Sunday, February 11, 2018

I need to listen a bit more.

I need to listen a bit more.
What I mean is that I listen to her, sometimes, but not a lot and not too closely. Well, she never says anything interesting and what she knows about anything is negligible. Mind, according to her she knows everything
She gets up every morning and comes down the stairs wearing her onesie and looking about as attractive as anthrax just not as appealing. The minute she puts a foot in the kitchen she starts;
"How long have you been up? Have you fed the dogs? What have you had to eat? Where are we going today? We need milk, go and get some. I need some money, give me your card before I go out! Has the dog been chewing the draft excluder again?" and so on, on and on, on and on, and I turn her off, it's not worth listening to.
Then she will say, "Are you listening to me?"
I am honest, and like annoying her so I say, "No. I'm not. You talk crap at the best of times."
The stress levels rise promptly. "What!" yells Shirly Temple. "Am I talking to myself?"
"It's the only way you'll get a sensible conversation," I tell her.
This makes matters worse and she is off, slagging me off while I snigger a good deal.
I need to listen a bit more.

Saturday, February 10, 2018

Ha! She never stops!

Ha! She never stops!
She just came storming back in. Here's me, sitting here playing with my toys and minding my own business, bothering nobody. Does that cut any ice with Betty Boop? Does it bollocks."When am I getting my new car?"
"When you get your driving licence,"I tell her.
"I've got my provisional!" cries Gert Bucket. "You can get the car in your name and I can have my lessons and practice in it!"
"Right!" says me sarcastically.
"Well, I can!" says she. "And I could drive myself to the shops."
"Drive me to the funny farm," says our hero. "Why not get a bike?"
"Why don't you sod off?" is her response. She is always the same. If she has no connection to reality she resorts to abuse.
Ha! She never stops!


AND!

And!
If she thinks she is getting more money to waste out of me this week she has got another think coming. She has got more chance of seeing Ian Paisley kissing Gerry Adams' arse.

We need some understanding around here

We need some understanding around here, that's what we need.
Let me see if I can elucidate a little bit. Great word that, elucidate. Don't know what it means but I'll see if I can find someone who can explain it. Haha, I just come out with them you know.
Right, let's see.
Mrs Rip Van Winkle upstairs thinks anything less than twenty hours sleep is a deprivation which ought to be taken up by Amnesty International, but never mind. She crawls out of her stinking pit with her little dog some time getting toward teatime and stands looking at the clock with a face on her that would paralyse fucking steam!
"Why didn't you wake me up?" she demands.
"I did!" I lie. "You just went back to sleep. If they ever make sleeping an Olympic sport you are a dead certainty for a double gold. Synchronised sleeping, you and Charlie."
"Bollocks," is her ladylike retort and off she goes to make tea. Two minutes later she is back.
"There is no milk!" she cries.
"What you telling me for?" I demand. "I told you last night and you said you were getting up early to go shopping with Angela. So don't complain if you are too tired to drag your arse out of your pit!"
"Why didn't YOU go?" demands Missus unreasonable.
"I was busy," I lie. "Watching cowboy films. They don't watch themselves you know."
"Why is it always me who has to go shopping?"
She looks very attractive in her onesie, to flies.
"You are bone bloody idle," says her as she flounces out.
See! What we need around here is some understanding!

Monday, February 05, 2018

I'm not going there again.

I'm not going there again.
Let me; elucidate. (a Good word that one, elucidate. Don't know what it means.
It was Bloody Mary's birthday yesterday, she was sixty-one going on twelve. Anyway, it was her birthday and she wanted to go for a meal with her two daughters, a granddaughter and me to pay for it.
"Where?" I asked, fear and miserly intent wrenching my bowels.
"The Grange!" cries Herself and of course the daughters agreed. Where the fuck is Cinderella? I've found the two ugly sisters.
"Alright," says the Saint. "We will go to The Grange."
So we all get ready, even Alyssa got a wash. That kid is waterproof.
All piled in my poor, long-suffering car and off we set.
Halfway there they decided to go to The Grey Horse in Boldon where I had chicken and ale pie or some such crap and when I got it the pie wasn't cooked. Not only that but Angela found a hair in her food, whatever it was.
I left, felt definitely Dissatisfied. Angela complained and the manager gave her a tenner but that's not the point, the food was crap.
I'm not going there again.

Friday, February 02, 2018

It must just be me!

