30 March 2007


Sorry everyone I've been sucked into that damned munterspace thing and bloglines had gone postal on me! So apologies for not commenting and visiting but bloglines wasn't telling me that people were posting and it suddenly occurred to me..ooh I've not read ole Bob's blog for a while, surely he hasn't actually shut his gob for once? (- no such luck punters - he's still rabbiting on and now I've got to play catch up and read the whole damned lot of it - someone get me a JD and coke...pleaseeeee....)

Anyway April is devoid of any social activities (this is a good thing as me, my car and my wallet are all crippled) so I can spend loads of time catching up wiv stuff before Londoning again.

Ramblings are still going on, over at myspaz, but if you've not been suckered into it...here's another of the random and increasingly odd bits of fluff that's eeked out of my noggin:

Do insects have tongues? If so do you think spiders try and do that thing where they lick all their elbows? And what about bee’s? Do other bee’s go up to them and start licking the black stripes thinking they’re a mint humbug? What exactly is a humbug? I imagine it would be some cute sort of fuzzy bug that rubs it’s legs together to cause a humming sound?

~~~~~If you are a myspazzer, please go comment on my blog - any old bollocks will do I don't care I just want to beat Danny James in popularity (bloody unlikely, but I do have bigger norks than him so surely that should get me some commenters....Bob?)

21 March 2007

Random Thoughts - Week Four

Why is it when you get older that everything either cracks, aches, droops or falls out? These days I’m like some arthritic alopecia stricken 50 year old llama, they’re about to put down. I mean the hair thing, its never the bastard grey hairs that fall out is it, oh no it’s always the longest, fullest, most amount of dye on it hairs that go hurtling towards the plughole. So you’re still left with the wiry little grey pubes springing out the top of your head, and you can never get the fuckers can you, cause they always shrink away from you the minute you try to pull them out. It’s like those monk’s that can retract their bollocks. The same can be said for my wiry grey hairs, they retract back into my noggin if I as much as look at them with the pluckers glint. And what about the bloody relocation pixies? They come in here in the middle of the night moving my things, leaving me looking like an utter tit in the morning. You go the bed knowing exactly where your pants are, in the pants drawer of course. But oh no come the morning, you’re in a rush to get to work and all of a sudden the pants have disappeared. You’re bimbling round the bedroom, racking your brains as to where they can be secreted. You’re having to run the semi nudity gauntlet in front of your flatmate with just a pyjama top on as you go on some sort of deranged pants treasure hunt. Eventually you give up and think well I might as well have a cup of tea only to open the fridge door to find your pants illuminated in all their glory!

I dread to think what they’ve done with the damn milk!


Being single I have plenty of people giving me suggestions of how I can go about getting myself ‘some’. The most recent being a Valentines, ‘men in a row’ display in a busy part of our town. (They stand in a line, you make a note of theri number then ring the local radio station to see if you can get laid).

Of course I did try suggesting that maybe I’d actually quite like to fancy someone if I want to give them a crack at it and men standing in a row desperate for dates are probably a right bunch of munters, but apparently according to my mother I was just being picky!

However we then came up across the perfect idea for any single young ladyeez out there. We’d make them all wear hoodies over their heads with only the important bits on view. Hey presto hopefully no munters on display.
Of course this would lead to the world’s number one dating show - Guantanamo Bay, Debbie does Detainees.

So Jessica which of these lovely terrorists would you like to shag tonight?
Will she choose number 1 – Achmed - the hunky suspected terrorist who likes nothing better than to set the world alight with his stunning pyrotechnics
Number 2 – Saeed, the 15 year old weakling who has been tortured to within an inch of his life because he smelt a bit marzipany
Or number 3 – Derek, the bloke who looked a bit muslim and got carried along with the crowd as he thought he was going to a Razorlight concert.

Tonight Jessica the choice is yours
'Oh well its so difficult I just don’t know who to choose cause I just love a man with a beard. But on reflection I think I’ll go with Achmed cause I do like a big bang, *giggle*'.


