tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583660576443045122024-02-02T17:08:13.595+00:00Dame Crusty Gusset Opens UpDame Crusty Gusset - international critic, glamourpuss & drunk - opens up and shares with us her personal observations and opinions of life and the world of entertainment.
© Copyright 2008-2020Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.comBlogger264125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-47231059370326348142020-11-28T18:56:00.002+00:002020-11-28T18:58:08.088+00:00Masterchef: The Professionals - Burhan, Baby Burhan<p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">Often of an evening, one finds oneself alone in the residence. The household staff have scuttled back from whence they came and one's faithful houseboy, Chu Me is regularly up in his quarters watching his specialist nature DVDs. From the sounds one can hear, he clearly enjoys mimicking the creatures he is watching, judging by the panting, groans and screams one can hear oscillating down the corridors.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">In such circumstances, if one is not in the Holly Johnson Room running one's perfectly manicured digits over the ivories of the old Joanna, one reclines elegantly on the chaise, by the well-packed drawers of the bow-legged tallboy in the Dr Christian Room with one's eyes glued to one's 42 incher. One says glued ... with the nonsense they have been putting on while Rona has been ravaging the world, the attention has only been slightly tacky at best.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of the programmes that one has taken a fancy to, in our pandemic gripped world, is Master Chef: The Professionals. First of all, it's refreshing not to have John Turd accompanying Greg. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Previously, in his chef's challenges it always astounded me when he would cook something and say, "It's important that the ingredients can be tasted and identified. That's the secret of a great chef", as he looked smugly towards Wallace.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">Greg would then sit, with eyes and mouth open wide, as Turd went about his culinary expertise; "Wow" ..."Phwoar!" ..."You know how to make my mouth water John ... apples and pears" (or some such fancy). Then, without fail, if he had cooked fish the contestants would say "Definitely chicken". Likewise, some piece of meat would be artistically arranged one a plate with vegetable fanciness and glossy droplets and it would be, "I can taste the cod... definitely cod".</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: large;">One has a confession. One was never a great fan of Marcus Waring or Monica Galetti in the past, however one must say that one adores them both now. Monica is simply delicious and now that one has seen Marcus smile, the world seems in balance again and they certainly know their onions, do they not.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: large;">In this current series we've certainly had our fair share of hotties. One immediately thinks of the delicious Burhan. A stunningly gorgeous poppet who, with one pout to camera, has one's undergarments dissolving like the finest meringue upon a eager tongue. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">An array of skilled chefs are filling our screens as the competition unfolds and those less so. One, poor poppet attacked the Chef's challenge quite unexpectedly. One lost interest after a short time, so cannot recall his name but one's quite sure he had one. The challenge? Crepes Suzette. Experienced in making just such fayre on cruise ships, he proceeded to annihilate the dish with gusto for our expert judges. Each crepe was more with an 'a' and without the last 'e' and one never new segments of oranges could be cremated in a pan in such a short space of time. Needless to say, in the next round, Signature Dishes", when Sean <i>I-can-give-a-nation-of-women-and-men-an orgasm-with-my-voiceovers</i> Pertwee purred, "For his main, [<i>whatever his name was</i>], has served ..."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">One looked up form one's Wordsearch, "... A can of beans, dear?"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">To cut a long story short, it wasn't a great success. The traditional 12-long list of flavours in his dish ended up as two slabs of meat and a chunk of sweet potato, accompanied by a bit of green dust and a plate. As you may have already guessed Monica already had his taxi booked as he went back to his workstation.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">In critics corner most recently, the Marmite of critics Jay Rayner and his fellow critic Tracey MacLeod. Both clearly affected by the pandemic, in that they had no access to a hair brush prior to filming. That or they had stumbled across a hedge on the way in and were brutally dragged backwards through it. Sitting stuffing their faces with the product of our chefs, both, on the whole, surprisingly positive about all of the dishes, which , let's face it, makes a change from the usual scornful sarcasm oozing from their lips.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">One of course shall continue to watch but, alas, without the knicker-crumbling deliciousness of Burhan, will it ever be the same?