I woke up this morning and the first thought that popped into my mind was,
“It’s been ages since I’ve had an erotic dream”.
How depressing is that?
Even more depressing I can’t remember who the last one involved.
I’m surprised because I’m just shy of female Priapism at the moment, if there is such a thing.
I contemplated self abuse but decided on sublimation instead and went to Mass.
It might have been an idea to save the weed and Diazepam for after because I got the giggles during the responsorial psalm thing.
‘Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet’.
What the fuck does that mean!?
With all the coffin dodgers shouting it at different times it sounded to me like,
‘Oh Lord, a clamp for my meat'.
The Gospel was Luke so I didn’t listen too much and by then I had noticed the Polish lady and her magnificent, peachy arse.
So much for sublimation.
Then I hear about this Catholic school, that won’t allow an injection that protects against cervical cancer to be given on its premises.
The governors seem to believe that it will turn all their girls into sluts.
I went to Catholic boarding school and I can promise you they don’t need a jab!
I’d be interested to know if there are any studies into the incidence of cervical cancer in Nuns.
John the ipod is in a strange shuffle mood, it managed to mix Elgar with The Kings of Leon.
But this has been my choon of the day! I make no apologies, it gets my grin on.
The total tops was this evening while I was cooking, I clocked Mrs Next Door With The Kids, youngest in her arms, bopping around her kitchen to this.
Love it!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Engineers, Pregnancy And Smiles
I was woken AGAIN by the gas man wanting to look at the meter.
Is it me or do they seem to turn up every 2 weeks or so?
If they aren’t waking me up they catch me as I’ve sparked up something herbal.
Yesterday I had to have the telephone bloke out.
The line was dead and nobody had noticed that the thing hadn’t rung for a week.
The engineer was disconcerting.
He kept staring at my chest while talking to me.
This may have happened before and I’ve just never noticed but I noticed yesterday.
I didn’t like it.
Why is the media obsessed with ‘baby bumps’?
Some ‘D Lister’ or D lister’s floozy gets pregnant and we have to be shown pictures of the lump.
Why?
We all know what pregnant people look like.
I remember my Grandfather going on about how gorgeous and ‘glowing’ my sister looked while pregnant.
To me, she looked sweaty, red and fat.
I was a bit wicked today and fed caterpillars to the huge Garden Spiders.
I see it as a form of recycling.
Check out my flickr page for the photos!
My Hope! I hope YouTube stays for ever!
There is always time to revisit Lizzy!
New series of the L word tonight, Whoo Hoo!
Not a dry seat in the house!
Check out the bad boy Butternut Squash!
Starting to look the business.
Is it me or do they seem to turn up every 2 weeks or so?
If they aren’t waking me up they catch me as I’ve sparked up something herbal.
Yesterday I had to have the telephone bloke out.
The line was dead and nobody had noticed that the thing hadn’t rung for a week.
The engineer was disconcerting.
He kept staring at my chest while talking to me.
This may have happened before and I’ve just never noticed but I noticed yesterday.
I didn’t like it.
Why is the media obsessed with ‘baby bumps’?
Some ‘D Lister’ or D lister’s floozy gets pregnant and we have to be shown pictures of the lump.
Why?
We all know what pregnant people look like.
I remember my Grandfather going on about how gorgeous and ‘glowing’ my sister looked while pregnant.
To me, she looked sweaty, red and fat.
I was a bit wicked today and fed caterpillars to the huge Garden Spiders.
I see it as a form of recycling.
Check out my flickr page for the photos!
My Hope! I hope YouTube stays for ever!
There is always time to revisit Lizzy!
New series of the L word tonight, Whoo Hoo!
Not a dry seat in the house!
Check out the bad boy Butternut Squash!
Starting to look the business.
Towels
Last evening Sassy came to eat, drink and be merry.
We beat the bollocks off all three and threw in some big giggles into the mix.
Smashing evening!
Apparently Glenn Close has got some sort of award, for something or other.
Stop it.
I will never forgive her for Serving In Silence.
Dear Christ, if there were ever a film to drive someone back in the closet, this is it.
The parts of the movie I wasn’t watching with my hand over my eyes, screaming,
‘Fucking Hell! NO!’
I was watching from behind the sofa, wishing ‘the bad lady’ would stop.
Am I the only one who has a towel or set of towels they won’t use?
This may be part of my ‘Autistic Spectrum’ condition, but it might not, so I’m checking with you lot.
I have a set of towels in my collection that I hate.
They are a bath towel/hand towel combination.
Known in my world as a ‘body towel and hair towel’.
They are very nice, expensive towels, bought for me by an Aunt.
The trouble is with the colour.
They are Grey.
Who the fuck buys towels that look like you’ve had them 20 years to start with?
My fecking family, that’s who!
The same family who would sit in judgement about the colour and age of a person’s towelage.
They were a house-warming present.
The ‘family’ must have ‘phoned ATM and asked one of two questions.
1. What does she need?
2. What does she like?
The reply from my Mother was, obviously, what SHE thought I needed and what SHE thought I liked.
I ended up with an abundance of towels and a million candles and tealights.
Spot on with the ‘controlled’ pyromania, but towels?
She also believes a person ‘can’t have too much Pyrex’ but spared me that.
Does anyone have a set of towels that weren’t bought for them or that THEY bought after, at least, five years of home ownership that they won‘t use?
I’d also put a £5-er on everyone having at least one ‘robbed’ hotel towel.
We beat the bollocks off all three and threw in some big giggles into the mix.
Smashing evening!
Apparently Glenn Close has got some sort of award, for something or other.
Stop it.
I will never forgive her for Serving In Silence.
Dear Christ, if there were ever a film to drive someone back in the closet, this is it.
The parts of the movie I wasn’t watching with my hand over my eyes, screaming,
‘Fucking Hell! NO!’
I was watching from behind the sofa, wishing ‘the bad lady’ would stop.
Am I the only one who has a towel or set of towels they won’t use?
This may be part of my ‘Autistic Spectrum’ condition, but it might not, so I’m checking with you lot.
I have a set of towels in my collection that I hate.
They are a bath towel/hand towel combination.
Known in my world as a ‘body towel and hair towel’.
They are very nice, expensive towels, bought for me by an Aunt.
The trouble is with the colour.
They are Grey.
Who the fuck buys towels that look like you’ve had them 20 years to start with?
My fecking family, that’s who!
The same family who would sit in judgement about the colour and age of a person’s towelage.