I do feel sorry for men when they have to give a wee sample. For women it’s quite easy as it’s just like holding a bucket under Niagara Falls, so you’re bound to get some of it in the container eventually. However for men it’s like trying to take a sniper shot at someone but they’ve replaced your gun with a bowl of blancmange.
I’ve also come to the conclusion that penises must come with attachments. Most men I know seem to have opted for the watering can attachment, you know the one that sprinkles liberally all over the place. Up the bloody walls, in the carpet, even the cats have learnt not to walk past in their normal nonchalant way when men are having a slash. Little fluffy is shouting to the other cats ‘Hey girls get your rain bonnets out I think we may be experiencing some inclement weather shortly’.


Everyone has people in their office who are always in early desperately showing you up in front of your boss as you try to slink in at 11 o’clock with the hangover from hell and a mouth that feels like its been on a stamp collectors convention.
But you shouldn’t worry about these early fuckers cause they’re not actually up at sparrows fart to impress the boss but have snuck in early to nick all the stationery supplies. Go on check their bags and coats and you’ll find a pile of fucking biros, highlighters and bloody post its. The best way to nick post its is to apply them to you body, no really cause I know post it’s themselves actually defy their name and don’t stick to bugger all but the very last one with the stiffer backing is actually quite sticky. Obviously the smoother the surface the better the adhesive qualities, so for that reason I generally recommend to couples that you let the women nick them. The other great thing to pinch is lever arch files, cause they’re quite a bugger to get out the door at 5 o’clock, but the key to nicking them is to just be totally nonchalant. The theory goes like this, nab a lever arch file from the stationery store at about 4.30, but also make sure you nick some of those fiddly 12 part dividers. Then spend 15 mins printing out rubbish from your pc, doesn’t matter what it is, Tesco shopping bill, Amazon wishlist or porn just as long as you can print some old rot out without anyone seeing. Then make a big old show of stuffing all the paper into the lever arch file. At 5 o’clock walk smartly out of the office ensuring you hold the lever arch file to your chest. For added effect make sure you have a briefcase and if possible a handbag banging against your thighs and really make an effort to look like you’re struggling with all the work you’re taking home. True office professionals can actually pull this off using a box file, which is perfect camouflage for pens, highlighters, stapler, hole punch, biscuit tin, desktop printer anything you can think of really. But I wouldn’t recommend it to an amateur…start with post it body buffing and work your way up.


Ok so not exactly inspired in the toilet of the gig this time, but just one of the very random things that occurred to me tonight:

I think sex lubricants and baby oil are a really excellent boon to any relationship.
They certainly add an element of physical dexterity and surprise to any sexual shenanigans.
Women all over the world are busy practising their pelvic floor exercises and running on Stairmasters, just so they can be prepared for oil based bedroom antics.
Cause sitting aside what is basically a greased pole is one hell of a workout.
Its like those R&B shoulders and head, side to side movements.
That's where the whole dance move comes from - hundreds of women desperately trying not to fall off their man.

Then there's the whole dismount debacle. When you try to manoeuvre him into the wet spot. You've basically got 3 moves to consider.
The on top shuffle
the from behind, slide and jiggle
and the missionary pincer movement where you move crab like across the bed.

A seasoned professional (or slapper as we single 30 something’s are known) will of course ensure she leaves her best pelvic tightening moves until she's executed the perfect wet patch position. When she's finally got the guy where she's guaranteed not to encounter any dampness, that's when she does the final flick movement. Followed by the quick gymnast style dismount.

In technical circles I've been assured it's known as the
W.I W.I W.O (sounds like a new Sony x box thingy)
WIWIWO - whip it in, whip it out, wipe it off.


That old chestnut if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, does it still make a sound?

Of course it bloody does, it goes ‘fucking ow’ like the rest of us. Then goes ‘what did you do that for’ cause lets face it it’s hardly going to fall down of its own accord, it’s going to have been pushed over by some rampant tree gang member with an ASBO tucked under his branch. All the other trees are ganging up and shoving the weaker saplings, taking the piss out the fact they’re only 4ft tall, have no bark and a lack of rings.

This is of course where we first got the expression ‘turf wars’.


