The suspicious pair above are my Father's parents. Do you think I look like either of them?I think they both look like criminals; a couple of gangsters from Chicago in the 1930s.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Grandparents
The suspicious pair above are my Father's parents. Do you think I look like either of them?I think they both look like criminals; a couple of gangsters from Chicago in the 1930s.
Wedding
This photograph was taken at my sister's wedding. It features said woman, along with my other sister, my Mum and my two brothers. Can you tell which one is Minge?
Morrissey
Isn't Morrissey just fabulous?
America Is Not The World
America your head's too big
Because America
Your belly is too big
And I love you
I just wish you'd stay where you is
In America
The land of the free, they said
And of opportunity
In a just and a truthful way
But where the president, is never black
Female or gay, and until that day,
You've got nothing to say to me
To help me believe
In America, it brought you the hamburger
Well America you know where, you can shove your hamburger
And don't you wonder, why in Estonia they say
Hey you, you big fat pig, you fat pig, you fat pig
Steely blue eyes with no love in them, scan the world,
And a humourless smile, with no warmth within, greets the world
And I, I have got nothing, to offer you
No-no-no-no-no, just this heart deep and true, which you say you don't need
See with your eyes, touch with your hands, please, hear through your ears, know in your soul, please
For haven't you me with you now?
And I love you, I love you, I love you
And I love you, I love you, I love you.
America Is Not The World
America your head's too big
Because America
Your belly is too big
And I love you
I just wish you'd stay where you is
In America
The land of the free, they said
And of opportunity
In a just and a truthful way
But where the president, is never black
Female or gay, and until that day,
You've got nothing to say to me
To help me believe
In America, it brought you the hamburger
Well America you know where, you can shove your hamburger
And don't you wonder, why in Estonia they say
Hey you, you big fat pig, you fat pig, you fat pig
Steely blue eyes with no love in them, scan the world,
And a humourless smile, with no warmth within, greets the world
And I, I have got nothing, to offer you
No-no-no-no-no, just this heart deep and true, which you say you don't need
See with your eyes, touch with your hands, please, hear through your ears, know in your soul, please
For haven't you me with you now?
And I love you, I love you, I love you
And I love you, I love you, I love you.
Culture Club part II
This is wild!Isn't Culture Club all about Boy George?
It would seem the rest of the band don't think so and are about to replace him. I wonder what Mr O'Dowd thinks about it?
Monday, June 19, 2006
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Love and Monsters
I've just seen the latest Doctor Who episode. If you've seen it, too, please give me your opinion on it by clicking here (you might have to join gaywhovians if you're not already a member - and if not, why not?).
Wow. Isn't my grammar and sentence construction simply shocking tonight!?!?
Wow. Isn't my grammar and sentence construction simply shocking tonight!?!?
Hapy Fathers' Day
Today is Fathers' Day. Happy Fathers' Day to all the Fathers' out there.
I'd say happy Fathers' Day to mine, but I won't. He's not a good Father. He wasn't a good husband. He's not a good man.
So, I'd also like to say Unhappy Fathers' Day to a few Fathers and children out there.
Not all Fathers are good people, which is a shame.
I wonder what I'd be like if I was a Father?
I'd say happy Fathers' Day to mine, but I won't. He's not a good Father. He wasn't a good husband. He's not a good man.
So, I'd also like to say Unhappy Fathers' Day to a few Fathers and children out there.
Not all Fathers are good people, which is a shame.
I wonder what I'd be like if I was a Father?
Fundamental
Pet Shop Boys' latest album, Fundamental, is dedicated to two Iranian teenagers who were recently executed for being homosexual.
Please click here to read all about it.
Please click here to read all about it.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Haiku Saturday
Hey boys and girls, it's Haiku Saturday!
Come and play!
Go on, you know you want to.
Click here.
Come and play!
Go on, you know you want to.
Click here.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Fabulous idea - why don't I steal it?
He who is fabulous (Moncrief) recently had an entry on his blog entitled Ask Moncrief Speaks Anything.I had no idea what to blog about this afternoon. All I could come up with was fish. You're lucky, dear reader, that I didn't discuss the price of it! Oh, the clichés come thick and fast...! Anyway, I thought I'd indulge myself and pinch a good idea from someone else. Thus:
Ask me a question, any question - and I'll answer it in the comments section (though I might say no comment if it's too vile - who knows!?!?). You can ask anonymously if you do so desire.
Go on, ask me something. You know you want to.
Haddock
I just saw the fish-man drive into our cul-de-sac. Well, I actually heard him before I saw him. He toots his horn several times to attract attention/customers. I've never bought anything from him.He sells eggs, too.
He parks up, opens the back of his wee van and pulls various trays out into the sunshine. It looks quite pretty actually, even from this distance, glistening and twinkling in the sun. It's quite something to see ice outside of one's own home in June.
For some reason, I then started to think about his wares. I feel sorry for all those dead fishes. Why can't people eat a nice aubergine instead? The aubergine doesn't have to get yanked out of the sea and either whacked on the head or left to suffocate in order to be eaten.
The fish I feel most sorry for is the much maligned and beleaguered haddock.