They were a house-warming present.
The ‘family’ must have ‘phoned ATM and asked one of two questions.
1. What does she need?
2. What does she like?
The reply from my Mother was, obviously, what SHE thought I needed and what SHE thought I liked.
I ended up with an abundance of towels and a million candles and tealights.
Spot on with the ‘controlled’ pyromania, but towels?
She also believes a person ‘can’t have too much Pyrex’ but spared me that.
Does anyone have a set of towels that weren’t bought for them or that THEY bought after, at least, five years of home ownership that they won‘t use?
I’d also put a £5-er on everyone having at least one ‘robbed’ hotel towel.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Home
The wanderer returns.
I have to start by mentioning the ‘crick’ in my neck.
Strange beds and stranger pillows.
It’s fucking agony.
One of those pains that shoots from the back of my neck and over the top of my head at the slightest movement.
From the moment I opened my eyes this morning and realised getting out of bed was going to be a trial, I had one word bouncing around my head.
Temazepam.
Lots of it.
My breakfast was 60mg Temazepam, 600mg Ibuprofen and I considered some Dihydrocodeine but decided to save them!
I need to be able to get in the garden and sort it out!
The garden is mega.
Green tomato chutney is underway and I’m planning what to plant for winter.
The area I spread the spores for a South American psychotropic fungus has fecking sprouted!
It was quickly harvested with the help of Crisp-e.
For some reason it was decided I would be the one to ‘medicine’ myself.
Just to see how much to dose ourselves with and to what effect.
Too late, we realised that this was foolhardy.
Don’t test on someone whose capacity for mind altering drugs is Olympian.
Crisp-e can’t, well; it is a school night after all.
I have contacted the Big little Brother.
I seriously have to get this off my chest.
For a long time I have avoided watching Brokeback Mountain.
Has just never appealed to me in the slightest.
During my ‘walkabout’ I ended up watching it.
Sorry to all those who think this deserved an Oscar but WHAT A LOAD OF SHITE!
I couldn’t understand a word of what Heath Ledger said and spent half the movie asking,
“What the fuck did he say?”
I was so completely underwhelmed I never saw it to the end.
Utter armpit.
G-d I’m glad that’s out.
I have to start by mentioning the ‘crick’ in my neck.
Strange beds and stranger pillows.
It’s fucking agony.
One of those pains that shoots from the back of my neck and over the top of my head at the slightest movement.
From the moment I opened my eyes this morning and realised getting out of bed was going to be a trial, I had one word bouncing around my head.
Temazepam.
Lots of it.
My breakfast was 60mg Temazepam, 600mg Ibuprofen and I considered some Dihydrocodeine but decided to save them!
I need to be able to get in the garden and sort it out!
The garden is mega.
Green tomato chutney is underway and I’m planning what to plant for winter.
The area I spread the spores for a South American psychotropic fungus has fecking sprouted!
It was quickly harvested with the help of Crisp-e.
For some reason it was decided I would be the one to ‘medicine’ myself.
Just to see how much to dose ourselves with and to what effect.
Too late, we realised that this was foolhardy.
Don’t test on someone whose capacity for mind altering drugs is Olympian.
Crisp-e can’t, well; it is a school night after all.
I have contacted the Big little Brother.
I seriously have to get this off my chest.
For a long time I have avoided watching Brokeback Mountain.
Has just never appealed to me in the slightest.
During my ‘walkabout’ I ended up watching it.
Sorry to all those who think this deserved an Oscar but WHAT A LOAD OF SHITE!
I couldn’t understand a word of what Heath Ledger said and spent half the movie asking,
“What the fuck did he say?”
I was so completely underwhelmed I never saw it to the end.
Utter armpit.
G-d I’m glad that’s out.
Friday, September 12, 2008
A Friday
I have Munchies Remorse.
I sat and scoffed a 150g bar of Galaxy last night and feel like a total fat bastard today.
Housemates, tell me, how the fuck does a Vacuum cleaner break itself.
When I used it before I went away, over a week ago, it was fine, now it’s fucked.
The strange thing is the house is a fucking shithole.
NO ONE has used it downstairs because none of you ever fucking do!
The hallway resembles a leafy woodland trail through the New Forest.
SO, how does the hoover break itself?
I was going to the Deli, so to educate/freak her out again I wore my ‘Girls Who Do Girls’ Tee shirt this time.
It was the way she said ‘Juniper seeds?’ with a look of disgust and the expression of, “what they hell do ‘they’ DO with them” that got me giggling.
I love the look on her face and her attempts not to touch me, it’s brilliant.
I’m amused by the idea that I’m infectious.
I can see the headline in the paper, “An outbreak of Dyke at a local Deli!”
As I left I bumped into the octogenarian lesbian who accosted me in Somerfield a few months back.
Do you see why I hate leaving the house? Do you?!
Before I knew it her arm was through mine and she was trundling me along, chatting away.
Resigned to my fate this time, I took her shopping said ‘Going home Miss H?’ and walked her back.
She squeezed and rubbed my bicep the whole way then tapped her cheek for a kiss as I tried to get away.
Apparently, ‘I’m lovely’ and she’s told her ‘friend’ about me.
Eeesh. Kill me.
On the way to my own home I was soaked to the skin by a frigging Monsoon.
Huge sheets of rain from a blue sky.
I decided to cheer myself up with a bit of curry cooking which all went well until I got chilli in my eye.
I forgot to dip my fingers in olive oil before chopping and am really pissed off with myself.
Another three and a half pounds of tomatoes were picked along with half a kilo of beans.
I’m sick of beans.
It’s The Tudors tonight. I hope they get rid of Anne this episode, she started to really get on my tits last week.
Have a good week people.
I’m going on walk-about for a while.
If I have your address, make up the spare room and be worried!
I sat and scoffed a 150g bar of Galaxy last night and feel like a total fat bastard today.
Housemates, tell me, how the fuck does a Vacuum cleaner break itself.
When I used it before I went away, over a week ago, it was fine, now it’s fucked.
The strange thing is the house is a fucking shithole.
NO ONE has used it downstairs because none of you ever fucking do!
The hallway resembles a leafy woodland trail through the New Forest.
SO, how does the hoover break itself?
I was going to the Deli, so to educate/freak her out again I wore my ‘Girls Who Do Girls’ Tee shirt this time.
It was the way she said ‘Juniper seeds?’ with a look of disgust and the expression of, “what they hell do ‘they’ DO with them” that got me giggling.
