10 New Year Resolutions That I'd Never Have Kept Anyhow....

1. To actually wear the slippers anyone ever gets me, instead of using them as presents for others.

2. To stand on the bathroom scales and feel optimistic.

3. To pretend that unrequited love didn't ever hurt.

4. To stop feeling smug that apart from being a tad jowly, I don't have one single wrinkle on my face and I'll be 50 in a few years time.

5. To brush my teeth after EVERY cherry yogurt I demolish at night.

6. To stop wanting to give David Tennant and Brett Anderson one every time I see them on screen.

7. To stop kissing my cat on the mouth.

8. To believe a skinny bitch when she says "You're not as big as you think you look!" In her terms you're worse.

9. To convince myself everything's gonna be alright.

10. To stop wondering which is worse: a boring, anally retentive bastard who doesn't have the decency to keep in touch now that he's used you or a smug bitch who does-but-doesn't look down her nose at you.

Sunday Snippet (9)

No luck on the lottery last night. No numbers up. *sigh*

D'you know what really gets my goat? All those who say:

"Oooooh, if I won millions it wouldn't change me."

If that's really the case, why don't they stick to less nail-biting gambles like tombola's, raffles and coconut shy's, and leave us greedy, materialistic bastards to do our own thing!

Blogging Chris Lilley....!!

My son Adam bought me a comedy video for my birthday in January. I had never seen or heard of the writer/actor, Chris Lilley before - who stars in it - as he is Australian. The show is a mockumentary situated in an Australian public high school Summer Heights High. It follows the every day events of 3 members of it.

Jonah - a remedial 13 year-old, mother-fucker-of-a-nightmare scholar!
Mr.G - an egotistical, effeminate drama teacher.
Ja'mie - a private school exchange student.

Rarely have I watched a show that's pushed (and even crossed) boundaries as such. It has the right amount of comedy and pathos that ticks all my boxes when it comes to laughs and life. What makes it even more wonderful for me is that if you remove Chris Lilly for a bit, you'd actually think you were watching a serious documentary. The script and actors surpass other shows, easy! Thank you, Adam for buying me this DVD. Ain't it great when you bring to the front older comedies for the kids and they bring to light what's a huge hit for them and eventually you!

Anyhow, as it's his birthday today, I'll leave a clip of each character from the show. And these clips are mild to some I could have chosen:

Sunday Snippet (8)

Incredible! Earlier on today while standing in the kiosk queue in my local supermarket with the cheaper half - he lets out an unexpected burp! He pardons himself and apologizes right away as there's an elderly lady, well dressed, and most likely had just been to church, in front of us. She turns and smiles at my hubby as he's still covering his mouth feeling a bit awkward. To try and alleviate my hubby's obvious embarrassment I said:

"Don't feel too bad sweetheart, I farted up by the freezers" (I didn't!)

She turned and gave me a filthy look! I couldn't believe it! GOD ALLOWS WOMEN TO FART TOO, YOU KNOW!!

Vlad's The Way To Do It!

I've just pinched this from Seanie''s profile - I'm sure he won't mind. But this must be every Scotsman's worst nightmare - all that voddie and cognac going to waste:

Doctor, Jester and Slapped Backsides!

My son's dressing up for Halloween parties were pretty typical. I knew what to expect from my younger son, Adam. He is the funniest little scamp and always has been. So I was delighted when he chose his jesters outfit for his party!

With my oldest son and his pretty-boy looks, he had to draw the females so no horror masks for him! He opted for a gynaecologist outfit. It didn't surprise me in the slightest. When he picked up the headtorch and hadn't a clue where it was to go, I despaired. Ladies you'd be 'a fanny to let HIM near your fud!' Here's a couple of post party pics with girlfriend and mates. You'll know who is who...!

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Pratt Of A Cat - example 7:
Always go for a shit directly BEFORE big sisses with kisses visit from London to annoy the living daylights out of you.............Pratt!
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Sunday Snippet (7)

Do people living in the country really care for their pets...? I mean, I went a walk there today and could not believe the amount of rabbits which had gotten out of their hutches and running riot! I may be a townie but my level of security is second to none!