Because I’m so kindly, I wanted to bring you another infamous ‘let me be a lesson to you all’ post – designed to help everyone through the trickiest moments in their lives, by carefully NOT repeating any of the dumb ass things I’ve done.

So one of my earliest total tit moments happened when I spent my 16th birthday on one of those action holiday's. You know the type where parents and nutrition are banned and canoeing and tuck shops ruuuuulle.

Because I was 16 and had a ‘proper’ boyfriend at the time this elevated me to a slightly loftier status amongst the 14 year olds sharing my dorm. Being 16 I desperately wanted to impress all the cute 18 year old instructors, so every night, out came the silky black nightie and dressing gown and I would sashay my way down the corridor towards the nearest midnight feast. However the instructors were known for being the spawn of Satan and would wake us up at ungodly hours by running down the corridors banging saucepans.

On the now, infamous ‘staircase’ night they decided it would be an absolute hoot to have a fire alarm drill at 4 in the morning.

Cue me – jumping out of bed in my slinkiest best and bombing towards the very steep spiral staircase. I joined dozens of children exiting the floor, who were doing so in, for once a very calm and controlled manner.
However, ‘Total Titty’ the Lord of embarrassing moments was not smiling kindly on me on that moonlight night – as he whipped my feet from under me and proceeded to ensure I hurtled down the staircase at break neck speed as my silky attire gained momentum on the flagstones.
Imagine if you will a silk encased, slightly precocious teenager careering towards the bottom of 2 flights of stairs taking countless bemused and scared children with her. Uprooting children from standing positions as the force of the ‘silk projectile’ knocks them off their feet and somersaults them into the air.

When they eventually found me, bruised and battered under a heap of children, the static electricity created by the descent into hell ensured I looked like Don King on a particularly bad hair day but it also ensured that for the next 6 months I could switch on a TV by just walking near it – Quite a handy skill to have and one I wished I'd put on my CV.

TM 'Let me be a lesson to you all' brought to you in association with Jools is a total tit Inc.

17 March 2007

Blogtastic book

It's true!!! Mike went and did it and managed to produce a blogtastic book with your fave bloggers. Go buy it now! I'm not in it, which is more than enough reason to buy it, as it means my drivel isn't cluttering up the pages.

Go on its for charideeee

Shaggy Blog Stories

..Bloggers publish book for Comic Relief.

100 bloggers have published a book to raise funds of the BBC's Comic Relief appeal on Friday 16th March.

'Shaggy Blog Stories' features hilarious contributions from Richard Herring of 'Fist of Fun' fame, BBC 6Music presenter Andrew Collins, comedian Emma Kennedy, and James Henry, scriptwriter from Channel Four's 'The Green Wing'.

Authors Abby Lee, David Belbin, Catherine Sanderson and The Guardian's Anna Pickard have also contributed pieces to the book.

The vast majority of contributions, however, are the work of many of the lesser known and unfamiliar heroes of British blogging; going under pen names such as Diamond Geezer, Scaryduck, Pandemian and Unreliable Witness.

The book is the idea of blogger Mike Atkinson who writes the 'Troubled Diva' weblog. 'Shaggy Blog Stories' features comic writing from not only the cream of British blogging, but also the best up-and-coming and undiscovered writers publishing their work on their own websites.

Giving himself a "ridiculously short" seven days from idea to finished product, Atkinson admitted that he was overwhelmed with the response, which gleaned over 300 submissions for publication.

With a pool of talented writers, and the latest publishing-on-demand technology, Shaggy Blog Stories bypasses the usual snail-paced publishing industry, and offers a mail order service to customers who will receive their finished copy within days of placing their order, and only a couple of weeks after the original idea.

"Blogging creates complex, worldwide networks of friendship and contacts on the internet", says journalist Alistair Coleman, one of Shaggy Blog Stories' contributors. "By creating a buzz about this book, we can reach out to hundreds, thousands of readers who'd be willing to part with a few quid for this very good cause. Mike's got some excellent writers on board here whose work deserves a wider audience. Everybody wins."

For details of how to order the book, visit www.shaggyblogstories.co.uk.

For the background story on the creation of Shaggy Blog Stories, take a look at www.troubled-diva.com.