I love the look on her face and her attempts not to touch me, it’s brilliant.
I’m amused by the idea that I’m infectious.
I can see the headline in the paper, “An outbreak of Dyke at a local Deli!”
As I left I bumped into the octogenarian lesbian who accosted me in Somerfield a few months back.
Do you see why I hate leaving the house? Do you?!
Before I knew it her arm was through mine and she was trundling me along, chatting away.
Resigned to my fate this time, I took her shopping said ‘Going home Miss H?’ and walked her back.
She squeezed and rubbed my bicep the whole way then tapped her cheek for a kiss as I tried to get away.
Apparently, ‘I’m lovely’ and she’s told her ‘friend’ about me.
Eeesh. Kill me.
On the way to my own home I was soaked to the skin by a frigging Monsoon.
Huge sheets of rain from a blue sky.
I decided to cheer myself up with a bit of curry cooking which all went well until I got chilli in my eye.
I forgot to dip my fingers in olive oil before chopping and am really pissed off with myself.
Another three and a half pounds of tomatoes were picked along with half a kilo of beans.
I’m sick of beans.
It’s The Tudors tonight. I hope they get rid of Anne this episode, she started to really get on my tits last week.
Have a good week people.
I’m going on walk-about for a while.
If I have your address, make up the spare room and be worried!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Discontinue And Discontinued
Housemates. We have another ‘plughole hamster’ and all the while my arsehole points downwards I’m not dealing with it.
OK?
I have the least amount of hair so feel I don’t really make a huge contribution to its creation.
Also, ‘marigold-ed’ and gagging, I wrangled one out of there the day before yesterday.
Those of you who wear those big clip affairs I your hair, don’t attach them to the fucking shower curtain, you sadist.
Especially if they are fucking black!
You bastards know I spend 99.99999% of my time stoned.
I thought I was in there with a fucking Bird Eating Spider, had an adrenalin rush and smacked my head on the wall.
Although the head on the wall bit did remind me I still had my glasses on.
All in all, a pretty hectic start to the day.
To add to my annoyance the shampoo I use has been discontinued.
Every time this happens to me!
It’s the same with deodorant.
It takes me ages to find one I like the smell of, then about 2 years later they will end the range.
Fucks with my Aspergers head too.
Now I’ve got to find a new shampoo that doesn’t make my hair feel like straw, or give me dandruff, that doesn’t make me smell like my Nan or a treatment for lice, render me blind and especially NOT irritate my skin!
Fuckers! Leave my stuff alone will you!
A year ago today I was in Vancouver, in Havana, celebrating Schnee’s birthday!
Happy Birthday, hope you are having a blinder!
OK?
I have the least amount of hair so feel I don’t really make a huge contribution to its creation.
Also, ‘marigold-ed’ and gagging, I wrangled one out of there the day before yesterday.
Those of you who wear those big clip affairs I your hair, don’t attach them to the fucking shower curtain, you sadist.
Especially if they are fucking black!
You bastards know I spend 99.99999% of my time stoned.
I thought I was in there with a fucking Bird Eating Spider, had an adrenalin rush and smacked my head on the wall.
Although the head on the wall bit did remind me I still had my glasses on.
All in all, a pretty hectic start to the day.
To add to my annoyance the shampoo I use has been discontinued.
Every time this happens to me!
It’s the same with deodorant.
It takes me ages to find one I like the smell of, then about 2 years later they will end the range.
Fucks with my Aspergers head too.
Now I’ve got to find a new shampoo that doesn’t make my hair feel like straw, or give me dandruff, that doesn’t make me smell like my Nan or a treatment for lice, render me blind and especially NOT irritate my skin!
Fuckers! Leave my stuff alone will you!
A year ago today I was in Vancouver, in Havana, celebrating Schnee’s birthday!
Happy Birthday, hope you are having a blinder!
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
A Weird One
The day started off with a weird one.
The Sister text me.
Yep, after six years of nothing, I got this:
“Hello S its N. just to tel u that lots of peeps from skool wanna add u on face book. I’ve told em u havnt got one but they keep on! KB, B, LC, C, DS, EP etc also the GS group has a long pic wiv u in it! If u were interstd! Hope u ok, N.”
(Not as strange as ATM, after a three year silence some time back, she ‘phoned and opened with, ‘Hello, it’s your Mother, can you get hold of some speed?’)
My first thought was, ‘there are five reasons I’m glad I’ve never joined that fecking thing right there!’
My next thought was ‘where the fuck did she get my number?’
The answer to that was The Big little brother.
Mr & Mrs Crisp-e came round this afternoon so using his page we had a look.
There is no ‘pic wiv me in it’, that we can find, thank Christ.
I haven’t replied and I’m not sure I’m going to.
It could be viewed as an olive branch, but do I want one?
Do I want to open the door to all that again?
Being around ATM and my sister does not enhance my mental well being in the slightest.
They are fucking nutters, but I miss my nieces and nephew terribly.
This evening, I received an email ‘allegedly’ from someone I had limited contact with through genes reunited.
It went along the lines of ‘Help, I’m stuck in Nigeria with no money. Mail, wire etc me $1000 now please’.
Yeah, right!
This has been my choon of the day!
Gets your grin on!
But why is it when you listen to anything with headphones on, you are suddenly able to feel through your feet?
Try it.
I guarantee you will feel something.
OR it could be the weed.
The Sister text me.
Yep, after six years of nothing, I got this:
“Hello S its N. just to tel u that lots of peeps from skool wanna add u on face book. I’ve told em u havnt got one but they keep on! KB, B, LC, C, DS, EP etc also the GS group has a long pic wiv u in it! If u were interstd! Hope u ok, N.”
(Not as strange as ATM, after a three year silence some time back, she ‘phoned and opened with, ‘Hello, it’s your Mother, can you get hold of some speed?’)
My first thought was, ‘there are five reasons I’m glad I’ve never joined that fecking thing right there!’
My next thought was ‘where the fuck did she get my number?’
The answer to that was The Big little brother.
Mr & Mrs Crisp-e came round this afternoon so using his page we had a look.
There is no ‘pic wiv me in it’, that we can find, thank Christ.
I haven’t replied and I’m not sure I’m going to.
It could be viewed as an olive branch, but do I want one?
Do I want to open the door to all that again?
Being around ATM and my sister does not enhance my mental well being in the slightest.
They are fucking nutters, but I miss my nieces and nephew terribly.
