Mind The Doors

At the weekend,I had the opportunity to revisit one of my favourite places on Earth…

The London Underground.

I was first exposed to its labyrinthine loveliness at a very young age,on a family trip to London…(a caravan was involved,but that’s another story)…and I have been hooked ever since.

And now,I have the chance to really gorge on its tunnel-based temptations thanks to my London Lovely,my gorgeous girlfriend. 🙂 (Although I would like to point out that being able to travel by Tube isn’t the main reason I visit her,honestly.)

I love it….I have no solid idea why.

Maybe it’s the way that it represents the veins and arteries of the great city of London…a city within a city,if you like.

Maybe it’s the mystery of the disused stations and tunnels….the rumours of a race of cannibals living in the darkest,forgotten corners,preying on the unsuspecting commuters who missed the last train to Cockfosters.

Cockfosters….never fails to get a laugh that one,so I’ll be repeating it at various intervals throughout this blog when I run out of jokes….which brings me on to another wonderful thing that makes the London Underground special….the station names.

Even though there has been much modernisation of the entire tube system in the last decade,the station names evoke a much older world….Mornington Crescent….Elephant & Castle….Blackfriars….Gallions Reach….Holborn.

Old London town…

Thankfully,the powers to be have resisted the temptation to update the names…taking the Bakerloo line to Katie Price Park via Posh & Becks doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

It’s always fun to people-watch on the Tube,if you’re discreet about it.Passengers go into a kind of trance state where they’re not looking at anyone or anything in particular…you don’t want to be caught eyeing anyone up.I like to imagine what they’re thinking about,what kind of life they lead…whether they’re happy or not.

One of my ambitions is to walk down the tunnels,when the trains have stopped running for the day obviously,to look for abandoned stations,said to be still manned by corpse-like conductors and translucent ticket collectors.Because I’m funny like that,I like to imagine that disused stations lead to hidden,underground (well,obviously they’re underground,but a bit more underground) nerve-centres where the government conduct secret and unholy experiments into time-travel and all that,and strange societies meet to discuss their dastardly plans for mankind.

But it’s not just me…

In the Doctor Who story,The Web Of Fear,featuring the Second Doctor played by Patrick Troughton,the Great Intelligence uses robot Yeti to try and take over the world,starting with London–one Tube station at a time.Doctor Who monsters thought small in the 60s.

The (rather excellent and highly recommended) novels of Robert Rankin feature the shadowy Ministry Of Serendipity,the entrance to which is concealed within Mornington Crescent station…and let’s face it,when was the last time anyone got off at Mornington Crescent?

There could be anything down them tunnels….anything.

You may get eaten,but it’s cheaper than a taxi.

The Tube is a great setting for horror films,too…it’s underground,claustrophobic,dark and a bit smelly….like my sock drawer.

I’m sure you’ve all seen the film “Creep”…not the best advert for Transport For London,that,but a great film….if you’re reading this on the Piccadilly Line,someone like that could be watching you right now….hunting for fresh meat to feed his family of savage,feral cannibals.An earlier film called “Deathline”,made in the 70s,actually features such a race-they live in the tunnels in complete darkness and filth,preying on commuters,unable to talk except for one chilling sentence,which echoes through the pitch-black tunnels…

“Mind the doors.”

Have a safe journey home!! 😉

Cockfosters!

Communication problems—-Not any more!!!

I speak to you today,Constant Reader,as an official Happy Person.

😀 I’m that happy.

But it hasn’t always been so.

There was a time,only a few months back,even,when you could say I had given up caring about anything.I certainly never dreamed that I would find someone so beautiful and special to share my life with…that was the last thing on my mind.

I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to feel anything for someone else.

But now I have someone.

Now…I’m actually looking forward to the future,all the things we will be able to do together (stop sniggering at the back,there)….I mean going places and doing stuff…even normal,everyday stuff like shopping for teabags…which of course is a vitally important aspect of life,but you know what I mean.

I’m sure my son will now stop nagging me about getting a girlfriend…as he used to say when he was little-“Daddy,I’ve got two Daddies,but why have I only got one Mummy?” (He lives with his mother and stepfather.)

I couldn’t answer.

But now I can…although it may alarm my girlfriend (ooh…”my girlfriend”…that sounds good) to know that the last time I was in a proper relationship,about 6 years ago,my son asked her when we were getting married.

