Thursday In The Garden

The exceptionally fine weather has caused all the garden produce to put on a bit of a growth spurt.
Both of the rain collecting barrels are empty!
Seeing as I have spared the planet my contribution to the 'Children Footprint' and saved the local landfill a million disposable nappies, I feel I'm entitled to use my hosepipe with gay abandon.
There have got to be some perks to being childless, seeing as we dip out on all that 'maternity/paternity leave' shit, Family tax credits and free fucking everything while pregnant.
I'm choosing water for the garden as mine.

Brain Tired

Today has been more of a cerebral day than usual I'm actually tired.
I have been proofreading/editing Mrs Crisp-e's Masters Dissertation.
A tricky job and I had to really concentrate for once.
While I understand English, I do not understand Mathematics!
It's Witchcraft.
With some sound, practical advice from Sassy, I think the first two chapters are sorted.
Fingers crossed.

This gave me a real chuckle.

Dental Plans

This morning I went to the dentist for the first of three treatment visits.
Quite possibly my least favourite thing in the world but it had to be done.
I really, really do not like the chair and although my surgeon is an avuncular Irishman, I’ve watched Marathon Man far too many times!
Years of using Smoker’s Toothpaste had taken the enamel off my front teeth; tea, coffee and smokes had stained what remained.
It was horrible.
I was going to have it done ages ago but the cat got ill and the vet mugged me for £600.
I was so happy with the result, that as the enamel was replaced I didn’t even feel the £160 been removed!
Until late afternoon I felt like that Frenchist woman who had the face transplant, numb from the eyes down.
Right now, my complete top jaw aches like a bastard and the gap between my teeth appears slightly larger.

Mrs Next Door With The Kids was overheard asking her husband,
“Which child would you like to punch the lights out of?”
We overlooked the split infinitive because it sounded brilliant in her nice posh accent!

The Rage

We have been promised a heat wave this week and so far, so good.
The Sleepy Mansions garden thermometer hit 37°C today.
This meant that Housemate Pat’s line of washing was dry at 11.00am but did she bring it in?
Did she fuck.
By four I’d had enough of it shading my plants and shouted at her window,
“How much fucking drier are you waiting for this shit to get?”
When she came to get it, I used the opportunity to air another gripe.
“I’ve wiped up the sticky shit you dropped all over the floor in front of the washer.”
She thanked me. Fucking thanked me!
“So you knew it was there then?”
“Oh yes” She said, and pissed off indoors.
It took so much self control not to run and smash her head in with the spade, I made myself feel physically sick.
I haven’t felt quite that violent in a long time, or so I thought.

The ante was upped, considerably.

As the good weather has made the Vine grow apeshit, I decided to make stuffed vine leaves.
I wanted to give them a good wash as I am unsure of the Kashrut status of Spider, Aphid and Lacewing.
Ironically, this is when I discovered the slime ridden Pork bones blocking the sink.
In a split second I WAS my mother.
Rage and spite made flesh.
A primal scream that was part growl just began to well up in me and it couldn’t be contained.
Letting it out, I started beating and kicking the cupboard doors all the way around the kitchen.
(When ATM used to do this my sister and I called it ‘Drumming’ or ‘Mother’s gone a bit Keith Moon’!)
I did the only thing I could do, which WASN’T beating her until I was too weak to continue with something Le Creuset have made; I wrapped them in kitchen roll and left them outside her room.
She knows how I feel about pig products.

Anyway, here are the Dolmades!

Thursday...

Unusually, Mrs Next Door Without The Kids was home from work and out in her garden today.
So, during our ‘hellos’ her health was asked after.
“I have ‘flu.” I was told.
Followed up with the most stomach churning sentence ever.
“I am showing the symptoms for Swine Flu, so they are testing me for it.”
There is not really a reply for that so I stepped back and said, “Oh”.
They got back from a 2 month tour of Hong Kong and the Philippines at the end of May.
I would have thought it would have declared itself a bit sooner; unless she came back ‘clean’ and picked it up here or she just has ‘flu.
What ever it is I’ll be keeping the fuck away from all the inhabitants next door.

It’s just been announced that Michael Jackson is dead.
I wonder what happens to ‘his’ children now.

Bog Grub

The Bog Lettuce is coming along nicely and so far, *touch wood*, the slugs and snails have left it alone.
Maybe they slide right off the pan.

It’s weird, but no matter how many times I see Hugh Fearnley- Whittingstall the urge I have to kick his fucking head in never diminishes.
I wonder why that is?

There was a bit of excitement this evening when the police were called to the 'halfway house'.
The road was blocked for about half an hour while one officer talked to the nosey people across the road and her mate played with a dog further up the street.
I have no idea what it was all about as I was wondering whether I should stop the weed delivery!

This got my grin on today!
It also looks as if Froggish cuisine is pretty much fucked.

Monday 22nd June 2009

Yesterday was the longest day of the year and Christ it felt like it.
I spent hours in the garden and even though it was mainly cloudy with sporadic sun, I’ve managed to get some colour.
I’ve done something to the tendon in my arm though, turning my wrist causes pain to shoot up my forearm.
A real pisser when you’ve just picked up a boiling pan of pasta.


Check out the tomato selection!
Don’t even start to laugh at the Actimel pots.
If I didn’t wear glasses I could have blinded myself, twice.
Gardening while stoned, although a mellow experience, can be a bit frigging dangerous.
Also in the photo is some Garlic, Beetroot, Fig, Blackcurrant, Rocket and some Thyme.

This has given me endless giggles.
Simple things and all that.

This is what the Solstice is all about!

Blimey!

Well bugger me!
Check out the last comment on this old post.

It's the, 'My Imam told me about this blog....' bit that mildly freaks me out!

The Catch

Today is my Step Mum’s 60th birthday.
Unfortunately, I thought it was tomorrow and that’s when I’ve arranged for the flowers arrive.
My Dad’s ‘Father’s Day’ books turned up though which has made me feel like a right bastard.
On the subject of Dad; this is the photo my brother sent to my phone with the caption:

“We couldn’t afford a Chippendale for Mum’s birthday, so we got her this instead!”

It takes a certain kind of man to carry off braces with a pair of shorts and I’m proud to say, my father is just such a man!
I was visiting Crisp-e at the time and we cracked up.
He likes my Dad and is fascinated by his ability to be horrifically rude to people, without having an underlying ‘condition’ to blame.
I’m sure, if he were at school now he’d be diagnosed with everything they could think of.
As it was, he left at 14 with a couple of tattoos, all his teeth and eventually learned to read and write in prison.

