It’s nearly Christmazzzzzz!

I was wondering what December 25th will represent in about 40yrs time. Will it still represent what it represents now? I have a vision of what we know as the ‘Festive Season’ could be like if current trends continue.

It’s 2056 & Mr & Mr Joe & John Smith-Jones, who’ve been married for a few years prepare for the festive season. They’ve had a happy marriage & the only time they squabbled was when deciding if they should be known as Mr & Mr Smith-Jones or Mr & Mr Jones-Smith. They compromised by agreeing that Joes’ surname (Smith) would go first & John would have first call on naming the dog. They had planned to have children but were unable to adopt as Joe once smoked a cigarette behind the school shed, it was only the one but that was enough as heaven knows how many children he killed with the 2^nd, 3^rd & 4^th hand smoke that came from that one cigarette. Fostering was out of the question as John had an unacceptable BMI and was, at 9stone (dripping wet), considered ‘obese’. They’d considered using the syringe method with their hard up female neighbour (again) but after the last turn out that was also off the agenda. They couldn’t decide who would fill the syringe up so they both had a go & the results were dreadful. The poor kid turned out heterosexual, homosexual, bi-sexual, an absolute nightmare to clothe so the neighbour kept it.  She got a nice few quid in extra benefits as Social Workers decided she needed extra help to cope with a child that was totally gender confused. The mum added ‘AHD’ to the mix for good measure.  I digress so back to the festive season.

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Joe & John were a couple that were very much ‘out there’. They kept up with all the latest PC trends & followed all the advice on healthy eating & healthy living. The advice given on the ‘elf ‘n safety website was followed to the letter. ‘ooman rights also played a big part in their lives & they were helping the cause of a local gay pygmy that had been threatened with deportation. He’d entered the country illegally, by hiding in someones weekend bag, but he should be allowed the right to remain here as he’d bonded with the local tom cat.  They had a few like minded friends but, sadly, they were unable to join them over the festive period as they would be busy protesting about people who were still going ahead with celebrations for something called ‘Christmas’. Christmas was sooooo ’20th  century’ & should remained banned. I mean, surely the big cathedrals such as St Pauls & Canterbury were much better now they’re being used as food banks. Mind you, after Buck Palace had a £3zillion facelift (courtesy of Joe Public), lots of people think it’s just fab now the place is being used to house refugees until they can jump the queue for a council house. You’d have thought that with all the ghettos created by Councils they’d be plenty of room for everyone but, as they didn’t build any more houses, supplies are running short I suppose. We shouldn’t blame the Councils, how were they to know that all the refugees & Asylum Seekers they housed back during the first 25yrs of the 21^st century, would go on to have 15 kids apiece – all of which grew up & needed housing – which they got. I digress.

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Joe & John were thinking who they could share the festive season with. No point asking the hard up neighbour, she was on that ‘work for your benefits’ scheme so she’d be working, flat out, for one of the many companies that have signed up to the scheme. These companies are so pleased to be able to help – even if it did mean using the occasional severely disabled person, who had ESA turned down, to do some work for them, albeit without pay. Most of the people were ok, they had Phd’s and stuff; shame they couldn’t get a proper job but filling their shelves etc gives ’em a bit of work experience & at least they’re doing something for their benefits. I still find it strange that people with a surname that can be easily pronounced get less than people with a foreign sounding surname. The DWP were going to apply this system to first names but as 80% of British males are now called ‘Mohammed’ they thought better of it. Who’d have thought that name would be top of the most popular names list for about 30yrs in a row! Good job there’s not many devil worshippers in the UK – we’d have a zillion ‘Beelzebubs’ walking the streets! I digress.

