Gold And Nonces

Well, bugger me!
Who knew we would do this well at the ‘lympics?!
Looks like that might be the end of it now though, all the ‘posh’ sports have finished.
The sports you’ve got to have money to have a go at in the first place.
Sailing, rowing and lately, cycling.
Those bikes cost more than most people’s first car.
The last of the gymnastics was quite good.
I feel more comfortable watching the blokes.
It was the spinning around the bar one.
I’m not exactly sure of the scoring but ‘difficulty’ appears to have a lot to do with it.
I think they should be marked down if their coach is stood nearby getting ready to catch them.
Shows a lack of faith I think and they should lose marks!
I did get choked up twice at medal ceremonies, Chris Hoy’s and Christine Ohruruogu’s.
It’s nice to feel proud of our sports people for a change.

Gary Glitter has been released from a Thai prison and is on his way back to Britain.
The Daily Nazi claims it is to have treatment on the NHS.
Shock, Horror! A Nonce getting medical treatment!
The reports also say that he will be met by the police at whatever airport he flies in to and asked to sign the Sex Offenders Register.
Will they appear ‘This is Your Life’ stylee with a big book?
“Yes! Tonight Gary Glitter you are a fat, balding paedophile! Sign here please.”
Apparently he is free to go anywhere.
Anywhere that will give him a visa.
Nowhere will give him a visa, so we’re stuck with him.
Luckily, if there is a luckily in this, he is high profile enough that where ever he ends up there will always be someone who knows what he is.

Catching my eye today is this.
What a cracking idea!

Olympics, TV And Books

This weekend, after an epic effort, I think I have just about caught up with my Olympic viewing.
I have watched some strange shit though.
I saw some fencing, not something I would usually watch but I was desperate.
Swords and stabbing were involved so I thought we might be quite good.
To my eye and ear it’s all stamping and shouting, none of the Zorro shit I was expecting.
They don’t even get scars on their faces like The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp taught me. (I love that film!)
Load of bollocks.
Then I stumbled in to the horror that is Greco-Roman wrestling.
Dom Joly sums it up so much better than I do!

The Gymnastics has been brilliant but I always feel slightly uncomfortable watching the ‘women’.
Gymnasts always look like the girls I avoided at school.
Spiteful, bitching, bullying bastards!
I always end up shouting at the TV,
“How old is she? She looks about 12! Sixteen? My arse! Fuck off!!”
Although, Princess Haya of Jordan got me slightly interested in Equestrianism but far more interested in Princess Haya!
She’s a little bit bloody lush.

This isn’t really Olympics related but swimming is.
In the Polygrip (The cement shit that holds false teeth in people’s heads) advert; ‘Geoff’ goes on about how discovering this stuff meant he could go swimming again.
WTF?
Why couldn’t he before?
Is it impossible to swim with no teeth? Babies appear to manage it.
Does the head folding in on itself make you sink?
Another load of bollocks to piss me off.

Last night I watched The Perfect Vagina on Channel 4.
The moment I heard the word “Twinkle” used I was gone.
A giggling, screeching mess!
Some of it made for uncomfortable viewing though, especially the operation showing the removal of labia.
Had me hanging on to my Twinkle for dear life!

I’ve finished the book Schnee gave me, Boy in The World.
Not one I would have picked up myself but a really enjoyable read.
I was a bit disappointed with the end because it didn’t, well, ‘end’.
I’ve also read one called The First Apostle.
Don’t bother.
Dan Brown has really buggered it for any one wanting to write those historical/religious/mystery books.
Sepulchre by Kate Mosse was cracking, as good as, if not better than Labyrinth.
My new read is The End of Mr Y by Scarlett Thomas which has started out well.

A Trip Round The Bill

Yesterday R and I went to Portland to enjoy ‘a bit of nature’ while under the influence of some ‘shrooms!
Luckily for us we managed to pitch up on the wettest, windiest August day either of us had ever seen.
So, dressed for arctic conditions and starting to ‘trip’, we began our trek to Portland Bill.
Tripping while walking along cliffs in 70mph winds was an experience.
Trying to turn one corner, on what I thought was a particularly narrow path, with instant death on brutal rocks to my right; the wind took me straight off my feet!
Fortunately it blew me inland.

I did manage to get it together enough to take a few photos of birds.
The conditions helped, the wind just seemed to hold them in the air for me.
We stayed overnight and woke to a glorious day today.
The ‘carnage’ that had been washed ashore was awful.
I would have photographed it if parents weren’t allowing their kids to play amongst it.
I couldn’t face an ‘angry mob’ or the sex offenders register!

Plastic bottles, carrier bags, bread trays, dustbins, rope of many colours and lengths, glass bottles, Gannet corpses in various stages of decomposition, fishing floats and buoys, wooden pallets. Many shoes (devoid of feet, this isn’t Canada!) and a bright pink wig.
Tar.
Tar is obligatory on British beaches.
As a child you are told to stay away from it but the stuff is virtually fucking invisible when you are a kid.

