Saturday, Skittles And Vodka

This is what happens when a Stoner and a Scientist get together on a Saturday.

You just know we were the kids who used our Mum's best kitchenware to make mud pies don't you?

Stick it in the freezer for a couple of hours and wait for the yumminess!

How long you leave the Skittles in the Vodka will depend on how sweet and syrupy it gets.

Crisp-e went for colour and taste.

I'd let the let the lot dissolve! I like the idea of being pissed while having a sugar rush!

Remember Man...

Today…

I remembered Crombie coats for the first time in years!
The red hanky took me right back.
I think it’s because John the ipod shuffled it to some Specials and while doing the laundry I found my black ‘Lambretta’ shirt.

I remembered when I was small and thought I was born to be a ‘Pip’, one of Miss Knight’s of course!

I’ve also remembered some bloke called Bernie Flint who won a programme called Opportunity Knocks.
Freaky!

I remembered that QI was on and saved myself the minefield that is BBC iplayer when I get hold of it.

I remembered that when Housemate Pat is here all I seem to vacuum up is rice.
Rice and black hair that isn’t the cats.
Fucking rice!
I don’t even like the stuff.
I won’t even cook the fucking shit!

I must remember to uck out the Cardamom pods before putting in the peas.
I found three and ate three.

Today I also discovered the purpose of Facebook.
Using somebody else’s account (I REFUSE to join up) I found someone who dropped off my radar about 12 years ago.
I couldn't be more delighted and can't wait to get 'remembering'!

Afflicted

I had lunch with Mr & Mrs Crisp-e today.
He was dropping off some MORE of his photos to ANOTHER gallery!
They are brilliant.
He’ll have to show them to you himself, but trust me, they are good.
The owner was really in to them which I always think is a good sign.
They should know what will and won’t sell.
Had a lovely lunch.
Thanks you two.

The ‘..afflicted with the thorn of same sex attraction’, has given me a great laugh.
I feel far from afflicted.
Affliction (Noun) A condition of pain, suffering or distress.
My ‘thorn’ has caused me none of these conditions but the Catholic Church has.
Its nuns, priests and followers have done all of the above and WAY more!
But the absolute wetter in this article has got to be,
“For example, many men with same sex attraction lack hand-eye coordination….”
Where the fuck did they get that from?!
Of course let’s not forget those priest and monk sports teams we all know so well!

You can’t ban one lot that spout homophobic hatred and then let another lot in.
Snubbed? Snubbed?
Fuck you, you prick. I didn’t want you here in the first place.
‘No travel plans..’
Why is that?
Tried to come during the 1940’s and found the welcome frosty?
Might have been the ‘clothes’ you wore in those days, a nice white frock is less threatening and dare I say it, less butch.

Yeah good plan, let’s print some more money!
It worked SO well in Weimar Germany. This fucker was probably on his way out for a loaf of bread!

Anybody who knows me even vaguely will tell you I have been arguing most of this, ALL MY FUCKING LIFE!

Nausea Day

Today I have had an epic hangover.
Savage.
I don’t know how I managed it but I felt starving hungry and nauseous at the same time.
Worse than these contradictory gastrointestinal signals I craved a MacDonald’s burger and fries.
How nasty is that?
Just to top it off, Housemate Pat arrived home and started rustling up whatever complete nastiness it is she insists on cooking.
A stir fry of Crab Arseholes with a Rodent Reduction on a bed of Cat Fur Balls.

What I don’t understand about this, is WHY he can go to the European Court?
He’s a Jordanian national.
I know the map of the world changes frequently and I still haven’t got my head round what countries the USSR split in to; but I don’t ever remember Jordan being part of Europe.
How can he claim he won’t get a fair trial in Jordan? Don’t they run on Sharia or some sort of Islamic law? The kind of law he likes?
You can’t sit and preach hatred toward people and their ways then turn to them for protection, while STILL spitting bile about them!
Ironically he was granted asylum in the UK on the grounds of Religious Persecution.
I think it has more to do with Jordan having the death penalty and this man being a coward.

This lot in Basingstoke! Haha!
At least the good people there will know that G-d hates cigarettes and possibly smokers!
In fact, their G-d seems to hate everybody except them.

SIR Terry Pratchett! How good does that sound?

Goodbye

We saw Smudger off today.
I think it was a good send off.
The people who meant something were there.
The Head wasn’t.
The person I assumed was there ‘representing’ him had not a stitch of black anywhere near her, had on half a pair of trousers and looked like she was ‘sparing’ us an hour from a busy shopping schedule.
His son and I were very close but had lost contact a year or so ago.
He has had some sort of mental breakdown, nothing to do with his Dad’s death, but a break from ‘reality’ nonetheless.
I was keeping it together until I saw Smudge Jr.
Then I filled up, but there were too many there I didn’t want to lose it in front of.
I kept it in, then cried all the way home in the car.

Rest easy Smudge.

Expletives

‘Six expletives a week’? Don’t make me laugh!
My Dad would double that number getting out of bed and to the bathroom door!
Example..

“Jesus fucking Christ Joon.
Fucking knees.
Did you hear my fucking knees?”

The bedroom door would then open.

“Oi! You fuckers!”

Meaning us, his kids.

“I don’t hobble to work on THESE fucking knees so you bastards can lay in bed!”

The floorboard outside the bathroom door would creak.

“UP! UP, you cunts! Get to school! LEARN! Get proper fucking jobs, INDOOR jobs! So you don’t end up with fucking knees like your twat of a father!”

The bathroom door would slam.
Water would be run in the sink. Within 2 to 5 minutes the door would open and the roar would be,

“Which one of you fucking bitches has been shaving their fucking legs with MY fucking razor?”

The Tame Pharmacist’s Dad deliberately swore in front of his daughters, his reasoning being that they “Wouldn’t be offended when they went out in to the world and heard it”.
I love that one!

Little Things

Today it’s the little things that are getting to me.
Like, why am I the only one who refills the pepper grinder?
Where has all the weed gone and why can the kids at Mayhem get hold of it but not me?
How does Housemate Pat manage to burn and break so much stuff?
Why does she think that fucking off for a month means she doesn’t have to pay rent?
How can I put my back out sneezing?
How the fuck can this get past us without a fucking murmur?
What happened to ‘I disapprove of what you say, but will defend to the death your right to say it’?
Why after seeing the total horror of the Australian fires did I only cry when I saw Sam the Koala?
I looked for my Golliwog badge and wondered if I’d be arrested for wearing it.
Then I considered if I had committed a ‘Thought Crime’ in remembering I had one somewhere.
What the fuck is going on?

On a totally different note.
I am part of the Aliens Road deputation that has been invited to the Colas offices about our trees tomorrow.
I don’t hold out much hope of us saving them but at least we can have a say in what replaces them.
They can piss off with their Tibetan and Chinese what-nots; I don’t think it’s unreasonable to have a native tree.
I hope the idiot from the council is there. Foul, greasy little man.
I had to hold my tongue at the ‘Neighbourhood Forum’ meeting as flipping out and swearing would have weakened our case.
Tomorrow I’m going to call him a cunt to his face and I’m really looking forward to it!

Sorry...

... It has been a while.
The Nutty Daddy away in The Wesht of Ireland is not good.
He as started having seizures and was whisked away to hospital on Sunday.

My research and reading suggests we are probably in to the the last stages of the illness.
I never know whether to call it an 'illness' or a 'disease'.
Or is it just 'Old Age'?

Jeez!...

I'm frightened for my head!

Some Photos Of The Last Couple Of Days

Chichester Cathedral on Sunday night.

This is what it looked like at 2.40 Monday morning.

The back garden later on that day.

Murphy The Murderous Feline was less than impressed with how this white shit felt on his feet.

The label says this plant is a native of Tenerife, so I doubt it's liking this weather either.

Today we only had a couple of flurries and a bit of sleet.
Apparently Thursday it is going to hit us bad.
We'll see.

Sunday 1st February

Having a head full of snot has blocked up my ears and fucked up my balance.
I got out of bed this morning, Yes! I slept, and fell all over the place.
This cold is savage.
My bone marrow aches and my hair is tender.
To top it off my back hurts and I can’t work out why.

Filled with Contac 400, Temazepam, Lemsip, Cannabis and Espresso I went to Crisp-e’s exhibition.
As expected, we lowered the average age by 40 years just by stepping through the door.
We were immediately offered a choice of drinks by an ‘old’ person who would have declared us, ‘Scum’, if we had met on the street!
Of course we dived in, it would have been churlish not to.
Now for the HUGE news!
Crisp-e got TWO highly commended’s!
One official and one unofficial.
This got the official “Highly Commended”, had a little label and everything.
I wanted to get a photo of it to show you but do you think I could get the fucking coffin dodgers out of the way?
Could I buggery!
Crisp-e found out that the judge wanted to give this one the same, but wasn’t allowed because they had to come from 7 different artists.
Fuckers!
If you are nearby, or fancy a train ride, check out The Oxmarket Gallery in Chichester.

