Piss, Quorn and Childline

Hello there.  Sorry for the lack of blog the last few weeks.  I was on holiday, and then I wasn't feeling very well.  I'm on some tablets that make me feel really shitty and tired in the evenings, and I just haven't had the mojo to do much.  But worry not, for I have still been saving up things to rant write about.


Now, I'm not proud, I'll tell you what the tablets are for.  They are to try and stop me constantly pissing my pants every time I breathe.  This happens to lots of ladies, especially those who have shelled out a few 9 pounders in their time, and ended up with a flange like the top of a fat man's welly.  I sneeze, I piss - I laugh, I piss - I cough, I piss - you get the soggy picture.  I was, quite frankly, sceptical that these tablets would work, and thought I might end up having to have that surgery where they mutilate your flaps with a bit of wire fencing, but so far so good, I haven't dribbled for a month.  Until today........


So I saw this funny guy on Twitter, he films himself scaring the shit out of his mum by doing the MumRah at her when she's least expecting it (MumRah, for those who are wondering, is when you go up to your Mum and shout RAAAAAHHHHH at her really loudly when she's innocently peeling the spuds or knitting).  So I thought it would be really funny to do it to the kid, as she's always making me jump when I'm doing the dishes listening to Simon Mayo and singing along to Harry Styles Iron Maiden.  So she was making her tea earlier, so I set the video running on my phone, snuck round the corner and went AAAARRRRRGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGGGGGGGHHHHHH at the top of my voice!  Hilarious!  Except she didn't even flinch.  She just gave me a look of pure disdain and said 'Why?'.  My plan had backfired.  Spectacularly, in fact, as not only did she not jump, but I pissed myself, not through laughter, but through the sheer exertion of shouting REALLY FUCKING LOUDLY.  So off upstairs I trotted to change my pants, and the pissy joke was on me.


Has anyone seen that Quorn advert?  The one where the bird has been working late, gets home and her boyfriend has cooked her a 'lovely' Quorn spaghetti bolognese?  Let me be absolutely clear, potential boyfriends - if I worked my bollocks off and came home late, and you'd cooked me a 'lovely' spaghetti bolognese made out of bits of brown polystyrene, I'd fuck off back to work, do I make myself understood?  I'm not dissing off vegetarians, in fact I love them, for the most part because it means there are more great big fucking meaty burgers for me to eat - but please, Quorn?  And why would a vegetarian want to eat fake meat anyway?  Surely the clue is in the word 'vegetarian'?  Perhaps I will start to eat carrots made out of Peperami.


This week's mis-sung lyrics - The Cranberries
'You know I'm such a fool for you
You've got me wrapped around your finger ah ah ah
Do you have to
Do you have to
Do you have to smell my finger'
(I know there's two fingers in that, but hey, why change the habit of my lifetime?)


Anyway, we went on our hols to the seaside, and a mostly pleasant week it was.  Where we go on hols isn't really hols, as we stay with family and we go there loads of times a year, so we're not like actual annoying tourists, but we still sat in the sun on the front drinking cider and watched all the annoying holiday urchins go by.  The small town where we go is not really built for cars and they have to really squeeze their way through the very narrow main street, which is always pretty busy with pedestrians at holiday season, and it's always amusing to hear the tourists complaining (in the regional accent of your choice) 'oh Derek, they should make this bit pedestrianised to stop the cars getting in our way'.  Yes.  That's right, you absolute fucking CHEESE-BISCUIT, let's pedestrianise a 100s of years old fishing town just so you don't have to manoeuvre your big, fat, pasty-filled ass on to a path to let a car go by.  BELLEND.  Anyway, while we were sat having a moan, we heard this approaching 'squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak', just like a dog's toy, but we couldn't work out where it was coming from.  Then it became clear.  A toddler was, uh, toddling along towards us, and his parents, in their wisdom, had bought him novelty squeaky shoes, so every step he took sounded like a Jack Russell humping a squeaky bone.  But the kid seemed happy enough, so I thought 'fair enough, no need to report them to Childline' - how wrong could I be?  The toddler was toddling along, and his mum called out to him - get ready for this - I shit you not, absolutely 100% genuine truth - his mum called out 'Elvis, wait for Mummy'.  Elvis.  ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME?  Now to my knowledge this kid did not have a quiff, a schoolgirl wife, or a monstrous cocaine habit - however what he will have when he starts school is a big target on his back saying 'KICK ME'.  Parents can be right cunts sometimes, and I now have Esther Rantzen on speed dial.