I use the internet constantly, unashamably (if thats a word?) and being called an attention seeker with no life, bothers me not. Would have to hold my hands up and say guilty to both. I would hate to pop me clogs without having said something of note. I'm that sort of age now. I want to say or do something memorable, be it good or bad. At the moment I have only written down my funeral music, definitely Abba's 'I believe in angels' or something like that. I wanted to include an Evita 'You Must Love Me' sung by moi, but no matter how many ways we tried, I still sound like a cat being strangled, and I think my version of 'I believe that the heart must go on' might well bring the house down.
Its true also, I have no life. Not saying that for the sympathy vote, just being honest. Would truly love to be telling you about a moonlight supper with Brad, or a trip on the Orient Express, but most days the highlight might just be BOGOF offers on chocolate down the co-op. I look forward to the day when I get there in time for the croissants.... and will give a detailed account of the orgy of gluttony (I'm having 3, might not get there again for a long time) and Jeremy Kyle watching session that en sues. Watch this space.
But I digress. I felt really hurt on reading another blog today. Again, not for myself, when I wrote my book, I knew that I was laying bare my soul, I was Faustus! I was hurt on behalf of those who were brave enough to share their own experiences. There were shots too, at those who use the internet for an inordinate amount of time.
Lets me tear your argument down, one by one. I have no doubt whatsoever that there are knowledge seekers out there, just like me. I don't know about the rest of you, but with google, I feel as though I have been airlifted into an endless resourse library, where the answer to our every question is just a click away. It warms the cockles of my heart to see our very own Granny Cherub getting so much pleasure from the web and passing it on to others. Maybe there is something about the Scots, my own beloved Dad, would have been just the same.
I honestly do not see the shame in seeking company - wherever that might be! Admittedly, I was an oversubscriber to the Samaritans and Women's Aid, so I fully understand the need. Especially for we insomniacs! You Stepford people might have ideal friends and families, but I bet few of them want to discuss Erik Von Danegan, the 9/11 conspiracy or the meaning of life at 4.00a.m.
Happily we do have contributors who live normal lives, I think it helps to keep we nutters, sane(ish). Somehow they always managed to make us laugh at ourselves and carry on. I am not ashamed to say, that for many times it was a real life saver. In life, I have lost those I would have turned to for advice and consolation. Yeh, yeh, I know, its my own fault for being so antisocial, blah, di blah. Many times the board was only way in which I could communicate, yes, I am that sad. So what?
For me the YGL board was reminiscent of those wonderful girly nights when you all got dressed up like dogs dinners with your mates, and got sloshed before you hit the town! Everyone should have those memories! Some of us have faced all sorts of medical and old age stuff, that we haven't wanted to share with our friends or family, because we love them, and we don't want to worry them. An anonymous board, among our peers, should have been a place for shelter. What a shame that it was not.
But I digress, we have all lost those we loved, our soul mates, etc, and if could find a sympathetic ear, or just someone to sing Oh Danny Boy with in the wee small hours, what the hell, it was harming no-one.
Saturday, 31 March 2012
Thursday, 29 March 2012
CRIPPLING DEPRESSION
This is a subject I have wanted to write about for a long time. More importantly I wanted to create a forum where people could discuss the subject openly without fear of ridicule or shame. A subject where those who suffered from it could 'share' and discuss symptoms and well tried and trusted ways in which to climb out of that particular black hole, and for those fortunate enough to be 'well' , they could perhaps gain some understanding, Officially, the figures are, I think, 1 in 4, but personally, I think it is much higher than that.
For some it becomes crippling. I have never made a secret of the fact that I suffer from bi-polar and multiple personalities (eat your heart out Stephen Fry!)but unfortunately the bigotted and uneducated, made such a mockery of it, that from then on depression and anything negative became taboo. We all had to have perfect lives, with perfect families, perfect friends, no marital or money problems, lol, and ideal children and live in a village called Stepford. We couldn't dare say 'its fecking mother's day, I should not be out here in the kitchen making homemade yorkshires (because they can tell the difference you know, I once tried to get away with Aunt Bessy's, but I was caught) - but I digress, just have a good moan about the lazy little feckers, but you couldn't dare, because some old trout would say 'its your own fault because you smoked weed in the house'.
Maybe, thats why we were all so aggressive, we needed an outlet, but were never really allowed to speak without the censorship of that little gang of rottweillers, here it is ok to say you have the shins of a female oranatang because you haven't shaved them since last October..... or whatever....
I am hoping this blog can be interactive. There is an option to post anonymously -even I will not know who you are.
Ps. You would think I would know how to spell Orangatang, I just luvvvve that word, and will give a gold star for best use of that word in any reply......
For some it becomes crippling. I have never made a secret of the fact that I suffer from bi-polar and multiple personalities (eat your heart out Stephen Fry!)but unfortunately the bigotted and uneducated, made such a mockery of it, that from then on depression and anything negative became taboo. We all had to have perfect lives, with perfect families, perfect friends, no marital or money problems, lol, and ideal children and live in a village called Stepford. We couldn't dare say 'its fecking mother's day, I should not be out here in the kitchen making homemade yorkshires (because they can tell the difference you know, I once tried to get away with Aunt Bessy's, but I was caught) - but I digress, just have a good moan about the lazy little feckers, but you couldn't dare, because some old trout would say 'its your own fault because you smoked weed in the house'.
Maybe, thats why we were all so aggressive, we needed an outlet, but were never really allowed to speak without the censorship of that little gang of rottweillers, here it is ok to say you have the shins of a female oranatang because you haven't shaved them since last October..... or whatever....
I am hoping this blog can be interactive. There is an option to post anonymously -even I will not know who you are.
Ps. You would think I would know how to spell Orangatang, I just luvvvve that word, and will give a gold star for best use of that word in any reply......
Wednesday, 28 March 2012
THE YGL KEEPS US ON OUR TOES
All things bright and beautiful, la di da, the rich man in his castle, the poor man in his field, all is as it should be, la di da .........
Have I finally flipped? who knows, but a short read of the pure ignorance that prevailed on the old YGL, caused one of those squiggly things in the frontal lobe of my brain to short circuit, and to cut a long story short, several fecks and a couple of see you next tuesdays spewed forth from my known potty mouth.
Where do I begin? Well for a start I will climb up onto a soapbox and wave my arms around like Hitler, I am that angry. The inhumane attitude of the far right chills me to the bone. It is almost as if the cold presence of Adolph himself has entered the room. It reminds me of a story my young son told me about a classroom party when he was in the juniors. They had all brought in food contributions. At the start of the party the teacher spoke: 'anyone not willing to share can go down and see the headmistress'. At that point a fat kid, and renowned bully, gathered his stache together and headed off towards the door. You just know that fat kid is going to grow up to be a tory. Its in his destiny, his mummy probably read him stories that ended with 'its mine, all mine, I tell you!'
I can predict his future, and its rosy, to be sure. He will gleefully sign up to be a wage slave for evermore, make a mint on his own private castle, marry well to an equal no mark, and spawn 2.4 equally repugnant children. He will obey all the rules, pay every bill before the red one comes in, and simmer with rage at the ones who don't. The ones who chose to take the road less travelled. He secretly loathes his betters, but his one consolation is that he gets to gloat at those beneath him. Whilst he has no choice other than to tip his hat at his betters, kicking those beneath him, is positively encouraged. Its a great topic of conversation whilst quaffing one's gin in the Dog and Duck. He gets to say 'its their own fault, the dirty benefit scum they didn't work for it, like what I did'. And then you get one of those eureka moments, you suddenly begin to understand the crazy bastard. Its basic psychology, book one, 'fer feck's sake, somebody tell me I'm amazing', they are screaming and if someone doesn't put them out of their misery they join the local tory party where gloating is much encouraged. He goes to sleep in his comfortable bed, in his comfortable house, dreaming 'I could have so much more, maybe a flat screen tv on every wall, if it weren't for those grubby little plebs wanting food for doing nothing. I think I will go spit on a few more on them tomorrow'.
Have I finally flipped? who knows, but a short read of the pure ignorance that prevailed on the old YGL, caused one of those squiggly things in the frontal lobe of my brain to short circuit, and to cut a long story short, several fecks and a couple of see you next tuesdays spewed forth from my known potty mouth.
Where do I begin? Well for a start I will climb up onto a soapbox and wave my arms around like Hitler, I am that angry. The inhumane attitude of the far right chills me to the bone. It is almost as if the cold presence of Adolph himself has entered the room. It reminds me of a story my young son told me about a classroom party when he was in the juniors. They had all brought in food contributions. At the start of the party the teacher spoke: 'anyone not willing to share can go down and see the headmistress'. At that point a fat kid, and renowned bully, gathered his stache together and headed off towards the door. You just know that fat kid is going to grow up to be a tory. Its in his destiny, his mummy probably read him stories that ended with 'its mine, all mine, I tell you!'
I can predict his future, and its rosy, to be sure. He will gleefully sign up to be a wage slave for evermore, make a mint on his own private castle, marry well to an equal no mark, and spawn 2.4 equally repugnant children. He will obey all the rules, pay every bill before the red one comes in, and simmer with rage at the ones who don't. The ones who chose to take the road less travelled. He secretly loathes his betters, but his one consolation is that he gets to gloat at those beneath him. Whilst he has no choice other than to tip his hat at his betters, kicking those beneath him, is positively encouraged. Its a great topic of conversation whilst quaffing one's gin in the Dog and Duck. He gets to say 'its their own fault, the dirty benefit scum they didn't work for it, like what I did'. And then you get one of those eureka moments, you suddenly begin to understand the crazy bastard. Its basic psychology, book one, 'fer feck's sake, somebody tell me I'm amazing', they are screaming and if someone doesn't put them out of their misery they join the local tory party where gloating is much encouraged. He goes to sleep in his comfortable bed, in his comfortable house, dreaming 'I could have so much more, maybe a flat screen tv on every wall, if it weren't for those grubby little plebs wanting food for doing nothing. I think I will go spit on a few more on them tomorrow'.