On the train back we sat in the First Class bit, just because we knew it was only four stops and nobody would check.
It was here that I produced the bottle of Champagne and plastic cups from my bag!
It was long gone before we hit our stop!

A cracking night. Wish I hadn’t felt so under the weather.
Thanks to Crisp-e being brave and putting his stuff out there, we now know what kind of bollocks judges are looking for.
We both have had an insight in to how to ‘play the game’ when it comes to this kind of money winning competition.
We will earn next time!

Under The Weather

Everything has gone a bit dog shit.
While trying to sort out the security on the Wi-Fi I managed to lock everybody out.
Which is probably fine for anyone else but I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing with a computer.
I had to get hold of Ex Housemate Mikey and get him to talk me through it.
Even then it was being a fucker.
Next, I haven’t slept in 36 hours and I’m starting to get a little snappy and impatient.
To fucking top it off; during the Witching Hour this morning it became apparent that I have a vicious cold.
Horrible, unproductive cough that’s given me a sore throat; and a skull full of endless gallons of snot.

Our complaints have made our local paper.
Silly us for not understanding that trees have ‘a finite life’.
So how long are the new ones going to last I wonder.

This has pissed me off.
A Mum and a Dad?
Well, perhaps if you’d kept the fucking needle out of your arm and had a clue who had sired them they’d have a Mum and Dad.
Skaghead scum.

I've watched the first two new episodes of Shameless.
Episode 1 has to have THE best TV Baptism I have ever seen!
Favourite Frank line, “I’ve got the face I deserve son..”

Competitions And Checkouts

Entries 173 - 180 are our very own Crisp-e’s!
Check it out people, three in the final.
Some of us are going to the ‘first night’ with him and Mrs Crisp-e.
I think our job is to drink whatever is free, slag off the competition, intimidate the judges and ‘encourage’ people to buy his stuff.
Unless my understanding of Moral Support is off base.
Fortunately Dave the Artist will be there and he knows how to behave at such things.
Although I fear it will end up feeling like a school trip with the ‘challenging’ children for him.

Why do they insist on making me a criminal?
For some of us, it’s only the weed that prevents us from committing murders!
I wouldn’t sleep AT ALL and would have to be medicated with man made shit.
With all the various contraindications they come with, ‘serious psychosis’ included.
It’s not like I don’t know the risks.
I saw what weed did to my Bi Polar brother in law.
What he was smoking was not the problem in itself, being an undiagnosed manic depressive was.
It just exacerbated an underlying mental condition NOT caused it.

It’s mainly the overuse of ‘Richard’ that does it for me!

Those of you who do, could you offer one up for The Sainted Mammy and The Nutty Daddy away in the ‘Wesht’ of Ireland.
He is in respite care at the moment to give TSM a break.
It is now time for her to seriously think about full time care for him.
I can’t imagine how hard having to make that decision is especially as it’s their 50th anniversary in March.
Since being in the care home TND has added some new behaviours to his Alzheimer’s CV.
Head butting and spitting! The head butting cracked me up!
Almost as much as when he started blowing his nose in the curtains.
That one repeated one me for days.

Also one for my mate Smudger who died yesterday.
The cancer hit hard and took him fast.
A dear and wise friend, who did his best to teach me how to ‘play the game’ when working in a school where the head is a cunt.
Martin Smith, you were a gentleman and I’ll miss you.

Sunday 25 January 2009

I’ve had a good day.
My sister dropped round and I got to spend some time with my nephew.
He is nine months old now and mildly interesting. They're no use to me until they are about two and a half, three.
We noticed today that he has the same mad double crown thing going on with his hair as I do.
It was nice, it made me feel a bit more connected to him.
Like all the other boys in my family he is a great little cuddler.
The girls all give the impression they wouldn’t piss up your arse if your kidneys were on fire and have done since the moment they were born.
There is a family story that we are descended from the last Viking King of Scotland.
(Probably a load of bollocks like most of these stories!)
The last one dying around 1905. The family story goes that at his funeral, which was a full on burn the fecker in a boat affair, a riot broke out.
It made the papers because it was the women of the family who were punching out the police left right and centre, not the men.
Funnily enough I don’t think this bit is bollocks!

You just got to love the ‘Christianity’ of the Catholic Church.
Take away from the poor just to prove a fucking point to one man?
Yeah, I’m sure that’s just what Jesus would have done.

Why am I at all surprised that a Pope with a Nazi past would ‘pardon’ this prick?
Fat fuckers need to stay away from me; I’m obviously susceptible to infection.
Would I be protected if I surrounded myself with anorexics?

At least I have the new series of Shameless to look forward to this week.

21st January 2009

I know I shouldn’t laugh but I don’t care.
The fact that he is French is just the icing!
A fucking Poodle too! Man’s dog that.
I hate Poodles, absolutely detest them. Especially the big bastards.
One got hold of me when I was about 8 and humped me to ‘satisfaction’, his, most certainly not mine.
Imagine having to go home and explain why you have dog spunk all over your back.
Not one of the most comfortable conversations I’ve ever had with my Grandparents.
Also, being eight I didn’t really have the knowledge or vocabulary to be clear as to what had happened so it took a couple of attempts.
I do know I never saw those clothes again and I fucking hate dogs with Afros.

This evening I cooked Carrot and Honey soup. Very easy and very tasty.
I managed to fill and I mean FILL the house with smoke while trying to use the ‘Chargrill’ frying pan.
Fucking thing.
For the first time I was glad I’d smashed up the smoke alarm with a hammer.
Oversensitive fucker.
If it were ‘alive’ it would still be screaming like a chimp on fire.

My Beloved Spurs almost gave me a heart attack this evening.
Bastards!

Creepy.

This is Kenneth, contemplating my murder.

20th January 2009

The Aliens Rd trees have had a stay of execution.
Sassy has been a brilliant email fiend and totally mobbed the councillors.
Most of the street seems to have mobilised in one way or another.
However, not everyone wants to save the trees.
They drop leaves on the cars. What a fucking shock that is.

I watched the Inauguration today, mainly because I felt I should.
A momentous historical moment and all that.
Give it a fortnight and we’ll be sick to fecking death of Barack H Obama.

If I had any money at all I’d be on this like a shot!
It would pay for itself in rentals in no time.

It Looks Like War

Guerrilla leafleters were out and about last night.
Posters have appeared on the trees of Aliens Rd rallying us to save them ALL from being cut down.
Having thought about it and after some consultation with Dad, I’ve decided that taking the tree down may cause more damage to Sleepy Mansions than leaving it there.
The house already leans noticeably to the right so fuck knows what dying, shrinking roots would do.
Probably make it collapse in on itself like the Money Pit that it is.
So I ‘phoned the number on the poster to find out what was going on.

I got through to Shirley McSurly at the council helpdesk.
Fucking misnomer that.
It went like this.
“Good Morning, could you tell me what is happening to the trees in Aliens Rd please?”
Huge sigh, then she started to talk.
From her tone and pitch I could tell this wasn’t her first call of the day on the subject, so I stopped her.
“Stop. Just tell me, are ALL of the trees being cut down?”
Huge sigh,
‘No-ah. Just the diseased, the dangerous and those causing damage to property’.
“What if cutting the trees down actually causes damage to my property? What happens then?”
‘You’d have to take that up with Colas.’
“Why have we only been given a week’s notice that works were going to occur but no mention that trees were going to be cut down? Is that so we couldn’t do anything about it?”
‘You were informed in December that this was happening.’
“Liar! I have the letter in front of me dated the 9th of January!”
‘You were….’
“Liar!”
‘If you continue to be aggressive I will hang up on you.’
Talk about a red rag!
I was almost biting my knuckle with effort to keep ‘it’ in.
I couldn’t.
“Fucking Liars!”
She hung up.

Later in the afternoon Colas people turned up, looked at the posters and spoke on mobile phones.
I tried to speak to one of them but they were having none of it and were in their van and gone pretty swiftish.
Sassy found out from her emails to our local Councillors that 12 of the 15 trees along the road are marked for death.
Not good.

Housemate Pat is home.
Today she cooked something that smelled so rank, I puked in the sink seconds after walking in to the kitchen.
“You sick?” she said.
‘Er, fucking YES!’
“You eat something bad?”
‘No! I smelled something bad!’
She laughed at my little ‘joke’ and trundled off upstairs with her bowl of slurry.
I’m fighting my every instinct to hide the saucepans.