People aren't very kind to the haddock. It's frowned upon by food snobs, a second class ingredient in the kitchen and, as a metaphor, it's treated very poorly indeed. If someone is sad or glum looking, they're often described as haddock-mouthed. Cruel! Who said the haddock can't be happy?
Well, I suppose it could be happy if we left it to swim in the sea instead of killing it, battering it and eating it with chips/french fries.
Have an aubergine instead, dear reader.
Crash!
I pinched this from Dan's blog.
It's a film taken with what appears to be a surveillance camera inside a tunnel in Russia.
Very scary!
Click here. The highlight (or low point, depending on how you look at it) is the bus. You can't miss it.
It's a film taken with what appears to be a surveillance camera inside a tunnel in Russia.
Very scary!
Click here. The highlight (or low point, depending on how you look at it) is the bus. You can't miss it.
How I met Alan
I'm going to try to remember what I spent an hour writing last night... I finished what I was doing, clicked on the Publish Post button, only to find my mouse pointer had turned into the spinning beach ball of death! I guess you'll have to be an iMac user to know what I'm going on about.
I was seething. Bloody Netscape. I'll never use it again! It's Firefox for me from now on (thanks, Dan!).
Anyway...
I'm going to tell four stories of how I met Alan. Only one of them is true. Your job, dear reader, is to sort fact from fiction. Which one is true? Please tell me in the comments section.
I don't actually like recalling this story (I get heartburn just thinking about it), but tell it I must, since the ever fabulous Moncrief has instructed me to do so. I just love it when he bosses me about.
Version one
I would have been about eight years old, Alan, I think, was nine. We both had older brothers who were mad for fitba and played in the local team. Both our Mums hated football, which was a boon for Alan and I as we hated it, too. They'd take us, with our brothers, to the match on Sunday morning, then disappear once the game had begun into the public toilets to smoke fags and drink cider!
Spooky, very spooky. Alan and his Mum would be in one cubicle, my Mum and I in another. Mum and I had no idea there were people in the next lock up; Alan and his Mum had no idea we were in the lock up next to them!
One particular Sunday, Mum was busy contorting herself, scratching her bum.
"Oh! What an itch on my bum!" she said.
I used to wish my Mother was American. She might have then said fanny instead of bum which would have been totally hilarious!
Anyway, I digress... There was me with the cider in one hand, the lighter in the other and the fag in my gob. She was bending down for so long, my lungs were choc-full of smoke! You see, I had a cold, couldn't breathe through my nose. Mum eventually came up for air, and so did I! She swiped the fag out of my mouth and I immediately began hacking!
"Who's there?" came a voice from the next cubicle.
Mum put her finger over her mouth, a mimed instruction to reinstate that broken silence.
Next thing, a rolled up piece of paper came sliding through a hole in the dividing wall between cubicles. I took it, unrolled it and read it. I'd recognise it now as Alan's unmistakable handwriting, but back then, I had no idea who was hoping to correspond with Minge!
What are you into? the note enquired. I responded:
Mars bars, custard and The Bay City Rollers.
The sound of the bolt sliding out of its sheath filled me with electricity! I opened the door of my lock up, as did Alan and we met for the first time in front of the urinal.
We've been friends ever since.
Version two
I think I was nineteen at the time. Alan was in his early forties.
I fancied knitting myself a nice cardy, so went down to the wool shop, looking for a nice pattern.
I couldn't believe the lady behind the counter. She was quite the grotesque! Huge lemon twin set with matching hat, shoes, bag and gloves. Pearls. Full make up. Hairy chest.
"Are you a sex swap?" I asked.
"No, I'm doing this for a bet," said Alan...
I told him I'd come in for a nice cardigan pattern. He, very kindly, took me over to the pattern books and picked a few out for me, showing me the ones he'd already knitted himself, showing me which ones were easy and which ones caused him stress.
I chose one and we went back over to the counter.
"How much?" I asked.
"Just put it in your bag, love, before anyone sees. We queens have got to stick together!"
"But that's theft."
"No it's not, it's a fucking gift. Now scarper!"
I went back two days later to show Alan the finished cardy. Obviously the bet was to be in full drag for a very long time as he was still wearing ladies' clothes. He was very impressed. I offered to knit him a nice chenille jumper. He accepted, we went out onto the street for a fag and we've been friends ever since.
Version three
I moved to Armadale from Edinburgh in 2002. I wondered if there were other gays in the Dale so had a look on gaydar. Have you seen my gaydar profile, by the way, dear reader? No? Shame on you! Click here.
Anyway, I had a look. I found two. One was Alan, one was called dragon-something-or-other... The latter just wanted to chat, afraid of meeting anyone. There were others from Armadale, but they listed their location as Bathgate. Not sure why.
Alan and I chatted for a while - a few months actually, before plucking up the courage to meet. He came round to my house for a cup of tea, we chatted, he went home. We've been friends ever since.
Version four
I went into the chip shop one evening, desperate for white pudding! Before making my order, a guy joined the queue behind me. He turned out to be Alan. But I'm jumping ahead...
Ouch! I had these horrible stomach cramps. Appendicitis? I collapsed on the floor.
"Are you constipated, love?" asked Alan.
