Eric, Ern and Bud

I can't comment on the news because I've not checked in. Yet.

But watching C & C at yesterday's press call reminded me of a bad double act. Possibly showing in Worthing.
The spiteful press guy who reminded the planet that Cammi once called Cleggy a 'joke' set the scene...
In mock shock and outrage Clegg saddened up and stormed off...Then in a ghastly attempt at acting, Cameron begged him to come back.
Eric and Ern they ain't.

I cannot see the pair of forty somethings sitting up in bed together discussing Cleggys new book wot he wrote.
And as for Cam chasing after the ladies wearing Wellington boots. I don't think so...He's more of a rubber mac man.

I am so uneasy about this pact, this coming-together of disparate souls, this pick-up on Downing Street.
Talking of pick-ups...I dreamt that Ms Sarah (Queen of the Empire) Tether landed the job of Mother of The Nation. She will, believe me, be plotting Nick's downfall. The tiny vicious ruthlessly ambitious M.P. is waiting for Clegg to slip up, then she, all 3ft 8ins of her, will, with yellow sceptre in hand, take root in Downing Street.
I'm not all that keen on her.

But what about Theresa (Look at my shoes) May becoming burdened with the almighty job of Home Sec. Blow that. I've studied the fashion queen and apart from her head teacher looks and
out-of-hours clothes, she's really quite unremarkable. But what do I know? For all I know she might have a dungeon.

Michael Gove has been given Education.
In all my life I've never seen a creepier politician. If any Vent acts on the south coast mislay the dummies, just stick an arm up Gove and problemo solvedo.

That's enough vitriol for this morning I'm a Woman with Work to do.
But before I make a loaf I must fess up about what I did last night. For those of you who think I'm nothing more than a hard faced scribbler, you're in for a great big surprise.

After tenderly eating 5 Cream Crackers I watched 'The Abyss' and although it has a great story and marines and oil workers and rats, the bit which tore me to shreds, which had me reaching for a banana was when our Hero, BUD, who was laying Christ-like on the sea shelf and dying, took the outstretched gelatinous hand of a SEA ALIEN.
I CRIED. God, how I cried.
I love Aliens who Care.




Ta Ta!

Pre-Supper Post

Today's Love Quote by Pearl Bailey has inspired me...

I need MORE:

Bread Flour. Sacks preferably. Getting through 1kg every other day. Homemade bread has rocked my world. Emphasis on rock.

Tickles. An effective form of therapy. Pills can't compete with screaming lung bursting giggles.

Pebbles: Back garden looking half-cocked. On account of only getting five bags. And would you believe bits of weed are popping up through the membraned pebbles. Membrane indeed!

John Humphrys. Give God his own show and I don't mean another Mastermind type thing I mean give him a Paxo like vehicle where he can shred politicos intestines live on BBC 2.
Humph Slaughters Michael Gove In Studio Carnage. Yeah!

Peas. Always running out.


I need FEWER:

Boyfriends. Utter numpties in a goddess's world.
Mad cap ideas. Pebbles.


I need less:

Chocolate. White Belgian. Max I've eaten in one sitting...6 squares. I have incredible will power.

Deep Fried Onion Rings: Artery attack missiles.

Laziness. God do I have to. It can wait. Not now not ever. It really can wait you know. YOU do it.

Tantrums. On Sunday afternoons. I blame plummeting blood sugar levels/old age/being spoilt/laziness/hormones/wanting my own way

Showers Am beginning to prune in all areas.

Car activity. Swinging England balls are so distracting when doing 30 max.

Worry. About money. The old dears. The England football team. Not being able to dance non-stop for twenty minutes like I did at 18. The Antarctic. Elephant tusks. Peeling exterior walls. Disappearing Tigers. Peeling interior ceilings. Disappearing Gorillas. Prescription prices. Snails. Elderly lovers. My country. My volcanic libido. My teeth:)

Frying Tonight:
Very Sweet and Not Very Sour Chicken with cucumber, pineapple and carrot.
Very Fried rice with bacon, red onion and egg.
Four Large Spring Rolls. Dipped in Chilli and Tomato sauce.
Water. (I don't imbibe)
Chocolate.


Ta ta!

I Am Not A Banana. But I Like Playing With Them.

David Cameron could be a banana.
Michael Gove is probably a closet banana.
Gordon 'I have a large hand' Brown packs a big banana.
Nick 'My middle name is Kumquat' Clegg secretly hides bananas.

The Conservative Party and others are obviously watching American Idol where the very blonde babe loving Ms Ellen De Generes is obsessed with banana. Er...Howz zat work then?

I love banana.
But am not not one.
Yet I have spent a lot of time coming up with ideas what to do with one or two.
Usually involves sprays.

My understanding of the word banana is that it's a slightly mushy derogatory term used to describe people who are bonkers. Or ideas so off the tree that they could be deemed to be so absurd as to be plain daft.


On several occasions recently, mainly when addressing ordinary voters, Mr Cameron has made reference to bananas. For instance: If he takes a particular course, he will indeed be a banana. Likewise on the esteemed Today programme Mr Michael 'I'm well into bananas' Gove also slid his tongue over the 'B' word when attempting to maul the BBC's attack melon Mr John 'I eat coal' Humphrys. Gove lost.

The current obsession with the bent fruit is giving me the pip.
But I love bananas.
I blame banana hating Ms De Generes.