Crusty - Devastated Once More!

Crustettes will know that one is currently enjoying a short break away in Valencia, at Crusty Towers, with my faithful houseboy, Chu Me. It is very sad that one’s time here is drawing to an end but Crusty can never tire of returning to her beloved Crusty Hall.

This morning, very early (I like to keep the staff on their toes), I telephoned the household to ensure preparations were being made for my return. A member of the staff informed me all would be ready and the Bentley would be waiting to collect Crusty and Chu Me from Newcastle International on our arrival.

I attempted to catch the girl out by confirming all news reports from my poppet, Mark makes-my-mouth-water Warr had been recorded on Sky Plus but as the girl tried to answer (forgive me, I don’t know her name – one can’t remember them all!) there was a horrrrreeennnnndddrrrrrous howling in the backround.

“What on earth is going on?!" I yelled, "I hope my Hall is not being used for an S & M club?!”

“No, Mistress,” she replied, “that horrible woman you dislike is back doing the GMTV North East bulletins! Her voice has set off all the dogs in the village.”

The poor dear seemed petrified as she broke this news to me.

“SHE IS WHAT???!!!!” I exclaimed. “Cancel ALL recordings she is involved in, Crusty does not want to see that face splattered over her 28 incher!”

I immediately slammed down the telephone and called one of my contacts via international Gusset-phone to ensure I was not being toyed with – like a kitten plays with a ball of string.

It was true! My levels of devastation were incalculable and even throwing an empty Cava bottle from the balcony of my eighth floor penthouse and hitting a tramp beautifully on the back of head as he rooted through the bins next to Torres de Quart made Crusty feel any better.

One doesn’t know what those in power at Tyne Tees are trying to prove in this perverse game they are playing; teasing us with my poppet and his glorious news delivery and those eyes – like cool, deep pools of tranquillity, placed artistically on a landscape of gorgeousness - for a couple of weeks, then thrusting the dagger of the squinty, eyelash flapping, canine vocal qualities of Helen PeengPong (or some such fancy) upon the North East of England and Border regions (Mariah Scary can hit a high C?… you want to listen to GMTV North East new bulletins, dear, this one can bring an aircraft down with the morning headline!)

Though my fury and devastation are immense and I am feeling vibrations of anger in places I didn't know existed, I must rejoice and take solace in the fact that I am still able to take my little Marky aurally for three hours on a Sunday afternoon or during the early hours of the morning, depending on the slot those clever executives at Smooth Radio give him.

Chu Me Misses His Dumplings

All in all, I think the short break at Crusty Towers - one's penthouse flat in the centre of Valencia - has done my faithful houseboy, Chu Me, the world of good. He seems to have completely set aside the trauma of that nasty fox ripping the head of his cock off and appears back to his usual, efficient self.

Crusty, however, feels that he is pining for his lady friend back home. It's certainly nothing serious, you understand but in recent weeks, before we left the north east of England, he has been spending a lot of his free time with the daughter of the village florists, Mr and Mrs Tickles.

There daughter is a rather unattractive little filly who always chooses to wear comfortable shoes and a durable denim ensemble; by all accounts she is quite an accomplished cook, if not a little repetitive; Chu Me is constantly telling me how much he enjoys nipping down to munch on her dumplings.

Crusty still remembers the day of the christening of this young girl; Mr and Mrs Tickles practically forced myself and Chu Me to attend. One remembers it was a glorious day; the sun was shining down on the righteous and the heat was blistering in the village church and one made every effort to make sure one's outfit was a glorious as the occasion itself.

The entire congregation circled the font to witness the christening of this rather rotund child dressed, not in swaddling clothes, but more a rather badly crocheted woolen wrap and then, of course, one remembers the gasp from those attending when the vicar asked Mr and Mrs Tickles what name was to be given to their child ... they proudly announced, "Tess!"

Anyhoo .... I have reminded Chu Me that we will be returning to Crusty Hall within a matter of days and he can be with his Tess Tickles once more.

Into the Cock Pit.

All went well with my little trip with Easyjet; what a wonderful company it is!

The cabin crew were very professional and highly attentive. Half way through the flight a member of the crew came to ask me if I wanted to go up front.

“Why would I want to do that, dear?”

The aircraft was not soundproofed as well as my own, so the noise made it difficult to hear correctly.

“The captain thought you might like to see his cock fit.”

A cloud of gin sprayed from my lips as I clenched the back of the seat in front – and as chance would have it, a clump of hair of the over weight lady sat there.

I gasped for air and gathered my composure

“See his cock fit in to what, dear?”