In Dreams

I’m two for two.
2 days and 2 nights without sleep.
I’m having mild hallucinations, that ‘out of the corner of your eye’ stuff.
I can’t concentrate on anything and my spelling is for shit.

This is my tune for today.
It would seem I’m a bit of a sucker for a power ballad when teetering on the edge of insomnia induced madness.
It would also appear it does not have a negative impact on my Libido because I would smash the granny out of her!

Spiders On Tuesday

While trimming this shit, which I think is Feverfew; I noticed one of those False Widow spiders disappearing up the sleeve of my tee shirt.
Bitey fuckers.
Well, in keeping with my new ‘Hamas Hair’, I started beating my upper body like an Arab at a funeral.
The tee shirt came off and I think I stamped on it a couple of times.
Mrs Next Door With The Kids was bringing her washing in and asked,
“You ok?”
“Yeah, just a full on Spider Spaz.”
She shuddered.
Then a dangly bit on her washing line touched her face and she flipped.
The armful of washing went up like a nuclear mushroom cloud and she was in her house, door shut, before it hit the ground.
Most impressive.

The advertising for Father’s Day is coming at us hard and fast.
Mainly music, or so it seems to me.
George Harrison? If I bought the Old Man that he’d go fucking mental.
“Dad Rocks!” with Kiss, Robert Palmer and Lynard Skinnerd would get me killed.
I got him books.
A trilogy about Attila the Hun by William Napier.
I thought they were a really great read, he’ll fecking love them!

Monday The 15th Of June 2009

The first lot of Sleepy Mansions Radishes were harvested over the weekend.
I love ‘em and I love ‘em when they're hot and peppery!
Other than salad, roasted or dip does anyone have any recipes?
For Christ's sake don't suggest Stir Fry.
There are more to come as well. I've sown them so I can pull a crop every two weeks or so.


I think this is pretty cool.
Although, you do have to wonder about the number of years spent watching fucking ants!

Just how the fuck am I supposed to change a plug with this? Or divide a tomato so that it has spiky teeth? Or, if they still existed, pick the lock on the telephone?
The nieces and nephews look at me as if I'm totally mental if I talk about when ATM put a lock on the 'phone!

The Weekend

It is official people; I’m too fucking old for clubbing.
An acquaintance of mine has recently left her husband and come storming out of the closet.
She had a brief relationship that is now over.
As the only other queer she knows she has been contacting me to go out ‘on the scene’, her words.
The Scene here is three venues and is utterly vile and incestuous.
But being a bit of a soft touch I agreed to go out with her.
The thing I failed to impress on her was the concept of ‘Gay Time’. Only heterosexuals go out before 8pm!
But she had her heart set on it.
So we arrived at her chosen venue, which can hold at least 300, to find two old queens (one with a bun like Aunt Flo from Bod! WTF) and a surly barman.
It gradually got busier but not much and somehow we ended up in the club above.
It was beyond dire, so awful I didn’t realise I had a chance with the nice lady who looked after our coats.
Most unlike me!
I did have a fecking good dance but spent the next day in agony with my knees and was partially deaf.
I’m still not sure my hearing is right.

Is it just me, or does anyone else feel that it is inherently wrong that I have to bleach clean the fucking washing up bowl?

Check out Pot Head and his Lollo Rosso 'hair'!

Up to 90

Today my Grandmother would have been Ninety.
Her Mum died aged 99 but my Nan was gone at 63.
I often wonder what life would have been like these past twenty seven years if she’d been around.
What would have been different?
What would have happened when I realised that she was extremely controlling and possibly a bit unstable?
Would my relationship with Attila the Mum have been more or less fucked up?
Would ATM be more or less fucked up?
Would I have come out when I did?
(Although, I don’t think there is any element of choice about that one as I don’t feel I’ve ever been ‘in’)
What would her attitude have been to the continued contact with my Dad?
Oh well, as she would have said herself;
‘If, if’s and and’s were pots and pans there’d be no work for tinkers’.
Not that she would have ever had a pan mended!
She’d have been straight to a branch of John Lewis to replace the whole set!

The water stopcock outside The Mansions is leaking badly. Ironically the roots of the tree have busted it up.
I used the online leak reporting service and informed the water company.
“Landmarks” the form asked.
I filled in, “Yes, fucking great puddle outside house.”

My hairdresser, who usually whines about his divorce, was in a better mood today.
He is going to the Isle of Wight Festival at the weekend.
This meant he kept leaving my head to look at tents his assistant was finding for him on a laptop.
His distraction and me being utterly stoned has led to a shorter crop than usual.
I’m calling it, ‘The Palestinian Cut’.
Imagine all the Arab boys you’ve ever seen on the News and you’ve got it.

Lately I find myself writing shopping lists, going to the shops; then returning home to see if what I have bought bears any resemblance to the list I LEFT ON THE FUCKING TABLE!
My short term memory is shot to fecking pieces.
I’d like to know if there is any research in to cannabis use and the onset of Alzheimer’s.

Heard on the BBC evening news during an interview with parents at a West Country Crèche where someone has been arrested for kiddie porn.
“Everyone is finking all these foughts and we don’t know what to fink.”
Oooookaaaay.

Wiltshire, Trains And Canadians

I’ve had a lovely few days in Wiltshire.
Although a deaf, possibly senile, old Greyhound barking in your face for no apparent reason is a bit wearing.
Especially when her breath smells like a bucket of shit.
Blue dragged me along the side of the Kennet and Avon Canal and then across three fields.
It was glorious.

The Mid week train to Westbury is another country all together.
It is basically the ‘Fat Lass’ Express until it gets to Southampton, with some of the lesser lards alighting at Fareham.
There was one, who couldn’t have been more than 20, who looked like she had her considerable arse on backwards and could only move sideways along the carriage.
Southampton was also where the elderly unidentified ‘North Americans’ got on.
They were loud and had truck loads of stuff which was used to barricade themselves in to the window seats.

I stood as we pulled into Westbury, just as the old woman noticed the White Horse cut in to the hill.
“Aw!! Look! Look!” out came the camera but she couldn’t get out of her seat.
“Excuse me would you mind taking a picture for me?”
Shit!
“Um, Canadians or Americans?” I asked.
“Canadians” she replied.
“Of course! No problem” and I took the photo.
As I was handing the camera back the old man pipes up,
“What if we had been Americans?”
“If you’d been Americans you would have had a brilliant story about a hideously rude Englishwoman you met on the train. Enjoy your trip. Bye!”
They were still laughing as the train pulled out and they waved enthusiastically.

