by T. Jessop
Ooh, I have, when Joe got last month’s credit card statement through, lol. xx
Monday 30th April 2014
Is hairspray flammable? Hell, yeah! We popped out to the Old Piper last night and saw some woman, two sheets to the wind, light her fag which ignited her fringe, in seconds engulfing her entire head. Yeah, it was funny! Apart from the horrendous smell that follows singed hair, she wasn’t harmed.
What was that advert? Is she or isn’t she wearing hairspray? Who were they trying to kid: if you can’t see someone’s wearing it then they haven’t got enough on to do jack for the hair. To hold a style in place you have to cake it on, and you will now have a polyester look that does not blow naturally in the wind, and God forbid you get caught in the rain. ‘So gentle you can run your fingers through it’: go on try it, I dare you; it’s gonna snag like a bitch. ‘Brushes out’, not: you’ll be soaking it in conditioner and will have to give it a minimum three washes before all trace of it has gone. I could be wrong, but aren’t these the same women who think red lipstick is cool? This should only be worn by a select few, or at least women with names like Porsche or Crystal. Not many people can carry it off, but many think they can. Still, the rest of us would have nothing to stare at when the lights go up in the clubs.
Tuesday 1st May 2014
Charity shops: not a place I would be seen dead in.‘What a snobby attitude’: lol, oh let’s face it, it comes with a stigma and a smell. Grannies always say it’s mothballs: whatever! It means if you can smell that on someone then you know where they shop. I’ve only bought something once from there, and it weren’t clothes. I’d fancied doing a jigsaw with a ridiculous amount of pieces, went to the toy shop and they wanted £25, and someone suggested I look in the charity. Against my will I went and got four jigsaws for a fiver: bargain. And that’s the point of these shops: they make money from donated goods and we get a bargain to boot. Apparently not. Sally, who has worked there for six years having been ousted to make room for the manageress’s niece has blown the cover on what goes on in these so-called goodwill premises. It seems that these unpaid employees rummage through the bags and boxes first, not only taking for themselves but also for resale elsewhere, car boots and the like. What’s left has a high mark-up, and the difference gets split between them all at closing time. Tut tut, thieving bastards. But then again, look at the majority of the women who work there: bad perms that match their bad attitudes, as most suspect are sex-starved spinsters or angry widows. Sally has labelled them rude, obnoxious, and up their own arses ‒ not charitable. The genuine charitable volunteers, the good guys, appear at hospitals and fetes. These give their time to help, and won’t be hard to spot as they’re the ones who actually smile at you as you approach. Sally made the front page of the local Guardian with her saddened innocent face, lol. How many other readers are gonna notice she only blew the whistle after being pushed out? She’d been there six years and never said a word before. Busted, luv.
Note to self: Stay away from charity shops.
Wednesday 2nd May 2014
Chris had lunch with Abigail yesterday, said something about Abigail meeting a guy called Virgil at the poetry afternoon in the library. Says it all, really.
Thursday 3rd May 2014
Went round Chris’s for dinner. I was fishing for dirt on this Virgil guy: how sad has my life got? Not looking good for him in my eyes as apparently today they went hiking in the hills. Jackie makes a surprise entrance and tells us she’s pregnant. Chris was beside herself at the thought of being a grandmother. I was smiling for her until she states, ‘And you’ll be a great aunt!’Er, no. Drop the ‘great’, that aint happening.
Friday 4th May 2014
Zero’s 8pm.
We’ve put a man on the moon, have we not? Then how come we can’t program automatic doors to open and shut consistently? Darby’s department store is notorious for it, as I experienced today, and so have many others I’m sure, As you approach you find yourself stalling, wondering if it’s gonna open, or are you gonna crash face first into glass, making a right plum of yourself, or passing through will it try to shut with you in it, triggering alarms. So either way, all and sundry stare with amusement. Paranoia tempts me to believe maybe there’s nothing wrong with the technology and the truth, as some have suspected in the past, is that the doors are being controlled by someone inside the building who is doing it on purpose for their own fun, tweaking the controls, shall we say. I don’t mind this so much; at least, if it was made aware to the public, we could play along for a prize.
