High Spirits.

One of the more interesting revelations about death after life is the complete lack of drugs and alcohol, due to difficult growing conditions in the absense of soil. That and the fact that noone seems to have any glasses, matches or paraphernalia of any kind.
Though I'm assured by all souls that it's ok by them, as escapism is somewhat tricky when you're 'all knowing and all seeing', anyway.

Guess I'll have to rethink my previous notion about the patrons of The Artillery Arms and Churchills, as it seems they may well be alive after all!

Small Medium At Large.

Ok, maybe normal service won't be resumed in a few days, after all.
Still, it's all for the greater good, as now, after a month of very intense training, I'm a fully fledged member of the SS (Sixth Sense) movement.
Being the kinda gal that gets bored very easily, and what with spending five months 'scumming it up' on the dole, I thought it about time that I launched myself off on a career of some sort.
As it turns out, I'm one of those people (and they are mostly women) that has a natural ability to communicate with the spirit World, which, to my great relief, explains away some alarming facets of my life such as, the voices in my head, the constant feeling that I'm being watched and my predisposition towards consuming large amounts of vodka.
Thank goodness for that! I thought I was going mad!

It's also a great relief to me (though possibly not to those of you that have deeply disappointed deceased relatives) that I won't have to write my blog on my own any more.

Though I must say it's starting to feel a bit cramped in my flat, these days!

Saturn Uranus, Going Round In Relentless Circles!

Just fresh back from Eastcliff Richard's blog, the only one that I really visit these days, I find myself flabbergasted at the commentary (occasionally including the author's), which applies the same tired old arguments to the same tired old topics, with the only variety being which argument is appended to which topic. And, of course, there's that Universal constant of 'nothing ever comes of it'!

Still, whatever keeps people thinking they're putting the World to right, without actually doing anything, eh?

God, I hate it when my period coincides with a full Moon!

Apologies to those that came here for a bit of deranged titillation. I'm sure that 'normal service' will be resumed in a few days, once the bloodshed is over.

Socks And Dregs And Sausage Rolls.

So that's it then!
I have finally, once-and-for-all, completely had it with men!
What is up with you creatures, eh?
It's really not good enough to just tart yourselves up when you go out, in the hope of luring some poor, innocent damsel (er me, sorta) back to your squalid plague pit!
It's also completely unfair to take advantage of the fact that said damsel is drunk enough that she won't notice until the morning, by which time you'll have had your wicked way.
I shouldn't have been surprised, I suppose, when I wriggled under the sheets to give this gunge monster a good morning kiss and ended up with a gob full of sausage roll. What the Hell was it doing there? Who takes a sausage roll to bed with them?
Jeez!
I'm now the proud owner of a pair of tea-stained knickers that I had to fish out of one of the many half empty cups littered about the place, and a skirt that smells of foot cheese.

I feel like I need a holiday!

Mastic And Spongaloid.

My God, how I hate having to call the builders in, particularly since I've lived in Ramsgate, as the place seems to have tradesmen entirely in a class of their own!
Still, when you've got water coming in through your lounge window, even when it's not raining, it's something you just have to bite the bullet and get on with.
I'm not sure how it works with everyone else, but I'm yet to find a builder who's proficient enough to invite back for a second job, so, yet again, I find myself with new faces on the doorstep, whistling through their teeth while making disapproving noises and scratching their wallets.
That's not to say that you can't have a bit of fun with them, and these two seemed just a tad dippier than the usual stock. After spending about 15 minutes trying to decide between themselves which would be the best course of remedial action (seemed more like two hours), I thought I'd chip in, to help things along, by suggesting that the application of a couple of spoons of mastic and spongaloid might be the answer, followed by "would you like a cup of tea?".
"Don't worry love", I was told, "we know how to fix this. Two sugars please."

I wonder how long they'll be trying research 'spongaloid', before the penny drops?

My guess would be that neither is likely to happen!

Mad Cow.

I was sent this video clip at the weekend, by a friend, with a little footnote that said 'Lucy, I thought you'd like this, it really reminds me of you.'





Well with friends like that, who needs enemies!

Still No Sign Of My Willy!