At least 98% of it was human related.
The foot caught my eye and I thought of that saying, ‘Tread gently on Mother Earth’.
It looked like we’d stamped all over Chesil Beach this morning.

Tomorrow I’m off to Wiltshire for some quiet, gentle time with the hounds.
Hopefully I will get to see some of the Olympics.
I’m still dreadfully lacking in ‘viewage’, although my knees feel as though I’ve been triple jumping for the last 24 hours solid!

Catch you anon.

Visits

I’ve had a brilliant weekend with family.
Been fed SO much I’m convinced my liver is Foie Gras, then pickled in all the alcohol consumed.
I have ‘Choons’ to listen to on cd’s made by the grooviest of nieces.
These family members have a better ‘Sports Filter’ than Schnee and I have seen none of the Olympics!
None!
More or less unheard of.
I actually feel a little bit shaky.

Mr and Mrs Crisp-e are back from holiday to alive plants and bearing the fabulous news that they are properly ENGAGED!
Jewellery and everything.
Yep, my bestest mate is happy, settled and has found his ’one’; I couldn’t be more delighted!
The weird thing is I knew. I woke up Friday morning and I ‘knew’.
Speaking to Mrs Crisp-e confirmed I had got it bang on.
Spookiness.

Then to top my last few days Belle came to visit!
I check her blog out and she passes this way every now and then.
She and her G/F had an away day to the coast and were treated to some Sleepy Mansions hospitality.
Food, Booze and Weed!
We hit Café Distress for some lunch. They met the Crisp-e’s and we had a great afternoon.
I’m not sure they did!
We may well have been a little overwhelming and hectic.
I really hope not because we’d like them to come back!

Super-painkiller? I’ve been doing this kind of shit for years.
They want to test me.

Schnee has requested photographic Butternut Squash updates.
I will provide these tomorrow, I didn’t get my shit together enough today and all of a sudden it was too dark.

5th August

Check it out!!!
The infant butternut squash growing in my garden.
I’m fecking delighted with myself, like a dog with two dicks!

Today is Housemate Claire’s birthday!
We ‘sedately celebrated’ as the Sassy One is off on a global gallivant AND we did drink a litre of Carolans yesterday evening!
Two and a half bottles of white and a bottle of red between 4 is sedate for us; considering it was combined with a huge curry from the Eastern Eye.
We put the world to rights and tried to plan our 40th and 50th birthday celebrations!
I decided all you need to know about life you can learn the Godfather, Star Trek and Monkey.

Crisp-e is away and I’m watering his plants.
The pressure of the trust is enormous.
I have been left a printed table showing: plant, name, description, location and how much ‘rain’ water each has to have.
Piece of piss I hear you say.
I agree, absolutely; until you read the handwritten ‘codicil’ to one of the instructions.
I paraphrase,
“Hold this over the sink while watering. 500mls of water has to RUN THROUGH.
This is most important.
This plant is really rare. It only grows on one hillside in Sumatra.”

Oh Goooooood! Ok! No fucking pressure then!

Fucking Sumatra?
Does that exist anymore or was it called something else before?
I grew up in a world that had Burma, Ceylon, Persia and The USSR in it!
Ho Hum.

Here’s some stuff I’ve surfed into these last few days.

Here’s one that will definitely appeal to Schnee!

I know I shouldn’t because it’s all very serious, but Ha Ha Ha!

Things that make you go, Eeuuew! I am so glad they didn’t show his feet.
That would have proper turned my stomach.

Some of these made me chuckle out loud.

The Birthday girl sent me this gem!

I nearly forgot it.

Judge Not....

Yesterday I got the 2.31pm to Salisbury, hoping that it wouldn’t be too crowded.
How wrong I was.
As ever, it was “The Standing Room Only Express” from Portsmouth Harbour to Cardiff.
I elbowed my way on and managed to get a seat opposite a woman so brown she looked like leather.
Then Chav McPikey fought her way on with pushchair, assorted kids and lots of ‘big’ gold.
‘Here we fucking go’ I thought and fired up the ipod.
I had a bet with myself as to how long it would be before the little feckers would be running about.
But No!
With a single look Mrs McPikey had these kids under absolute control.
I was totally impressed.

This led me to have a closer look at them.
There was something I recognised about her but couldn’t quite put my finger on.
Then it hit me, she had more than a passing resemblance to my sister!
I was staring and she caught me.
She smiled and half waved.
The next three stops were spent trying to work out how I knew her.
As we pulled into Southampton, using some sort of ‘Sheep Dog Trial’ whistling, she summoned her offspring to her hip.
When she turned and mouthed,
“See you later Sleepy”, the scales fell from my eyes.
She was one of my Cousins from my Dad’s side of the family!

