Monday 5th February 2018
As previously stated I don’t like January at the best of times, I mean who does? It’s a shit month and it’s three times as long as any other month. It drags on forever. Most people are in a post festive slump dreading the bills coming in. TV programmes are punctuated with ads for holidays featuring people you’d rather kill than holiday alongside. The weather is yucky and the gardens are mucky. It gets right on my tits. The January just gone was even worse than usual. I had a tizzy fizzy do in the kitchen and lost my balance, managing to hit my chin on the edge of a worktop on my way down. My teeth clacked together, slashing my tongue as well as cracking a molar. If Dick hadn’t been there I’d probably have drowned in my own blood. It’s a wonder I have a tongue left, given the number of times I’ve bitten it. The cracked tooth developed a root infection requiring antibiotics as well as an expensive crown. The antibiotics upset my guts resulting in my arse spending considerable time clamped to the toilet. Good riddance January!
I’ve barely been near my computer lately I almost needed a crash course in how it works - it took me ten minutes to work out how to switch it on, he lied.
Thank you to everyone who has made contact with me via email. A few belated answers to some questions:
You can get decent ready meals at all major supermarkets in the UK, including Marks and Spencer and Waitrose. Almost every city and town in the UK will have a thriving kink scene if you look closely enough and do ‘careful’ and ‘wise’ research on the net. Bupa deals with private health care in the UK and you can contact them online for advice.
As far as I know everyone in the entire world hates energy saver light bulbs. I happen to think energy saver bulbs are a massive con. I’m not sure who benefits from the ‘extinction’ of the incandescent bulb, but I’m sure it will eventually be revealed in some Panorama exposé.
The turkey story is a simple one and I’ll tell you about it later, not that there’s a whole lot to tell, but I know how nosey you lot are. I can’t be sitting here chatting all day. I’ve got bedding to iron as well as leek and potato soup to prep and cook along with sourdough bread. There’s no rest for us domestic gods. Ciao for now.
Sunday 18th February 2018
Yes, to answer another question, upon occasion I do iron bedding because sometimes the tumble dry and smooth method just isn’t good enough. I am a perfectionist, or a pernickety pain in the arse if you listen to certain folk. As for sourdough bread there really is nothing to it, you cadge the starter from someone who likes farting about with such things and then you let your bread machine do the rest. Simples!
Brow mites eh? What are they all about? To be honest I wish Mike hadn’t mentioned them. I was having a chat with him the other day and made a casual comment about waking up in the night with an itchy eyebrow. He launched into a horror story about Demodex mites that live in your lash and brow follicles. Apparently they clamber out at night to feast on your dead cells while you sleep. He reckoned my itchy brow was probably a colony of them breaking out of their lairs to feast on my sebum. They don’t have bum holes and, according to Mike, when they die they explode and spray their pent up shit all over your face. I was repulsed, so much so that I woke up several times the next night, not because I had an itchy brow, but because I imagined hordes of mites in a death frenzy blowing their faecal matter all over my fair mush. I have enough trouble with my skin without bugs using my face as a toilet. I kept nipping into the bathroom to see if I could spot them by suddenly turning on the light and peering in the mirror. My nocturnal hysteria didn’t go down well with the men folk. Shane said Mike had been winding me up and he was going to wring his bloody neck as well as mine if I didn’t settle down. I’m over it now, I think. I bought a pack of tea tree face wipes after reading that Demodex have an aversion to tea tree oil. I rub one over my brows before going to bed thus deterring the ugly little bastards from coming out to feed while I slumber. Dick and Shane don’t care for the smell of tea tree, but reckon it’s preferable to me jumping out of bed every five minutes.