2nd Of June 2009

I saw my first Red Damselfly of the year today, depositing the next lot of Red Damselflies!
It was another really hot one and I couldn't stay outside too long.
Tomorrow it all ends and the temperature will drop.
Summer is probably over.






Mr & Mrs Crisp-e have a new bathroom suite, so I have a new place to grow Lettuce until I think of something more creative to do with it.
A nod to my Pikey heritage.
It's a shame I couldn't do anything with the bath; would've made a brilliant pond or flowerbed!






My 'next door but one' neighbours have builders in. Early morning, cheerful whistler builders.
I have no idea what he was trilling this morning but the fucker managed to get this firmly lodged in my head.
If I have to endure it, so can you.
Bastard!

I feel for those poor fuckers on that Air France flight.
Doesn't matter how many times they xray your shoes or how many millilitres of shampoo you have with you; none of it stops fucking lightning!
I'm sure someone will be found to blame.

I'm off to Wiltshire until the weekend.
You know what that means.... No Interwebs for Sleepy.

The Weekend

Thanks to Crisp-e this is what happens if I'm left idle too long.

I've had a great weekend.
Delivering 21st birthday presents and seeing Camille O Sullivan.
What a great show she puts on!
As I told Schnee, imagine someone brought up by a bi-polar mother who only watched Cabaret and A Star Is Born and you've pretty much got it.
The weather was absolutely Scorchio and I even got a bit of colour. As much as my 'Stealth Ginger' genes will allow before a trip to the burns unit is needed anyway.

The thermometer in The Mansions garden touched 40 degrees today.
It was savagely hot and I couldn't stay out there longer than 10 minutes before my skin started to prickle.
Everything in the garden is loving it.
I've even managed to get Cactus seeds to sprout.
Must learn how to pot them on before they get too fecking vicious.

The 28th Of May 2009

After a grey start, the day became gorgeous and very blue.
I spent most of it in the garden.
Brussel Sprouts are now planted as are the turnips.
The beetroot is busting out all over the place, the carrots are coming up and I’ve learned about Bonemeal.

The Jammy Bastard Award goes to… Andrea Bocelli.
Has a bit of a warble at the Champions League Final last night, gets in for free and can see fuck ALL.

When a Canon Lawyer says, ‘…don’t trust a word they say’ while referring to religious orders, something is dreadfully wrong somewhere.

I love this idea!
As I dropped mine the other day and fucked up the lens, it’s on its way to looking pretty crappy.


This is what a False Widow looks like. There is one in nearly every crack and gap in the garden walls here at The Mansions.
There are countries I refuse to visit because of the deadly, bitey wildlife they have, so the fuckers have come to me.
Bastards.

Defrosting And Deconstructing

The bastard, whoreson of a freezer defrosted its sorry self.

It only happens if the door is left open but I can’t point the finger at anyone, so I’ve had to get creative on the cooking front.

I know this sounds a bit funky but it tasted lovely.

2 Onions

Bit of Ginger (Finger sized)

Garlic

3-4 tsp Curry Powder

1 tsp Ground Cumin

¼ tsp Cinnamon

2 tbsp Plain Flour

3 tbsp Tomato Puree

Finely chopped Red Chilli

Big Tub of Natural/Greek Yogurt

1 ½ pints Chicken Stock (defrosted)

Apple Sauce (defrosted)

Peas (defrosted)

Chicken Breasts (defrosted)

Naan Bread (defrosted)

Salt & Pepper

Fry onions until soft.

Add the ginger and the garlic, after a minute or so throw in the seasoning, spices and chilli. Mix through and take the pan off the heat.

Stir in flour, tomato puree and half the yogurt.

Blend together and put back on heat.

Pour in stock and the apple sauce.

Bring to the boil and reduce. Cook for half hour or so.

Chop up chicken and bung in with the peas for 15-20 more minutes.

Stir in the rest of the yogurt at the end.

Then go and find yourself an Army to feed.

Very pleased with myself so I am!

Today I learned that you can grow Cranberries in hanging baskets; to sow Basil seeds in the pots with my established tomatoes and Oregano planted around the base of Peppers keeps the humidity in the soil.

The hardest lesson of the day was, YET AGAIN someone I considered family has betrayed my confidence.

It was like being punched in the guts.

Having learned from previous experience they are now outside of ‘the circle of trust’.

I relaxed. I let my guard down. Obviously that doesn’t work and changes have to be made.

A return to the old days I think.

Mmmm.

The Secret Night Life...

...Of the Sleepy Mansions garden.

Number One.

Number Two

Number Three.

Number Four disappeared up the back of the shed before I could take a photo.

Friday, Saturday And Sunday

Friday's utter cunt award goes to....

ME!

The neighbours behind have let the bottom of their garden grow wild.

So wild that it has blocked the alley to my gate, is growing into my garden and is robbing my sunlight.

I attacked it with shears.

Savagely attacked it; and now the bottom of my garden enjoys the sun again.

I piled the mound of cuttings outside their back gate and phoned the council to complain about the blocked alley.

What a cunt!

When I went out to enjoy my work I noticed that I’d cut through their washing line which had been attached to my pole!

Cuntage complete!

Then, the instant frigging Karma.

Sassy had come round to have a look at my efforts and as I quietly opened the back gate for a bit of gloating, I found myself face to face with the ‘Gloatee’.

Fuck!

She took it very well considering she had come home to find her laundry all over the ground.

Saturday’s complete twat award goes to……

ME!

The wooden garden furniture was starting to look a bit ropey so I thought I’d tart it up a bit.

Creosote works fine on the back gate, why wouldn’t it work on chairs?

It doesn’t because it takes fucking eons to dry.

Crisp-e came round and has dealt with the tortoise which has been ‘rotting’ down in the garden.

He kindly cleaned the skull to present to me and even suggested wearing it around my neck.

A line had to be drawn.

“You sick cunt! This was my PET for over 30 years!”

Much laughter.

I won’t tell you what he wanted to do to one of the cats because even he realised that it was very wrong!

Today I have been to my Dad’s for his birthday and plant/seedling exchange.

I took over a selection of Tomatoes, Aubergines, Squash and Kohl Rabi.