It must just be me! Like everything else that happens around here, it's obviously my fault.
Now, it's a well known medical fact that my two dogs are insane. In fact, they are not even my dogs according to Lucretia Borgia who, as I write, is upstairs lying in her smelly pit and scratching herself for all I know.
Well, there could be a case to be made about the dogs being hers.
A few years ago she said that she wanted a puppy that would sit on her knee and play with her, which is a bit iffy, she doesn't let me sit on her knee and play with myself, never mind play with her.
So I went out and got her a puppy at great expense, I got her an American Akita!
"What the fuck is that?" she demanded as the dog chewed her draught excluder.
"It's the puppy you wanted," said I. "He is called Khan."
"He's massive!" she whinged.
"Yes," said I. "But he will sit on your knee and play all day. What more do you want?"
"I wanted a little one!" cried Herself.
Not many women say THAT!"
"Fuck it," said I. "Some women are never happy."
A year or two passed and by then she loved Khan and his thieving ways and unsolicited violence toward all other creatures he managed to get his teeth into. Then we got Charlie.
We went to see her sister Olwyn and she had two little dogs; A little black thing called Mitzie and a Pachadale rat killer called Charlie. She looked like a miniature Doberman without the sticky-up ears. The two dogs had been fighting and bit BillyJean's finger when she tried to separate them.
"Charlie has to go!" Olwyn cried.
Jackie said, "Can I take her?"
I said, "Don't blame me when Khan gets hold of her and eats her."
Of course, it never happened, Khan loves her and spends his time letting the violent little bastard dive on his throat, snarling and growling. He just thinks it's funny.
I don't think it's normal to have a dog that hates everything apart from another tiny thing that also hates everything and everybody.
"I'll never part with my dogs," says she.
It must just be me.

Friday, January 19, 2018

I nearly died!

I nearly died! and there are a lot of people who probably think that it's a pity I didn't but that is just sour grapes, bollocks to them.
What occurred was as follows:
I went to South Shield with our Wendy and Jackie with Wendy whingeing all the way because I was going over speed bumps too fast and hurting her back. Left to me I would break her back but it's against the law so she will never know how lucky she is.
We get to Shield and park in B&M's carpark at great expense and wander around the market looking for something for nothing. I got a Royal Horticultural Society china bowl for 20p, bargain!
Then Wendy, Miss Southwick 1954 wanted to go into a charity shop. She probably fancied a bit of shoplifting.
"Sod Off," I tell them. "I'm going for something to eat."
There is a nice little place called "The Smithy" so we went there. Nothing fancy, pie peas and chips.
So, we are munching away and I get a pea stuck in my throat, couldn't breathe, choking.
They just sit there watching my face turn pretty shades of purple and eating their did-dins.
I finally get it to eject, this unwanted pea and sit there gasping for breath.
"Why didn't you help? I nearly died!"

Thursday, January 18, 2018

I hate snow.

I hate snow.
Well, not hate, that is a very strong and emotive word so I will change it to satisfy the proprieties of the decent folk on this planet of ours; I fucking hate snow.
Got woken up this morning at about half-past four, and for the non-country livers, that's before the sparrows get out of bed. So, awake at half four and of course Madame fucking Tussaud lying next to me pretended to wake up too. If the truth is told she woke me in the first place!
"Do you want a cuppa? love. I'm going to have one," says she getting up and looking very sexy in her onesie. Yeah, sexy to a fucking blind Eskimo. I'm not allowed to say Eskimo anymore, am I? Fuck it, I can't spell innuit.
So off she goes downstairs and I look out of the window. The park over the road is all white, so is the street outside and my car.
"Fucking snow," says I to me. "Best place for it is on poxy Christmas cards," and got back into bed.
I hate snow.

Monday, January 15, 2018

Tea Leaf

Tea Leaf! There is no other name to use for him.
I don't know how long I have had him but it has got to be three years and since the day I got him he has been a tea leaf. You can't leave nothing within his reach because as soon as you take your eyes off him, he steals it and eats it.
Let me see, what has he pinched?
Packs of sausages, bacon, biscuits and once a whole pack of steak that I paid a tenner for. There was enough meat there to feed a family of ten, but just enough for him.
The best part is he has got the gall to sit in front of you, licking his lips and looking pleased with himself! The bastard.
I had a chat with him about his antisocial behaviour, I might as well have saved my breath.
Just think how much money I could have saved if I hadn't bought the mutt in the first place, he is nothing but a Tea Leaf!