This evening, I received an email ‘allegedly’ from someone I had limited contact with through genes reunited.
It went along the lines of ‘Help, I’m stuck in Nigeria with no money. Mail, wire etc me $1000 now please’.
Yeah, right!
This has been my choon of the day!
Gets your grin on!
But why is it when you listen to anything with headphones on, you are suddenly able to feel through your feet?
Try it.
I guarantee you will feel something.
OR it could be the weed.
The End Is Near
“Imagine music so relaxing, so pure…” you’ll want to commit fucking murder!
There you have the K-tel ‘Tranquillity’ collection.
A TEN cd compilation of some of the crappiest music on earth played on obscure instruments.
Insomnia meant I was awake for one of the adverts and they are very wrong if they think it ‘Soothes’.
Chariots of fucking Fire played on empty milk bottles, the bagpipe version of Everything I do, Christ No!
It makes me feel violent, just like ‘relaxation exercises’ do.
I’ve lost count of the number of INSET days, some idiot who had no idea what it was like in a classroom, recommended ‘Calming Music’ and relaxation bollocks as a tool for getting psychopaths to stay in the room.
It drives them mental!
They want Ritalin salt licks, straightjackets and anti-psychotics.
Today I have learned you have got to be brutal in the cull of self seeded tomatoes.
Get ‘em young and uck ‘em out.
If you leave it too late you feel like an abortionist.
Chopping them back while they are flowering is just about bearable but if they have little green tomatoes on, the guilt is horrible.
In preparation for being sucked into a black hole at midday I ’phoned my Dad.
I haven’t seen or spoken to him since May and didn’t relish an eternity stuck with him whining, “You never phoned”.
I used that as my opener.
Luckily, Dad has a sense of humour and we had a good chuckle!
I have drunk the really good wine I got from France, the £20 Chablis!
No way I’m leaving that for the cockroaches and bees.
Cooked my version of Middle Eastern lamb, which has a touch of Eastern Europe about it. (Dill pickles and that’s all I’m saying!)
Yummers!
Go on CERN! Let’s get it on!
There you have the K-tel ‘Tranquillity’ collection.
A TEN cd compilation of some of the crappiest music on earth played on obscure instruments.
Insomnia meant I was awake for one of the adverts and they are very wrong if they think it ‘Soothes’.
Chariots of fucking Fire played on empty milk bottles, the bagpipe version of Everything I do, Christ No!
It makes me feel violent, just like ‘relaxation exercises’ do.
I’ve lost count of the number of INSET days, some idiot who had no idea what it was like in a classroom, recommended ‘Calming Music’ and relaxation bollocks as a tool for getting psychopaths to stay in the room.
It drives them mental!
They want Ritalin salt licks, straightjackets and anti-psychotics.
Today I have learned you have got to be brutal in the cull of self seeded tomatoes.
Get ‘em young and uck ‘em out.
If you leave it too late you feel like an abortionist.
Chopping them back while they are flowering is just about bearable but if they have little green tomatoes on, the guilt is horrible.
In preparation for being sucked into a black hole at midday I ’phoned my Dad.
I haven’t seen or spoken to him since May and didn’t relish an eternity stuck with him whining, “You never phoned”.
I used that as my opener.
Luckily, Dad has a sense of humour and we had a good chuckle!
I have drunk the really good wine I got from France, the £20 Chablis!
No way I’m leaving that for the cockroaches and bees.
Cooked my version of Middle Eastern lamb, which has a touch of Eastern Europe about it. (Dill pickles and that’s all I’m saying!)
Yummers!
Go on CERN! Let’s get it on!
Monday, September 08, 2008
Home And Garden
Good news!Jess is making a storming recovery.
Fortunately, it was caught much earlier than Blue’s and treatment started quickly.
Phew!
I’ve been watching the Paralympics and have been trying SO hard not to find amusement.
But I have.
I love my football.
Blind Football? WTF!
The goalkeeper is allowed to be sighted, how is that fair?
My amusement came from the commentator who told us about the other teams in the stand who were there watching the opposition.
‘Watching’?
Well maybe the goalie was.
Proud as punch of this cracker though!
Eleanor Simmonds, what a fucking star!
Back at Sleepy Mansions I found the garden had gone fecking ape shit.
I have picked five and half pounds of tomatoes and am now trawling for recipes.
I’ve made Gazpacho. Sauces tomorrow!
Check out the Urban Squash though!
Who’d have thought you could grow these in Pompey?
I have picked five and half pounds of tomatoes and am now trawling for recipes.
I’ve made Gazpacho. Sauces tomorrow!
Check out the Urban Squash though!
Who’d have thought you could grow these in Pompey?
I thought I’d encountered every “Don’t get that in a paper cut” substance possible.
Oh No!
There is Tomato Food.
It stings like a complete and utter fucker UNTIL you realise that the burning digit, covered in stuff you are not really sure about the composition of, is in your fucking mouth!
Thank all that is Holy for the constant supply of Vodka.
A wine glass full should dilute it, internally, right?
Oh No!
There is Tomato Food.
It stings like a complete and utter fucker UNTIL you realise that the burning digit, covered in stuff you are not really sure about the composition of, is in your fucking mouth!
Thank all that is Holy for the constant supply of Vodka.
A wine glass full should dilute it, internally, right?
I have also had four of these fuckers in my face.
I got over that particular phobia while I was sat here typing and one of the bastards appeared at the corner of my vision on my glasses.
I’d been in from the garden two and a half hours.
My ‘specs are still in the fireplace.
Last night, while watching the lovely Joanna Lumley (Leave it! It’s deep and it’s real! I blame The Avengers) on her quest for the Northern Lights, her dogs barked and Blue looked up at the screen.
So, do dogs bark in a ‘language’ or with an ‘accent’?
Did that barking Husky sound like the canine version of the Swedish Chef?
Amazingly, I had been a weed free for a week, so the mad shit was breaking through.
I’m ok now. Getting the THC levels back up!
Friday, September 05, 2008
Disaster
Disaster!Jessie seems to have got what Blue had.
She has an appointment at the vets this afternoon.
It's more of a concern with the girl, she's thirteen and not as robust as the boy.
I'm really frightened for her.
Hopefully we've caught it earlier than we did with Blue.
Fingers crossed people, fingers crossed.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Boy Blue
Blue the Hound is much better.
He had Haemorrhagic Gastroenteritis. The vet says that this can come on any time and there seems to be no actual trigger for it.