It’s about time someone said something.
Fucking knob.
Where’s a Muslim fundamentalist when you need one?

Best text of the day was from a train using Sassy,
‘Goats! Fucking Goats at Kentish Town!’

A Funeral, A Wake And An Advert

I attended my first ever Non-Religious funeral.
I always thought that’d be the kind of thing I would go for.
It’s not.
I’ve surprised myself and decided I want a little bit of ritual.
Lovely things were said, nice music played and poems read but to me it didn’t feel like we had ‘sent her off’, it didn’t feel right.
She was also in a coffin that looked like a picnic basket.
Apparently it’s rude to ask if there are plates in the lid or if there is a Tupperware lining!
I considered them perfectly justified seeing as I had just had to endure Il Divo singing My Way.
Another thing I had never seen before were people taking photos of the coffin.
It struck me as a bit macabre and I wondered where you would display snaps like that.
Brighton was fucking freezing.
It was sunny but didn’t seem to warm up at all during the day.
I always forget how frigging hilly it is too.

The Wake was like no Wake I’ve ever been to.
They usually live up to the stereotype,
“What’s the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish funeral? One less drunken Irishman.”
This had to be the most abstemious send off I’ve ever been to.
When they eventually let us in to the pub (they forgot we were coming) I bowled up to the bar and got a double Brandy in.
I was cold!
She then served up 40 teas and coffees while I disappeared for a smoke and tried not to look like a total piss head.

Then there were the old people who were convinced they knew me.
I get this a lot. I’ve got one of ‘those’ faces.
One old bloke even put his arm round me, pulled me in to a circle of coffin dodgers and said,
“I can’t remember the last time I saw this one”.
Looking for help from the people I DID know was pointless, they were all cracked up in a corner, waving.
I told the Oldies there was a Whiskey for the first one who could remember who I was and got the hell away from them.

My most hated advert at the moment is the one that goes on about ‘Restoring the balance of natural vaginal flora’.
Fucking Flora? There’d better not be!
Flora is foliage for Christ’s sake, unless, of course I have misunderstood the use of the word Bush for all these years.
Possible, but unlikely!

A Lesson Learned

The lesson of the day.

It’s probably best not to have your hair cut by a man who has,
“Just seen that bitch (soon to be ex wife) in Waitrose buying ice! Buying ice! But tells me she has no money for the kids. Doesn’t the fucking freezer make ice?”

Fortunately he started with the clippers and had calmed down a bit before it was time for scissors.
He caught my ear twice but assured me he would leave it on.
I thanked him, explaining what a boon two are for one who wears glasses.
Complaining wasn’t really an option considering I had negotiated the price down to a gents cut.
Arguing that clippers made it quicker and I didn’t want it washed, so it didn’t warrant the arse rapey women’s price.
I think I’ll stick with him because as wound up as he was he still noticed, and mentioned, every peculiarity with my hair.
‘Whoa! Wicked double crown!’
‘Ooh! You have a weird thing going on at the back here’
‘Christ! A cowlick at the front too!’
I think he’s done a good job, I smell like ‘chemicals’ and my hair is stiff but it only cost me £19.

I had coffee with Janis this afternoon.
What I really love about this whole blog thing is that it makes it feel it wasn’t ages ago I last saw her.
Vancouver doesn’t seem that far away.
We just sat down at the table with our mugs and ‘picked up’ a conversation.
Love it.

Tomorrow I am going on an ‘Away Mission’ to a funeral in Brighton.
I didn’t know the dead person but I’m going as moral support for someone who did.
It’s going to be an opportunity for a Social Anthropology study.
Apparently the family is just as dysfunctional as mine.
Should be an interesting trip.
I’ll report back with my findings.

As you were.

Boots, Noise And A Tune

I had to buy some new walking boots.
The last pair lasted nine years but as I took my foot out of one of them last week, I disembowelled it.
Everything that was supposed to be inside it, wasn’t.
Because they had lasted so well I decided to go for the same brand again.
I’m one of those loyal idiots.
Check ‘em out!
I only paid £34 for them.
Thank Christ for child sized feet and their VAT free status.

For 15 minutes this evening someone tried to start a car right outside.
A noise that drives me mental.
It sounded like somebody was sawing steel girders and because I refuse to get rid of the wooden sash windows, they may as well have been in the living room with me.
I was just about to lose the plot, open the front door and scream,
“You’ve flooded it, you pointless twat!”, when the fucker started.
This meant another ten minutes of, ‘revving’.
Starting on the 19th the council are going to be ‘undertaking major tree works’ in my road.
Whatever they may be.
For four days, between 9.30 and 3.30 there will be no parking in the street at all.
I don’t drive so it doesn’t bother me but I can’t wait to see the street car free.
If they wanted to chop down the tree right outside my gate I wouldn’t be too upset.
Frigging thing drops leaves everywhere and I’m convinced it’s undermining the foundations of the house.

This is my tune of the day.

Tequila Madness

Today I have been mostly wanting to die after forgetting how fucking hideous a Wine, Tequila and Rum hangover is.
Some of The Mob were being entertained by Mr & Mrs Crisp-e last evening.
A brilliant night.
We ate the tenderest, juiciest leg of lamb. I love lamb; it’s one of my favourite things to eat.
Mad Matt and Mrs Mad Matt were out to play and so was the Big little Brother.
We scoffed, smoked, drank and laughed a lot.

I took a load of photos of the massive moon and us enjoying ourselves, then promptly deleted the fucking lot.
I was so fecking pissed off I could have bitten myself.
Just thinking about it now causes my stomach to knot up.
Especially as I had taken an absolute blinder of Mrs Crisp-e.
Grrrr!

This got my grin on today.

Toast And Ice

Today, I have mostly cooked.
I have cut Carbohydrates out of my diet and I’m suffering.
It would seem I have a serious Carb Habit.
I would commit murder for a couple of slices of toast and Marmite.
Sadly, I have even coveted Housemate Claire’s diabetic bread.
I’ve made French Onion Soup and a Beef Sausage and Butternut Squash Casserole.

It didn’t get above -2 in the Sleepy Mansions garden all day today.
I had to take a hammer to the ice on the pond and managed to fucking cut myself on it.
The ice, not the hammer.
It was my intention to plant the garlic but once I got out there I was distracted and ended up pruning the Plum tree.
The earth has frozen solid so there is icy cat shit all over the place.
Most pleasant.

My highlight came while out collecting rent. There were some of his mates there with him.
As I waited for payment I asked what they were watching.
A young man who looked like he had been slightly starved of oxygen at birth told me,
“The Diary of Anne Frank innit”
“Oh,” I said “I’m not watching that, I know how it ends.”
He looked at me and in all seriousness said,
“Ah right, have you seen it before then?”
I studied him for hints of humour, there were none.
The brother in law just shook his head and I grinned all the way home.

January 8th 2009

I am convinced that there is a Bail Hostel or some sort of ‘Care in the Community’ house a few doors along from me.
The men and it’s only men, who live there are middle aged and clothed in donated chic.
The residents seem to change pretty regularly, every six months or so.
They are in and out all day long. Returning with random bits of shopping.
A bag of spuds and milk then an hour or so later they’ll go out and get a bottle of coke.
This leads me to believe that they have been ‘institutionalized’ in some way.
1. They like to get out a lot.
2. They have no idea how to shop.
Then I got to wondering how I would find out if there was sort of facility in the street.
It appears there is no way to find out.

A couple of questions.
Firstly, why, once you mop the floor, does it become your floor?
“Fuck’s sake! Get off MY floor I’ve just washed it!”
I had a bout of that today.
Secondly, am I the only one who washes the mop head? Takes it off and boils it up kind of wash it?
I only ask to see if these things are general or if I have been ‘channelling’ my Grandmother all afternoon.

Astrakhan And The Pox

I have been out and about today.
It was so fucking cold I had no shame in wearing the furry Russian Military hat I bought in Budapest.
It renders me completely deaf but is the warmest thing I’ve ever had on my person.
Other than, another person.
Then the word Astrakhan popped into my head.
My Grandfather was always going on about Astrakhan coats and hats.
So I looked them up, thinking one might match my hat.
I can’t really see myself in it but it does look the fecking business.
Wikipedia tells me Astrakhan is the fleece of Karakul lambs.
Then I surfed into this.
Foetal fur? For fuck’s sake! That’s nasty.
I don’t think I’ll be putting one on my back.
Gorbachev put it on his head and look at the mark that left!