LITTLE BOXES PART II
Strangely, I have only fond memories of the old YGL and the boards that preceded, and couldn't help but wonder what the feck it was that kept drawing us back there again and again. I pretty much knew I had an addiction, but having much therapy, I decided to forgive myself for it, and spare any other poor sod the agony of having listen to me waffling on, even if they were getting paid an exhorbitant hourly rate. I was also much too humane to inflict it on the few friends I had left. When son and I were discussing Orwell's 'Room 101', son suggested myself reading passages from my book. He has a very cruel sense of humour that boy. I think that might make Annie laugh though.
When I arrived on the board, I blatantly announced myself as a Marxist/Feminist, I felt sure it would cause a bit of a stir, and I was delighted it did. I had tried a couple of other AOL boards, but they had scared the bejesus out of me. I always went to YGL when there was breaking news, and yeh, friendship. Actually, truth be told, I liked the company, and familiarity, even if if it often was with daggers drawn, I was in shock at the sheer anger and hostility that oozed from the cesspit it became. I jest, it was quite nice at the beginning. The lovely Lisa made me roar with laughter on a Maddy thread when she said 'some of us haven't hoovered since May'! I was a late arrival, but immediately felt at home.
I also felt exhilerated. I knew if I felt like having a laugh, there would be someone else online who also had the giggles. It was also a place to throw out random thoughts and find other crazy people who had similar interests. It was a place to rant and rave, knowing that someone would read it, and the feel the way that we did, and if they didn't, it was great fun arguing about it.
But then you have the 'deh, deh, deh' roll of drums, as the baddies emerge, shouting 'order, order,' we must get things under control. I think the discussing of potting sheds was seen as 'un-european' and therefore off topic, and swearing and cussing was going to be graded for severity, maybe 5000 report key hits for a c*nt, down to 200 or so if you forget how to spell feck. Therein began the great censorship wars of 2008, the point, I feel where the board divided, a bit like the yankies and the confederates. Sides were taken, loners were eaten alive, or spat out to be toyed with another day.
Social boundaries were torn down, the gloves were off. No blow was too low, no subject too taboo. Posters were accusing those who survived the first barrage of abuse and suspicion, of the foulest crimes imaginable. Real mental health issues were scorned, seen as a sign of weakness, a tool with which to batter the confessors.
Rules were made to be obeyed, 'we don't want your lefty sort here' was the battlecry of the self appointed guardians of our morals. Talking about inner thoughts, insecurities or weaknesses, became strictly taboo. There have been times when I have sensed posters inner pain and fear of sharing it because of inevitable repercussions.
I began to see the place as Animal Farm, complete with all the requisite pigs and dog pack. Hmmm, will have to have a re-read of that and keep you posted after I have designated roles. I will let the reader decide.
But back to the original board. I am still trying to figure out why we kept returning and returning. Some of us clearly hated each other. The nicer, more mentally stable of the visitors who passed through on the way, and were strong enough to resist the lure of an old fashioned Corrie street fight, got out while they were still sane and only dipped a toe in occasionally to see if the loonies were still ruling the asylum. For a long time they were.
To be continued.............
When I arrived on the board, I blatantly announced myself as a Marxist/Feminist, I felt sure it would cause a bit of a stir, and I was delighted it did. I had tried a couple of other AOL boards, but they had scared the bejesus out of me. I always went to YGL when there was breaking news, and yeh, friendship. Actually, truth be told, I liked the company, and familiarity, even if if it often was with daggers drawn, I was in shock at the sheer anger and hostility that oozed from the cesspit it became. I jest, it was quite nice at the beginning. The lovely Lisa made me roar with laughter on a Maddy thread when she said 'some of us haven't hoovered since May'! I was a late arrival, but immediately felt at home.
I also felt exhilerated. I knew if I felt like having a laugh, there would be someone else online who also had the giggles. It was also a place to throw out random thoughts and find other crazy people who had similar interests. It was a place to rant and rave, knowing that someone would read it, and the feel the way that we did, and if they didn't, it was great fun arguing about it.
But then you have the 'deh, deh, deh' roll of drums, as the baddies emerge, shouting 'order, order,' we must get things under control. I think the discussing of potting sheds was seen as 'un-european' and therefore off topic, and swearing and cussing was going to be graded for severity, maybe 5000 report key hits for a c*nt, down to 200 or so if you forget how to spell feck. Therein began the great censorship wars of 2008, the point, I feel where the board divided, a bit like the yankies and the confederates. Sides were taken, loners were eaten alive, or spat out to be toyed with another day.
Social boundaries were torn down, the gloves were off. No blow was too low, no subject too taboo. Posters were accusing those who survived the first barrage of abuse and suspicion, of the foulest crimes imaginable. Real mental health issues were scorned, seen as a sign of weakness, a tool with which to batter the confessors.
Rules were made to be obeyed, 'we don't want your lefty sort here' was the battlecry of the self appointed guardians of our morals. Talking about inner thoughts, insecurities or weaknesses, became strictly taboo. There have been times when I have sensed posters inner pain and fear of sharing it because of inevitable repercussions.
I began to see the place as Animal Farm, complete with all the requisite pigs and dog pack. Hmmm, will have to have a re-read of that and keep you posted after I have designated roles. I will let the reader decide.
But back to the original board. I am still trying to figure out why we kept returning and returning. Some of us clearly hated each other. The nicer, more mentally stable of the visitors who passed through on the way, and were strong enough to resist the lure of an old fashioned Corrie street fight, got out while they were still sane and only dipped a toe in occasionally to see if the loonies were still ruling the asylum. For a long time they were.
To be continued.............
YA GOTTA LAUGH AT THOSE TRAPPED IN THEIR OWN LITTLE BOXES
My shoulder is still playing me up and I can't be arsed to spend half a day waiting in Radiology for an x-ray, so will stick with known and tried cure. But I know myself that it is wear and tear and there is not much you can do about that. Except up your intake of olive oil and butter. And if anyone points out the error in your ways while you are tucking into your bacon, egg, sausage and blackpudding, you can always tell them that your bones are creaking. If you say it with conviction, most people will believe anything.
Of course Bree will kill me for the above, lol, but if you reading, you will be pleased to know that I have for my supper a posh (not out of a tin) tub of the Co-op's own root vegetable and lentil soup combined with a big hunk of their freshly baked (this morning) wholemeal bread, on sale for 30p. Your healthy eating wise words do register, even if it be subliminaly telling us tales of your lovely pots of stew on the go. Sadly, also reduced were twin tubs of tiramisu and those darned £1 bags of Maltesers! I am scared to ask if they are made for sharing. If they stop making them, I'll stop buying them. Please refer to Ps.
I am sort of resigned to the whole wear and tear thingy. I am saddened, though some will be relieved, that my dancing skills are now very much restricted, though I could perhaps manage a jig, qirh my arms unmoving by my sides. Sadly, I fear the arthritis in me knee, might put paid to that. Will now have to rethink that whole dancing the rumba on ice with Brian Cox fantasy. He would be worth breaking a few bones or getting a hip replacement for.
I digress, the whole ugly board wars of old, reared its ugly head this week. All this, he said, she said shite that I learned to tune out of my brain, many moons ago. I remember the politics, rather than the personalities, though certain personalities shouted the loudest. I have no problem with the hate, it comes with the blog, and to be honest, I am quite flattered that I still have the power to incense people. How boring it would be, if we all agreed.
I deeply object however to those who would stifle free speech. On the YGL, we soon learned that the ignore button mean't diddly squat, unless you were one of those saddoe's who spent hours wearing out your report button on your keyboard. That's what I miss about it and the instancy (sp) of it. I also miss that inside look into human nature, especially human nature at it very worst.
It was kind of like a Eureka moment, it has eventually dawned on my that there really are bad, bad, people out there. More of which to follow. You will have to bear with the me, me, me, moments here, but when I went into higher education I went through that whole 'Educating Rita' transformation, when I hit a watershed. Realised that all men are bastards. and I was no longer going to poke me own eye out with mascara at 7,00am to impress someone at a petrol garage, because they are always polite to you when you are ordering a large cappuccino and heading towards the hot patisseries. Other times they would look all timid and ask if 'Madam' was aware that smoke was emanating fom her engine and would I like to hurry along. Anything to get rid of you.
Will continue on a Part II, because I do want to get back to the board wars.....
Ps. Note to manufacturers of maltesers, the above was an idle threat and in no way mean't to be taken seriously, those little bags were gone in a mouthful - I do not jest. It can be done.
Of course Bree will kill me for the above, lol, but if you reading, you will be pleased to know that I have for my supper a posh (not out of a tin) tub of the Co-op's own root vegetable and lentil soup combined with a big hunk of their freshly baked (this morning) wholemeal bread, on sale for 30p. Your healthy eating wise words do register, even if it be subliminaly telling us tales of your lovely pots of stew on the go. Sadly, also reduced were twin tubs of tiramisu and those darned £1 bags of Maltesers! I am scared to ask if they are made for sharing. If they stop making them, I'll stop buying them. Please refer to Ps.
I am sort of resigned to the whole wear and tear thingy. I am saddened, though some will be relieved, that my dancing skills are now very much restricted, though I could perhaps manage a jig, qirh my arms unmoving by my sides. Sadly, I fear the arthritis in me knee, might put paid to that. Will now have to rethink that whole dancing the rumba on ice with Brian Cox fantasy. He would be worth breaking a few bones or getting a hip replacement for.
I digress, the whole ugly board wars of old, reared its ugly head this week. All this, he said, she said shite that I learned to tune out of my brain, many moons ago. I remember the politics, rather than the personalities, though certain personalities shouted the loudest. I have no problem with the hate, it comes with the blog, and to be honest, I am quite flattered that I still have the power to incense people. How boring it would be, if we all agreed.
