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.