Wednesday 4th January 2017

Another year stretches ahead and who knows what it will bring! Trump will be sworn in as President of the USA (gulp) and we can only hope that in reality he has more kindness and humanity than his behaviour has so far hinted at. Brexit still isn’t sorted and we in Old Blighty are being ground under the heel of one of the most oppressive governments in living memory, comprised of men and women who see the poor and vulnerable as people to be punished more and more for daring to exist. The NHS is in danger of total collapse and we’re all potential targets for those mad cu*ts who want to kill and maim under the guise of religion. Apart from that everything is hunky dory and jolly spiffing!

Happy New Year, Peeps. May your personal journey through 2017 be blessed with good health and a share of love and happiness. Xx

Monday 30th January 2017

Good morrow to all my fans, old and new. It’s nice to know that so many of you (four at the last count) enjoy my chuntering.

January is almost over and February beckons. I thought I’d pop in and share some inane banter and meaningless chat. As you know, I like a bit of banter and chat and the more inane the better. In these days of doom, gloom and fearful uncertainty I don’t think you can overestimate the value of the inane. So here I am, chatting and bantering, safe in the knowledge you won’t impatiently tell me to shut up, and if you do I can’t hear you so I don’t care. It’s my diary and I’ll chat if I want to.

I’m not one for New Year resolutions, because let’s face it they never hold up. However, I have decided to try and be less political when commenting this year. For one thing there’s not a damn thing I can do to change anything. So, I will not mention party politics, Brexit or President Pump. As Shane says, we’ll just have to wait and see what transpires under his dictatorship, I mean leadership. Suffice to say I’m stocking up on candles and canned goods as well as digging a bunker in the back garden.

Another intention is to do more writing, which probably means less chatting, as I think my chunter and chat is a form of procrastination. If I’m ever to complete Revs then I need to park my arse at the computer and get on with it.

On the domestic front I had cross words with Dick this morning. He broke my robin mug, or at least I broke it, but it was his fault. I wanted to make my mid morning coffee in it, but couldn’t find it. A search found it in his study, half full of tea. He must have made it last night when he went to do a bit of work. You know what his tea is like. It’s stronger than a weightlifter on steroids. The inside of my poor robin mug was a horrible dark brown after being steeped in his brand of murky tea all night. Ordinary washing wouldn’t shift it. I had to get a scouring pad to it, and that’s when it happened. I gripped the mug so hard as I scrubbed that the handle snapped off. I was gutted. I loved that mug. I nearly cried. Honour demanded I call Dick at work to make known my disgruntlement. He had no damn right using my favourite mug without my permission. He accepted partial responsibility, but felt compelled to point out that had I not ‘aggressively cleaned’ the mug it would probably still be in one piece. I’ve glued the handle back on, but it’ll never be the same. I plan to be cool with him this evening.

Talking of this evening I’d better go and make a start on dinner preps. I’m making a steak and mushroom pie and I have to make some puff pastry, or at least buy some readymade from the shop. Life is too short to faff on making puff pastry.

Ciao for now, and many thanks to all who have written to me of late. Take care of each other, Peeps.

Tuesday 31st January 2017

It’s the last day of January and sadly the BOS is still with us. By BOS I mean Trump - ‘The Donald’ or as he’s know in some parts ‘The Dangerous Donut.’ I was hoping that an angel, one of those scary warrior types designated to do God’s dirty work, had swooped in the night and carried him to hell. By the way, BOS isn’t a misspell of boss, it stands for ‘Bag Of Shite.’ The angel didn’t swoop thus proving that God doesn’t exist or if he does he’s entered another phase of favouring racist, homophobic bigots intent on making the world so much nastier. Theresa May is also still here, standing shoulder to shoulder with the despot. It’s no real surprise. She’s a right wing Tory bitch. Nigel ‘the skid mark’ Farage is also still here espousing support for the Bos. His mask of jolly bonhomie is fast slipping to reveal the true fascist beneath.

OOPS! Claps hand over gob.

There I go again, failing in my quest to entertain and also revealing my ‘naive grasp of politics.’ Sorry, Peeps. It’s just that listening to the news is a depressing and terrifying business these days. It gets to you. Someone needs to introduce a news free radio and TV station, just for respite from all the scary stuff going down at the moment.

Moving on. I abandoned my plan to be cool and standoffish with Dick when he got home last night. For one thing it never works, it amuses him more than anything, plus he sees it as a challenge and he goes all out to woo me back. He usually succeeds. It’s hard to resist Dick when he’s in wooing mood. It’s his eyes. They’re so warm and soft, full of sad regret. For another thing he gave me a beautifully gift-wrapped pressie. It was a posh Emma Bridgewater mug with a robin motif. It’s lovely in its way, but the robin is cute, and my robin wasn’t cute. That’s why I liked the Sainsbury’s mug. It seemed to depict the real thing, a shifty looking natural born killer. Anyway, Dick’s wicked wooing ways won me over. I couldn’t stay mad at him.

Moving on again to some good news. I went online this morning and did some research. To my delight, I found my mug still in stock on the Sainsbury’s site. It was only four quid. Mind you I had to spend twenty-five quid to qualify for home delivery. Still, it’s worth it and I stocked up on grocery essentials, stuff like Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, crisps, chocolate and biscuits, plus a bag of apples for the sake of good health. Never let it be said that this houseboy neglects his five a day duty. An apple, a carrot and three grapes - bingo, that’s me done.

Well, that’s enough chuntering from me. I’m off. February the month of love looms. Let’s hope it rubs off on those who seem intent on causing harm. Stay safe people.


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