I deeply object however to those who would stifle free speech. On the YGL, we soon learned that the ignore button mean't diddly squat, unless you were one of those saddoe's who spent hours wearing out your report button on your keyboard. That's what I miss about it and the instancy (sp) of it. I also miss that inside look into human nature, especially human nature at it very worst.
It was kind of like a Eureka moment, it has eventually dawned on my that there really are bad, bad, people out there. More of which to follow. You will have to bear with the me, me, me, moments here, but when I went into higher education I went through that whole 'Educating Rita' transformation, when I hit a watershed. Realised that all men are bastards. and I was no longer going to poke me own eye out with mascara at 7,00am to impress someone at a petrol garage, because they are always polite to you when you are ordering a large cappuccino and heading towards the hot patisseries. Other times they would look all timid and ask if 'Madam' was aware that smoke was emanating fom her engine and would I like to hurry along. Anything to get rid of you.
Will continue on a Part II, because I do want to get back to the board wars.....
Ps. Note to manufacturers of maltesers, the above was an idle threat and in no way mean't to be taken seriously, those little bags were gone in a mouthful - I do not jest. It can be done.
Saturday, 24 March 2012
THE WICKED BUDGET AND THE TALE OF TWO RATS
I was wondering what other people were thinking now we've had a few days for it to sink it. I have yet to be persuaded that giving the super rich a tax break, helps the economy. I just don't see a herd of billionaires running down Threadneedle Street with trunks of cash that they have had flown in from the Cayman Islands. Call me an old cynic if you like.
As for the poor, the £9,000 tax threshold gave me one of those Life of Brian moments. 'Glad the Meek are getting something, cause they always miss out', or words to that effect. Mind you, I suppose the £9,000 is plenty if you have only got the upkeep of a tent on the outskirts of the City to worry about. It is already happening in Cities around the world, so I do not jest.
Of course the economy can't move because the banks won't lend, not after their, hmmm past indiscretions, and even if they would, no-one would be eligible because of the trend to hand out employment contracts with 16, or even, zero hours. A youngster may have a job, but they won't get a mortgage without a guaranteed future wage. IAhh, for the old days when the employees have unions and rights. Maggie, you gave birth to a monster, and I don't mean Mark.
Of course without guaranteed work, it rules them out for credit too. Not good for the technology and manufacturing industries, because that particular demographic with the lousy employment contracts, would probably have been their highest spending consumers. Now of course, they only need a single trip to a camping shop with the last of their Job Seekers Allowance. For the prudent investors, now might be a good time to invest in Milletts.
As much as the far right would like to spend their days dreaming up further and more cruel punishments for the undeserving poor, the poor hold the majority of the vote, and like it or not, this is a democratic society. Ditto the Grey vote. Tut, tut, tut, Dave, first rule of politics - never alienate the oldies, they are they are the ones who go along to the polling boothes while the youngsters are out throwing bricks at windows.
Fags were a definite fund raiser. Smokers are self harming and don't deserve the free services of the NHS, even though they have probably paid more tax than Philip Green (bad example, lets say, hospital domestic) and not difficult maths, even for moi, if 20 fags cost 50p to produce and sell at 7 quid a pack, we fag hags have pre-paid for 5 star healthcare hundreds of times over. We are deserving of our sleep apnea masks and oxygen, and a few nips and tucks thrown in! And not at all surprised the tax on booze remains unchanged. The noble ones are already paying over the top tax on their Chateau Lafite, so it is out of the question. Much better to put a few more pence on the white cider and the Special Brew and tell them its for their own good.
I somehow don't really think we are all in this together, not judging by the extragavant 'do' they put on for the Queen the day before they stole the NHS from the people, and the chances of David and Samantha moving into a tent near you, I would say, are pretty remote.
Thursday, 22 March 2012
THE BUDGET - IN BRIEF
The £9,000 tax threshold should provide wealthy employers with a plethora of cheap labour which should be a good thing, you just can't get the staff these days.
Wednesday, 21 March 2012
TO THE YGL LADIES PART II
I had a good laugh at the responses, nodding and saying 'I know' as I read them.
As for daily aches and pains Bev, had to see my doctor yesterday because of a nasty pain in my shoulder that seems to have got worse. I hate going to the doctor, they think they know everything, and treat your googling and self-diagnosis with suspicion. Fair dues on the Himalayan Mountain Fever (on the grounds that I haven't been to the Himalyas), but Lupus is a very real possibility. I wouldn't have gone, but it got to the stage where I couldn't wash my hair or do the funky chicken.
My mum used to have a love/hate relationship with her GP. She used to call him Dr. Shipman, but she would visit him at least 3 times a week. When I pointed out that she hadn't been for several days, she said 'I couldn't get along there, because I haven't been well'. I am sure it was a break for him.
Judy, your wedding and its planning sounds exciting - good for you! I don't think I could ever marry again, or even live with anyone, and I think the feeling is mutual. Single men, and married men come to that, tend to give me a wide berth. They assume because I am a certain age and single, I must be eyeing up their bods and their assets. I once watched a bloke with a broken leg and crutches say 'he preferred to stand', when the only seat available was next to me on a sofa. In fairnes, his wife was looking daggers at him, and I wanted to say, 'have you seen yourself? yer safe, honest'.
Annie, lol, I fear for you, but look forward to seeing you in the Alternate Olympics! You go Girlfriend! Where fellas were concerned, I could never stay passionate for more than two years, tops. After that, they used to get on me wick, and I used to working out ways in which to leave them, or murder them. My fav film at the time was the one about Ruth Ellis. I also used to play a lot of Country and Western love songs and drink a lot. Talking of which, hic
Ahhh Bree, you and your fella restore my faith in romance, but only a little bit, and like your goodself, I can't be bothered with all that 'hows yer father' anymore either, would rather have a nice box of choccies!
As for daily aches and pains Bev, had to see my doctor yesterday because of a nasty pain in my shoulder that seems to have got worse. I hate going to the doctor, they think they know everything, and treat your googling and self-diagnosis with suspicion. Fair dues on the Himalayan Mountain Fever (on the grounds that I haven't been to the Himalyas), but Lupus is a very real possibility. I wouldn't have gone, but it got to the stage where I couldn't wash my hair or do the funky chicken.
My mum used to have a love/hate relationship with her GP. She used to call him Dr. Shipman, but she would visit him at least 3 times a week. When I pointed out that she hadn't been for several days, she said 'I couldn't get along there, because I haven't been well'. I am sure it was a break for him.
Judy, your wedding and its planning sounds exciting - good for you! I don't think I could ever marry again, or even live with anyone, and I think the feeling is mutual. Single men, and married men come to that, tend to give me a wide berth. They assume because I am a certain age and single, I must be eyeing up their bods and their assets. I once watched a bloke with a broken leg and crutches say 'he preferred to stand', when the only seat available was next to me on a sofa. In fairnes, his wife was looking daggers at him, and I wanted to say, 'have you seen yourself? yer safe, honest'.
Annie, lol, I fear for you, but look forward to seeing you in the Alternate Olympics! You go Girlfriend! Where fellas were concerned, I could never stay passionate for more than two years, tops. After that, they used to get on me wick, and I used to working out ways in which to leave them, or murder them. My fav film at the time was the one about Ruth Ellis. I also used to play a lot of Country and Western love songs and drink a lot. Talking of which, hic
Ahhh Bree, you and your fella restore my faith in romance, but only a little bit, and like your goodself, I can't be bothered with all that 'hows yer father' anymore either, would rather have a nice box of choccies!
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
TO THE LADIES OF YGL
Is 50 the new 30? If it isn't, I think it should be. Lets face it at 50, you no longer plan your social life around babysitters, you can do within reason, strike out 'within reason`, pretty much whatever you want. I have substituted the word pretty for feck, which I want to use profusely later in this rant.
If we have screwed our loafs (or should that be loaves Val?) we should have enough spare cash to lunch out every day, shop in Evans, and take flower arranging classes in the evening. We should be retired, or semi retired, or working voluntarily out of the goodness of our hearts. (High five Cherub, we may not always get on, but I like the cut of your jib). At our age, most of us can't be bothered with all that sort of thing, and would rather have a 'tame', 'yes dear' type hushand like Richard Bucket - you can tell you are getting old when you see Hyacinth's husband as the ideal man. But I digress, as much fun as the days of going to bed, saying 'fuck or fight' were - you have faced the harsh reality of having to buy new furniture. It takes all the fun out of it when you can't throw things without having to watch out for the new plasma tv and the leather corner unit.
But I digress, what is the ideal life for a 50 plus women? Should we stay at home and dote over the kids and grandkids, or should we take off on wild exotic holidays and come home newly engaged to a Massai Warrior? Some of us regain our wits when the hormones butt out, but others totally throw caution to the wind. I can't say I blame the caution to the wind lot, that old biblical 'three score years and ten', grows ever nearer and if you get the urge to put a cat in a bin, you go girl, (as long as no animals are harmed in the making of the video).
I think GP's should hand out 'get out of jail free' cards to all menopausal women. Nothing complicated, maybe something along the lines of 'temporarily deranged' that can be flashed at officers of the law if needs be. Even we, cannot predict our erratic mood swings, so legally, we could get away with murder. Though I don't suggest anyone try this at home. If you get the urge to sneak up behind him with an ice pick the next time he asks for a cup of tea, the relationship is pretty much over. Get out quick, because you might be way too decrepid to do any fun stuff by the time they release you.
I definitely think there is a tie in between the hormones going, and the sense returning ? Whilst young and gorgeous, our need for a 'mate' ignores the warning signals from our brain. We want the prince charming, our childhood promised us, the rose covered cottage and the happy ever after. For some reason, we are convinced that the posturing semi homo sapien displaying his dance moves underneath a glitter ball would make an ideal future life partner. Of course the more sensible among our species honed in on the more prestigious of the hunter and gatherers, the ones with the massive piles of nuts, and they are the ones who now live in big houses and belong to the WI.