Little Darlings!

Okay - those who have them or work with or around them know that teenagers can be a teensy bit stubborn. Part of nature. Growing up. But sometimes we mothers and fathers are tarnished with the 'you're an embarrassment' brush and the only time some of them talk to you is when they're after something other than advice. Usually money. So often teenage issues can be a hard thing to discuss with the arm swinging brigade. Obviously parents want to keep their little angels free from harm and bad judgment. So what can we do if a teen just doesn't want to know...? I reckon as with little 'uns we should portray our worries in a series of life-shaping books - wiff pictures and everyfink.

Youngsters love books that often rhyme! Never too old for them! Especially if it includes a name. Andy Pandy. Sue and Sugar Too! Hannah Montana. You get the drift. So I suggest a series of them for the stubborn teen. I'm not covering every issue but perhaps some in the title range of....

1. Nina The Fat Ballerina.
2. Joyce And Her Fondness For Boys.
3. Sweary Hairy Mary.
4. Stew And His New Pot Of Glue.
5. Keith The Overnight Thief.
6. Donald And Danny No Longer Like Fanny.
7. Mitch And His Unusual Itch.
8. Dave Slave.
9. Nelly And Her Swelly Belly.
10. Buck Who Just Don't Give A Damn What Anybody Says!

....might do the trick. If they're illustrated in full blown colour, with really stiff pages, and chucked in the room or slid under the door when there's a teen mate in the room with him/her, well, maybe talking to mum or dad won't seem as awful as it sounds!
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Pratt Of A Cat - example 6:

Just because a niece visits at Halloween with her face painted like a cat does NOT mean she's on your side..........pratt!
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Sunday Snippet (6)

Loved what I saw when walking home the other day. Passed a park that's situated next to a 'poshish' housing scheme. One of the 'No Ball Games by Order' signs had been uprooted and taken to the other end of the park where it was re-rooted so many yards away from another sign of exactly the same warning! The kids were using it as the other goal post! Ahhhhhhh!

It was the first time in my life I ever felt like joining in a football/soccer game!

Happy Annivesary To Meeeeeeee!!

I had to let you girls (and occasional boys!) see the card my nutty neighbours next door bought for our anniversary yesterday. Liz and Tam have probably traipsed round every card shop in the area to find one that's fitting as when it comes to cards they always 'deliver'!
And opened up:
And just in case those badges need bigger clarity:

Don't you just love it when some things are so apt! The pink bubbly stuff helped heaps with the dental pain and blocked nose (see What Lena Leaves for details!). I reminded him of the badges' status when it came to opening up the choccies!

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PRATT OF A CAT - example 5:


Next Morning.............

Alcohol is never the answer...........pratt!
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Sunday Snippet.....(5)

Men are wonderful at multi-tasking. Only this quiet, Sunday morning was he valuing my opinions by nodding, smoking and occasionally saying 'mmmmm'.
It was only shopping I was banging on about but at least it's helped me make my mind up as to what I'm getting him this Christmas - a nice box of milk chocolate After Eight Thins.........and shoving some right between his arse cheeks when he eventually crashes out. Oh, the joy of him waking and initially thinking he's shit himself!

'Merry Christmas Darling ! Now where did I put that Oxi Action pre-wash gel?

Large Visitor Globe

Shitty Knitters Rule!

Never let it be said that I'm not creative. I simply cannot pass the day without doing something. After all the daily business is done, I like to unwind with my kinda thing. I started knitting my daughter's jumper in July, so I'll have it ready for her at New Year when she and her husband always visit! I only knit to her approval. But my sodding problem is that I often take too many things on at the same time and leave woolly, unconquered garments in the lurch. That's why coming across this little item again made me smile. It's perfect 'me time' sized and it's the only garment that I've ever asked for back.

When we found out that my favourite band, Suede, were to split up in 2003, my sister and I were devastated. No more bunking off work and throwing sickies to see them. No more coming home with bruising and fag burns on clothes after gigs! No more staying overnight in pissed-drenched train stations for catching the end of shows or vomiting in Edinburgh/Glasgow streets through a sustenance of alcohol because you're too excited to eat! God, I miss those days.