With the hard up neighbour off the list Joe & John thought about Mrs & Mrs Zoe & Mel Watson-Green. They didn’t argue whose surname would come first, they were too busy ruining the local baker by taking him to court for not making the bridge rolls (for the wedding reception) in the shape of a vibrator. Zoe & Mel were a nice(ish) couple, their first two kids were a bit of a mish mash but when you go for a BOGOF down the local sperm bank what can you expect? For their third child they decided to approach the window cleaner. He was heterosexual but any port in a storm. He had a ball with the pair of ’em although they just laid there, holding hands very tightly & focused on the possible outcome. They decided it was better if they both ‘went through it’ as they felt it would create an even deeper bond between them. The window cleaner just thought it was a better way to spend the day than putting up scaffolding so he could  clean ground floor windows. 9 months later ‘Barbie’ appeared. It was a boy but they thought a name like ‘Barbie’ would be ideal because if the child decided he really was a boy, & wanted to be a boy, the name ‘Barbie’  sounds like the American version of ‘Bobby’. Sorted! They seemed to tick all the boxes. They only drank herbal tea & mineral water, they only ate orgasmic stuff, they jogged every day (matching jogging outfits, the customary bottle of water & headphones). Both were pure vegans. One of the kids once held a stick of celery in the same way as someone would hold a cigarette – 6 months rehab sorted that out. I don’t know what the rehabilitation involved but I think it used to be called a ‘lobotomy’. The other kid, a girl, was great as she was also ‘out there’ & was saving up for a bionic penis. The boy was a bit of an enigma. He flatly refused to wear that lovely pink dress & played, horror of horrors, football! My days, whatever next? A partner of the opposite sex? Gasp! Joe & John would have to suffer him unless ‘that boy of theirs’ decided to go underground for the festive season & go to one of those places where people hide so they can have a smoke & a drink & eat crisps. Totally offensive & unacceptable! Those sort of people think nothing of breaking the law & have no respect for it.

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Right, guest list sorted for Joe & John.  Just the ‘nibbles’, pre dinner drinks & main meal to organise. Not a hard call. Celery & carrot sticks & seeds will suffice for the nibbles. Mineral water for the pre dinner drinks. A medley of quorn burgers/sausages, tofu served 3 ways (not that it matters what way you serve it – it’s vile whatever way), & steamed orgasmic veggies for main. Dessert will be a delight of organic fruit (no grapes/bananas though – gotta bitta sugar in them) topped with unsweetened goats milk. The evening will be spent watching news reports of the battle still waging between the self-righteous & the renegades who are desperately clinging onto the life they had before the PC brigade, the anti-smoking & drinking mob, the health police, the UN, the WHO, the UNHCR, BigPharma. the loony left & the scraggy remains of what was once known as the EU.

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I don’t ‘do’ Christmas but I’ll take this opportunity to wish all that do a ‘Merry Christmas’ as I don’t know how long it will be before those words will be banned & the penalty for uttering such words will be either death or being fast forwarded to the future. I won’t be choosing the latter.

The anti-smoking brigade try to lead us to believe that the smoking ban is the biggest success since the invention of the wheel and ‘everybody’ is sooooo pleased that smokers are being banished from the planet. They’ve spent £billions vilifying smoking & smokers.

The rise & success of UKIP is, according to many, due to people casting a ‘protest’ vote. They’re apparently protesting against the the Governments’ (present & past) stand on the EU and immigration. I’ll go along with that but why has there been no mention of the 6+ million smokers who, like me, voted for UKIP because (amongst other reason) they are the only party who are actually listening to those 6+ million smokers?

Take ol’ John Smith (whoever) who is 75 years old, as far as he’s concerned he’s too old to worry about what the EU is up to or how many immigrants there are but…… he’s not too old to worry about feeling isolated & lonely. He’s not too old to get depressed because he feels isolated & lonely. He’s not too old to worry that his carer or his ‘meals on wheels’ lady/man will refuse to enter his home because he smokes. He’s not too old to miss the times when he popped down the pub, once or twice a week, to meet his pals for a pint or a bit of company or the chance to actually see someone & have a chat. He’s not too old to worry that he won’t be missed, down the pub, and nobody will worry (or care) that he might have had a fall indoors and is laying on the floor with a broken hip or something. The reason nobody will miss him down the pub is because his ol’ pals stopped going down the pub. Why? Because, like him, his ol’ pals were too old to stand outside, in all weathers, to have a cigarette that they once enjoyed having with their pint. That’s why. And that’s why ol’ John Smith voted UKIP. It was a protest against the other parties who believed, and still do, that the smoking ban is loved by all.