I actually have a theory that women, or their bodies without their consent, have a primaevil, genetic need to procreate, and for some reason, we think that the prancing orangotan making an ejit of himself on the dancefloor would be the ideal mate and father of our future children. Our eyes and brain see babbling baboon, but our ovaries see alpha male, and while we are still fertile, the ovaries win every time.
Well, justing musing, and grieving the loss of me mojo. I knew it had gone when I started to think of Brad Pitt as a nice boy. However, all is well, phew, the sight of George Clooney in handcuffs was just too much.......
If we have screwed our loafs (or should that be loaves Val?) we should have enough spare cash to lunch out every day, shop in Evans, and take flower arranging classes in the evening. We should be retired, or semi retired, or working voluntarily out of the goodness of our hearts. (High five Cherub, we may not always get on, but I like the cut of your jib). At our age, most of us can't be bothered with all that sort of thing, and would rather have a 'tame', 'yes dear' type hushand like Richard Bucket - you can tell you are getting old when you see Hyacinth's husband as the ideal man. But I digress, as much fun as the days of going to bed, saying 'fuck or fight' were - you have faced the harsh reality of having to buy new furniture. It takes all the fun out of it when you can't throw things without having to watch out for the new plasma tv and the leather corner unit.
But I digress, what is the ideal life for a 50 plus women? Should we stay at home and dote over the kids and grandkids, or should we take off on wild exotic holidays and come home newly engaged to a Massai Warrior? Some of us regain our wits when the hormones butt out, but others totally throw caution to the wind. I can't say I blame the caution to the wind lot, that old biblical 'three score years and ten', grows ever nearer and if you get the urge to put a cat in a bin, you go girl, (as long as no animals are harmed in the making of the video).
I think GP's should hand out 'get out of jail free' cards to all menopausal women. Nothing complicated, maybe something along the lines of 'temporarily deranged' that can be flashed at officers of the law if needs be. Even we, cannot predict our erratic mood swings, so legally, we could get away with murder. Though I don't suggest anyone try this at home. If you get the urge to sneak up behind him with an ice pick the next time he asks for a cup of tea, the relationship is pretty much over. Get out quick, because you might be way too decrepid to do any fun stuff by the time they release you.
I definitely think there is a tie in between the hormones going, and the sense returning ? Whilst young and gorgeous, our need for a 'mate' ignores the warning signals from our brain. We want the prince charming, our childhood promised us, the rose covered cottage and the happy ever after. For some reason, we are convinced that the posturing semi homo sapien displaying his dance moves underneath a glitter ball would make an ideal future life partner. Of course the more sensible among our species honed in on the more prestigious of the hunter and gatherers, the ones with the massive piles of nuts, and they are the ones who now live in big houses and belong to the WI.
I actually have a theory that women, or their bodies without their consent, have a primaevil, genetic need to procreate, and for some reason, we think that the prancing orangotan making an ejit of himself on the dancefloor would be the ideal mate and father of our future children. Our eyes and brain see babbling baboon, but our ovaries see alpha male, and while we are still fertile, the ovaries win every time.
Well, justing musing, and grieving the loss of me mojo. I knew it had gone when I started to think of Brad Pitt as a nice boy. However, all is well, phew, the sight of George Clooney in handcuffs was just too much.......
Sunday, 18 March 2012
GAY MARRIAGE
So the government are going to spend the next 12 weeks discussing the ins and outs of whether a couple of besotted homosexuals should have the same marital 'rights' as a couple of besotted heterosexuals.
In the whole scheme of things, you wouldn't think it would make much difference if Adam married Ian or Eve married Andrea, but the guardians of our morals are declaring the end of the world as we know it and the coming of the apocolypse.
The eventual government decision will supposedly be secular, but it wil be based on the ancient religious tomes that set down the foundations of our society. One man, one woman and 2.4 children, depending on which particular scripture your society adopted over 2000 years ago. England was founded on Christianity, and the Bible and they tell us that the rules are carved in stone, given to Moses by God himself. I can't help but be sceptical. Moses was 175 when he died, and still begatting to the very end. And all without Viaga and the NHS. A bit of artistic licence may have been used.
In the 21st century, shouldn't there be a bit of leeway to shuffle things around a bit? Not all of us are in awe of that particular God - he lost my vote when he smited the party towns of Sodom and Gomorrah.
Of course all religions are exclusive, rather than inclusive, be it Islam, Judaism or Christianity. To belong, we should live our lives according to the scriptures that were written at a time when man lived in the desert and sacrificed livestock and their firstborn to the Almighty. If we cannot live by those rules, we are caste out. The 'smug marrieds' rule. They have reserved their place in heaven, they follow society's codes and conventions and pass judgment on those who do not, and that suits them nicely, as long as no-one lets the misfits in. It all seems a tad mean.
I don't care for marriage one way or the other, but I think the gay community should be allowed to experience that terrifying moment when they look at the ring on their finger, the official document in the kitchen drawer and hear the blood curdling scream of what the feck have I done, coming from their own mouths. Its only fair.
In the whole scheme of things, you wouldn't think it would make much difference if Adam married Ian or Eve married Andrea, but the guardians of our morals are declaring the end of the world as we know it and the coming of the apocolypse.
The eventual government decision will supposedly be secular, but it wil be based on the ancient religious tomes that set down the foundations of our society. One man, one woman and 2.4 children, depending on which particular scripture your society adopted over 2000 years ago. England was founded on Christianity, and the Bible and they tell us that the rules are carved in stone, given to Moses by God himself. I can't help but be sceptical. Moses was 175 when he died, and still begatting to the very end. And all without Viaga and the NHS. A bit of artistic licence may have been used.
In the 21st century, shouldn't there be a bit of leeway to shuffle things around a bit? Not all of us are in awe of that particular God - he lost my vote when he smited the party towns of Sodom and Gomorrah.
Of course all religions are exclusive, rather than inclusive, be it Islam, Judaism or Christianity. To belong, we should live our lives according to the scriptures that were written at a time when man lived in the desert and sacrificed livestock and their firstborn to the Almighty. If we cannot live by those rules, we are caste out. The 'smug marrieds' rule. They have reserved their place in heaven, they follow society's codes and conventions and pass judgment on those who do not, and that suits them nicely, as long as no-one lets the misfits in. It all seems a tad mean.
I don't care for marriage one way or the other, but I think the gay community should be allowed to experience that terrifying moment when they look at the ring on their finger, the official document in the kitchen drawer and hear the blood curdling scream of what the feck have I done, coming from their own mouths. Its only fair.
FROM ONE MUM TO ANOTHER
Those little bundles of joy don't come with an instruction manual. They bawl for food and attention every four hours or whenever we look too peaceful. They spit our carefully prepared healthy food right back at us, (note to Jamie Oliver, ALL mums have food processers gathering dust in the back of a cupboard) in favour of Captain Birdseye and Heinz.
We watch with a mixture of fear and glee as they take their first wobbly steps and childproof every cupboard and sharp corner, only to see them tumble over their own shadows. We feel their pain.
We cry when we drop them off for their first day at school in their smart, clean uniforms, holding back our tears until we have given their little faces one last scrub with a spit covered tissue, a hug that never wants to let go, and then wave as we watch them disappear into the school gates and the big wide world.
Our hearts burst with pride at their joy and achievements, and breaks quietly at their losses and disappointments. We chuckle at their stories and feel murderous towards anyone who hurts them. We feel their pain.
They make us mad, they make us sad. After they come along, we have photographs in our purses where our money used to be, and we torture ourselves with guilt for not making them eat more vegetables or sending them to school with an unironed shirt with a jumper over it. Mothering is all about the guilt.
But today we can look back and smile at the memories, because we know they love us too.
We watch with a mixture of fear and glee as they take their first wobbly steps and childproof every cupboard and sharp corner, only to see them tumble over their own shadows. We feel their pain.
We cry when we drop them off for their first day at school in their smart, clean uniforms, holding back our tears until we have given their little faces one last scrub with a spit covered tissue, a hug that never wants to let go, and then wave as we watch them disappear into the school gates and the big wide world.
Our hearts burst with pride at their joy and achievements, and breaks quietly at their losses and disappointments. We chuckle at their stories and feel murderous towards anyone who hurts them. We feel their pain.
They make us mad, they make us sad. After they come along, we have photographs in our purses where our money used to be, and we torture ourselves with guilt for not making them eat more vegetables or sending them to school with an unironed shirt with a jumper over it. Mothering is all about the guilt.
But today we can look back and smile at the memories, because we know they love us too.
Friday, 16 March 2012
LEGALISE MARIJUANA AND END THE RECESSION
It wasn't my idea, I wish it was, lol. But I have to say, its quite novel and could actually work. Lets face it, how much money would the government save if it just threw in the towel on their whole War on Weed? £80,000 quid on training a dog to sniff out a £20 bag in Camden Market, and who knows how much on all those battered in front doors where they have found nothing more than a couple of stoners laughing their heads off at Jeremy Kyle and tucking into cornflakes.
Why legalise it?
Why legalise it?
- Everyone has access to the information that is out there. The 60's negative propaganda has been superceded and is outdated.
- It is an industry where growth is now unstoppable.
- It is a resource that is presently untaxed
- It is a resource that is presently unregulated and possibly unsafe
- It is a resource that encourages crime
- It is less harmful than tobacco
- It is significantly less harmful to the body than alcohol
- It relieves pain and reduces the effects of some chronic illnesses
- It lowers aggression
- It is not a gateway to harder drugs, just as beer is not a gateway to alcoholism. If that were the case we would all be hopeless alcoholics, since we have had access to legally sold beer
- Adults should have the right to choose
- A possible way to combat the chronic alcohol related problems that a country faces, is to legalise a less harmful alternative.
- Discussing the subject should not be taboo.