Fast working little matchmaker,my boy.

He demands results.

Anyway,I don’t want to spoil anybody’s dinner by banging on about my wonderful love-life….but it is my blog after all,and it should be about things that happen in my life,and not comedy pug dogs….(even though those blogs are incredibly funny and well worth a read if you have not already done so)…what I’m trying to say is,if I can find someone to put up with my strange ways,then anybody can.

By way of explanation,I used to look like this in school-

Hello ladies...

NHS glasses….yeah,should most definitely have gone to Specsavers…but Specsavers hadn’t been invented yet,so I was stuck with these easily breakable free plastic specs.

I went through quite a few pairs over the years.

Looking through the boxes of old photos at the Mother Unit’s house,I came across some real horrors from my younger years….and this one isn’t even the worst of them.

I mean,just look….not what you’d call “girl-bait” exactly….I like to think I’ve improved with age…I couldn’t exactly get any bloody worse,to be honest…

Bargain-basement Ronnie Corbett…that was the look I “rocked” during my school-life.

Which look am I rocking now,I hear you ask?

Poor man’s George Clooney….got the grey hair and everything…and we have the same birthday…6th May…what more do you need?

Anyway…that’s it….I need a brew and a biccie,in that order….so expect me to be in a perpetual good mood from now on,you will probably hate me and long for the days of murderous vegetables and cup-a-soups.

Be good,grown-ups !!! 🙂

Spam Glorious Spam…

What unmentionable things go on beyond this gate...?

Recently,I have been receiving spam email,all on a certain theme.

Farms.

Specifically,naughty goings-on on farms.

Writing these emails is someone’s job….think about that.

Here are 10 of the best…

10.Wild,unstable sluts get off in stables.

I particularly admire the juxtaposition of the words “unstable” and “stable.”

However….even though I am a man of the world and don’t mind my sluts being wild…”unstable” just sounds rather dangerous.

9.Sweet girls playing dirty farm games

Sounds quite innocent…rather boring actually…next.

8.Farm sluts ready to screw anything around

Well it probably gets quite boring working on a farm all day…if they want to fix some shelves then that’s their business.

7.Cheerful ranch bitches have forbidden fun on film

I am a miserable bugger by nature,but if I was having “forbidden fun on film”,I would probably be significantly more than “cheerful.”

6.Country whores stain themselves in farm cream

Ah well,you’ve got to be careful with those milk churns…

5.Farm living gave these sluts plenty of kinks

See? Work on a farm,get free CDs.

4.Dirty flicks filmed in perversion-packed barns

BARNS!!! PACKED!!! WITH PERVERSION!!! (I’m sure everyone has a different mental image of what that would look like…)

3.Young girls going nasty in the cattle-shed

I feel sorry for the poor cows having to put up with this.

2.Lustful whores’ farm adventures here

I’ve never had an adventure on a farm…but perhaps I’ve been going to the wrong farms…

1.Animal shelters become places for raw drilling

It was never like this on Animal Hospital….I’m pretty sure Rolf Harris never did any drilling,raw or otherwise…

So thank you,Yahoo….your spam filter is complete rubbish…but entertaining.

Marjorie Misnomer & The Impossible Fish Part 2 Sheila Takes A Bow

Gesundheit the Marrow

The day after she had massacred (almost) her entire Family with a psychopathic onion soup,not to mention their party guests,Marjorie Misnomer was entertaining a visitor of her own in her attic room.She was sat cross-legged on the black velvet chaise longue with bone handrests…Gesundheit The Marrow was sitting next to her,telling their guest all about the previous day’s events.

“You should have seen ’em,old boy…12 heads dissolved into nothing…it even ate the skulls…” Here he broke off,glancing at Marjorie who looked suddenly downcast “…which was a shame really,you know how much Marjorie likes to add to her collection.It took both of us and the rhubarb to wrestle it back into it’s bucket.”

“Umm…er….y-yes.” stammered the guest,who’s name was Martin Limp.

Martin Limp was Marjorie’s friend…in the same sense that a fly is a spider’s “friend”.They had known each other for almost two months,which is in itself remarkable,given the nature of Marjorie’s “hobbies.” It is also remakable that he was still in possession of his vital organs,if not his complete sanity.Marjorie liked to play with Martin,just as a cat likes to play with a mouse before it eats it.He was dressed in his best yellow suit and puce bow-tie,because,even though he knew that Marjorie was madder than a teapot full of Thursdays,his mother always told him to dress smartly when visiting people.