</span></p><p><br /></p>Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-27778076009728751562020-11-21T16:50:00.001+00:002020-11-21T17:31:04.558+00:00The Pandemic at Crusty Hall - Asa Saves The Day<p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">As one sits in Litten's - the oak panelled bar in one's beloved Crusty Hall - sipping a rather pleasing gin, expertly poured by one's faithful houseboy Chu Me, one reflects on the travesty that 2020 has become. Who knew as we all recovered from our New Year's celebrations that, only a few months later, the world would be very different. All locked away in our homes and not having the ability to be with - and embrace - the ones we love.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">The media has certainly relished in the reporting of the pandemic and one believes many will join one in acknowledging just how piss-poor that has been. Laura <i>my-reports-should-come-with-a-Hans-Zimmer-score</i> Kuenssberg asking the most inane questions after press conferences; the woman from Sky who resembles Edna from The Incredibles (and infinitely more snooty) terrifying small children and family pets with her webcam closeups and, of course, Robert Peston, whose questions take longer to ask than it takes to discover a vaccine. The sense of relief is palpable on their withered faces; the frenzy of Brexit dissipated and their lives looked bleak but thank goodness something new came along that they could gorge themselves on and spew out their scaremongering to the masses while scavenging the gutter for titbits, sensation and leaks. Here at Crusty Hall, all such reports and news broadcasts are switched off as soon as they came on and, one must say, life has been utterly delicious as a result. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">Anyhoo ... one trusts all of one's poppets have kept themselves busy over the lockdown months. As a great person once said, "One should never be bored if one has intelligence and an imagination" and here at Crusty Hall we have always found something to do. Only yesterday one walked into the library to find Chu Me mountain climbing up a section of bookcase! Crotchet was sitting looking up with intrigue from a small, deep-buttoned pouffe, flicking his tail and chattering gleefully, as the crampons attached to Chu Me's flipflops clung to the shelving as he hammered his peg deep into Jane Eyre.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">One is pleased to say one's trusty steed is still part of the household and one still likes nothing better than nipping out first thing, squeezing Dribble between one's thighs and shooting off over the grass. Often with one's pussy Crotchet springing along on his velvety paws behind.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">One of the highlights of lockdown has been the entertainment that has been accessible. At the weekends Chu Me, Crotchet and I make our way to the ballroom. There, we switch on the disco lights and shake a tailfeather into the early hours to the musical wonders of Glen Horsborough, the outrageously talented Gok Wan and the exquisitely formed and thoroughly lickable Melvo Baptiste (one can feel one's undergarments begin to disintegrate just typing his name!). </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">One's friend Daphne Dewdrop often flouts restrictions and leaves her cottage in the village, not far from the Badger's Snatch to make her way to the residence. One can see her through the mighty window, out on the gravel drive, clutching her bottle of Diamond White and swaying to the pounding rhythms from the building within. Honestly, it could be minus twenty out there but in true North East style she'll still have only her short skirt and sequinned boob tube on and a look of semi-hammered contentment on her face until the music stops.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">But one must say that the episodes of Lockdown TV brought to the pages of Facebook by one's beloved poppet <a href="https://www.asaelliott.com/" target="_blank">Asa Elliott</a> have been an absolute joy! Not only does he have a voice that feels like velvet mittens massaging y' earlobes but there is chat, video clips, a sense of community between those who tune in and, of course, updates on his gorgeous son. One recommends one and all to nip along for a shufty when one gets the chance. He also brings us his own Christmas CD!! It's available now and, naturally, one has one's copy already ... and it is glorious!</span></p><span style="font-family: "Work Sans"; font-size: large;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAhPNYWg3RBhxn9ppjturhn2hiPtx35Ll0XnrcfKhV-RyphtV85zDQdubrYNqR3LLhfjMQWBGWO4QgZrB_6RWW-fZIP4s3nc4s3GvYCqAYhfjnHYTs6OvWhBe-jo3YNVfIhcSFTCx52xc/s1424/Asa+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1122" data-original-width="1424" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAhPNYWg3RBhxn9ppjturhn2hiPtx35Ll0XnrcfKhV-RyphtV85zDQdubrYNqR3LLhfjMQWBGWO4QgZrB_6RWW-fZIP4s3nc4s3GvYCqAYhfjnHYTs6OvWhBe-jo3YNVfIhcSFTCx52xc/w357-h281/Asa+%25282%2529.jpg" width="357" /></a></div><p></p>If one thing is certain, the horrors of this pandemic have, in many instances, brought us closer together and, always remember, despite the best efforts of the media shit-shower to strike fear into your heart and tell you this is our future, things will get better and normality will be resumed. Then we can all be unleashed into the wild, stampede to our friends and family and hug and kiss them within an inch of their lives.