Crushed and used!

Well, my brothers, it happened. The 11+ exam at the sought after grammar school in Kingston. I queued up with Son, among a million others, in sheer disbelief that I was going through all this shit again. And once again, I had the urge that I had with daughter, to grab him off some caring prefect and run off into the Christmas crowds. Son's pale, Oliver Twist face looked at me as he and several boys were taken off into some building somewhere. Parents not allowed to go any further.

I go into a well-known coffee shop and catch sight of an acquaintance holding court at a table with a load of mothers. I dimly recalled her son was the same age as mine. Good Grief! She was putting her third child through the exam! I'm finding it hard to do it twice! (Her other two didn't get in). I shake my head in disbelief and go by the river for a good wallow and sulk.

A pair of shoes and a Kath Kidston flannel and a Crabtree and Evelyn bath oil later, I go and collect Son near lunchtime. His face red with misery tells me all and my guts cave in.
"Don't say anything," I tell him, resentful because I didn't want to do this fracking thing in the first bloody place. And we walk along with the crowd of other parents, whose kids actually all looked distraught.

But were the parents dying inside like I was? Son wanted to go to Subway but I'm not sure I could cope with being crushed and that shitty smelly place too. I persuade him to go to Patisserie Valerie. I sit at a table and eat scrambled eggs and feel better. Son has some obscene looking ciabatta thing. He begs me not to go back to school.

Just tell everyone you did okay, I suggest. Its none of their business. Just say it went well. Son opens mouth to speak but I put my hand up, don't say anything it says. I'm more angry at myself that all this shit meant so much to me.

We change the subject. I tell him that all the popstars go to the Soho version of this over-priced cafe. Well, Sparks did anyway. I don't bother explaining who they are.

We go home together and make some fudge. It sticks to the fracking pan. Bastards, all of them!

Santa Baby.....

Hi Treasures. Thought I'd get one on here before the Archers, and sardines and boiled egg. (Listen, its my birthday and i'll have what i want!).

The disadvantage of a birthday in December is that you're thinking of presents for someone else eg the kids. So I' thought I'd take time out to give you all a list of the presents I want at Christmas. This'll give you three weeks or so. And please - no underwear like last year! I mean those rubber basques gave me hell in Tescos - and please do not mention those crotchless knickers. So I'd like more practical presents from you this year. The usual address of course. And don't forget the posting deadline, like you did last year.

List:

Lambert & Butler (200)

Superkings Black (not blue) (200)

Bailey's (prefereably from Nettos)

Bunty Annual

Rothmans (200) (Blue not Red, like you got me last year!)

Molton Brown Bath Salts (nicotine flavour)

Jo Malone perfume (Essence of Tobacco)

Balkan Sobranie fags (taste vile but look beautiful)

I urge you NOT to get me that book about letters to your sixteen year old self. Whoever thought that one up? I mean I don't want to be funny or anything but do you really want to read Julia Swahalia's letter to herself? Or Brenda Blethyn's? I mean perhaps I've got this all wrong but it seems a bit of a polly filler thing to me. I wouldn't dream of writing to myself at 16 - I'd get so depressed. So please please do not send me that frackin thing. Nor one of those little books on Wisdom that line the tills of Waterstones. What a load of old shit.

I hope this is okay. Now what would my lovely pals want?

Stir-up Tuesday

According to the Archers and My Weekly, you should have made your christmas pudding last Sunday. Advent and all that. But what happens if you can't stand all that shit! That inedible load of dark fruit that you need a machete to get through? And as for brandy butter, don't get me started.... What is that all about? You don't even get sixpences in them any more! The only good bit is when they catch fire! Sadly, it doesn't burn very long. Not long enough for me anyway.

However, the creative side of me (as opposed to the smoking side) wanted to stir up something. And Sunday I was sitting in traffic in the pissing rain trying to get to my mum's. (And don't think she appreciated it because she didn't!) so thought I'd stir up something on Tuesday.

Did a Christmas cake didn't I. Put loads of Tesco Value Brandy in it. And tonight its sausage rolls and mince pies. And tomorrow its orange slices covered in Orris Root and dried out in the oven. (Don't ask me what that one's all about!). I wonder why Christmas brings out the creativity in people. Especially me. This is valuable fag time.

Birthday this Friday. Had coffee with a mate yesterday, one today and due another on thursday and friday. I don't mind having dalliances with outside-world people but I can't do anything else. It buggers up the rest of the day. AND you can't smoke in any of these places! As Dennis Leary said: the reason man invented coffee was that you could smoke even more.

Got a bastard of a head. Its either Jeremy Vine or too much Starbucks. Whatever do they put in all that shit? Time for a fag

The Laptop Affair

Sweeties, lovies, once again the treachery of fate has taken me away from the only friends I have ever known. The small crumbs of comfort I have ever been able to pick up from the cold floor. The only.... oh alright, I'll tell you. There have been laptop issues - or baggage as my mate would say.

A stork is bringing a new one. Why can't that bloody Dell have a frackin' shop? Its alright for them looking smug on their advert - lease out a premises, mates, and put a sign on the window. Never did PC world any harm!

So am furtively on this one (Husband's) for now. Bloody pain in the arse.