I shook my head.
Alan told me he was a witch-doctor (witch was right) and knew a good cure all for stomach cramps. He told me I probably just needed a good fart. He ordered the mary behind the counter in the chippy to give him a small cooked sausage. Next, he was pulling my panties down and inserting said sausage into my anus!
"Oh, gosh," he said. "You're really tight down there! It's only a chipolata and I'm having a right game to get it in. Fancy going for a drink?"
He took me to The Goth and bought me a diet Irn Bru. Oh, those cramps again!
We rushed off to the toilets. Alan tried to retrieve the chipolata, but it was no good. I was so tight, he couldn't get a finger in! I screamed!
A barman came in and, well, to cut a long story short, sent for the bobbies. We were arrested and spent a long time getting to know one another in prison. We've been friends ever since.
That sausage never did make a reappearance. For all I know, it's still in there. It's too big to come out. I'm as tight as a cat's anus down there and only do jobs the size of wee ball bearings. The sausage has no chance.
Fin
So, which story, dear reader, do you suppose is true?
I was seething. Bloody Netscape. I'll never use it again! It's Firefox for me from now on (thanks, Dan!).
Anyway...I'm going to tell four stories of how I met Alan. Only one of them is true. Your job, dear reader, is to sort fact from fiction. Which one is true? Please tell me in the comments section.
I don't actually like recalling this story (I get heartburn just thinking about it), but tell it I must, since the ever fabulous Moncrief has instructed me to do so. I just love it when he bosses me about.
Version one
I would have been about eight years old, Alan, I think, was nine. We both had older brothers who were mad for fitba and played in the local team. Both our Mums hated football, which was a boon for Alan and I as we hated it, too. They'd take us, with our brothers, to the match on Sunday morning, then disappear once the game had begun into the public toilets to smoke fags and drink cider!
Spooky, very spooky. Alan and his Mum would be in one cubicle, my Mum and I in another. Mum and I had no idea there were people in the next lock up; Alan and his Mum had no idea we were in the lock up next to them!
One particular Sunday, Mum was busy contorting herself, scratching her bum.
"Oh! What an itch on my bum!" she said.
I used to wish my Mother was American. She might have then said fanny instead of bum which would have been totally hilarious!
Anyway, I digress... There was me with the cider in one hand, the lighter in the other and the fag in my gob. She was bending down for so long, my lungs were choc-full of smoke! You see, I had a cold, couldn't breathe through my nose. Mum eventually came up for air, and so did I! She swiped the fag out of my mouth and I immediately began hacking!
"Who's there?" came a voice from the next cubicle.
Mum put her finger over her mouth, a mimed instruction to reinstate that broken silence.
Next thing, a rolled up piece of paper came sliding through a hole in the dividing wall between cubicles. I took it, unrolled it and read it. I'd recognise it now as Alan's unmistakable handwriting, but back then, I had no idea who was hoping to correspond with Minge!
What are you into? the note enquired. I responded:
Mars bars, custard and The Bay City Rollers.
The sound of the bolt sliding out of its sheath filled me with electricity! I opened the door of my lock up, as did Alan and we met for the first time in front of the urinal.
We've been friends ever since.
Version two
I think I was nineteen at the time. Alan was in his early forties.I fancied knitting myself a nice cardy, so went down to the wool shop, looking for a nice pattern.
I couldn't believe the lady behind the counter. She was quite the grotesque! Huge lemon twin set with matching hat, shoes, bag and gloves. Pearls. Full make up. Hairy chest.
"Are you a sex swap?" I asked.
"No, I'm doing this for a bet," said Alan...
I told him I'd come in for a nice cardigan pattern. He, very kindly, took me over to the pattern books and picked a few out for me, showing me the ones he'd already knitted himself, showing me which ones were easy and which ones caused him stress.
I chose one and we went back over to the counter.
"How much?" I asked.
"Just put it in your bag, love, before anyone sees. We queens have got to stick together!"
"But that's theft."
"No it's not, it's a fucking gift. Now scarper!"
I went back two days later to show Alan the finished cardy. Obviously the bet was to be in full drag for a very long time as he was still wearing ladies' clothes. He was very impressed. I offered to knit him a nice chenille jumper. He accepted, we went out onto the street for a fag and we've been friends ever since.
Version three
I moved to Armadale from Edinburgh in 2002. I wondered if there were other gays in the Dale so had a look on gaydar. Have you seen my gaydar profile, by the way, dear reader? No? Shame on you! Click here.
Anyway, I had a look. I found two. One was Alan, one was called dragon-something-or-other... The latter just wanted to chat, afraid of meeting anyone. There were others from Armadale, but they listed their location as Bathgate. Not sure why.
Alan and I chatted for a while - a few months actually, before plucking up the courage to meet. He came round to my house for a cup of tea, we chatted, he went home. We've been friends ever since.
Version four
I went into the chip shop one evening, desperate for white pudding! Before making my order, a guy joined the queue behind me. He turned out to be Alan. But I'm jumping ahead...
Ouch! I had these horrible stomach cramps. Appendicitis? I collapsed on the floor.
"Are you constipated, love?" asked Alan.