But, because our family intends to inflict our favourite music on our children (that can be cruel in some cases!) it gave me the idea to make the jumper below for my little niece, Rachel, who was 9 months old when she wore it. My wee sis adored it on her baby and always bought unusual clothes and toys ect, whenever she could. Just to veer off a little from the typical.

On the jumper I have knitted in a headstone with the date of the bands' birth and demise in music. Round the headstone I painstakingly embroidered little flowers in respect of the band. And we didn't care what reaction it got from other mums (most of them thought we were mad) but I can remember my GP saying it was brilliant! (Not that I had consulted him about the idea, Rachel just happened to be wearing it while I was babysitting!).

So, I've been knitting away like an old fogey since, usually for older babies and sometimes with rudish sayings on them! A lot of asterisks used, that kind of thing! Coz that's what modern and untypical mums want these days. Let's face it - the kids won't get away with bad language or choose 'sinister' clothes when they're older, (unless they're Goth of course) so we have to do it for them when we can! Just think of the horror of showing them the pictures when they're older! Rachel will probably be mortified when this picture resurfaces in her teens. And that jumper is to be kept for my first grandchild. It's the hairiest ******* heirloom I'll ever be proud of!.



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PRATT OF A CAT - example 4:

Dodgy dances moves will get you neither a queen, nor smoked salmon.......Pratt!
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Sunday Snippet......(4)

I refuse to decorate today. Load of bollocks anyhow. By the time you've finished one room another could do with a touch up (know how it feels!).

It's all a fraudulent chore anyhow........ Manufacturers of Dulux 'Once', I think the word you're looking for is 'Twice'.

Say What....?!

Old fashioned names are back in style. I quite like Emilia, Florence, and Winifred for new girl babies. All names that can be abbreviated or derived. I also like George, Alfred, and Joseph for boys for they too, can be adjusted to suit modern times. Even my own name, Helena, has lots of derivatives to it. I was named after my grandmother Helena (a sour-faced old bint, apparently!). Over the years my family has refered to me accordingly, as the decade suited. The 'a' was dropped in the 60/70's, so I went through my school years as simply, Helen. I now prefer the shortened version of Lena, from my birth name but the nicknames have scunnered me over the years. Nelly, Tiger-Lill and Elly are just a few I've been lumbered with! I'm too old to protest now!

I really don't mind some of the modern names, circa 90's/00's. Madison, Taylor, Chealsea, Tallula, are all names I've heard from modern mums with babies. I'm not always sure if it's a girl or a boy either, but I've felt it impolite to ask. But when I heard THIS name, I thought it was a wind-up! My friend assures me it is true. Her friend named her little boy Wisdom-Jones! This as a Christian name! The first thing that sprung to mind when I heard it was Native America, where such like names are fitting. But this little lad is English and will be attending a mainstream school in a few years. Lest they cut that name severely to Jo, I can't see this little bugger getting away with a title like that. People laugh at it but the mum is proud apparently, but kids will be kids.

I suppose the breed that do get away with things like this are celebrities. I mean we have Apple, Romeo and Princess (she's not!) Tiiami's in the papers and it won't matter to them what stupid bloody label they carry! I actually quite like Brangelina's daughter! Shilo Pitt. I wonder if the parents considered what that'll sound like spoonerized!

So modern parents - feel free to look for the unique, other cultures' names ect. Just don't pin a ridiculous name on the little bundle that'll be heavier to carry than a builders hod! It's the one humphing it about all the time!

Pratt of a cat below:
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Pratt Of A Cat - example 3:

Online love NEVER lasts......................................Pratt!
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Certified Foods

I don't always understand religion. My only appearance in church is at weddings, funerals and when the kids were at school. Despite this, I do have family members who attend regularly and I always respect others' choices in what their belief is. On the other hand, I'm not vocal about why I don't attend church, but I want so much to believe there is a Heaven. Mostly in this multi-cultural world, I do accept that there are vast and many, many aspects to one's own particular religion and its God. Never once have I scoffed at faith. I feel if you believe there is a God, you must also accept that the Devil exists, too.