“No…Pit, Dame Crusty; his cock PIT …it’s where he flies the plane?”

I sashayed up to the front with my faithful houseboy close behind. When I arrived the captain – a rather attractive gentleman of foreign extraction - introduced himself in a very confident and succinct manner.

“Good morning! Pul Haard!” He said.

“Good morning! Chu Me …..Crusty Gusset.” I replied.

As he showed me the array of dials set out in front of him and he and the co-pilot twiddled with their knobs and adjusted their flaps, I was mesmerised by the complexities of getting an aircraft from A to B. One is so used to sitting in the leather arm chair in ones own jet, being given a crystal decanter full of Gin, a bowl of olives and simply instructing Chu Me, “Bring me round when we get there!”

One shall look at flying in a different light from now on.

Dame Crusty On Tour.

Dame Crusty is on tour for a week.

I have decided that my faithful houseboy, Chu Me and I will go to Crusty Towers (in the centre of Valencia) for a short break. He has looked very frail since that fox viciously ripped the head of his cock off and I think the break will do him good.

As misfortune would have it, I was notified at an unacceptable hour that the private jet would be in for a service. I couldn’t change the arrangements as Chu Me would be devastated, so instead I had him reserve flights with a company called Easyjet – the company with the colours of a Benwell slapper’s false tan.

I gave instructions that Crusty must be upgraded but was horrified to hear that this company didn’t have the facilities to upgrade; At this point Chu Me had transferred the call to speakerphone.

The representative on the other end of the line said if I was to be upgraded, I would have to sit in the captain’s seat. I shouted, “As long as it has a cup holder, poppet, I have no objections.”

“I was being funny.” She replied.

“Well, very nearly, dear!” I said.

So on Wednesday 15th April Dame Crusty will be travelling to Barcelona with the masses and to make matters worse will be travelling back with them on Thursday 23rd. Thank goodness the Crusty Carriage arrived in Barcelona in time to be linked to the train that is to take us to Valencia or I think I would have cancelled the whole trip.

Let us hope old Señor Sun is wearing his hat when Crusty arrives.

Coleen Opens Up

I read somewhere that Coleen Rooney has given an interview regarding her life, love and the prospect of children.

Crustettes will be pleased to hear that this interview has been printed in The Mail and is not an audable format so if there is anyone in the slightest bit interested, they will not require an interpreter to understand what she's said.

An Easter Parade to Remember.

Well, that’s it for another year; the Easter parade is over and what a success it was!

The whole village came together for one almighty celebration; the choir’s voices were tuned perfectly, Mrs Flecks’ (the vicar's wife) voice was not and Mr Peppercorn’s Easter Bunny costume was outstanding. Everyone gasped in awe at what he had done with his wife’s muff. As rabbit tails go, it was very affective.

We were also delighted that the owner of the village Kebab emporium, Mustafa Sidoon, managed to set up a stall. He had thought he wouldn’t be able to make the festivities due to family commitments but thankfully he turned up much to the delight of Dame Crusty; there nothing I like better than his meat stuffed into a pitta bread with some garlic sauce drizzled over the length of it then gorging myself on its succulencenessness.

I may have mentioned before that Marjorie Flecks’ (the vicar’s wife) voice leaves a lot to be desired; it is of no concern to the vicar he’s half deaf, poor dear, but for the rest of us her “performance” – for want of a better word – was being dreaded by the entire village population. I think in the end, everyone thought well, it’s only a couple of songs, I suppose …little did they know that Crusty had made secret …shall we say …..Military arrangements.

The children of the village put on a marvellous Easter interpretation of Aliens. I must say, at first when the headmaster said perform something from a film that had eggs in it, I had envisaged something a little lighter in spirit, however, the children pulled it off superbly and the tomato ketchup they used for blood came in very handy as an accompaniment to the hotdogs being served.

There was a competition put in place by yours truly; the prize was for a bungee jump down the old well in the grounds of Crust Hall. This, Crusty felt was a brilliant idea; some weeks ago as I was staggering past, I accidentally dropped a rather stunning diamond necklace down it. I was mortified! When the organisers were trying to think of something to interest the villagers I thought this would be perfect. Someone could win a bungee jump AND collect my necklace at the same time. I think you will agree that it was an brilliant two hands in the bush scenario.

Anyhoo…. Back to Marjorie Flecks. She certainly didn’t disappoint the crowd in her attire. Festooned in non matching, stomach-wrenchingly bright floral prints, she took to the stage to sing her medley of Andrew Lloyd-Webber classics (although, they wouldn’t be classics for much longer). One could feel the anxiety of the crowd as she clomped up the stage steps.