He is on a very limited, bland diet which he doesn’t appreciate one little bit.
We are just so glad Jessie didn’t get it. At thirteen, I don’t think the outcome would have been as positive for the old girl.
I make no secret of the fact that I prefer animals to people but I wish the feckers wouldn’t make me love them so much.
Ironically, as I typed this, Jess got up and crapped all over the floor.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Emergency
I have had to do an emergency trip to Wiltshire.My gorgeous boy Blue is seriously ill.
It started on Saturday with the shits and puking, which was treated the usual way with boiled rice and chicken.
Then on Wednesday he started bleeding out..
He was rushed to the animal hospital and put straight on a drip.
The poor boy was hideously dehydrated and given less than a 50% survival rate.
During the tests they discovered something wrong with his heart. He is having an ECG for that today.
He had such a tough start. His body has scars from cigarette burns, 2 bullet wounds, many cuts and an attempt had been made to cut his ears off.
I love this big, soppy boy very much.
Please send your positive thoughts his way.
I don't want to lose him.
Thanks guys.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
O Captain! My Captain!...
…Our fearful trip is done…
The day in France was splendid!
Sleepy Mansions now houses much Chablis, Sancerre, Macon Villages, Bordeaux and one of my most favourites, Pineau Des Charentes!
This stuff is that one step beyond Yummers.
There is also a LOT of cheese and ciggies galore!
You got to love tax free shopping.
Just a point about the train.
Ok, we are leaving England, Passports are involved, we are going to a different time zone, and they speak some incomprehensible language;
But.
Fucking BUT!
No matter how long you have been getting in to the front of the train and pushing a fucking button to make it go, you are NOT the “Captain” of my train!
Stop yourself!
Captain!
You don’t ‘steer’ a route.
The fucker is on tracks, it has no choice where it goes.
You are a train driver, exactly the same as the person who ‘drives’ me to Salisbury!
You press an “On” and “Off” switch.
Captain.. Dear Christ.
Hands up anyone who thinks this is going to make the slightest bit of difference to the Catholic Church?
Anglicans voting, um, why?
The Tame Pharmacist went to a Cardinal Newman school in Brighton.
Not that I’m making any link, but…. Brighton!
Gay-er than a bag of rainbows at a Boy Scout Jamboree.
Mad Matt and the affianced Crisp-e’s came for a pre return to school meal, booze and smoke.
Crisp-e actually did the organising and inviting but somehow it all happened in Sleepy Mansions with me cooking!
When pulled on this he had some very plausible reason, which I forget now.
But I’m so glad he did!
I did Moussaka.
Something had to be done to some of those Lidl Aubergines.
Mad Matt and I, after much cannabis and deep discussion, have decided that Jesus was a Yo-Yo dieter.
40 days and 40 nights of starvation?
Loaves and Fishes?
We reckon that is the Weight Watchers ‘red and green’ day thing.
The fellah wasn’t shy with booze either.
The wedding at Cana?
The Last Supper must have been a carbohydrate day, or a piss up.
Loads of bread to soak up the wine!
Today, as a mark of solidarity with Lapriss Glibert, I have worn my ‘Known Homosexual’ teeshirt.
I think it freaked out the lady in the Deli, she didn’t take her eyes off it the whole time she cut my Gruyere cheese, she also avoided touching me in any way when giving my change.
That really made me chuckle.
The day in France was splendid!
Sleepy Mansions now houses much Chablis, Sancerre, Macon Villages, Bordeaux and one of my most favourites, Pineau Des Charentes!
This stuff is that one step beyond Yummers.
There is also a LOT of cheese and ciggies galore!
You got to love tax free shopping.
Just a point about the train.
Ok, we are leaving England, Passports are involved, we are going to a different time zone, and they speak some incomprehensible language;
But.
Fucking BUT!
No matter how long you have been getting in to the front of the train and pushing a fucking button to make it go, you are NOT the “Captain” of my train!
Stop yourself!
Captain!
You don’t ‘steer’ a route.
The fucker is on tracks, it has no choice where it goes.
You are a train driver, exactly the same as the person who ‘drives’ me to Salisbury!
You press an “On” and “Off” switch.
Captain.. Dear Christ.
Hands up anyone who thinks this is going to make the slightest bit of difference to the Catholic Church?
Anglicans voting, um, why?
The Tame Pharmacist went to a Cardinal Newman school in Brighton.
Not that I’m making any link, but…. Brighton!
Gay-er than a bag of rainbows at a Boy Scout Jamboree.
Mad Matt and the affianced Crisp-e’s came for a pre return to school meal, booze and smoke.
Crisp-e actually did the organising and inviting but somehow it all happened in Sleepy Mansions with me cooking!
When pulled on this he had some very plausible reason, which I forget now.
But I’m so glad he did!
I did Moussaka.
Something had to be done to some of those Lidl Aubergines.
Mad Matt and I, after much cannabis and deep discussion, have decided that Jesus was a Yo-Yo dieter.
40 days and 40 nights of starvation?
Loaves and Fishes?
We reckon that is the Weight Watchers ‘red and green’ day thing.
The fellah wasn’t shy with booze either.
The wedding at Cana?
The Last Supper must have been a carbohydrate day, or a piss up.
Loads of bread to soak up the wine!
Today, as a mark of solidarity with Lapriss Glibert, I have worn my ‘Known Homosexual’ teeshirt.
I think it freaked out the lady in the Deli, she didn’t take her eyes off it the whole time she cut my Gruyere cheese, she also avoided touching me in any way when giving my change.
That really made me chuckle.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Shopping, Home And Away
Today I have been to Lidl.
I love Lidl!
With the Waitrose bags for life of course, I don’t want the neighbours thinking I’m cheap or pikey!
This week Sleepy Mansions will be mostly eating Aubergines.
At 27p a pop I bought, well, let’s just leave it at, ‘several’.
Any recipe ideas would be gratefully received. Nothing obvious!
The thing with shops like Lidl is not to have any expectations.
It might be really good or it might be really shite.
Lucky dip shopping.
Masterchef is back on and it’s ‘wannabe’ professional chefs having a go this time.
Michel Roux Jr is one of the judges.
He is way too skinny for my liking, especially for a chef.
I want my chef to look like he actually fucking eats something.
You stand the man in front of an oven and he doesn't look like he cooks, he looks like an extra in Sophie's Choice.
I must just say before I forget, the programme starts and everyone goes on about how fecking wonderful it is;
I HATE Tess of the d’Urbervilles.