I shook my head.
Alan told me he was a witch-doctor (witch was right) and knew a good cure all for stomach cramps. He told me I probably just needed a good fart. He ordered the mary behind the counter in the chippy to give him a small cooked sausage. Next, he was pulling my panties down and inserting said sausage into my anus!
"Oh, gosh," he said. "You're really tight down there! It's only a chipolata and I'm having a right game to get it in. Fancy going for a drink?"
He took me to The Goth and bought me a diet Irn Bru. Oh, those cramps again!
We rushed off to the toilets. Alan tried to retrieve the chipolata, but it was no good. I was so tight, he couldn't get a finger in! I screamed!
A barman came in and, well, to cut a long story short, sent for the bobbies. We were arrested and spent a long time getting to know one another in prison. We've been friends ever since.
That sausage never did make a reappearance. For all I know, it's still in there. It's too big to come out. I'm as tight as a cat's anus down there and only do jobs the size of wee ball bearings. The sausage has no chance.
Fin
So, which story, dear reader, do you suppose is true?
Thursday, June 15, 2006
It's tag time
I'm a tagging virgin. No-one's ever tagged me before, but I'm going to tag a few people at the end of this.
If you don't know what tagging is (and I didn't before today) - I'll tell you. Tag someone, and they're forced to continue what you've just done. For example, the people at the bottom of this post will have to copy and paste this entry into their blog, though, of course, changing the answers for their own. If they don't do it, well, actually, nothing will happen to them. They can't be punished nor forced into it, but, hey, it's still kind of fun...
I pinched this from a fabulous Irishman called Alan. Click here to have a look at his outrageous blog.
Here goes:
Five items in my fridge:
Rice milk (vanilla)
Home made lemon and lime curd
Some sweet potatoes
Home made marmalade
Three mushrooms
Five items in my wardrobe:
Ikea bed linen
Various towels
A pair of Jesus boots
A lovely Lambretta shirt (which dries in seconds)
Some of Ian's work ties
Five items in my car:
My boyfriend
A UK road atlas
Some pens
Mobile telephone recharger
Tissues
Five items in my bag:
Some sugar-free apple sweets
A pinched Ikea pencil
An old bus ticket
Sand (from the beach)
A 20p coin
Five jobs I've had:
Pick-packer at a Max Factor factory
Chamber maid
Post Office counter clerk
Amusement arcade attendant
Building Society Deputy Branch Manager
Five films I can watch over and over:
Female Trouble
Polyester
Beautiful Thing
Life Is Beautiful
Meet Me In St Louis
Five places I have lived:
West Howe (Bournemouth)
Southbourne (Bournemouth)
Bear Cross (Bournemouth)
Edinburgh
Armadale (West Lothian)
Five TV shows I like:
How Clean Is Your House?
You Are What You Eat
Ten Years Younger
Big Brother
The News (any programme as long as it's on the BBC)
Five places I've visited on holiday:
Estepona (Spain - I learned to walk there!)
Tunis (Tunisia)
St Lucia
Venice (Italy)
Kyoto (Japan)
Five of my favourite foods/dishes:
Custard
Tiramisu
Vanilla ice cream (It's got to be the real thing, ie - contain cream and vanilla!)
Crème brûlée
Sherry trifle (no jelly)
Five web sites I visit daily:
BBC News
Wikipedia
Big Brother
Blogger
Pet Shop Boys
Five places I'd rather be right now:
New York City
The Seychelles
The Maldives
Cancun
Rio de Janeiro
Five people I'm tagging:
Alan
Brian
Dan
Michèle
Moncrief
It's fabulous.
If you don't know what tagging is (and I didn't before today) - I'll tell you. Tag someone, and they're forced to continue what you've just done. For example, the people at the bottom of this post will have to copy and paste this entry into their blog, though, of course, changing the answers for their own. If they don't do it, well, actually, nothing will happen to them. They can't be punished nor forced into it, but, hey, it's still kind of fun...
I pinched this from a fabulous Irishman called Alan. Click here to have a look at his outrageous blog.
Here goes:
Five items in my fridge:
Rice milk (vanilla)
Home made lemon and lime curd
Some sweet potatoes
Home made marmalade
Three mushrooms
Five items in my wardrobe:
Ikea bed linen
Various towels
A pair of Jesus boots
A lovely Lambretta shirt (which dries in seconds)
Some of Ian's work ties
Five items in my car:
My boyfriend
A UK road atlas
Some pens
Mobile telephone recharger
Tissues
Five items in my bag:
Some sugar-free apple sweets
A pinched Ikea pencil
An old bus ticket
Sand (from the beach)
A 20p coin
Five jobs I've had:
Pick-packer at a Max Factor factory
Chamber maid
Post Office counter clerk
Amusement arcade attendant
Building Society Deputy Branch Manager
Five films I can watch over and over:
Female Trouble
Polyester
Beautiful Thing
Life Is Beautiful
Meet Me In St Louis
Five places I have lived:
West Howe (Bournemouth)
Southbourne (Bournemouth)
Bear Cross (Bournemouth)
Edinburgh
Armadale (West Lothian)
Five TV shows I like:
How Clean Is Your House?
You Are What You Eat
Ten Years Younger
Big Brother
The News (any programme as long as it's on the BBC)
Five places I've visited on holiday:
Estepona (Spain - I learned to walk there!)
Tunis (Tunisia)
St Lucia
Venice (Italy)
Kyoto (Japan)
Five of my favourite foods/dishes:
Custard
Tiramisu
Vanilla ice cream (It's got to be the real thing, ie - contain cream and vanilla!)
Crème brûlée
Sherry trifle (no jelly)
Five web sites I visit daily:
BBC News
Wikipedia
Big Brother
Blogger
Pet Shop Boys
Five places I'd rather be right now:
New York City
The Seychelles
The Maldives
Cancun
Rio de Janeiro
Five people I'm tagging:
Alan
Brian
Dan
Michèle
Moncrief
It's fabulous.
Billie Piper
I've just heard some news about Billie Piper.If you don't want to know what happens with Rose in Doctor Who, DO NOT click here. However, by all means do if you're desperate to know.
It must be said though, that curiosity killed the cat but knowing made him better.
Madonna - Get Together
I've just seen the video for Get Together on Channel 4.I'm a wee bit disappointed.
Obviously, Our Glorious Leader is busy wowing the crowds around the world with her live shows and too busy to make a video, but, hey, couldn't she have made a live recording and used that instead, you know, dear reader, like she did for Causing A Commotion?
As videos go, it's ok, but my disappointment is mostly in the fact that Get Together does not start where Sorry left off whereas Sorry started where Hung Up left off. It's all gone horribly wrong.
Also, it's a vile mix of live action and animation, with the live action having been messed with to make it look like animation, too. I hate mixing live action with animation. Who Framed Roger Rabbit? makes me feel physically sick. And that's without seeing Bob Hoskins' chest.
It would seem that the theme of the video is evolution, though what this has to do with getting together with someone, I have no idea. Volcanos erupt, dinosaurs race across the sky and we end up with skyscrapers and the like.
I can't make sense of it. Can you?
I'm so upset. Why couldn't she have got the Con Loli woman in on it? It could have been fabulous! If you haven't seen her parody of Hung Up, click here. It's what inspired me to dress up as Our Glorious Leader for my birthday.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Want, wish, would...
I pinched this from the ever fabulous Zona Boy...
I want, I wish, I would (x5)
I want Grace to stay in the Big Brother house, even though I loathe her.
I wish she dies in there, the first contestant to leave in a body bag.
I would like to replace George who left (not in a body bag).
I want a solid gold toilet.
I wish I could win the lottery. How else could I pay for the solid gold toilet?
I would prostitute myself, but I'd be on my back for a thousand years in order to get enough money for the lovely solid gold toilet. I don't want a golden shower, though.
I want to be slimmer than I am just now.
I wish I could wave a magic wand and see all the fat disappear.
I would have liposuction, but sometimes the results look ridiculous.
I want everyone in the world to be hypnotized and told they love everyone else, regardless of gender, age, race, sexuality and religion.
I wish I could do this myself but:
a) I haven't been trained in hypnosis
and
b) I don't have a big enough pocket watch for the whole world to see it at once.
I would love to be Paul McKenna - if only for a day.
I want to be able to go anywhere in the universe at the drop of a hat.
I wish someone would invent teleportation.
I would make heaven my first stop and bring my Mum's parents back for her and Ian's Mum and brother back for him.
I want, I wish, I would (x5)
I want Grace to stay in the Big Brother house, even though I loathe her.
I wish she dies in there, the first contestant to leave in a body bag.
I would like to replace George who left (not in a body bag).
I want a solid gold toilet.
I wish I could win the lottery. How else could I pay for the solid gold toilet?
I would prostitute myself, but I'd be on my back for a thousand years in order to get enough money for the lovely solid gold toilet. I don't want a golden shower, though.
I want to be slimmer than I am just now.
I wish I could wave a magic wand and see all the fat disappear.
I would have liposuction, but sometimes the results look ridiculous.
I want everyone in the world to be hypnotized and told they love everyone else, regardless of gender, age, race, sexuality and religion.
I wish I could do this myself but:
a) I haven't been trained in hypnosis
and
b) I don't have a big enough pocket watch for the whole world to see it at once.
I would love to be Paul McKenna - if only for a day.
I want to be able to go anywhere in the universe at the drop of a hat.
I wish someone would invent teleportation.
I would make heaven my first stop and bring my Mum's parents back for her and Ian's Mum and brother back for him.
Teachers
Alan had a post on his blog, way back in May, about his school daze.He asks what school was like for his extensive readership/fans, which teachers we loved and which ones we hated. There's also a really cute picture of him. Click here to see it.
My favourite teacher was the English master, Mr Valentine. I called him my funny and wonder to this day if people knew what/who I was talking about. He was the most inspiring man alive when I was at school. He encouraged all of us to express ourselves on paper (regardless of our ability to spell) and to read the most outlandish and often pornographic books. Ok, they weren't altogether porny, but for a boy of twelve, the mention of a blooming nipple, a clear and visible sign of orgasm, it was pure porn.
English classes before Mr Valentine were as dull as ditch water. We read in silence and then wrote about it, week in, week out. Mr Valentine got us to act out alternative outcomes, to write the most shocking things we could think of and to watch plays with the vilest of language. We read and performed Pinter's The Dwarfs (arguing about the spelling) - and it totally blew my mind. My life changed that day. I realised I just might like the things adults liked as well as the things that children liked. I think that that was the day I started growning up.
My most hated teacher was Dr Read, our Maths teacher. He was a complete wanker. Superficially, he was a nothing, a total wank-stain, wearing what looked like a suit from a charity shop, dirty shoes and ties with yesterday's lunch still on them. I've never judged people on how they look. Judging books by their covers is a very silly thing to do, but, well, it just got worse. If the surface was wank, the inside was scat. He would let us into the class, tell us to work from a certain page in our text books - and then leave! We'd not see him again until the next lesson! If any pupil needed help, we just had to help each other. There was no teacher to ask. No wonder my Maths GCSE was shit. I think I got a C, which is only just a pass (in old speak).
The most weird teacher was Mr Rogers. He was the PE master but also took us for French in the second year. I'd have been between the ages of twelve and thirteen then. We'd have a spelling test every Monday morning. If a pupil got less than four, he'd get detention . Yes, he, we were an all-boys school then. The whole lesson was conducted in French. He'd ask, "Less than four?" which, in French, is (I believe) "Moins que quatre?" and everybody would laugh. It sounded like he was asking "Wank a cat?" The boy who laughed hardest got the plimsole. Not a very nice man. His French accent was rubbish. It sounded like a cross between some Indian sub-continent dialect and Welsh. He'd also get into a stress in translation classes if someone translated petit pois as small peas. "Not small, just bloody peas!" He had terrible varicose veins. We called him Prince and would sing, "Purple veins..." behind his back.
Other fabulous teachers were Miss Mann and Miss Galpin. They were a couple and lived together. Some people took the piss out of them, but I thought they were fabulous. I took history as a GCSE because of Miss Mann and am glad I did. She was such an inspirational woman and very enthusiastic about the subject.
I also loved Miss Humphreys and Miss O'Hare who took us for French at various points during my school career. They were wonderful women and I loved them. Miss O'Hare was a lesbian, as was Miss Peake, the art teacher who came over from the girls' school when we mixed in 1985.
Another teacher to come over from the girls' school was nicknamed Weeble. She looked like one and we'd sing, "Weebles wobble but they don't fall down!" I wish I could remember her name. I see her in my mind and can only think Weeble! She was a state. She stank of sweat and had a severe facial hair problem.
Miss Whale was fabulous. She was like a Mother/Grandmother figure - you could tell her anything. She was unshockable and trustworthy. She never once betrayed my confidence.
Oh, there was another lesbian! Miss Yeates! My school was full of dykes! And poofs! My typing teacher was outrageous! A total Mary!
We had a lot of fun in school. Various trips to France, to museums, theatres. It was fun, fun, fun. But there were some nasty children. They'd shout, "Queer!" and other such things. Water off a duck's back. Once they realised they weren't getting to me, it kind of tailed off, but there was always the odd jibe. I'd usually respond with, "Straight!"
On one trip to France, Kim Baker got drunk - and pregnant! A teacher had to escort her back. On another trip, Genevieve Clere was put up in a museum! It was an exchange programme. We'd stay with a family and then the youth from that family would come and stay with us. It was hilarious. But poor Gen. She didn't get her own bedroom and had to sleep on the floor in a museum. Her exchange partner's Father was the care-taker there.
The place I stayed in was ridiculous! There was no through corridor, just a succession of rooms. Mine was the final one, so had to walk through other people's bedrooms to get to it. Imagine walking through the boy's parents' bedroom. I was sure they'd be having sex all the time, so never went through when I knew they were in it. Once, I was so desperate for the loo, I tipped all the cola from a plastic bottle I had in my room, and tiddled in that! I'd also lie there listening to Radio 1 on long wave, just so that I could hear the English language!
I'd been there a day and couldn't find the bathroom. I asked the Father of the house if I could take a bath. He said I couldm later. When I got back that afternoon, there was an old tin bath in the kitchen. He gestured to me to get in - and wouldn't leave! I was in no mood to expose myself to a relative stranger. I didn't have a bath for two weeks, only washing myself (from top to toe!) at the sink in the toilet. Goodness only knows what they thought of me.
Of course, the boy, Fred, came to stay at my house, too. He was a total misery. Night times were terrible. His room was at the other side of the house, but I could still hear him masturbating ferociously for hours on end. Mum's room was right next to his. Goodness!
I enjoyed most things about school, but was so glad to leave. I'd never want to go back.
Oh, I must tell you this. Once, in a Home Economics class, Michael Wright asked Miss Leach if she was on the game.
"What game?" she asked.
"The game!" came his response. The whole class roared with laughter and we all got detention.
Did I ever tell you about Tania Moore's lycra dress, dear reader? Not sure If I did, but I think I'll leave that for another time. I need to put the pasta on!
