Tits, Rice And Rights

Dear student on the bike who propositioned me at the Rue Albert traffic lights,

In light of your extremely frank and generous offer; and after much thought and consideration, Yes.
Yes, I think I would like to see your tits!
I understand that an answer before the lights changed would have given me more chance at a glimpse of the aforementioned, but it’s not a question I had anticipated while out buying cigarettes.
I now will factor this into future trips to the Kwikimart and will worry less about dying while crossing Rue Albert.
You’re absolutely right, in this time of economic catastrophe I should be thinking about tits more!
Thanks for that.
As for yours? They were magnificent!

Sincerely,
The Bewildered Dyke at The Lights.

Did I miss something? I am stoned 98% of the time!
But when did ‘we’ start calling Condoleezza, Doctor Rice?
I don’t remember it before.
It was always,
‘American somethingorother Condoleezza Rice was in London/Paris/Peckham….’
Now it’s Dr Rice going places.
Does she have a dream? Has she been to the mountain top?
Just a thought.

If you’ve ever been involved in one of those arguments about ‘the point’ of The House of Lords.
This is the fucking point of them ok?
To stop shit like this happening to us.
Resolutely clinging on to our rights as they are stripped away without us making much of a fuss because the government have got us to believe it’s for our own fucking good.
All of us can be detained. All of us.
Not just brown people who face east when they pray, every single one of us.
Don’t think that doesn’t mean you. The ‘anti terror’ laws were used against Iceland last week.
Fucking Iceland! Over money!

Whoever this is, they are brilliant!

I don’t think I can impress on you how much I love House MD but, I LOVE House!
When I grow up I want to be Dr Gregory House.

Sunday 12th October

A meal from the garden!
Well, it was after the addition of steak, peas and wine!
Yep! Even the potatoes.
The first Sleepy Mansions crop of Charlotte’s and Orla’s grown in bags.
Chuffed-ness abounds!

My bank will be one of those lining up with its hand out tomorrow and I don’t know whether I should be shitting myself or not.
Who does?
I have a strange urge to stockpile batteries, water, candles, stuff to make bread with and buy one of those wind up things that is a lamp which can also charge your ‘phone and laptop.
I remember the power cuts during the 70’s and my grandmother making bread.
My Grandfather made Carrot Whisky and Sloe Gin.
Carrot Whisky is very similar to Poteen but the Carotene in the veg gave a colour approximating Whisky.
It was potent shit!
People used to walk in normally and leave as if their hamstrings had been removed at some point during the visit.
For a particularly twisted 6/7 year old this was the best entertainment by candlelight, ever!

This evening I have watched the start of Stephen Fry's programme about America.
I love Stephen Fry and I know this was only the first episode but I found it a little bit too arse kissy for me.
If he's a Yankophile I'll plummet in to depression.
With the state of Spurs, I'm too weak to fight.

Ta Da!

My first ever Butternut Squash harvest. I'm a little bit fecking chuffed with myself, so I am!

NO MORE! And No More

I can cope no more.
Housemate Pat’s hair gets bloody everywhere.
Is it just me who finds other people’s hair just fucking horrible?
I hate getting into an apparently spotless shower, only to turn the thing on and be surrounded by long black hair.
I’m grimacing as I type.
It clings to everything and I don’t want it on me or winding around my toes.
The plughole?
I can’t even go there with the plughole because if I allowed this fury out, I’m not sure I could get it back in.
My new song to scream tunelessly in the shower is now a bit of Bruce Springsteen.
I can assure you my version has much, more venom!
I text Sassy and said that she had to go.
She found my reaction a little extreme.

Luckily I hadn’t text a half hour earlier when I wanted to kill her.

Who the fuck asks a 105 year old woman about the condition of her hymen?
I ask you, why do we need to know this?

Sad news from Sassy Villas.
Hinge and Bracket are a duo no more.

Hinge, more correctly known as Pudding, died this morning.
She didn’t particularly like people and seemed to spend most of her time frightened.
I’ve fed her, hunted Sassy’s house for her shouting, “Come out you bitch!” and that’s as good as it got.
She was sweet in her own odd way and she will be missed by this human.