12 March 2007

The wilds of Leics do it to me again...


Ok so regular readers of the blog know I have a somewhat strained relationship with the byways and highways of the parental homestead. So following on from the late night trip home on a rescue lorry which was the outcome of the ladies that lunch fiasco, Leicestershire has only been and done it to me again.

So the story goes a little like this:
1300 - Jools purchases petrol and leaves the fields of Wiltshire behind her (travelling through 3 different counties in 15 mins)
1330 - Jools continues bimbling along getting annoyed at Sunday 'fuckin' drivers but is quite happy as is singing her wee lungs out to 'Darkside' by Tim Minchin (link to the fabby Timmy below - everyone should pay to go and see him - he's fab and very lovely).
1430 - Jools is supposed to head towards Warick on the A something or other but gets confuzzled and goes across the Fosse Way - cue hilarious japes with Jools, tiny car, large winds and very hairy corners - resulting in Jools nearly coming of the road and peeing herself laughing about it.
1530 - after various detours Jools arrive at parental house and sets to work trying to find the heating - no joy, just about manages to put the fire on and sits round like an ice box cursing the fact she didn't realise ma & pa had a dvd and didn't bring any with her.
1645 - BaggieB phones to say she's in Melton but is lost, Jools try to direct her but can't figure out where she is not being a local an all.
1700 - BaggieB rings again and Jools vainly searches for a map without any luck. Directs baggie B to centre of town and then collects her from a BP garage.
1730 - The 'comedy collective' (CC) head of to Nottingham for an evening of mirth, but spend 30 mins trawling round and round the one way system looking for the venue and car park. Jools muses that some thing's making a very odd noise, eventually decides to pull into a slip road as she realises her front tyre is ripped to shreds.
1800 - after eventually locating the spare wheel under the boot, not In, under the car chassis) the 'CC' decide to be girly and call breakdown.
1900 - Nice man rescues the CC (after realising they're round the back of the biggest police HQ, so quite safe). Jools asks nice man for directions as is bricking herself about the time. Nice man takes them to the car park. Bonus
1925 - The 'CC' hoof it along the street look for the venue, for once BaggieB's navigation skills are working and we find the venue and a queue.
1935 - ools is thinking' fuck we're too late they're not going to let us in'. Arse - but no it was fine folks we could go in but we couldn't see the chap we came to see cause he's ski-ing in Switzerland and his agent hadn't put the gig in his diary!
1945 - Reassess situation and decide despite the transport tribulations that the CC would venture again next week when said comedian is guaranteed to eb there.
1950 - Return to car and pay £3.50 for the privilege
2000- Spend 2 mins going the wrong way UP the car park rather than down, execute a possibly illegal left turn and end up going down a cobbled pedestrian zone only to have to turn around, much to the amusement of many of the assembled 'arty types' standing around.
2010 - BaggieB's excellent navigation skills send us round the entire outskirts of Nottingham but we eventually get back on the right road.
2030- Retire to Chinese establishment in Melton with stiff drink and promptly empty the restaurant of punters.
2200 - Return to house with chocolate and booze and proceed to consume both in large quantities whilst watching (i.e. nattering) Snatch. Many comments made along the lines of me seeing Baggie's snatch and hilarity ensues.
2300 - Freezingness of house resulted in the great scene of 2 heterosexual 30+er's snuggled up under a duvet together rustling chocolate, BaggieB was insisting on playing revel roulette.
0100 - Bed calls

Then this morning was spent getting a new tyre and driving back home, only to do it all again next Sunday.

It could only happen to me! But people may find these snippets quite cheering:

10 March 2007

Random Thoughts - Week Three

I’ve come up with a great idea to make public transport more enjoyable and it’s the late night tube drinking game. However you can also play it on night buses, coaches, anything really where you’re supposed to be travelling in a forward motion and are surrounded by other people.
So what you do is you enter your preferred mode of transport, ensuring that you’ve brought a bottle of your chosen spirit and a can or 2 of lager, beer, bottle of wine…whatever. Then you wait for your cue to take a drink….the first and easiest drinking option, is the mobile phone ringing, so quite simply anytime someone’s mobile phone rings you take a drink of your beer or wine.
