Saturday, 29 August 2009

Out in the Cold

Forgive me, my brothers, for once again straying. But it was not my fault. They have stripped me and abused me and taken the only thing of value I possess. Shame overcomes me and I shake as I tell you, my brothers but I am now off-line. Oh cruel, cruel. And those nasty Virgin people cannot come till next Tuesday, O my brothers and only friends, I am forced to make a life for myself in that nasty and cruel Outside World.

I dragged myself into the heartless High Street, wincing against the snow, rags on my back, my stomach empty, my soul barren, and crawled up the steps of the Dispensary. I begged them to take pity and asked if they could spare some vitalls and some cutter. They got the supervisor: She was harsh and cruel, Readers:
"Look Mrs Smith," the old bag said, " I have told you, you need to book in advance for a terminal. And you are not Alex de Large, you are not dressed in rags and my colleague saw you stuffing a Big Mac by the river an hour ago, you greedy cow!" I shivered and begged for mercy. And assured her, tho' my skirt was from Gerry Weber, it was purchased in a sale. She was unimpressed. She heartlessly continued:

"And incidentally, it is 27 degrees outside and we are a public library. If you call us the St Vincents Dispensary again, the council will sue! You are not Frank McCourt and this is not Angela's Ashes - which by the way, I think is very overrated!"
Not enough bodice ripping in it for you? I suggested meekly.
She went a funny colour. And really, such a barrage of bad language followed. And from a Vicar's wife too!
You see the conditions I have to put up with.

My life is like a large and open void. I am friendless, fruitless, miserable. And I've only got an hour on here! And most painful and humiliating of all is that I can't bloody smoke! Oh my brothers..........

Thursday, 20 August 2009

Forgive me, o brothers and only friends, your humble narrator has strayed and gone over to The other side - the Outside World. And such a wicked cruel place it was too.

Eight months this house selling business has been going on. Decided this week I could not Go On. Put my head in the oven and waited - before realising we were electric. (I know, thats an old one), asked Fatso if he had any arsenic - and would he like to come on this journey with me. I would take comfort from dying with Fatso. The fat Git woke up abruptly and offered me the only ware he could in the circumstances. Extra strong Annadin.

Mind you, they say you look bloody terrible after swallowing arsenic and other poisons. They burn your insides and you go all blue and that. Not serene looking like Snow White and that. And I'm already two stone overweight and lardy, I don't want to look any worse.

My mate's got one of those big paddling pools, quite deep. Considered putting my head under but they say drowing is an awful way to go, your lungs burst and it hurts and that.

I considered running to the kids for support. And in my head, I knew what they'd say to their poor mother - Good Riddance, daughter would say. Sod off, son would say, now we can get a decent stepmother who won't stink of fags and hold us back. And don't expect us to come to the funeral either. Except to dance on your grave! By the way, we want money for Westfield.

The little buggers! It seemed the whole world was against me. I ran to the Cat for comfort and that furry featured little cow just bit me!

Today, drawin on my Polish fag, trying to find a huge building in my A-Z to jump off, Husband texted. We have now exchanged contracts, it said. The sun came out.

Off to a wedding in Holland tomorrow. And even tho' I'm down to my last £100 - I'm having a Beano in Duty Free!

Thursday, 6 August 2009

Lovies, Treasures.......

Thank you for such lovely and supportive comments on my last post. Unfortunately I was legging it to Eastern Europe at the time. Thought it easier to start a new post. Bless you all!

Well, for Frack's sake, Poland went on my Bastard list before I even got there! They've only joined the bloody EU haven't they. That means no duty-free fags or booze within EU countries! Oh, you can buy all their tarty bloody trinkets and perfume and that but no important things! Who the bloody hell does that benefit? Am getting on to my bloody MP about this shit. Vincent Cable - he's always lurking round Twickenham, mouthing off and making a bloody nuisance of himself. This time the idle bastard can do some work. I'm getting that banned for a start.

And what was Poland thinking of? The bloody EU? I had a go at the sods, I tell you.

Camp young man at the till in duty free was sympathetic. Try not to think about your cigarettes, he soothed. Despite my glowering, I was touched by his kindness.

Poland began to redeem itself when we arrived in Warsaw and booked into this super hotel. It had remained standing all through the war, not bombed or anything. Of course it is quite Americanised now but was still impressed. Not impressed with the Zloty though. When I was last in Cracow, it was 20,000 Zloty to the pound. Now its only 5. They need to be saved from themselves, I tell you.

The first afternoon in Warsaw - 32 degrees - we walked the 8 km (5 miles) round what was once the Jewish ghetto wall. There is scarcely anything left of it. But there were still some traces of how these poor people must have lived - so walled away and persecuted like that. And there was a very big momument to the Jewish people but the most moving one was the one where the station used to be and where so many families got on the train to Austwitz and their terrible fate.

A lot of post war appartments were built on the rubble of the ghetto and they were raised very high. I was surprised how leafy the streets were. Almost pretty. I mean I think i expected something grim. Why should it have been though.

Collapsed back at the hotel. Cherry vodka for me and Polish lager for Husband. My flesh scorched by the sun, the skin falling off my feet, my head dazed and confused from another culture and language. I could not begin to know what terror and trauma those people went through before meeting a terrible end. Hopefully I never will. But at least I'd made the effort to try.......

Tune in to part two where I get pissed on cherry vodka and we meet a handsome young Pole called Poiter (an ideal candidate for my gay mate over here) and I buy Polish fags from a kiosk.