Final Destination

He's gone.

Thank you to all who wished him well on his journey.

For Those....

... Who do.

Please say a prayer for the Nutty Daddy away in the Wesht of Ireland.

He was taken in to hospital last night and is in his last few hours.

St Joseph, Patron of departing souls, pray for him.

Well...

.. Five weeks without smoking.

I understand why people 'inflict' their non smoking on others; because these have possibly been 5 of THE most joyless fucking weeks of my existence; remembering I was educated by Nuns and abused by my Step Father.. Yes... Fucking sobering isn't it?!

Horrible. Utterly awful.

I don’t deny I physically FEEL ‘better’.

I sleep better, less disturbed, less teeth grinding but I am beyond fucking miserable.

And I can’t write.

My processes don’t work anymore.

I no longer ‘skin up’, a time when I formulate what I want to write... Access to the keys being blocked by the Whats On TV rolling mat.

A pipe.

A tobacco-less pipe.

The Coitus Interruptus of dope smoking.

It ALMOST gets you stoned but the fit of oxygen sapping coughing rips any real satisfaction from it.

You can’t even enjoy the minuscule amount of stoned you get because your throat feels like it’s had a treatment for barnacles.

I had a beautiful moment in the queue for the Post Office today. It was out the door and under the scaffolding that was up for, Christ knows what.

On it were a couple of blokes in their 50's and 'The Boy'.

The Boy was early 20's, stripped to a pair of shorts and ripped like you wouldn't believe.

He was a magnificent specimen of what the muscled male body can look like.

I was caught looking.

One of the older guys shouted at me,

'Oi! Love! I bet you're wondering where you can get one of these?'

He indicated his younger colleague with a flamboyant flourish of his hand.

I shook my head.

"Nah mate! I was wondering if he had a sister!"

Huge hilarity ensued.

The older guys fell about laughing.

Ho Hum..

Catch Up

A few days to catch you up on.

I’ve made it to day six without a cigarette.

Day three was the worst and I did briefly think about buying 10 but didn’t crack.

Fortunately, the weather has been blinding the last few days and I’ve occupied myself in the garden.

I’ve taken millions of photos, potted more vegetables and herbs than the Mansions Kitchens will ever use.

I went to the Geriatric Mass on Sunday, just in case the Screaming and Crying Mass riled me up.

Laugh? I nearly died trying to hold it all in.

Sunday was a warm one so the summer wardrobes were on show, plus the new summer sandals.

Warm feet, no hosiery and new shoes resulted in, for one old dear, a shoe which ‘farted’ with each step.

She appeared oblivious as she walked the length of the church.

During the consecration the lady with the goatee started a really intense coughing fit.

She was doing that thing where you try ‘swallowing’ the cough and trying to keep it in with your mouth shut.

The effort put in to this caused what only can be described as a, catastrophic loss of sphincter control.

She let rip with a fart which sounded like a cross between the clapping favoured by flamenco dancers and bubble wrap being wrung out.

It’s duration also made it impossible to ignore.

I didn’t kneel before my G-d, more fell to my knees in hysteria!

Sadly though these will be my last few weeks of attending Mass.

Father P is leaving and I can’t be arsed to go through the stress of ‘training’ up a new one.

Monday was my first day of Jury service.

The most utterly, pointless and boring day of the year so far.

Eight hours of my life I am never going to get back, which if my Carboxihaemoglobin levels were anything to go by, I could probably do with.

My level was recorded when I started on the patches and because I have absolutely no semblance of deferred gratification, I tested it again yesterday.

The first reading was more or less, “Fucking Hell! Call an ambulance and turn the faulty boiler off!” at 40ppm.

Four days later it was 19ppm.

Blimey!

The Last...

... Cigarette I smoke, The Supreme Being willing.

I have patches and all housemates bar one are non smokers, thank fuck!

Cooking With...

.... Crisp-e and Sleepy.

First, make fire!

Secondly, rake over the coals to ensure an even burn. Garden implements are perfectly acceptable for this purpose.

Thirdly, present the meat. In this case, lamb shanks. Crisp-e had already performed some alchemy on these. He'd have to tell you what that was though! It involved herbs and four hours of cooking.

Skewer the shanks and get them over the coals.

Cover with the homemade 'Tandoor'. A terracotta pot with something heavy dropped through the bottom.

BBQ!

Cover it over for a little bit.

Baste those bad boys. The cigarette is completely optional.

As you can see the meat can be stripped off with a spoon.

Finish of so the skin crisps up all lovely.

The meat was served up in warm tortillas, salad and a mint sauce. There are no photos of this as they didn't last that long!

They were the best thing I have eaten in ages.

Thanks Dred!

A Spirit

I can't begin to tell you how much this chokes me up.

It also reminds me of a book called Snow Goose I read as a kid.

The first book I remember making me cry.

Pentecostal Sun

Um.... Yes....