May she ever wander heaven, no more than three millimetres from the eternal skirting boards.

Spiders And Zeitgeist

Crisp-e and I seem to be in competition as to whose garden will produce the biggest spider.
Check out Shelob! I’ve been feeding her and two others baby caterpillars for weeks now.
She looks ready to burst those babies out!






The Butternut Squash looks like it might be ready.
Most of the plant seems to be dying back so I’m going to ‘harvest' them tomorrow.


The Big little Brother sent me this today about The Zeitgeist Movement.
(Don’t click unless you have a spare hour!)
He is much enamoured by the whole thing.
It’s impressive but I can’t help feeling that I’ve heard it all before.


Then I read stuff like this and this and I've definitely heard that before. I find myself agreeing with the guy in the movie, ‘You can’t expect decency from people’.

Rubbish Rage

Portsmouth City Council is on my shit list.
Send me semi-threatening letters will you?
I. Think. Fucking. Not!

There is an alleyway that runs along the back of Sleepy Mansions, a place where we once able to put bags for the bin men.
We can’t any more because the big, strong rubbish collectors were getting ‘scratched’ by a Dog Rose.
Instead of asking the person to cut back their plant they banned us from putting our bins out the back.
Tossers.
The stinking assault course of piled high shite was what put the burglars off!

Now the knobs have sent me an ‘Advisory Letter’ about ‘approximately 20 black sacks containing soil and concrete which has been placed in the alleyway’.
Does it take a genius to look over the back walls and see who is having their fucking garden dug out?
*Cough* 2 doors down *Cough*
Mrs Next Door With The Kids was as outraged at the letter as me.
She’s got way more Gauleiter in her than I have and was on the ‘phone spilling the beans in no time.
I’m glad it was her and not me.
No one likes a grass!
At 4ish, when she finally got through.
Some mandarin informed her that the person in charge had gone home and there was a dispute over the ownership of that particular stretch of alley.
Fuck off with your letters then!
Do your research before sending out letters that piss me off.
You really don’t want me down there at the office.
The people who worked in Housing Benefit 15 years ago will swear on the fecking bible that you don’t want me there!
(They swore on it during the Court Case against me. I won.)

Turns out the guy who crashed into Cousin Adam was already dead.
He’d had a Stroke at the wheel.
A massive amount of amphetamine was also in his system and he’d had mental health problems.
The Cousin feels horrible and hasn’t been able to drive since, which is a bugger, seeing as that’s what he does for a living.

Lidl Moments

During my amble around Lidl today I noticed something.
Somerfield and Waitrose have times when certain people are in.
3 to 3.30pm is the ‘After School Brigade’; Thursday is pension day and just before closing the bargain hunters.
In Lidl it occurred to me that the divisions are along ethnic and shift work lines.
8 to 10.30 it is full of big black women, feeling and smelling the fruit and veg. Shouting at another large black lady, with a Biblical name, to also come and feel the produce
11 until 1 it is mainly Turkish and Polish men in Hi Viz jackets and facial hair.
1 ‘til 3 it’s oriented towards, well, The Orient.
Somewhere near the frozen prawns there was a scrum and I swear to Christ I thought I’d wandered into Disney’s Mulan Parade.
Housemate Pat has told me tales from this aisle.
“You be careful. You lose an eye! It get pretty fierce near the noodle too!”
Encouraging.
I did my usual, ‘Sorry. S’cuse me. Beg your pardon’ thing, as tried not to appear as if I were just pushing people out of the way.
Which, of course, I was.
(I’ve been to Vancouver’s Aberdeen Mall; I’ve seen how it’s done!)
I was glad to get out of there.
Schnee… They’ve got your Horlicks stuff on offer.
Release some children to fetch it for you!

I’m presuming Recorder lessons have resumed at school.
Elder child of next door was blowing hers all through the 6 ‘o’ clock news.
I have to admit there has been some improvement but the high notes are still proving elusive.
The Recorder is STILL my most hated instrument until the child can wheeze out some Mozart or Elgar.
Until then I will continue to scream,
“Shut up you tuneless fuckers!” at the walls of my living room.
It’s only fair.

