Rain or Shine?

Two things sit over the South East at the moment. The first is the spectre of drought. Apparently water companies are worried about the level of water in reservoirs and aquifers and ‘stand pipes in the street’ have been mentioned. These comments, backed up by strokey-beard type announcements about this being the driest winter since the last time and so on were designed to put the wind up consumers in the same way that a fox might put the wind up chickens. What has happened is that the chickens have told the fox to go fuck itself. The chickens have pointed out that rather than the problems with water being caused by a ‘drought’ which nobody can remember happening, might it not be caused by the kazillions of gallons of water being pissed away through leaks that go unfixed while the fat cat executives use the money for pay for fund feasts of venison off of gold and platinum plates. Rumours of the mass importation of little Dutch boys to plug said leaks are unsubstantiated.

What is substantial is the second thing sitting over the South East, which is a fucking huge belt of cloud. It’s been what is technically described as ‘pissing down’ for the last week or so, to the extent that I was drawing off water from my butt in case of what I believe I have termed ‘butt-burst’. Checking the thing yesterday I was an inch away from the top lip. That’s a lot of water. Looking out at the waterlogged garden, drooping trees, torrential gutters and filling butts, it was rather hard to take the drought seriously......

......Until the drought order kicked in. This bans all ‘non essential’ use of water. I was under the panicked impression that this was everything short of drinking the stuff and that the population would be reduced to using wet-wipes for personal hygiene but apparently it’s all about not being able to have ornamental fountains working during the summer. Not an obvious choice, but there you go.

There's Rock Bottom....Then There's 50 Feet of Crap...Then There's You

After reading an entry in the blog of one particularly deranged individual, I’ve decided that in utilising her own special kind of mental illness induced bigotry, she has sunk to an all time low.

I’m sure the folks over at www.specialolympics.org will be thrilled to read about their athletes being referred to as retards.

Help IS Available

Someone Please Tell Her it's Not Too Late

Signs/Symptoms of Paranoid Schizophrenia

Schizophrenia usually develops gradually, although onset can be sudden. Friends and family often notice the first changes before the victim does. Among the signs are:

• Confusion
• Hallucinations
• Delusions
• Strange statements or behavior
• Withdrawal from friends, work, or school (assuming you have a job or an education)
• Dramatic weight loss
• Neglect of personal hygiene
• Anger
• Indifference to the opinions of others
• A tendency to argue
• A conviction that you are better than others, or that people are out to get you
  

Care

Drugs such as Thorazine, Haldol, and Risperdal combat symptoms in 4 out of 5 patients. An acute attack usually can be cleared up in 4 to 8 weeks. Counseling and group therapy help recovering patients to understand the disease and to function effectively.

Risks

Without medication and therapy, most paranoid schizophrenics are unable to function in the real world. If they fall victim to severe hallucinations and delusions, they can be a danger to themselves and those around them.

A Thing of Beauty!

Gorgeous!

Peace and Quiet?...Not on Your Life!

I work for a living. My husband works for a living. We work long hours, employ no household staff (except the undergarders, of course!) and when we can finally relax at the end of the day it’s generally around 8pm. Our relaxation can take many forms. Sometimes (though not often) it’ll be TV, sometimes it’ll be the movies. Other times it’s enough simply to relax in the loungers in the conservatory with a good book and a CD on. Whatever we’re doing I think we’ve earned the right to ‘our time’. Not much to ask right?

Wrong, Apparently.

Today is Thursday, and if we get an uninterrupted evening tonight it will be the first one this week. The source of our frustration?.....Holier than thou, hyped up, smiley-faced religious fuckwits who seem to think that 9pm (or later) is a good time to waltz up the drive, ring the doorbell and express concern for the destiny of my eternal soul.

Monday we had TWO lots of them Mormons looking for converts and Catholics looking for money. The Mormons got nothing but a door in their face, and the Catholics (possibly the largest cult of them all) went away with a flea in their ear after I’d ranted about the bare faced cheek of the richest organization ON THE PLANET knocking on doors and asking for charitable donations. If you want money, go ask your beloved (former Hilter Youth member) Pope. And don’t you dare get pissed-off when I don’t address you as father….you’re not MY father.

Tuesday was the turn of the Muslims. Granted this was the first time this particular bunch had knocked on my door, but any organization which treats women the way they do, and uses terrorism to kill and maim in the name of Allah can get the fuck off my property.

Wednesday, and most galling of all were the Jehovah’s Witnesses. The adults hovered around the end of the drive and sent THE CHILDREN to my door brandishing their copies of The Watchtower at me. What a devious ploy – no-one is going to tell a child sod off, now are they? I took their little magazine, smiled and sent them on their way – the paper will come in handy when I’m potting seedlings. I’ve had arguments on many an occasion with this particular bunch of crackpots. So only 144,000 people to be admitted to heaven to rule with christ eh? Surely it’s full already! Oh no, wait a minute….according to them the human soul ceases to exist at death. So how to they account for the 144,000??? And don’t even get me started on what I think of someone who would rather watch their child die than accept a blood transfusion.

I have no objection to you worshipping anyone you like. Sacrifice a goat and pray for redemption from the gods of burninhell.com for all I care, just don’t you dare bring it to my door.

Oh Bugger!

The thunderstorms have failed to materialise and it's glorious outside.

This, of course, means that I will have no excuses this evening, and will have to get out the mower and give the Small Garden its beauty cut. No problem, nothing is more pleasing than conquering the wilderness (definition = grass four inches and above) and transforming it into a striped heaven.

I may not know how to solve many of the knotty issues plaguing today's society (actually I do, but that sort of thing gets your blog on an MI5 watch-list) but by god I can mow......

