Sunday, 22 January 2012

ANTM, Melvis and The Bag of Nerves

Sorry to have been slack on the blog front. Promise to devote Sundays to blogging and such like from now on (yeah, yeah, says everyone). No, really, honest. It's not all my fault, swear. Half the problem is bloody 'America's Next Top Model' (ANTM). It's this programme where they pick a load of tall, lovely looking young girls and they have to compete to win a modelling contract - I am completely hooked on it. It's like watching the comings and goings of another world. I've never seen anything like it.

Just imagine this world: your worth is determined by your looks (so that's me out, for a start!). And if that's not bad enough, you have to compete, week after week, to sort of prove your looks against about 16 other people. THEN you get judged every week on how beautiful and photogenic you are. THEN, one of you gets chucked off the competition!

It is so different from any world that I have ever lived in. I must admit, I don't really understand the whole thing - they all look lovely to me. What I think I really don't understand is why the girls get so upset all the time and keep crying (oh and why some of them are so mean!). I think I haven't watched enough 'ordinary' reality tv and have, somehow, thrown myself into the deep end! Anyway, at least the mean girl didn't win the competition. I thought she lost it because she was so mean; but meaness didn't come into it (see, it's nothing like our world); it all had to do with how you photographed. It is the strangest and most compelling tv, ever; it is rather like watching a David Attenborough documentary. I can't get enough of it!

Anyway: Melvis! Well...the council have given him his marching orders i.e. evicting him from his flat! Man Friday has been going up to his casa to read his letters to him, cos he's more of what you'd call a functional reader. Old Melv has got a solicitor on the case (he's the only person I know who's actually got his own solicitor) but it all looks a bit doomed cos the local Old Bill want rid of him as well. I've been a bit war-woundy recently so I haven't been out for over a week, just padding round the flat and bumping into things (if that was an Olympic sport...), so I haven't seen him myself but Man Friday is keeping me up to date.

Ah, the Bag of Nerves - that'd be me. Well, me poor old book is out with 5 publishers and 7 editors (3 from the same publisher) so I'm like a cat on hot bricks. Luckily my lovely agent was, quite obviously, a social worker in a former life and keeps me cheered up immensely. I've never been so nervous I can tell you. I have this feeling that all the other writers are in their hammocks, sipping on martinis and getting fanned by blokes with palm leaves. Oh, talking of martinis. I heard this joke, couldn't stop laughing!
Julius Caesar goes into a bar, he goes to the barman: 'I'll have a Martinus, please.'
The barman looks at him a bit funny and says: 'Don't you mean a Martini?'
Julius goes: 'If I wanted a double I'd have asked for it.'

Snot came out my nose!

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Sorry, forgot about ANTM!

Will tell you about ANTM in next blog.  Oh, and the outlook for Gemini just 'came to me' this afternoon!

New Foster Puppy and ANTM (get me!)

Well.  After saying that he'd never take on a puppy ever, ever again - ever.  'And when I say 'ever', Carol, I mean what I say.  Oh yes, you can laugh and say 'yeah, yeah, yeah,' but I'm telling you - no more puppies.  Full stop. Ever, Nix, nada, niet, mate,' Man Friday took on another puppy.

I so knew he'd fall for the old sad story.  Unlike me, of course, I NEVER fall for poor, sad puppies with a dreadful back story - I am made of sterner stuff, mate.  Ahem, ahem...

Anyoldhow, this puppy is called Terrence.  He is 12wks old and so skinny that in the sunshine the poor bloody animal's see-thru!  He is a dark brown colour, a face shaped like a spade, eyes like two currants, and sticky out ears like a gremlin.  However, (although being NO oil painting) he is handsome in his own peculiar way, like Gerard Depardieu.

Oh, and about Melvis.  He went to court about holding the repair man hostage and the judge agreed with the council and now, if Melvis even throws a toffee paper on the pavement the council are allowed to ring the polis and have him arrested!

Turns out: cos the repair men are scared witless (fair enough, I suppose) of going to Melvis's, they first off said they weren't going round his house no more and didn't care if it flooded, caught fire, was in danger of collapsing et cetera.

Eventually, they tried drawing lots to decide who went round to Melvis.  But the bloke who drew the short straw called in 'sick'.  So, they decided to go round his house mob-handed - safety in numbers.

Unfortu, their plan back-fired.  Melvis sees four of them come round to repair his door (that the police kicked in aeons back when Obiah man accidentally dobbed him into the polis), and Melvis says: 'What's it take four of you for?'  and instead of placating him and making up some old codswallop about how they all have carple tunnel or something, one of them goes: 'Ho! We're not coming round here on our own Mr Valentine, we know your reputation.'

