Friday 3rd April 2015
It might be Good Friday in name, but it isn’t in nature, not in our neck of the woods. Easter has been cancelled, or at least the Easter we had planned. Shane’s niece Ruby was supposed to be staying for the holiday, but her mother called this morning to say she’s poorly with a severe case of tonsillitis. Poor kid, no choccy eggs for her this Easter. I was looking forward to her coming, not least because Shane’s sister, poison Pen, wasn’t part of the package, as she usually is. She and The Muppet are off to Malta for the spring break, taking her father with them. It was going to be Ruby’s first solo visit. Her parents are disappointed too. They were looking forward to a weekend alone.
Ruby is a spoilt little madam, but I still quite like her, and, despite Pen’s best efforts, she seems to like me. Uncles Shane and Dick soon quell her brattish tendencies, much as they do with me. Shane just has to give her a certain look and she behaves immediately. Any naughtiness on her part when she’s with us is my fault, so it’s claimed anyway. Apparently I wind her up and get her overexcited. I don’t know when to say no to her. It’s hard to say no to someone who repeats your name over and over again while swinging on your hand. The moment she sets eyes on me, it’s like she’s had fresh Duracell batteries put in. There's no stopping her.
Gilli, Gilli, let’s dance, play, sing, Gilli, Gilli, take me to the park to do dangerous things on the apparatus, let’s shop, bounce on the beds, slide down the hall in our socks, hide from nanny Penny, etc…
We were planning on taking her to Alton Towers. Shane wanted to take her somewhere more educational, but I was having none of it. Kids get enough education at school. They need to do fun things during the holidays. Besides, her lone visit was the perfect excuse for me to get my unadventurous two anywhere near a theme park. Maybe we can still go? Fat chance.
Ah, well, it’ll be a restful Easter if nothing else, and at least I’ll have plenty of chocolate eggs to break open on Sunday. I’d bought a good selection in anticipation of the Rube’s visit. Hark, is that Penny’s voice I hear, cups hand to right lug…
'How many times must I tell you, don’t you dare call her Rube, it’s so vulgar. Her name is Ruby.'
Yeah, whatever, Penny, whatever!
Better be off. I’ve got fish to fry, it being Good Fryday and all.
Happy Easter/Passover/Spring, folks, hope it’s a good one, wherever you are.
Friday 17th April 2015
Self and Alpha Papa have not been Feng Shui of late, we are not one with each other. It’s the looming General Election’s fault. It’s brought politics to the forefront of everyday life and if there is one thing guaranteed to set self and Sir at odds, and each other’s throats, it’s politics. I despise politicians, all of them, regardless of whatever Party colours they hide their self-serving, cowardly greed behind. I haven’t got a clue what despicable scumbag to vote for. In fact, I don’t want to vote at all, it’s like turning traitor against your own class. There’s not one politician in Parliament at the moment that truly represents the ordinary and especially the poorer folk of this country. They’re all from the same privileged background, from the same schools and colleges and they use their positions to line their already well feathered nests, while condemning, vilifying and penalising those who have bugger all to begin with. Some of those oily twats claim expenses for the biscuits they buy to go with their morning cuppa while denying benefits to some of the most vulnerable people in our society. They claim for second homes, fiddle their taxes, and some of them fiddle with kiddies and get away with it. I’d like to take a flamethrower and clear out Parliament like the rats nest it is. It’s nothing but a corrupt club for rich businessmen and women.
Whew<takes a deep breath>I’ll have to go for a lie down if I don’t calm down. See, it’s my ranting that pushes Shane’s buttons. He says it’s possible to disagree over politics without resorting to yelling, insults, spurious accusations and rants. Is it fuck! Not for me anyway.
As Shane pointed out, if you don’t vote then you don’t have the right to whine and complain about the government that does get elected. Honest, I’m having sleepless nights over what dishonest creep to vote for. I feel like defacing my ballot paper by way of protest, but apparently you can get arrested for such an act. I don’t fancy a stint in prison. I’m too pretty. Plus, I’d have to face Shane when I came out. My bottom would suffer all ways.
Poor Dick is caught between us, and not in a way he finds pleasing. He finally cracked the other night after Shane and I started bickering in the wake of a party political broadcast by the lying toe rag, let’s crucify the poor and sick, Conservative Party. Bastards by any other name! Getting calmly to his feet, he switched off the telly, stood in front of it, folded his arms and said in his poshest voice: ‘if the pair of you don’t stop arguing and snarling, then I’m fucking moving out and booking into a fucking hotel until this fucking election is over and done with. I’m going for a walk. You can tear each other to bits when I’m gone.’ Then he strode out of the room.
Well, it was a measure of how mad he was that he went for a walk. He never goes for a walk, not voluntarily. He’s a car man not a shanks pony man. The streets around the quasi mansion seldom see his tall, lean frame pounding the pavements. Granted, he didn’t stay out long, about ten minutes. It was a cold night and he didn’t take a jacket. He doesn’t like being cold does Dick. Still, he made his point.
Politics are now out of bounds in our house, at least for me. I’m banned from anything remotely to do with the election, at least when the men folk are in residence, as apparently I’m too immature to watch, listen and debate in a reasonable manner. It’s true, I suppose. I just have to see the shiny, bloated face of an insidious politician loom on screen and my blood pressure shoots up the scale, forcing my gob to spring open. I accused Nicola Sturgeon of witchcraft the other night. I mean how else could such a horrible woman get people to vote for her and her nasty divisive brand of politics? Still, I suppose it was a bit over the top.
Roll on May 7th, eh? Let’s get this debacle over with. Well, I’m off over to Eileen’s now. I need a calming cup of coffee and a nice slice of cake after that rant on behalf of the pissed off, never trust a politician, houseboy party.
Saturday 18th April 2015
Last night, after dinner, the dominant ones announced their intention to have a sail away day with Leo at first tide this morning. Frankly, I was most put out. I was hoping we could take advantage of the recent spell of fine spring weather and have a day out cycling together. We haven’t been out on our bikes so far this year. But no, they decide to bugger off with Captain Pugwash, leaving me abandoned on the quayside. They’ll come home this evening all windblown and tousled, expecting a nice dinner to be set before them. I did have a bit of a moan about it to Dick, but he said staying home alone was my choice and if I wanted I could join them. My boxy, unsexy, sunglasses would protect my eyes from the deadly sparkle of sun on water, or I could stay below deck and relax. It’s easy for him to say. Relax indeed? How can you relax when there’s only a thin layer of wood separating your arse, and the rest of you, from the deep, deadly ocean and Davy Jones Locker? Pissing about on boats is my idea of hell. I’d sooner have a homophobic skinhead forcibly piss down my throat than voluntarily piss about on a fucking boat all day.
So, the day stretches ahead for this sulky brat (the men folks’ description, not mine.) I could still go out for a bike ride, or I could stay in and tackle the stink that’s been coming from the kitchen plughole the last few days. I’ve had bleach and disinfectant down it, but nothing seems to eradicate the rotten egg odour completely. Even Shane commented on the smell this morning, shortly before running away to sea. I told him his nose was too close to his arse. (Lie Detector says NO!) Of course I didn’t. He was eyeballing me with one of his ‘don’t fucking push me, boy,’ looks. I didn’t want to spend the day alone, but nor did I want to spend it with only a sore bum for company.
I’m off now. I’ll de-stink the kitchen plughole and then nip out for a bike ride. I’ll treat myself to a nice lunch somewhere, and put it on the household account. Ciao for now, Peeps!