I'm getting more than a little concerned now, as my mole-rat, Willy, seems to have disappeared without a trace.
I've even gone to the lengths of researching the little fella's habits in the wild, in the hope of gaining some insight into where he may be hiding. All I could come up with is that he likes to nest in warm, soft moss, he only needs a minimal amount of water and can survive for about three months without food.
Not much help there, then!
I've looked around the flat, but all the moss that had gathered while I was away, seems to have perished since I've had the central heating back on.

I'm getting a little frantic now, as seems to be echoed in my level of anxiety. That gnawing feeling is getting quite a bit stronger and starting to have an impact on my ability to pee.

Are there professionals out there that can help?

Loose Willy.

Holy rickety door clasps, Batman, my Willy has only done a runner from his little cage by my bed.

I've looked everywhere but there's no sign of him at all.

I didn't think it would be possible to become so attached to a creature in such a short period of time, but the stress and anxiety of it all is causing quite a tingly, gnawing sensation in my lower abdomen.

Is it too early to call the police?

Naked Mole-Rat.

Feeling down-in-the-dumps and a bit lonely without a boyfriend at the mo, I went out looking for a new pet yesterday, in the hope that I might find something to fill the hole.

Well, after much searching, I eventually found this little fella in one of those pet shops in Cliftonville.





He's a naked mole-rat, from Africa apparently, and isn't he the cutest thing you've ever seen?
Though he is a bit of a handful!

I think I'm going to call him Willy.

Folk Law?

One thing (of many) that really gets on my nerves in these 'enlightened times' that we live in, is this current trend of focusing so hard on the letter of the law, that the point of it is entirely missed.
Surely the law is there to protect us from harm by those that want to balk against society's rules and I don't see how a society, rendered vitually arseless by litigation, is really getting that protection.
Come on, is this modern trend of leeching unearned money out out of people really much better than just kicking their front door down, marching in and helping yourself to it?

Doesn't make me feel 'proud to be a mirkin', or part of any other 'Bush' ideal, for that matter!

R.T.F.M.

Something that I never, ever do, unless I really can't work it out for myself, is Read The Fuckin' Manual that comes with any new electrical device.
And I don't think I'm alone on that one.
So, as it turns out, my new rabbit isn't some kind odd looking e-pet for drawing out your sympathy by seemingly having an epileptic fit on your living-room rug.
I did wonder why it only had one ear and that wasn't floppy.
No, it's purpose is entirely for sexual gratification!
Why the Hell call it a rabbit, then? Isn't that a little perverse, encouraging people to have sex with animals?
Honestly, what is the World coming to?

I've a good mind to phone the R.S.P.C.A.

Dragon Night.

Forget all that stuff about some fella killing a dragon. It's most likely some fable, dreamt up by a bloke that was a bit testeronically challenged.
I do, however, know for a fact that fire breathing dragons exist and I'm off for a curry and a few pints tonight to demonstrate and celebrate that fact!

Best of British to anyone I'm likely to meet on my travels!

Run Rabbit, Run.

Following the enormous amount of success that I've had with men over the last year (not), and really being not too sure that things would improve, were I to become a lesbianist, I thought I'd invest in one of these clever little devices.

And though I've found it to be quite amusing, watching the little fella bumping and shuddering it's way across my living-room/kitchen floor, I couldn't honestly say that I've found it to be quite as satisfying as a man (unless you like them coming home paralytic, that is, which I don't).

All told, I'd say that the only way it really compares with a man is that it's a complete waste of time and money!

Beer Today, Scone Tomorrow.

I'm always up for useful tips, particularly involving the relief of discomfort, so when someone told me, on Sunday, that the best thing to relieve a hang-over was to scoff a couple of scones with butter and jam on them, I thought I'd give it a go.
I must confess that they were pretty hard to get down and that they came back up a hell of a lot easier, but when all was said and done, I did feel quite a bit better!

And I think I may have inadvertently stumbled upon a great new way of dieting, to boot!

Nice one!

Stalkless Stalker.