I’ve returned with Turnips and Brussel Sprouts, not quite as exotic but I’ll give them a go.

This is him demonstrating what you do when you decide your feet are, “too fuckin’ hot”.

The reason you would have buckets of water hanging around the garden?

1. It’s not good to put cold water on your plants.

2. Leaving the water out for a few days allows the fluoride and other crap that is put in it to ‘burn’ off.

May 21st 2009

It was a gorgeous day today and I spent most of it in the garden.
I’ve planted Beetroot, two types of Carrot and potted up the Courgettes.
For a while I’ve wondered why I don’t come across any baby frogs.
Where have all last years tadpoles gone? They can’t all have been predated.
This morning as I was slaughtering snails this fecker appeared.




I’m delighted with myself and the little ‘Bucket Pond’.
It means they do come back, if they can!

Is there any greater, or simpler pleasure than being the first one in a new jar of Marmite?
I don't think so.

This won't end well.

A Birthday

Today is my Dad's birthday.
He spent three hours at the hospital waiting to have the "Hepidural" in his back, only to be told his blood pressure was too high for it to be done.
It went stellar then.
I phoned him and we talked about our gardens.... Jesus, when did I get so fucking old?
I bitched about the biblical numbers of Greenfly at The Mansions to which he replied,
"They don't fuckin' come in 'ere babe!"
End of story.
He must just stand in his garden looking so menacing even Aphids know to give him a wide berth!

Happy Birthday you grumpy old fucker!

Blogger is still being a knob. I've had to download Safari to get on here.

Fondled, Fuckers And Faith or The 19th of May

I have had a lovely wet weekend in Wiltshire.

The hounds are their usual gorgeous selves.

Today I was fondled, YES, fondled in Somerfield.

A most disconcerting experience.

I was bent over, having a rummage through the loose Parsnips, when I felt a hand on my arse.

Not just my arse. Further, um, forward as well.

A place only my doctor and the available women of three Counties have been.

It has been a long time since I’ve moved so fast and I hit my head on a tray of mushrooms and my knee on the Carrots.

Now I was ready to punch someone only to be confronted by Miss H, the Octogenarian Lesbian.

I had absolutely NO idea how to react! I have had no training for this.

She laughed her head off and said I looked pale.

Fucking Pale! I really needed to sit down!

She waited for me and I carried her shopping home for her.

Her parting shot was that I had a ‘lovely backside’.

It’s going to take me some considerable time to get over that one.

I'm going to be honest here.

Am I the only one who is totally underwhelmed by the whole ‘MP’s and their expenses claims’ shit?

I EXPECT anybody at that level of politics to be corrupt in some way.

This made me ……

1.. 100% Liberal Quaker - I got chucked out of a Quaker meeting once!

2.. 99% Sikh - Love it!

3.. 98% Baha’i Faith - Happy with that.

4.. 96% Unitarian Universalism - What the fuck is that?

5.. 94% Orthodox Judaism - Unsurprising.

I’m only 43% Catholic so there is hope for me yet!

I also got filmed by the Google Maps car along Rue Albert today.

If I look pale, you’ll know why.

It has been a fucking nightmare trying to post this blog.

I don't need that.

If it is as difficult tomorrow, count this as my last post!

Blogger You Cunt....

.... Why will you no longer allow me to cut and paste to here?
I write in Word, then copy.

Fuck me about any more and I'm off.

8 hours to put it right or no more blogs from me.

This, That And Crabs

This is *Rebecca Walker, daughter of Alice Walker and today she has mostly been the object of my more lustful thoughts.
Apart from the ten minutes of Captain Janeway and Seven of Nine mid afternoon.
I was almost tempted in to some light self abuse but sublimated by slaughtering slugs and snails the rain brought out instead.

This cracked me up today; it was the Big little brother’s MSN tagline.
‘I went on a spiritual journey and all I got was this lousy Ultimate Truth.’

This is the tune that has mostly been bouncing around my head today.

While discussing STD’s it dawned on me that you don’t hear about people catching Crabs anymore.
Where have they gone?
The Tame Pharmacist can’t remember the last time she was asked for a ‘treatment’.
When I was at school they were all the rage, as it were.
My mate Vicki had them at least twice.
AIDS came along and everything changed, for a little while at least.

Check it out! I made my own Chapatis today. Amazingly, they actually tasted like the real thing.

*The pic was shamelessly robbed from afterellen.com!

The Birthday

My birthday was most enjoyable.

Thank you, one and all.
I don’t celebrate the odd numbered ones, which this one was, but I had a good day nonetheless.
I also got some cracking gifts!
A five times distilled Vodka called ‘Snow Queen’ from Kazakhstan, a lightweight tripod for my camera, a sooper dooper new mouse for the laptop, Amazon vouchers (for books, not mono-breasted women), gardening books and a selection of weird and wonderful seeds, including ‘striped’ tomatoes and Kohl Rabi, whatever the fuck that might be! Cheers Crisp-e!
Housemate Claire cooked Moroccan Chicken and bought me jam and chutney JUST because of the brand name.
She knows me too well.

Why is it weird to drink out of a cup with someone else’s name on?

Or is it just me?
A cup is a cup after all.
I can’t do it though, it feels ‘wrong’.

This picture makes me feel physically sick.
My stomach just flips.
My birthday wish for him to be assassinated failed to come true.
Ho Hum.
At least he brought his own fucking hat.

The Day Before...

... My birthday. In pictures.

I decided to wear something comfortable.
Unfortunately, I didn't get up in time for Mass.

The beef was so tender it just fell off the bone.

This sums up where it went from there.
Wine, Weed and Jaffa Cakes!

Saturday

This is my dinner for tomorrow. Rib of Beef slow cooked for nine hours in Red Wine, Peppercorns and Thyme

To me, it doesn't get more English or Yummy than that!

The Sassy one sent me this. It has to be shared!
I’m loving this bloke!

When I look at his fridge I'm reminded just how far along the Autistic Spectrum I spend my time.

No fridge door opening should elicit feelings of a spiritual nature!

Headache On Friday

I didn’t go to Tai Chi last night.
A headache that had been hanging around at the back of my eyes for a few days really kicked in.
I am very grumpy as a result.
It’s still there and I don’t know what to take for it, without causing serious damage to my liver.

His Nazi-ness is in the Middle East.
A dangerous place.
Fingers crossed.
Then there is Father Cutie.
Father fucking Cutie? Are you sure?