My son came home late from work on Sunday, and I asked him if he'd been given a bit overtime. He has a weekend job at our local hospital, working in both the kitchens and as a porter. But he said it was a missing slip that held him back for an hour.

After preparing a meal for an Muslim patient - of which included the same meal choices as other patients - he could not find the 'slaughter' certificate. At first I thought he was pulling my leg. Of course I understood that animals are and were still being sacrificed in certain religions. Even for a meat eater, I don't always like to think how the animal died but it doesn't stop me from wolfing into that chicken Korma! And as much as I respect her choice - my great niece won't ever turn me into a vegetarian, not while there's rolls and bacon out there!

But I felt it for the patient. Her chicken choice had to be slaughtered across the throat straight from life - no partial stunning beforehand - and then drained of blood. This had to be proven before she could eat. Chef had already left the kitchens and he is the one who tends to the meal certificates stating that this meat was in compliance with Halal. In a very busy hospital kitchen one little slip can easily go amiss among the hundreds of other trays now and again. But it wasn't for the want of searching.

So, after the other women in the ward - a lot eating the same meal - had finished theirs the Islamic woman had no other choice than to pick another meal and eat alone. And my son said that chef wouldn't be a happy bunny when he heard about it. For a long while now, the kitchens in hospitals run in orderly effect of Halal. Personally, I couldn't care less how my haggis was killed - pull it's brains out with hooks down it's nose if need be - it won't alter the flavour to me!

What ever the ethics and ethos of some cultures, it goes to show that some things we take for granted can be a little more awkward for others. The attitude towards alcohol in some religions I can fully appreciate. I now also understand why during my son's primary school days, his friend Wiqqas, who is Muslim, wasn't as overly polite as I thought he was when it came to food during sleep overs. At the time, I just didn't think. Poor little empty-bellied adolescents! Just as well I had something other than chicken in for tea!

Remember there will be Pratt Of A Cat examples at the end of each post!
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PRATT OF A CAT - example 2:

2. Never curl up and fall asleep next to drunken teenagers.......pratt!

Sunday Snippet ....(2)

What a rip off these permanent marker pens are. I bought one 3 weeks ago and it's run out already!

Pratt Of A Cat Paw-dditions.......!

I've been clearing out my online photo albums and pictures that have been there for years started to appear again the more I deleted. Mostly (as much of a lambasting the cheaper-half gives me for snapping him!) of my older ginger cat, Simon. He's the cat I have loved most ever, in my history of catty pets. Loving , soft natured, talented (he can talk to you as future pictures will show!) and the biggest PRATT of a moggie I know. So, I've decided that at the end of future blogs here. - I'll be posting additional pictures of just how stupid (and funny) this animal has been over the years - apart from Sundays which will be solely for Sunday Snippets! Simon I love, you but sometimes.....................

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PRATT OF A CAT - example 1

1. Never sneak in and bunk up beside the kettle because it's warm - you know you're not allowed and almost die, as your head hangs down almost cutting off your air supply when you're in slumberland...................................Pratt!

The Big Announcement....

I hope it's not just my family (but knowing my lot - we will be!) but the men (and occasional female) always have an announcement to make. Usually on a daily basis.

They can go pee without trepidation, no real problem, but having a number two is different. I've tried to puzzle this one out in the past, thinking they'll grow out of it, but, alas, no!

"I'm off for a crap.......away for a shit.........needing a clear out." Are the ones usually kept within earshot of we immediate family.

'"Of for a tom-tit.........want a jobbie........taking a floury bap........" When there's relatives in - usually auntie's and uncles.

"God, here's last night's mudweiser".......oh, f*ck, I've a Marmite on.........I feel a bit of a buttflood brewing..... In front of anybody if it's the effect's of the morning after the night before.

Thank you, boys! I'm so very grateful that you feel the need to let the world and I know how clever and important or possibly scared you are but there's really no need! I know exactly where you're going and where you've been, and since I'm the only one who cleans out the toilet bowl - a fair idea of what went on in there!

