Monday, 26 April 2010

Gloomy Monday

My brothers, your humble narrator is despondent today.

Tried to write my frackin book. Couldn't get anywhere. And neither smoking, strong coffee or the cat could pull me through this. Why is God punishing me? Is it because I haven't been to church for 3 weeks? Well, if it is, then please stop the Vicar from doing christenings during the service then! Do 'em Sunday afternoons once a month like the old Vicar did! Like my own kids had! Do you know what a nightmare that is? Havin 4 brats christened before Communion?
Godparents hovering uncomfortably while the guests take up all the regular seats? Keep it to yourselves, loves!

Anyway, I digress. My motives are sincere for writing this book. I wanna make a fast buck so I can get out of this shithole! My feelings have not changed, o my brothers. But my fingers and mind remain stiff and unmoving.

I've run out of fags! Could things really get any worse? Actually they could, got a pain under my armpit!

Monday, 19 April 2010

You Shall Go To The Ball

What a hard weekend it has been, o my brothers. Saturday going to a friend's house in Fleet for lunch. And drinking. And smoking. Well, I closed my eyes and kept a stiff upper lip as I forced myself to do all three of these things. It wasn't easy, my only friends, it really wasn't.

Then Sunday, off to my ultra-insensitive mothers, another round of drinking (coke), smoking and a huge Sunday lunch. I prayed for strength that morning, I can tell you.

Then nightime comes around and I was forced to go and see Georgie Fame in a one-off concert up the road in the big stadium. I went on my own-ie as it seems I have no real friends - except you o my brothers.

What a brilliant man he was! And his two wonderful sons. Did all the stuff: Yeh, Yeh and Gotta Go (or something) and Bonnie & Clyde. I can still see him doing that one on Top of the Pops! (I know! I know!).

Made friends with two gay guys sitting next to me. Had a drink and a fag outside. "Can't believe you came on your own!", one kept saying. Despite my fog of lager and smoke, I wished he would keep his voice down.

Said they would invite me to an exhibition at their house in Fulham. But I don't know how long this friendship will last.

Back to ironing and washing tonight for old Cinderella here. Then sleeping in the old fireplace I expect. Never mind, perhaps the Fairy Godmother will come back next Saturday - eh?

Thursday, 15 April 2010


Ultra quick one today, o'my brothers. More important than fags - no, this is not a misprint - is the Archers at 2 o'clock. And I think there's a good play after. Couldn't tell you what tho', as i've forgotten.

There was a good one yesterday on Albert Speer. During his 20 year prison sentence at Spandau, he went around the world in his head. Now, if that had been me, I would have been truly fracked. I've hardly ever been abroad. Mind you, I've been to Clacton on Sea a few times, but even then not for years.

A few years ago, when a book about Albert Speer was out, my daughter being a toddler then and liking books herself, I went in Waterstones to buy Husband Albert's book for his birthday. Not being able to resist getting one for my little angel, I put Speer's book on the counter along with Miffy Cleans Her Teeth or something. How me and the cashier laughed. And I said:
"Albert Speer, Hello Magazine, they're all the same to me."
How we guffawed.

Well, I suppose you had to be there really

Bloody Hell! Fag AND the Archers! ta-ta

Thursday, 8 April 2010

Bloody Kids!

Well, my brothers, the rot has truly set in. The long Easter break is taking its toll. And there's another bloody week to go yet!

Daughter (13) gave it to me straight this morning! I awoke her at the crack of dawn (a quarter to nine), the sun streaming in, and reminded her we were going shopping at Kingston today. Well, that was it! What a tongue-lashing Yours Truly received. "You're such a bad mother!" was one of them, I think. "Why am I never allowed to sleep?" was another.

My little girl. In the thick of adolesence. Going through that horrible gangly awkward phase that I remember so razor-sharply, o my brothers. I treated her torment with consideration and sensitivity. I shut the door on the little cow and went downstairs for a fag. Bollocks to her!
Went by me bloody self! Bought some black trousers!

Then Son. In the front room. Television blasting, him covered in a blanket, watching in that dead-eyed fashion youngsters do. A crushed packet of crisps by his side. How I hate this Homer Simpson thing that he does, o' my brothers. That Bill Clinton was spot on! How I would love to see a little John-Boy Walton out there, enjoying this sudden burst of sunshine.

I wouldn't mind but he's only 11! He's not even in adolesence yet! At least Daughter has an excuse!

Mum sounded very humble on the phone. So she bloody should! But its too late. She's not getting another tablecloth out of me! Rather make it for my mother-in-law! Yes, thats how bad it is!

Time for fag .