Going Zero’s tonight. To celebrate baby news.
Saturday 5th May 2014
Whilst clubbing at Zero’s last night I met Abigail’s new man, Virgil. God knows what she was wearing: she looked like a sixties throwback with her long floral frock and sandals. I didn’t warm to him: looked like a train spotter and smelt like lentils. Worse than Abigail’s ‘Ooh, I’m an extra from The Partridge Family’ look was the fact she had hairy armpits. I’m praying she was in a rush and forgot to shave; there was at least 48 hours worth of stubble. Very Continental, I’m sure but I personally wouldn’t be seen dead looking like I’d shoved a Yorkshire terrier under each arm: fortnightly waxing will continue. Skanky bird. xx
I warmed to Virgil eventually. Definite sarcasm, lol. What a dick.
Got home and have realised that Virgil has grated on my psyche all night as I’ve chewed poor Joe’s ears off that any man who encourages hair growth on a women is a cretin. But hey, what’s it gotta do with me if someone wants to go all au natural? But what’s next, though? Should we stop buying hair products, make-up, hair dye? Mate, I’d look like Cruella within a month, so that wouldn’t be happening. Oh ha hee, laughing so much right now, not Don’t like Virgil at all.
Sunday 6th May 2014
Sunday market.
Should have stayed in bed. Instead I made the mistake of going to the Sunday market with Chris where she managed to bore me to death in the cab on the way home with quotes from Virgil. It seems her and V got on like a house on fire: shocker there! He’s convinced Chris that through our own vanity buying these products (knew it)are damaging our environment and wildlife. Might have known Chris would agree with him. I do agree that we shouldn’t buy or encourage anything that’s been tested on animals, especially for vanity, but there are many products available that haven’t been squirted into bunnies’ eyes, items such as deodorant are vital as people with niffy pits don’t seem to notice they smell; it’s the people around them that gag on their BO.
People like him always claim they’re acting for the environment. Same as that woman I used to clean for in Chelsea: her famous line, ‘I do my bit to save the planet’, referring to the eco dolphin-friendly washing-up liquid, which sat alongside bleach, ant killing powder, fly spray aerosol form, slug pellets, rat poison and the friendly mouse trap that ‘doesn’t kill just entraps’. Begging the question: why does the mouse get better demise than the rat? Cos they’re dense, maybe. People, not the rats: do they think that the cute little mouse doesn’t cause the same problems in the house or with your health? Unlike fat ugly rat who’s going to rub his plague-ridden body all over your surfaces, chew your wires, breed like mad and destroy anything of value just to nest?
Joe asked me what car does Virgil drove. I hadn’t asked him, I had the impression that him and Abigail had arrived at the club on a pushbike with Abigail sat in the basket humming ‘Raindrops keep falling on my head’. Is that not what we’re led to believe: that all environmentalists ride pushbikes? Do they fuck, haven’t met one yet who doesn’t drive a Land Rover or a 4x4, and hack down trees for the log fire claiming they only take what’s fallen from the forest: by removing the debris they are interfering with the natural environment, natural fertilizer and homes for woodland creatures. Step away from the conversation, Debbie. xx
Much-needed company, party at Chris’s tomorrow for Molly’s10th birthday.
Tuesday
8th May 2014
Our 25th anniversary.xx
Still recovering from Molly’s birthday yesterday. Yes, we were drinking, which fuelled the idea of a game of off-ground touch. Julie broke her toe, or more accurately Joe broke it when he jumped for the kids’ see-saw and it slammed down on her foot. Me who was struggling to stand on a garden chair laughed, lost me balance, and shot over backwards and scraped all the backs of my legs. Didn’t even notice the bruises till this morning. How sad am I? I’ve been up yonks eagerly waiting to catch Joe before he goes to work; 25 years of marriage, got to be a great gift,
Call me ungrateful, but after staying married to a man that destroys pieces of my home regularly, giving him three children thus allowing him to have four fantastic grandchildren, cook, clean and whatever else I allegedly signed up for (obviously failed to read the small print), I think I deserved a bit more recognition than a pair of silver hoops. Two tiny little circles to mark the passing of the best years of my life, given to a tight-wad. Hate that man. Obvious MLC tantrum (when it suits).