Thursday, 15 March 2012
RIP PETE PORCHE
You were a troubled soul, unable to connect with the world around you. Haunted by your demons, you stomped across the Europe Board, the crazy, tatooed biker bloke, the rebel without a cause. Your anger was tangible, but your vulnerability humanised you. You touched so many of us, who wanted to help you, but just as you could not accept the cold world that surrounded you, you lost the ability to accept the help that was there too.
RIP Peter Williams, and farewell, I hope you are driving your dream black Porche along Route 66 off into the sunset, and as you reach the end of the highway, you will find the peace that alluded you for so long. Goodbye old friend, you are in our prayers.
RIP Peter Williams, and farewell, I hope you are driving your dream black Porche along Route 66 off into the sunset, and as you reach the end of the highway, you will find the peace that alluded you for so long. Goodbye old friend, you are in our prayers.
SAY IT LIKE IT IS
I am always wary of people who boast that they 'say it like it is', as though they were waving a flag on behalf of the less fortunate. What does it mean exactly? Does it mean that they speak the 'truth' without charm, tact, and diplomacy, and is that an admirable trait? And what is the truth? Does it lie in their words, and only theirs, all other opinions and points of view brushed aside as irrelevant.
Do they not trust us to use our own skills of comprehension to interpret the information available, are we too stupid, to see it as it is all on our own? Are they providing us with the definitive answer, all other options discarded in favour of the chosen one's personal selection?
Like everyone else, I have encountered people along life's way who 'say it like it is'. Politicians, journalists, obnoxious bores at parties. I can't say, I have ever taken a liking to them. They dominate their surroundings, take control, belittle those who dare to question them, they 'say it like it is' even if it causes pain to those around them. They lack empathy.
Would I ever 'say it like it is' - nah. I usually approach each subject on the basis that I know nothing, and watch bemused as the know-alls end up with egg on their face, and they usually do.
Do they not trust us to use our own skills of comprehension to interpret the information available, are we too stupid, to see it as it is all on our own? Are they providing us with the definitive answer, all other options discarded in favour of the chosen one's personal selection?
Like everyone else, I have encountered people along life's way who 'say it like it is'. Politicians, journalists, obnoxious bores at parties. I can't say, I have ever taken a liking to them. They dominate their surroundings, take control, belittle those who dare to question them, they 'say it like it is' even if it causes pain to those around them. They lack empathy.
Would I ever 'say it like it is' - nah. I usually approach each subject on the basis that I know nothing, and watch bemused as the know-alls end up with egg on their face, and they usually do.
DALLAS - THE ALTERNATE ENDING
Do you ever wonder how Dallas would have ended if it hadn't been the 80's when greed was good. If I were to write it now, I think I would turn Sue Ellen into a stoner, rather than a drunk, who spends all JR's money on wild parties and bad men, and then turns Southfork into a homeless shelter.
I worked in the City of London during the 80's and wore suits with big shoulders and ridiculously high heels, but I didn't have the high earnings. I was a mere secretary who played the part. My politics were all over the place. I was dating the rich old tories who courted me with fabulous meals (I have always loved me grub) but I was sleeping with the slobs. My hormones were rampant and my brain was the size of a pea. A whiff of testosterone would make me come over all unnecessary, and I would hone in on roofers and men who ate Yorky bars. It led to some very rash decisions.
But I digress, morally, my heart was with the Left, and I joined the Labour Party. I went along to my first meeting in my fitted red pencil suit and 4 inch stillettos, to be told I was hand delivering 200 leaflets. I hadn't expected quite so much walking, or indeed running. One fella even chased me down the road with a broom. It was at the time when Red Ken had marxist control, of the GLC and had given £10,000 to a group of one legged lesbians who wanted piano lessons, or something like that. I didn't have much patience with the Sun's scaremongering and I think I told one particulary bolshy householder, that everyone in London with a spare bedroom had to give it up to a family of boat people. He didn't get irony. I think he may have been the one who chased me with the broom.........
I worked in the City of London during the 80's and wore suits with big shoulders and ridiculously high heels, but I didn't have the high earnings. I was a mere secretary who played the part. My politics were all over the place. I was dating the rich old tories who courted me with fabulous meals (I have always loved me grub) but I was sleeping with the slobs. My hormones were rampant and my brain was the size of a pea. A whiff of testosterone would make me come over all unnecessary, and I would hone in on roofers and men who ate Yorky bars. It led to some very rash decisions.
But I digress, morally, my heart was with the Left, and I joined the Labour Party. I went along to my first meeting in my fitted red pencil suit and 4 inch stillettos, to be told I was hand delivering 200 leaflets. I hadn't expected quite so much walking, or indeed running. One fella even chased me down the road with a broom. It was at the time when Red Ken had marxist control, of the GLC and had given £10,000 to a group of one legged lesbians who wanted piano lessons, or something like that. I didn't have much patience with the Sun's scaremongering and I think I told one particulary bolshy householder, that everyone in London with a spare bedroom had to give it up to a family of boat people. He didn't get irony. I think he may have been the one who chased me with the broom.........
Tuesday, 13 March 2012
AN ODE TO SALLY
Ahhh Sally, how can I not name you. You have been the bane of my life for this past four years plus, and also my inspiration. I think the further right you went, the further left I went. I am now an anarchist, and living in a tent.
I think we all became cartoon characters at times Sall, the pantomine dames that we invented on those crazy 'come in disguise' nights. And they were great fun weren't they, especially on a Friday night! I doubt for one moment, any of us would say what we did, what we do, in the real world. I think the board was a bit of an escape for all of us, and it saved kicking the dog, or giving one the kids a clip round the ear.
I am troubled tonight because I caused someone pain, and I honestly hadn't meant to. I want to assure that person and everyone else that I have kept no emails nor posts, nor any other information. I have never had the technical know how, the time, nor the inclination to do so. If a topic is not relevant to a subject I am interested in, it goes right over my head.
I have no intention of doing a hatchet job on anyone. I think we were all bored housewives/serial killers [look out for YGL Board, The Murder Trials] - I jest of course, our old board was a private place, for me just as much as it was to our v.diverse group of reprobates. Our auld board had a feeling to it, as though we were all in on a private girly conference call. A slumber party, where we would all lose our inhibitions and say what we really thought out loud. It was our 'special place', with that extra option where we could speak about other people, right in front of them.
Anyway, all secrets are all safe, lol, I grew up in a culture that taught me never to split on a mate. Unashamably flogging my book here, lol, never to grass, never to reveal a confidence. I saw our board as a private place, and yes, I see the irony, but it was a place in which to kick off our shoes and let our hair down. Like when your fella asks you what you spent 3 hours chatting on the phone to your best mate about, and you answer, 'this and that'.
I am not in the least concerned for myself, my life is an open book, quite literally. And that has been my choice. However, I just want to assure everyone I post with, that I totally respect their privacy and I bear no grudges. Really, I don't. I loved all the diverse characters that posted on the YGL and Europe Boards, even the ones I couldn't stand the sight of. A celt would understand that last sentence, lol. Especially that need for punch up on a Friday night, followed by a sing song courtesy of Cherub, sighs, I miss those days
Maybe we can all bury the hatchets somewhere other than each other's heads, and agree that we are probably not going to get along, but resist the urge to batter each other for a week at least.
Pps. Note to Sally, have got Sharon Stone to play you, and she's the right age! High five old girl!
Ppps. I have directed the crew that under no circumstances are you to be allowed anywhere near ice picks ;)
Pppps. Ooooh, got to go, have got Bette Davis's agent on the phone - apparently she has been revived! Watch this space...........
I think we all became cartoon characters at times Sall, the pantomine dames that we invented on those crazy 'come in disguise' nights. And they were great fun weren't they, especially on a Friday night! I doubt for one moment, any of us would say what we did, what we do, in the real world. I think the board was a bit of an escape for all of us, and it saved kicking the dog, or giving one the kids a clip round the ear.
I am troubled tonight because I caused someone pain, and I honestly hadn't meant to. I want to assure that person and everyone else that I have kept no emails nor posts, nor any other information. I have never had the technical know how, the time, nor the inclination to do so. If a topic is not relevant to a subject I am interested in, it goes right over my head.
I have no intention of doing a hatchet job on anyone. I think we were all bored housewives/serial killers [look out for YGL Board, The Murder Trials] - I jest of course, our old board was a private place, for me just as much as it was to our v.diverse group of reprobates. Our auld board had a feeling to it, as though we were all in on a private girly conference call. A slumber party, where we would all lose our inhibitions and say what we really thought out loud. It was our 'special place', with that extra option where we could speak about other people, right in front of them.
Anyway, all secrets are all safe, lol, I grew up in a culture that taught me never to split on a mate. Unashamably flogging my book here, lol, never to grass, never to reveal a confidence. I saw our board as a private place, and yes, I see the irony, but it was a place in which to kick off our shoes and let our hair down. Like when your fella asks you what you spent 3 hours chatting on the phone to your best mate about, and you answer, 'this and that'.
I am not in the least concerned for myself, my life is an open book, quite literally. And that has been my choice. However, I just want to assure everyone I post with, that I totally respect their privacy and I bear no grudges. Really, I don't. I loved all the diverse characters that posted on the YGL and Europe Boards, even the ones I couldn't stand the sight of. A celt would understand that last sentence, lol. Especially that need for punch up on a Friday night, followed by a sing song courtesy of Cherub, sighs, I miss those days
Maybe we can all bury the hatchets somewhere other than each other's heads, and agree that we are probably not going to get along, but resist the urge to batter each other for a week at least.
Pps. Note to Sally, have got Sharon Stone to play you, and she's the right age! High five old girl!
Ppps. I have directed the crew that under no circumstances are you to be allowed anywhere near ice picks ;)
Pppps. Ooooh, got to go, have got Bette Davis's agent on the phone - apparently she has been revived! Watch this space...........
Sunday, 11 March 2012
THE MYSTERIOUS WORLD OF THE NORTY BOARD - YGL!
Ok, whose the wise guy who suggested Su Pollard to play me >:( hmmmm - I'm coming to get ya Helen......