There was also the Thumb Affair. Bloody breaking Pistachio nuts with me thumbs, suddenly got this terrible and evil pain go through one of them. Bastard was throbbing all last week. I was this close to going to Casualty. NOT that anyone in this bloody house cared! But I am used to lack of emotion and love. Grown up with it.

Anyway, was on the verge of going, then the bloody pain lessened. Just like Rosemary's Baby - spooky!

Got my Christmas booze in. Tesco Value brandy and Tesco Imperial vodka (the small size), this'll do me. Husband has sneered at their cheapness but I bet if he had to put HIS hand in his pocket - well!

My one xmas outing that I'm really looking forward to is : "Its a Wonderful Life" with James Stewart is on at the Richmond Curzon over christmas. Have always wanted to see that on the big screen. Will be first in that queue. Who wants to come? It can be our little seasonal outing. Bit like an office party if you will. I'll bring the fags - hope everyone likes Caption of Strength. Couple of you can bring some Baileys (supermarket brand of course) and someone else can bring the sweets. Let me know when's a good time

Turmoil!

Been up Richmond, haven't I. The one in Surrey. What a one horse town! I mean, don't get me wrong, if its culture you're after then you're laughing all the way to the - er - programme seller but otherwise what a load of old shit. Anyway it was the scene of a dilema, o brothers.

Had five minutes between Snappy Snaps and Robert Dyas. And had to choose between getting strawberries for the kids (from Waitrose) or a fag by the car park. Oh it was agony! Which one was it to be? I was torn in half, o my brothers, quite literally torn in half.

It was like one of those On the Road films with Bob Hope and Bing Crosby where a little old lady with a harp is on one of Bob Hopes' shoulder and a devil is on the other. And he can't decide what to do! The old lady sternly told me I cannot fob off the kids with a chocolate cookie for dessert again, it was time for fresh fruit! Meanwhile old Nick was tellin me the joys of inhaling that smoke by the A316. I was broken, brothers, just broken.

I like to think I eventually made the fair and right decision. And anyway Waitrose fruit is a complete rip-off.

Had to really smoke a lot this morning. It was Victorian day for year 6 and Son was going as a chimney sweep and was desperate for ash to put on his face. Well, I was happy to oblige. I told you smoking is good for you!

Eye of the Tiger !

A quick burst on here today, brothers, between fags. Because its that time of year again, isn't it. At least for Son anyway. Its the frackin' bloody 11+ exam. The one where millions of kids try to all get in one school.

Daughter went through this shit and didn't get in. In fact, she bombed it. And yes, loads and loads of heartbreak followed. In fact, it was that that got me blogging and everything. I needed to tell people. But thats all behind us now and she goes to a super girls school down the road and that. So when Son came up for secondary school, we did not want to go through all that shit again and planned to put him down for the comprehensive where all his mates are going. I mean they have sport and maths and shit, don't they? I wanted an easier ride this time.

But oh no, Son wanted to try and get into that bloody school, didn't he. That unobtainable building six miles away. And Stupid here listened to all the advice - it would be a lot crueller if you didn't let him take it, you shouldn't deny him the experience - I should have said Bollocks but didn't. Got on the phone to Daughter's old tutor and it all went from there.

But even then, it seemed safely far away. But not now! Early December in fact. Oh Bloody hell! He won't get in! Unless they have a special exam for kids who do no bloody work - he will never do it. And I'm gonna go through this heartbreak again!

And it does matter, you know. You can tell yourself what you bloody well like - it does matter!

As Liza Minnelli once said about the Oscars - when they're opening that golden envelope, it matters!

Have ordered a hundred fags from Fatso to be collected on that date. That woke the old git up I tell you! And have booked a triple cappaccino from the nearest outlet.

This is a vital time. Why won't he do any work? Why can't it be like Rocky 2 where the wife in hospital tells Rocky she wants him to win? And he goes out training in Philledelphia and all these kids follow him up the stairs and that? Why can't that happen with Son? (Bloody good film that!)

Well thats it. Time for my fag - and my hands are throbbing..

Cutting Edge!

Applause!

Welcome to our alternative poetry readings. live from the Avant Garde Club.

Now I know you've all come tonight to hear Fatso's new anthology "No Superkings, sorry" - (perhaps his most brutal work of all) but let me introduce our newest and freshest warm-up poet - Jenny Smith

(polite applause amid murmers "but I wanted to see Fatso!" and "I hope he doesn't fall asleep this time!")

JS clears throat:

"This is my most radical piece to date:

Half-term! What a load of shit that is!
Its not even christmas. Or Easter.
And the kids get on your tits
And they hog the laptop all the time
if you're not driving 'em to sleepovers that is!

And don't get me started on Halloween...!

(Sounds of "boos" start to erupt dangerously amid murmers of "doesnt' even rhyme" and
"where's the irony? thats what I want to know...")

Look! Its a work in progress, okay?

When the hell is it Monday?
When I can get rid of the bloody lot of them
Daughter says she's got a sore throat
well, I tell you, she's bloody going.......

Ow! No, stop it! Hey! Thats not very ladylike!
(tomatos and paper cups are being thrown now)

"Fatso! Fatso! Bring on Fatso! Get off, you talentless waste of space!
AND you're not allowed to smoke in here!"

Well, sod it then. Did Philip Larkin ever have this trouble, I wonder.