Having met me for lunch and produced 25 red roses I have forgiven him (for today, anyway). Elizabeth and Arthur have sent us wine, so gonna have a nice quiet night in and a glass or two.
Joe had stopped to help an elderly lady (yuk) on his way to meet me for lunch. She’d crashed her scooter, no injuries but kept him there talking for ¾ of an hour about utter drivel. Ha, karma. Strangers that we meet, people who will tell you all sorts about their life presuming never to see you again, at a bus stop, during a stay in hospital in a queue, on holiday, anywhere really, never fails to shock me. I’ve heard some great stuff: life stories, dreams, even crimes. The best thing is when your paths do actually cross again, you can see the fear spread across their face. I’ve never actually been rotten enough to run over yelling, ‘Hello again, remember me?’Nah, better to watch them squirm. Why do folk do this? Are they lonely? Can’t keep a secret? Or is it all made up? Maybe their life is so nothing they concoct these yarns to just sound interesting for once, to have attention even if it is from a stranger this theory gets reinforced by the fact that when said stranger starts up the conversation they won’t let you get a word in, it’s all about them.
Old grannies are the worst (breathe, Deb): opening line is usually something like, ‘I’m 99 you know. ’How aggravating is that? (1)Why would I know? (2) Don’t give a shit. If they actually enjoyed still being alive I’d be impressed they’ve hung on this long; what they want to hear is someone say, ‘Ooh, you’d never have guessed, you look so well.’ This response genuinely comes from other Weebles who hope that in return for the compliment the granny will share the secret to longevity. After bigging up their age they’ll move onto ailments, oh joy. Then comes the ‘I’ve got 16 kids’, all raised on a shilling, 25 grandchildren who are all at university, and 44 great grandchildren. They leave out that none of them ever visit. Wipe at eyes as they remark on fuel increases and how they’ll never make it through the cold months: too tight to put the heating on, and they’re all on widow’s allowances, pensions, spouse’s private pension.
Stop. Proper annoying myself, gone off the point I was making: telling your problems to someone you probably will never see again is similar to counselling, you get it off your chest, might even pick up some good advice confidentially. Well, that’s if you don’t count the other three people at bus stop who were ear-wigging, that is. I feel it’s a positive thing, especially as I might be the one standing 2 foot away listening.
Wednesday 9th May 2014
What a night! Shame on us, lol!
Great evening until, having consumed a bottle and half of the very good wine (thank you to Elizabeth and Arthur) we got a bit frisky and thought we’d have a romantic soak in the tub together and finish off the wine. Forgetting that Joe, as with all members of the male species, can only bathe in water that is just above freezing I’m already sat in water as he precedes to place one foot in bath, screams (says he didn’t) slips, enters the water like Shamu, nearly crushing me to death, compressing my lungs enough to wind me so I was now emanating noises like a chimpanzee on heat. The kids having heard the crash start banging on the door, and having realised that both their parents are in the bathroom together shouted we should grow up and we’ve apparently scarred them for life. Last memory I have of the night was Joe naked on bed with the fan blowing on his knackers. Who said romance was dead? At least this time he wasn’t scowling at me. That was only because his face was frozen in a kinda stunned way.
Having spoke to Elizabeth to thank them both for the gift, she informs me that she’s stunned we even remembered our own names after drinking both bottles: the stuff is lethal and it should not only be sipped, but no more than two glasses consumed in any given evening. Thanks for the warning, lol.
Julie reckons any part of the scenario would have done her just fine. Does that girl have nothing better to do than letch over my husband?
Thursday 10th May 2014
George’s 70th birthday.
Have just come back from the police station, having been there four hours waiting for them to charge me with assault. Instead I’ve been let off with a caution, police being on my side. It appears we share the same dislike for Exhibitionists.
Some like to walk round their homes naked; quite rightly so, it’s your gaff. But put some curtains up first, then when people (members of the public going about their normal lives) walk past your window and stare cos there you are butt naked, they’re not labelled weirdo’s and perverts. You can’t scream about breach of privacy, truth be known you want them to look or you wouldn’t put it on show. The same applies when sunbathing naked in the garden: of course the old man next door is gonna peep from his upstairs window, he probably aint seen tits since he got rid of the bird table. But oh, I had to come across the worst form.