Housemate Pat popped back from her sister’s today.
I, unsuccessfully, tried to keep the look of horror from my face as I was confronted by the first adult I have seen with Chickenpox.
While convalescing with her family she’d caught it from her niece.
I don’t know why I assumed she would’ve had it as a child. They must get other stuff in Malaysia.

I know I shouldn’t but, Hehehehe!

Kenny saying his prayers to Ceiling Cat!

*Astrakhan And The Pox. I'm liking it for a band name!

January 6th 2009

Today is Nollaig Na Mban or Women’s Little Christmas.
It is a tradition in Ireland that men take over the household duties and the ladies have the day off to party with their friends, sisters, mothers and aunts.
Cracking! I scoffed and supped at Woodies Wine Bar.
It’s also Epiphany and my last blow out before a strict regime of diet and exercise begins tomorrow.

I’ve been in Chichester today.
Never buy coffee at the station, the prices are savage.
I love ‘Chi’! It’s so civilized.
It is the place to see swathes of pastel coloured corduroy on men over 70.
Barbour Jackets and Brogues are also de rigueur for both sexes.

Why can’t these fuckers just stick to what they know?
Their excessive ‘breeding’ policies in South America are what are fucking up the Rainforests, not me.
Their banning of condoms is what is wiping out Africa with Aids.
Fucking Pope. Six days into the New Year and he’s pissed me off already.

As pointed out by Sassy, what the fuck are my Beloved Spurs doing buying all sorts when we so obviously need a Keeper who can catch?
Come on ‘arry, get it sorted.

My Darwin Award this week goes to…

Blogger has been a complete twat for some reason. It's taken me hours to get this posted.

Edible Number Thirteen

I like ‘Junior Moment’ and ‘Edible Estates’ from this list.
I have had my garlic delivered from the Island for my edible estate.
Apparently garlic needs freezing temperatures to get it going. Frost helps it divide or something.
The Parsley and the Rosemary both seem to like the freezing weather and are thriving.

I saved up the whole of House series 4 to watch in one hit and am now in a serious lust with Number Thirteen.
Serious lust.
Something about her eyes I think.

I am going to make an appointment at the doctor this week.
My heart palpitations are beginning to frighten me now.
The length of time between when it stops and when it kicks back in is getting longer, so probably best to get it checked.

On the few occasions I travel on the Loser Cruiser I’m straight up the back!
I think most people I know do the same.
Where do you sit?

Stuff I Know Today

I love the title of this piece!

I couldn’t give a flying fuck who the new Dr Who is.

If you don’t want to be offended it’s probably best not to discuss Gaza with me.

After being MIA for a few days, I have found the wine I hid from myself!
Much rejoicing!

Slovakia now runs on the Euro.

This is the day Martin Luther was excommunicated.

The Clinique shit I was given for my face has made me spottier than a fourteen year old on a diet of chips.
Bastard Froggish filth.

This is my tune of the day.

The Untouchables is a brilliant film.

Subtitles And The End

Why do I turn up the subtitled bits of a film?
They are talking… and yes, they are talking ‘quietly’ in a language I DON’T understand.
What they are saying is flashed across the bottom of the film, in a language I DO understand, so why do I increase the volume?
It doesn’t make the script of the subtitles any bigger, which is what I actually need.
I’ve also noticed I want other people to “Shush”, while I’m reading.
What’s that about?
I blame the Godfather part two.

Things I have learnt this year…

Insure. The. Fucking. Cats.
To be more brutal when culling self seeded tomatoes.
I can grow Butternut Squash.
People will buy my photos.
I like cooking soups.
Brussel Sprout soup is shite. I was bored, they were cheap, ‘nuff said.
With a bit of planning the garden will feed the house.
Not to buy Aubergines unless I have a specific recipe for them. They don’t keep.
I HAVE to learn how to use the Mac.
I need more exercise.
I should visit my Brothers and Sisters more. They make me laugh SO much.
WD40 gets grease out of a Cashmere jumper but you do smell like a mechanic for a couple of washes.
Not to take part in any kind of BBC phone vote.
Peter O Toole should have won an Oscar for Venus.
I look old enough to mug. The fucking cheek of it.
Housemate Pat is Buddhist. They asked at the hospital.
That sometimes you’ve just got to let go.
Gavin and Stacey never disappoints.
Housemate Claire cooks a pot roast beef that tastes so good it’s sordid.
My Dad likes to talk to me as much as I like talking to him. How cool is that? I’m delighted he told me.
I still hate the Pope.
That while in the garden, shouting “You black twat” at my cat, is probably not a good idea in my multicultural neighbourhood.
I can watch the moment my Great Grandfather died on ‘youtube’. Most freaky.

Have a good one and may it bring you all it should.

Happy New Year.

Boxing Day

These photos sum up my day yesterday!

These, give you a glimpse of my day today...

Allow me to introduce some of the men of my family.

A brother in law, a brother and a Dad!

And now for the Girls! A niece, a sister and a sister in law!

I adore being around this bunch.
I have never felt like and 'Outsider' with these people. Eccentricity is expected, like a default position.
They REALLY get my grin on.

Best of all!!!!! Check out my autistic nephew M.

This is the first time he has interacted with any of us.
Singing and dancing just happens when we are together and M got involved! Look at his cousin's face!
This made my Dad cry.

As a treat.
I am going to allow you to see me.
Me, holding a child.
Here you go..... Me (My huge Christmas Zit) and my nephew, Ronnie.

I absolutely never, ever hold children, but there was something about this one!
His utter wilfulness appeals to me.

Violence Of The Lambs

I decided to do an experiment and cook a leg of lamb in the slow cooker.
Load of garlic cloves, Rosemary, 2 bay leaves, chopped up ginger, salt & pepper and a glass of white wine.
In the pot for 7 hours. (2.5lb leg)
An experiment I probably should have conducted earlier in the year when a fuck up would have been less of a… Well… A fuck up!
It was precisely 2.5 inches too long for the pot.
Fucker.
After violently swinging at it with a cleaver for five minutes, spattering meat up the walls and a near miss with my thumb, I gave up and went for the tool box.
I found a Tenon Saw and a hacksaw.
Neither looked particularly wholesome or the slightest bit washable.
There is a circular saw under the stairs but I’d ruled that out early on.
Fortunately, I remembered that Crisp-e bought one of those knives that cuts through those pens which can stab through tin cans, or something.
It took twenty minutes and was worth every swear filled minute.
The smells that are coming from the kitchen are heavenly.

First bit of Christmas TV gold.
Gavin and Stacey Christmas Special.
A bit darker than usual and kind of ‘setting up’ series three but still immense.

Merry Christmas people, may what ever gets your grin on visit you.

Random Thoughts On Tuesday

Stuff that happened, I was told or popped into my head on Tuesday.

Today, heaven is Helen Hunt in a wet tee shirt.
Hubba Hubba!
Thank you ‘As Good As It Gets’.

There was a queue in the Deli for cheese but Rue Albert Tesco was more or less empty.

Don’t go shopping with someone who is buying a ‘Secret Santa’ gift.
This exchange will give you an idea of how my brain works.

ME.. Do you like this person?
BUYER.. Why would that have anything to do with my choice. I’m getting her earrings.
ME.. Well, if you are not so keen on her just buy any shit worth a tenner and we can go to the Café Distress for a Vodka.
BUYER.. I said Coffee.
ME.. I heard Vodka.
BUYER.. She only wears small earrings.
ME.. What’s wrong with her ears then?
BUYER.. There’s nothing wrong with her ears! Why would you think there is something wrong with them?
ME.. If she wears little earrings she must not want to draw attention to them.
BUYER.. Her ears are fine!

Browsing, browsing, browsing.
Bored, bored, bored.
Owner/Friend appears.

O/F.. Hello! Hello!
ME.. J, for fuck’s sake sell her a pair of earrings for someone with sticky out ears, so I can go and have a Vodka.
O/F.. Are they really big ears?
BUYER.. Sleepy! For fuck’s sake! There is nothing wrong with her ears AND I said coffee.
ME.. I heard Vodka.

More browsing and locked cupboard opening.
At last earrings are selected, wrapped and paid for.

O/F.. They’re nice. Understated. Won’t draw attention to her ears.
BUYER.. There is nothing wrong with her ears!

We departed for the Café Distress.

BUYER.. Sleepy, you’re a cunt.

A five minute walk later, I had Vodka.

