Holiday

I’ve been camping!!
No no, not the kind you’re thinking of. This involved pitching a tent, looking at who had the biggest and things going bump in the night. Despite the weather arsing it down for 72hours straight we still had an awesome time. This was largely due to the fact that our temporary abode was borderline palatial. There aren’t many occasions where you can proclaim how proud you are of your erection without much embarrassment, but this was one of them. Me, the missus and the sprogs slept in the north wing. The carpeted living room, kitchen area and south wing were used as a dumping ground for the wife’s vital essentials.
We had gas powered heating/cooker, electric, TWO tv’s, four beds, four chairs, two tables, and a larder. We were proper slumming it. Drinking water came via two five litre water holders which were filled from a tap about 25metres away. It was like being homeless or something!


(behold, the Ritz)

The only glimmer of luxury were the toilets. You’ve never seen clean like it. Confused men kept wandering out to check they were in the right bog. The potpourri and “soap” were really quite intimidating. The showers, crappers, urinals and sinks were cleaner than a royal wedding. The mirrors were so clean you could see your face in them! Despite my best efforts to draw willys and boobs in the condensation they never lasted more than a day. There was even piped in music.
I’m going to recommend them to the tourist board.
Other than the wc’s the campsite itself was barely acceptable. It only had two heated swimming pools! The crazy golf was nowhere near crazy enough although gaffer taping knives to the windmill and putting piranha in the water hazard did help a little. The shop was very good but their sensible pricing meant they lost massive points on the captive audience front. We had to spend nearly twenty quid on chocolate and crisps before even felt a little bit ripped off. The onsite soft-play was clean as well. None of the balls in the pit smelt of wee or anything! I can’t comment on the tyre swing as I was asked to leave before I could measure the tread depth. I felt this was a tad unfair as I was both “over 3 years old” and clearly “taller than the bunny ears”. I’ve left the exact details with my solicitor. A long time was spent at the outside play area with its wooden fortress and connecting slides, even the kids enjoyed it.
We decided that the rain shouldn’t ruin our camping adventure. We should let it ruin our excursions as well. With the sat-nav route set to “B-roads only” and “popular with caravans” we ventured out. Instinct and flood warnings guided me to a nearby castle. Small boy plus real castle equals a quiet afternoon. The castle in question had been there for six hundred years. I can’t imagine what it had seen and endured over that time but I’m pretty sure it’s biggest test was my son with his stick sword. You could feel the six feet thick stone foundations move as he charged the ramparts and shouted through every arrow slit. Hell have no furry like a three year old fuelled up on Hairbo. The noise he makes at full gusto could split atoms.

(he's smiling because five minutes ago there used to be a roof....job done)

After several hours of charging round like a mentalist he relented and calm was briefly restored while he crashed out on the back seat. His younger sister is much more civilized and decided to do the usual and eat herself to sleep.

To be cont’d….

SUMMER, get it while it's hot!!!

The rain is that little bit warmer and I’m down to just five layers of clothing. You know what this means!!!
Summer is officially here. If you’re a bee, wasp, fly or any other winged insect, then you’ll have probably flown through our house recently. Sorry about the state of the place. It’ll be a lot tidier when you reappear stumbling across the carpet in autumn moaning that it’s too cold to fly.
It’s also a time for us cavemen to make fire in a rusted out barbeque and give everyone food poisoning. Thanks to some industrial sized tree pruning I now have an inexhaustible supply of fuel. So much in fact that I’ve had to purchase a hatchet. Surely, it’s one of the all time man-tools of all time? It comes with a lifetime guarantee on all ‘chopper’ jokes. The leather sheath just adds to the man-ness of it all. It has a flat end for battering stuff and a nail puller, but I’m not sure what that bit does.
My little chiminea is now constantly primed and ready to go at the drop of a swan vesta. How can a mini-axe bring so much pleasure? Who cares! Now stand back while I try to cleft this wood and keep my digit count in multiples of five.
Ladies, there’s no point in you trying to rationalise our love of fire. After all we don’t rationalise why you need quite so many shoes, or your love of Glee. Gawd don’t even get me started on Glee. I’ve had to recalibrate the shite-o-meter for that one.
The all time man tool of all time full stop is the knife. Alas though, we’re not allowed a proper one in the house because you girlies will use it as a screwdriver and end up with a free trip to A&E. The sharpest blades in the house are on your Venus razors and you can’t whittle with one of them….I’ve tried. I ended up with a very smooth lollypop stick and not the vicious pointy sabre tooth scarer I was trying to craft.
Summer is short in the UK. Normally it’s two weeks in May and then about five good days spread across the rest of the year. The exception is the south coast, which enjoys endless summer suns. The old and people with a metabolism the speed of a glacier love it down there. However, the prevailing southwesterly wind has meant there is a constant smell of old wee wee and Werthers Originals around Dover. I’d love to blame the French I really would but this one is our fault.The rest of the country enjoys almost continual assorted shades of grey. It’s not always been like this though. Oh know! only a few thousand years ago in Skara Brae (Orkneys), (top of Scotland), (the lumpy bit above Newcastle), (haggis munching kilt wearing wineoland), (yes there), the sea was full of fish that today are only found in much warmer tropical waters. Nowadays those fish have long since vanished, probably down the gullet of the nearest penguin. Go back in time a bit further and you’ll find Birmingham under a mile of ice. Happy days. The UK is obsessed with the weather because we get so flipping much of it. In the two minutes it’s taken to construct this drivel it has rained, blown a gale, been nice and sunny and finally settled on rain again. Last week it was hotter than Miami. Today it’s colder than a vengeful polar bear drowning some kittens for fun. I don’t know whether to wear shorts or skis. I’d cover my arse and wear both but the colours would clash horribly. Maybe if I had a different pair of shoes to match every single item of clothing I own and then sub-divided them into say ‘winter’ and ‘summer’ outfits I wouldn’t be in this mess…..? It would take an organisational genius and a mammoth wardrobe space to figure that one out. Ladies, over to you.