And that's all it took.  Dear oh dear.  Melvis then shoos three of 'em out the flats and keeps hold of a small one and tells him: 'You're perfectly capable of fixing my door by yourself, sonny.  Whatd'ya think I'm going to do to you?'
But the repair man (who is by now, and can't say I blame him, cacking his pants) says: 'I dunno mister but let me just tell you that I've got three children, all under six, if that makes any difference.'

And Melvis goes into one, big time.  He says: 'I don't know what them lying buggers have told you but I am not some sort of monster.  You just fix my door - and get a move on, don't think I've got all day.'

Meanwhile the other repairmen got back into the flats and effected a rescue of their traumatised mate; involving a lot of shouting and cursing, indignation and pure fear.

I dunno if you could call it 'kidnap' but it certainly wasn't a day trip to the coast; Melvis says it was the consequence of slander.


Monday, 9 January 2012


Never to fear my Destiny Devotees!  I've got a feeling in my water that the outlook for Gemini is soon to be revealed to me!

Thursday, 5 January 2012

74 Stone Woman

Last nacht,  I watched this programme about a 74 stone woman who had, apparently, rolled over on her little nephew and flattened the poor little bugger.  It all turned out to be a load of cods, and Mrs 74 was covering up for her mental sister who had done the little lad in with a wooden hairbrush.

However, Mrs 74 couldn't get out of bed (leave alone the casa) so I simply couldn't work out where she was getting all the grub from.  THEN it turned out that it was her own husband (who was her carer) who was not only buying the grub, but cooking it, bringing it to her and doing the washing up!  Could've knocked me down with a feather!

I mean, the husband (having gotten her so enormously tubby) was the one who had to deal with all the No.1s and No.2s and all the washing and tending to the cheesy folds (bit like stinky belly buttons, apparently - dear oh dear)!  Talk about making a rod for your own back.  He must have been mental.

I'd be like: 'Oh no, dear - all they had down the shop was some lettuce and a few ryvitas.' Wouldn't you?

Anyhow, the whole sketch put the wind right up me and I chucked out the rest of the 2bar Kit Kats that I'd bought half price down Tesco, plus the chocolate gold coins that you get so cheap apres Xmas.  As I said to Man Friday: '64 more stone, mate and that could be me.'  Doesn't bear thinking about.

Tell you something: if it weren't for good old teevers you wouldn't know half the stuff that goes on in the world.

Oh!  The council have said that Melvis held one of their repair men hostage whilst they were repairing his door the other month.  And, get this, he's going to court tomorrow(!) to plead his case i.e. I just wanted him to have another cuppa (or something).  I don't know how true any of anything actually is, but with old Melvis - nothing is impossible.  I know they want to evict him for the time when he threw a bucket of pee and poop all over their offices as a protest for the late arrival of a repairman to fix his khazi.  That business was about 18 months ago.  I told him they wouldn't let it go.  And he said: 'Nah, they'll forget all about it.'  But as I said at the time: 'Melv, no-one forgets a bucket of excrement chucked over their stapler.'  Before it all happened, he said that he was going to do it, and I said that I thought a stiff letter might be a better option.

Nobody ever listens to  a word I say; I wonder why I bother - half the time.

Sunday, 1 January 2012

New Year's Embarrasment

Recycling section of kitchen had begun to look like 'when the war was over....' so I bunged the whole lot in sholley and went up to the 'Come One, Come All' bins where you can bung in almost everything.

Unfortu, the bins had recently been emptied and I had at least 7 seven thousand (11) champagne bottles to chuck in; the noise was tremendously loud.  But, on my behalf, it WAS 2pm.  A woman nearby opened up her window and yelled at me, she said: 'Stop that racket, don't you know there are people with hang-overs here?'

I said I was very sorry and wouldn't be long.  She harrumphed, then leant further out the window and stared at me.  She said: 'How long have you been in this country?'  I said: '47 years, give or take,' and she said: 'Well, you think you'd have realised this is OUR new year's day.  You should've been taught these things before you came here.'

So, I joined in and said: 'So sorry that I missed the lecture, dear.'  And then, you'll never guess, she said: 'Back in your own country they'd probably cut your hand off.'

I think she was not only racist but quite obviously blind and deaf as I am the whitest of honky crackers with a strong North London accent, to boot.  I was a bit put out with her attitude, I can tell you - after all, suppose I was some newly arrived person simply trying to do their recycling?  Such a thing would've left a terrible impression.

I shouted up at her: 'Bloody infidel!'  She screamed and slammed her window shut.  I then legged it at 2mph (double my usual speed) in case she came downstairs and beat me with a crucifix - or a gin bottle or something.  People, eh?