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-66470826999655065112020-11-13T16:31:00.003+00:002020-11-21T17:03:47.316+00:00The Gusset Is Back! .... (maybe)<p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">Life has been a little curious, has it not, throughout this Coronavirus malarkey? As one has been unable to meet one's dear friend, Fanny O'Dour for a stiff one down the Badger's Snatch, one was having a shufty through one's electronic device and saw that it was some time ago that one scribbled ramblings on one's blog! Good Lord! One feels that must change!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">In the meantime, one trusts one's readers are safe and well? Stay tuned ...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">Love, joy & laughter and happiness forever after,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">Dame Crusty</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Work Sans; font-size: medium;">Mmmwah mmmwah </span></p><p><br /></p>Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-13903639188934945452017-04-23T21:33:00.000+01:002017-04-23T22:47:54.876+01:00Dame Crusty Takes Barry Manilow in the Holly Johnson Room<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">The 5<sup>th</sup> of April 2017 will be one of those
days when, one thinks, we will all remember where we were when the devastating
and unexpected news was unleashed to the world, without warning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">As for onself, one was in the village pub; The Badger’s
Snatch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">One had been sitting for a short time in a freshly
upholstered booth reading through a discarded Daily Mail left on the table. It
was then one’s dear friend - and owner of the aforementioned drinking emporium
- Fanny O’Dour approached.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Like a refill, Crusty?” Fanny said, while hovering the
deliciously designed bottle of Pere Ventura Tresor above one’s crystal flute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“How delightful, dear. Let’s!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“You found anything interesting?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Looking briefly at her, then briefly at the Daily Mail,
then back at her one replied, “Good Lord! In this dear?! No, just checking the
state of the pages. It’s a perfect publication for lining the bottom of
Crotchet’s litter tray.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Fanny smiled and turned to walk away. Suddenly, she
stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Oh! By the way, did you hear the news earlier? Barry
Manilow’s come out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“In a rash, dear?” One replied inquisitively.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“No. Come out … of the closet.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“It must have had very loose hinges, dear. Just now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Yes. I was shocked? Who knew?” She added.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Not everyone, it seems.” One replied, looking her up and
down and slowly sipping one’s Cava.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Of course, reading the articles over the years about his
private life, he’s always been very tight-lipped.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Quite, dear and from recent TV appearances, he’s also been
very tight-eyed, tight-eared, tight-chinned, tight-cheeked and tight-necked.
The last time one saw him hit a high note during Copacabana, his eyes shut and
his toes curled up!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Crusty! You’re terrible. He has said his fans have been
very supportive, which is nice.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“In fairness, Fanny dear, they have had over 40 years to
prepare for the revelation.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Sometime later and ready to leave, one glided elegantly
to the bar to hand Fanny one’s flute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Do you know, Fanny, you’ve made one remember something.”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Really?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Yes, one remembers a time when Barry Manilow stayed at
one’s beloved Crusty Hall.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Stayed with you?! You never brought him down?” Fanny
exclaimed, a little miffed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Oh, it was a whistle-stop visit, dear. Mr Peppercorn had
asked him to judge his prized sausage in the back room of the village butchers and the guesthouse was out of bounds because it had just been fumigated. Anyhoo
… one had offered him a suite in the east wing for the night before he flew off
to America. We had had dinner and one was reclining divinely on the chaise on
the Holly Johnson room …”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“The music room?” Fanny clarified.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Quite, you gorgeous thing. Barry had just sung a medley
of hits, while one fingered through a gents quarterly …Suddenly, his fingers
lifted from the keys and the music stopped. One felt a little tension in the
air. Chu Me was rigid and his eyes had widened. Nevertheless, one continued fingering
one’s flaps and humming <i>Could It Be Magic</i>.