I think my lesson was, “Judge not, lest you be related.”

Rent And Tunes

Today is rent day.
I wanted to go out and buy a few bits but couldn’t be arsed with going to the cash point.
Usually Housemate P appears about 10am and hands it over.
No problem.
Not today.
I hate having to ask so I had a touch of the ‘Gwen Guthrie’s’ instead.
It must have done the trick; she appeared at 1.30pm with a fist full of 20’s!

The Big little brother popped in the other night. I love seeing him.
He must have lost over three stone in weight and looks amazing.
We did the usual ‘have a smoke and put the world to rights’ thing.
As ever, we discussed music.
The subject of songs that have been ruined for you came up.
Songs you used to love to bits but can no longer listen to because of a negative association.
The fraternal one can no longer listen to Enigma because of the loony ex girlfriend, NUTtasha!
I have the same thing with Drag by kd Lang because of a ‘bit of fun turned stalker’ situation.
Then there are the songs ruined by someone singing different words and the wrong ones staying with you, forever.
“Someone Shaved My Wife Tonight” by Elton John being mine.
Although, Kokoma will never, ever be the same again!

Walking along Rue Albert this evening I saw a huge black bloke, wearing a pink sleeveless shirt and white linen trousers.
He was wired for sound and doing the full on dance from the ipod adverts.
He was excellent, if a little out of place!

A July Weekend

So, the Church of England has been on a bit of a march about this week.
Good for them.
I’m gay, so have march training.
The 1pm news of the day had some woman Bishop pitch up for an interview.
This is where my gripe begins.
If the woman was straight, so am I.
But my main problem is women who are SO obviously gay wearing dangly earrings.
NO!
It doesn’t make you look anymore feminine or straight.
Stop. Your. Fecking. Selves. Will. You!
Just accept that stud earrings are for you now and if you are marching, so are comfy shoes.

This week my ASDA delivery was missing some smoked salmon, so I was forced to phone them.
My call was answered by ‘Mark’ who was very eager to help me.
He was also South African and I couldn’t understand a word.
“Just let me talk” I said “I can’t understand you. Trust me, it‘ll work better this way”.
He decided that this was the point to start asking me for my Mobile number.
“Mark! Mark! You’re not hearing me! Just be quiet and listen!”
Then every time he tried to speak I just shouted,
“Stop!”
He got the score eventually.

On Friday I went with Mr & Mrs Next Door Without The Kids to the Sailor’s Home Club to see a couple of tribute acts.
Elton John and Rod Stewart.
Being with a load of ex Matelots meant a pretty debauched night ensued.
Elton was arse but Mr Next Door informed me that he imitated the ‘real’ Elton perfectly.
Definitely won’t ever be seeing him then.
‘Rod’ was different class altogether.
Absolutely brilliant!
I didn’t feel too wonderful Saturday. As it was nice and warm I thought I’d have a lay down in the garden.
So, of course, the fucking Red Arrows went over at about head height.

Or so it seemed!

July 23rd

This evening I rode the ‘loser cruiser’ to Mr & Mrs Crisp-e’s.
I arrived covered in chocolate, courtesy of the chav spawn that was behind me.
Chav Mum had ‘it’ in her lap but let ‘it’ touch and smear itself over everything and everyone.
As Schnee has mentioned before, “We”, the British, don’t really appreciate the children of strangers.
I’m sure it has something to do with the Reformation.
Catholic types have a more laissez faire attitude to kids.
The more the merrier and of course they are allowed in the bar.
For Protestants, if they are not up a chimney or down a mine, they need to be seen and not heard; and sit outside the bar with a coke and a bag of crisps.


Castell Crisp-e has a really old and well established apple tree.
With permission, I had a bit of a ‘scrump’.
Three carrier bags full.
Apple sauce will be made by me and apple pies by Housemate Claire.
This is when I got injured.
I’d had to get ‘inside’ the tree to pick some of the fruit and in my haste to get out I scraped myself against a brutal branch.
This happened.
I swear it stung for three hours!















I am a seriously sick fucker! I am aware of this.
But this makes me laugh.
Lots!
Tell me you don’t hear that mechanical ‘Simon Says’ voice in your head when you look at it!

Returned

I am returned from Wales.
The North of the country is very different from the South.
They are VERY Welsh there.
We did a day trip to an area called The Llyn, where they blot out any English on signs and speak a dialect that Welsh speakers find incomprehensible.
Unfortunately we needed petrol and had to stop in a small village.
The petrol station was basically a lay-by with three pumps.
They also don’t trust you to fill you own tank.
A Yeti of a man appeared at the window and said something very fast and very ‘phlegm-y’.
Luckily the fact it was a petrol station limited what he could possibly be saying.
We worked out it was the keys. Obviously.
While he was doing his bit I told ‘M’ to only speak French to him when he returned and I’d go for Germish.
Chuckling, we were ready for him!
Bastard suddenly found a command of English, robbing us of our bilingual “Up Yours”.