He was currently sitting on The Seat Of Pain,which Marjorie kept for her “special” guests,and was,quite frankly,in a state of extreme terror,his bowels on the verge of jumping ship.He also had a very sore bottom.He looked furtively up from his cup of Hate Tea,searching for an exit,only to meet the eldritch eyes of Marjorie-deep as Hell,black as never.She shushed Gesundheit who was describing the fun he and Marjorie had had cleaning up and disposing of the bodies.The word “mop” had been mentioned more than once,and a plunger had been employed.

She kebabed Martin with her unwavering gaze.

“So Martin…”she asked happily,stroking Gesundheit’s green skin.He purred,knowing that the fun was about to start again.

Martin’s lower lip quivered. His bowels threw in the towel and relaxed noisily.

“…what shall we do today?”

She smiled that smile of hers and looked down at Gesundheit,who,it is said,was also smiling.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————

It was a sunny day in St.Mary’s-Of-The-Cream-Bun-Up-The-Jam as Sheila Lemony-Marchbanks,post-mistress,cake-maker and avid cross-stitcher heard a knock upon her frontally-positioned door.Looking up from the cake she was making,her thirteenth of the day,she made her way to the aforementioned port of egress and,upon opening it,was,as one would have every right to expect,rather surprised to discover the trembling Martin Limp holding a basket of various fruit and vegetables in front of him as if it might go off.

“Well if it isn’t young Master Limp,” she gushed “and what’s this you’ve brought me ?”

“It’s a g-g-gift….f-f-f-from the B-B-B-Big House…” he babbled,quivering and setting the apples and oranges and other produce jostling against each other.Luckily,Sheila,being a little hard of hearing ever since that accident with last year’s Christmas Radio Times,didn’t hear one of the apples whisper to a satsuma-

“Look fatty if you don’t move over I am so going to bloody own you-” only to get the rather terse reply…”oh yeah,come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough,you green bas-”

“The Family is giving one to all the houses in the v-v-village.” Martin continued,ignoring the light chuckle which seemed to emanate from somewhere in the bushy vicinity of Ms.Marchbanks’ privet hedge.”To celebrate the election of Nem-Nem-Nemesis Misnomer as MP for the village.” Martin almost choked the words out as he remembered Marjorie proudly showing him the remains of her father,all dissolved and headless and icky,which she had planted in the vegetable patch for the cabbages to nibble on.

Martin suspected that a by-election may soon be called.

“Oh that’s lovely” exclaimed Sheila,who was,by nature,a trusting sort,”come in,come in I’ll make you a lovely cup of tea and we can have a slice of carrot cake.”

She turned to re-enter her house,and Martin followed,holding his breath as he heard one of the carrots in the basket snap “Murderous old bat…that could be me old mum in that cake.” He pretended not to hear the rustle of leaves and the running of swift feet behind him.

“Be sure to close the door after you,Martin” Sheila called from the depths of her kitchen.”We don’t want just anybody walking in do we? You never know who’s about.”

Martin Limp…Limp by name,Limp by nature…had no need to close the front door,as he heard it softly close behind him,under what he knew in the pit of his stomach to be the dreadful impulse of the black-fingernailed hand of Marjorie Misnomer.

“This is going to rule.” said Gesundheit The Marrow.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————

“Look,” huffed Marjorie as she kissed a grape and stuffed it up Sheila Lemony-Marchbanks’ nose.The grape whistled a jaunty tune which may or may not have been “‘Bohemian Rhapsody.” “If you struggle you’ll just make it worse.”

Ms.Marchbanks,sadly,was in no position to offer an opinion as to the veracity of this statement,as she had a banana wedged in her mouth.It’s rear end was wiggling suggestively…slowly,almost imperceptibly,it was sliding in deeper.

The banana was making “mmm” noises.Marjorie made an “ooh” sound at this.She was enjoying herself,so was Gesundheit from his perch on top of the fridge.He was thumbing through Ms.Marchbanks’ weekly copy of  The People’s Friend…insofar as a large green vegetable can be said to “thumb.” She readied another grape,gently squeezing it in her black-lace gloved hand.The grape grinned at her…she grinned back then showed it to Martin,who had taken to gibbering in the corner of the kitchen,muttering to himself and rocking forthly and back.She tutted,and slipped the grape into place up Sheila’s left nostril.