By the way, ol’ John Smith has an immigrant family living next door.. Ol’ John doesn’t know where they come from & he really doesn’t care. He likes them, he gets on with them, they haven’t been brainwashed to the degree where they complain that ‘the second hand smoke from him next door’ is killing them, they don’t pretend to cough and give him a filthy look when they pass his doorway – where he’s standing & smoking a cigarette. Ol’ John doesn’t care that the EU demand a cucumber should be a particular length or shape – he hates cucumber. The only thing he cares about, these days, is the fact that a group of self righteous people – hell bent on eradicating smoking have been listened to and he hasn’t. ‘They’ didn’t hear, or want to hear, his voice or the voices of his now lost pals or the voices of hundreds of thousands of people who, like ol’ John, feel isolated & very lonely because they have cast aside because….they smoke.

His neighbour drove him down to the polling station & back. Ol’ John enjoyed his little jaunt. He enjoyed the car ride and was surprised at how many people were still alive. He’d been led to believe that people were dropping like flies because all the ‘filthy smokers’ were killing everybody. He enjoyed sitting in the back of the car smoking his cigarette. Out of politeness he opened the car window. His neighbour said “close the window please John, the exhaust & diesel fumes are choking me.

Ol’ John put his little ‘x’ in the UKIP box.

It’s Christmazzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

They’ve just played ‘It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas’ on the radio.  Funny that ‘cos I was thinking exactly the same for a variety of the following reasons.(1) People running around like headless chickens. (2) Headless turkeys NOT running around but hanging upside down in a butchers window. I s’pose that’s ok as turkey is white meat so that’s ‘healthy’.  Don’t know where they get that little gem from ‘cos if white meat (breast of said bird) was all you ate you’d probably drop dead from under nourishment as well as boredom. Mustn’t eat that lovely crispy skin ‘cos there’s FAT under it – good grief, not that killer of mankind.  I digress so back to the reasons. (3) Look out the window at 4pm and it’s pitch black. (4) It’s bloody cold outside – I want global warming not 5 degrees below. (5) Unless you whack your heating up it’s not much warmer inside.  Whack the heating up? I want to be able to afford to actually eat next year – them energy companies are a greedy bunch of gits.  Then you’ve got the NHS adverts telling you “there are many ways to keep warm this winter, for example, wear several layers of light clothing”.  Well, correct my maths, but I make that ONE reason – WTF are the rest?  I can think of some, sit in a nice warm pub nursing Arfur Lager – they won’t mind as they’re grateful for anyone to be in their otherwise empty pub. If you take a mate the two of you will actually make the pub look busy and they’ll like that. Bookies are nice & warm – I popped in one the other day and I don’t know if it was the heat that took my breath away or the smell – should’ve let people have a fag ‘cos that sure as hell smelt better.  Council offices are another place where the temperature rarely drops below 24c & it’s always nice and bright in there because they leave every light on 24/7.  My local Council have brought out some scheme where street lights go out during the wee hours, this is to ‘reduce the impact on the environment & reduce carbon footprints’.  Are they for real??  Looking at their offices almost belching out fire because of the heat & every department lit up like Crystal Palace I would think their carbon footprint is a bit more than size 11.  Their electric & gas bill must total the National Debt.  Then you’ve David ‘dick head’ Cameron suggesting people knit things to keep them warm – best take up the boys scouts motto ‘be prepared’ (dib dib dob) ‘cos if you leave the ol’ knitting malarkey till the Winter your fingers will be blue and frozen solid.  I don’t know too much about that knitting business but I’m pretty sure it would be a tad difficult clicking away with them needles when your body is a hairs breadth away from going into shock due to impending hypothermia.  I’ve digressed but you now have a few more tips on how to keep warm.  Where was I? Ah! Reasons why I know Xmas is round the corner. (5) No one is running the country as the MP’s have pissed off till sometime in January.  Don’t really know why they bother coming back, Everybody manages to go about their business whether they’re sitting in Parliament nodding off or not. (6)  The dustmen take ALL your rubbish without inspecting it.  They don’t check the paper recycling bag for something that should have gone in the food waste receptacle (slop bucket in other words). God help you if they find something alien in the wrong bag eg. a lonely tea bag in the paper recycling  bag.  That would be considered as one of them up your bum crimes (annus horribilus??) it would normally be punishable by death but they’re reserving that one for anyone that smokes within 200 miles of a child.  The postman is also cheery & shouts things out like ‘Good Morning’ – after their ‘Xmas box’ I suppose. (6) Restaurants & them ‘Gastro’ pubs are advertising ‘Christmas Fayre’ at about 60 quid a shot – I personally can’t find anything fair about that!  They offer a ‘traditional’ Xmas dinner like ‘Roast turkey with all the trimmings’ – what the hell does that mean? Do they put all the nasty bits they’ve trimmed off the turkey, like its innards, head and feet, on the plate?  Maybe they put a cooked turkey on the table, with a bit of the Xmas tree sticking out of its posterior, and carve it up from there?  Then they offer the veggie option (yawn).  What the bloody hell is ‘traditional’ about a lump of that tofu stuff wrapped in a lettuce leaf & served with an aubergine puree (whatever – they’re a bit lost when it comes to making the veggie option sound exciting). (7) TV adverts for the ‘not to miss’ programmes they’ve dug out of the crypt (again). Not to miss? How the hell can you miss something that’s been on every year since the Iron Age?

