Hellen Back Again.

Saints preserve us, I just received word from my friend Hellen, on the opposite side of the globe, in New York, that she's popping over for a visit in a couple of weeks!
And I use the terms 'popping' and 'visit' very loosely, as she's threatening to stay for a month, being the amount of time that she figures it will take to give our 'quaint little village called England' a proper once over!

OMG!

She'll be arriving on the 14th of October, which, by my calculations, will get her here in time for the cider festival in Churchill's on the 16th and 17th.

OMG²!

I may not tell her about that, and hope she doesn't notice!

Only Just Just.

Just like shooting a horse because it has a broken leg.
Just, because it's a kindness to the horse, or, you could say, just because it's a kindness to the horse.

But just how did it's leg get broken, in the first place?

It just so happens that that crosses my mind, just now, and just about every time that someone tries to justify themselves to me.
And when I say 'someone', it's usually just men.
Often just-been boyfriends.

My latest just-been boyfriend forgot my birthday. Not a capital offence, in just that. I'm just not awfully bothered about being constantly reminded that I'm a year older(albeit, only just). But to just turn up two days later, smiling and saying "Happy birthday", and just pretending to be confused when I tell him that he'd just missed it by two days, just isn't right!

Just go, I said!

That only just happened, just now!


p.s. No, his name wasn't Justin!

Fair's Fare.

Let's hope the weather keeps up for the weekend, where a trip to the Canterbury Eurofair could well be on the cards.
I've been going along for the last three years, and had a thoroughly good time, each time, despite it lashing down with rain the first time I went.

The venue, The Dane John Gardens, is beautiful. With it's memorial mound thrusting skywards behind Canterbury's million year old city wall, and fronted by the well kept gardens, with ornate bandstand and fountain embellishing the vista, it's a great backdrop for a food, drink and music orgy.

For those among you who may be, like myself, celebrating their twenties for the second time, perhaps you'll recall it being the venue for the Kent beer festival, before the council got fed up with people being sick on the shrubberies and forced it to move into a cow shed, outside of town.
The beer festival, that is. Not the vomit.
Though I believe that followed along, on it's own.

I'm particularly looking forward to sampling the 'wine beer' that they're advertising on their website. Sounds crazy, huh?

As usual, my apologies in advance to Connex for the journey home!

I Think 'X' Therefore I Am 'Y'!

Having run out of wool and wicker, finished all of my puzzle books and drummed my fingers trying to think of something else to do, other than drink more cocoa, I came up with using one of those random generation thingys (Like the 1960's? ed) to mix up eight bloggers with eight different states of mind (including definitions), to see if they could be paired correctly.

I'm buggered if I can do it, so here's the randomised list for anyone who might like to have a crack at it themselves....



Apathy: I don't even care if anyone cares, or not.


Sympathy: I feel for me, on your behalf.


Loneliness: I feel for me, on my behalf.


Empathy: I feel for you, on my behalf.


Antipathy: I feel, on my behalf, for yourself, contrarily.


Ignorance: I hear my voice in your head.


Telepathy: I hear your voice in my head.


Paranoid schizophrenia: I hear other voices in a different head.

Wearing The Inside Out.

It's one thing to declare yourself a naturist, abandoning your clothes and throwing your caution (or whatever you'd like to call it) to the wind.
I firmly believe that every bean-eating greeny should do it, to embellish their wholesome and, in some cases, meat free lifestyles.

Though I experience a mild distaste at someone shoving their head so far up their own arse, that they turn inside-out.
Isn't that taking things a bit too far?

Anyhow, enough of all that, as I'd suppose that congratulations are in order for the author of Thanet's newest, and currently most popular blog, The Margate Music Man, mmm!

Hmm!

And if, like me, you believe that Jerry Lewis was the greatest slapstick comedian who ever lived, then you've hit the jackpot!

Beautifully crafted, albeit a little long winded, so I didn't exactly read all of it, it's attracted a great swathe of some of the most uncontrived adoration that I've seen on blogger, to date.
Hey, when you have that many people all saying "I agree with everything you say" you just know that you're getting it right!
Anyone who is in a bit of a hurry can skip the big bit before the comments and just read the first one, to get the gist of what all the others say. So simple, it's unbelievable!

Just what the fella needed at a time when it seemed like the whole World (Ramsgate) was poking it's tongue out at him and calling him rude names.

Well done Peter! And not one of those comments made anonymously, to boot. I thought I'd spotted one, but was cruelly foiled at the end of it, when the commenter supplied his full name, address, postcode, telephone number and drivers license details.