“Martin.”

He twitched in fear at the sound of his name,verbalised as it was through the Hell-touched vocal-cords of Marjorie Misnomer.

“Martin dear,do try to get the merest semblance of a grip and help the cucumbers out of the basket…I’ve got just the place for them.” she cackled,patting Ms.Marchbanks on the shoulder,who was rapidly losing consciousness,and indeed life,which was probably for the best,since Marjorie Misnomer’s madness knew no boundaries.

Martin Limp shambled to the basket,looking in with dread….there were things going on in there that had no place on God’s Earth.The rhubarb was looking very excited.He lifted out the cucumbers…they thanked him and slid towards the end of the table where the hapless Ms.Marchbanks sat chained to her chair,fruit & veg protruding from (almost) every orifice.

He’d had enough…he took advantage of Marjorie’s distracted attention and bolted for the door.Martin could see the front door literally a few feet away…he heard no voice of protest behind him…in the name of all that’s holy,he’d made it…he made to grab the knob…only to find it turning of its own accord.

The portal swung open….

….to reveal the most horrific sight of Martin’s soon-to-be-short life.

“Martin…I hope you’re not-” said one half of a set of badly-conjoined “twins.”

“-leaving us so soon.” said the other half.

And so it was that Martin Limp came face-to-faces with the only other other surviving members of Marjorie’s Family–her conjoined “twin” sisters,Kismet and Ketamine Misnomer.

And he knew that his nightmare was only just beginning….

Next part-We Are Family

The 1000 Hits Post!

Well ain’t this grand….arf arf.

1,000 blog hits.

When I started this blog,I thought 16 hits was a lot.

Now I’ve got one chuffing thousand…well blog me.This may mean that I have to start taking this seriously.

Is this update actually about anything?

No.

Does it feature Daleks and Cup-A-Soup?

For once,no and no.

Is this update self-indulgent and self-congratulatory?

Yes and yes.

Am I chuffed to buggery and back to reach this milestone?

Yes.

Because only a few weeks ago I used to dread getting up in the morning…you could say I’d lost the will to live.

Now I’ve found something I’m good at….(or at least something I’m good at that can be done in public,nudge nudge.)

Sometimes…I’m even in a good mood.

Things can only get better!

(Hopefully this blog will too!)

And now—a picture of a kitten in a big tea-cup! AWWWWW!!

Rubberduckzilla & My Glass Ankles

RUBBERDUCKZILLA!!!

Hmmm…another successful weekend with my bestest little boy.Here’s a quick rundown of the scrapes and japes we got into.

He’s 13 in November…a scary prospect.

But is it as scary as a 100-foot tall Japanese rubber duck who hates water?

My son and I have a mild addiction to this particular commercial,and we watched it more times than is healthy on YouTube.According to some of the comments,there is rather more to this ad than just a refreshing alternative to water.It may be a metaphor for an alternative lifestyle,specifically an alternative sexual lifestyle.

Or do some people read too much into these things?

Saturday was a great day for stupidity collectors.One of our favourite pastimes is going up and down in the lift in Marks

HELP!

& Spencers…don’t ask.On this particular occasion we entered the lift only to be greeted by a group of about 6 people who,according to them,had been stuck in the lift and had been going up and down about 4 times,unable to open the doors.

This trip could be exciting,I thought to myself.I will finally get the chance to tweet about getting stuck in a lift.

Upon reaching the ground floor,the spokesman of the group of hostages asked me to open the door by pressing the “open doors” switch (stop me if I’m getting too technical),which I was only too happy to do…and the doors opened.Now…apart from the fact that this lot couldn’t manage to do this,which caused me a lot of amusement (I’m like that),shouldn’t the doors have opened automatically?  They always have before when I’ve been in it…any lift experts please get in touch.

OUCH!

I have always had weak ankles….my joints are made from balsa wood.

I was painfully reminded of this on Sunday afternoon on our way home from my parent’s house,as my left foot had a funny five minutes and decided to slip off the kerb and fold itself underneath me.This has happened to me before,most embarrassingly in a previous job where I managed to combine twisting my ankle with falling down a flight of stairs,in plain view of everybody.