The turkey on the bus affair was nothing much, a mere misadventure. It involved me panicking about not having enough meat for Christmas dinner, on account of having more guests than originally planned for. I decided to dash out and buy an extra turkey to cook just in case. It would get used one way or another. So off I set on a last minute turkey quest, opting to buy a frozen fellow from Iceland, the shop not the country. I would have preferred something smaller than what I ended up with, but there wasn’t much left to choose from. I grabbed what was available from the freezer - a turkey big enough to feed an army. I hefted the brute to the bus stop and then onto the bus, sitting at the back, as is my wont. I placed the carrier bag containing the turkey on the floor at my feet rather than resting it on my lap. After all I didn’t want to end up with two snowballs and an ice-lolly stored in my underpants. The bus was packed, it being the festive time of year. The driver was crap, jerking the vehicle from stop to stop. I suspected he’d been to a Yuletide knees up the night before and his reflexes hadn’t yet recovered. Several stops from home disaster struck. Someone rang the bell just before a stop causing the driver to slam on his brakes and bring the bus to a juddering halt. My turkey broke free from its flimsy restraint and rocketed down the aisle. There were a few shocked exclamations as those standing had to leap out of the way of the icy missile. The bus doors opened and my turkey alighted, shooting off the bus and all but bowling over a couple of pensioners who were waiting to board. I followed in its wake, red faced and apologetic. I was so embarrassed. There was a fair amount of laughter and a small round of applause as I clambered back on board with my bird, the one that almost got away. No one was hurt, thank goodness, not if you discount the scrapes on the turkey’s packaging. If nothing else it gave people a good laugh and something to talk about. The driver even wished me a Merry Christmas as I got off the bus. In the event the extra meat wasn’t really needed and we ended up living on turkey inspired dishes for a solid week.
Valentine’s Day was as romanceless as usual. Oh well. You can’t have everything in life. Dick did present me with a bar of Lindt Chilli chocolate, but it was more a coincidence than a romantic gesture. Every now and again he buys me a bunch of flowers or a bar of chocolate on his way home from work. It just so happened that on this occasion the every now and again was on Valentine’s Day. Still, it was sweet of him and chilli choc is a favourite of mine. Thank you to every one kind enough to send me Valentine wishes. The same back at you. Ta-ra for now, chucks.
APRIL
As previously stated I don’t like January at the best of times, I mean who does? It’s a shit month and it’s three times as long as any other month. It drags on forever. Most people are in a post festive slump dreading the bills coming in. TV programmes are punctuated with ads for holidays featuring people you’d rather kill than holiday alongside. The weather is yucky and the gardens are mucky. It gets right on my tits. The January just gone was even worse than usual. I had a tizzy fizzy do in the kitchen and lost my balance, managing to hit my chin on the edge of a worktop on my way down. My teeth clacked together, slashing my tongue as well as cracking a molar. If Dick hadn’t been there I’d probably have drowned in my own blood. It’s a wonder I have a tongue left, given the number of times I’ve bitten it. The cracked tooth developed a root infection requiring antibiotics as well as an expensive crown. The antibiotics upset my guts resulting in my arse spending considerable time clamped to the toilet. Good riddance January!
I’ve barely been near my computer lately I almost needed a crash course in how it works - it took me ten minutes to work out how to switch it on, he lied.
Thank you to everyone who has made contact with me via email. A few belated answers to some questions:
You can get decent ready meals at all major supermarkets in the UK, including Marks and Spencer and Waitrose. Almost every city and town in the UK will have a thriving kink scene if you look closely enough and do ‘careful’ and ‘wise’ research on the net. Bupa deals with private health care in the UK and you can contact them online for advice.
As far as I know everyone in the entire world hates energy saver light bulbs. I happen to think energy saver bulbs are a massive con. I’m not sure who benefits from the ‘extinction’ of the incandescent bulb, but I’m sure it will eventually be revealed in some Panorama exposé.
The turkey story is a simple one and I’ll tell you about it later, not that there’s a whole lot to tell, but I know how nosey you lot are. I can’t be sitting here chatting all day. I’ve got bedding to iron as well as leek and potato soup to prep and cook along with sourdough bread. There’s no rest for us domestic gods. Ciao for now.