Jolly, Twiggy is up for playing you and Bree, we are in talks with Helen Mirren, but be warned she won't wear an itsy bitsi bikini, red stillettos or water wings Bree, she also draws a line at having a dip in the Liffey. Failing that, Julie Walters is free and she can do a paddy accent?
Its been hard finding someone to play Sally, I'm torn, not sure whether to go for the full macho look, maybe Bruce Willis with 5'0clock shadow, or her feminine side and get Matt Lucus in? Sadly, Margaret Rutherford is no longer with us, or she would been perfect to play Val. However, if we can tear her away from her books, Marget Mountford from The Apprentice might step in.
Ahhh Dome, another enigma, who should play you? Of course Kenneth More would have been perfect, failing that maybe Yosser Hughes who immortalised that wonderful phrase 'Gis a job'........... And Pauline, I see you as the Oxo mum, after she has just dropped some acid. I wonder if Lynda Bellingham can do 'very unstable?'
Talking of very unstable, where is Mandy? I'm feeling quite kindly towards her at the mo, so picturing her as the sexy Fenella Fielding in [i]Carry on Screaming[/i], but that little screenshot is subject to change at any time.
Lucky you Dome, that the Carry on Films didn't spring to mind when I was thinking of your goodself! but it has worked out very well, for parts 2 and 3 YGL to follow....... Immediately Dutch has become Jim Dale, lol, in the nicest possible way of course as I am sure Rainbow Sue will agree, now, RSue, hmmmm, it will have to be an A-lister................
Oops, mean't to say, apologies Jolly, I had pencilled Goldie in to play Helen Lapsy, she is our board glamour puss, though I think far too old to play our Helen, hmmmm, luckily I have Jordan on standby.......
[/quote]
Jolly, Twiggy is up for playing you and Bree, we are in talks with Helen Mirren, but be warned she won't wear an itsy bitsi bikini, red stillettos or water wings Bree, she also draws a line at having a dip in the Liffey. Failing that, Julie Walters is free and she can do a paddy accent?
Its been hard finding someone to play Sally, I'm torn, not sure whether to go for the full macho look, maybe Bruce Willis with 5'0clock shadow, or her feminine side and get Matt Lucus in? Sadly, Margaret Rutherford is no longer with us, or she would been perfect to play Val. However, if we can tear her away from her books, Marget Mountford from The Apprentice might step in.
Ahhh Dome, another enigma, who should play you? Of course Kenneth More would have been perfect, failing that maybe Yosser Hughes who immortalised that wonderful phrase 'Gis a job'........... And Pauline, I see you as the Oxo mum, after she has just dropped some acid. I wonder if Lynda Bellingham can do 'very unstable?'
Talking of very unstable, where is Mandy? I'm feeling quite kindly towards her at the mo, so picturing her as the sexy Fenella Fielding in [i]Carry on Screaming[/i], but that little screenshot is subject to change at any time.
Lucky you Dome, that the Carry on Films didn't spring to mind when I was thinking of your goodself! but it has worked out very well, for parts 2 and 3 YGL to follow....... Immediately Dutch has become Jim Dale, lol, in the nicest possible way of course as I am sure Rainbow Sue will agree, now, RSue, hmmmm, it will have to be an A-lister................
Oops, mean't to say, apologies Jolly, I had pencilled Goldie in to play Helen Lapsy, she is our board glamour puss, though I think far too old to play our Helen, hmmmm, luckily I have Jordan on standby.......
[/quote]
Friday, 9 March 2012
AN ODE TO HELEN
Oooooh Helen, put the iron away. I think I am going to start a feminist protest group in your name! (You have to have a cause luv, if you are going to be the star, and quite frankly, I've had it up to here with Kate and her diva demands. She says she has been studying you, and is just getting into character. Would you please reconsider Angelina, or maybe Jennifer A? But I digress. I am quite liking the whole anti ironing thingy. That could raise a whole lot of passion out of menapausal women. The steam of hot flushes combined with Zannussi's latest is an explosive mix. That lightbulb moment when you realise the sky won't fall in if you don't iron the t-towels. Its a bit of an epiphamy. Shit, giggling here, it might be ephany, where the feck is val? lol
Incidentally, the best tip I ever had, was to fold the nets when you put them in the machine, and hang them straight back up wet. I never ironed a net from then on! And put tops (shirts, jumpers, etc) on coathangers straight from the washing machine, basically, wherever you can - doorways, handles, whatever. Young son has a disproportianate fear of coathangers, I have no idea why, but it gets the washing dry and ironing will be a thing of the past. Just don't go out in daylight or anywhere respectable. It also helps to tell teenage boys that ironed jeans are nerdy!
On the downside, your children may scream hysterically when they go into drycleaners and need therapy for ever more. But to avoid ironing, a risk worth taking I think. Bless 'em.
I haven't given up ironing entirely, it was just that, I made myself a golden rule, I wouldn't iron, unless I had a glass of wine in my hand. And I was very strict. That same rule applied, even if it was I was awakened from my slumber for an urgent shirt for work. I was in danger of becoming a total alcoholic and losing my job, so I gave up the ironing.
Ps. Thinking of variations on the words Helen and Foundation at the mo, Hmmmmmm
Pps. Am thinking of inviting Jodie Marsh to audition?
Ppps. Are you limber?
Now, if I can just figure this out Helen, I am going to post it on my blog as an ode to your goodself! :-*
Pppps. I in no way think you resemble Jodie Marsh, lol, just not forgiven you for scolding me over leaving my M&S chocolate peanuts next to my v.hot adapter. Yes, and it hurts to say this, they were mush. I just feel that you could have been a little more sympathetic.........
Wednesday, 7 March 2012
MR SARKOZY Heh, heh, hem
Why are roving reporters now pronouncing Sarkozy as if they are coughing up a furball?
NEW AGE PARENTING
I knew my half arsed attitude to parenting would one day, come back to haunt me. I am now the mother of two adult sons who don't know how to wash up. They could knock up a duplicate hadron collider and tell me its inner workings, but they have no idea what the sink in the kitchen is for. And me a feminist.
To be fair, I wasn't much of a feminist when they were growing up, unless reading ;The Women's Room' counts. Whatever, the whole message went right over my head, because Maggie Thatcher was cool simply on the basis that she was a woman. I know, I know, and I have done penance for it every day since. It was the eighties and Sue Ellen and Pam Ewing, were our inspiration. I even wore power suits and heels to pick up a take-a-way. Feminism had never reached the likes of me, I think it was because I'd gone to a Catholic school.
But I digress, back to those lazy boys, on pointing out that it was me that did the washing up, not some little fairy, younger son replied 'stop trying to steal the fairy's limelight'. He is studying psychology at the moment and outwitting me at every turn, it is quite disconcerting. He can spot the twitch of an eyebrow at 10 paces, and any chance of convincing him we've run out of jaffa cakes is lost. I wish I had been stricter with the chores! Doh!
But what led me to off to that train of thought? Ahh yes, that strange story this week of the couple who are raising their little boy as 'non gender', with an accompanying picture of the little fella in a tutu. For the moment I am speechless!
To be fair, I wasn't much of a feminist when they were growing up, unless reading ;The Women's Room' counts. Whatever, the whole message went right over my head, because Maggie Thatcher was cool simply on the basis that she was a woman. I know, I know, and I have done penance for it every day since. It was the eighties and Sue Ellen and Pam Ewing, were our inspiration. I even wore power suits and heels to pick up a take-a-way. Feminism had never reached the likes of me, I think it was because I'd gone to a Catholic school.
But I digress, back to those lazy boys, on pointing out that it was me that did the washing up, not some little fairy, younger son replied 'stop trying to steal the fairy's limelight'. He is studying psychology at the moment and outwitting me at every turn, it is quite disconcerting. He can spot the twitch of an eyebrow at 10 paces, and any chance of convincing him we've run out of jaffa cakes is lost. I wish I had been stricter with the chores! Doh!
But what led me to off to that train of thought? Ahh yes, that strange story this week of the couple who are raising their little boy as 'non gender', with an accompanying picture of the little fella in a tutu. For the moment I am speechless!
LULZSEC HACKERS
Try as I might Sall, I just cannot join in with the hang and flog 'em brigade who will be calling for blood in this Lulzsec hackers case. I kind of like that there are young people out there bold and clever enough to challenge the system. Had they scaled Mount Everest, they would be heroes. Cie la ve. I don't really like the idea that all of OUR personal information is locked in a vault, accessible only to the Government and the selected few. History has shown us that, that sort of thing leads can lead to crazy people becoming dictators. I refer you to George Orwell and James Bond films.
I can see that the whole sentencing business could cause a lot of problems here. Sure as eggs is eggs, these young, I will call them trailblazers, for want of a better word right now, will have others coming up behind them in legions. I just cannot see how the spread of information can be stopped. But more importantly, it shouldn't be.
From what I know thus far, they were young geniuses, with way too much time on their hands (one was from Galway and another the Shetlands), which would explain much. Lets keep a sense of perspective here,
and for fear of being pelted with eggs, I have only looked at this, from a mumsy, 'ah, bless 'em' perspective, and admittedly do not yet know if hacking is a victimless crime, but I'm open to persuasion.
I can see that the whole sentencing business could cause a lot of problems here. Sure as eggs is eggs, these young, I will call them trailblazers, for want of a better word right now, will have others coming up behind them in legions. I just cannot see how the spread of information can be stopped. But more importantly, it shouldn't be.
From what I know thus far, they were young geniuses, with way too much time on their hands (one was from Galway and another the Shetlands), which would explain much. Lets keep a sense of perspective here,
and for fear of being pelted with eggs, I have only looked at this, from a mumsy, 'ah, bless 'em' perspective, and admittedly do not yet know if hacking is a victimless crime, but I'm open to persuasion.