One could see him from one’s peripheral vision, walking towards one. He sat
next to one and took one’s hand. One could feel him shaking and beads of sweat
began to cascade down his face – quicker than one would expect as there were no
wrinkles to slow them down – and there was a raspy pant in his voice. “Dame
Crusty, there’s something I need to tell you.” He said. “I see.” One said. “It’s
something I’ve never told a soul but I feel I can confide in you.” After moment
one said, “Don’t feel you need to, dear.””<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Oh my God! What happened?!” Fanny squealed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“After what seemed like the length of an X-Factor result,
complete with the sound of his pounding heart to add suspense, he stood up and
said, “I can’t. I can’t. I’m so sorry.” Then off he went to his quarters with
one’s pussy, Crotchet, close behind. One looked at Chu Me. Chu Me looked at
one, shrugged his shoulders and left the Holly Johnson room with a steady slap
of flip-flop.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Do you think he was going to tell you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Goodness dear, one thought he was going to tell one he
was a vegetarian!! The other wouldn’t have mattered a jot, as one believes his legion
of fans will concur.”</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With that, one bid Fanny farewell with a kiss on each cheek, headed out of the
Badger’s Snatch, into a waiting GUSSET 1 outside, where Chu Me had prepared a
selection of nibbles in the armrest and one headed off back to the residence.</span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-75293327994304064252017-04-16T14:47:00.000+01:002017-04-16T15:17:40.592+01:00Dame Crusty Oils Dr Christian<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One was sitting, in one’s painting studio at one’s beloved Crusty
Hall in a state of deep reflection. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Adorned in one’s Vivienne Westwood painting
ball gown, one stared out of the window and across the top of gardener’s
greenhouse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The previous night, whilst deep in slumber, one was embroiled
in a hot and steamy session with one’s most gorgeous of poppets, Dr Christian
Jessen <i>(Mother always said never eat a block of cheese before bedtime and how
right she was!)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Needless to say, one shall spare readers the full and
graphic details of the Pere Ventura Cava fuelled dreamy encounter but sufficed
to say, there was an urgent need for a member of household staff to replace
one’s Egyptian cotton sheeting once one arose, slipped on one’s dressing gown
and sashayed downstairs to the breakfast room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As one sat there, munching on a thick, meaty pork sausage in
a most undamely-like manner, one's faithful houseboy, Chu Me fussed about pouring tea , buttering one’s
buns and banging his coarse, hairy nuts on a sharp point. The latter, in order
for one to enjoy a pleasing mouthful of fresh milk for the day ahead. One read somewhere coconut
milk every morning was good for one. Who was one to argue?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyhoo … still holding the length of sausage between one’s clenched
hand and nibbling the end delicately with one’s teeth, the image of Dr Christian
remained in one’s mind; standing by the side of the open fire, the orange and yellow
light from the flickering flames dancing across the surface of his naked, muscular frame and refracted, like the light through a thousand diamonds, from
the myriad beads of sweat droplets coating his epidermal expanse after our
torrid entanglement in this ethereal locale. At his feet, one found oneself
lying spent and undone on a silky soft sheepskin rug with just a Gucci pump, carefully placed, to keep one’s lady-garden out of sight and a sand filled
length of draught excluder across one’s hooters to maintain one’s post-coital
dignity <i>(one did say it was a dream!)</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Needless to say, one was eager to recapture the image in
oils.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One had spent several hours of that day painting the majority
of the body. His velvety-soft skin was looking rather good; one had
managed to get his chiselled pectoral expanse just right and one clearly had
success replicating the undulating 6-pack <i>(one
began to feel as if one was on a rollercoaster ride as one’s eyes followed the
ebb and flow of undulationess)</i>. One was rather pleased with the effect I
had created for the marble fire surround and one had also stuck a bowl of ripe
fruit on the mantel shelf as part of one’s five a day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8744WPKO7q6PMMtXryxU6hLAANBQ36ZOogpkrLgjPAY_UE4KSLuyDpFPhbjyXheIju8qQVBtQP9iVoRrcHoj_hVZ2LJDeM1YQJI3gqaO609Pb1XPUjIHwb2qIrksVwrBeZH2xUwoOm3c/s1600/DrCPainting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8744WPKO7q6PMMtXryxU6hLAANBQ36ZOogpkrLgjPAY_UE4KSLuyDpFPhbjyXheIju8qQVBtQP9iVoRrcHoj_hVZ2LJDeM1YQJI3gqaO609Pb1XPUjIHwb2qIrksVwrBeZH2xUwoOm3c/s1600/DrCPainting.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">His legs were coming
along magnificently; firm, muscular and looking like they could crack a walnut with
one flex.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When the time came to complete the painting and concentrate
on the … shall we say … centre of the piece, one closed one’s eyes to refresh
oneself of the image held in one’s mind's eye, looked back at one’s paint pallet
and after circling one’s index finger several times around one’s rusty box,
realised one would need significantly more paint. One tube of each primary
colour would certainly not be sufficient for the task in hand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Deeply frustrated, one glided elegantly down the corridor in search of a solution.