Well, that’s enough reasons to be getting on with but one thing’s for sure, I WILL NOT be dreaming of a white Christmas ‘cos that means snow & ice  and snow & ice means it’s gonna be bloody freezing.  On the plus side, kids are off school so we won’t be cursed with inconsiderate mothers in their 4×4’s blocking the narrower roads & white van man is off the road for a few days so I won’t have him up me arse when I’m driving.  Merry Crimbo!

 

 

HOME ALONE

I bang on about how marvelous the internet is. What with it’s wealth of information, games to keep you occupied (and addicted to) for hours, it’s technology so you can natter away to people you know by typing back & forth & its cleverness that allows you to actually see a person, live time, and speak to them.  For all you doughnuts out there, ‘live time’ doesn’t mean when the person was alive – they still are and you are seeing them at that very moment in time.

I bet it scuppered the ol’ Post Office though. What with emails & the like.  No wonder they hiked up their prices. They probably got one of them environmentalists on their side just in case smoke signals got popular. I’ve overcome the price hike which is why any of you that know me didn’t get a birthday or Christmas card and never will.  I quite liked the idea of them e-cards but they don’t quite do the job if the person you want to send one to don’t do internet. If they do have internet but like to put cards on display they can always download it (can you do that with them e-cards??), print it off & hang it somewhere. If they haven’t got a colour printer or are too mean to print off in colour they then have a very good answer when someone asks what they would like for their birthday or Christmas. Just the job!!  You can always ring ’em up to say ‘happy whatever’ but then you find they’ve give up their landline ‘cos they’re fed up with being ripped off by BT and bought themselves a contract phone which comes with 2 million minutes call time & a zillion free texts.  All well & good till you find out what you have to pay to call that bloody mobile.  Not for me – oh no! I’ve got a little ploy to get around that one. I dial their number, well not actually dial because we don’t do that any more…………. so, I punch in their number (I know all the proper terms see) and I let it ring once & hang up………..wait a mo, I log out – hmmm! not sure if that’s quite right, anyway I cut the call dead.  My victim, upon seeing my number, immediately calls back – sorted!  I give them a minute by minute account of how I’ve been for the past 6 weeks, don’t come up for air & then wish them happy birthday or whatever. That sorts their 2 million minutes out as well!! 

Texting ‘happy whatever’ is all very well when you’ve got ‘free texts’ in your contract – they ain’t free you idiot, that’s what you pay your contract fees for.  I have ‘Pay as you Go’, don’t know why they call it that because I don’t go anywhere. No matter. Now,  that pay & go jobby ain’t for free (obviously, the word ‘pay’ gives you the clue) – oooooh no! Fifteen PENCE per text – they must think that Bill Gates didn’t really fund a 500 zillion cause to help the people in Africa to give up smoking, they must have thought he gave it to me.  Fifteen pee a shot – daylight robbery.  I wouldn’t mind but by the time you’ve managed to compose the text without that poxy predictive texting it’s not much point send it as the person whose birthday it is has long gone & Christmas has turned into Easter. Another ploy comes into play. I’ve signed up to H2O or whatever it’s called these days & I get 10 free texts per month & I only pay 5pee for each one after that AND I can bang it all out on the pc which does not use that ridiculous predictive stuff – you can’t even put ‘bollox’ without it coming up with a million suggestions, none of which do the trick. No, you have to enter it in its dictionary thing. I ask ya!!

