Well, that's the annual Eurovision humiliation over and done with. Auntie P is going about with a self-satisfied smirk on her fizzog. She is going to be impossible for the rest of the week, at the very least.
Just when I was beginning to think that the various Doctor Who's, like the polis, are getting ever younger, the BBC recruit the oldest actor yet in the grizzled form of John Hurt. Even Norman Hartnell wasn't that ancient when he hung up his Tardis to concentrate on the dressmaking.
So Uncle Lucas is in a mood now because he wasn't offered the role. I suggested he contact the Beeb and enquire if he could portray some ghastly monster which crawls out from under a rock. The cantankerous swine tried to pull my head off. There was no need for that.
Anyway, I must dash as Groida is making lunch. He doesn't actually know it yet, but I am sure I can persuade him with a cast iron ladle ...
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Friday, May 10, 2013
Salad with Everything
Ye gods! A glimmer of sunshine and Auntie P is serving up the grub in shades and three pairs of Bermuda shorts. We've not been spared the ghastly garnish for a week now, irrespective of the dish concerned. Fish fingers, macaroni cheese even her latest unholy concoction, "liver goujons" (essentially the bits left after her ill-tempered removal of the gristly tubes) all festooned in greenery.
Mordecai quipped that if we were subjected to Szechuan faggots & Laverbread it would be accompanied by half a tomato and a dollop of Aldi mayonnaise. I told him not to give her ideas. Anyway, as it appears we are rapidly reverting to winter, we will no doubt soon be feasting on turkey fritters and ancient mince pies.
Madam's swearing is catching up with Uncle Lucas's legendary Cambrian cursing. I reckon she is miffed at being passed over for the Eurovision gig in favour of Bonnie Tyler. Perhaps the rest of us should show solidarity by gatecrashing the event - literally - in Y Nauci 14, all weapons blazing.
Groida has given up the semaphore but is now speaking in rhyming couplets. Bloody show-off. I believe pulling off a major stunt will get us all working together again as a team, so I'll put on me thinking cap (i.e. lucky antennae socks) and dream up some escapade ...
Back to you soon, if I don't overdose on Rennies. Keep the faith!
Mordecai quipped that if we were subjected to Szechuan faggots & Laverbread it would be accompanied by half a tomato and a dollop of Aldi mayonnaise. I told him not to give her ideas. Anyway, as it appears we are rapidly reverting to winter, we will no doubt soon be feasting on turkey fritters and ancient mince pies.
Madam's swearing is catching up with Uncle Lucas's legendary Cambrian cursing. I reckon she is miffed at being passed over for the Eurovision gig in favour of Bonnie Tyler. Perhaps the rest of us should show solidarity by gatecrashing the event - literally - in Y Nauci 14, all weapons blazing.
Groida has given up the semaphore but is now speaking in rhyming couplets. Bloody show-off. I believe pulling off a major stunt will get us all working together again as a team, so I'll put on me thinking cap (i.e. lucky antennae socks) and dream up some escapade ...
Back to you soon, if I don't overdose on Rennies. Keep the faith!
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