Is It Legal?

Driving home, I saw another quad bike from the Leeds Estate on the public road, the rider in full gamekeepers attire.

Slung over the rider's back was a single shot rifle for use in dispatching pests such as squirrels, foxes or any tourists that start acting up or driving their mobility chariots where they are not supposed to.

When your boss is the local Lord and owner of most of the area, I suppose you can tool around with your rifle ready for action. This means that you are ready to shoot vermin in an instant and you also look cool - but can you have a rifle in each hand and the reins of the quad bike between your teeth?

Of course not, not even a Lord can do that - only the Duke!

Apocalypse Now?

Kent is an interesting place.

On the one hand there are the “Chi Chi” villages; villages so inbred and up-their- own-arses that you can buy 15 different types of organic asparagus which has been hand-knitted by colourful, ethnically diverse lesbians – but you can’t lay your hands on a Pot-Noodle.

On the other hand, there’s Gillingham; a town so down-to-earth it’s below sea level. The death valley of the southeast…..socially speaking. But what does Gillingham have that the ChiChi villages don’t?

I’ll tell you.

A real, honest-to-god, wouldn’t-believe-it-unless-you-saw-it-with-your-own-eyes NUCLEAR BUNKER!

Built in 1953, re-fitted in the 1980’s and accessed via a small inconspicuous looking building in a car par park. At the bottom of the stairs is an air-lock…..an air-lock!! In Gillingham!!

Presumably though, now that the cold war is long gone, and so long as the Americans don’t any of their Tomahawks aimed at us, the only thing this bunker could be used for now would be to hide England’s World Cup team when they crash out of the tournament in the quarter finals…...Again…… And they will

Beach Bums

Jesus Christ alive! The tide was in! Speechlessness is not a stage I normally find myself in but usually you park up, walk onto the beach, keep walking, walk some more, walk some more. Lunch. Walk some more and then reach the water. At least you assume it's the water as it's now too dark to see.

No so Sunday. Park, beach, water! There's not even a full beach.

Honest to God, the tide was IN!!

Erect tented village! Sun tent goes up, cool bags and dog go in tent, wind break one goes up, as does wind break two. We hunker down. Paperbacks are opened and iPods are fired up. The last thing you want to have to do on a family day-trip is talk to one another - that's what long car journeys are for.

We came for an hour and stayed all day. this meant that we had neglected to bring enough sandwiches. Luckily the beach kiosk was on hand. I braced myself and ordered bacon sandwiches and chips. Delicious! The chips crisp and firm, the bacon griddled to perfection and the bread - white! This was indeed living, with no wholemeal in sight!!

Alas, the afternoon cooled.....a little fog began to wind its way in from the water and the time had come to bid a fond farewell to the beach.

I'll leave you with a shot of Chloe staring wistfully back at the sea, perhaps thinking longingly of the black Lab who'd been sniffing around earlier.

'Cause I'm Leaving...On a Jet Plane......

Well the heat and all that world-cup soccer must finally have gotten to us, because the gentleman of the house and I have finally done it. We've done what we've been promising ourselves we'd do for the last 2 years.....We booked airline tickets and a car......

WE'RE CALIFORNIA BOUND!!

Yes, on November 1st we'll be joining 400 other souls on a flight bound for San Francisco (via Minneapolis), and of course we'll be in coach with the rest of the 'great unwashed', but hey the flight's not what matters, it's the destination!

Once we arrive in the Bay Area Metropolis, we'll be picking up the car, driving to the nearest Bates Motel and crashing for the night. Then it's straight off to Tahoe (again) and then south for Vegas (at the request of He Who Must Be Obeyed!), Grand Canyon and who knows where else. Oh yes...there IS the small matter of calling in on my friends Carmen, Allie and Windy!!!

The tickets are non-refundable, non transferable....so lock up your alcohol ladies (not to mention your babies!)........WE'RE COMIN' TO TOWN!!

Dear Baby Boy

It's been 2 years since I saw you, but I still miss you every day.
Daddy and I really wish you were still here.

I'd give anything for just one cuddle.

Love from Mummy.

xx

Flying the Flag(s)

World cup fever is sweeping the nation like bird flu going through a convention of chicken-fuckers in a sealed environment. The BBC News web-site has some corking photographs from ‘citizen journalists’ (i.e. people with camera phones) of houses or other areas (pubs and work spaces mainly, .....oh, and Staffordshire bull terriers, and kids) that have been decorated in national colours.

These, I think, are the same people that have too many Christmas lights on their house and are now in competition to see how many St George Crosses they can have on their houses and indeed how big they can be.

Not so at chez moi. In an attempt to dodge the footie a select band of intimates have been invited over for canapés. I believe the staff may have a television receiver on below stairs, but as long as I can't hear it, that's OK.