Now, with all the different ways there are to communicate these days what am I doing?  I’m sitting here without anyone to talk to.  That’s sad.  I go on Farcebook & see loads of people on ‘chat’. My name comes up with that little green dot next to it and all of a sudden there’s nobody on ‘chat’.  I go on Skype and not a soul is there.  I look out of the window & see people walking about so I know I’m not the only one left on the planet.  How can this happen? It’s me! Surely you must want to spend the next 2 hours listening to me!  Your loss but if you’re lucky enough to be in when I knock on your door & you let me in you can have me all to yourself and have the pleasure of my dolcet tones until you ply me with enough Budweisers to render me unconscious.

Just been thinking about that Bill Gates. Is he right in the head or what?  He spends all that money trying to get people who are starving, dying of thirst, riddled with diseases and breeding like flies to stop smoking. Come on Bill, that’s not playing the game. Don’t send ’em dosh to stop smoking, send ’em fags so they can start – god knows, they need some pleasure in life.  I bet they’ve got someone to talk to though!

What help do you need to get around?

I bet some of you thought I had a really good answer to that question, which appears on the claims form for Disability Living Allowance, and clicked on it immediately.  The title was a little ruse to get you to give me a ‘hit’ (whatever) and has nothing to do with claiming DLA which is soon to be called PIPS (Personal Independence Payment) – I bet there were some smug little mugs at the DWP when they came up with that one. They probably had an ‘inter office’ competition & the winner got the coveted award of ‘Employee of the month’. 

My friend was filling out one of them claims forms & came across the question “What help do you need to get around” – I was just in time to stop her writing  “A large vodka & coke”.  With hindsight (a wonderful thing) I should have let her put that  because some gormless clerk down the DWP would have thought she was an alcoholic and passed the form to another gormless clerk in the ESA department who would have put her in the ‘support group’ and awarded her about a £5k a year – thank you very much!  I digress.
I asked the question, What help… blah blah, as different people have different methods. Some use pubs they know as landmarks while the less interesting use the Costa’s they frequent because that’s the place to ‘be seen’. I confess to using Costa’s once but only because there was nowhere else to get a cup of tea.
I didn’t get a cup of tea, I got a paper cup of boiling(ish) water mixed with an udder full of milk and something that resembled a bouquet garni floating about in it. I looked at the change I got out of a fiver, looked at the person who obviously couldn’t make a cup of tea if her life depended on it and said  “Can you do something with this – like chuck it away & make another one with boiling water & 2 tea bags, leave the milk I’ll do it meself”. Honestly!! I digress.  The top and tail of it is that people have their own way of finding their way around. I use one of them SatNavs which is the REAL subject but a title of SatNav might not have drawn much attention. I need attention to become the ‘Blogging Bombshell’.

Right! Back ‘on topic’ (that’s proper computer talk that is). SatNavs. Mine’s a TomTom so I call it ‘Ken’ (there is a reason for that). With my zero sense of direction it’s a bloody handy tool but can lose its way at times and it’s the times you need it most when it decides “I can’t cope”. It couldn’t cope when I was going in the wrong direction on Tower Bridge and it must have thought “tell her to make a u-turn, that’ll get her off me back for a while”. U-turn on Tower Bridge?  Was this piece of high-tech kit for real? I found meself screaming at a lump of plastic “I’m on Tower Bridge you ***t”. I know a lump of plastic can’t perform miracles but this piece of plastic did ‘cos 4 hours later I found meself on the side of the Thames that I wanted to be on. It can’t fox me on the ol’ M2 though – oh no. I know the M2 see. When it tells me to ‘turn right’ I ignore it ‘cos I know my way – good job really because, if I turned right, I’d be crossing 3 lanes of traffic heading in the opposite direction to me. Ken gets forgiven. Ken didn’t get forgiven when I punched in a postcode that was on the other side of London and it said “You have reached your destination”. Whaaat! I was at a set of traffic lights that controlled traffic going in 3 directions FFS! I was breaking my neck for a wee by then. Found a cafe (not Costa’s) & sorted meself out. Nobody knew where the address was that I was looking for (I knew they weren’t right in the SW1 area) so when I spotted a postman I thought ‘Aha’. He obliged & I found the address. Mission accomplished so I went on my merry way back to Kent and got there in time for the midnight movie – breakfast TV was on when I left.  Hmmmm!