I had a real urge to find some of this this! It started when I was about six.
My childhood viewing totally primed me for magic mushrooms and LSD!
This is also from an era in my life when my diagnosis was ‘Hyperactive’ and they were drugging me with all the shit that was around before Ritalin.
My Grandmother’s Mogadon, also known as Nitrazepam, being a ‘privately’ administered top up to the prescribed shite.
The pills were crushed between two teaspoons, jam was put on one and the powder sprinkled on top.
Apparently, a dose that used to put my Nan out for 20 hours would give them a three hour respite from my incessant questioning, demands to be taken to the library, fire lighting and taking things apart.

Amazon packaging is NOT, ‘a perfectly acceptable form of Christmas wrapping’.
I have a vague recollection of being told this before.

I’ve cooked a huge saucepan of my Nan’s Red cabbage.
The smell soothes me and makes me feel happy.

WTF And Tesco

You fucking what?
I can honestly say that I have felt true hatred very few times in my life, but I hate this cunt.
My stomach tightens and I start to chew the inside of my mouth.
I see his face and I really wish harm on him.
How’s that for irony? The fecking Pope banjaxing my Karma.
The Fucker!
Look what he’s wearing for Christ’s sake and he calls me a ‘deviant’.
Man of G-d? My Arse.
What’s worse, I’m one of those deviants who actually turns up to Mass! Not just at Christmas.
A deviant who is one of the few who understands the proceedings in English.
The Panzer Pope doesn’t want us ‘touching’ each other during the sign of peace, how long before the whole thing is reverted back to Latin?

The ‘big’ Tesco was totally hellish at 8.30 this evening when I decided to do my Christmas food shopping.
Turkeys were actually being snatched from hands!
I was so stoned I got the giggles watching that and approached hysteria when I saw the shenanigans around the sprouts.
The pickled onions had been decimated and Chablis was on offer.
I had a list and was in and out in an hour, 20 minutes of which was spent queuing.
The people in front had a grand total of 206 quid’s worth, then they produced coupons.
Piles and piles of coupons.
By the time they had finished their bill was down to £68.
Fuck me!
To say I was impressed would be an understatement.
I am going to be trying some of that shit next year.

Watched Iron Man tonight.
Does anyone else feel that they couldn’t get John Malkovich for the ‘Obadiah’ role, so they dressed Jeff Bridges up to look like him?
It niggled me the whole way through, for some reason.

Sneezing Sunday

I read somewhere in the last couple of days that sneezing is linked to sex.
That thinking about it brings on the sneezing or something.
I’d link to it if I could be in any way arsed.
I have been very sneezy today and each time, I thought,
‘Oh that’s linked to sex.. Was I thinking about sex just then?’
I had a ponder.
‘No! I was thinking how boring the WBA v Manchester City game was. Was I thinking about sex now? Yes. Yes, I was. Thanks a fucking bunch!”
I think there is a flaw in their research but I haven’t read the article properly.
Either way I started to have thoughts, of an impure nature, about the Polish woman at Mass and because I flicked past an episode, Captain Janeway and Seven of Nine.
A bit later on it was Celia Imrie, how wrong is that? Celia Imrie? Where did that come from?
But she does have absolutely magnificent tits.
I haven’t sneezed since I started thinking about sex though.

I’ve watched two cracking films today.
My Big Fat Greek Wedding and A Matter Of Life And Death.
In the first, everything is cured using Windex and spit roast lamb.
In the second, David Niven just expects heaven to look like England and to join a queue, “I wonder where I report?”
Both are brilliant; but you have to admit that they knew how to do colour in 1946.
It also reminds me of the time when I lived with the Grandparents and life was ‘perfect’.

Consensus

This is the text I sent out this evening.
“Wouldn’t it be brilliant if Bruce Forsyth dropped dead on live TV?”
The general consensus was,
‘LOL’

Wine, Texts And Photoshop

Last evening Mad Matt dropped by with a bottle of Chablis and a belly full of laughs!
We were joined by Mr & Mrs Crisp-e and for a short while the Sassy one.
We polished off a few bottles of wine, a Chinese Takeaway and many, many smokes.
It soon became apparent he wasn’t going to make it home and the spare room was made up.
I couldn’t tell you what we laughed about but I know we did a lot of it, my sides ached this morning.

The chuckles have continued this evening via text.
I have discussed with many people the concept of the “Shudder-Wee”.
(I’ve probably blogged it before but I’m too stoned to check)
That extremely satisfying piss which ends with a pleasurable shudder.
There is also the “Shudder less, Shudder-wee” which feels like it should end with a shudder but doesn’t, and its absence is disappointing.
It also sounds like a Nigerian Prince.
The text I received from MM was this,
“Just watched a man have a shudder wee and thought of u x”
I replied as only one could,
‘I’m touched beyond measure x’
Why the hell he would be observing another man having a slash was a question I thought I’d save for later.

Photoshop Elements, in partnership with the Apple Mac, have conspired to make me a raging, frustrated mess.
1. I’m pretty much clueless as to how the Apple actually works. Preferring to use the laptop.
2. I’m pretty much clueless as to how Photoshop actually works.
Preferring to get Crisp-e to do it for me.
I need some sort of guide that doesn’t presume that you have the SLIGHTEST idea.

If the fact that there are 18 of them wasn’t advert enough for sterilisation.
Starting all the names with a J has got to be.

Ink And Auras

The trip to get more printer ink was painless.
Sassy accompanied me and we took the opportunity for a swift coffee in the Café Distress.
One of the great things about our ‘fugees is the café culture they have brought with them.
Today, The Distress looked as if it was predominately Bulgarian.
They were definitely Eastern European because I couldn’t pick out anything recognisable in what they were saying.
Loathed as I am to say it, Latin HAS had its uses, unlike the physical assault as a teaching method, that hasn’t been much of a boon at all.
There were about 10 dark, stocky men who greeted each other with handshakes and shoulder punching.
One took up the ‘Tony Soprano’ position and the rest arranged themselves deferentially around him.
For some reason I really wanted them to produce a chess set or a deck of cards.
I was amused that he was drinking a cappuccino with lots of froth and chocolate.

The Sassy one needed to collect dry cleaning so I ended up waiting for her in the ‘hippy, crystal, self-help book, Enya and whale song’ shop.
I don’t go in there often because the moment I cross the threshold I feel bewildered.
The yoga practising, tofu eating, wild haired women who work in there feel the need to follow me and tell me what the labelled thing I‘m looking at is.
In Europe all the shopkeepers immediately presume I’m local and speak to me in ‘gibberish’, here they all presume I’m a thief.
Do shoplifters wear a look of bewilderment as cover I wonder?
Their suspicion interferes with my Chi and gets my Chakras all feisty.
Fortunately, a couple who looked like they had been sharing a can of Tennant’s Super came in and I was abandoned amongst the Rose Quartz and Pythagorean Tuning Forks.
Sassy came to the rescue and we giggled at the CD of ‘Chill Out Music for Nervous Dogs’, before escaping with our Aura’s unmolested.

I have put the new ink in the printer but it insists there is fuck all there and keeps telling me to replace the cartridges.
Screaming, “I fucking well HAVE you bastard!” at it, then at the computer, does absolutely fuck all to resolve the situation.
The sooner we get technology I can talk to/shout out and it just does it, the better.

I’m pissed off with Nigella.
She has been showing us her Christmas shit on BBC2.
Surprisingly, given my ‘anything with a pulse’ reputation, I don’t find her remotely attractive.
What’s pissing me off is the way she is always filmed as if we are spying on her.
Making us into peeping toms.
Fuck off BBC, if I chose to stalk someone it wouldn’t be Nigella!
Besides, I’m too easily distracted to follow someone around.

A Tuesday

A need for cigarettes drove me out in to the world today.
It was a mistake.
I saw one of my old supply teachers, the one who had attempted to teach us Germish, leaning on his sticks against a wall.
I asked if he was ok because he looked like he had broken down.
“I remember you!” he said using a name I was known by at school.
Then came the total fuck up your day question.
“Tell me, did you ever make anything of yourself?”
How the hell do you answer that?
“Um, well it depends on your criteria Mr R…”
I was too stoned and too taken aback to come up with anything remotely intelligent, so I opened my mouth and,
“Well, I’m a neighbour of yours!” came out.
He laughed and smacked me on the back a few times and I carried on my not so merry way.
Old Fecker!

I spent the afternoon printing out some of the black and white photos I took in Amsterdam, while trying to make some sort of sense of this.
I’m none the wiser but it looked fucking ‘epic’!
The ink ran out so this means I’m going to have to leave the house tomorrow and interact with people again.
I am not looking forward to that.

There really is no reason to laugh at this poor man’s misfortune but it cracked me up!
“…. it blew up spectacularly, bursting the doors off the oven.”
I know I’m going to hell!