Detest it. Ok?
While I’m at it, I’m going to fully come out, I hate Thomas Hardy.
Hate him.
There, it’s said!
Wanker, made A level English a hideous experience.
Tomorrow I’m leaving the comfort of my own country for the day and going to France.
I say France; we’re going to Calais which in my book is still English.
If it weren’t for the need of a Tabac we wouldn’t even see a welcome to France sign.
I meet up with The Crisp-e’s at 6.30am and aim to be on the Eurostar, under the English Channel by about 11am!
Must brush up on my Froggish chat, which by the time we arrive will be a ‘Pidgin Franglais’ with a hint of menace.
To my shame, I have used the sentence,
“I said; pour le troisieme time, Je FUCKING voudrais, vingt, 20? yeah? Vingt cartouche Mayfair smooth. D’accord, De Gaulle?”
I’ll be trying to avoid diplomatic incident; get in, get my wine, cheese and smokes and get the fuck out.
I love Lidl!
With the Waitrose bags for life of course, I don’t want the neighbours thinking I’m cheap or pikey!
This week Sleepy Mansions will be mostly eating Aubergines.
At 27p a pop I bought, well, let’s just leave it at, ‘several’.
Any recipe ideas would be gratefully received. Nothing obvious!
The thing with shops like Lidl is not to have any expectations.
It might be really good or it might be really shite.
Lucky dip shopping.
Masterchef is back on and it’s ‘wannabe’ professional chefs having a go this time.
Michel Roux Jr is one of the judges.
He is way too skinny for my liking, especially for a chef.
I want my chef to look like he actually fucking eats something.
You stand the man in front of an oven and he doesn't look like he cooks, he looks like an extra in Sophie's Choice.
I must just say before I forget, the programme starts and everyone goes on about how fecking wonderful it is;
I HATE Tess of the d’Urbervilles.
Detest it. Ok?
While I’m at it, I’m going to fully come out, I hate Thomas Hardy.
Hate him.
There, it’s said!
Wanker, made A level English a hideous experience.
Tomorrow I’m leaving the comfort of my own country for the day and going to France.
I say France; we’re going to Calais which in my book is still English.
If it weren’t for the need of a Tabac we wouldn’t even see a welcome to France sign.
I meet up with The Crisp-e’s at 6.30am and aim to be on the Eurostar, under the English Channel by about 11am!
Must brush up on my Froggish chat, which by the time we arrive will be a ‘Pidgin Franglais’ with a hint of menace.
To my shame, I have used the sentence,
“I said; pour le troisieme time, Je FUCKING voudrais, vingt, 20? yeah? Vingt cartouche Mayfair smooth. D’accord, De Gaulle?”
I’ll be trying to avoid diplomatic incident; get in, get my wine, cheese and smokes and get the fuck out.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Mass Gold
I found this at 05.13am and have chuckled about it ever since!
36 hours sleep free, be gentle with me.
Ho Hum.
There was some pure gold at Mass this morning.
The Downs Syndrome Lady who sometimes shouts out ‘Tits!’ decided she was going to say all the Priest’s parts today.
This put the poor fecker right off and he kept missing out bits, fortunately she didn’t!
I actually think it was her who did the ‘consecration’!
HIM.. “…He took the cup, gave it to his disciples and said…
HER. “Take this all of you and drink”
HIM.. “T…T…T.. Take.. Um. Er. This is the cup of my blood…”
HER. “ Which shall be shed for you…”
I laughed out loud.
Proper belly laughed until I was stared at by many people.
In fact I wanted to applaud her.
Not that staring bothers me AT ALL; I am SO used to that.
Why hasn’t anybody’s G-d got the same sense of humour as mine?
Well, maybe Schnee’s has.
I really felt a lot of love towards Downs Syndrome Lady, which is probably the whole point of turning up in the first place.
Father P looked pale, confused and haggard as I left.
I gave him a thumbs up and a shout of, ‘stoic effort’ as I shot out for some smokes.
Another thing I noticed is if you want to balls up some perfectly nice, upbeat Protestant hymn, get Catholics to sing it.
They will halve the speed and turn it in to a fecking dirge within one verse.
Poor old Mr Wesley.
I’ve watched the closing ceremony of the ‘Olympiad’.
What kind of fecking word is that? Olympiad?
Same as “Medalling”.
“Oh, she medalled here; she’s bound to medal in 2012”.
What does that mean?
It means fuck all!
That was a massive flame they had going on.
Am I the only one to wonder if they had a big old rotisserie in there and were knocking out Peking Duck on the side?
36 hours sleep free, be gentle with me.
Ho Hum.
There was some pure gold at Mass this morning.
The Downs Syndrome Lady who sometimes shouts out ‘Tits!’ decided she was going to say all the Priest’s parts today.
This put the poor fecker right off and he kept missing out bits, fortunately she didn’t!
I actually think it was her who did the ‘consecration’!
HIM.. “…He took the cup, gave it to his disciples and said…
HER. “Take this all of you and drink”
HIM.. “T…T…T.. Take.. Um. Er. This is the cup of my blood…”
HER. “ Which shall be shed for you…”
I laughed out loud.
Proper belly laughed until I was stared at by many people.
In fact I wanted to applaud her.
Not that staring bothers me AT ALL; I am SO used to that.
Why hasn’t anybody’s G-d got the same sense of humour as mine?
Well, maybe Schnee’s has.
I really felt a lot of love towards Downs Syndrome Lady, which is probably the whole point of turning up in the first place.
Father P looked pale, confused and haggard as I left.
I gave him a thumbs up and a shout of, ‘stoic effort’ as I shot out for some smokes.
Another thing I noticed is if you want to balls up some perfectly nice, upbeat Protestant hymn, get Catholics to sing it.
They will halve the speed and turn it in to a fecking dirge within one verse.
Poor old Mr Wesley.
I’ve watched the closing ceremony of the ‘Olympiad’.
What kind of fecking word is that? Olympiad?
Same as “Medalling”.
“Oh, she medalled here; she’s bound to medal in 2012”.
What does that mean?
It means fuck all!
That was a massive flame they had going on.
Am I the only one to wonder if they had a big old rotisserie in there and were knocking out Peking Duck on the side?
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Ping Pong
It took me ages to work out what was wrong with the Olympic Table Tennis.
No split across the centre of the table.
It would appear that we are shit at this sport.
Not just as a nation but as a continent.