The Sainsbury’s advert for cream cheese.
“I can’t imagine a muffin without it Mum”..
Is it me? Or is that THE most horrific line, food related or otherwise, one could ever utter to a parent?

A Fool And Her Team

Somewhat foolishly I allowed AQA text services to choose my attire for today.
An electronic version of ‘The Dice Man’ and a sartorial Russian Roulette.
I’m a mess.
I don’t usually choose my clothes along sectarian lines but I’m an Irishman’s nightmare; a vision in Black and Tan.
I’ve had the Wolfe Tones in my head all day.
The politics and views of the Wolfe Tones are not necessarily the views of Sleepy.
Hers lurch schizophrenically from the far left to the far right, depending on how closely they affect her, how much she has drunk, what she has drunk, how much she has smoked and the Company! There are some brief visits to the middle too, but a ‘handler’ is usually bundling her out by then!

Crikey! There are some out there.
Yay! Father Geoff Farrow!
I will say one for you next time I’m in St Swiv’s.
BUT…. The SAINT Paul Newman centre?
He’s only been dead a week!
He’ll be fecking G-d by Christmas.

You may have noticed my lack of comment on my Beloved Spurs.
Just fucking don’t!
Ok?
I was telling Sassy yesterday, I can’t bring myself to watch ANY football such is my depression about them.
I must have been close to hysteria at one point and rambling because I almost wished Venables back on us.
Sassy talked me down.
Thanks mate!

More Sunday

As some of you know, away in the ‘Wesht’ of Ireland reside The Nutty Daddy and The Sainted Mammy.
I’ve blogged about them before but just can't be arsed to work out how to link back.
I bring you tales.
Today his headwear has been mostly a carrier bag, a statement I grant you, but my favourite is the sheet around his shoulders!
How cool is that?
He'll be building 'Dens' next.
I suggested that if his pants went on OVER his trousers we would have the answer to that one.
Being a bit sick I also suggested a Bertie Ahern mask, a Charles Haughey mask and a mirror.
These three items and the addition of The Nutty Daddy equals, ‘fight in an empty house’.
What sport!

According to The Tame Pharmacist and progeny of TND, this is no way to treat Alzheimer’s people.
I can’t even begin to tell you what we’d do to my Dad if he went like that.
I’ve discussed it with my siblings and the general consensus is, “As much fun as possible without actually killing him.”

I discussed with him the idea of a nice eco-friendly, woodland burial the other day.
Explaining that he’d be buried in a cardboard box under a tree of his choice.
As long as he chose Beech or Hazel.
We’d all come and visit him and it would be lovely and peaceful.
His eyes narrowed and his arms folded across his chest.
“There’s an earner in it isn’t there you fucker?!”
(Fecker, Fucker, Bastard and Winkle are all terms of endearment when used with his children and grandchildren)

So I told him about the trees I’d seen on the internet already treated and ‘spored’ with Truffles.
I’d had a couple of wines, so I also told him that as he’d pissed away most of our childhood we’d earn off him in death!
He loved the idea but still bitched about being buried in cardboard.
I told my Step Mum how much these things go for and she shouted at my Dad,
“I’m going to tell everyone that’s what you asked for on your deathbed! Particularly insisting on the cardboard!”
Joon and I 'high fived' each other.
A special moment.

Sunday

Not wishing to take the piss too much..
Fuck it!
Who am I trying to kid?
All they found were red tassels, how gay is THAT!

Cave Canem, Cave Rectum

Yesterday I had one of those surreal conversations that seem to happen to me quite often.
While chatting with M’s sister about how to react if your dog is attacked by another.
I said that I’d probably stick the boot in, as I’d heard of serious bites on arms and hands.
She came out with this gem,
“Oh No. I’ve heard the best way to stop the aggressing dog is to stick your fingers up its arse.”
Delivered straight faced and in all seriousness.
I did the, ‘Ibegyourpardon?’ thing, thinking perhaps I’d rolled the last one rather strong, but no, I’d heard right.
“Christ!” I said, “That’d concentrate the mind”.

I don’t know how wise it would be to acquaint yourself with an animal, that is already quite cross, with an impromptu rectal exam.
Please don’t try this out on your local Common or Heath.
Although, there may be a law positively encouraging it on Hampstead but don’t quote me on it!

Hounds On Thursday

The handsome boy!

Jessie doing her full on Yiddishe Momma impression! I now have tunes from Fiddler of The Roof in my head.

He's a coiled spring! 0-40 in a matter of seconds! Tis true, there are studies and everything. Although, from my research into the breed, I'd go my with, "Yeah? My arse!".

The exception to this rule is a specific syndrome simply called 'Human in The Kitchen Syndrome'.

The Weekend Starts Here

Guess what?
I only fixed the fucking hoover!
I use the term ‘fixed’ in its loosest possible sense.
After having a bit of a spaz at the ‘crunchy’ nature of the carpet, I took the bastard thing apart.
Totally stripped it down. Took out bits that came out, forced out the bits that didn’t.
Then put it back together again, with nothing left over!
I gingerly plugged it in and fired it up and bugger me, it sucks like Gillian Taylforth now.

It’s no secret that I think Stephen Fry should be Prime Minister.
After this week’s Desert Island Discs, Miriam Margoyles has GOT to be in the Cabinet.
I’ve loved her for ages but I love her more now!

It’s Rosh Hashanah and I’m off to Wiltshire to celebrate the New Year with the Hounds!
A time to reflect, slough off all the old hurts, hates and general shite we’ve accrued this past year.
At some point this afternoon/evening I will be stood in the River Avon emptying all the fluff and crap from my pockets.
Once I’ve got the feeling back in my feet I’ll munch some apples and honey.
I should also be considering:
- What’s the most meaningful thing in my life?
- Who in my life means the most to me? How often do I let them know this?
- What have I achieved this past year?
- What do I want to achieve next year and in life in general?

What will actually happen is I will be curled up with the Hounds considering just how bloody gorgeous they are.

Shana Tova people.
“May you be inscribed and sealed for good”

Car, Chutney And Soup

This was parked across the road yesterday morning.
It took every ounce of self control not to roll myself all over it.
I think this and a few models of Jaguar are THE sexiest things in the world.
Look at the lines of it, all round and soft. It’s a work of art.
Beautiful.
Mmmm.


Due to the ‘infestation’ of tomato plants at Sleepy Mansions and less sunlight, we now have a glut of green tomatoes.
I wanted something else to do with them other than the ubiquitous ‘Green Tomato Chutney’.




So I got experimenting and have come up with a green tomato soup.
Amazingly, it tastes bloody nice!.
I even got it together enough to write down the recipe

Access

Yesterday was spent at my Dad’s.
A cracker.
I have laughed so much my ribs hurt today.
There is something totally different about laughing with family.

He is in dispute with a couple of his neighbours.
They don’t actually know they are on his shit list, but they will.
The man who sets smelly fires at odd times of the day is first.
Pa has acquired a high powered hose that would make the fire brigade envious.
He is waiting on the attachment that will connect it to the hydrant in the street.
Then Mr Fire Starter will experience a deluge of biblical proportions!
I love my Dad!

It reminded me of Sunday ‘Access’ visits all those years ago.
Five kids, a collie in the back of a Reliant Robin van thing at Singleton Open Air Museum!
We always went to Singleton, like observing Wattle and Daub and Tudor houses where they slung shit out the windows would bring us together as a family.
My sister would always appear with a towel over her head, so her ‘mates’ didn’t see her getting in the car!
The handbrake failing in Arundel and chasing the car down the main street with Dad shouting,
“You older kids, throw yourself in front of it you fuckers! Slow it down.”
A great memory!
Waiting in the queue to pay to get in the castle.
Dad being told the price by the terminally middle class lady, turning and saying,
“Kids. Out. 49 quid? Arse rape! Back to the Plastic Pig (The affectionate name he’d given the van!)

When ATM decided I was ‘Uncontrollable’ she sent me to live with Dad.
The last thing I thought about was how he was going to get me to school.
The Plastic Pig!
Laughing like a man demented, he used to speed up the drive and ‘handbrake’ turn that fucker to deliver me back to the front entrance of the school.
The entrance NOBODY was allowed to use.
Other kids were dropped off in Jags, Daimlers and Rollers…
He’d tell teachers to ‘Fuck off’ as they tried to remonstrate, chuck me 10 John Player Special and say,
‘Learn hard today mate and remember most of them are cunts. Love you’.
Then he’d rev the Plastic Pig until it spat out black clouds of exhaust, and screech away.
Happy days!

Homes

Check it out!
The new frog has really settled well.
I have named her ‘Shirley’.
It seemed like the ideal name to go with the resident, ‘Annie’!
I’m undecided as to the name of the toad.
In the running we have: Dimitar, Ruth and Derek.

Today I rode the ‘Loser Cruiser’ round to Crisp-e’s.
It wasn’t the chav filled horror it usually is and the diazepam helped me understand the Polish bus driver.
Perhaps they made ME more understandable to him!
I don’t like venturing out too much but always have such a laugh with Crisp-e the ‘public’ interaction is worth it.
He’s good for my soul and stops me taking myself too seriously.
Hopefully I do something similar for him.
I remember my Grandfather telling me a long time ago, probably when I was prattling on about all my ‘friends’ at school; that if I ended up with five good friends I should count myself very lucky indeed.
Twenty Five years later, I get it.
Some are a 'plane ride, some a bus ride and some a stone's throw but I totally get it.

I’m loving this idea!
Years ago I lived in a student house where we made a floor to ceiling ‘throne’ from empty beer and cider cans.
Christ!
I wish I’d had a camera then, instead of spending my money on beer and cider!
It lasted 2 years before it collapsed under the weight of a couple attempting to have sex in it.
There is a woman somewhere in the world with Bulmer’s imprinted on/into her arse and I have a fear of ‘widgets’ that will last a lifetime.

Exotics And Strange Fruit

Waitrose online has a section in the veg section called ‘exotics’.
I don’t think this is what they had in mind!

Although, it does give Schnee a chance to have a good look at the difference between the frog and the toad!

These were liberated from Sassy's yesterday. Since her major garden overhaul, the habitat has altered drastically so they were transferred to my ‘Bucket’ pond!
I’d like to think we’ve done a good thing but I’m sure they have probably dragged themselves the nine doors back to hers!

Then sometimes you just have to look at the sky and think,
“Are you taking the piss?”

This is the third one that has grown like this.
I do appreciate a sense of irony in my supreme being, but I got it the first time!

The Tudors. At long frigging last they've topped Anne! Although I can't get my head around why anyone would want to be stood at the front.

Frood Dude!

I had a text message from Cousin Adam at 3.25am telling me he had just been released from the local A&E after a head on car crash.
Those of you who know and know of Adam, my reaction was exactly the same as yours.
Oh Fuck! What has he done this time?
Amazingly, it wasn’t his fault.
The other driver was drunk and he died.
He is so very, very down and I am frightened for him but can’t have him here.
As much as I want to.
I’ve tried before but his ‘light fingered’ ways are not fair on the Housemates.

This afternoon Sassy and I went adventuring along Rue Albert.
Both of us were disturbed by the receptionist in ‘The Cat Clinic’ calling Sassy ‘My Dear’.
It would have been fine if she weren’t a South African with a serious case of Herpes Simplex!
We did discover that a Polish eatery has opened up!
Mmmmm, Pirogi’s. Yummers!
We thought a coffee in the Café ‘Distress’ would be a good plan.
You know? Just a coffee.
Two Cappuccinos, two espressos, two lemon vodkas and ‘several+’ beers later we wandered home for some Chablis.
The Tame Pharmacist joined us.

We discussed family and have decided that all our siblings need to sort themselves out.
There has got to come some point, as an adult, that you stop blaming parents/upbringing for your shit.
There has to be some point where you stop saying,
“Oh I get that from Mum/Dad… I take after….. It‘s because this happened…”, and just accept that actually that IS you.
You are an arsehole all on your own, without the benefit of DNA, nature or nurture.
You’ll be surprised how liberating that is.

Frustrated, Idiotic And Dancing

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!

The L Word And.....

..... the reality!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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 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!

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 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?

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.