Wednesday 27th April 2016
Snow and hail. In April. Fuck off!
Shane says snow in April isn’t that unusual and he doesn’t know why folk are fussing about it. It’ll soon pass. This from the man who viewed the snowy landscape we woke up to yesterday morning as a personal insult. Honestly. I thought he was going to get on his private line to God and tear him off a strip for not controlling the weather.
I’ve been plagued by eczema lately, it’s driving me nuts. I haven’t had eczema since I was knee high to a pork scratching. I blame my meds, but then I blame my meds for everything from the recent shortage of McVitie’s ginger nuts to bad weather in the Atlantic Ocean. Actually I blame Penny. It started not long after her Easter visit. To be fair, I didn’t see a lot of the Birmingham Trio. I didn’t see a lot of anyone over Easter. I cunningly hired a virus to attack me so I could escape having to socialise with Penny and the Papa. Sadly, it proved to be a bit overenthusiastic in its interpretation of the brief. I was thinking along the lines of a mild cold. It came at me all guns blazing and smote me with a full on attack of gastroenteritis. It started on Good Friday. I thought I was going to shit and sick myself to death. It was horrible. It’s no joke spewing and spurting from both ends for hour after hour. Talk about the long Good Friday. I didn’t get to enjoy a nice Easter Feast. Just the thought of food made my stomach try to force its way up my gullet and out of my gob. When I did feel better I was really looking forward to a light meal of soup, until I saw it. It was asparagus. It looked like green bile in a bowl and pretty much like I’d been bringing up during the bug onslaught. It set me off again. I was pretty cross with Dick, seeing as he was the one who brought me it. I accused him of gross insensitivity. He accused me of being an ungrateful little bastard.
Anyway, the real purpose of this visit is to check in and say hello, as I know from emails that some of you have been concerned by my lack of gob shiteness lately. You’re all so kind. Worry ye not. I’m fine. If ever I cease to be then Shane has promised to post a bitchery, or should that be obituary? It depends on Shane’s mood and whether I inconveniently die while in the middle of making his dinner.
As someone mentioned, I’ve been chuntering nonsense for the best part of a decade and you know it does get harder to maintain the interest and the flow. Life gets in the way with one thing and another. I’m not giving up on the diary as such and I do intend to finish Revs. I can’t give a set date because I just don’t work to a schedule. I have other things to do, domestic perfection to achieve, daytime telly to watch, hired gardeners to annoy. I will stick my neck out and say sometime this year for Revs.
Must go. I left the radio on in the kitchen and a Rufus Wainwright song is playing. I’ll have to turn it off before his high-pitched nasal whining causes blood vessels in my head to explode. I don’t want brain fragments shooting from my nostrils. They’ll spoil the paintwork on the walls. Ciao for now, Peeps.
May
Snow and hail. In April. Fuck off!
Shane says snow in April isn’t that unusual and he doesn’t know why folk are fussing about it. It’ll soon pass. This from the man who viewed the snowy landscape we woke up to yesterday morning as a personal insult. Honestly. I thought he was going to get on his private line to God and tear him off a strip for not controlling the weather.
I’ve been plagued by eczema lately, it’s driving me nuts. I haven’t had eczema since I was knee high to a pork scratching. I blame my meds, but then I blame my meds for everything from the recent shortage of McVitie’s ginger nuts to bad weather in the Atlantic Ocean. Actually I blame Penny. It started not long after her Easter visit. To be fair, I didn’t see a lot of the Birmingham Trio. I didn’t see a lot of anyone over Easter. I cunningly hired a virus to attack me so I could escape having to socialise with Penny and the Papa. Sadly, it proved to be a bit overenthusiastic in its interpretation of the brief. I was thinking along the lines of a mild cold. It came at me all guns blazing and smote me with a full on attack of gastroenteritis. It started on Good Friday. I thought I was going to shit and sick myself to death. It was horrible. It’s no joke spewing and spurting from both ends for hour after hour. Talk about the long Good Friday. I didn’t get to enjoy a nice Easter Feast. Just the thought of food made my stomach try to force its way up my gullet and out of my gob. When I did feel better I was really looking forward to a light meal of soup, until I saw it. It was asparagus. It looked like green bile in a bowl and pretty much like I’d been bringing up during the bug onslaught. It set me off again. I was pretty cross with Dick, seeing as he was the one who brought me it. I accused him of gross insensitivity. He accused me of being an ungrateful little bastard.
Anyway, the real purpose of this visit is to check in and say hello, as I know from emails that some of you have been concerned by my lack of gob shiteness lately. You’re all so kind. Worry ye not. I’m fine. If ever I cease to be then Shane has promised to post a bitchery, or should that be obituary? It depends on Shane’s mood and whether I inconveniently die while in the middle of making his dinner.
As someone mentioned, I’ve been chuntering nonsense for the best part of a decade and you know it does get harder to maintain the interest and the flow. Life gets in the way with one thing and another. I’m not giving up on the diary as such and I do intend to finish Revs. I can’t give a set date because I just don’t work to a schedule. I have other things to do, domestic perfection to achieve, daytime telly to watch, hired gardeners to annoy. I will stick my neck out and say sometime this year for Revs.
Must go. I left the radio on in the kitchen and a Rufus Wainwright song is playing. I’ll have to turn it off before his high-pitched nasal whining causes blood vessels in my head to explode. I don’t want brain fragments shooting from my nostrils. They’ll spoil the paintwork on the walls. Ciao for now, Peeps.
May