Honestly - this must be some sort of deep-rooted need to be honoured or praised for what comes naturally. I now know why I occasionally find their mobile phone in the lav. If no-one's in SOMEBODY'S got to know! I'm just sad that I can no longer find the toilet paper of my primary school days. You know the one you could also use for tracing paper and making comb kazoo's out of......? Yes, that's the one - that made you walk like John Wayne after having to use it. If that stuff was still around it'd back them up for a fortnight!!

The Booby Trap

I have to admit, I was a successful breast feeder. I managed to feed all three of them, but only until around the 6 months mark. That was pure choice on my own behalf. I felt it was long enough and when the piranha affect kicked in (teeth!) it got a bit on the gritty side. So from there on it was rubber in the gob when it came to milk.

In antenatal classes, the midwife tries to convince you that the size of the breast doesn't matter, it's the amount of time the baby suckles that's important. Oh, and that breast-fed babies tend to sleep less, in fact, 2 hours at the most in the first month, so be prepared for extreme tiredness but think of the baby's future advantages, blah, blah, blah. Well, I hate to differ, but I'm going to!

My babies slept all night from very early ages. Kerri was 6 weeks (and from a previous marriage) Ross, 11 DAYS, (he had to be the show off) and Adam from 3 weeks. And I think it may have been because I have a huge pair of bazooka's!

This is by no means a brag, don't get me wrong, they've served their purpose and I'd whittle the bastards away if I came into some money coz they have also been the bane of my life - especially as a teenager. But I sincerely believe it was the size that helped, too. God, I used to wake every morning and they were like rocks because the milk built as the babies slept all night. The letdown reflex was like a lightening zap, but I managed to express a bottle's worth, in the mornings so the hubby could give a feed at night. This may all have been down to sheer luck, but when more and more ladies from the clinic meetings were having to give up, I felt that their poor little norks may have had something to do with it.

I know breast feeding's not for every one and I personally don't believe your kid'll turn into a superhero if it is. Healthy and happy is utmost however nutrition is consumed. God, I'd rather see a baby being bottle fed than some of the outrageous exhibitionists I've seen over the years. I always managed to find some public privacy while feeding my baby, people are fairly spare-room tolerant no matter where your travels take you. I've seen some mums virtually swinging them about on picnics and so forth, when being discreet isn't all that difficult. But I suppose the worst sight in the world to me, is a pregnant woman smoking. Mind you, Adam's first Xmas was the first time I had had a glass of wine in over a year. But that choochy wee face looks like it's looking forward to his next feed a little more than usual. Alcopoppet!

Casino - Studio Students Get High!

Some may not know, but I love music. Not too many genre's. I hate R&B, metal, rap, dance (that the fucking most!) country and keech, and if I've offended anybody here, sorry, but I'd rather shove wasps up my arse than listen to it.

Now, I suppose I have to be biased here, but my son Ross's band, Casino are great! Their songs on myspace are few and mainly cover Indie sounds but with a great British feel to them. Other tracks that haven't yet been recorded (due to studies, work and almost constant gigging) are nonetheless brilliant. My particular favourite is A Little Bit Longer, which takes on a sleazy sound with minimal "shoop shoop's" and cheeky pauses in - one feels inclined to go shag a priest after hearing it. It has wonderful illicit words and tones. Sodom and Gomorrah is pure rock but not to heavy, with lines like "the sound of the circus, is causing confusion" is mind-boggling but it fits. And the quirky, All In The Making, takes me back to my early 80's youth. So they're no one-trick pony's! However, their newest song, Creeper, (about a one night stand gone wrong) is the one that gets me the most excited (no shagging thoughts involved here!). It's just phenomenal. Right now I don't think it fits into any category just surpasses typical local band sounds.

I spent a huge amount of time with my son's last band, The Valentines , his high school/first year college band and - with the help of my exceptional neighbours, Liz and Tam who happily endured all their practice sessions and went to gigs - they won their regional Battle Of The Bands contest, beating 138 other local bands! And one of the lead singers was a duff-noter! Their tracks even made it into our county's, Stirling Rocks CD, which is compiled by the council for the best music locally around! They also were the only band to have TWO tracks on the song list. The feeling of going into a renowned record store (HMV) and lift a CD with your son's band in it - (and announce it quite loudly if you're with a friend!) - it's quite exhilarating.