You must be very pleased with yourself, and deservedly so!

Keep up the good work!

I'll certainly be adding a link to my sidebar!

Sheer(mad)ness.

Having never been to Sheerness, (and being curious about the rumours of 'two headed' people that are heralded, by some, to reside there) when a friend of mine suggested we go there for a shopping spree, I figured it might make a refreshing change.

But how refreshed do you want to be?

After reading up on the Town's history, on a placard near the clock tower, I discovered that you could, in fact, be refreshed to death, under the right circumstances!

Quite matter-of-factly, it stated.....

In 1944 the United States cargo ship SS Richard Montgomery ran aground and sank 1 mile (1.6 km) off the coast of Sheerness, with 3,172 tonnes of explosives on board. Due to the inherent danger and projected expense, the ship and its cargo have never been salvaged. If the wreck were to explode, it would be one of the largest non-nuclear explosions of all time.
A 2004 report published in New Scientist warned that an explosion could occur if sea water penetrated the bombs.

Er, yikes!

It went on to say that Whitstable would, for a while, become one of the outermost suburbs of this new Atlantis, and that most of the bridges across the Thames would get a well deserved wash.
Sheerness itself, along with everything and everyone in it, would be proper fucked, the notice gently advised!

Quite enough info. to have me fumbling about in my purse for my train ticket!

And I never did get to see any of those fabled two headed people.

Ah well, I can always pop to Margate if the need becomes too great. I'm sure that two-faced people would suffice!

Our Aura, Boris Artist. (An Ode)

Out with the old, in with the new.
The needs of the many? The needs of the few!
A natural order to all things.
No compromise, nor any strings.
Built myself a stairway to another brick in the mud.
Gimme a gun and I'd look like Elmer Fudd.

Looking back though, I'd have no complaints.
And none of my peers were ever real Saints.

Except my adoptive Mum, of course.

Best wishes to her and her next needy cause!





Polite notice: Anyone who didn't understand that, probably wasn't required to.

Rag Week!

One of the more irritating things about being genetically superior to men is the mild depression that's experienced, once a month, upon discovering that you're not pregnant, even if the idea of having kids is totally repulsive to you.

It's a feeling that can't really be explained to, or understood by a man, or at least by any that I've ever met, but though I'm armed with that knowledge, I'll be damned if I'm going to stop trying, all the same!

So if anyone has anything to say that they think I might find annoying, now would be the time for a best reaction!

Grab A Grandson Night.

Shuffling off to the Jazz Rooms, after an evening in the pub (that shall not be named) last night, to try my hand at a little 'grandson grabbing', I was bitterly disappointed to find the place not only shut, but with a big sold sign on it!

Fortunately, a good Samaritan passer-by pointed out that I was trying to gain access to the Old Customs House, and that the Jazz Rooms were a bit further along.

Hmmm, I must be drunker than I thought, I thought, er, I think.
So I decided to walk (such as it was) along the beach and go home.

UNfortunately, I turned Leffe when I should've turned right and fell into the Belgian Bar, straight into the arms of a really tasty and bubbly blonde!
It was that good, I toyed with the idea of taking the bottle home and leaving the foil on it!

Though I'm sure my head wouldn't be hurting this much, if I hadn't decided to make it a threesome.

Who's Going To Win These Wars?

Yeah, no, not the 'big news millionaire blog wars', such as they are, but real wars, with real people killing other real people and those other real people dying as a consequence, in roughly equal numbers.

Such as that one going on in Afghanistan, for instance.

But according to news reports, it's not as 50/50 as you might think.

While one side is having all of it's courageous, level headed, family man heroes systematically annihilated, or, the better half of the population, if you like, all the other side seems to be losing is it's cowards, fools and family man villians. Presumably the worst half of theirs!

I'm no mathematician, but....

Meanwhile, on one of the other sides of the World, Chinese World leaders (in over-population) are put under the macro-scope to uncover the secret of their wisdom in crowd control.

If the crowds get big and angry enough, TAZERs just don't cut it!

Confucius? You won't be after next week's episode of Slippery Slope!

Southeastenders.

I must confess to liking Margate's Monochromatic Maestro of the Mammary's (Tit, for short) idea of creating a little collage that tells a story, so I though it would be fun to have a stab, myself.

Impolite Notice: Anyone who thinks they may not be able to help themselves from feeling emotionally, spiritually or intellectually raped, affronted or even slightly bruised, should piss off now before scrolling down any further!

But if you're just here for a laugh, please be my guest!