Monday, 5 March 2012
CHALLENGE TO JORDAN
I want to like Jordan, aka Katie Price, I honestly do, but its not easy. Kudos to her, she has dragged herself away from the whole world of menial jobs and mediocrity, and shown that women can indeed be successful, and thats a good thing. I think. The problem is, its as though the key to success for a girl, is to have inflated breasts, hair extensions and a trout pout. No education necessary. To me all young girls are starting to look the same. They all have cascades of blonde hair or cascades of dark hair, tarantula eyelashes and eyebrows that don't move. Admittedly, I have been watching Take Me Out and The Only Way is Essex, I only have freeview. But I digress, it is quite disconcerting, all youngsters look like generic Barbies seeking genitalia free Kens. I can see why old ladies call everyone love and dear and I bet a few are having a chuckle at this week's latest patronising government brainwave. Of course it could also be fading eyesight that makes we old biddies ditch names in favour of terms of endearment. Though in fairness, I am not sure if I was awake or asleep when I watched TOWE, so I might have been having a nightmare. Must get some pillow friendly new reading glasses because I always fall asleep with my specks on. Now they are all scew whiff like Eric Morecambe's and I have to squint and lean to the left when I want to read to the telly guide. I nearly missed the Exorcism of Emily Rose last night because I thought it said Excitement of Emily Rose, and that I had wandered onto the adult channels, again, lol. Only kidding, much prefer to watch two fat ladies making cream cakes and Marks and Spencers ads these days. The food ones, obviously, not Twiggy demonstrating how good you could look, if you just showed a little bit of restraint in the whole food and vices area.
Of course its not all Jordan's fault, Simon Cowell, has to take some of the blame, but it would be nice if she could use some of her power for good. I take nothing away from her achievements whatsoever, and I won't patronise her, by using the word luck, she is where she is through hard work and determination. However, her views on the poor and the unemployed are ill thought out, and actually, a bit mean. There are plenty of crooks and frauds out there, most of them way higher up the social and financial scale diddling the books. The truth is Mrs, the majority of us read about about your millionaire lifestyle inbetween waiting on other people, emptying commodes and peeling spuds. We are rarely in a position to take up life's opportunities even if the good fairy does appear magically appear for a fleeting moment. We've normally got kids to look after and parents, and don't get me started on pairing up socks. More money going out, than coming in, is the harsh reality for most.
If Katie Price took the time and cameras to visit a deprived area and put her name to campaigns that offered youngsters hope, she might just get the official Dame title she needs so desperately to match that whole pantomine look she's got going on? I jest of course, most would prefer to see Jordan telling it like it is, than listen to la di dah Sarah Ferguson, who is still grieving the loss of her butler. That was just grim.
Most claimants are genuine, and most kids would love to have decent paid jobs. We all remember the thrill of opening our first pay packets and the sense of worth it gave us. Using kids as forced, unpaid labour in jobs without futures is a huge leap backwards in our social evolution. Effectively, it is dehumanising. The implications for the future are horrendous. There are employers who will use the scheme to replace their permanent workforces, that is, the few remaining employees who still have contracts and rights. This of course makes some very rich bosses, very much richer.
Maybe 1% of Jordan's fanbase will have a glittering future, such as her own, but for the majority of others who are discarding education in favour of silicone, the future is mediocre at best and a lifetime of low income jobs and benefits at worst. I think Katie should get back to the drawing board and have a re-think with this one, because she has effectively taken the side of greedy bosses against those that she purports to represent.
Saturday, 3 March 2012
THE YGL BOARD
It was a bit like a WI coffee morning with polite conversation and cage wrestling. Yet, it all started off so politely, ha ha ha. At first we afraid, we were petrified, none of us had clue about libel laws, and still don't, especially now 'ta'internet' has been unleashed. In your face lawyers, and back to those fecking boring law books for you. Apologies to Ronnie and Mandy, whose knowledge is probably now extinct and gathering dust alongside Dickens, but who tf knows what anymore? And is it really worth spending decades of your life figuring out the small print? Other than hacking off my own leg with a mini power saw, I can think of no worse way of spending my precious time. Don't get me wrong, I think the old laws are great, especially those ones where you can't chase pheasants wearing lederhosen or heels, or whatever are great fun, and I have often been tempted to flaunt them just for the hell of it. I haven't yet acquired a breadmaker along life's way, but just as soon as I do, I'm gonna bake bread on a Sunday morning, just to pee off any rampant anglo saxon ghosts who might be hovering.
For myself, on the whole libel front, think I have found a get out clause. I can plead lunacy, and I have a certificate to prove it! Yes, yes, yes, thank you Doc, you have no idea what that means to me, 'I told you I was nuts' can be used in so many situations. I knew it would come in handy one day, and therefore have it hanging alongside my hard earned degree. I like to think I am just at the far end of the whole measuring scale - that endearing phase when you can get away with most things on account of your ovaries, your galloping arthritis and your need to be never more than 30 seconds (tops) to the nearest lavatory. Had to do an imaginary high five to the heavily pregnant Posh Spice last summer, for demanding a seat near the loo in Westminster Abbey and wearing skyscraper heels! Now that is Posh! You go girlfriend!
Oooh, this is fun!
For myself, on the whole libel front, think I have found a get out clause. I can plead lunacy, and I have a certificate to prove it! Yes, yes, yes, thank you Doc, you have no idea what that means to me, 'I told you I was nuts' can be used in so many situations. I knew it would come in handy one day, and therefore have it hanging alongside my hard earned degree. I like to think I am just at the far end of the whole measuring scale - that endearing phase when you can get away with most things on account of your ovaries, your galloping arthritis and your need to be never more than 30 seconds (tops) to the nearest lavatory. Had to do an imaginary high five to the heavily pregnant Posh Spice last summer, for demanding a seat near the loo in Westminster Abbey and wearing skyscraper heels! Now that is Posh! You go girlfriend!
Oooh, this is fun!
Dr David Starkey
I am great fan of his, but had one of those 'has he gone bonkers, or is it me?' moments, when watching him on questiontime the other night. I totally approve of geniuses (or is that geniusi val?) being a tad barmy, and usually they are all the better as humans for it, but thought he was a tad harsh on that poor fella in the audience and I hope he apologised after.
I MISS YOU YGL GUYS
YIKES, I have done it, I am here, I think........... peeping out from behind the curtain, I thought I had better chuck in the drama queen analagy before my enemies find me, and haven't yet found smilies, but still looking, wink, wink, meanwhile will get a libel lawyer on standby.
I am missing me old mates, me old muckers, that gang of granny thugs, who used the aol message boards to knock seven bells out of their equally decrepid YGL room mates with their zimmer frames especially on a Friday night, when the gin bottles came out with a vengeance and sure as eggs is eggs, you could always guarantee it would end in a punch up.
For nearly 5 years we met up constantly, regularly, to the point of obsession and in need of psychiatric help. Some might be relieved to know that when I confessed that particular addiction to my own shrink, he said, not to worry at all, it is the 21st century equivilent of chatting over the garden fence. But back to the Europe Board, that became the Penny pickers, or something like that - an especially hilarious time when we could insult each other with accompanying graphics - lots of fairies and pigs! The Penny Pickers became the YGL, as we declared an amnesty in our search for a new home in which to abuse each other. All pretence at never wanting to set eyes on each other again was put aside, as memories of Selectedsgate flooded back, to all our shame. I think I used the feck a lot.
Really hit home how much I missed you lot this week, especially with the loss of the legend that was Davy Jones. Only another menopausal old bird of whatever class, faith or creed, will understand the sheer grief of his passing. He put the first twinkle in my pre pubescent eyes, he made me see boys in an entirely different life. Up until then, I had always viewed them as dirty, smelly creatures to outwit if I couldn't outfight. It was like an awakening, an epiphe, Davy Jones was a God! OK, a bit over the top, but I used to run home from school to watch the Monkeys! RIP Davy, you made us all Daydream Believers............
But back to our board, I am sure we would all have grieved together, and shared our fond memories........... ahh, but we always managed to unite for the important things. Annie would be making plates of sarnies and vol-au-vents, to pass around at our impromtu Davy Wake, Bree would have a big auld stew on the hob, and Pauline would be asking us to take orf our shoes, in case we damage the real wood flooring. I would place me Doc Martins next to Mandy's (fake) Jimmy Choos, and we would start the evening calling each other dahlink, sweetie, and luv, before moving onto biatch, slut, and similar terms of endearment as the evening progressed, ahhh, those were the days.
Some might be hearted to know I have finally had my hair done. It became essential, I was starting to look like one of those loonies you always hope won't sit next to you on the bus. My son said, I looked like an escapee from a dementia unit. He's very blunt. I have had it cut with a full head of highlights, Should explain that I had to go from dark to blonde here, and it was a problem shared. I sort of look semi-human now, which is a relief to many. I took some time out to become hemit for a while. Of course I didn't have the requisite cave (sadly), but this society's equivilent, I got old and became invisible. I go to the shops without makeup, I dress for comfort, not style. I feel that if my photo became public I would be used as an example. That's what 40 years of booze, drugs and a disproportionate love of profiterols does to ya. I wanted to look like Jane Fonda, but I look more like Anne Widdicombe. Its not the look I was going for at all. I tell myself I have that 'I think I am really ugly' phobia thingy, but I am afraid that if I tell that to my shrink, he will say, 'nope, its not a phobia, don't go out until it gets dark, and wear a headscarf'.
But this blog is not all about me me, ha ha, I'm looking for me old sparring partners....... sally, or should I say Dr. Evil, put the cat down for a mo, Prn, I miss ya! Listening to your views kept me hanging onto the wobbly and wide road, as opposed to the straight and narrow. Annie, get out the wink, wink, teapot.
I am missing me old mates, me old muckers, that gang of granny thugs, who used the aol message boards to knock seven bells out of their equally decrepid YGL room mates with their zimmer frames especially on a Friday night, when the gin bottles came out with a vengeance and sure as eggs is eggs, you could always guarantee it would end in a punch up.