I’d like to see it played at Olympic level the way the rest of us had to play it.
Firstly, the two players would have to have a fight over the only decent bat.
The winner will be chosen by ‘Someone’s Mum’ who will also extract the promise to swap over bats half way through.
If they are lucky enough to be drawn as the first match of the day they will get a ball that is round and actually bounces.
Later games are likely to be played with a ball that is partially square and has a pucker like an arsehole in it.
The net will fall down every time the ball hits it and 15 minutes of the game will be spent trying to make it stay up with lolly sticks and Wrigley’s.
If the ‘Good Bat’ is put down during this time, theft is perfectly acceptable.
The game ends when the first combatant cries, they are the loser or in technical parlance, “Over Tired”.
Play it like that and we’re in with a chance.
We could get that sorted for 2012 and wouldn’t even have to build anything.
Butlins at Bognor Regis is already set up for it.
No split across the centre of the table.
It would appear that we are shit at this sport.
Not just as a nation but as a continent.
I’d like to see it played at Olympic level the way the rest of us had to play it.
Firstly, the two players would have to have a fight over the only decent bat.
The winner will be chosen by ‘Someone’s Mum’ who will also extract the promise to swap over bats half way through.
If they are lucky enough to be drawn as the first match of the day they will get a ball that is round and actually bounces.
Later games are likely to be played with a ball that is partially square and has a pucker like an arsehole in it.
The net will fall down every time the ball hits it and 15 minutes of the game will be spent trying to make it stay up with lolly sticks and Wrigley’s.
If the ‘Good Bat’ is put down during this time, theft is perfectly acceptable.
The game ends when the first combatant cries, they are the loser or in technical parlance, “Over Tired”.
Play it like that and we’re in with a chance.
We could get that sorted for 2012 and wouldn’t even have to build anything.
Butlins at Bognor Regis is already set up for it.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Salve And No Way
I have decided that I must be a master of disguise because every time the ‘Parish Sister’ sees me at Mass, she asks if I’m new to the area!
I might tell her I am and see if there is some sort of ‘Welcome Pack’.
Today the Oldies came into their own.
It’s The Feast of The Queenship of Mary, or something like that.
Equally it could be the Feast of St Quentin the Hairy.
They were digging up the road outside and I didn’t quite hear.
The priest decided we were going to sing the Salve Regina at the end.
In Latin.
Step up the coffin dodgers and pre Vatican II-er‘s, your time has come.
I can remember how the words go and how you say them, I’m just really shit with the tune.
The trouble is, to my eternal shame, I have this going on in my head!
My Auntie Rosie LOVED him to death.
So I blame it on all the summer holidays spent with my cousins under her influence!
The Nutty Daddy used to start it up at the end of any religious gathering, no matter what the denomination or the celebration, much to his family’s embarrassment.
Playboy reckons that these are the Top Ten places to ‘have sex before you die’.
Um.
Fuck No!
Let’s look a little closer.
1. In the car.
Er, who hasn’t? It must be one of the first things anybody does when they get a car. It’s a portable bedroom.
70% of us were probably conceived in one.
2. In the pool.
Look out of the window in any Spanish or Greek resort and watch how the water ‘rushes around the genitals’ of a fat lass from Wigan.
As for ‘killing natural lube’, dear Christ I DO fecking hope so!
3. The cinema.
They have got to be joking.
After, somehow, paying £25 for a bag full of your favourite sweeties, a carton of popcorn that tastes like Styrofoam cups and coke that tastes like that Soda Stream shit; the last thing on your mind is a bunk up.
Most of the film is taken up with seething and making sure nothing is dropped or wasted.
4. Back of a cab.
Yeah, if you want a fatwa put on you by your Muslim driver and a Thirty Five quid ‘clean up’ charge.
5. On a train.
Travel to anywhere along the Cardiff line and I guarantee you have had sex already.
Probably without realising.
Passengers are crammed in so tight; if you haven’t had sex with someone, then someone has had sex with you.
6. In the woods.
The Right to Roam legislation has opened up a lot more of the countryside to the ‘adventurous fucker’; but you are more likely to meet a red faced lunatic, dressed in tweed with a shotgun screaming “Get Orf My Land”.
Superman maybe as fast as a speeding bullet, but let’s see him dodge it with his trousers bunched round his ankles.
7. In a nightclub.
I’m gay for the love G-d, It’s the law!
Must be done in the only cubicle that locks, to the romantic sounds of a heavy bass beat and the door being kicked in by MTF transsexuals wanting a piss.
8. On a boat.
Other than the cross channel ferry the nearest most of us come to a ‘boat’ is a pedalo.
I don’t imagine that there is any kind of ‘gentle rocking’ given their design.
Diving into a sea full of shit, condoms and sundry pollution doesn’t really appeal either.
9. A mile high.
It takes the suppleness of Olga Korbett to get in the fecking thing on your own, so two is a logistical nightmare. The furnishings are placed in the optimum position to hinder any kind of needful frolicking.
I know.
I almost split my head open on a sink.
10. On a beach.
Lovely. Not.
Make your bed amongst the thousands of plastic bottles, in the twinkling light of a million glass shards and hypodermic needles.
Your head resting on a pillow of Dr Whites and tampons, as you get covered in tar and take the suede off the toes of your shoes.
Yeah, that’s a real turn on.
I might tell her I am and see if there is some sort of ‘Welcome Pack’.
Today the Oldies came into their own.
It’s The Feast of The Queenship of Mary, or something like that.
Equally it could be the Feast of St Quentin the Hairy.
They were digging up the road outside and I didn’t quite hear.
The priest decided we were going to sing the Salve Regina at the end.
In Latin.
Step up the coffin dodgers and pre Vatican II-er‘s, your time has come.
I can remember how the words go and how you say them, I’m just really shit with the tune.
The trouble is, to my eternal shame, I have this going on in my head!
My Auntie Rosie LOVED him to death.
So I blame it on all the summer holidays spent with my cousins under her influence!
The Nutty Daddy used to start it up at the end of any religious gathering, no matter what the denomination or the celebration, much to his family’s embarrassment.
Playboy reckons that these are the Top Ten places to ‘have sex before you die’.
Um.
Fuck No!
Let’s look a little closer.
1. In the car.
Er, who hasn’t? It must be one of the first things anybody does when they get a car. It’s a portable bedroom.
70% of us were probably conceived in one.