The 'Dam Or Be Damned

Amsterdam was as I had left it. Fucking cold and watery.
The hotel/hostel we stayed in was a five minute walk from the station and the red light district.
It was clean, warm and had its own bathroom. The cigarette burns all over the bath suggested they had a lax policy concerning the smoking ban which is all you really need from a cheap hotel.
I did hope that the seven notches carved out of the edge of the table represented ‘bunk ups’ and not ‘kills’ but I realise when it’s cheap you can’t have everything.


Before we left we heard news that the Smart Shops had been banned from selling Magic Mushrooms and we were a bit pissed off as a ‘trip’ had been part of our plans.
On Saturday the Big little brother went out to get us some Party Pills to help celebrate his birthday.
He returned so excited he could barely contain himself.
The Mushroom menus come out at night!
Being an inventive people, the Dutch have got around the ‘shroom ban with Truffles.
The brother had found Mexican Mushrooms and Truffles called Philosophers Stone (Sclerotium).
I had the Sclerotium and J had both!
After an hour or so J suddenly stood up, looked around and announced,
“I declare it good times!”
Taken a little by surprise I replied,
‘Thank Christ somebody has!’
This little exchange sent us both into deep, belly laughing hysteria.
They were extremely euphoric and I giggled and giggled.
I even got to the point where I knew I’d have to stop or burst into tears.
At some point ATM ‘phoned to wish him Happy Birthday.
J was really coming up on the ‘shrooms and the first words out of his Mum are,
“Feel any different?”
J, not realising she meant, did 21 feel different, looked panicked and blurted out,
“I’ve taken Magic Mushrooms!”
This tickled me for a long time.


Laying on the bed I got the feeling of rushing down a tunnel, like a ‘Shroom Flume.
There was nothing I could do about it other than keep my elbows tucked in.
An extremely pleasant and intense experience although texting was a bit of a trial.
I was the last one to go to sleep and the first one up the following morning.
Joints were smoked, vodka drunk, and book read as I waited for the ‘Hardcore of a Generation’ to wake the fuck up!


We caned the coffee shops and were stoned about 18 hours a day.
I stormed my way through some heady hash from Africa and the Indian continent.
Aaah. I miss proper hash.
Starting with White Russian, travelling through Hawaii and Asia, I smoked six different varieties of weed.
Most agreeable.
I also realised that I smoke cannabis for totally different reasons to my brother and his mates.
They smoke to get absolutely, positively fucked up.
Whether a smoke is an Indica or a Sativa is important to them as well as the strength of it, but most of all they want to be left dribbling and staring in to space!
I like to smoke and see what the effects are.
Some make me want to draw, some make me want to write, others make me very aware of music and some make me want to be active.
They just wanted to get ‘retarded’.


Which brings me on to the words I heard most this weekend:
Epic, Retarded, Sketchy, Spin Out, Blatantly and the most heard sentence;
‘I could do with something to eat’.
I swear to Christ they needed to eat something hourly.
Not just munchies, full fucking dinners!
But it’s done. My baby brother is twenty one and I was delighted to be a part of it.




This is one of my top ‘Dam tunes from this visit. Heard in the Hill Street Blues coffee shop while smoking Manali Charas.
Good times.

Wanking kills. Those hellish Nuns were right!

The Bang And The 'Dam

Who knew The Sally Bang were so fucking fierce!

Tomorrow I leave for Amsterdam.
I’m so looking forward to this trip.
I thought I’d check out the forecast for the next few days having frozen my tits off there more than once.
Snow!
Heavy snow is forecast for the ‘Dam.
The Big little Brother is delighted. His plan is to head straight for Tara’s Irish Pub, sit by the fire in the big comfy chairs and go silly with the Brandy.
After a coffee shop, of course!

This is my tune of the day.

Tame Tuesday

Tuesday was a lot less hectic.
I watched a cracking movie called Mongol.
The filming was beautiful and for a sometimes violent film I found it strangely calming.
I read somewhere it was part of a trilogy; I really hope it is.

Cousin Markus became a father today!
A little girl, who will be known to the world as Aliyana, which is Spanish for Beautiful Girl.
I’m chuffed to bits for him!
I have seen a picture and she is stunning… But I WOULD think that!

Spent my evening thinking about packing for the ‘Dam.
I have a 20x20 clear bag for toiletries I don’t actually have yet.
I’ve found some European plug adaptors and some warm socks but that’s about it on the packing front.
I’m stressing about whether to take my new camera.
There is so much I’d like to photograph but I’m worried it would be like wearing a massive “Mug Me” sign if I took it.
A lot needs to happen tomorrow.

Manic Monday

Monday was a really weird day.
Housemate Pat’s doctor called and said that she needed to go into hospital.
She started to tell me what was wrong but I managed to stop her at ‘uterus’.
The point of this call was to tell me I needed to get there, in a taxi, with her packed bag and take her.
My response was along the lines of,
‘What! Me? Are you mad? Why? I’m just her landlady!’
I ended up agreeing to go and set about packing a bag.
I’ve never packed a bag for a hospital stay in my life!
ATM or my Grandmother did that.
I remembered it involved buying slippers and Pears soap but that was about it.
She couldn’t have chosen a more inappropriate person for the task.
It’ll be like a Lucky Dip for her when she does open it!
There definitely are slippers and soap in there; I’m too traumatised by trying to find her underwear to remember anything else for sure.
I got her there and booked in, then wanted to leave.
The nurse led her to a bed and as I had her bag, I had no choice but to follow.
I started to get really worried when the curtain was pulled behind me.
“You can sit over there” I was told.
“Can I fuck!” she was told.
I slung the bags on the bed and escaped.
An hour later I was told they were keeping her in.
I was out of there! Almost bathing in the hand wash that smells of vodka.

I went for a mooch around the cemetery opposite for an hour to try and clean the hospital off me.
I pitched up at Housemate Claire’s office to eat my sarnie in the warm.
Then I marched to Crisp-e’s to vent my spleen.
Thanks for that mate.

The ‘Dam trippers dropped by this evening to have a smoke and sort out the arrangements.
We had a smoke.
No arrangements were made.
Unless you count the discovery that three of us can use the same ‘phone charger!

Jupiter and Venus have been getting up to something complicated which made the night sky breathtaking.

It looked exactly like the cover of the Peter Pan book I had as a kid.

A sliver of a Crescent Moon with the brightest star just below the lower point.

It's the only time I've wanted a sooper dooper telephoto lens.

No Shame

Perhaps someone can explain this to me.
Why would you bother trying to Emotionally Blackmail a person with Asperger’s?
Let us look at just two points of the disorder.
‘Failing to notice the body language of others and appearing insensitive to the views and feelings of others.’
Mind reading and telepathy ARE NOT part of it.
So if you had a motor accident last fucking Sunday and don’t mention a word of this ‘alleged’ accident until this Sunday, of course I have been a thoughtless cunt in not asking you how you are.
If you received a text message saying,
“Could you look after J in her old age?” would you think that meant that Jessie would end her days living with you or would you need the, ‘for a long weekend’ at the same time as the initial message not four fucking days later?
Four days in which you have received other texts slagging you off for ‘not really caring or giving a shit’.
It seems to me that some people find the idea of an Asperger’s person bizarrely ‘exotic’ and amusing; then when that person acts and behaves in the only way they can these people freak out.
Well, fuck off! FUCK OFF!
It’s not like I can fucking change.
Don’t you think that if I could, I would have done it years ago and saved myself some pretty vicious beatings?

My day got worse.
Some fucking gobshite whore’s son tried to mug me on my way back from the off license.
As I was walking home he cycled up behind me and tried to grab the bag of wine.
I banjoed him straight off his bike, the fucker, then ran home to get my bat.
Fortunately, some would say, the bastard was gone by the time I got back because I was ready to get fucking Medieval on him.
Housemate Claire cracked me up with her response.
Shaking her head she said,
“Before 7? On a Sunday? Some people have no shame!”
No mate. They don’t.

But maybe this tosser will think twice before doing it again.
My knuckles are bruised and scraped, I felt a little shaky for about 15 minutes but we had wine with dinner!

A Short One

I have had THE most hideous hangover today.
A head pounding, stomach churning cracker of a hangover.
Felt absolutely vile until about 7pm, thankfully the vomiting had finished by 2pm.
My health was restored by a combination of tea, toast, scrambled egg and Marmite.
Thank Christ for Marmite.

Can you imagine the conversation between this couple!
“Darling. ‘Army Fuckers’. Is that one of yours?”

I can’t really get my head around this one.
Other than we live in a very fucked up world.
Don’t worry. I haven’t just noticed this!