For nearly 5 years we met up constantly, regularly, to the point of obsession and in need of psychiatric help. Some might be relieved to know that when I confessed that particular addiction to my own shrink, he said, not to worry at all, it is the 21st century equivilent of chatting over the garden fence. But back to the Europe Board, that became the Penny pickers, or something like that - an especially hilarious time when we could insult each other with accompanying graphics - lots of fairies and pigs! The Penny Pickers became the YGL, as we declared an amnesty in our search for a new home in which to abuse each other. All pretence at never wanting to set eyes on each other again was put aside, as memories of Selectedsgate flooded back, to all our shame. I think I used the feck a lot.
Really hit home how much I missed you lot this week, especially with the loss of the legend that was Davy Jones. Only another menopausal old bird of whatever class, faith or creed, will understand the sheer grief of his passing. He put the first twinkle in my pre pubescent eyes, he made me see boys in an entirely different life. Up until then, I had always viewed them as dirty, smelly creatures to outwit if I couldn't outfight. It was like an awakening, an epiphe, Davy Jones was a God! OK, a bit over the top, but I used to run home from school to watch the Monkeys! RIP Davy, you made us all Daydream Believers............
But back to our board, I am sure we would all have grieved together, and shared our fond memories........... ahh, but we always managed to unite for the important things. Annie would be making plates of sarnies and vol-au-vents, to pass around at our impromtu Davy Wake, Bree would have a big auld stew on the hob, and Pauline would be asking us to take orf our shoes, in case we damage the real wood flooring. I would place me Doc Martins next to Mandy's (fake) Jimmy Choos, and we would start the evening calling each other dahlink, sweetie, and luv, before moving onto biatch, slut, and similar terms of endearment as the evening progressed, ahhh, those were the days.
Some might be hearted to know I have finally had my hair done. It became essential, I was starting to look like one of those loonies you always hope won't sit next to you on the bus. My son said, I looked like an escapee from a dementia unit. He's very blunt. I have had it cut with a full head of highlights, Should explain that I had to go from dark to blonde here, and it was a problem shared. I sort of look semi-human now, which is a relief to many. I took some time out to become hemit for a while. Of course I didn't have the requisite cave (sadly), but this society's equivilent, I got old and became invisible. I go to the shops without makeup, I dress for comfort, not style. I feel that if my photo became public I would be used as an example. That's what 40 years of booze, drugs and a disproportionate love of profiterols does to ya. I wanted to look like Jane Fonda, but I look more like Anne Widdicombe. Its not the look I was going for at all. I tell myself I have that 'I think I am really ugly' phobia thingy, but I am afraid that if I tell that to my shrink, he will say, 'nope, its not a phobia, don't go out until it gets dark, and wear a headscarf'.
But this blog is not all about me me, ha ha, I'm looking for me old sparring partners....... sally, or should I say Dr. Evil, put the cat down for a mo, Prn, I miss ya! Listening to your views kept me hanging onto the wobbly and wide road, as opposed to the straight and narrow. Annie, get out the wink, wink, teapot.
AOL BOARDS YGL I MISS YOU GUYS!
YIKES, I have done it, I am here, I think........... peeping out from behind the curtain, I thought I had better chuck in the drama queen analagy before my enemies find me, and haven't yet found smilies, but still looking, wink, wink, meanwhile will get a libel lawyer on standby.
I am missing me old mates, me old muckers, that gang of granny thugs, who used the aol message boards to knock seven bells out of their equally decrepid YGL room mates with their zimmer frames especially on a Friday night, when the gin bottles came out with a vengeance and sure as eggs is eggs, you could always guarantee it would end in a punch up.
For nearly 5 years we met up constantly, regularly, to the point of obsession and in need of psychiatric help. Some might be relieved to know that when I confessed that particular addiction to my own shrink, he said, not to worry at all, it is the 21st century equivilent of chatting over the garden fence. But back to the Europe Board, that became the Penny pickers, or something like that - an especially hilarious time when we could insult each other with accompanying graphics - lots of fairies and pigs! The Penny Pickers became the YGL, as we declared an amnesty in our search for a new home in which to abuse each other. All pretence at never wanting to set eyes on each other again was put aside, as memories of Selectedsgate flooded back, to all our shame. I think I used the feck a lot.
Really hit home how much I missed you lot this week, especially with the loss of the legend that was Davy Jones. Only another menopausal old bird of whatever class, faith or creed, will understand the sheer grief of his passing. He put the first twinkle in my pre pubescent eyes, he made me see boys in an entirely different life. Up until then, I had always viewed them as dirty, smelly creatures to outwit if I couldn't outfight. It was like an awakening, an epiphe, Davy Jones was a God! OK, a bit over the top, but I used to run home from school to watch the Monkeys! RIP Davy, you made us all Daydream Believers............
But back to our board, I am sure we would all have grieved together, and shared our fond memories........... ahh, but we always managed to unite for the important things. Annie would be making plates of sarnies and vol-au-vents, to pass around at our impromtu Davy Wake, Bree would have a big auld stew on the hob, and Pauline would be asking us to take orf our shoes, in case we damage the real wood flooring. I would place me Doc Martins next to Mandy's (fake) Jimmy Choos, and we would start the evening calling each other dahlink, sweetie, and luv, before moving onto biatch, slut, and similar terms of endearment as the evening progressed, ahhh, those were the days.
Some might be hearted to know I have finally had my hair done. It became essential, I was starting to look like one of those loonies you always hope won't sit next to you on the bus. My son said, I looked like an escapee from a dementia unit. He's very blunt. I have had it cut with a full head of highlights, Should explain that I had to go from dark to blonde here, and it was a problem shared. I sort of look semi-human now, which is a relief to many. I took some time out to become hemit for a while. Of course I didn't have the requisite cave (sadly), but this society's equivilent, I got old and became invisible. I go to the shops without makeup, I dress for comfort, not style. I feel that if my photo became public I would be used as an example. That's what 40 years of drinking, taking drugs and a disproportionate love of profiterols does to ya. I wanted to look like Jane Fonda, but I look more like Anne Widdicombe. Its not the look I was going for at all. I tell myself I have that 'I think I am really ugly' phobia thingy, but I am afraid that if I tell that to my shrink, he will say, 'nope, its not a phobia, don't go out until it gets dark, and wear a headscarf'.
But this blog is not all about me, ha ha, I'm looking for me old sparring partners....... sally, or should I say Dr. Evil, put the cat down for a mo, Prn, I miss ya! Listening to your views kept me hanging onto the wobbly and wide road, as opposed to the straight and narrow. Annie, get out the wink, wink, teapot.
In my next installment, I am going to start naming names! lol
I am missing me old mates, me old muckers, that gang of granny thugs, who used the aol message boards to knock seven bells out of their equally decrepid YGL room mates with their zimmer frames especially on a Friday night, when the gin bottles came out with a vengeance and sure as eggs is eggs, you could always guarantee it would end in a punch up.
For nearly 5 years we met up constantly, regularly, to the point of obsession and in need of psychiatric help. Some might be relieved to know that when I confessed that particular addiction to my own shrink, he said, not to worry at all, it is the 21st century equivilent of chatting over the garden fence. But back to the Europe Board, that became the Penny pickers, or something like that - an especially hilarious time when we could insult each other with accompanying graphics - lots of fairies and pigs! The Penny Pickers became the YGL, as we declared an amnesty in our search for a new home in which to abuse each other. All pretence at never wanting to set eyes on each other again was put aside, as memories of Selectedsgate flooded back, to all our shame. I think I used the feck a lot.
Really hit home how much I missed you lot this week, especially with the loss of the legend that was Davy Jones. Only another menopausal old bird of whatever class, faith or creed, will understand the sheer grief of his passing. He put the first twinkle in my pre pubescent eyes, he made me see boys in an entirely different life. Up until then, I had always viewed them as dirty, smelly creatures to outwit if I couldn't outfight. It was like an awakening, an epiphe, Davy Jones was a God! OK, a bit over the top, but I used to run home from school to watch the Monkeys! RIP Davy, you made us all Daydream Believers............
But back to our board, I am sure we would all have grieved together, and shared our fond memories........... ahh, but we always managed to unite for the important things. Annie would be making plates of sarnies and vol-au-vents, to pass around at our impromtu Davy Wake, Bree would have a big auld stew on the hob, and Pauline would be asking us to take orf our shoes, in case we damage the real wood flooring. I would place me Doc Martins next to Mandy's (fake) Jimmy Choos, and we would start the evening calling each other dahlink, sweetie, and luv, before moving onto biatch, slut, and similar terms of endearment as the evening progressed, ahhh, those were the days.
Some might be hearted to know I have finally had my hair done. It became essential, I was starting to look like one of those loonies you always hope won't sit next to you on the bus. My son said, I looked like an escapee from a dementia unit. He's very blunt. I have had it cut with a full head of highlights, Should explain that I had to go from dark to blonde here, and it was a problem shared. I sort of look semi-human now, which is a relief to many. I took some time out to become hemit for a while. Of course I didn't have the requisite cave (sadly), but this society's equivilent, I got old and became invisible. I go to the shops without makeup, I dress for comfort, not style. I feel that if my photo became public I would be used as an example. That's what 40 years of drinking, taking drugs and a disproportionate love of profiterols does to ya. I wanted to look like Jane Fonda, but I look more like Anne Widdicombe. Its not the look I was going for at all. I tell myself I have that 'I think I am really ugly' phobia thingy, but I am afraid that if I tell that to my shrink, he will say, 'nope, its not a phobia, don't go out until it gets dark, and wear a headscarf'.
But this blog is not all about me, ha ha, I'm looking for me old sparring partners....... sally, or should I say Dr. Evil, put the cat down for a mo, Prn, I miss ya! Listening to your views kept me hanging onto the wobbly and wide road, as opposed to the straight and narrow. Annie, get out the wink, wink, teapot.
In my next installment, I am going to start naming names! lol
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