Saturday

News of The Nutty Daddy, away in the Wesht of Ireland, continues to amuse.
Earlier in the week he took to blowing his nose in the curtains but yesterday decided curtains were no longer needed and pulled them down.
I told The Sainted Mammy she should’ve just gone all Belushi on his arse, wrapped him up in one and started chanting,
“Toga! Toga! Toga!”
She may as well get the benefit of a second childhood with him!
He is on Seroquel these days and is a lot less agitated.

My poxy mobile is playing up.
A while back the socket for the charger disappeared somewhere in the phone and the fucker wouldn’t charge.
I took it to a repair place and the man patronisingly explained every process it would take to fix it, for £25.
I thanked him, brought it home, followed his instructions and fixed the fucker myself.
Or so I thought.
Remember how eventually Walkman headphones would have to be wrapped around the machine, in a sort of Cat‘s Cradle affair, so that you got music in BOTH ears?
I’m now having to do something similar to get a charge into the phone.

My burning question of the day is, why don’t Marmite make butter?
It would stop the ‘Transference’ issue rearing its ugly head.

RIP Popet the Greyhound.
Another dog attacked her today and she didn’t make it.
I’m gutted.

Friday, Fuckers And Festivals

Any other old fucker and they would have died or at least had the decency to break a hip.

Not this bastard.

I’m sure Gorgeous George was there to help get His Holiness up.

It seems that being Pope is a ‘bit tiring’, really?

Perhaps it’s a job for a younger man.

Someone around the same age as, oh say, Jesus Fecking Christ for instance!

Some more of the Mansions produce.
All of it was used in a Moroccan vegetable bake thing this evening.
Check out the beetroot and carrots. They were pulled as part of the thinning process and it makes me feel like an abortionist every time.

We have had so much rain in the last few days the smaller rain barrel is overflowing and I worry that the garlic might be going rotten in the ground.
The wind has blown over some of the tomatoes, stakes and all.
I am not totally sure what to do but I'm positive The Random One will tell me what I should have done, weeks ago!

The Big little Brother is at the Glade Festival.

Bless him.

It's his first one, so even with the monsoon conditions he'll be having an absolutely magic time and if his 'Party Bag' was anything to go by, he will be feeling no pain!

I love that boy!

I could do with a 'Festival' myself but this days I find myself gravitating towards Food and Jazz Festivals, although I probably do the same amount of weed.

It's green and it's vegetative so must count towards my '5 a day' in the same way wine does.

Randomness

A few days ago, using the highly effective ‘Text Telegraph’, Sassy warned me of proselytising G-d botherers on the street.
I immediately changed into my Known Homosexual tee-shirt and awaited their arrival.
Two clean cut, very smart, backpack wearing, young men walked past the house.
‘Brilliant!’ I thought, “Mormons! Therefore likely to be Yanks, I can have at them on two fronts!”
But they had walked past and I was SO not chasing Mormons down the road.
Then the bell.
Old lady and younger one several paces behind.
Fucking Jehovah’s Witnesses!
No fun at all, they answer everything with a question and are way too keen on Revelations.
She may well want to rethink her opening gambit though.
“Good morning. I have a question for you. What would make you happy?”
I opened the door fully, let her have a good look at the tee-shirt and answered,
“If you were delivering Vodka and Cannabis, I think I could feel the Rapture.”
It would appear that even the Jehovah’s have no come back for that one.
She stood with a fixed grin while the other one slowly backed out of the gate, thanking me for my time.
“No, thank YOU for asking!”
I didn’t even get any of their propaganda with the freakish ‘Janet and John picture' idea of heaven.

This made me laugh and agree at the same time.

I love the look of these.
Although the price made me suck my teeth and squint a bit.

Today's most punchable face belongs to Una Stubbs.
I could seriously chin her.
The Culture Show had a clip of 'Summer Holiday', almost tricking me into listening to Satan's Son himself, Cliff Richard.
Fortunately I can hit the mute button without having to look.

The power of Alka Seltzer tablets unblocked the sink in the downstairs lav!
For once, it was me who had blocked the fucker up.

Mrs Next Door Without The Kids did test positive for Swine Flu.
Doesn't seem to be causing her any real problems but did say that while she had the fever it was pretty grim.

Tuesday 7th Of July

Wiltshire has been a bit wet and wild this weekend!
Blue is back to his old self; big, handsome and healthy.
His stomach problem was caught early enough this time and his recovery has been very quick.

I watched the horror that was the Michael Jackson Memorial.
There was just so much that was truly awful I can’t even bring myself to write about it.
Except,
Mariah! NO!
Do NOT conduct your own singing while sporting Bingo Wings large enough to give you VTOL capabilities.
Jesus! Have a word with yourself for fuck’s sake.
Why the fuck she has to wave an arm around while she’s singing is an annoying mystery to me.
Berry Gordy’s assertion that,
“Michael was always trying to top himself” was greeted with howls of laughter from The Mansions Heckling Division.
During Al Sharpton’s speech I swear to Christ I could feel Cancer being cured, peace breaking out all over the place and an end to global want and hunger.
To top it all they rolled out Congresswoman Sheila Jackson Lee.
She informed us that the Constitution has the provision that all are innocent until proven guilty.
Ok.
Well, ‘Law and Order’, which mentions this Constitution quite a bit, leads me to believe that there has to be quite a bit of evidence pointing towards your guilt before they take you to court.
He did go to court didn’t he?
She is also proposing some Resolution that basically ‘Canonises’ Michael Jackson.
WTF?
I can’t help feeling that I’ve watched the start of the media rehabilitation of a possible paedophile.
Listen out in the next few weeks for how many times you hear someone say, “I never thought he did it..”

Away

I'm off to Wiltshire for a few days.
Poor old Blue has been in hospital again.

Catch you next week!

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.