Kym & Jocelyn Vs Babs & Donna
Many moons ago, back in the sixteenth Century, Barbra Streisand and Donna Summer released a pseudo disco record called No More Tears (Enough Is Enough). It was fabulous and was top of the charts for over eighty years.Moving on a few millennia, Kym Mazelle and Jocelyn Brown decide to do a cover version of said classic.
It's more disco than the original and as camp as knickers.
But is it better than the original? Please, dear reader, let me know in the comments section.
I believe it is better. A million times better...
The thunderous, pulsing disco would have anyone believe the up-coming lyrics are going to be trite and uttered with no meaning or feeling whatsoever. Personally, I believe Kym and Jocelyn sing it with more heart-felt emotion than Babs and Donna ever did. And that's realy the crux of it, why it's better.
You can just picture Kym giving Jocelyn a high five in the studio when they were done and saying, "Men!"
Dealing with the negative, I always felt that Babs did this record, using modern-street talk, to give herself street-cred. I don't think it worked. I don't think anyone actually laughed at her, but, I'm sure, no-one took it seriously, especially as it was a one off. I know Guilty was pop, but it wasn't disco.
Did Donna feel used?
Are there other cover version that are better than the original? Sure! Some that spring to mind:
Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You - Boystown Gang
Everlasting Love - Sandra
Everlasting Love - Gloria Estefan
Losing My Mind - Liza Minnelli
That Ol' Devil Called Love - Alison Moyet
Can you think of any others?
God bless Mother Nature (she's a single woman, too)
Hi!
Hi!
We're your weather girls.
Uh huh.
And have we got news for you!?
You'd better listen.
Get ready, all you lonely girls. And leave those umbrellas at home.
Alright!
Bed
I'm shortly going to go off to bed.My bum-bum is so sore from all the cycling I did today. I hope some sleep will make it feel better.
The saddle on my bike is wank. I'm thinking of replacing it. But not necessarily with another saddle. Which, from the following list of choices, do you think I should take?
- A softer saddle
- A marital aid
- An arm-chair
Bournemouth
I was born in Bournemouth, England.Click here to read all about it.
One fact that I like (and didn't glean from the internet): Mary Shelley is buried in St Peter's churchyard in Bournemouth. I visited her grave once or twice and put flowers on it. I was almost a semi-goth at the time, I think.
I have visited other famous graves/tombs, most notably, that of König Ludwig II von Bayern in Michaelskirche, München. It was very moving. I was obsessed by him and his story for a while. I think I'm over it now.
Banal Vs Serious - a fight to the death!
Why do banal and superficial blog entries get more comments than serious and in-depth posts?
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Minge's top tip for Tuesday
Here's my top tip for Tuesday:Sometimes, love hurts.
So use plenty of water based lubricant, and you'll be just fine.
Who is Wonder Woman?
Have you ever seen Alan and Wonder Woman in the same room?
No? Thought not!
You don't need to be a rocket scientist to work it out...!
47 days to go
My boyfriend is at work today. He's visiting a pizza factory.He likes a cheesy one.
I wonder if they'll give him a free slice? I hope so. What's the point in going to a pizza factory if they don't give you a free taster?
He'll not bring any home for me, of that I'm sure. I quite fancy a pizza after talking about it. Well, not talking, typing about it, I suppose.
Blur
The blurring of wrong and right, gay and straight, male and female...Phyllis recently found a booklet that I was given in the street a while back. It's called The Beast, published by Chick. It makes some pretty outlandish claims, the most odd being that The Pope is the anti-christ. Now, I know that the Pope, Papacy and indeed the Catholic Church aren't the most liberal, enlightened and loving of institutions, but could Mr Ratzinger really be the devil incarnate?
Some investigation seemed necessary:
In Big Daddy, we learn that evolution is a nonsense.
In The Tycoon, we learn that peaceful Buddhists are going to hell.
In Why Is Mary Crying? we learn that we confuse Mary with the Mother of Satan.
In Doom Town, we learn that while homosexuality and sodomy are sins, it's ok to offer your virgin daughters up to a bunch of gay men for them to rape.
How fucked up is this? Is this really the voice of the devout Christian? All their facts come from The Bible, so I guess so... Jesus Christ!
I thought Christianity was about love, forgiveness and kindness, not about hatred, misogyny and irrationality.
It seems I was wrong.
Christian Churches teach that God/Jesus loves us, that God is the ultimate Parent, that he is all forgiving. So why, in heaven's name, would he throw us into a pit in order that we burn for all eternity? Would your Parent do that? I don't think so. So, if God is better than any mortal, why would he be such a cunt? He wouldn't! It's utter shite!
Sadly, hatred, perpetuated by most religions of the world is responsible, if not wholly, then, in part for things like:
Drag queen beaten up
The murder of Matthew Shephard
and
The disturbing story of Brandon Teena
Faith and religion seem to be gaining ground in the face of science, which continually questions itself, as opposed to the untested and unshakeable blindness of faith. Why? What's going on? Why are the Americans and faith schools here in the UK so mad for creationism to be taught? There is a place for that, sure, but in schools? Is evidence presented for it? Can it be proven? Are there credible theories? No! So leave it in in churches and other religious institutions where people can make up their own minds. It has no place in our schools.
