Walk in Dog-Poo

I have to say the area where I live is best described as ‘colourful’ and others would say “Bloody rough’.
I would describe the area where I live as ‘Bloody rough.’
Put it this way, it’s not the place to pause and ask for directions, just keep walking and get lost if I were you.
Round here we have a fine collection of boarded up houses, complete with rusting cars and a few runaway Sainsbury’s trolleys. I saw one hiding in the hedge this morning, but I’m no fool and I dodged it smartish.
Always Sainsbury’s trolleys, not Tesco’s. Can’t work that one out.

I can tell you when you go walking round our streets, don’t go with your head in the clouds, otherwise you walk in dog-poo.
Yeah thou dost. Verily.
So taking the usual precautions, woolly hat, muffler, and bag-lady coat, to look as threatening as is possible at five foot, one inch, I strode forth.
As usual, admired the collection of dustbins, stacked against the gates, and wondered if the plastic bags blowing in the wind would ever find a home.
However, came across one house in this, er, colourful’ street that looks like it is going against the trend. Every damn surface that could be painted was.
White, sparkling white.
Fence, windows, gate, steps, the whole caboodle.

No bags of rubbish, no overfull dustbins. Furthermore, every window sported frilly curtains, the sort a friend of mine memorably described as ‘French tart’s knickers.’
I bet she washes them (the curtains you dipsticks) every week as well. Has to be a female, only them that hangs up things like that. And before anyone even thinks it, I have blinds, thank you.
I have yet to meet the street’s local witch doctor lady, who sports a black hat with ‘things’ hanging from it.
If you meet her just keep walking, safer that way.

Oh yes, and bypass the kiddies, no patting them on the head, they might dust you over before you take a trip up to Casualty.
I just snarl at them, a slight curve of the lip and they get the message, as they shuffle closer together, all the better to keep their teenage secrets, secret.
Thank God for that, at least. Yep.

The Savage Review

This is a scene from the future of my epic saga .... Gloom.

You know that phrase? "The critics savaged the book without mercy."



Yep. True.
That guy on the table? My agent proabably.

No Need to Click Here - I'm just claiming my feed at Feedster

Well - Bred Horses?

Buckingham Palace said Tuesday that Queen Elizabeth II would not attend the civil marriage ceremony of her son Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles -- but that her absence should not be interpreted as a snub...............BBC News


Oh the pain of it. The cringing pain of being a Britt this week, when every way you turn, events conspire to make us the Joke of Europe.
The sad saga of Jug Ears and His beloved Horse-Face continues to roll into the depths of depraved farce as the Royals recoil in blue-blooded distaste. Licence the royal chapel and let the common mobs in?
Never, never shall the hoi polloi stick their grubby plebeian feet within the precincts of Windsor castle, never shall they also have the right to hand fast their grubby paws within the bonds of matrimony in the royal chapel of St George!

So orrf Jug Ears and his missus jolly well go to the common registry office, which happens to be in a rather grand town hall.
So now Mrs Queen is not amused by a civil marriage. And dad, who never likes anything, isn’t amused either.
Deary me, deary me... the English legal experts being many aeons behind the 21st century throw in the stink bomb.

Might not be legal, mu’ learned friends.....*Gulp*

All this in a week when the world is treated to newscasts of red faced whiskery men and women, (lets face it they all look the same) baying in well bred horsy voices that they will fight to the end to protect their right of killing and savaging one small wild animal.

I sometimes wonder if the upper classes of England have interbred with horses, the resemblance is so strong

A Gallic correspondent of mine remarked with Gallic restraint that it was hard to understand why these peculiar people hunted an animal, not intended for consumption.

I won’t digress into the subject of totally illegal food substances being poured into our daily grub.
We have enough to worry about all ready.

Sod the Cooker

A 'I must go clean the cooker' moment has come over me, as I contemplate the prospect of at least 2 hours of uninterrupted writing time

It is a horrible sensation, no legitimate reasons for doing anything else, the pc all to myself and therefore I must go clean the cooker.

That way I can avoid my synopsis, second draft, I can avoid writing a section that is driving me nuts, and dry up every third word.

Yeah, let me gather up the cleaning cloths, the cans of 'Mr Muscle', and I shall worship the cooker.

No, no, I'll write a blog, that's nearly work and a damn sight more fun.

Yep. Sod the cooker.

Light Bulb Time

Sometimes simple does it.

Now I wonder why I was so bothered about getting a flippin' job in the first place.

The scene changes to that haven known as The Jobcenter.

This week instead of Miss Vallium, I get a largish sort of lady, but the difference is, this one is awake. Yes she has both eyes open, that's always good.

"Have you thought" said she "Of Looking for Something else?"

Light Bulb Time!

Hell, why not ? I just need some income while I write my synopsis, finish this friggin' book and forget about saving the world.


And take that line about working with children, being kind to animals or vote for world peace out of my c.v.

Yep, no more Miss Universe.

The ex- lover, no wonder!

Woman jailed for ripping off lover's testicle
LONDON (Reuters) - A woman has been sentenced to two and a half years in jail for ripping off her ex-lover's testicle with her bare hands during a drunken brawl after he refused her sex.
Amanda Monti, 24, flew into a rage in May last year after Geoffrey Jones, 37, who had ended their long-term relationship, rejected her advances.
She grabbed him by the genitals, tearing off his left testicle, then hid it in her mouth before a friend of Jones handed it back to him saying "that's yours".
Monti, of Birkenhead, near Liverpool, pleaded guilty to unlawful wounding at an earlier hearing.
Her lawyer said on Thursday her client had little memory of the night.

She couldn't remember? Hey? Couln't remember depriving the poor chap of his equipment? No wonder they call him the 'ex-lover.

Jug Ears is going to marry

BBC News

The Prince of Wales is set to marry his long-term partner Camilla Parker Bowles on Friday April 8th, Clarence House has confirmed.
The wedding will be a civil ceremony followed by a service of prayer and dedication in St George's Chapel.

Oh sweet Jesus, so Jug-Ears is going marry Horse-Face, oh bloody nora so now they can play their infant nursery games all nice and legal.

Pair of wankers.

Not a tampon between them, but on the whole a big collective yawn sweeps over the UK as we all hope they are kept inside Windsor Castle, and out of our sight, and hopefully silent.

Poor sap, we've always thought he was short of a few straws ever since he joined the tree-huggers, but now he can hug legal like.

I had better get a job soon, now they need my taxes to live in double luxuary -yep, back to the mines

No Cockerel Required So I'm All Right!

I read this advert three times before I had to admit, this is no joke, it’s really the yoke, oh blast it, now I can feel a spate of egg thoughts killing me softly with its...? No No, stop. Remember I’m British.

Stiff Upper Lip time.






This ‘Eglu’ (oh how could they?) ok, this eglu is your cosy little home for your ‘Organic’ chickens!

Organic? What the hell does that mean, where the hell have these damn organic chickens migrated from? some mad scientists lair hidden underground, the planet Mars, Wapping?
Is Wapping a planet? Not sure, are they human in Wapping, no, probably not.

Someone can explain the next bit to me, I must have fallen asleep in this lesson.

The blurb says, and I quote ‘Two organic hens laying 12 eggs a week ( jesus, they must have sore bums).
And here comes the good bit!

No cockerel required.

Sex has surely changed a lot since I first encountered the birds and the bees talk in fourth year biology.
Yep, pause for thought here.

Naughty Blue Foot, Bang, Bang!

Among the other wartime secrets in the book by Nigel West is that British agents painted one foot blue in an attempt to fool German spies. This was part of a bizarre trap laid for Nazi parachutists.
This led the Germans to believe that British soldiers routinely painted one foot blue so they could be identified as being genuine.
The idea was that when the Germans parachuted their own agents into England with one foot painted blue the Home Guard would be able to identify them as spies and either arrest or shoot them on sight.

Yessss...let’s just do a recap on that one, “Naughty Blue Foot, you Hun, bang, bang!”

Nahh...come off it, the Krauts must have laughed their tin hats off, all the way to the beer-cellars. Anyway, no good is it, if the Home Guard (and their pitchforks) had to do a color check.

Color blindness? Hmmm....? Think about it.

I expect the Krauts wore socks. Over their blue feet.
Yep, that’s it, wear socks! Kahboom!

I Can Hit a Burglar- Please?

BBC News

People should be entitled to use any force necessary to defend themselves against burglars, England's most senior police officer has said.
Met commissioner Sir John Stevens said householders should be presumed to have acted legally, even if a burglar dies, unless there is contrary evidence.
Laws which often seemed to favour criminals should be clarified, he said.
People should be prosecuted only when there was evidence of gratuitous violence

Well thats good news, now we can defend ourselves and hit burglars - I thought it was rather a dampner that we can't kill burglars if they are unconscious. Perhaps we can wake them up first?

Shout loudly "Now I am going to kill you!"

No doubt The Burglar's Union will complain. Say its unfair working practice, and demand compensation.

Damn! These Home Office pontifications always leave you wanting more.