As one passed by Chu Me’s room, one could hear heavy panting. One knew he had
just received a new exercise video from his cousin, sent express post from his
village in a land far away. It was nice that his cousin took the time to copy
such DVDs for Chu Me but one does wish he would pay more attention to his English and
spelling. That being said, <i>Quim Buddies</i>
<i>II</i> was clearly on and Chu Me was, evidently,
having a thorough workout.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Not wishing to disturb him, one made one’s way to the garage
and took the keys to GUSSET 2. The power of the Aston engine, throbbing under
one’s shapely thighs, brought back happy memories of my dream that previous
night and within minutes one arrived at the centre of the village and pulled up
outside the Badger’s Snatch with a satisfied smile on one’s face and fresh nail
indentations on the steering wheel.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As one clenched one’s knees together and swung one’s legs
out to the side, one exited GUSSET 2 with grace and an expected demeanour. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One
heard a sudden knocking. Looking down at one’s knees, all appeared in order but
after another, one looked up to see one’s dear friend, Fanny O’Dour, at the
window of the our much loved public house waving out at one. She looked angelic
in the crystal clear lead-lined window. Honestly, what that woman can do with a
bottle of Windolene and a lint free cloth is the stuff of legend!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Minutes later, one was standing at the counter in the
village arts and crafts shop, facing the wonderfully flamboyant owner, Abby
Stract.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Good morning, Dame Crusty! What a lovely surprise! What can
I do for you?” Abby said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Good morning, Abby dear! One’s in the midst of an oil piece
and need a few more colours to achieve flesh tone”.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Oooo! A portrait. How exciting.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Of sorts, dear.” One clarified.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Will one tube of each be enough? Is it a large piece?” Abby
enquired.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“It would certainly make y’ eyes water, dear. You’d better
give me a box of each.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Soon after, one was back at one’s easel and painting
furiously to finish. However, you can imagine one’s utter disbelief when after
using up 8½ tubes of paint one realised one didn’t have enough canvas!!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">An unrolled off cut of anaglypta stapled to the bottom <i>(of the artwork and not Christian’s … or,
indeed, one’s own)</i> allowed one to complete the piece. Though it added a recollected stiffness and pleasing texture, it wasn’t the look one was going for.However, as it was for
one’s private collection it was enough to record the memory.</span></div>
Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-50098480252661002192016-05-02T20:33:00.000+01:002016-05-02T22:41:25.339+01:00Is Twitter Going Down The Shitter?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One could hear the rapid tapping
of the hailstone ricocheting off the windows of The Badger’s Snatch. Outside it
was freezing. Yet, inside the entire lounge area was warm and toasty. One’s
dear friend, Fanny O’Dour, had lit a roaring fire earlier in the morning and,
after taking a firm grip of Willie’s poker an hour earlier and inserting it forcibly
into the depths of her glowing mound, achieved optimum heat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Another glass of Pere Ventura cava, Crusty?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“One shouldn’t, Fanny dear but as the bottle’s open.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Perched elegantly on the leather upholstered bar stool, one
took a sip of the crisp, bubbly elixir of Catalunya and looked about one. The
fruit machine was flashing its lights blissfully, along with the infuriating
tune forcing itself from within. Daphne Dewdrop, significantly tanked up on
Diamond White, was leaning upon a rather portly trucker, who’d only stopped off
for a cheese and jalapeño Panini. As he
tried, awkwardly, to eat the contents of his lunch, Daphne rested her chin on
the top of his protruding stomach, and looked up at him with her bloodshot
eyes</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“I think you could be the one,” she slurred several times.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The words didn’t make any connection with the gentleman; no
doubt due to the fact Daphne was drooling from the right-hand side of her
mouth, leaving a damp patch on his sweatshirt, ever increasing in size, that
was well on its way to make connection with the sweat patches he had under each
arm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Fanny placed a plate of tapas assortments next to one’s
glass and one sighed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“That’s a deep sigh, Crusty!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Hmmm?” One replied. “Oh, forgive one, Fanny dear. One finds
oneself a little flat from the world of Twitter.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Twitter?! What’s wrong? You love tweeting with everyone.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Not recently, dear. Yes, one has a pod of precious poppets
who one nuzzles to one’s loving bosom but … dear Lord … there are some rather
unpleasant scrapings of a mangy dog’s anal area on there too.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“How so?” Fanny enquired, putting down a 3-colour pack of
bingo cards she was preparing for that night’s entertainment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Take one’s delicious morsel of gorgeousness, Doctor
Christian Jessen.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Right.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“The man is Heaven sent! Every particle of his frame has
been crafted by the hands of angels. A smile that could disintegrate one’s most
high-tensile strength undergarments with just one glint off his molars.