Many’s the time I’ve been laid up with a bag of frozen peas (I hate sprouts) strapped to my ankle,but I was spared that fun this time.Luckily I didn’t have to send my son to call an ambulance while I writhed in agony on the pavement.It is a source of constant amazement that I have never broken an ankle or indeed any bone in my body.I’m a kind of Anti-Jackie Chan.

I shall be going to meet my maker with very few scars,and that’s just the way I like it.

Next time-Marjorie’s back!!

The Complete & Utter History of Doctor Who,with Bettany Hughes!!

Bettany Hughes...again!!!

Hello history fans! Bettany Hughes here again with another in my series of dodgy,poorly researched and painfully unfunny histories of different stuff!

This week-DOCTOR WHO!!!

To chart the history of Doctor Who one must first tell of the origins of the BBC.

The BBC was established in 1850 and has been stealing money from us ever since to make their wonderful TV shows like Hole In The Wall and to give John Barrowman something to do.

In 1963 somebody clever had the idea of Doctor Who,and it wasn’t long before it became a big hit with pale,speccy,spotty boys who would never have sex.A few weeks after the first episode,the Doctor came face to plunger with the fearsome Darlicks!!

Shit-scary robot mad buggers on wheels from another planet,the Darleks had a fearsome multi-functional sink plunger,borrowed from their Mum’s kitchen,which they used to unblock the toilet after they’d been,and an awesome laser zapper thing so they could kill all the extras in the episodes who didn’t have any lines.

SCARY DARLEX!

All the Darlicks were operated by one-eyed pygmies from Belgium who were paid 1 shilling per week. (This wage was later increased to 5p and a Curly-Wurly after decimalisation..it may not sound a lot by today’s standards but remember,this was when Curly-Wurlys WERE Curly-Wurlys.)

But it was to be in 1965 that Doctor Who really took off…when some clever scientist types in white coats with loads of biros stuffed in the pocket and really thick-lensed glasses invented an amazing  invention…

Robot Women.

These could be used as the Doctor’s female companions as they were found to be less stroppy than real women.

Woman Automated Neural Controller...the W.A.N.C.

They came in all shapes and sizes,but the ones that worked really well on the show were the ones that were made without many clothes on.They were remotely controlled by clever boffin types using a great big machine with wires and tubes and things sticking out of it,called the Woman Automated Neural Controller (or W.A.N.C. for short.) So successful was this machine that a toy version of it was released in time for Christmas so every geeky,greasy little 13 year old boy could watch the pretty girls on the show and have a W.A.N.C. of his own…*

*(The Blog Dog would like to apologise for the poor quality of this joke.The unfunny slacker responsible has been sorted out,and no mistake.)*

The robot women were totally obedient at all times and could be made to adopt various facial expressions and poses.These poses usually involved bending over in very short skirts and tops because this was found to add greatly to the drama of the episodes.Female viewers (real ones) often watched from behind the sofa,fearing for the brave companion as she tried to run away from the monsters in a bikini and high heels.

Barking mad Doctor Who fans high on jelly-babies at a convention

Doctor Who fans are the most loyal in the world of Sci-fi.In fact,some of them are madder than a handbag full of owls.Not content with collecting every single book,video,DVD,Dahlikk toy and Peter Davison underpants they can get their hands on,some of them even congregate in large buildings and argue about the most irrelevant details of the programme.Some of these fans try to outdo each other by boasting about the things they’ve done,like owning all the “lost” episodes,meeting Tom Baker in Argos and actually taking a trip in the TARDIS back to the 12th century to witness the discovery of Cup-A-Soup.

Others talk of the time they actually spoke to a girl…but nobody believes them.

Doctor Who,after lots and lots of years,is still going strong and is soon to have it’s 11th actor in the title role.Casting the part of  The Doctor has always been a big problem for the makers of the programme,so in 1993,after the TV Movie starring one of those McGann brothers who’ve been in everything but not the one you’re thinking of from that thing on telly,one of the other ones,it was decided,for the 9th,10th and 11th Doctors,to get any old twat with an Equity card.

Here’s to the next shedload of successful years for Doctor Who!!!

Marjorie Misnomer & The Impossible Fish Part 1 The Garden Party

The weird and unusual Marjorie

There wouldn’t have been so many deaths if that Impossible Fish hadn’t appeared.

It was Marjorie who set the ball rolling…always Marjorie.

The Family had seen it coming for years…the strange way she buttered toast…and the unnatural things she could do with cheese.