Me and Joe took the boys to the park to kick about a football, when Connor shouts ‘Look!’Following his pointing finger there is a couple blatantly having sex under the willow near the duck pond. Now if doing this in public spaces where they think others can see them is how they get their rocks off, fine, but don’t do it where kids go. And once busted by an irate parent, or in this case a very pissed off Nan, don’t make the mistake of mouthing off. At this point I smacked the geezer in the mouth so hard he went down like a lead balloon. I’m glad I still have a clean record but I would have happily done time for that arsehole. More fool them for ringing the Old Bill though: they were still at the station when we left.
Friday 11th May 2014
Jess and the kids came round for dinner as Andy has skulked off somewhere with Joe. Sam and Connor have now re-enacted me knocking out the perv 14 times now, accompanied by a badly hummed Rocky theme.
Sunday 13th May 2014
Alfred’s 86th birthday
Joe informed me at 4pm yesterday that we were going to a fancy dress party at 7pm. Didn’t appreciate it being sprung on me; he’d even bought the outfits: Superman and Batgirl. Reluctantly I got dressed and was driven to Rifles to be met by everyone in costume. Woo hoo, party was for me! Love that guy. Especially in that suit. Mmm.
Elizabeth and Arthur were the Flintstones; knowing Liz, hers was nothing short of real leopard skin. Tina and Terry came as Peter Pan and Tinkerbell. Ooh, that brought back memories: when we did that a few years back the kids said the sound of tinkling bells will haunt them forever, lol. Chloe and Paul were Bonnie and Clyde. Oh, the list was endless. Julie came as a police officer: bet she never bought it special, probably had it in her wardrobe already. Best anniversary ever. xx
Chloe and Paul headed off early this morning to drop off her granddad’s birthday presents before heading home. Elizabeth and Arthur went back to their hotel last night as they want to do some shopping up west before flying home on Monday. Vaguely remember someone telling me that Virgil was moving in with Abigail today. Oh well, can’t always be good news.
It seems my grandsons no longe
r acknowledge me as Nan but as ‘Yo! Balboa!’Scary thing is, I’m actually responding to it, lol.
Monday 14th May 2014
Bumped into Margo and the letch in town. They caught me at the pet shop. She clocked I’d bought bird seed mixed with mealworms; being the nosey tart that she is asked why on earth I’d buy such a disgusting concoction. I told her (quite loudly and proudly),‘I have great tits in the garden. ‘To which pervy Clive said, ‘I’m sure they’re great wherever you are.’ Margo sniggered and said, ‘What is he like?’‘A fucking weirdo, that’s what. ‘He was still flashing a leering grin as Margo stormed off, dragging him away by the arm. I reckon Tina was right years ago and he was the Parkston Park flasher.
Detoured to Mum’s on way back. Hmm, teach me for not calling first: sat there on the sofa with a leg elevated, pointing at three red lumps on her shin, was Chris. Flea bites! As ever has misheard the guy and has told Mum its phlebitis. Didn’t even take my coat off, just said goodbye and left. One day that girl’s gonna actually get something real and the shock will kill her. Or me.
Tuesday 15th May 2014
We teamed up with Tina, Terry, Julie and Charles for a spooky night at an old abandoned alms house. We were greeted by the two mediums running the show, and soon us and the other ‘hunters’ were hustled into the hall where they proceed to guide us through the history and the demise of its residents. The centre of its gloom was of the orphan girl Annie who was walled up in the kitchen for stealing an apple. Her slow, fading voice is said to haunt the hallways forever more. Apart from the odd creak and a cold draft the whole evening was becoming a bit lame, so a break was suggested. Tea and sandwiches consumed, and tales from others of their ghostly encounters told, we resumed and headed off towards the kitchen. Heard Joe snicker as the medium asked for the fourth time, ‘Annie, are you there?’Each time sounding more desperate, probably scared the only thing they’d hear tonight was people demanding a refund.