This week end my younger son, Adam, will be recording his first demo with his band (he's the drummer, too!) No Need For Idols and they'll be entering the same competition The Valentines, did. I'm out for a second win here, too!

So, I'm glad I inflicted music on my sons. Glad that I built up the confidence I lacked. Happy that it was obviously in their blood. And even happier that now, the lyrics and music flow independently from them. What I didn't expect was that I would be constantly attending their gigs. And little do they know that I've got tee-shirts made with their bands' name on the front and "Mumma of the Drumma" on the back so their fans know who the old fogey elbowing the fuck out of teenagers faces to get to the front, is!

Casino's latest video The High is just to the right on the side profile. Remember to double click for the bigger pic!

Sunday Snippet (1)

It does my bloody head in, it does. Sunday cooking. Well, joining in, I suppose. My recipes come straight from the Ria Parkinson cook book of disasters. I was asked by the cheaper half to peel and chop some onions, to which I opposed as it always makes my eyes run:

"Not if you peel and slice them underwater." was his reply!

Useless git. I can only hold my breath for around a minute and I'll be buggered if I'm popping up for air for four onions' worth! Tut!

Mediums? Rare or Well Cooked?

One thing I'm beginning to loathe about insomnia is that the television through the night is shit. No programme really keeps me all that interested after 2am. That's when the last South Park is aired and other, more 'topical' ones seem to take over, I recently discovered. It's the brigade of the Mediums! Yes, there must be at least 3 or 4 of these 'spiritually gifted' chosen ones to view over a four hour period. Now, I did watch these programmes keenly over the said period as for some reason I felt more awake than the usual sluggish hell of no sleep. Perhaps there was something preeminent in this bloke I was watching! Until I reminded myself that I'd been on the kids' Lucozade sports drinks since midnight (coz normally I can't be arsed with kettles and so forth during the night). Okay, that was me getting back to my (usually) secular old self. But I was impressed.

What I did take in was all the similarities. How the laws of probability were used in fine scrutiny. I mean, they'd pick out an oldish woman, better for them if they were shaking, or had the look of sheer desperation in their eyes. When asking if they had a 'mother' who'd passed there was a 50/50 chance that yes, a parent had died, and that it was a female. If not, he'd go on to mum-in-laws, aunties, ect. Then the initials would come or if very old spirits were channeling in, the older type Betty, Jean, Dorothy, Elizabeth names would spill out and chances are there was a name like that in the family. Then would come the region in his body where he felt they had 'died' from. Usually, cancer or heart problems if he circled about the chest area. Sometimes, spot on. Sometimes, mind you, he'd venture further down the body and get it right. But these blokes are masters in their art. So is it a con or not?

I probably gave it more "och, anybody could have guessed that" than "well, that is a bit spooky". One thing that did give me a bit of respect for them was, that, what ever the price of pish or professional medium, it did give people a lot of comfort. So happy their 'families' came through. And when said their sceptical views were altered after a show and it gave them a different outlook to the afterlife, fair enough. For me, as long as there is one rational, possible, explanation (be it research or even looking up names after tickets are booked - (coz there is something called the electoral role, for any area you know!) then I'll be opting for the scrap of other evidence option - no matter how silly it may seem. Only because I'm scared to admit to myself it might be true. So maybe, it's really me conning myself!

One female medium I'd like to mentioned is one called Lisa Williams. Now she is British but works in America on her show. She does have one-to-one sessions that in hindsight looked pretty damn convincing. Another trait of hers is to stop people on busy streets to give them a impromptu session. She tells them she sees a spirit walking by them but gives the usual guessing games. So a woman, in her fifties I'd say, went away crying with happiness. Apparently, her mother was with her in signal form by sending 'extra' dragonflies to the garden that year.

"Oh yes, oh yes", the woman replied, "I have noticed a lot of dragonflies this summer!"

Bollocks! Did she take a head count of the ones the year before...? But then again, there goes that warm feeling of comfort.

Now, my father died five years ago but I'd liked to have answered her dragonflies theory as such;

"Yes, I have noticed loads this year! Annoying little bastards - give me the creeps! God, I must have used a whole bottle of insecticide to rid the things!"