Children shouldn't be brought up in an environment of hatred and ignorance.
Religions are supposed to teach love, hope, forgiveness and morality. Go to the capital of the three main religions of the world, the holy land. Do you see love, hope or forgiveness there? Nope! All one can see there is intolerance, destruction and violence. And it's spreading.
These are dangerous times.
Christians want to turn gay people straight. Can you believe it? Christianity can't make a gay person straight, just as much as, I'm sure, to Michael Jackson's annoyance, it can't make a black person white.
So, in the world of arch-christianity, is a former-gay really straight? Or bi? Is bisexuality a sin? I guess it is, so is there any escape? Any hope? Is it ok to be gay as long as you don't have sex with a member of the same sex? Perhaps, I don't know. But as soon as you contemplate it, you've sinned again! The thought is just as bad as the deed!
Where will all this end?
Ok, that's enough religion for one day. I'm off to get drunk, smoke drugs and think about sex between members of the same gender.
Salva mea!
Decide your own morality. You don't need a religion to show you the difference between right and wrong. You're clever enough, dear reader, to decide for yourself.
Monday, June 12, 2006
48 days to go
It's my sad duty to inform you that Phyllis has deleted his blog. He said he wasn't getting many hits or comments and it wasn't worth continuing.Please email Phyllis and beg him to revive it!
Mary
Mary's a proper krank!She just adores biting the jet of water coming out of that damned frog's mouth! I don't normally let her do it, but since I'd cleaned the whole thing out today, I decided I'd let her have a bit of fun. She was at it for over half an hour. Goodness knows how much water she drank. She's mad for it.
One question: why?
Taking out the garbage
I found myself cleaning out our naff/kitsch water feature today, as created by the former owners of our house.It was some job, about one hundred pebbles of varying sizes were at the bottom. Each one had to be removed and cleaned, the tank emptied of all its detritus, scrubbed and refilled.
Of course, I did the whole thing with rubber gloves. How gay is that? Washing up with them is one thing, but cleaning out a water feature? Gay, gay, gay. I hate getting my hands dirty or touching anything vile - and the water feature promised to be full of nasty surprises. There were all kinds of dead things in there. The nearer I got to the bottom, the worse it stank.
I hate metaphors when they're overused. You can hear it any morning on Thought For The Day on Today on Radio 4. It's very cringeworthy. The headmaster at my former comprehensive school was very good at metaphors, clichés, too. Every assembly would be choc-full of them. So, you see, I'm very wary of metaphors.
I could feel a metaphor rising up within me as I cleaned out the water feature today. Wouldn't it be nice if you could clean out the stinking mess in your life, throw out all that's dead, clean it all up and put everything back together again?
I wish I could.
Sadly, I tend to hang on to all the crap.
Any tips?
How do you empty the bins deep inside your soul? How do you take out the garbage?
Click here then choose info.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
God is gay
Yes, it's true. God is a homosexual. Go read your bible (if you have one, you heathens!). Ever see a mention of God's girlfriend or wife?No!
Gay!
And I bet now Judy's in heaven, he gets her to sing Over The Rainbow all the time.
Condi
Condoleezza Rice was recently asked the size of George W Bush's cock.
Actions speak louder than words.
Madame President
I'm going to make a prediction for 2008/9.
The United States of America will get its first female President.
Hillary Clinton v Condoleezza Rice.
Whadya think? Party politics aside, it can only be a good thing, right?
If such a contest were to take place, and I'm sure it will, who do you think, dear reader, will win?
World Cup
Click here to check out a vile Pet Shop Boys World Cup record/parody.I hate the world cup and football in general, so taking the piss out of it, in my humble opinion, is fabulous!
I fucking love it!
Records
This week, according to iTunes, I have mostly been playing:
No no never - Texas Lightning
Being boring - West End Girls
The sun ain't gonna shine anymore - Cher
If you don't love me - Prefab Sprout
Supernature - Cerrone
Minimal - Pet Shop Boys
Indefinite leave to remain - Pet Shop Boys
Hung up - Our Glorious Leader
Teenage life - Daz Sampson
You only tell me you love me when you're drunk - West End Girls
No no never - Texas Lightning
Being boring - West End Girls
The sun ain't gonna shine anymore - Cher
If you don't love me - Prefab Sprout
Supernature - Cerrone
Minimal - Pet Shop Boys
Indefinite leave to remain - Pet Shop Boys
Hung up - Our Glorious Leader
Teenage life - Daz Sampson
You only tell me you love me when you're drunk - West End Girls
The Pipettes
The Pipettes are perfect for summer.
Click here to see the video for their new single, Pull Shapes!
Click here to see the video for their new single, Pull Shapes!
Fisting is the new black
The British fashion pack can always be relied on to start new trends. And this summer, the big new thing seems to be... fisting.One young chap (allegedly) met Alexander McQueen on gaydar, and went round to his house. The two men got along famously until the designer revealed his penchant for fisting. The lad got scared, made his excuses and left. Unfortunately, he left in such a hurry that McQueen's dog chased and started to attack him.
Cue much attention and generosity to the boy, in the hope that he wouldn't report the beloved pooch, allegedly.
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