Although......there's still time for it to rain...right?

Fat 'n' Furry Update!!

We have a name.

HIS name is Chucky!!

And here he is!!

Fat 'n' Furry

No, I’m not talking about anyone we know – tempting as that may be – I’m talking about my dog’s new best friend.

That’s great, I hear you say, you only moved in a few weeks ago and already Chloe is elbowing her way into the local canine social scene. Sadly, it’s not that simple. Oh this friend is of the furry domesticated variety alright, but sadly it’s not another German Shepherd, nor a Spaniel….it’s not even one of those new fangled pocket-sized Hollywood monstrosities small enough to fit into the ashtray of Paris Hilton’s Escalade.

No no…..Fat ‘n’ Furry is a cat. A black, long-haired cat.

Yes Chloe….Flayer of felines….Killer of kitties…..Tormentor of tabbies, has fallen head over heels in love with a cat.

The first few seconds of their initial encounter were predictable enough. Dog spotted cat – cat spotted dog - dog took off towards the cat like a bat-out-of-hell, trailing 3 feet of snarl induced drool behind her. Now remember at this point Chloe is moving like a newly launched Amram missile, albeit NOT launched by George Bush and therefore ON target, so by the time she realises that the cat has not so much as twitched a single whisker in fear of the oncoming attack it’s already too late. Chloe had no choice but to execute the “Scooby-Doo” stopping manoeuvre – you know the one, legs peddling backwards, ass on the ground….a Bambi on ice kinda thing.

In a flurry of shed fur and newly mown grass clippings she ground to a halt just inches from the impervious feline who still has not flinched, hissed or opted for the “Look-at-me-I’m-actually-three-times-bigger-than-you-thought-I-was” stance.

At this point the cat stretched, took two paces forward, and rubbed itself along Chloe’s flanks….purring with ill concealed pleasure.

And Chloe let it.

It licked her nose and stared lovingly into her (by this time completely bemused) eyes.

And Chloe let it.

Now here we are a couple of weeks later and they have developed a close (and if you ask me, unholy) alliance – along with a strange affinity for sniffing each-other’s butts! We don’t know the name of the cat, so we call it Fat ‘n’ Furry. We don’t know the sex so we refer to it as He.

He waits on the drive each morning to greet Chloe as she leaves for her morning constitutional. He’s now allowed into the garden to bask in the spring sunshine, and I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before it discovers the cat-flap left by the previous house owners….and the bowl of dog food which lies beyond. And you know what……….??

Chloe will let him!

Oxymoron...With the Emphesis on MORON

Ruth Kelly, a prominent member of Tony Blair's cabinet, has refused to say whether or not she views homosexuality as a sin. This wouldn't amount to a whole hill of beans were it not for the fact that Ruth Kelly has just been appointed in Tony Blair's latest cabinet reshuffle as Minister for Equality with the specific charge of ensuring equal rights for gays and lesbians; so excuse me but...Huh??? Hello? You mean to tell me this didn't come up in the interview?

On another note, Ms Kelly is a self confessed member of Opus Dei, whose founder (one Josemaria Esciva) had THIS to say about his thoughts on women:

"... Women are so sinful and are responsible that we have been dislodged from the garden of eden. The only possibility for them to lessen their guilt is by subordinating themselves... ``They should be like a carpet where people can step onto''

Charming.

Oh hey, wait a minute....won't the Minister for Equality also be responsible for ensuring equality for women too?

Mr Blair, if I may ask....WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON???

It's not easy being green

Mulch, the 2nd assistant undergardener, has strained his nether-regions again, meaning that I have to take over mowing duties on the Little Lawn.

Despite tender love and attention from the previous owners, the lawn had not been mowed since around October 1842 and the grass had moved past 'rough', through 'meadow' and was ambitiously hurtling towards “Japanese soldier who does not know the war is over has taken refuge there” proportions.

I started the clean up process and while there were no Oriental warriors, there was a predigious amount of fox shit. The little buggers have gotten too cheeky since hunting was banned and, by the look of it, are on some sort of high-fibre/Mexican food diet.

That done, it was time to cut the thing.First cut down and after much raking, went to medium cut. this was much the same. lots of grunting and sweating and, frankly, praying for rain.

It did eventually arrive, meaning I did not have the time to do the 'beauty pass'. That's the pass over the lawn that turns it from looking like Morning Hair to regimented rows of grass, doing what it's bloody well told and more importantly, providing a backdrop for a nice game of croquet and gin, but mostly gin.

Please join me in praying for the swift recovery of Mulch’s family jewels!

King Kong on DVD

Well....that's three hours of my life I'll never get back.

The monkey was in no way big enough. The 1935 original had way more charm and the 1975 remake was way more exciting. Best bit was going the island itself. I also liked that the natives were degenerate but apart from that, so-so.

Good to see Billy Eliot playing a rough seaman (smirk) - this meant that I could shout 'tap dance your way out of that one ya bastard!!' every so often.

Yes, yes, I know it was ballet.

Selfishness Taken to the Extreme.

So Dr. Patricia Rashbrook, a child psychiatrist from Lewes, East Sussex (UK), is now seven months' pregnant after being given IVF treatment by Severino Antinori in Italy. Dr Rashbrook is 62 years old and will be 63 by the time the baby is born.

Excuse me, but am I the only person who thinks that this woman and her husband should be slapped into next week? They obviously have never stopped to think that the odds are that their poor child will be orphaned by the time he / she is 10 years old? Never stopped to think, in fact, of anything but themselves.

So they wanted a child.....something I can identify with 100%, but they have obviously allowed their own wants and needs to override all else.

I wish thier poor poor child all the luck in the world. It's going to need it.