I used it on one occasion to find a Post Office, I was walking at the time. The Post Office was in one of them ‘pedestrians only’ areas which is a bit much as them pedestrians already have zebra crossings and stuff. Not deterred, I parked up and took trusty Ken with mith me & started walking. Not wanting to look completely stupid I held it in my hands and talked to it to kid people into thinking I had some really up-market mobile with a screen where I could actually see who I was talking to.

I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere, when I’m driving my fox, without Ken. Not ‘fox’ as in animal you silly ol’ Billy. The Fox is a car made by VW and very nice it is too. I never travel anywhere, no matter what the distance, without Ken & at least 20 fags.

You can choose the voice a TomTom uses.  There’s ‘Jane’ who is posh English & ‘Ken’ (told you there was a reason) – who is Australian. Ken does get things wrong, as I said, but if I’m halfway up the M4 and he says “Skip the foreplay Sheila me Fosters is getting warm” then I’ll be very concerned and get lost.

Does my bum look big in this?

I’ve been browsing through a debate group which, most of the time, is quite a happy little group.  I personally find it better when the debaters disagree and they all start slagging each other off but that’s just me. When I put a comment up on the group I don’t antagonise and keep neutral (sort of) on whatever views are being thrown about. They’re all capable of sharpening their claws and I’d be nothing more than overspill. The debate group is for people who live in or visit a particular seaside town.  The posts & subjects are very varied but the bottom line is that a thread is usually started by someone with something they want to moan about.  A person says the council don’t do enough to keep the place ‘acceptable’ (whatever that might mean) & then someone will comment to say how wonderful the council is and how they do sooooooo well with their limited funds.  I worry about people like that .  People who think a council does well (with it’s limited funds) when it’s public knowledge that said council have spent all the Council Tax dosh on a pot plant for the foyer of their offices really do, as I say, worry me. They’re either unconditionally stupid, totally deranged or married to one of the councillors.  Looking at some of the councillors I’d be inclined to discount the last one.  I digress.  

A member of the group had posted a picture of a cushion type thingy that’s come onto the market & asked for views on it. It’s designed for women who want to change the appearance of their backside. It’s worn under whatever they’re wearing on their bottom half. (No! not their shoes, dickhead). Tut.  Not sure exactly how it’s held firmly in place if they’re wearing one of them thongs (bloody dental floss if you ask me). A good sturdy pair of drawers would probably be the best thing for the job but, if you’re of a mind to wear a cushion stuck to your arse because you think it makes you look sexy then you’re hardly gonna wear a pair of your Nan’s bloomers to keep the thing in place. I can’t imagine what they use but they, no doubt, have found something.  Now, they wanna look sexy. The only reason someone would want to look sexy is to attract the opposite sex (the dreaded male in this case). Have they not thought about the scene once they’ve found the man of their dreams & they’re about to get undressed to get into bed with bloke?

In one of them romantic novels it would read: Harlequin slowly undressed to reveal her perfect body. Devlin gasped & whispered “Darling”. She was magnificent. Her skin was sunkissed and flawless. Her eyes danced in the moonlight (zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!).  Devlin was riveted to the spot……………..it was an experience he wanted every day of his life.

In real life, a story about a woman looking for romance and had a cushion stuck to her arse would probably go something like this:  Tracy started to undress and thought ‘how the f**k am I gonna get out of this one’?  She sent him out to buy some more beers & a packet of fags & to buy her enough time to find some solvent to dislodge the glue. Dave got back. Tracy (minus the cushion) resumed undressing. Dave gasped and whispered “where’s your arse gone”? She looked nothing like she did down the pub. Her skin resembled a pint of semi-skimmed and ‘flawless’ was the understatement of the year. Her eyes were bloodshot from too many WKD’s……………….Dave was glad he was in HER flat and not riveted to the spot. He was like an odds on favourite at Romford dogs as he flew down the road & was grateful he still had the fags and the beer. This wasn’t a dick dipping experience, it was a dick dropping experience and he never wanted another one again – ever.