As battle rages, high in a clifftop mansion, between one man and the miscreants that live in his computer......






Simon shows off his latest pet, a checked fieldmouse/doormouse hybrid. "I think I'm going to call him Baldy Petey-poos, after one of my favourite hobbies, to keep it simple." Simon says.






Swimming isn't nearly as much fun without my North Isle chums, thinks one blogger, mistakenly. Simultaneously proving the absolute uselessness of swimming trunks and the truth in the saying 'be careful what you wish for'!







Though one blogger, visiting Margate nightclubs in search of the high life, seems to have struck pay-dirt!







Broadstairs, on the other hand, seem to have found their first 'sure-fire' way of encouraging people to stay.







More pet crises in one Margate-working-man-of-the-people-blogger's homestead and, as per usual, no-one knows quite who to blame. As Eastcliff Richard has yet to be spotted, it'll be a rocky road to pinning that one on him!







Though heading skywards with the Sun, the father of Thanet blogging likes to get off to an early start in one of the highest, paid jobs in the Country.







Meanwhile, back on the party side of the Island, our intrepid Ramsgate blogger decides, involuntarily, to have a bit of a lie-in on Monday morning.







Later on that day, one kindly Margate blogger offers to help his Westgate friend with a reasonably complex civil engineering job. Unfortunately they both have doubts as to whether there's actually two O's in SHCOL and think they may have to redo the last three letters.







While another Margate blogger receives a postcard from his uncle in Texas, which completely ruins one of his favourite hobbies for him, and makes him want to buy a bigger car.







One of the Island's more physically active bloggers likes nothing better than beating himself on the chest for half an hour, with a weighted metal bar, and then kicking someone in the head while trying to pull his own off, before settling down to a nice, relaxing puzzle.







And when he's done with correcting every single folly of the last Century, perhaps he'd like to tackle this tricky little number, which, as far as I know, still remains unresolved after more than 500 years?

Moore Information Required.

Now I don't have the Hollywood contacts that some Thanet bloggers do, but I get the occasional snippet, all the same. So when rumour (oh fuck off tosspot 'mirkin spell checker, I spelled rumour right!) reached me, earlier today, that Demi Moore has recently employed Dan Acroyd, Harold Ramis and Bill Murray for a job, the details of which are yet to be disclosed, it does make you wonder if there may be a new blockbuster in the offing.

Does anyone know any Moore?

Chinese Puzzle.

Imagine my horror, whilst munching through my Chinese meal last night, at finding an almost perfect effigy of the face of one of our more irritating bloggers in, rather appropriately, a sweet and sour king prawn ball!





Well I'm afraid I couldn't eat it. There are some things that you just can't swallow!
I couldn't even give it to my cat, as the thought of that face buried deep inside my pussy was way too hideous to contemplate!
I toyed, momentarily, with the idea of keeping it for display purposes, and calling it The Shrek of Man Lin (being the name of the take-away where it was purchased), but figured that before too long, just like it's likeness, it would start getting up my nose.

So I threw it in the bin, much to the disgust of my cat, who, it seems, isn't quite the swooning, faint hearted, sensitive soul that I am.

Dishing The Dirt.

No, not another go at bashing onymous Margate bloggers. I think they've already proved that they're thick enough to make that particular pursuit a waste of time.

So let's concentrate on those bloggers that could be saved from a lifetime stuck in front of their computers, and regain the confidence to leave the house from time to time.

I hope this helps!

Tasty And Succulent Breasts.

Warm thighs, moist and juicy lips, slippery fingers that beg to be licked, and a nice greasy box to stick your bone in, for your parting shot!

That's how a friend of mine romanticised his meal from KFC, last night.

Personally, I think he may be eating too much of the stuff, but I was reluctant to suggest alternatives such as Burger King or Pizza Express, for fear that his soliloquy could take a turn for the worse.

Though I did suggest, hinting that I be kept right out of the picture, that it may be time for him to find a girlfriend!

His consequent belch, followed by a dismissive shrug, said it all really.

Rubbish Ethics.

Walking past the bin-men this morning, I heard a woman shout out "Excuse me!" about 50 yards back up the road.
Looking round, there was a rather buxom lady in her dressing gown, standing on her doorstep, holding two bags of rubbish, obviously having just missed the collection.
"Stuff that!" I heard one of the bin-men say to his mate.
Presumably thinking along the same lines, his mate said "It's just a couple of bags." and went back to fetch them.
I couldn't agree more, as, had it been a fella standing on the step with his jim-jams on, those couple of bags (that govern the average male's behaviour) would, most likely, have prompted him to go with his mate's original recommendation.