Passports

I was convinced the fucking Passport people were viciously taunting me.
They sent me my mutilated old one like some stark, ‘I have scissors’ warning but no new one.
The timing is getting tight and it is torture waiting.
Then at 13.44 it arrived recorded delivery!
Much joy in Sleepy Mansions.
Sleepy is going to Amsterdam next week!
Whoo Hoo!

This stuff that’s going on in Mumbai.
I have a question.
When they asked for all those who had British passports to step forward, it is quite likely that Asians with British passports were there, were they shot?
Or did they ask for the ‘white’ British to step forward?
Just a thought.

The Christmas adverts are assaulting me with ‘Music’ this year.
Specially recorded albums by specific wankers.
I haven’t got a fecking clue who Il Divo are or where they came from, but I do know that just because you sing Amazing Grace in fucking Italian doesn’t make it ‘Opera’ or even nice.
Worse than this bunch of tossers are, ‘The Priests’.
WTF!
Just needs an album of Torch Songs by the Synod of the Church of England for the complete emetic set.

This afternoon I’ve got myself so stoned my ears ache from grinning!

Divisions

I have decided that there is another division in humankind.
Along those, ‘Marmite, love it or hate it?’ lines.
Those who have a fascination for squeezing spots and those who find it the most gut churningly vile thing on earth.
I count myself, vehemently, among the latter.
Yesterday I discovered my mate Crisp-e is in with the former and like the Tame Pharmacist, positively salivates at the prospect.
How utterly horrific is that?
See, you think you know a person then BAM! They hit you with shit like this!
I also discovered he does unspeakable things with jam.
I’ll save that for another day.
It must be these kinds of differences that keep good friendships going.

I have had to declare a house-wide sock amnesty.
We all dry stuff in the airing cupboard and because I only wear black socks I grab them all when I see they are dry.
It’s never occurred to me that Housemates may also wear black socks.
Why would it?
I can’t wear non matching, I can see slight differences in blackness, feel minute differences in thickness and it ‘bothers’ me, greatly!
All part of my bizarre charm!
Now I have too many that don’t match and something has to be done before I freak right out.

Another ex pupil. RIP.

This is my tune of the day. Check her backing singers!

The revisited joke of the day was the one about Noel Coward looking at the ceiling during an introduction and saying,
“Edward Woodward… Edward Woodward.. It sounds like a fart in the bath”.
Cracked me up, again!

Home

I’m back in a fecking frigid Pompey.

My Beloved Spurs won!
I believe I’ve overcome my Jonah-dom by watching wearing my retro shirt and my flat cap backwards.
Although, this look doesn’t agree with everyone.
Sassy asked why I looked like I should be in ‘90’s boy band.

I can leave it un-remarked no longer.
Housemate Pat has THE most hideous, hacking, phlegm shifting, lung wrenching, drag up your toenails cough I have ever heard.
I suggested to the other housemates that she might be Tubercular.
Allegedly, I wasn’t using my quite voice.
I didn’t fucking care, I HAVEN’T had a BCG injection.
Being treated for TB is not high on my ‘to do’ list.
I try and avoid antibiotics if I can.
I’m saving those for when I have to go into a NHS hospital and my wounds are swabbed with the toilet brush.

I also learned not to ask if someone’s wife is insured if their brother has dropped dead aged 38.
Apparently it is not ‘the done thing’ to enquire, even if it seems like the most obvious question in the world.
Ho hum… You live, you learn.

Yapper Type Dogs

Why is it that people with little yapper type dogs that get all aggressive and bark at your hound always say things like; ‘Oh don’t mind him’, ‘He’s all mouth’ and bollocks like that?
Control the little fucker then, because what I have on the end of my lead isn’t all mouth.
Two thousand years of selective breeding mean he wants to rip your pointless little fucker to bits.
All he sees is an annoying, barking rabbit.
So don’t smile and tell me, ‘He doesn’t mean it’ because mine fucking well does!
They are also the owners who would be straight to the police demanding that my dog is put down when it's their dog that shouldn't even have been bred or born in the first place.
A Shih Zhu? What's that all about? A dog whose arse is indistinguishable from its head.
Pointless.

Here endeth the rant.

Strictly Panic

I wouldn’t say I’m a fan of Strictly Come Dancing but I’ve watched bits and pieces of a few series.
This time round I’ve had a look because of John Sergeant.
He isn’t the greatest mover but he has a go and his efforts are amusing.
Now all the judges are up in arms because ‘better’ dancers are getting voted of and apparently this ‘makes a mockery of the competition’.
Well, ’duh’!
He was obviously asked to do it because the producers of the show wanted him to make a dick of himself.
The judges are turning up on all sorts of news and chat programmes whining that he should be voted out.
Fuck off! He’s the best thing in it!
I really hope the British public keep him in. I think people look at him and think, ‘Aah, he could be my Granddad or Dad’.
His Paso Doble has got to be one of the greatest TV moments ever!
Check out the moves at about 18 seconds in. Described as looking as though he was taking the recycling out!
Gold! Pure Gold!
I’ve never voted in any TV related thing before but John Sergeant has my vote every time!
Sassy sent me this!

Laugh? I nearly hurt myself!
I have often tried to explain to people how incomprehensible my Dad’s Dad sounded.
He’d say something and we would look at Gran for a translation!
If the old bastard wasn’t dead I would swear he did the voice over for these!

I’m in a bit of a panic.
My passport runs out in February and to travel it has to have three months on it.
I’m not sure whether to risk sending off for a new one and keep fingers crossed its back in time for the ‘Dam trip or to try and travel on it and hope they don’t notice.
I feel sick and a bit stressed.

A moody Wiltshire sunset for you to look at!

Princes, Paupers And Ponces

Yesterday evening I watched a programme about Prince Charles.
Part of his 60th birthday celebrations and all that bollocks.
I know I’m setting myself up for a bit of grief, but I like the bloke.
Really like him.
I was quite indifferent before I watched but by the end of it I felt a bit sorry for him.
Fuck off with the ‘Oh, but he’s loaded..’ shit. You just think that having his money will make you happy because you haven't got any.
It won’t.
Especially if every slip of the tongue and fuck up was splashed all over the paper.
The woman you love slagged off and they also go for your children.
Think about some of your most embarrassing balls ups on the front pages of The Sun.
Still envious? I’m not.

Then this evening a new programme called ‘Apparitions’ started.
If the rest of the series is as good as the first one, the BBC has got a winner.
I love a bit of the paranormal, so I’m sold.
Schnee, this is SO for you. You’ll love it!
It did make me think though.
Am I the only one who thinks that, “Seminary”, is just the wrong word to be used for anything priest related?

Just so we remember; the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Bingo!

My hope that I would wake up ‘all better’ were explosively dashed 5 minutes after my morning cup of tea.
At about four this afternoon normal service was resumed and I was allowed to keep water down.
I managed to time a cigarette run while I was ‘empty’ and got to see some blue sky.

While having a trawl through Youtube I found this.
Not something I have really considered but I suppose I should!

I saw an advert today for online bingo.
An extremely attractive, scantily clad woman who was draped across a bed, seductively touching the laptop keys with her beautifully manicured fingers.
She wanted you to play bingo with her.
I have seen a few chuck out times at the bingo and I can swear on the bible none of what was spilling out looked remotely like that!

My beloved Spurs beat Liverpool 4-2 this evening!
My Football funk has lifted, at last.

Disasters And The 'Dam

Yesterday started disastrously.
While taking the recycling to the bin the front door slammed and locked me out in monsoon conditions.
I leant on the doorbell for ten minutes before it became obvious that there was no way Housemate Pat was going to let me in.
Sassy was at work so I couldn’t get hold of the spare keys.
Mrs Next Door With The Kids let me stand in her garden yelling at Pat’s bedroom window.
I had the best Mike Reid “Eastenders” ‘PAT!’ moment.
She eventually got up and trying not to swear in front of the children, I asked her if she could let me in.
She wasn’t happy but I was soaked to my underwear and really couldn’t give a shit.

My next disaster was potato related.
While carrying an armful of spuds to the kitchen one dropped.
Instinctively I volleyed it, attempting a kind of ‘keepie uppie’, hoping to catch it.
I connected with it so sweetly it flew up, at great speed, and hit me straight between the fucking eyes.
My glasses flew off into one of the buckets of water filled with torn newspaper and my nose bled like I’d opened an artery.
I decided it was probably better if I didn’t leave the house.

I cooked a curry and Sassy and the Random One joined us for the scoffage.
Then the Big little brother arrived. With mates.
I always love my brother’s friends they are so diverse and a great laugh.
He is 21 during the early days of December.
We are going to AMSTERDAM to celebrate!
Oh Yes!
This will mean I have had a ‘Dam trip with both of my brothers.
Fucking excellent!

