Meanwhile, back at the coalface...

Work has been lurking around again, oh my brothers, a sword of Damocles hanging over my head.

This time it was in the form of invigilating at Daughter's school. Year 11's English Literature "O" level - or whatever fancy name they're giving themselves these days ! And do you know what, kids are given the book they are studying, along with their exam papers! Good grief! Why don't we just get our breasts out and wet-nurse them while we're at it!

My English lit exam would have been marked null and void if I'd had carried in my Wuthering Heights in with me, I tell you. You had to study the thing and know about it by the time you put pen to paper. You weren't allowed to pick up and study the bloody thing in exam time!

And I tell you what else isn't fair! They were studying "Catcher in the Rye". I love that bloody book! Why couldn't I have studied that one! Bastards! Wanted to pick one of the copies up and read it then and there. If a kid complained, I'd tell her to use her memory and brain, and if she'd done proper revision, she wouldn't have needed the bloody thing would she? And then slap the bitch and tell her to shut up.

However, o my brothers, as you have probably gathered, this is all Big Talk. The cheif invigilators, ie mums like me, are completely terrifying, and almost screechingly pedantic. I would not dare speak up in this way. I had to keep my notions of cossetted kids to my oddy-knocky.

This cheif invigilator - Marguerette - as it happens, was actually alright. A bit pinickety but actually not that megolmaniac - yet. But her number two - oh yes, there is always a number two - was not dissimilar to Gareth in The Office.

Whenever number One sat down (which is actually a bit cheeky), so did number Two. Until me and this bloke glared at her. And the minute number One walked down an aisle, number Two immediately took her place under the clock. It was almost hilarious, if my bloody feet didn't ache so much!

And then number One asked me to gather up all the books (CitR AND Mice and Men! Its not fair!) and leave them in the room for the afternooon exam. Which me, being number Six (I am not a number, I am a free man!) was happy to do. I don't mind that sort of shit. THEN Gareth said they should be moved onto the bench, rather than on the table. Well, I ignored the bitch and rolled my eyes at the bemused bloke. Isn't life really rather too short?

Do you know the most frightening thing? Neither number One nor number Two had read either of those books? The majority of parents at Daughter's school are university educated. Twice the education I have had. And these bastards do not know great literature. I mean a mother the other day, quite middle class and everything, had not heard of The Monkey's Paw! Still, at least this bloke invigilator had, so that brought some comfort.

Don't think I'm gonna last long at this one.

Some pictures what I took

Took this at my local park this morning. Poor cow must be dying for a fag!

Remorse!

Feel so bad about slagging Julie Andrews off like that. I have mellowed and calmed down, and am loyal to JA again. I realise life is too short - and that Front Row said there was no chance of getting your money back. Will live with What Might Have Been.

Would you believe I've got to stay in all day? To await a package. And do you know what this frackin' package is? Lady Ga-Ga tickets! I mean for Fracks sake! I'm not even going to see the bitch. Its for Husband and kids.

I mean I've waited in for many a thing (see my post: Great packages I have waited in for!), Daughter's phone, a mattress from Dreams - but poxy concert tickets? Why couldn't they have come through the post like my Julie Andrews tickets? Never did her any harm, Royal Mail, did it? But oh no, that would be too simple, wouldn't it. Its from a second party or some such shit. Stopped listening by then. It was time for my fag.

Bollocks! Anyone got a light?

My Night Out With Julie Andrews

Julie Andrews is so on my Bastard List. Do you know how much that hurts, o my brothers? Fraulein Maria. That wonderful woman on the big screen, singing aloud to the green hills and that? The last person I thought would ever get there.

But I think that after saturday's concert, the people from Walton on Thames should hang their heads in shame, I really do. So should the 02 arena! What a dreadful place that is! Makes the Barbican look attractive. And at £85 a ticket, why the hell was I seated up in the Gods, looking straight through a bloody safety-bar! And why, oh why, did the performance start 30 minutes late, when we were told by email that Julie started strictly at 7.30? Oh, did I let those bastards have it this morning! Such tardiness was inexcusable. And how much money do they want to screw out of people! Gits.