Goodness knows how many times one has seen him in one’s mind's eye, in varying
states of undress, with one battling one’s mind to remove the remaining items
of clothing without success but people are vile to him!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Vile? Why?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“One suspects Stephen Fry was right, dear. A swarm of people
getting twinges and lady-stiffies from thinking they have got one up on a
highly trained professional, who just happen to be in the public eye. Take for
example one creature; a female with an unnaturally pointy face; the type that
could pass through a set of period railings without her ears touching the
metal. To make matter worse, a rather piss-poor sense of fashion give her the
motivation to top it off with an unflattering hat. She describes herself as a ‘bitchcake’,
whatever such a thing is.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“What did she say?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“One’s blocked much of her nonsense from one’s mind, dear.
Sufficed to say she had children, had read an article in Take a Break, or some
such fancy, under a competition for knitwear and claimed to know more than
Christian about vaccination. The woman is an airhead!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On a roll, one continued, ”It’s like those ‘Ya! I wanked off
in a porn cinema and wiped it on the hood of the guy in front and that Doctor
Christian thinks he knows more than me about sperm donation?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One knocked back the cava contents of one’s glass. Fanny
obliged with a refill.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Then, this week, an attack on one’s most treasured
poppet, Derren Litten! Some woman, who – honestly Fanny, should never have a
profile photo taken in close-up, without soft lighting or a veil – decided to
advise him his show was on its last legs! Quite frankly, from the look of her,
one’s surprised she lasted to the end of her first bile-drenched tweet!
Apparently, he ‘writ’ 6 fantastic series. Writ?! Dear God! The woman casts
aspersions on the comedy genius of one’s dear friend and can’t string 140
characters together to form a coherent tweet?! Clearly she only attended school
on the days they were focusing on consonants. She finished by stating she won’t
be watching Series 9. One thinks at that stage, an entire legion of Benidorm
fans breathed a sigh of relief and
cracked one off … er … open to celebrate the knowledge she would be steeping in
her own poison elsewhere.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One was increasingly outraged but continued, “Then, to
top it all, some vile former member of UKIP, Julia Gasper – you know the one,
looks like she’s left her dentures out and her tonsils are sucking her lips in
- called one a troll?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“You?! A troll?!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Quite, you gorgeous thing. All because, while she was
spouting her venom of anti-LGBT opinion, she directed one detractor to read her
book and one, quite rightly, said one would rather read tea leaves.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“I take it another glass is in order?” Fanny asked with
the exquisite bottle of Pere Ventura lifting in her hand to the rim of one’s
glass.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“No thank you, Fanny. One’s going to head off back to
Crusty Hall.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As one dropped from the stool, took the last mouthful of
cava and sashayed elegantly towards the door one heard Fanny’s voice.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“You know what you should do?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One turned. The trucker was now attempting to make an
exit past one, with Daphne Dewdrop embracing the calf of his left leg, being
dragged along with each step. “I think he’s the one, Crusty.” She said, trying
to keep her tights from rolling down with the friction as she moved towards the
door. One looked back towards one’s dear Fanny.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Write your blog again.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Outside, clipping oneself into the driving seat of GUSSET
2 and switching on the finely tuned Aston engine one thought, “you know, Fanny,
you may be right.”</span></div>
Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-50951664246053071012014-06-07T16:55:00.000+01:002014-06-07T16:55:13.226+01:00Simon Cowell Takes The Pith Over Cheryl<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One was reclining
elegantly on the leather sofa in <i>Litten’s
</i>– the oak panelled bar at Crusty Hall – perusing the interwebular, while <st1:place>Chu</st1:place> Me prepared a rather delightful gin at the bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">By chance, one came across
an article by Jack White on the <a href="http://www.closeronline.co.uk/2014/06/simon-cowell-on-his-relationship-with-cheryl-cole-we-need-each-other" target="_blank">Closeronline</a> site, which provided very little
interest but, nevertheless, one read the words within. The story related to the
relationship between Simon<i>
when-I-walk-I-can’t-move-my-arms</i> Cowell and Cheryl <i>y’nailed-it</i> Cole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One must admit one’s
interest was poked, a smidgen, when one got past the rather poor grammar of the
article and discovered that ageing mogul had taken Cheryl out to dinner before “offering
her a chance to appear on the X Factor judge again”. Good Lord! It’s one thing
for her to appear on the judging panel but we don’t want to see her on top of
him, riding him like sweaty cowboy on prime time television!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Simon praised Cheryl’s
ability to stay in the public eye <i>(while
the rest of a nation, one suspects, condemned and cursed her ability to do the very
same thing)</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“She’s still in the papers
…”<i>(so’s the piece of cod I bought from
the fish shop next to the Badger’s Snatch last Tuesday, dear)</i> … “that’s the
interesting thing about her” …<i>(like the cod, it’s probably the <b>only</b> interesting thing)</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He also claims that,
having not been on our screen for three years if she so much as peels an
orange, she’s in the papers. <i>(Now that is
just taking the pith!)</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyhoo … Simon makes it
quite clear that their relationship is strong <i>(should anyone out there be shallow enough to care)</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Simon says, “We need each
other.” <i>(Isn't it normally, “… put your
right hand on your head”?)</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One must say that brings
one question into one’s own mind … “Yes, dear, but do we need either of you?”