Because, if, just, if, my old dad was looking down on me he'd be up there pissing himself laughing at it. But I honestly believe that if I did see some the following year, I'd be looking for my little keep net to capture them for study to see if any of them had the smell of strong whiskey on their teensy little breaths.

How Fickle Thy Fancy

I often buy just your general run-of-the-mill women's magazines if there is footy on the telly. I have made a small fortune from having photo's and poems ect published in these publications, but I like to do the puzzles as the boys roar abuse at the box. Mind you, the puzzles aren't all that challenging, but it passes the time in a lazy-arsed way (apart from Sudoku which I am utter shite at!) and I'll enter online, the puzzle answers. Never won yet. Often in these magazines they repeat stories of the same nature. The cases of the Turkish toyboys and the stupid, fucking older women who are drawn in by these greasy slimeballs take the whole biscuit barrel.

The story that turned my stomach more than others was the one of Mary and Vitol. Vitol was 26 and Mary was 71. She was targeted and groomed wonderfully by this man. He was a handsome Turk whose silver-tongue won this silver-haired old numpty over. In less than two years he managed to marry her. Naturally, he didn't get granted a British visa - never even set foot in British soil - and instead settled for second best. Conning her into selling her house and posting him all the proceeds from it so he could "make a love-nest'' back home inTurkey for them. She then took a flight to Ankara to surprise him and he flipped out saying he didn't want her to come until their house was ready. After two years of toing and froing the lira finally dropped.

So here was a case where a 26 year old felt 'love at first sight' with a crinkly face-and-arsed 71 year old. All it took was menial gifts, walks in the moonlight, (coz daylight was too dodgy) texting and waterworks to suck the life and means out of an old dear. She didn't listen to the words of warning her offspring gave her when it came to selling the house and valuables. Of course, being in love meant sex on tap and the man had to shag this powdery old puddock to seal an aura of truth between them. Apparently, he loved her saggy bits, rashes under her tits , baggy breeks, removable teeth, thinning hair, and failing eye-sight. But just how blind did he think she really was?

In the wedding photo she wore her hair in pigtails in a desperate attempt to look younger. The wedding officials' smirk in the pictures with them read 'yet another mug'. It's just a shame that many stupid old slappers are being taken for a visa. What they really need is a mirror and a reality check!

Skin Crawler!

He's only bloody gone and done it. My son Ross is off for a tattoo, today. Much to my dismay. I personally hate them - only on the skin of my children, though. He's not happy with just burning the fuck out of himself on sunbeds, he's got to add what just looks like bruises from a distance. I dread his return. He has one of the most perfect faces, a right pretty-boy he is, with the most blemish free skin. Hardly a scar or broken bone from childhood. Now that's all a self-inflicted war zone! God knows what he's coming back with.

What happened to the days where he and his mates were happily raising our council tax by drawing big dicks with jizz coming out in indelible ink (like some 34-year-olds-I-know!) on every wall and fence on the way home from places?

I'll pop a picture of it up later and give my opinion on it. Once I break my fucking heart looking through the photo albums where only I can see the golden halo above - and only he can see the horns and the devious smile.

Bollocks!

Ever The Pessimist!

Me and me son put coupons on yesterday. That footyball stuff!

I won. Not a lot. He didn't.

And I predicted the 4-0 thrashing we (Scotland) got from Norway or whomever!

I hate football. Really.

The Problem With Sundays

It's a bastard of a day is a Sunday. The intention is to lie in bed for as long as you can, get all the week ahead's preparations over and done with quickly and spend the rest of the day watching omnibus soaps - not because you want to but to deprive men of the widescreen telly.

So how come today I was awoken with an almighty crash of cymbals and toms hitting my bedroom floor (that's me up then!), my iron deciding to pack in (so I have to buy a new iron and tackle all the clothes tomorrow) and there's motor-racing and golf on the telly (sports that 'simply cannot' be watched on any screen smaller than a 32 inch!).

Ah, well. Looks like today is up to me to cook dinner then. How many jalapeno's do you need for a cottage pie? None you say? There will be in MY recipe book.