Only in Stockport cont'd

Hendrix tree



















































Hendrix tree.

Only in Stockport

From Blogger Pictures

No, I don't know what to say either.

The end of terrorism.

Osama Banana Laden was a very naughty boy. The more righteous among you will no doubt be saying that we shouldn’t be celebrating the murder of an individual. I wonder how many of those sanctimonious people breathed a sigh of relief when they heard the news? The killing of human is never nice but how many are quite happy to send thousands of heavily armed soldiers, RAF and Navy overseas with the sole objective of seeking out and killing terrorists before they kill them?
It’s kill or be killed out there. It’s natures way and it works. I doubt if Venus flytraps get a bit mournful when they’re digesting flies and we shouldn't regret either. A few hundred years ago, people had regrets about killing the low down scum of the Earth so what did they do? They put them on boats and sent them to the other side of the planet. Et voila, Australia! Gee thanks for that, well done. Slow handclap anyone?

If you want a perfect lawn expect to kill some weeds.

Would I kill Osalami Bin Liner? Yes I would, mainly because he would have no trouble whatsoever killing me. Did he lay awake at night concerned for the welfare of his victims and their families? I think not. I suspect his major ball ache was coming up with a way to top 9/11. After all he’s just convinced a group of individuals to learn how to fly and then put two passenger airplanes into the Trade Centre Towers on the promise of really kick arse afterlife. Charles Manson look and learn!
There are better ways of getting your point across. You could start a Facebook page and encourage likeminded thinkers to follow. You could dress up as a super hero, scale a monument and then put the pictures on a social networking site like Facebook. You could organize a march and bring it to the attention of a larger audience through something like Facebook for example. You could even write a letter to your MP, they might even be on Facebook. One thing you don’t do is convince nutters to hijack planes and commit suicide. Any pictures taken would be vaporized along with the camera in the explosion resulting in a really boring text only Facebook page.
Nutter don’t think rationally so you can’t expect rational methods to work on them. If you live by the blade then you should expect to die by the blade. If you live by McDonalds then you should expect to die from McDonalds. If you live by the AK47 then you should expect two shots to the head as standard.

There’s no denying that Olama Binge Lacquer was well organized. A little too well organized for my liking. If it hadn’t have been for the appalling dress sense I’d say he was gay. The many wives and kids might have just been a cunning rues to throw you off the CKone scent. Alas though he was not the only coordinated shit in the world. Human rights protestors will tell you of thousands of atrocities happening all over the planet right now. Barbaric crimes are committed against innocent people everyday by sick individuals (some of them puffy) driven by greed and hatred who need to be wiped out like the giant turds they are.
We need the world’s press to bring these sickos to our attention, after all it was them who turned Oklahoma Bean Larger into a symbol of pure hate and the reason for so many wrongs in the world. Journalists had placed him at the very top of a pyramid of evil. What they didn’t realize is that to be at the top he was standing on two peoples shoulders.

Robson and Jerome.

We need Apache gunships over Tyneside RIGHT NOW. There are 140,000 troops in Afghanistan, that’s just enough to circle Newcastle and seal it off. Their middle of the road depraved poisonous melodies are enough to make the Spanish Inquisition look like a bunch of hippies. They’ve been grooming pensioners for years, convincing them to hand over cash in exchange for nefarious covers. The wealth they’ve amassed can only be for some sort of evil too atrocious for mere normals to even contemplate.

Let us nuke the North East before it’s too late!!

Kate + Wills

Normally with a celeb couple the popular press see it fit to combine the collective names to create one name which is easier for their largely thick audience to remember. An example might be ‘Brangelina’ which is slightly less forgetful than the constituent parts, which just happen to be ‘Brad Pitt’ and ‘Angelina Jolie’.

