I Love The Theatre!

*Brown v Cameron yesterday? I think C. came off best, might be because he resorted to bad language in the house. The speaker Mr Martin gently reminded him to stick to asking questions. Hearing the leader of Her Majesty's Opposition use the word 'crap' was refreshing, especially when used in relation to what Brown was spewing out. So my jimjams come off to Mr C.

*I saw snippets of Mayor Johnson's press conference and he shone like a man getting is own way. His plan to put police officers on buses to deter rowdy behaviour is a great idea but how will it work in practice. Will the number 36, which my elderly parents use, be able to squeeze one more soul on board an already jam packed bus? He or she might be able to sit on Dad's knee if it gets chock-a-block. I think policemen and women on public transport is a wonderful idea I just hope there are enough coppers to go round. But well done Boris. By the way, he's standing down as M.P. for Henley, another By-Election on the cards. No probs for the Conservatives though, because Henley-on-Thames is bluer than the blue cheese.

*Going back to David Cameron for a moment, his hair looked a bit funny yesterday, he had an unusual parting which made him look like a fellow in a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta.

*Lib dem leader Nick Clegg always seems in a temper to me. He got jeered yesterday when he went off at a tangent the speaker had to grab him by his coiffure and remind him to behave.

*The House of Commons at midday on Wednesday is theatre at it's very best, there are a few dullards of course, but when I see a good performer like the Tory's Stephen Pound (see picture above)and Labour's Beast of Bolsover, Dennis Skinner, it's worth letting me omelettte get cold.

On my agenda this afternoon is the erecting of a shelf type apparatus to house some plants. Bricks will be stolen and with the addition of a couple of lengths of dodgy white melamine, I hope to make a nice little place for my tomatoes. I hope.

Flouncing With A Chain Saw

Tomatoes have sprung up. Well a few half inch seedlings are poking their grubby heads above the dirt. C'mon boys me salads a-waiting...

Planted some small flowers the other day, can't remember what they're called, got them dead cheap, bought them because I wanted to save them from the hell of being left on the shop shelf. They look lost in my garden, but they're huddled together so at least they'll have each other for company.

While I'm talking 'green', put some white flowers, (can't remember the name of those either) in two plastic terracotta pots on my doorstep. They look a bit funny sitting either side of my ghastly white and glass door (God how I hate my door) anyway, there they sit, waiting for the postman, the meter reader and the beanpole of a paper boy.

Will have to do something about almost everything in the garden, I have to say I'm guilty of an awful amount of neglect and I'm now paying the price. I've never been a polish and duster merchant when it comes to gardening, because neat gardens scare me a little bit. Have always preferred to have a bit of the wild stuff. Suffice to say, the weeds have had a field day!

Being small and tender I tend to opt for growing things in pots, I just can't seem to do the digging thing. However I have no such qualms about chainsaws. Love those.

So what did I see just now as I took me bin out. Lots of shrubs planted over a period of ten years, a few wonky bird feeders, a lopsided bird bath sitting behind a flouncy Japanese Maple, a couple of broken fence panels leaning against a couple of sturdy Conifers, a good length of damaged hose pipe lounging under the washing line, my pair of robust taupe suede 'gardening' shoes propped up against the water butt while Jessamy the gnome looks on and laughs.

On my busy agenda today:
Flouncing around in a sun dress and straw hat trying to look capable, the making of some kind of general cake whilst keeping one eye on a beleaguered Gordon Brown at PMQ's, also might chainsaw the tops of a few bushes.
I might also write something.

Whatever you're doing today, do it with all your heart.

The Rise of Clive Stiffjoint part 1

Hello there.

I must just lay a few domestic issues on you.
I bought a ceramic frog and a gnome. The frog is called Bill and the gnome, Jessamy.
Only one tomato seedling has emerged.
I stuck a plastic sunflower in a pot of dirt and gasped as the passing kiddywinks shout "Pathetic!"
On the menu today something with bacon or something.
Oh, by the way, it's the Eurovision Song Contest on Saturday, for my international readers who may be blissfully unaware of it, it's a competition for half decent singers singing awful songs in outrageous outfits.
I love it.

Now here's a funny little thing I've been playing around with, I'll be posting the next installment quite soon.

Now don't start worrying about me I ain't lost me marbles, well not all of them, it's just that last night something big popped up.
I had a VISITATION.
I was alone as usual, the great one having decided to spend the night with his Satanist chums in The Swan With Two Necks public house on the Albermarle Road, when all of a sudden there he was. A whopping great alien. I kid you not. He appeared just as I was beautyfying meself with a rough brush and a pot of petroleum jelly.
"Oooh I say" I said "And what's your name and from whence do you come?"
"Clive Stiffjoint" he said duly whipping out a large map of the solar system and then stabbing a finger type thingy on a planet.
"Blimey!" I gulped "Are you a fanatical phantasime?"
Well he took umbrage at that and got a bit shirty with me.
"I need to live in Rochford" he said "With you and the others".
"Others?" I asked, scared stiff he was going to liquify me or something.
"Yes others" he said "Others of your kind".

Now, I can assure you that by this time I was dying for a cuppa and an arm around me midriff, because, although I am a woman of the world, I am still mostly unsure about how to deal with strange men. Anyway, all I had for comfort was my moggy Monty and all he was interested in was watching the shimmering light patterns on the wall emanating from this Alien bloke called Clive.

"Well I don't really know how I can assist you with your request" I splattered
"I'm just a housewife who has a giant pussy called Monty and a small Satanic husband called Ralph, I really don't get out an lot dear."
My protestations however fell flat on large ears, and he sat himself down on hubby's dressing-up box making himself himself quite at home. Cocking his great big head to one side, he folded all his arms into an intricate Celtic knot and then propped his suited and booted legs up onto me cheval mirror.
"You are a fine earth woman and I want you as my kickywick as your great poet said".
"Great poet, who's that then sweetie, Pam Ayres?" I choked
"No, 'twas the other genius William Shakespeare, does he reside in Rochford too?"
"Well not now Clive, because he's been gone a long time you know, but he might have popped into the Anne Boleyn Public House on the Rochford Road in about 1613, you know, for a swift half in between writing acts one and two of King Henry The Eighth, I just can't be sure dear"
On that he sprung up onto all his feet and BOWED. Yes, BOWED.
"I will come tomorrow" he said sticking his map into his flaps.
"Oh, lovely" I squeaked and duly collapsed.
To Be Continued...