Sunday 18th February 2018
Yes, to answer another question, upon occasion I do iron bedding because sometimes the tumble dry and smooth method just isn’t good enough. I am a perfectionist, or a pernickety pain in the arse if you listen to certain folk. As for sourdough bread there really is nothing to it, you cadge the starter from someone who likes farting about with such things and then you let your bread machine do the rest. Simples!
Brow mites eh? What are they all about? To be honest I wish Mike hadn’t mentioned them. I was having a chat with him the other day and made a casual comment about waking up in the night with an itchy eyebrow. He launched into a horror story about Demodex mites that live in your lash and brow follicles. Apparently they clamber out at night to feast on your dead cells while you sleep. He reckoned my itchy brow was probably a colony of them breaking out of their lairs to feast on my sebum. They don’t have bum holes and, according to Mike, when they die they explode and spray their pent up shit all over your face. I was repulsed, so much so that I woke up several times the next night, not because I had an itchy brow, but because I imagined hordes of mites in a death frenzy blowing their faecal matter all over my fair mush. I have enough trouble with my skin without bugs using my face as a toilet. I kept nipping into the bathroom to see if I could spot them by suddenly turning on the light and peering in the mirror. My nocturnal hysteria didn’t go down well with the men folk. Shane said Mike had been winding me up and he was going to wring his bloody neck as well as mine if I didn’t settle down. I’m over it now, I think. I bought a pack of tea tree face wipes after reading that Demodex have an aversion to tea tree oil. I rub one over my brows before going to bed thus deterring the ugly little bastards from coming out to feed while I slumber. Dick and Shane don’t care for the smell of tea tree, but reckon it’s preferable to me jumping out of bed every five minutes.
The turkey on the bus affair was nothing much, a mere misadventure. It involved me panicking about not having enough meat for Christmas dinner, on account of having more guests than originally planned for. I decided to dash out and buy an extra turkey to cook just in case. It would get used one way or another. So off I set on a last minute turkey quest, opting to buy a frozen fellow from Iceland, the shop not the country. I would have preferred something smaller than what I ended up with, but there wasn’t much left to choose from. I grabbed what was available from the freezer - a turkey big enough to feed an army. I hefted the brute to the bus stop and then onto the bus, sitting at the back, as is my wont. I placed the carrier bag containing the turkey on the floor at my feet rather than resting it on my lap. After all I didn’t want to end up with two snowballs and an ice-lolly stored in my underpants. The bus was packed, it being the festive time of year. The driver was crap, jerking the vehicle from stop to stop. I suspected he’d been to a Yuletide knees up the night before and his reflexes hadn’t yet recovered. Several stops from home disaster struck. Someone rang the bell just before a stop causing the driver to slam on his brakes and bring the bus to a juddering halt. My turkey broke free from its flimsy restraint and rocketed down the aisle. There were a few shocked exclamations as those standing had to leap out of the way of the icy missile. The bus doors opened and my turkey alighted, shooting off the bus and all but bowling over a couple of pensioners who were waiting to board. I followed in its wake, red faced and apologetic. I was so embarrassed. There was a fair amount of laughter and a small round of applause as I clambered back on board with my bird, the one that almost got away. No one was hurt, thank goodness, not if you discount the scrapes on the turkey’s packaging. If nothing else it gave people a good laugh and something to talk about. The driver even wished me a Merry Christmas as I got off the bus. In the event the extra meat wasn’t really needed and we ended up living on turkey inspired dishes for a solid week.
Valentine’s Day was as romanceless as usual. Oh well. You can’t have everything in life. Dick did present me with a bar of Lindt Chilli chocolate, but it was more a coincidence than a romantic gesture. Every now and again he buys me a bunch of flowers or a bar of chocolate on his way home from work. It just so happened that on this occasion the every now and again was on Valentine’s Day. Still, it was sweet of him and chilli choc is a favourite of mine. Thank you to every one kind enough to send me Valentine wishes. The same back at you. Ta-ra for now, chucks.
APRIL