The sad thing being if Julie Andrews had actually sung, if she had delivered what she led us to believe she would, £85 and a £12 programme and the tube fare would have been cheap at half the price. She is - WAS - my idol after all.

But no, five cheesy "friends" she hauled on stage to sing the songs for her. One cheesy hour of boredom - except when she sang Do Rei Me at the end of the first act. Was so glad that was the last song I heard from her as I got the hell out of there. Unlikely too that I would ever see her again.

I was initially thrilled on saturday night to be in the same room as Maria from that film my mum took me to see when I was 10 years old. That life-changing, iconic film from where I cried and cried in my bed that I could not be one of those Von Trapps. But this all fell flat, o' my brothers. Mainly by Julie getting on five cheesy "friends" of hers to sing what I thought was an odd array of songs in the first place.

And then the second half was to perform the children's book she had written with her daughter: well, I and many others got the hell out of there at the interval. Plug your bloody book somewhere else, Love!

The hills are no longer alive. Certainly not around North Greenwich station anyway.

Husband and kids are going to see Lady Ga-Ga at that dreadful place. At least the bitch will sing.

The Grocer

Good grief, o'my brothers, what is all this umm-ing and ah-ing? I come down for my fag and coffee at 6.30 and switch on radio 4, fully expecting that John Humphries to tell me who is prime minister, and the stupid sod doesn't know! Well, really , this is not good enough!

Although I laughed at Husband staying up to watch the election while I snuggled down at 10.30, there has been many a time when I have awoken on the sofa in the early and mid eighties. After a night of vote counting and gains and that. And I didn't take the next day off work like wimpy Husband had done. It was a quick change of underwear, a fag and straight back into the jungle! Margaret Thatcher would have been proud!

Daughter (14) asked me who was prime minister now, on the way to school. I recall asking that question myself to my mother in 1970 when I was 11. The difference being that she could give me a straight answer . Conservative, she told me, a nice surprise apparently.
I remember being glad that I wasn't going to see that stupid Harold Wilson and his pipe very much now. Or listen to that Andy Capp type voice - or see his wife Mary. I don't know why she annoyed me so much really.

My mum, despite being a true blue, and although pleased Conservative had got in, really hated Edward Heath and her, and many others, called him a Traitor. I was always confused at this, as when we went to the Conservative Club (cheap beer and a colour telly!), there was a big photograph of him. Why would that be there when they hated him so much?

And I remember him getting red paint thrown on him. And the very few working mothers of schoolfriends constantly being on strike. And don't get me started about the miner's strike and those bloody blackouts..... I've still got the scar on my hand where I burnt it on a candle. Thanks for that!

But at least you knew who the leaders were! When I closed my eyes during that TV debate thing, I couldn't distinguish between Cameron or Clegg and which one was talking. I could Gordon Brown 'cos he had a Scottish accent. But that was all!

How did I get on to this shit? Must be time for a fag.

Went to vote last night only to find there was no Smoking party! How was that then? Think I'll have to start one, can someone lend me the deposit tho'?

Sort of Rainy Monday

They're off again! These bloody schools! Is it worth them going at all? AND Son is off Thursday 'cos his school is a polling station. Well, so what? So is Daughter's Secondary school but they still go there! Can't this dreadful insititution cope with people coming in with cards and putting 'em in boxes and that? Can't they just not have assembly that day? Half-wits! Ten more weeks and we're out of that place! Mind you, Son's new secondary school apparently shuts for any reason at all!

Went to see the film Life During Wartime yesterday. Don't ask me what it was about, just wanted to get out of the house. A sequel to Happiness - which I did actually enjoy 'cos it was about people even more miserable than me! And who had it much worse! Always cheers me up that one!

Having a drink by some pub or other in Richmond before the film. Outside of course so I could smoke a fag. The bloody Thames rose up and started lapping at our feet! Had to paddle to get to the cinema. Had to dry my bloody pop socks out during the film. And a duck was looking at me funny! Don't trust those bastards!

Thats about it really. Ultra-miserable today. Husbands' taking Son to see Ironman2 later so at least I'll get a bit of peace! Mind you, Daughter can give me earache when she wants.

Only got six fags. Might end it all.