The next level is the ‘look away stare’ option. So every time you look up to see someone staring at you and then they do that ‘oops I’ve been caught out I’ll look somewhere else thing’ you take a shot of your spirit. You can get bonus points in this round for being the person doing the staring but instead of looking away you continue to stare at them but pretend you’re looking at the very interesting ‘Kev is a bummer’ piece of literature located just past their left ear hole. The final level is the ‘stopping train’ round, so every time your transport stops, you take another shot, however you can only do this if the entire carriage goes deafeningly silent and the minute the train starts up again everyone resumes their conversations. You get a triple scoring round if you’re re routed through the Scottish highlands at any point.


Bloody cyclists, are they in some kind of ninja secret sect or something. Coming out of the night sky at you dressed in black with some fairly stylish acrobatic moves, well at least the ones on BMX’s. They only wear black at night though, the sods…when was the last time you saw a cyclist dressed totally in black during the day? I mean is it some sort of cloaking device to make them invisible to oncoming motorists or is there a secret vampire cyclists club where they prey on motorists and then suck the air out of their tyres?


Worms are hermaphrodites right? That’s got to be no fucking fun on a Friday night. Hiya, do you fancy a quick one…ooh don’t mind if I do..lets go do some hot lovin. Oh well at least you don’t have to make them a cup of tea in the morning. The animals that have really got it sussed though are the ones where the male gets pregnant and gives birth. How fantastic is that? That’s equality being bang on. Sea horses do it don’t they?
So Mrs sea horse bimbles along…hi honey, wanna get it on tonight? Then as soon as she’s laid her eggs, she fucks off to do the shopping. Bloody genius!


You know that title, Funeral Director? Do you think they really thought about it when the came up with it.

I mean, is the guy in the big hat stood in the corner shouting ‘action’ as the coffin comes into view, or having to shout cut and go for a reshoot as the over keen ‘supporting artiste’ keeps waving ‘hi mum’ to the camera when he supposed to be driving the hearse?


Recently there was a tornado that tore apart several towns in Alabama and contrary to popular belief the Alabamans’ took on a rather more European view of the catastrophe than normal. In total truth I heard a woman interviewed on the local radio station and the interviewer was going on about how awful it was and asked her how the local community were feeling. No word of a lie she said well we’re all ‘quite devastated’. Quite devastated, quite? Not devastated, or totally devastated, just quite - like it’s a small inconvenience, like getting a small pebble in your shoe. Bloody hell woman a tornado’s just split your town apart and people have been ripped from their homes and have died and all you could come up with is ‘quite devastated’. What’s next? Well we were a tinsy bit miffed, oh well can’t be helped, never mind I always felt the downstairs needed to be open plan.


Tea, slippers, jimjams, chocolate hob nobs

The perfect night in.

Actually that’s what going on at the other end of phone sex lines. You reckon you’re talking to sexy Sukie from Southampton who’s wearing stockings and a basque, when in fact you’re talking to Jean the cleaner from Stockport, who’s in jim jams, slippers and has just lost her hobnob to the depths of a cup of tea. Brings a whole new meaning to wanting it hot and wet.


Ballet style wrapover tops are a bit hazardous aren’t they? You know the type that tie up at the back and unless you’re a size 6, make you look a bit sausagey in the middle. They really should come with a health warning – 'Warning may become hazardous if used in toilet situations'. I mean what are you supposed to do with the bloody stringy bits, and where the hell do they end up?

It’s like the tampon string observation test, the test that all women have to pass before they’re allowed out in the world.

Ensuring when you exit the loo that everything’s tucked back inside, nothing hanging out the side of your pants – well apart from yer pubes cause it’s always on the one night you pull is the one night you didn’t bother waxing. So you have to try and remain sober enough to spot the protruding offender, or be able to rely on your friend’s in case there’s a tuckage incident.