It was at this point that Crusty’s plan came into force; As the crowd hunched their shoulders and screwed their faces in anticipation, I took the torch I had tucked in my garter and flashed. One of the children who happened to be looking at the time nearly dropped his ice cream. I quickly took the torch and signalled to my secret contact.

As Marjorie bowed to the crowd and curtsied to Crusty, she took a deep breath as the introduction started for her first song. At that very moment as the first note squeaked from her windpipe, the Military brass band I had secretly arranged began to play.

I must say that Marjorie’s face was a picture; she was so distracted and caught off guard I actually think she hit a right note.

All I can say is roll on next year.

Incidentally, Chu Me sat on the pole all day and no one managed to pull him off for a pound, although one of the residents from the village care home put in a valiant effort before her wrists gave in and she needed oxygen due to exhaustion.

A Sadness We Share With Chu Me.

On Easter Sunday morning, one arose early for the festivities. There was a spring in Crusty's step that altered her usual, graceful hip action. As I walked to my dressing room I suddenly screeched to a halt and spun round - someone had entered my bed chamber!

As I looked towards the door I saw my faithful houseboy, Chu Me, standing in front of me. His face was ashen and one could see the lines marking his face where tears had ran down in torrents from his beautifully formed tear ducts.

"Chu Me, dear, what on earth is the matter? You look like Brittle Spears being told she'll have to sing live."

He showed me a polaroid he had taken and I nearly fainted.

Apparently, Chu Me arose this morning - this holy morning - to find a fox had managed to get in and bite the head of his cock off!

As a result, all of his hens will be wearing black arm bands for an acceptable period of mourning.

Quantum of Solace - A Triumph!!

After waiting what seems to have been a decade for the release of Quantum of Solace, the day finally arrived and I sent a member of the household staff out to purchase a copy from our local Tesco.

Crusty was eager to watch the next instalment of the James Bond saga, having thoroughly enjoyed the previous; Casino Royale. One had particularly enjoyed the scenes where Daniel I-carry-my-groceries-in-my-trunks Craig was seen coming out of the sea and, later, canoodling with a young filly on the floor of a beach hut. How Dame Judi Dench kept her hands of him during filming, I do not know - but all respect to her.

Anyhoo .... my faithful houseboy, Chu Me, and I went to Crusty Hall's own cinema room that same night to watch the new blockbuster. I was concerned that reviewers had given Daniel and company a bit of a hard time over the new movie and I wanted to quantify its success for myself.
From the moment it started I was gripped! The car chase through the tunnels of Siena, Italy is gusset-twistingly breathtaking. One would never treat one's own Aston in that fashion but if one has a film company behind you I suppose one can.

Dame Judi, as ever, is sublime in her role as "M" and Crusty was mesmerised by the smoldering, natural beauty of Olga Kurylenko who played a rather ballsy Camille. Chu Me and I were delighted to see that some scenes had been filmed in Haiti; we were convinced at one point we could see Chu Me's mother looking out from her cell window.

The scenery, as one expects from a James Bond production, is stunning and the story is interesting in its introduction to a SPECTRE-esque organisation. Mathieu Amalric is sinister as Dominic Greene, and in many ways reminded one of Kirby vacuum salesman who visited Crusty Hall many years ago; A glint in his eyes and quite sexy in his appearance but deep down pure evil - he kept trying to pressure one to take the 12 inch vibrating, deep -penetrating head from him but I was having non of it. A story for another time perhaps.

But Dame Crusty, I hear you cry, you're usually quiet a critical woman...there must be something you didn't like? Well, my little Crustettes, you would not be wrong in what you say.

The only part of this cinematic explosion of testosterone - packed with greed, love, lust, deception and revenge - was the title song by Alicia Keys; Another Way To Die. Not the most memorable of theme tunes and didn't really know what it wanted to be. It certainly didn't come close to those past iconic numbers from Tina Turner, Gladys Knight and the old broad festooned with sequins and boas, Birley Shassey.

One remembers her first single Fallin, which was a triumph. Then, the music press revealed to us to her history and her qualifications in piano and music, as a result she was a musician. Well I am not unintentially trying to put her down but Crusty was awarded a GCE O'level in Religious Education - it doesn't make her an Archbishop, now does it?

Nevertheless, after the knicker-wettingly exciting start I suppose it does give the audience a suitable length of time to nip off and dry out before the main picture starts.

Quantum of Solace is a gem and Crusty urges everyone to go out and buy it. You will not be disappointed.