Harlequin??  Devlin?? – Well, they’ve all got stupid names like that in them romance books. She’s more beautiful than a container load of fifty pound notes, got an IQ of 8 million, works as a highly successful lawyer and has a ‘determined chin’.  He’s a ruthless multi-multi billionaire, so good looking you wouldn’t care if you had to administer Rophynol to get him between the sheets and a ‘big dick’. I know they call it a ‘member’ in them books but I don’t know what club it belongs to.

Tracy??  Dave?? – She’s deffo a ‘twenty pinter, got an IQ of 6, works in Greggs and has ‘a cushion stuck to her arse’.  He’s out of work, got the sort of looks you’d rather forget about if you woke up next to him and an “Aww bless” dick.

There were various comments on the debate about the cushion. Some blamed the glossy magazine pics of Jo-Lo (whoever) & some blamed BMI although what a bloody airline got’s to do with the price of fish I don’t know.

My views on the cushion? I’d definitely wear one if I was going to A&E where you have to sit for hours on hard plastic chairs without……cushions.

SPIES, LIES & MINCE PIES

I’ve managed to insert an avatar (I think, won’t know till I hit ‘Publish Post’). I searched ‘tinternet for something that would stand out or amuse. I found plenty to amuse but as you have to rate them, a bit like they do for films, I thought better of it. There was a pretty good pic of a naked 38 stone man with a Belisha beacon stuck up his posterior – when I say ‘pretty’ I was referring to the quality of the pic rather than the pic itself.  I think the man in the pic was one of those Global Freezing/Save the Planet by reducing your shoe size (or is it carbon footprint? whatever) mob because, apparently he eats 15 tins of baked beans a day & the gas created by said beans, when released, lights up the beacon and therefore saves electrickery. I wonder how many tins of beans I would have to eat to drastically reduce my energy bills??  Back to my chosen avatar. I decided on one that stands out. No, I’m not saying I’m the sort of person that stands out in a crowd but I do when wearing a canary yellow jacket.

You might wonder what all this has to do with Spies, Lies & Mince pies. It has nothing to do with it – I digressed before I actually got to the subject. No matter. 

Now, I love ‘tinternet with all its information. Type anything you like in the search bar & up pops a wealth of info on whatever subject you’ve chosen. For example, type in ‘runny nose’ and you’ll find everything you need to know about it and you can even buy one on eBay.  There’s all them (un)Social Networking sites where people give themselves stupid names like ‘Lady GaGa’ and put up posts about their day or whatever. I put posts up about my day sometimes but I don’t think ‘Sandra Jean’ is a stupid name – it’s MY name. I’m digressing again.  It’s these Social Networking sites that are guilty of my subject.

I look things up (‘Google it’ is the term used I believe) and lo & behold I go onto Farcebook & there’s an advert for whatever I’ve looked up. I was looking up garden furniture and up came an advert for it on Farcebook – how did they know what I’d been ‘googling’? Because they are SPYING. They LIE and tell you you’re not being ‘tracked’ (or whatever). You might be wondering where the ‘mince pies’ come into all this. Cockernee rhyming slang for ‘eyes’ apparently.  I’ll save the subject of rhyming slang for another day.  Even B&Q had the cheek to pop up in the advert column. I say ‘cheek’ because their website is crap. Whoever designed it must have done it for a bet. I once went on their site and typed ‘wooden molding’ in their ‘search this site for’ box. It came back with “No items matching your search. You might be interested in this” – up popped a bloody dishwasher??? 

If you’ve read all this I’m impressed and you are my bestest friend. If you say to anyone “did you read Sandras’ blog” & they say “Nah” then tell ’em to read it, ‘like’ it & stop playing stupid games like Candy Crush Sage but please don’t tell ’em I’ve been stuck on level 65 for weeks!

Blogging Virgin

New to all this blogging malarky but as I’m a paid up member of the Silver Surfers I thought ‘go for it gal’. Hmm! Think I’ll leave it at that & see what happens when I press ‘publish post’.  Haven’t got a clue where it’ll  go but if I can’t find it I’ll assume it’s in cyber space being censored by a ….. cyber?