Bank Holiday

My brother, Hector, telephoned and asked if he could come over for the holiday. I was not too keen - I mean, we are not exactly close. He used to go out with the lesbian before me. In fact is was through Hector that I met her. He dumped her and she rebounded into me.
Of course she said she only went out with him because he had a motor bike - and I, like the fool I am, believed her.
Eight months later, Eric was born. Note that: eight months. She said he was premature but I am sure he is Hector's son; he even looks like him. Of course I brought him up as my own; that is until he joined the Air Force as a 'boy entrant'. Done well for himself though: he's a sergeant cook, stationed in Wiltshire. We never see him.

Needless to say, the lesbian is delighted Hector is visiting. She wants us all (including the Swedish tart) to go to an exhibition of 'Feminist Art' - whatever that is - says it will be a way to really get to know one another again: bond - I hate that expression.

I don't know where he's going to sleep - Hector. He's not having my bed. The lesbian says he can doss on the futon in her room. Fine by me. If he thinks he's on a good thing there, he's in for a shock. He doesn't know about her switching tracks, so to speak.

Anyway, I'm off down the pub for lunch.

My brain is hurting

Been down the psychiatric out-patients. I got a bit depressed what with all the goings-on.
The psychiatrist, a Mr Singh (nice chap - for a foreigner) told me not to worry; that my behaviour was a sane reaction to an insane situation.
He has prescribed Prozac, which I have been taking in the minimul dosage - and in the morning. He also recommended that I take a holiday.
I said, what, you mean like to Gt Yarmouth? (that's where we used to go when I was little).
He said no, somewhere further afield: new sights, new sounds, new smells, new people.
I said, like Jersey or Guernsey then.
No, he expostulated, have you not thought about crossing the ocean? Going to visit new lands?
He's got something there, I thought. So I forced open the lesbian's filing cabinet and retrieved my passport. (she confiscated it after that regrettable trip to Bangkok - while I still in the clinic).
Anyway I have got my Readers Digest Big Atlas out in front of me, so I will let you know how I get on.

no title

"...a tale/Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,/Signifying nothing."

an interim period

It's quiet here at the moment. The lull before the storm in a teacup - as my old mum used to say. She had some great sayings: the world is your lobster; if it weren't for your dad; don't let me hear that word again.

The Swedish tart stays in her bedroom playing 'Bjork' at full blast. Says it reminds her of her beloved country. I said to her: You silly Swedish tart, Bjork is from Iceland. She swore at me in Spanish. Now what's all that about!

Syd's disappeared again. I'm not worrying though. I've realised that I have more to do with my life than worry about people. Who was it who said that you should go through life with Death sitting on your shoulder. That way you will make the most of it. (Life, not death)

The lesbian has started picking her nose again - at the dinner table. I ask you. I have complained of course, but she says if I don't like it I can eat in the garage. I think I might, at that - when the weather gets a little warmer.

You know, I deserve more out of life that this. I mean all I want is for everybody to be happy - everybody. And yet I seem to attract nothing but aggravation. Where am I going wrong? Can anyone tell me?

Yours in bewilderment

George

Early morning thoughts

The lesbian says I should see a psychotherapist. Just because I came down to breakfast and remarked that I felt menaced by the tea-pot. It is a particularly large one, given to us as a wedding present by her mother.
I am not going of course. I agree with Sam Goldwyn: Anyone who visits a psychotherapist needs his head examining.

They have got a new condom machine in the toilets at the 'Jolly Pervert'. You have a choice of 4 - one of them being labelled "extra safe". And the thought crossed my mind: does that mean that the others are less safe?
I said to old whatsname - the landlady who chucked me out that time - that really the others should be labelled too. For example, "Fairly Safe", "A Bit Risky" and "You're Taking A Chance". Something like that.
She gave me that withering stare, for which she is famous - along with her dumplings, of course.

Isn't life a bugger, sometimes.

George

A father's worries

I walked into the kitchen this morning to hear my son and heir singing:

"My baby done wrote me a letter -
Said she couldn't live without me no more"

I immediately gave him a lecture on the mis-use of the 'double negative'.
He responded with, "You don't know nothin".