Clever huh?....no

The protagonists in the latest royal wedding have also had their first names combined to form ‘Watekills’ which sounds like a campaign slogan for a health drive about obesity. I for one couldn’t give an epic toss about the royal wedding. I’m not against the royal family, far from it, I just can’t be arsed with it all. It’s very nice of the numero uno echelon to give us a day off and all but mine will be spent up a ladder doing DIY and looking after the sprogs. Gee thanks. Think I’d rather be at work.
Surely a better present for the nation would be not to foot the bill. Conservative estimates reckon it’ll cost a pound for every household in the U.K. I realize that doesn’t sound like a lot but a quid can buy an awful lot and a lot of awful down at Poundland. I could get a loaf of bread or a multipack of KitKats, or better still a pack of those Chinese lanterns that rise majestically into the sky before falling back down to terra firma in a ball of flames to start endless forest fires.
Here’s a plan, why don’t Kat & Willy sack the pomp and fly to Vegas for a quick in’n’out wham bam thank you maam sorta doo? As they return we could all simultaneously set off Chinese lanterns and make it look really pretty. Chicks dig candles. Christ knows where the future monarchs would land, not after 20+million idiots have filled U.K. airspace with fire. With favorable winds some of the lanterns might make it across the channel and set fire to France, what a gift that would be!
A woman’s wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of her life! Yes if you’re not royalty. I think the happiest day of Ms. Middleton’s life will be getting her new credit card through the post. To ‘Future Queen’ please find your new superdooperplatinum credit card enclosed. You have unlimited funds and zero A.P.R. I suppose if she ever did dip into the red she could always flog off Australia. The lucky cow will want for nowt, except for maybe a husband with hair but that’s a small price to pay for the moon on a stick.
For wannabe queens everywhere the union will break a lot of hearts but it’s far worse if you’re a bloke. The only eligible royal bird left is Princess Beatrice. I think I’ll require the larger of my two barge poles for that one. Zara Philips is a ‘possible’ I suppose but it’s assumed she’ll marry a horse. Nope, the only way in now if you’re a 'bag-me-a-rich-one' bachelor is if one of the knobs turns out to like knobs. Even then you run the risk of being shot by DoE.
I think I’ll stick to slumming it with the common folk, like Al Fayed. You’d never catch him trying to be a royal……or with a passport. Common folk like us couldn’t give two hoots about the social elite, mainly because we can’t afford one hoot let alone two. We don’t need a class system because everyone has their feet firmly on the ground and knows their place.
My place for instance is slightly above you, now stop reading this you smelly peasant oik.

Holy Crap it's Summer

Well nearly....

Spring has sprung the grass has riz, I wonder where the birdies is?

They’re all bonking in the bush at the end of our garden. The smutty goings on resembles a Roman orgy. I would advise anyone passing nearby to please avert their gaze, it’ll just scare them, especially the sensitive ones. It would appear that the dividing fence between the neighbors and us is now a red light district for our feathery chums. Imagine a back alley in Amsterdam with fewer neon lights and more tits on display.
THAT is our garden.
I should charge admission to the starlings who clearly are just here on a stag doo. Even the resident squirrel takes the long way round. He would clearly rather gobble his nuts in piece and who can blame him. Sparrows aren't very romantic. There are no fine wines and Belgian chocolates. There are no candle lit meals in posh swanky restaurants, not even a takeaway and a bottle of Lambrini. There’s just a lot of noise and feathers with girl sparrows being wooed with boy sparrow chat up line invitations to “sprig my millet”. Utter filth.
I thought I lived in a posh part of suburbia but the feathered foulness outside would beg to differ. If there is such thing as a bird benefit office, then it’s going to get really busy in a few weeks time. Mental note: must follow some pregnant sparrows one day to see if they fly back towards the estate and or Liverpool.

On a happier note the sun came out today. The locals ran for cover thinking the sky was on fire. There was a strange hissing sound as people began to dry out. Natural selection has meant that people in 'tut north' have evolved gills and the ability to see in really low light conditions. It’s quite impressive until you watch them cower at the sight of the fiery sky orb, or ‘hot moon’ to use its local derivation. The braver northerner will actively seek out the ‘squinter ball’ and expose their flesh in an act of defiance. The skin of the Caucasian northerner is so white that initially at least all of the suns rays are reflected back into space thus helping to combat climate change. However after just a few minutes of ultra violet the white flesh turns crimson and then red severely hampering the reflective capabilities. A red colour change is always fiercely resisted by the majority ‘true’ northern folk. They have a natural affinity with being pale blue and lack luster. You know these people as Manchester City supporters.
Several consecutive days of sunshine are dangerous as most of the reservoirs/puddles empty into assorted super soakers and leaky paddley pools across Lancashire and Yorkshire. A week of warmth will cause drought conditions and epic queues in supermarkets with shoppers ramming trolleys full with bottled Buxton water. It’s exactly the same stuff that the people of Buxton have in their taps only about hundred times the price. The fire brigade will be on constant BBQ watch. A&E will be out the door with lobster cases. After-sun, aloe vera and minor burn creams will have to be flown in on Hercules transports to top up supplies.
What would happen if the sun came out for a month?
Well try to imagine Dante’s inferno with slightly more empty Stella cans and burnt sausages and you’re on the right track.