The Garden has exploded in my absence. Everything has got big and ‘Fat’.
There is also a flea epidemic.
Murff is running alive and at the moment has been Frontlined within an inch of his life.
I’m trying to work out how to submerge him in the bath without injury to either of us.
I have leather gloves, leather jacket and a full-faced crash helmet from the attic.
I’m going to attempt to put some Frontline Sassy’s cats in the same gear, as I’m not sure how they’ll react.

Fixed Up And Fecking Off

I have fixed the washing machine!
I know! I know! I’m just as freaked as you.
A jig was danced!
That hideous dance twats of Celtic descent do.
Where a bit of Motown hip twirling gets mixed with a smidge of Riverdance
I’m loving this ‘Can Do’ weed!

It would appear that reading the manual, even after about 10 years of ownership, is a real boon!
(Disturbing that I have the manual! But let’s move on!)
Error Code 20 means that something is blocked.
Who knew?
So, following the ‘Euro Pictures’ that render language defunct, I tackled the area known as the ‘pump/pompe/ pumpe’.

Obsessive Compulsive attention to detail can be as serious handicap here, especially where the ‘diagrams’ are concerned.
I found looking at them very quickly, then getting someone to describe them, helped slightly.
Like IKEA stuff!
The mistake is in ‘trying’ to understand.
Nastiness came out and instantly fell within the same realm as cat sick and dog shite, a realm where I don’t deal with such things.
I walked away, but being a slave to DNA and my father’s daughter, I yelled over my shoulder,
“Any money found is mine”.
I even laughed at myself for the predictability of the sentence as I sat down.
Then even more predictably I shouted,
“No! Really! It’s mine”
Thanks Dad.

I’m off to Snowdonia for a week or so.
It’s a part of Wales I haven’t seen and I’m looking forward to it.
We’ll be in a cottage five miles from Lake Bala.
A place greyhounds can run free and I can really start to play with my new camera.
I have weed, The Guide to British Birds and a mushroom field guide.
Sorted.

I’m going to attempt keeping a handwritten diary, something I’ve never done before.
With my Mother? Are you kidding? The Alan Turing of Diaries?
I vividly remember the horrible schadenfreude moment when she found my sister’s.

Catch you all in a week.

From Laundry Woes To Bothersome Breasts

I’ve been in Wiltshire for a few days with the Gorgeous Hounds.
Had a really calm and gentle time.
I return and I’m wound up in under an hour.

The sink is unblocked and properly fixed at long last.
I arranged for a plumber to call 9am Saturday morning, when I wouldn’t be here.
Worth every penny of the forty quid it cost.
I knew there would be karmic repercussions but I didn’t care.
We had a bizarre conversation when he came to price up the job.
Being my usual Aspergers self I said,
“Oh! You’re not Polish!”
“No, I’m a twin” was his reply.
There really is no answer to that, so I showed him the sink.

Back to today’s wind up.
I have worn that special face you wear when staring at one of your ‘expensive to replace’ white goods, pleading with it not to be banjaxed.
Yep, I think the washing machine may be mortally wounded.
It loudly beeped its Error Code 20 shit every 7 minutes through the 54 minute cycle.
Then with six minutes to go it stopped and is holding my white wash hostage as I type.
There are only a number of times you can scream, “Fucking don’t you dare fuck up now!” at a machine before you look demented to the neighbours.
Mrs Next Door With The Kids half smiled and half waved when I noticed her at their kitchen window.
I gave up and went to Sassy’s for a calming cup of Earl Grey and some light weeding.

Fortunately, I found this and it’s had me smiling.
Genius use of ‘bothersome’ breasts!
Which led to the disturbing/comforting article.
The kind you find yourself reading with a squint, as if half closing your eyes ‘lessens it’ somehow.
Which reminds me, does anyone else shout “Christ! NO!” at the television when that Advert comes on?
I hate it so much I can’t remember what they are trying to sell.
It might be deodorant.
Straight people snogging is bad enough, but geriatric, snogging straight people?
Please!
Am I allowed to be offended?
Especially as ‘they’ pulled the Heinz ad for a kiss.
Check his leg coming back down afterwards.
Brilliant!

I'm off to Wales at the weekend, I feel a 'walkabout' coming on. More on that later.

Bat Shit

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

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

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

After The Weekend

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

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

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

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

Tuesday June 24th

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

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

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

A Smiley Day

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

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

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

Check this out.
Elle magazine of all places.

On A Sunday

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


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


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


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

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




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

Miffed

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

A Trip With The Doctor

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

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

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

Train From Wiltshire

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

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

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

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