Google+ Followers

Saturday, 14 March 2009


What is it with men called Max? Starting with Clifford, Mosley and that bloke on Eastenders. They all wear a look that says 'I was only following orders'. They are the people who try to make it socially acceptable to be a complete tosser or prick as my dad would say. I confused Hastings with Mosley earlier and then wondered who the hell he was until Henderson reminded me he used to be the editor of The Evening Standard. It is now going to be run by a Russian oligarch which seems to be the latest thing apart from dying on tele. Russian and oligarch, dumb and blond, complete and prick always seem to go together amongst many others. There may not be a place after death where we explain our ways but it acts as a bench mark I suppose and I wouldn't want to confess to any of the above. When and if it would be nice to say 'well I was a good mum' and/or 'I saved hundreds of lives extinguishing a burning oil rig' or maybe 'I landed a plane full of screaming passengers with only one wheel and a full set of teeth', or just, I was a Pom and a bastard and excelled myself.

Back in the so-called real world I woke after my siesta to a programme on The Reality Zone called something like "Terror on the Job'. I think I might send in a video of life with classes 3A and B when I compared my day with the hostage scenes and bank raids. I am not sure who their target audience is but the adverts which followed all seemed to be for women with thrush or those interested in the latest Julia Roberts film. Or maybe they were there to provide a refreshing antidote.

As a dog lover I am becoming perturbed by my sadistic thoughts directed at Piti upstairs. I am starting to resemble several characters all played by Michael Plain and lately I am turning into Ken in A Fish Called Wanda. I thought a good way to get rid of the beast would be defenestration if only because it sounds quite dramatic and probably successful if I lure him to the top of Loarre Castle. Also the Spanish are masters at tossing stuff out of windows. Women here are obsessed with keeping the house clean but are quite happy to hang out of a window with a broom and shake all the shit off it into the street and quite often my barnet. I had better not start on the national sport of being house proud by shoveling your scourings onto the fellow below. My mental inventory includes cigarette packets, plastic bottles, cat litter, cigarette butts, yoghurt pots and spit so I don't see why anyone will notice a poodle.

No comments: