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.

Chops and Cats

I'm wallowing in a few silent minutes before the day known as "Fat Chop Wednesday" blasts off. How sweet it is just to sit here with my hair sticking up and Monty scratching my legs. What joy there is in the sight of a a bleeding calf.
Bless.

Ok, so today it's Italian style Pork Chops for King Henry and I dare say I'll whip up something dead glam with a tin of fruit salad and banana. But oh dear does he need to lose some blubber or what? The poor darling panted over the stool on Monday with droplets of sweat falling all over me best straw placemats. Horrible. If that had been me, I'd have nipped to one of the sparkling bathrooms and dunked me head in the sink instead of perching on a red velvet stool guzzling Merlot just before six.
I think he's a bonkers man with a death wish.

Today the new additions to the family should be free to roam the halls, so I will be stressed beyond belief on account of worrying about the gorgeous fur balls sneaking out through the dog flap in the utility room and out into the space known as the garden.
Why couldn't he get a hamster like everyone else.?
Bugger.