Great Aunt Conclusion blamed it on the Cure album Marjorie had made her father,Nemesis Misnomer,buy her from that weird little record shop in an imaginary London side-street in the 19th century.

The garden party started innocently enough…Grandmamma did her baboon-juggling act whilst Matron handed out paranoia sandwiches.

Marjorie had been worrying the crops since early morning…none of the house staff would own up to leaving her room unlocked.

Several psychotic cucumbers had been sighted wandering the garden…one guest even spoke of a cauliflower with an inferiority complex.And it is probably best to gloss over the things that the rhubarb was seen doing.

Marjorie was known to have that effect on root vegetables.

—————————————————————————————————-

It was Nemesis Misnomer who eventually found Marjorie,spread-eagled among the butternut squashes,talking to a lettuce.She was trying her very best to get the lettuce to open up about its mother…..the vegetable was having none of it.

“Been up to your old tricks again,eh Marjorie Misnomer ?” said her father,looming ominously over her as she tore a leaf off the lettuce and popped it in her mouth.A small squeak issued forth from it….though it was best not to think about that too closely.

“Yes Daddy.” replied Marjorie,munching happily.

“Marjorie..” Nemesis asked,exasperated “has it ever occurred to you that root vegetables are not actually in dire need of psychiatric counselling?”

“Oh but Daddy-” began Marjorie

“But me no buts,please Marjorie.There is to be no more veg-based head-shrinking until after the Garden Party is over.It’s scaring the guests…there are some things that rhubarb should never be forced to do.”

At this,Marjorie smiled mischieviously,but kept on munching.Her father caught his daughter’s smirk.

“I thought as much.There’ll be no more of that either.” said Nemesis sternly. “The things they were doing were just….wrong.Now,our guests want to see you,though God knows why,and Grandmamma will be starting the buffet soon.I trust you haven’t been in the kitchen this morning and messed with the heads of the nibbles?”

His troubled daughter stopped dismembering the lettuce and looked up at him.

“No Daddy…I’ve only been in the garden…the food in the kitchen should be emotionally balanced enough to serve to your guests…”

“Good.” With that he left his wayward offspring to her unmentionable activities.Marjorie threw the lettuce aside,which gave out a palpable sigh of relief.Sighing,she looked around for her next therapy victim,eventually settling on a terrified-looking runner bean.She set to work mentally torturing it.

“…although I’d probably give the onion soup a miss.” she said,smiling.

———————————————————————————————————-

Things got increasingly esoteric just after midday,as Great Uncle Conjunction prepared to do his funny trick with the hosepipe.As he stood up to unbutton his waistcoat and unscrew the jar of vaseline,Marjorie’s dire warning about the onion soup bore impossible but lethal fruit.

Marjorie had not been entirely honest with her father about entering the kitchen.She hadn’t been in this morning,that much was true…but she had been in there most of the night.As it transpired,Marjorie had long ago learned how to pick the lock of the 2 foot thick solid oak door to her attic room,despite being sealed by one of her Grandmamma’s magical spells.

The object of her nocturnal jaunts had been the onions.

What she actually said to them is not known…nor would anybody want to know the exact details.Suffice it to say,as Marjorie Misnomer’s father,the former MP for St.Mary’s-Of-The-Cream-Bun-Up-The-Jam,Nemesis Misnomer,went to taste his onion soup,on which he had unwisely chosen to dine,he was rather alarmed to find the snack tasting him.

Unable to call for help as the soup ate his face,and dimly aware of a similar fate befalling the other guests,judging by the muffled screams,Nemesis looked wildly about for assistance.

His eyes found only Marjorie…his beautiful,loving,madder-than-a-cartload-of-arseholes daughter,sitting in the apple tree at the bottom of the garden,stroking a marrow and smiling.

The marrow,it was said,was also smiling….

Next part–Sheila Takes A Bow…

The One About Not Drinking

THIS!

“Teetotal” is strange word.

Why do people like myself need to have their own word so those who drink can can group them together and point at them?

Is drinking really that important and so ingrained in the public consciousness that there has to be a special word if you don’t do it? Well yes it is…everybody does it,and they do it a lot,or so the government would have us believe.It makes me feel abnormal.People do look at me strangely,as I found out to my cost in the OAP piss up I went to a couple of weekends back.I felt like a weird lifeform that had just landed.In order to shut them up I had a single glass of champagne (into which had been added an alarming “tot” of cassis,whatever that is)  to toast the old girl’s birthday (even though it wasnt her birthday…but that’s another story) but that was the first alcohol to pass my lips in over two years.And will be for the next two years.