The downside, I suppose, of being an amazingly attractive woman, is the amount of unwanted attention that I get from men (and some women).
Though if I were honest, I don't get that much, really. I can only assume that the majority of guys think that I'm way out of their league.
But there is this one fella that's been dogging me for ages and really getting on my tits (or wanting to, at least).
Well it all came to a head (literally) last weekend, with my Siamese twin attached to my side wherever I went in Churchills, when I had a flash of inspiration and thought that the best way to get this guy off my back would be to get him on my front and scare him off with a little rough play. He's not too bad looking, just a pain in the arse!
I didn't even need to invite him back, as he just followed me when I left.
To cut a long story short (again, literally), when it came to the nitty gritty, it was all I could do to stifle a laugh, as I'd never seen such a tiny willy in all my life! And when I say all my life, I'm including being bathed with my little brother up until the age of four or five. I think a virgin could survive his onslaught, intact.
Which left me with a bit of a quandary. I may be forthright but I'm not a cruel person, so how do you abuse someone that Mother nature has already been more than unkind enough to, in the first place?
Sigh!
So I suppose I'm going to have to go through the same rigamarole this weekend, unless I can think of a kind way to let this fella (for want of a better word for him) down.
I don't particularly want to avoid Churchills, as Hard Road Blues are playing tonight and I rather like them.

Maybe Deed-poll is the answer?
Lucy Lezzie does have a kind of a ring to it, after all!

Pees And Queues.

It never ceases to astonish me as to how ignorant the simpler sex can be, at times.
Chatting with this fella in The Belligerence Bar, on the seafront last night, he popped the question as to why, wherever you go, there's often a queue for the ladies loo, but never for the blokes?
Quite simple really.
If one takes the time to ensure that one's wee-wee goes into the designated receptacle, instead of all over the floor, followed by the washing and drying of one's hands, it's going to take a bit longer, isn't it!

Not rocket science, really!

Cream Of The Crap.

Considering myself to be an intelligent, discerning and astonishingly beautiful woman, it does beg the question of why I constantly end up with such appalling men!
I'm seriously starting to wonder if there's a decent one among you!
The latest idiot to, er, come my way, started off like all the others. Handsome, caring and the perfect gentleman who couldn't do enough to please me. This is it, I thought. Finally, the man of my dreams!
Now call me naive if you like, but I thought I was about to be treated like a real Princess when he offered to take me back to his place (for the first time) for a golden shower.
Imaging a bejeweled bathroom, decked out with precious metal fittings, I was somewhat disappointed to discover a grubby little bog with a tiny, dirty bath, where he wanted me to sit while he pissed all over me!

Well there's another one that now only has a 50% chance of siring children!

Maybe I should consider 'chasing the bean' after all?

Going To Loddon To See Off The Spleen.

Now that Easter is out of the way and Summer lies just beneath our feet in the seemingly bottomless pit of seasons, all kinds of excursions seem to be presenting themselves to take our minds off the hum-drum of Thanet Life (no, not the one that was spewed out by our flying proctologist, but the real one).
And among them, one in particular caught my eye. A trip to the Loddon brewery to celebrate the opening of Heathrow's new terminal 5, with a bottled beer that was specifically designed for the task. Apparently, the bottle has been designed with a very narrow neck, making it all but impossible for anyone, except the most determined drinker, to get the beer back out of it. How appropriate! Rather boringly though, they've decided to call it Crown Rivers and it rolls in at a not-so-lofty 3.9% ABV. I'm sure that, in the light of their success at the new terminal, we could come up with a better name than that. Though the strength of it, oddly enough, does reflect, quite accurately, the amount of luggage that has been retrieved from their new automated system, so far.


If anyone is going to challenge my ability to suck, I'll be quite happy pick their glove up!

Toss Another Lobster On The Barby, Bruce!

Though, to be honest, after going to my first barbecue of the year on Sunday, I think 'lob another tosser on the barby, Bruce' would be more appropriate.
What is it with you men, when faced with sunshine as well as booze, that fills you with the urge to piss in fish ponds, climb trees, break childrens' toys and collapse on tables full of drink?
All you get from us girls, little church-mice that we are, is a bit of sick on the toilet floor. Easily rectifiable and no fish have to die!

I was, up until that point, thinking 'roll on Summer'.

Now I'm not so sure!

Draught Post.

After three weeks 'in the wagon', I appear to have been making a bit of a pig of myself with the booze over the last few days. Though I'm sure that some of it, at least, can be attributed to a pending court appearance on a charge of attempted homocide. That came as quite a shock, I can tell you, as I had no idea that Mikey was gay at all. Gosh, that guy has some secrets, doesn't he?

Unluckily, someone got a video of the end of the chase.
Luckily, I managed to, er, charm it off them.

If this ever got out, I feel it wouldn't bode well for leniency on my behalf at all!