If we can ignore for the moment that I have shoulders like Mark Spitz, this is an hour of shirtless weeding in the Mansions garden today.

It's been a little bit warm.

I have a 'shine' due to Aftersun because I sting now!

It has been an absolutely glorious day.

Mrs D came round to enjoy the sun, watch me weed, drink wine, eat cheese and be utterly confused by her phone!

A superb day!

This is what a confused woman looks like while tackling a 'touch' phone!

Bless her.

A 40...

... Year old with her Dad!

I'm still waiting on people to send their photos.. But here are a couple to keep Schnee going!

This is why you don't give Dyslexics Word Search puzzles!

Look at his poor little face not being able to understand. Apparently EVERYTHING appears correct to him!

Mocking the afflicted is not usually so open. Most wait until they are at least in the staff room.

Seeing as this 'afflictee' would be IN the staff room, we were out and proud with our piss taking!

Yes! Shameful pictures as well... My cousins made me wear that hat for 40 minutes and pressed the button that played 'Happy Birthday', which only I could hear, whenever possible.

Aftermath

Check out my birthday cake!

Housemate Claire made it for me.

‘Nutella Cake’!

It is beyond fecking Yum and is Coeliac friendly.

I had a great birthday and some cracking gifts.

Books, book tokens, speciality vodka, wine and a day Clay Pigeon shooting!

Oh! Yes! I will be ARMED!

The main celebration is on Saturday.

My Father is leaving his house, the Nottingham contingent are coming south, the locals are mobilised and the Irish are flying in.

It should be epic!

If my niece wrote a blog I think her post yesterday would go something like this:

I popped into see the mad lesbian auntie this afternoon.

She opened the door with her ear on her right shoulder.

‘Oh! Have you got a crick in your neck?’ I asked.

“Darling! Come in! Come in! No! Hydrogen Peroxide in my ear” she cheerfully told me, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

The scene that greeted me in the front room was, well, carnage.

It looked like the sofa had been sexually assaulted.

Half the covers were off, cushions were all over the floor and the cat was looking traumatized.

‘Oh Dear! What happened?’

“Oh? This? At 2 this morning I decided to wash all the covers, forgetting that getting it undressed is a lot easier than getting its clothes back on!”

I laughed.

“I’ve cried in frustration then kicked the shit out of it” she said.

Her head was still tilted.

‘And what’s with the Peroxide?’ I asked.

“Cleaning the wax out of my ear. There’s a huge lump in there and it won’t shift. This shit is sizzling the fuck out of it!”

I left the house laughing and laughed all the way to the car.

I’m sure at some point during her drive home she put her hand on her baby bump and thought, ‘Please G-d, don’t let it have any of her DNA!’.

Bi Polar Grandfather, Asperger’s Great Aunt, you’d hope something balanced would be coming from the Dad’s side.

His Mum is adopted and they have no clue to her background!

Yeee Ha!

Baby Russian Roulette!

At last we have a government.. Or something that is doing an impression of one.

So the ‘Tactical’ vote for the Liberal Democrats, to keep the Tories out, like they fucking told us to do, was totally pointless then?

They will NEVER get a vote from me again. Not even for the local council.

Clegg’s name has been mentioned so often in the last three days I was convinced Capello would name him in his World Cup Squad.

Isn’t Democracy fucking grand?

The First Hour...

... Of my 4th decade.

It's my BIRTHADAY! Whoo Hoo!

The Last Hour...

... Of my 30's!

Could be worse.

Windows And Weirdness

I made the absolutely horrific mistake of cleaning the front room windows.

To tell the truth I can’t remember the last time I did it. Or if I ever have!

Armed with Mr Muscle spray and kitchen roll I had at it. Only to be shamed into stopping by the colour the paper quickly turned.

It was that special yellow/brown colour that used to be reserved for pub ceilings before the smoking ban.

The difference is amazing, my world is no longer Sepia toned!

Today is the last day of my thirties and I feel a bit weird.

It’s hard to explain, but I think I’m supposed to feel more ‘grown up’ than I actually do!

In my head I’m still about 15.

My Superego exerts a bit more power these days, well, as much as mine can.

“It” is there though, the elemental, uncivilized and primitive me.

And the Ego?

Fucked.

Barely remains sane playing fucking Switzerland with the other two fuckers and being constantly stoned.

I now intend to get totally and utterly mashed up.

Election And Connection

I had no idea who to vote for so decided to indulge in some ‘Election Roulette’.

The first fucker to knock on the door would get my vote.

Unless it was the BNP or any other of the Nazi parties.

Not a one came near me.

It was local elections too, so I voted for the bloke who was the most help with the trees.

Even when I was stood in the booth looking at the paper I didn’t know where to put my cross.

So while I was there, wondering whether to spoil my ballot, I decided there should be a ‘Don’t Know, They’re All Shit’ option.

None of them have convinced me they can organise a piss up in a brewery.

We’re fucked whatever way it goes.