And before you ask,yes,I did enjoy it.I didn’t want to drink it at all….but the grannies had,by this point,become increasingly restless and scary.

So am I actually teetotal?

Hmmm….time to set myself some ground rules,then.I’ll pretend it never happened,that should keep my conscience happy.

NOT THIS!

I never go out but if I did I could still have a good time without having to go home in an ambulance.To be honest I hate the taste of alcohol.I only put up with it for so long in order to be “social”…whatever that means…not wanting to look bad in front of my friends I suppose.I worked my way through several beverages in my younger days,from cider through to Bacardi,vodka,Southern Comfort,and finally settling on Jack Daniels (which I only started drinking because I was with a group of people and wanted to impress them with my choice of alcohol)  But luckily I liked Jack Daniels…he was a good friend to me for many years. I used to dabble with wine when the opportunity arose.I’m amazed that people can drink so much of it,especially red wine….it is vile.

Speaking of which,the worst I’ve ever been after drinking was when myself and a couple of friends went to Alton Towers for the weekend.For some reason,though probably in order not to look bad,I downed several cans of lager,something which I’ve never even liked.We all had about 10 cans each,and retired to my friend’s estate car which we were sleeping in.

We spent the rest of the night taking it in turns to vomit out of the doors.Nice….like a kind of synchronised puking team.

We still managed to survive the rides the next day,though.We had purged ourselves the night before.Nothing untoward came up on the Corkscrew.

Another notable time was at a colleague’s leaving do…I can’t remember much about the night,but the next day,on which of course I had to work,I spent most of the day shaking and shuffling around like Ozzy Osbourne.I think I had the DT’s..I don’t even know what they are but I think I had them.

Right…I’ve decided.No more champagne with 60 year-old ladies.

A typical scene in Carmarthen...every bloody night...

It’s orange juice all the way.

They’ll just have to think of another way to get me into bed.

Next time–hopefully I will have stopped laughing at this ———–>

The Blog About Nothing In Particular…

This blog in no way endorses the excellent products produced by Apple

I have absolutely nothing to blog about today,so please forgive me if I make random shit up.

Ooh I know…seeing that this blog has been going for about a fortnight,how about a few updates to previous blogs with some funny photos that i’ve spent all bloody afternoon finding because I have no life?

No?

Sod ya then….because you’re getting it.

First up…a gross error of judgement.

Calendar fail…Alkie-Neighbour’s birthday party is TONIGHT.

The grannies have been ominously massing since midday.Worse still,they all know which house I live in,and I swear I saw a few of them look lustily in the general direction of my front door.

My life is in great danger…I saw the Octo-Drunk making sausage rolls earlier.

I fear the aged,wrinkled face at the door…the hideously gnarled hand upon my knocker.

I got her a card…stuck it through her box earlier,then legged it.I’ll pretend to be out for the rest of the evening,that should do it.

On a related not,I still have no light in the living room or landing.I haven’t been able to psych myself up to go and buy bulbs…although this may help me out this evening…hmmm…nice coincidence.

Talking of dolphins,I received a brochure in the post today about Community Education Courses.As I was about to recycle this delirious tome,I paused…and decided to give it a cursory glance.And I’m mightily glad I did because I am now going to sign up to a £50,ten-week course to teach me how to sell on eBay,while squeezing in a bit of pilates,yoga and introduction to massage…and perhaps a bit of lacemaking.

Ooh and belly-dancing…I need a bit of that.

On a more sobering note,it appears my last post caused a bit of a stir.Aspersions were cast on The Blog Dog’s kind and loving nature.

In short,that The Blog Dog was,in no uncertain terms,a “Bad Arse.”

I know,I know…I’m shocked too.

These accusations are completely false…The Blog Dog is NOT a “bad arse” of any kind,but would like to point out that the extremely handsome young man who types out his blogs,known only as sabbathdei,is a complete and utter “bad arse” but nice with it.That is all.

And to bring this swiftly to a close because I fancy a cuppa,I’m still not married,still can’t drive,still love Duran Duran and am still totally single.

I thank you.

Next time…I’ll think of something serious to write about,I promise…