-d’s ears.

It’s all over in under a minute.
I don’t want to take him to the vet if it is nothing.
It’s a traumatic experience for both of us.
His psyche is damaged and my finances are raped!
Then I start worrying that something might ‘actually’ be wrong with him.
My theory is that if he eats, he’s fine.
He’s eating.

I’ve read about Charlton Heston’s funeral, with this in particular catching my eye,

“……A frail Nancy Reagan entered the church on the arm of Tom Selleck. Following the nearly two hour ceremony, Mrs Reagan left with Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
We have a word for that in England and it certainly isn’t, “Frail”.
It’s Slut!

It’s those Ads again.

Woolite, the day I decide to hang massive weights off my jumpers, will be the day I start using your shite.
You can feck off with trying to foist some German advert on me too.
The words are English but their mouths are not making the shapes for forming English.
Pay English actors you bastards!

Ozymandias

A few minutes walk from my house is a brilliant cemetery.
It’s like Highgate, but way less crowded.
There are Knights of the Realm, a huge number of VC winners, mistresses of Dickens, a survivor from the Titanic; the great and the good!
It’s an interesting bone yard!
When I was a lot younger, a friend and I used to steal the lead from the headstones.
Prising out the lead letters that made up the names, dates etc.
We’d melt it them down and make fishing weights!

During a census search I found an unusual name, linked to me, buried there.
So I went for a mooch this afternoon.
As I may have mentioned before, I have an ability to attract nutters while I am out of the house.
Today was no different.
An oddly attired man with a yapper dog was today’s gift.

I was in THE remotest area of the yard; this is where they tend to put the Catholics and ‘Non-Conformists”.
Basically, wherever I was, he was.
Eventually, he aggressively informed me I was stood on a grave, went on about disrespect for a bit until I stopped him with a,
“Shhhhhh…. Listen…. Hear anyone complaining?”
He looked confused.
So off I went,
“In fact I’m more offended by you!!… I have family planted in here; can you guarantee that your RAT hasn’t shit on them?? Ever? Can you?
No? Really?
Now fuck off before you start to really wind me up!”
His dog seemed to have more about him than he did and dragged the loon away from me.

I couldn’t find the plot I was looking for and searching headstones was difficult and in some cases impossible.
Too many of the graves had the lead script removed by some gobshite, thieving bastard!

Today, the Tories have been on the knock.

Drumming up business for the local elections.
They hit Sassy first and I got a warning text.
Followed by, and I quote,

“We need to set up a local alert system for when these mordant cunts are in the street! A system of cans in the back garden or summat!”

I was ready for them!
The bell rang and I answered it with a huge joint and my surliest look.
One of the ‘mordant cunts’ was only someone I worked with at Mayhem.
I ignored this, and toking deep asked what “They” were going to do for me.
The Candidate started on about local shit, so I stopped him.
“No, you misunderstand. What are you going to do for ME?”
He started about the local area again.
I looked at the ex colleague and asked if the Candidate was retarded.
He walked away from my house shaking his head and smiling.
‘How do you mean?’ he asked
“Simply put. Convince this middle aged, property owning, dope smoking, Friend of Dorothy, that I should vote for you.”
He looked over his shoulder, pretending to hear a call from down the road, and fucked off.
I always spoil my ballot anyway. Especially in the local elections.
One down. Two to go!

The Mayhem girls were round these evening!
A superb night.
I’ll probably remember more later.

Check out this! It was on the back of the headstone for a Harriet Jackman!

A loving or guilty husband?

No Spitting

For various reasons I ended up riding the Loser Cruiser round to see Mr and Mrs Crisp-e.
A walk was involved, right through bandit country.
Had to walk past the end of ATM’s road.
I got to Crisp-e’s unmolested.
Handily, their bell doesn’t work and I was left on the doorstep, with a poxy rucksack, looking like a stoned Mormon.
The final indignity was to receive a text telling me to, ‘go round the back’, like I was some kind of “Tradesman”!
They kindly let me kotch with them for the day.