Wednesday Whine

‘That Prick Peston’, as Robert Peston is known in The Mansions, reached new levels of queendom on Radio 4’s news this evening.
His delivery has gone all Russell Grant.
Hearing your horoscope like that is bad enough; but the depressing slide into economic ruination?
Fuck off! You complete Knob!

I was totally underwhelmed by Barcalona this evening.
They only had to score once.
Then as I was typing this…. They fucking well did! In the 92nd minute!
I have screamed myself hoarse.

This story illustrates, perfectly, one of the reasons visiting Australia has never appealed to me very much.
Falls well in to the realms of, ‘Fuck that for a laugh!’

Oh well, Tai fucking Chi tomorrow.

Sliding Into Tuesday

I have bitched about Housemate Pat’s cooking habits before.
At length.
This morning I had to endure something that smelt like fishy poultry, which I can only imagine is Seagull, and something else that smelled like burnt hair.
Just to lighten my mood further, a sheen of grease had been left on the floor which led to my Tom Cruise ‘Risky Business’ slide straight past the fucking kettle and into the cupboards.
I caught my funny bone at such a painful angle; nothing was left to me other than the scream of,
“You Cunts!”
Restrained I felt; seeing as what I actually wanted to do was smash up the rice cooker thing with a lump hammer, in an act of pure, roaring rage.

Cousin Markus came round and I got to meet his daughter!
She is a little sweetie.
Sat on her Mum’s lap, as quiet as you like and watched United beat Arsenal.
Something I can never see too many times and good training for the child.

Somehow, during a moment of total weakness and obvious amnesia, I have been signed up and PAID for a fucking Tai Chi class!
How and when did that happen?

There is an ‘Awareness Week’ for everything now!
I have to admit to actually approving of this one.

Oversleeping And Proper Schools

This is what happens when you oversleep and end up at Mass a little bit late, on a windy morning.
G-d makes you look like Tin Tin for the rest of the day.
Not a serious punishment but as a kind of 'Oi! Don't fuck with me'... It can ruin your whole day!
I get it.
I'm not sure I'm happy about this but it HAS been worse!
AND when the fuck did I go grey?
You pricks (my friends!) were supposed to give me the heads up on that.
Bunch of cunts, the lot of you!


Today I’ve been at Mad Matt’s celebrating the mental fact that a local ‘Private’ School has taken him and his Geordie accent on.
The idea that ‘Posh’ kids will leave the school (that George Aligiah went to) with the exceptional use of the word “Champion” really appeals to me.
Brilliant!

Well Done mate!
It was this winning smile that sold it to those Christian Brother types!

Under The Weather

I feel fucking hideous. A brutal hangover and no recollection of the final part of last night.
I had to use my emergency ‘phone a friend’ to come and get me because there was no way I could walk.
The last drink of the evening must have been Smirnoff Ice because it was the first thing to come back up this morning.
I’ve got the shakes and haven’t even had a smoke, unheard of!
It’s a beautiful day and I should be outside but I can’t, it’s just way too bright.

Didn’t we already know this? I’m sure we knew this.

Sunshiney Day

Today was another gorgeous day so I spent most of my time in the garden.

“Pot Head” is sporting a shorter ‘do’ this year!
Some sort of Cress.
I’m going to try him with some of that curly lettuce and see if I can get an Afro going.
The Radishes are popping through, as are the tomato seeds planted to replace the crop the fucking slugs decimated.
Bastards.

I'm really pleased with how the Fig is coming along, especially as 2 years ago it was a dead stick!

Kenneth, ungrateful feline number one, spent his time 'stalking' me.

My Mate

Today is Bestest Mate Crisp-e’s birthday!
Check him… Check him!

I love this bloke like family.
In fact, he is my family..
We have laughed and laughed, drunk Vodka and laughed at ruptured ’Weightlifter’ arseholes on line!
And laughed a bit more.
Probably not his ideal birthday but at least alcohol was involved!

Crisp-e, Dred, I love you mate!

Rainy Monday

Today has been absolutely shitty.
It has pissed with rain for hours and hours and I got soaked going out for milk.
Then a friend, whose wedding I missed through illness came round.
She not only came round, she came out!
She’s left the husband and has a girlfriend.
Colour me surprised!
I found it all very weird because back when she was ‘straight’, I kind of fancied her.
We’re going out for a drink on Friday, to one of the three Gay places that this city full of sailors boasts.
A place I haven’t been in for years because I always end up in some sort of ‘trouble’ if I do.
I CAN control myself; I CAN control myself…….

I went and saw my Dad yesterday for a ‘seedling’ exchange.
Except I had fuck all to exchange as the fucking slugs have munched through everything and I’ve had to start again.
His Urban Estate is well underway and this year he has planted his beans in amongst the Step-Mum’s flowers.
(He has a spot for the onions this year!)
“I want ‘er fuckin’ bees don’t I!” he cheerfully told me, with only his bottom set of teeth in.
We had to reach a compromise about the knashers.
I can’t cope with seeing him without any in and they hurt him if he wears them.
The compromise is he wears half of them.
It doesn’t really satisfy either of us but at least this way I can look at him while we talk.
He came out with a classic as he was telling one of his stories about him and his brothers.
“I KNOW it happened on a Thursday because we had run out of toilet roll”
I looked at Joon with that, ‘What The Fuck? Face’, and we totally cracked up!

I tried to say Facebook and Twitter at the same time and it came out as ‘Twatter’, I think I will be sticking with that from now on.

Food, Books And Telly

Today Sassy and I took advantage of the ‘Pensioners Perks’ offer at the local *French place, The Kitch ‘n D’or.
A two course lunch for a fiver!
I had baked goat’s cheese with honey to start and a pasta dish.
If we had just stuck to that and drunk the free water it would have been £5.
Two Gins and Tonic, a couple of glasses of wine, a Port, a Brandy and a brace of coffees got the bill up to £29; which is still pretty reasonable.

I got my first ever delivery from www.bookdepository.co.uk today.
It turned up when they said, there were no delivery charges and the book was cheaper than Amazon.
Result.
Good tip Schnee.
This is what I am half way through.
I haven’t learnt anything new but she does pull all the research together and it’s easy to read.

Right, adverts.
Why do people who make their own sauces, that penis Loyd Grossman for example, get the shit out of a jar when they are advertising it?
Surely, if it is their ‘very own recipe’, they’d get it out of a pan bubbling away on their fucking cooker!