2. In the pool.
Look out of the window in any Spanish or Greek resort and watch how the water ‘rushes around the genitals’ of a fat lass from Wigan.
As for ‘killing natural lube’, dear Christ I DO fecking hope so!
3. The cinema.
They have got to be joking.
After, somehow, paying £25 for a bag full of your favourite sweeties, a carton of popcorn that tastes like Styrofoam cups and coke that tastes like that Soda Stream shit; the last thing on your mind is a bunk up.
Most of the film is taken up with seething and making sure nothing is dropped or wasted.
4. Back of a cab.
Yeah, if you want a fatwa put on you by your Muslim driver and a Thirty Five quid ‘clean up’ charge.
5. On a train.
Travel to anywhere along the Cardiff line and I guarantee you have had sex already.
Probably without realising.
Passengers are crammed in so tight; if you haven’t had sex with someone, then someone has had sex with you.
6. In the woods.
The Right to Roam legislation has opened up a lot more of the countryside to the ‘adventurous fucker’; but you are more likely to meet a red faced lunatic, dressed in tweed with a shotgun screaming “Get Orf My Land”.
Superman maybe as fast as a speeding bullet, but let’s see him dodge it with his trousers bunched round his ankles.
7. In a nightclub.
I’m gay for the love G-d, It’s the law!
Must be done in the only cubicle that locks, to the romantic sounds of a heavy bass beat and the door being kicked in by MTF transsexuals wanting a piss.
8. On a boat.
Other than the cross channel ferry the nearest most of us come to a ‘boat’ is a pedalo.
I don’t imagine that there is any kind of ‘gentle rocking’ given their design.
Diving into a sea full of shit, condoms and sundry pollution doesn’t really appeal either.
9. A mile high.
It takes the suppleness of Olga Korbett to get in the fecking thing on your own, so two is a logistical nightmare. The furnishings are placed in the optimum position to hinder any kind of needful frolicking.
I know.
I almost split my head open on a sink.
10. On a beach.
Lovely. Not.
Make your bed amongst the thousands of plastic bottles, in the twinkling light of a million glass shards and hypodermic needles.
Your head resting on a pillow of Dr Whites and tampons, as you get covered in tar and take the suede off the toes of your shoes.
Yeah, that’s a real turn on.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Freaks And Experiments
This morning I somehow ended up watching women’s Basketball, which is basically Netball and therefore shit.
What kept me watching was a morbid fascination with one of the American girls.
She was 6’ 5” tall.
Six foot fecking five inches!
What the fuck do you do with yourself if you are that tall and totally shit at basketball?
What if you don’t have an athletic bone in your freakishly tall body?
Sassy could have done with someone like that today for the first and last round of her own bizarre sport, ‘Attic Vacuuming’.
Don’t ask. Really, don’t ask.
It got complicated and I kind of misted over at ‘back bedroom’ and ‘decorating’!
But I had caned the weed and had a fraught time at Mass.
She had to make do with me; stumpy as I am, I’m taller than her!
This caught my eye and I’m trying a little experiment.
I have a friend teaching in China so I sent her the article as a link.
The question for you all is, will she be able to open it?
We’ll see.
What kept me watching was a morbid fascination with one of the American girls.
She was 6’ 5” tall.
Six foot fecking five inches!
What the fuck do you do with yourself if you are that tall and totally shit at basketball?
What if you don’t have an athletic bone in your freakishly tall body?
Sassy could have done with someone like that today for the first and last round of her own bizarre sport, ‘Attic Vacuuming’.
Don’t ask. Really, don’t ask.
It got complicated and I kind of misted over at ‘back bedroom’ and ‘decorating’!
But I had caned the weed and had a fraught time at Mass.
She had to make do with me; stumpy as I am, I’m taller than her!
This caught my eye and I’m trying a little experiment.
I have a friend teaching in China so I sent her the article as a link.
The question for you all is, will she be able to open it?
We’ll see.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Sport And The Horn
I only managed to get through the first half of the England football friendly against The Czech Republic before losing my temper and the will to live.
What a load of shite.
Watching a bunch of over paid twats flouncing about, after the true athletes of the Olympics, was bloody awful.
Sassy was here to share the horror and the most used words between us were, ‘Useless’, ‘Twat’, and ‘Wanker’.
Does the ‘sap rise’ again in August?
Something is definitely happening.
I could barely concentrate at Mass today, my thoughts kept drifting to memories of… Well.. You get the idea.
Then, in my weakened state, I was forced in to conversation with Mrs Next Door With The Kids.
She had on a low cut top and kept bending down to the children.
It took EVERY ounce of my concentration to keep looking her in the eye.
I seriously considered an afternoon of Olympic level self abuse but cleaned the kitchen windows instead.
Sublimation.
Damn those Nuns.
Did I have a mystical awakening? Did I buggery.
Just the horrible realisation I should never have started this poxy fecking job in the first place.
It’s not one you can leave half way through either, especially considering they hadn’t been cleaned in over a year.
This gave me a smile!
“… socially conscious without smelling like patchouli.”
Love it!
What a brilliant bloke.
May he rest in peace.
My word of the week is Amanuensis.
I can’t remember where I read it but try it out; it really makes you use your lips!
Haha!
Don’t mind me, I’m mash up and incredibly horny.
What a load of shite.
Watching a bunch of over paid twats flouncing about, after the true athletes of the Olympics, was bloody awful.
Sassy was here to share the horror and the most used words between us were, ‘Useless’, ‘Twat’, and ‘Wanker’.
Does the ‘sap rise’ again in August?
Something is definitely happening.
I could barely concentrate at Mass today, my thoughts kept drifting to memories of… Well.. You get the idea.
Then, in my weakened state, I was forced in to conversation with Mrs Next Door With The Kids.
She had on a low cut top and kept bending down to the children.
It took EVERY ounce of my concentration to keep looking her in the eye.
I seriously considered an afternoon of Olympic level self abuse but cleaned the kitchen windows instead.
Sublimation.
Damn those Nuns.
Did I have a mystical awakening? Did I buggery.
Just the horrible realisation I should never have started this poxy fecking job in the first place.
It’s not one you can leave half way through either, especially considering they hadn’t been cleaned in over a year.
This gave me a smile!
“… socially conscious without smelling like patchouli.”
Love it!
What a brilliant bloke.
May he rest in peace.
My word of the week is Amanuensis.
I can’t remember where I read it but try it out; it really makes you use your lips!
Haha!
Don’t mind me, I’m mash up and incredibly horny.