I also had Connectile Dysfunction the whole of the Bank Holiday weekend.

Virgin Media? Fucking load of shit.

I was ‘phoning for three days, arguing with Indians called Ryan.

Fucking Ryan? Yeah, popular name in the Punjab that one.

One of them started every sentence with “I suppose..”

‘I suppose it is unplanned maintenance in your area’, ‘I suppose you could be back on by the 7th of May’.

It got very heated.

Eventually I got through to a British call centre and things seem to get sorted.

I’m still not sure if it was them or James the giant Apple engineer.

My money is on James.

Cantate Sunday

Today, because I decided to watch the Match Of The Day repeat, I ended up at the 10.15am Mass.

AKA the ‘Screaming and Crying’ Mass.

Given the numbers who plod out for the Children’s Liturgy, the Roman Catholic Church shouldn’t have any trouble sustaining itself.

But...

But if, as I believe, they are there because their parents are thinking ahead about school places.... It’s fucked!

There was a magic moment before kick off, when the old lady with barely any teeth and the old lady with barely any English got into it over the collection bags.

I’m not sure how that one got resolved. I’d like to think they took it in the car park and had a bit of a scrap.

It was the one with scant English who waved it under my nose.

Then there was the moment of absolute gold.

A little boy, unimpressed by the mystery of Transubstantiation, was hugging and grabbing his kneeling Father’s leg.

Getting no response other than the finger to the lips “Shush” sign, he waited until ‘we were not worthy to receive’ anything then BIT his Dad right on the cheek of his arse!

Watching a huge black man grip the pew and throw his head back in a silent scream was brilliant.

From the way he looked at his son I just knew; another time, another place and this kid wouldn’t be sitting down for a week.

I couldn’t keep my shit together after that!

Random

This random thought may have something to do with the Vodka, the Weed, the Insomnia or the Temazepam OR, more realistically, a combination of the four!

BUT....

What happened to, "Champion The Wonder Horse"?

(Works well if you sing it in your head! If you know the tune that is!)

Mmmmm...

I think I'll roll another!

A Brace Of Nutters

Bro-in-Law J is out of hospital.

Proving that a 28 day Section is a complete and utter load of bollocks.

He is back on medication, the kind that makes it impossible for him to stand still.

The Psychotropic Shuffle I call it.

Poor fucker.

After much discussion, soul searching and general fucking stress; the decision was made to let him stay in the house.

A long, long time ago someone gave me a second chance and it changed my life.

I think of it as my ‘pay it forward’ opportunity.

There has also been a huge change of situation for him.

He is going to be a Grandfather.

Yep. More Great Aunt-dom for me.

The niece, L, is pregnant and she has told him that she not only has no compunction about sectioning him again, he will NEVER see his Grandchild if he doesn’t get his act together.

A Bi-Polar man can do without a £600 a week Mephedrone habit for fuck’s sake.

Another condition of him staying in the house - No Dealing.

An inconvenience for me but life saving for him. Fingers crossed.

Most people will think I’m a fool. That he will fuck me over again.

Maybe he will.

But if I don’t give room to a bit of optimism, a bit of faith in his assertion that he wants to change, I feel that somehow that it will diminish me.

He didn’t remember holding a knife at my throat or screaming in my face the myriad of ways he was going to kill me.

Surprisingly, he does have a recollection of me standing up to him, just NOT why.

(My Fight or Flight instinct, as blogged about before, kicked straight in to Fight and I shouted back, “that kind of intimidation only works on those afraid to die you cunt!.... And I AM NOT!”. I pushed myself into the blade until blood was drawn and he stepped away.)

Crisp-e came round this evening and we have decided that John Davidson should be awarded an OBE.

Via the BBC, we first met John as a sixteen year old in the late 80’s.

For me and most people I know, he was our first introduction to Tourette Syndrome.

I laughed ‘til I cried.

Then every time there was an ‘update’ or another programme about those afflicted I made sure I watched.

The last one, which was filmed a year ago, was different.

It upset me.

The humour was still there and I laughed until I was in pain but hearing him talk of his loneliness, his yearning for a family of his own.... It got me.

I think he has done great work in making Tourette’s ‘acceptable’.

Some prick should give the fucker an award!

Here’s a little bit of John (and Chums!)

“I’m up to my knees in fucking cow pat”, is what I pull to the forefront of my mind when I have the overwhelming urge to be rude or punch someone.

Cracks me up!

Loss

Today Jessie left the world.

She was brave and dignified.

I'm in physical pain as a hole the size of a Greyhound has been torn in my soul.

Our Man In Austria

This is the latest from Crisp-e, who is on a school skiing trip.

No correspondence about the 'powder', food, booze or the kids.

Just texts about our shared FA Cup Semi Final heartbreak and the above picture.

You are MORE than ready for marriage my friend!

Seriously....

Sometimes, the only question can be, ‘Are they fucking mad?!’