The gentleman of the house has entered into the spirit of the tournament however and, after a visit to the local party shop, has returned with what can only be describes as.... bunting.

Rather than a string of St. George Cross's, we have a string of 36 flags, one each for each nation competing. The first one on the string…Iran. Oh great, so (among other flags) I shall be flying the Iranian flag, a jaunty little number with a scimitar and a verse from the Koran on it. I only hope that my guests will be able to get past the angry mobs that will form at my door, consisting of neighbours anxious to push dog-shit through the letterbox and police anxious to boot the same door in and look for terrorists.

Of course, I also have the Brazilian flag on the bunting, meaning they will shoot first and ask questions later.

Also on the bunting - the stars an stripes. These days, when the stars and stripes is sold outside of the USA it comes pre-impregnated with paraffin to facilitate ease of burning by the aforementioned angry mobs.

Maybe the thing to do is just fly the Swiss flag, thank Christ they’re in the tournament.

Religious Bullshit - Again!

Today I have been sent an email by someone….someone known well and related to me…..someone who should have known better than to think sending me this particular gem of advice was the right thing to do. It contained the following message.

We waste our infertility if we “do not believe it is designed for us by God.” We waste our infertility if we “believe it is a curse and not a gift.” We waste our infertility if we “spend too much time reading about infertility and not enough time reading about God.” And we definitely waste our infertility when we “fail to use it as a means of witness to the truth and glory of Christ.”

It’s not often that I am pushed hard enough to feel the anger I am feeling right now. It’s not often I have felt as hurt as I do right now. Of ALL the things that could be said to me regarding my inability to conceive a child, this kind of comment is just about the last thing that should ever be put to me.

Let me be perfectly straight here when addressing the bible-thumping-fire-and-brimstone type religious freaks out there who will no doubt stumble over this post whilst clicking the NEXT BLOG button………..YOU’RE FUCKING IDIOTS. I can’t believe that some people are so lacking in intelligence as to assume that every damn thing that happens in their life happens because of some divine plan.

If this person has said those things to my directly I would have hit her. Would that have been their god’s will too?

As it is, the only thing I can say to her is this………..You are no longer welcome in my home, and you are no longer a part of my life in any way.

So it Came......And Went

The sky was a clear blue and the weather was warm, the air was scented with petrol fumes and coffee. Just like any other day. What was noticeably absent was seas of blood, demons roving the streets, the stench of brimstone, and Lucifer in the queue at Starbucks wondering whether to go for a skinny latte or a frappachino. There were no Rottweilers drooling and snarling, nor glassy eyed little boys in dodgy caps frolicking around the world's cemetaries.

Yes, Tuesday was the 6th day of the 6th month of 2006 and was surely the final nail in the coffin of any argument about omens, portents or associated bollocks in that it was no different to any other day - indeed, it was quite pleasant.

Diabolists are a sad lot these days. There was a time when they got respect, or at least their own shelf in the new age section at the local bookshop. Now though, they’ve been deposed by older, better religions. Wicca, paganism and so on - any many of these books offer crystals or cards in the packaging. So, a dusty hardback with a picture of a goat’s head is not going to do it.

Pagans, I reckon, get the best fun. You have a solstice or two, you have your midsummer fires, midwinter fires, Roodmass, candlemass, not to mention car boot sales to raise money for re-thatching the wicker man.

Let's face it.....when it comes down to it, there’s no point sacrificing anything you can’t pop on the barbeque afterwards.

Castration & Incarceration...It's the only way!

As an 8-year-old girl looked at toys in an Orlando Kmart, a 5-foot-6, 160 pound man with blondish-brown hair politely approached and asked her to open her mouth. Yes, this story gets really nasty. When she refused, he pointed a fish-shaped squirt gun at her, sprayed her face, snapped her photograph and ran. What he shot on her face was not water but semen from inside a squirt gun. The picture he took was going to be used no doubt to help refill the gun.

Apparently this was at least the ninth time that the bizarre child molester has struck in the past year, police said.

Most of the squirting incidents have occurred at Wal-Mart stores in Orange County. The man appears to be targeting children who are alone in the toy section of stores.

Forensic psychologist Jeffrey Danziger said the attacker may be acting out a sexual fetish. He also might suffer from a mental illness and be psychotic and delusional. Once again we can thank a forensic psychologist for his take on the fucking obvious.

Travelling back to the office (first class on the train..woohoo) I had the added bonus of seeing somebody arrested for fare-dodging as we pulled out of London.

Point of information: police officers do not like it when you shout ‘CS gas the fucker!’ as a form of encouragement. Tut.