Today I have some sort of bug.
Without going into too much detail, it’s one of those bugs that requires your arse and head to be over the pan at the same time.
I chose arse on bog and head in a bucket.
Most distressing.

The Weekend

The Mass Nutter has added a new string to his ever more eccentric bow.
Spitting.
He ran through the usual rocking, head slapping and nose picking then leant forward and spat on the floor.
The looks on the faces of the kids in the pew in front of him were priceless.
Moving from shock and horror to hysteria with a very brief stop at disgust.
Probably mirroring my own expression.

Yesterday was messy.
I got a call from a mate I went to Uni with.
A mini reunion was occurring and was I in?
Was I ever!
I have also been introduced to the loveliness that is pear cider and the unloveliness of a pear cider hangover.
We played darts and I had my breasts grabbed by ‘the girl who never turned up to lectures’.
An interesting end to the evening!
Thanks Mr E, Mr C and Miss G I had a fucking great time and it was brilliant to see you all.

Taking The Piss

Getting a urine sample from my cat is impossible.
The vet told me to shut him in a room overnight with a bowl of water and a litter tray.
At 4am he wanted out and was determined that digging the carpet at the door would be the quickest way.
He totally refused to use the tray.
As the 10am appointment time approached there was still nothing.
So I phoned the vet.
“Keep him in until midday” she said.
I told her he had never used a tray, even as a kitten he didn’t like it.
He has always gone out.
I also mentioned that I thought it a bit cruel keeping him in seeing as he has a bladder problem.
She got a little short with me.
“We need to test his sediments!”
I suggested she find another way of collecting them.
When I heard her sigh and I could almost see her eyes rolling.
I’d had enough.
“Do you know what? He’s fine. He’s happy, eating and pissing when you let him. So I think we’re done. I’ll be in later for some of the ‘special’ food. Thank you for everything”.
I hung up.
There was an instant when I did think, ‘Mmm, maybe that was a mistake’, but I got over it.
I did expect some attitude when I went in; instead I got the incomprehensible South African and a fucking Loyalty Card!

Sassy and I met for coffee and saw one of those splendid moments that seem to occur along Rue Albert.
Some bloke, so drunk he could hardly stand, harassing another.
He was almost pushed over twice but this part man, part Weeble wouldn’t go down.
They continued this down the middle of the road until they were out of sight.
Sassy said, “See? This is why I love The Rue Albert!”
I nodded, “This is why I love Pompey nutters!”
Snaggle-toothed Barista Boy chimes in with, “He ain’t Pompey, he’s French. He’s always down here and he’s always shouting in someone’s face”.
“Ahh!” we nodded.
As if his being French explained everything.
The police car screamed past us as we walked home.
Just as I thought it, Sassy said, “I bet he’s in Tesco!”
They all end up in Tesco.

This is my tune of the day.

A Rant And Some Beer

Housemates. I swear to fucking Christ if I find out which one of you is boiling up water in the saucepans and then not washing them, I will evict you.
It’s fucking nasty and really, really annoying.
Why should I have to do a load of washing up before I can even start cooking?
Believe me, I am petty enough to take the pans away and make you ask for them.
While we at it, how’s this for a plan. If you fucking break it, you replace it. Fucking genius isn’t it?
I will make sure I have a plate, a knife, fork and spoon, a mug, and a bowl.
Once you have destroyed everything else and nothing is left perhaps you’ll get it.
You bunch of cunts.

Sassy and I hit the ‘Distress’ again today and continued working our way through the beer menu.

We did these.

Well, except the Peroni. The Tame Pharmacist did that.
We dragged ourselves to the Thai restaurant, to line our stomachs, before it all got too messy.

Thanks to Sassy's "Disco Mix" this is my new ear worm.
Takes me back!

A Civilised Day

Today Sassy and I walked to Chav Ave.
I have to say that as Town Centres go, ours is fucking grim.
It’s been a long time since I’ve taken that walk and things have really changed.
It is also a walk that takes you past about 15 pubs without TRYING to do a crawl.
The University has got to be the biggest landowner in this city now.
They have huge buildings everywhere.

I even went into Debenhams with her.
For those of you who are interested in such matters, she has bought a cracking Little Black Dress!
The teenaged girls who had followed us in to the changing room could barely contain themselves when I answered one of her “Thigh” related queries with,
“Yeah, but you’ve got a fucking lovely arse!”
They were trying on very skimpy tops then stepping out of the cubicles to show each other.
There was much pulling and pushing of boobs. Most distracting.

We caught the Loser Cruiser back to Rue Albert and breakfasted at The Cafe ‘Distress’.
Didn’t know benign perving could give me such an appetite.
I ordered smoked salmon and poached egg on toasted brioche with Hollandaise sauce.
What I got was all of the above on two Crumpets with salad.
Interesting!
The waitress had told us the brioche was gone and offered Bagels as a replacement.
Which I agreed to.
That’s why I was slightly surprised by the bold use of a Crumpet.
Trying on stuff must also be hungry work; Sassy opted for the Full English, which in all likelihood, will bypass her thighs!

A civilised day.

Thanks to Barack Obama, I now have to make good on my promise.

“ImustNotcallthemSeptics, ImustNotcallthemSeptics, ImustNotcallthemSeptics, ImustNotcallthemSeptics”

It might take a while!

Dad And The Septic Vote

I have been to see my Dad today, always good for a giggle.
I’ve trained myself not to ask how he is because he actually tells me!
He just told me anyway today.
I was mentally LaLaLaLaLa-ing but it has something to do with what my Dad insists on calling a "Hepidural", into three locations in his spine.
It will all be slow release and should keep his pain under control for 4 weeks or so.
As I said, LaLaLaLaLaLa!

His one man campaign to piss every single one of his neighbours off continues at a pace.
It’s the parking area, his fence and pavements this week.
People keep dumping shit in the car park so he phoned the councillor for his area, at home.
He proceeded to tell the man that since he and his wife drew more money than anyone else on the council, (all wages and expenses are printed in the local paper) he ought to do something about “my fuckin’ car park instead of watering your hangin’ fucking baskets, you cunt!”
Has the tact of a diplomat and a gift for Anglo Saxon does the Old Man.

In the last 25 years he has moved the gate in his back fence at least 5 times.
Now he has moved it on to the side. This is where the pavement bit comes in.
He’s dropped the kerb and had the area up to the ‘double’ back gates blocked paved.
One of the neighbours whose name according to Dad, is ‘Fuckin’ Lard Arsed Mare’, has complained.
Dad’s winning argument is that now he is disabled he has to get his Mobility Scooter in and out.
His ‘mobility’ vehicle looks very similar to this.
I love my Dad!

Right. Come on you Septics!
If you vote in Obama I will try not to call you Septics anymore.
I promise to try, but I find so many of you totally disagreeable.
Come on people, we fucking hate you over here.
On mass, as a people, we fucking hate you! Sorry, but it’s true.
Do this one thing and redeem your nation.
If not, don’t bother getting a passport, you are not welcome outside your own borders ever again.
I think Ricky Gervais, more or less, says it all in this.

Yikes

This was the front page of my local paper on Saturday.
They call them the ‘family from hell’.
There was a time I called families like them an appointment at Parents Evening or Progress Review Day.
Lookers aren’t they?!

November 1st 2008

I’m sure many of us have started watching a film with the resolute determination to hate it.
Mainly because we lost out on the Housemate vote, but that could just be me.
I didn’t want to like The Bucket List and I tried desperately not to get choked up, but I did.
Bastards!

I’d like to know if they will be instigating these tests for those already in the priesthood.
Starting with the Panzer Pope and working their way down, as it were, Cardinals, Archbishops, Bishops, Priests, Monks and Nuns.
There’ll be fuck all left and a pregnant priest will be the least of their fecking worries!

I have been at Mr and Mrs Crisp-e’s for dinner.
The most delicious Beef Stifado I’ve ever eaten. Honestly.
It was one of those meals that left you wishing there was more.
Crisp-e, like Janis, is one of those good teacher types who will go away on school trips.
He does tend to limit his skills to the skiing trips and I’ve noticed only moves to schools that offer skiing trips!!
I can hear his indignation as he reads these words.
Every summer he manages to find some sort of ski related bargain.
This year it’s a hat.
Not just ANY hat. Headgear that can only be worn WITH the glasses.
Have you ever heard of such a thing? Me either.
Then he took the glasses off and, bugger me, he’s fucking right!
He looked a cock.
I publish the picture to give you a look at where we started for me to get to ‘Cock’.


It’s a worry isn’t it?
Moments like this are forgiven because the boy can cook like an angel!