It appears that some professor from the University of East Anglia has come out with the idea that the 'double negative' is quite acceptable as it "adds emphasis".

I told Sydney that I had not spent all that money on his education for to be hearing him mangling the Queen's English, like as he was doing now.
He just sniggered.
I left the room.

Wait a minute! Now I remember, he was actually holding a letter in his hand at the time. Don't tell me he has got back with that trolloppy single mum from the council estate. Where did I go wrong?

By the way, the lesbian has joined a feminist group. She was going on about the "barbarous practice of female circumcision" which is apparently still practiced in some parts of the world.
I asked her what this was all about, and she replied that it was to ensure that the women did not get pleasure from sex.
I was surprised, and remarked that all the women I knew did not get pleasure from sex.
She sniggered.
I left the room.

Yours in puzzlement

George

A fiscal upturn

Great news: received the cheque from the insurance company today. The question now is - what shall I do with the money?

I wasn't going to tell the lesbian but she picked up the post and recognised the envelope. Well, she is getting none of it. She says she wants a new kitchen. I said to her: you cook everything in the bloody microwave (or should I say, heat it up) and you want a new kitchen! If it weren't for the pub lunches I'd starve.

Oh, guess who turned up yesterday, large as life - the Swedish tart! The nerve of it. I was going to send her straight packing. Then she produced the snaps! Seems she still has the negatives.

She's in the attic.

Don't do it yourself

Haven't done any blogging for a while; I have been decorating. Painting the ceiling of the master bedroom. I had a hell of a job getting the cherubs in proportion... and don't talk to be about the bloody seraphim! On my back on the scaffolding for the best part of a week. Then she comes in and says: I think I would have preferred the eggshell-blue! I ask you.

Now then R.J., I appreciate your concern but I draw the line at attending one of those V.D. clinics. The old purple ointment was good enough for my grandad, and it is good enough for me. Besides, once they have you on their books, they start inviting you to the staff Christmas party and all that stuff.

Anyway, I told you all, although I am technically sleeping with the lesbian, the bolster remains firmly in place. And I haven't been down the Jolly Pervert for well over a week.

Oh, by the way, Syd's back. Old whatsername chucked him out. He's been moping about the place for days, but I told him: aim your sights a bit higher than a council estate, my lad. We had a bit of an argument and he said I was not a good role model. He reads too many books.

Well, must get off now, the bitch has just whelped.

George

Some recent developments

Still haven't got the scooter back. But old Wetherspoon has resumed duties down the local nick. The ECT has certainly helped. You would not know there was anything wrong with now - except for the occasional facial spasm.

Anyway, he was on the case pretty sharpish. He's set up an incident room in the village hall. And called in a "Profiler" from Penketh University: guy by the name of Crocker; Dave Crocker. He's a pretty weird character. Wears this sort of fur hat - all the time!

But he's come up with something: says the guy they are looking for is of a criminal bent; probably lives with his common-law wife, on one of the "sink estates"; has a grudge against the capitalist society because of the unfair distribution of wealth; a drug user (and probably a dealer); aggressive with sado-masachistic tendencies, also...... wait a minute! I recognise that description - Gary, Carol's ex. He's back in the area. As soon as I have finished this I will be on the blower to old Wetherspoon.

Georgina wanted to return to the marital bed last night. Said the sun-lounger I have been making her use for the past week is doing her back in. I relented, but insisted on placing a bolster between us. Well, you can't be too careful.

Must close now and ring the nick.

Yours as ever,

George

Shakespeare was wrong

If "all the world's a stage" - when am I going to get a bleedin' part?

Things are going from bad to worse. I have had my scooter stolen; from an ancient Priory, would you believe. Is nothing sacred? I was absorbing the culture while someone was nicking my machine.

I have reported it to the police, and to my insurance company. If I don't get it back in 21 days they will pay a settlement figure.

I have another motor-bike, but the weather has been so cold of late that I have not been out on it. Well, I am turned 48 now, so I have to take care of myself.

Georgina is back. And she has picked up some pretty filthy habbits while she's been away. But more of that next time.

In the saddle

George