The last ever Boston Legal was shown tonight and it was blinding.
Brought a tear to my eye so it did.
Denny and Alan have become part of the family!
I’m really going to miss them.

*It’s owned by an Englishman and the chef is Chinese.
It would seem that having pictures of the Dordogne and signs in Froggish makes it ‘French’.

The Quest

Something as simple as buying Cannelloni tubes turned into a fecking mission today and its official; there is NO Cannelloni in Southsea.
Along The Rue Albert I visited the Co op, Kwiki Mart, Tesco, The Deli, and Somerfield.
Nothing.
I even went in the Health Food shop in the hope that hemp wearing, Vegan Coeliacs eat Cannelloni.
They don’t.
As I was traipsing back I got pissed off with myself for not just going straight to Waitrose in the first place.
Waitrose always have fucking everything.
I collected Sassy on the way.
Not today they didn’t and I was traumatized by the experience.
Waitrose? Not having what I want? Unheard of.
That’s when it turned into a quest.
Too much time had been invested to just give up now.
We then tried Akram’s, the place for all things Halal, Asian and ‘bulk’,
Holland and Barrett, the Italian restaurant, Tesco Express, another Akram like place and another Co op.
Nothing.
Still I would not be defeated.
I cooked sheets of Lasagne until they were soft enough to roll and used those.
It worked well enough but they were just slightly too thick.

I suppose I should mention something about Saint George.
He is patron of this fucked up country, people who play Dungeons and Dragons and ‘Burger’ Van employees.
No one is sure if he came here though.
Who cares?
I like to think that as a Turk, he brought the first kebab to these shores and the ‘suspect’ meat was Dragon.
Not sure why he IS a Saint either but who gives a fuck?
St Patrick was Welsh.
We should get a Bank Holiday for him anyway just because The Reformation robbed us of loads of days off.

“Cry ‘G-d for Harry, England and Saint George’”

My Earth Day

I had some very good reasons for spending the day in the garden today.
1. It is Earth Day.
2. It has been fecking gorgeous, 23 Celsius at one point.
3. Shit needed doing.
4. I wanted to avoid anything to do with the Budget. Although, I wouldn’t mind knowing why Milo O’ Shea was involved.
The Edible Estate is starting to come along.
The Aubergines, Tomato, Gourd and Butternut Squash seedlings have been hardened off and are planted out.
The Courgettes, Radishes, Red Scallions, Salad Leaves and all the herbs are sown.
For those of you who have a compost bin I would suggest throwing a load of parsley seeds around the base of it.
The soil there is so good and you can just forget about them.
This lot was scattered last year.

I swear to Christ my Dad is some kind of fucking sick prick!
We have been waiting on news of his latest Cancer biopsy for a couple of weeks.
Remember he had bits chopped out of his mouth a month or so ago?
This evening he phoned and it went like this;

Dad… “‘Ello lover. Well, it’s good news and bad news. The doctor told me to get the bad news out of the way first.”
My stomach shimmied and churned. The far back of my throat went so dry swallowing almost made me retch.
I went and got the vodka.
Me… “What? Just tell me Dad, what did they say?”
Dad… “The bad news is I’ve probably got about 40 years left!”
Silence.
Me… “You’re some kind of cunt aren’t you?! You just took ten years off MY fucking life you knob!”
Then the maniacal laughing started.
Both of us!
Me… “Did you get the others?”
Dad .. “Yeah! Hahahaha! Every single one of you!”
Me… “You’re a sick fucker! Nice one though! Who hung up on you?”
Dad.. “Your sisters! Hahaha! I told Joon you’d be the only one who’d laugh!”
Me… “Dad, that is not a comfort to me!”
Dad.. “Hahahaha! I love talking to you. I fuckin’ love you mate.
Me… “I love you too old man”.

Complete twat!
I absolutely love the man to bits and it’s always nice to know where the ‘Sick Bastard’ gene comes from.
The good news was that there were no Cancerous cells in this biopsy.
Just the Stomach and Oesophageal cancer that is killing him now.
He doesn’t seem to mind, he’d been on the booze since three this afternoon.

Dykea Day

Dykea in Southampton is very different to the Dykea in Croydon.
There is a distinct lack of Dykes for one thing.
Perhaps the one at Croydon is situated along a Lesbian Ley Line.
One that passes through Brighton, Amsterdam and Lesbos on its way to New England.
In Croydon there is one behind every ‘Billy’ and ‘Dislekksyk’ bookshelf.
This one is mainly old posh people up from The New Forest.
Old people who follow the arrows like they are directions from Christ Almighty.
Watching them squinting at the labels and then trying to pronounce a name that looks like a blogger word verification is entertaining.
Secondly, by Ikea standards it was empty.
I didn’t get ragey or want to push anyone once, which is bordering on the miraculous.
I set the timers to go off at five minute intervals, bought a cast iron skillet I don’t need but really fucking wanted and have enough tealights to start my own religion.
I’ve stuffed my face with mini Dime bars like an escapee from fat camp and feel a bit disgusted with myself actually.
I’ll work them off in the garden tomorrow.
I’m going to plant out the Radishes, Tomatoes, Aubergines/Halflange, and the Gourds.

B&Q was pretty painless too but I need to know how much 125 litres of multi purpose compost weighs.
I carried two bags of it about 20 metres and I’m now convinced something that used to be fully internal isn’t quite anymore.
Something ‘groinal’ popped.

Stan’s rant on Shameless tonight was nothing short of Shakespearean!

Lunch!

Swedish Meatballs.
It would have been churlish not to!

Like The Deserts Miss The Rain

I’ve felt pretty miserable today.
I have a crick in my neck that Diazepam aren’t touching and it is the anniversary of my Grandmother’s death.
She has been gone twenty six years.
I can honestly say that there hasn’t been a single day when I haven’t thought about her or missed her.
I’ve never forgotten the look on my uncle’s face when I opened the door to him.
Being sent to my room and hearing the unnatural screaming when he told Mum the news.
I’ve never forgotten that ATM wouldn’t let me go to the funeral or even have the day off school as my sister did.
Or that when I cried with the grief I was whacked repeatedly as she screamed, “You’ve only lost a Grandmother, I’ve lost a Mother!”
Anyone brought up by and with their Grandparents will understand just how devastating that sentence is.
She broke something between us that day and I never felt the same about her ever again.
Thirteen years old and I knew my Mother was a monster.