Double standards couldn't be more fitting, huh?

The First Two Dimensions.

One of the downsides to a really early night is that it can lead to waking up at 1am, feeling refreshed and ready to start your day, albeit six hours early!

Hey-ho.

Resigned to the fact that sleeping was over for the night, I made myself a nice, strong cup of coffee and set about the grand task of trawling the Thanet blogs.
I would have preferred to hoover but there's the neighbours to think of, y'know!

First stop was Bare Yourself To The World Man, where he's compiled a lovely collage of tits and fannies, interspersed with bollocks and a cock!
I do wonder if, when he's finished peeling off all those layers, he's going to be bare, or just air?
Mind you, if you look really, really closely, there's a clever little twist at the end, where he says "...and maybe even other parts of Thanet will benefit from Margate's good fortune!" and posts a picture of Ramsgate!
Good one Petey! I was eating cereal when I read that and you made milk come out of my nose.

While I was in Margate, I thought I'd take a look at their other blog, to catch up on the latest, breaking news.
Not much news there but Donal Macintyre / Deputy Dawg has popped in some waffle about the Beatles, presumably just to give his readers a moment's respite from the tirade of paranoia over a Ramsgate blogger who he's definitely not going to name, even though the Ramsgate blogger thinks he will, but only because Big Nose said he would in the first place and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah...

I'd had enough after that! Ground to a stand-still at the start of my quest! Didn't even make it to Westgate!

I knew I should've left those two until last!

Toilet Humour.

All this current chat about public loos reminds me of one of my favourite old jokes.


A vicar, new to his parish, finds himself on the other side of his village, busting to use the lavvy.
Deciding that he's not going to make it home, he knocked on the nearest door and asked for directions to a public toilet.
"I really don't know," he was told "but you'd be welcome to use mine, vicar."
"Oh no, I really couldn't," he replied "you see, I suffer from salts."
So he went to the next house, and the next, with the same result each time.
Finally he reached the last house in the road, by which time he was almost at the point of bursting, and knocked on the door. The little old lady who answered, told him that she'd lived in the village for all of her life and that they'd never had a public loo.
"But you'd be more than welcome to use mine." She added.
"I would," said the vicar "but I suffer from salts!"
"Oh I shouldn't worry about that. When you've got to go, you've got to go." She offered.
Deciding that it was that, or fill his pants, he accepted her offer and headed up the stairs toward her loo.
"I'll make us a nice cup of tea, vicar, and see you in a bit."
After about ten minutes, the vicar returned, thanked the old lady for her kindness and sat down to drink his tea.
"While you're drinking your tea, I need to pop off and use the toilet myself." The old lady chipped in.

Upon entering the bathroom, she was astonished to find poo all over the place. It was splattered on the walls, deposited in the sink, bath and on top of the cistern.

When she returned to the kitchen, she asked "what was it that you said you suffered from vicar, salts?"

"Yes," he replied "summer-salts!"

Cock O' The North.

Much as I like the idea of running a poll to establish exactly who's most deserving of that accolade, I'm fairly certain that I can't be arsed.
Shall we just assume that anyone silly enough to live North of Westwood Cross is equally entitled, and leave it at that? Or does that seem a bit broad and sweeping?

Please though, for anyone who thinks that they can answer the above questions, look up the word 'rhetorical' first!

Assiduity Indigestion.

Nice to see the virtual dust finally settling after the latest vent of virtual vitriol and v-signs, from the daddies of blog, right up there on the top of the heap.
Bit of a shame to see that Tony Bignose and Richard Wedge haven't kissed and made up yet. One preferring to to put up a burger blogade and the other making modifications to his last will and testament.
But on the other hand, one blogger in Margate, who seemed to be involved in all this for the sole purpose of self-promotion of a blog which is really more about self-gratification, has also had a hissy fit and cut all communication with anyone not producing a passport or birth certificate. So it's not all bad news! Not being a lezzer or having the right equipment to shake at his blog, it was never of much use to me anyway.
And the doctor got into a bit of a spin, too. But then he always does, doesn't he!
Then right at the bottom of the heap, Rock Card and Don' Understand have been doing their bit to perpetuate it all by trawling out some of their best works of incomprehensible and self-contradictory shite, to date.

So now we can all get on with what we're supposed to be doing, with renewed vim and vigour, eh?

Though it does beg the question, what am I 'supposed' to be doing?
I'm afraid I still don't quite have a handle on that!