The bus home has me convinced that the number 6 is an annexe of St James’s and runs along a main chav artery.
I had a ‘describer’ to the right of me. The people who give a commentary on the route.
“Cemetery. Passing the Cemetery.. Oooh.. Fratton Park.. Passing Fratton Park. Crossing. Pub.. Pushing a pram.”
Behind me I had the middle aged couple having a domestic.
Then the Pompey Mum, with kids the United Colours of Benetton got on.
Refusing to collapse the pushchair she blocked up the walkway.
The driver turned, looked at me and asked if I could put the pram thing in the storage.
“Um… NO!”
The bus went silent.
The driver stared at me.
“Health and Safety, Mate.”
I put the ipod on and looked out of the window.
Why the fuck should I help?
Not my fecking kids! Not my fecking job!

Parish Council meetings here must have been unmissable!
Spitting!
I’ve seen a priest shout, “Get out of my Church!”
Not at me, surprisingly!
I’ve seen them held up during Mass; I’ve seen them fall down during Mass and on one occasion fall asleep.
But spitting.
Difficult to ‘turn the other cheek’ for that one.
Freaky looking fecker too!

Scenarios

For generations humans have been trying to delay that nice bit at the end of sex.
Naming football teams, doing maths equations etc, imagining horrible scenarios.
Well people, I have found my horrible scenario.
*Shudder*

I went to see my Dad yesterday.
As ever, we laughed ourselves silly.
He is growing all sorts of vegetables in his garden.
Various beans in black bags, potatoes in dustbins and courgettes in sacks.
While admiring my Step Mum’s primroses, I pointed to a growth and asked him what it was.
He looked at me is if I was a bit special and said,
“Onions! I fucking love ‘em don’t I!”
Every gap in her ‘Ornamental’ flower beds are filled with onions and shallots!
My Step Mum is in London for a few days, so Dad’s gone a bit feral.
He loves it.

I attacked the garden today.
Hacked away at the ‘lawn’ with garden shears and a rake.
Planted a blackcurrant bush, tree thing.
Bleeding knees are killing me now. Feels like floorboard nails are being driven into my patellas.
Tomorrow I’m going to try and cure myself by walking to Crisp-e’s.
I’ll let you know how it goes.

Snow, Spaced And Soda

Yesterday, I got the snow I’ve been awaiting for fecking ages.
Yep, it actually snowed here!
I got my Ex Russian Army furry hat on and was straight out in it.
A very happy Sleepy indeed!


Today has been totally surreal.
I reached a new mile stone in my quest into self medication.
My record for the number of Temazepam I can take and still function has increased by twenty milligrams.
I did 80mg this morning.
I was driven to it by the constant banging from next door, agonising knee pain and an ‘issue’ with the sink.
I will come back to the sink.

A morbid fear of constipation means I will avoid taking my sooper dooper painkillers until I absolutely, positively can’t take it anymore.
So I necked a load of temazzies instead.
I have had such a spacey day!
Crossing the road became really confusing and the traffic lights a bit hypnotic!
When I got to the fruit and veg shop I’d forgotten what I had decided to cook.
So I chose stuff that had the brightest colours.
For some reason thinking that was a good idea.
I arrived home with three pillar-box red peppers, three gorgeously purple aubergines, a massive sweet potato and a bouquet of parsley.
We have stuffed peppers with sweet potato chips!

Now for the sink.
I have been trying to remedy its gurgling, stench emitting problems for a few weeks now.
Believing I was getting the upper hand.
I have thrown so many bags of Soda Crystals down it, I have to alternate the hardware shops I buy it from.
Something as innocent and silly as that could have me detained for months under the Terrorism Act.
Seeing as running for a tube can get your head shot off, it pays to be careful.
As for the sink?
I think the photo speaks for itself and explains the spanking of the benzodiazepines.

Good Times

Well, Irony of Ironies.
After transporting frog spawn from Wiltshire, a local frog has moved in and spawned.
The imported spawn are now mini tadpoles and the snails are getting their groove on!
It’s going to get crowded in there.

Mega news of the week is my youngest sister had a baby boy Friday morning!
Not a pleasant experience apparently.
A 26 hour labour.
Big baby + Tiny sister = Yikes!
I could’ve probably gone for 20 minutes or so but then ‘induced coma’ would have been my choice.
They could bring me out of it when the kid had a job.

This has caught my eye.
Climate and diet my arse!
It’s because they didn’t die in the war.
It’s the ‘cheese eating, surrender monkey’ gene that’s fucking doing it!

Pompey are in the FA Cup final so this evening’s air was a symphony of emergency service sirens.
I picked the winner on the Grand National but left it too late to get good odds, so bet on a donkey that fell at the 3rd.
Ho Hum.