I’m going to cheer myself up by going to Ikea tomorrow. I don't really want to buy anything but I will be robbing a couple of their big yellow shopping bags.
Got idea for their use in the garden.

This was my Nan’s song and makes me think of her every time I hear it, no matter the version.

Visiting And Vibing

Ex Housemate Mikey is home for a few days!
It’s brilliant having him in the house again; although he is in the ‘guest’ room and is just visiting; it feels like a family again.
He needs a job though.
The Credit crunch has drained all money away from PhD funding.
He’s finding it impossible to get on a PGCE course, even with a Science degree and Msc.
Any (sensible) ideas welcome.
To complete the rest of the family group, I have been round to Mr & Mrs Crisp-e’s for the traditional ‘end of holiday, back to school dinner’.
That man can do things to lamb that are just plain unnatural and I don’t mean in the Welsh way.
The men of Greece wouldn’t do ‘that’ to a sheep. Why ruin a good business plan?
I would also like to draw attention to the fact that their cat is a fucking vicious bitch.
“Ooooh! No, she’s lovely. She wouldn’t hurt you.”
Um… No.. She’s fucking not and Yes, she fucking would.
Mrs Crisp-e needed a plaster after playing with her.
We have drunk much wine and Jagermeister.
Jagermeister in the form of a kind of Jagerbomb except we mixed it with the Red Bull rather than depth charging it.
After all, we are not savages!

I don’t watch any of those “Reality” shows at all.
They make me feel uncomfortable and I'm not sure why.
For someone who has absolutely NO embarrassment filter for herself, I have a highly honed one for others.
Weird.
I only looked at this because her name is everywhere at the moment and I swear to Christ it choked me up.
It made the hairs stand up on me.
She reminds me of the Jane Horrocks character in 'Little Voice'.

Dublin And The Nipper

Dublin was, as ever, epic!
It’s taken me a couple of days to get my shit back together.
Thank you to all the cousins for making everything just so fecking brilliant.

Check out this photo..

This is Naoise (Nee-sha) and me.
Those of you who know me well, know I DO NOT do children.
Ironically, I’m ‘Catnip’ to children this size for some reason.
In the same way that cats always go to the people who hate cats!
Not long after this photo was taken, she had me under the table inspecting the shoes of all those assembled.

She's a little Cracker. One of those kids who has got a bit of spirit but isn't badly behaved.

(Schnee's Grandkids are the same)

A credit to her parents and she made my trip.

Thankfully, of all the things she heard me say that day, the only one that stuck with her was, “Come on big boy!”
Phew!

A Bit Of Passion

The Celebration of The Lord’s Passion quickly descended in to farce when the microphone, that’s been on the blink for over a year, finally died.
Only half the congregation had all the words to what was happening in their booklets.
One of the three people reading the Gospel kept forgetting her bit.
Kids were running wild.
Father P, started to lose it and his head got very red.
By the time he had run round the outside of the Church with a Cross, in the pissing rain, to process down the aisle, I couldn’t tell his head from his dress.
Due to the many different cultural Catholic traditions no one was sat down, stood up or kneeling at the same time.
It was brilliantly chaotic.
I gave giving the Cross a kiss a huge body swerve, way to many sinners ahead of me with obvious skin conditions.
There was an entire family group with ‘something’ around their mouths.
Not for me thanks.

Then came ‘The Old Rugged Cross’.
WTF!?
To me, that’s a pissed up pub song NOT something you actually sing in Church.
Having never in my life sung this song ‘properly’, I let them have it out and proud, in the style of a Cockney Pearly King!
It went down well with the kids around me, but not so much with everyone else.
I was wrecked and I’m impervious to outraged Catholic stares.

Just a general observation; any man who wears a ring on his forefinger deserves a good kicking.
Seriously.
It may seem extreme but it really fucking bothers me!

Dublin, brace yourself. I arrive tomorrow night.
I will be bashing the granny out of you until Tuesday.
I’ll be bringing my own cigarettes and wine.
Fuck your prices!

Station!

My day in one photo. Your Turn!

As Passover started this evening I went and did The Stations of The Cross this afternoon, stoned out of my tiny mind!
The lady who ALWAYS asks if I’m new to the Parish asked me if, I was new to the Parish.
‘No. I’ve had a haircut.’ I replied.
This seem to satisfy and confuse her all in one go, as she tried to imagine me with longer hair and still not know who I was.
You have to wonder how wise it is to have someone with obvious dementia in charge of welcoming newcomers.
The Nun leading it had English as a second language; there was a war going on between those who prefer Thy and Thou and those sticking to You and Your, and an Indian family whose children had all had some kind of Tartrazine infusion before they came.
To much horror and my utter amusement, one of the boys managed to strip a statue of its purple sheet and clothe himself in it.
Cracking!

It's not until I see Annie, I remember how fecking gorgeous she was and still is!

NO! Fuck off! Stop ‘helping’ us!

The Call

The ‘phone call with Dad..

Me… Hi Joon, is he there?
Dad.. ‘ello Lover!
Me… What’s it going to be then? Great Grandpapa or something totally new?!
Dad.. Fuck right off! She ‘phoned me yesterday. Two fuckin’ hours.
Seven months? Nothing! Fuck all! Two hours!.. Yer Mother went fuckin’ apeshit apparently, told her to get it in a bucket!
Me… Hahaha! I bet she did, her Mother told her to get me in a bucket if you remember! What do you think?
Dad.. Got fuck all to do with me has it love? I am glad it’s not Loz though, am I a cunt for saying that? Fuck it! I don’t care. I’m going to say something else ‘orrible as well; she not that far along and sometimes they don’t take. Wouldn’t be a disaster if she lost it.”

It kind of IS and kind of ISN’T the reaction I was expecting from The Angry One!

I like the wording of this!
“…the perfidious belief that any baby needs to be cleansed by baptism…”

Chav McPikey

Today I had a lovely lunch with Mrs Crisp-e.
Himself is somewhere in Austria on a school ski trip.
A trip he has arranged and is in charge of.
Nutter.
From text exchanges earlier in the week, I don’t think the Anschluss was this well planned!

Well people, it’s official, I’m from Pikey/Knacker stock.
News is trickling into Sleepy Mansions that my sister’s youngest is pregnant at fifteen.
My brother could be a 21 year old Great Uncle!
It doesn’t get more Gypo or Chav than that now does it?
I have laughed my arse off at the idea of ATM as a 57yr oldGreat Grandmother and my sister as a 38yr old Grandmother!
It’s repeated on me all day
Thank fuck I don’t have anything to do with these people.
I'm 'phoning my Dad tomorrow to see what the reaction is from Great Grandpapa at Vexation Villas.
Catch the wind the right way and you might just hear him yourselves!