Of course you could rig them up yo your pants in a kind of quick release style mechanism. It would be an absolute boon to the dating scene – You know you fancy someone and you’ve been making subtle ‘come to bed’ eyes at them all evening with no joy. So rather than relying on our rather bad body language powers we can send a simple and direct message that states ‘I want to shag you’. Simply pull on the rip cord of rauchiness to display your pants to the rest of the drunken masses currently boogling to ‘it only takes a minute girls, to see your pants, to see your pants….’



09 March 2007

Help help help elp lp p........

Shit! Everybody needs to go and do this cause it's a dead worthwhile cause, really easy and you could see your name in lights, or sumthin!
However, shit where do I start?
Suggestions please...otherwise I'm going to show myself up as an utter tit and I'll put into the book what I think is my funniest post and you'll all look on as the tumbleweed of embarrassed shame goes rolling past. Please peeps - which should I go with?
I'll shortlist the most recent ones for ya:

Thermos, Slippers, Tea
Sock fluff & Wimmin
Crop Circles
Kids TV
Porn on the brain
Taking on a stand up comedian
Han experiment
Men don't want shagging no more
Biscuit stereotypes
Observations in a small town
Show me the way to the sprouts

06 March 2007

Thermos, slippers, tea

– things that are made to live together. I'd love to meet the man who invented the Thermos, what a legend he was. In actual fact I've done some research for you my little ones and it turns out he was a Scottish scientist named James Dewar and he came up with the vacumm flask blah de blah thingy but the damn Germans ran with the idea and patented the thermos flask..not content with trying to take over our little island they want to drink all our friggin tea as well!

However on researching these interesting facts (see I told you the internet isn't just for porn…it's for research…well ok its for researching porn but there is a slight but distinct difference). Anyway being the nice individual that I am I thought I'd burn some learning on your asses. So one of the myths surrounding tea is that this chap called Bohidharma kept falling asleep during meditation (bad Buddhist, naughty Buddhist, sit on the naughty step). Anyway cause he kept falling asleep during meditation, (one would argue that's surely the point) the Buddhists hunted him down with orange silk and threatened to make a parasol out of him. So he decided, to cut his eyelids off and where they fell is where a tree bush grew.

Well I don't know about you but fuck me I don't fancy having some rancid monk's eyeballs floating round in me cup of char.
'Hey Bob, what's this stuff floating in the top of me tea? You trying to go all Costa coffee on me, with your high faluting choccie sprinkles on the top'.
'Ah no Fred that's just bodhidharma's eyelids for you, drink up they've got great restorative properties, all the hip people are having them, that Goldie Hawn can't chuck enough of them down her gullet'.

Another tea myth is that some monky bloke was bimbling along with some hot water (bet the health and safety executive would have had a field day on that), bimbling about with his hot water when some 'leaves' fell into his cup. Now he must've been thinking 'Golly gosh what a glorious piece of luck, that seems all rather splendid and certainly not a potentially life threatening idea – I know lets have a drink. Ooh I feel strangely refreshed and invigorated not at all hazy –

now if only I could work out to make these cocoa beans into a Twix ' I'll be fucking minted'.

04 March 2007

Random Thoughts - Week Two

Twice, yes count them, twice this week I’ve discovered I’ve been wearing my knickers on inside out – It must be the first day of Spring! Why do you have a pair of pants? I mean there’s not two of them is there? A pair of melons means you have 2 of the damn things but pants ‘Oh no we’re so clever, we will never be referred to in the singular tense’. I can only assume its something to do with pantaloons and that most people have a pair of legs – but c’mon lets face it the way g-strings are going we’ll be lucky if there’s anything more than cheese wire available soon.


I’m convinced the person who invented the life jacket, or buoyancy aid as it’s known in technical circles (see I’m up with this techno language…….ooh firewall, html…flange that sort of thing) anyway I’m convinced the lifejacket personage must’ve been a closet raver. C'mon you’re supplying a load of pissed up people with orange jackets that glow in the dark and have a whistle and a light attached to them.
I’m sure if any of us actually read the safety instructions they’d actually turn out to be instructions for doing ‘big fish, little fish, cardboard box’.


God we have a stupid fire alarm voiceover bint at work…

Pingy pong ‘A fire is being investigated in an adjacent building, please wait for instructions’
'pingy pong ‘a fire has been investigated and no further action need be taken’

No but knock yourself out if you want to have a skive and stand outside in the British drizzle for half an hour. Realising once you're outside and the damn luminescent fire warden harpee won't let you back in the building, that you’ve forgotten to take your coat and yer fags!


Men and bloody anal sex – you’re all obsessed with it. Guys, honestly leave our arses alone. We spend most of the time doing our best to try and cover them up and deflect any attention away from that area and all you’re interested in, is smacking your groin up against them and you’ve all be warned by the Public transport officials about that before. Give us a break, surely a couple of Edam’s will do?


I know us women are supposed to be all sisterly and fluffy and pink and all that but it’s a load old bollocks isn’t it? I mean we really are a bunch of conniving evil bitches, especially when it comes to our fellas. We’ll go to great lengths to hunt down exes, porn, gold bullion, anything we can to prove we’re superior and oh so cunting clever.
Do we believe a word you say, do we bollocks. Remember guys we have a built in bullshit detector. Telling Lies, fucking our sister’s or wearing our tights for the last 2 weeks (which might explain why they now reach our armpits) we can tell when you’re lying.

But do we say ‘Darling – I’m really quite upset by this information I’ve recently acquired, could we sit down and discuss it in a rational and sane manner before I club you over the head with this griddle’. Oh no that would be far too easy, we want you to suffer, we need you to feel pain and short of standing on your bollocks in 4 inch heels the only way we are going to get it is by seeking retribution and spending 2 weeks making your lives a misery.

You’ll wonder why you’ve suddenly lost all remote control privileges, why the doors in your house are shaking in their hinges and why you have unexplained ‘sleep’ bruises.
Every tiny little thing you do will be picked apart and made into the biggest row in history. The slightly annoying habit of leaving the toilet seat up will now have been turned into a monumental crime against all humanity with you taking the starring part as Mr S Hussein.

What will have started this wrath warpath, this simple phrase…

‘hmm….what…err what did you say?’


Sock fluff, don’t get me started on the fuckin stuff, no honestly it’s grounds for divorce, no really my friend did just that, divorced her husband on the grounds of his fuckin sock fluff.
Well ok that’s a bit of a fib - it was the sock fluff and the fact he was fucking another bird but mainly it was the sock fluff.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d taken some of the damn stuff with him to ‘her’ house but oh no the bastard not only buggered off every evening cause he had to ‘work late’ but when he did, he then left behind great whopping mounds of grey sock fluff everywhere.

The final show down between them was like one of those gun scenes from a great western.
She’s stood at one end of the hallway with his entire dvd collection in front of her and is wielding a sledge hammer and he’s at the other end with his still loaded piston and no where to shoot it.

The tension mounts - she narrows her eyes in a cold and calculating stare somewhat similar to Victoria Beckham eyeing up a donut. He assesses just how quickly he can exit the room without the sledgehammer being bounced off the back off his head. Then slowly capturing the very essence of this battle of wills, into shot drifts the tumbleweed of sock fluff. The nail in the coffin, the red flag, the starting whistle which means she can launch into full screaming banshee mode from which no man has ever been known to recover.

He runs for the door, leaping over the cat in true Colin Jackson style as the sledgehammer leaves her hand and travels in an arc across the room, smashing the photo of his mother in the process, all the while the sock fluff tumbleweed of shame is sat quietly in the corner mocking them, knowing that victory is in its grasp. Once again the suck fluff has sucked out the very marrow of a loving relationship and has digested it and spat it out again, such is its hatred of mankind.


In other news, was back in the Smith again Friday night, much fun had by the girls but no(heckling) suggestions this time (ok there was a underarm lob incident but I think we'll leave it at that). I'm also supposed to be handing in an assignment on Tuesday but the damn tinterweb keeps distracting me, in particular a whole host of comedians on myspace who are cheating their way towards chocolately infamy. Who'd have thought back in January when I was being a miserable fecker that I'd go and get meself one of them social life thingymebob's.

Oh and honest I didn't mean it bout the porn, I was only joshing - please oh few readers that are still out there, please come back and I'll promise to be a good girl.