Palm Sunday

The longest Mass of the year today and, Christ, it was interminable.
It started off in the garden area with Palm leaves.
I hate that.
I didn’t want a Palm leaf, I find them very distracting, but nobody would believe me.
One old dear got quite aggressive about it and told me I HAD to have one.
I told her I had hayfever and she fucked off, grumbling, and with a fair amount of suspicion in her eye.
Remembering the water throwing from last year, I stood well back.
I swear to G-d he took a run up and with an over arm bowling move flicked that big old pastry brush right at me.
Flinging myself back against the wall I totally ‘Matrixed’ it.
We are engaged in an unspoken war over the magic water but he hasn’t got me yet.
I’m considering carrying Alka Seltzer tablets in case he does get lucky one day.
Can you imagine the look on his face when I come up foaming?!

Eventually we processed back to the Church singing, ‘One Hymn To The Tune Of Another’, while everyone checked they had locked their cars.
Much lock clicking and light flashing.
That’s when the fun and games started.
It triggered something in the Altar huggers.
People turn up obscenely early so they get ‘their spot’ at the front.
These people were also the first out to the garden, so on the return they were at the back.
I felt the ripple of panic lurch forward as they realised ‘their spot’ was in jeopardy.
The blind lady and her dog picked up on it as well, so I got the other side of the hound and we formed a rolling block.
I think that’s when the pushing started!
We could hear the “Heys!”, “Watch It’s” and “Easy’s” sweeping forward but stopping short behind us.
It seems even the ‘faithful’ draw the line at pushing a blind woman, her dog and a surly queer with no palm leaf.

Is this the most Pro Porn photo in the world?
That’s the face you think of when you want to slow things down, as it were.
The woman is visual Bromide.
Imagine the words, ‘I’m horny’, coming from that mouth!
Jaysus!
I’ll be sticking with the six times table, that image flashing in to my mind could ruin me from the waist down.

I think this is something I’d like to see in the Premiership!

National Too

Of my National Nags, one came 2nd, one 11th, one pulled up and one fell over.
Not bad. I had four Fallers one year.
I did feel for the photographer trying to capture all the riders.
Who does he put at the back? The tall ones?

For some reason this bloke worries me.
He is known to be highly ambitious, leaked letters from senior UK Bishops reveal they feel him to be ‘Divisive’ and were ‘Uncomfortable with someone who is so clearly ambitious’.
Watch as he comes out as a Conservative, watch what gets cut as the Church has to tighten its belt, watch as we take a step closer to me being banned from Mass and with that, we step closer to me punching a priest in Church.
I have to admit I’m ever so slightly looking forward to that.
It’s an old hurt but it’s deep!

Shearer managing Newcastle?
In 8 games time there will be Geordies weeping like they’ve just found out there’s no Santa all over again.

National Nags

These are my choices for The Grand National.

Irish Invader... Obviously!
Rambling Minster... Owned by a lady Vicar. The Mansions has had a lady Vicar in it this week. A sign?
Comply Or Die... Double?

Also liking Can't Buy Time.

Somerfield, Schmidt And Songs

Some cheeky bitch in Somerfield threatened her kid with ME today.
A total stranger.
“Josh, Stop it or the lady will get angry!” pointing at me.
I looked at her and then at him and said,
“No I won’t mate. Go for your life!”
When I left she was still stuck in the aisle with the sweeties and Josh was screaming his, ‘needs a slap’, head off.
Fuck that!
If by some mad mix of DNA I’d had the misfortune to be born straight, I’d STILL be fecking childless.
I don’t like children; I consider them in the same way I do terrorists.
Immune to reason, illogical and could blow any minute.
A dirty bomb of Lego, snot, and in some cases, shit.
I’m an Aunt to 13, I’ve seen it happen.
Why would any sane person want to fill their home with that kind of madness?
That’s before they hit the minefield of the ‘teens’.
Not even the UN or Diana’s charities would go near that.
Horrific.

What goes on with Boston Legal?
Shirley Schmidt Shopping?
WTF!
While being deliciously alliterative, it’s just plain wrong.
I find it easier to picture HRH on the crapper!
Tonight’s episode, the Thanksgiving one?
That is a normal dinner party here at The Mansions!
Except no one vomited.
There is always at least one ‘hurler’ here.

Anyway, John the ipod and I have lurched between this and this.

Touched

We’ve been seeing a lot of Mrs Obama in the news and she, in return, has been touching our Queen.
Am I the only one who thinks there is something just a little amiss with her face?
Something slightly asymmetrical?
Like the opposite halves of two different heads.
As though one side is Dionne Warwick and other Diana Ross.
If not, those robbing bastard opticians are right and it’s time to have my eyes retested.
I always end up cancelling because I forget I have the appointment and have a smoke.
Fortunately my eyes never get bloodshot but it really freaks them out when my pupils react oddly.
Then I get the giggles and things rapidly descend in to farce.

I forgot to mention this earlier but we’ve had the best line so far in Shameless.
On the prospect of Mickey going to prison Mimi comes out with the blinder that he’d be,
“…passed from man to man like dysentery in a death camp..”
Superb!
I made my throat sore roaring at that one.

Rediscovered this tune today.

Holy shit! I know I shouldn’t laugh, but…

Spring Has Sprung

My hormones are informing me that it’s definitely Spring.
I walked past the end of my road while following an arse home today!
It was an absolutely perfectly formed ‘slappable’ arse as opposed to the rarer, ‘biteable’ arse.
Another sunny day had also brought out the Lesser and Greater Freckled Tits from their winter hibernation.
Vest tops being this Spring’s plumage.
Tesco was very distracting, with all the bending down and cold cabinets.
Parts of sentences like, ‘Smuggling peanuts’ and ‘Volvo wheel nuts’ were bounced around my head.
See what I mean?
The sap is rising and I’m at a dangerous age!

Something Pope related I approve of!

Today this was my, ‘Ha Ha Ha! Fucking Yeah!’ moment.
Check out the feet half way through.
As The Big little brother would say,
'Savage'.

Giants

When did Obama turn into THE most BORING economics teacher ever?
You’d hardly know he was here.
Check out the Obama’s meeting the Queen and Prince of Lilliput!
How fucking big are these people?!