One fears not.</span></div>
Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-52134300490462025342013-11-17T23:32:00.000+00:002013-11-18T22:45:45.753+00:00Dame Crusty And A Stiffened Package In Her Box<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">T</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">he day had started delightfully. After waking from a most dreamy slumber, one sashayed elegantly down the grand staircase. Once at the bottom, one gasped when one found one's front flap being prized open and a lengthy package being pushed carefully within its tight confines.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Grabbing the invading package with both hands one began to peel back the outer layer. Pulling it off with one's right hand, one squealed with ecstasy as one saw the contents covering the palm of one's left ... a <a href="http://www.jakecanusoshop.com/" target="_blank">Jake Canuso 2014 calendar</a>!!! Not only that but affectionately signed by one's beloved poppet. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
He had even placed a kiss over a rather intimate area of his gorgeous anatomy, covered only by red gossamer-thin budgie-smugglage. </span>Naturally, one felt it necessary to plant one's own kiss just next to it <i>(...purely for luck, you understand)</i>.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEOfPr8tVNds_GHtbHphGSCO5MC_ewC0y4yYY3FHcb057ni0niqlCkPqvMESEueaGR6BJS7qKE-mx8RCMKKGsv-uvjTSPgvE4RZPdkiyJ2cbWe9eVRyJbthwDy_Q3QEQFK7QCm7QJcXnQ/s1600/jc+cal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEOfPr8tVNds_GHtbHphGSCO5MC_ewC0y4yYY3FHcb057ni0niqlCkPqvMESEueaGR6BJS7qKE-mx8RCMKKGsv-uvjTSPgvE4RZPdkiyJ2cbWe9eVRyJbthwDy_Q3QEQFK7QCm7QJcXnQ/s320/jc+cal.jpg" width="229" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Later that day one's levels of excitement grew further still. One had taken GUSSET 2 for a spin into the village and as one showed the precious item to one's dear friend Fanny O'Dour, landlady of the Badger's Snatch, one sat opened mouthed at what she suggested.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
"I think he actually delivered it personally, Crusty." Fanny said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
One squealed. "No! One can't believe it! What makes you say that?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"When I got up this morning, I looked out of the bedroom window and looking up towards your place I saw a large chopper ...."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
"Well, it certainly sounds like him, dear" One interrupted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
" ...er...flying over Crusty Hall ... and there was someone hanging from the underneath."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
One took a sip of chilled Pere Ventura Cava from the - less than - sparkly flute, filled by Fanny's Willy and imagined the scene of one's delicious example of manly tottyness dropping on a zipwire, like a scene from Mission Impossible, stopping just above the gravel drive then slowly hovering forth to the letter box, to insert his stiffened package into one's box.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
"Do you know, Fanny, you may be right. One knows he was flying into the loving arms of Mama Canuso. Perhaps he did stop en route.A detour if you will."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Anyhoo ... sadly, one found out later it was not, in fact, him. It appears the local police helicopter had swept a little low over a tree and caught Mr Craddick's braces as he was bird watching <i>(or so he told the pilot when they eventually landed after a 20 minute flight. However, one knows his "bird watching" is merely watching Veronica Mantrapp doing her naked Zumba session in her spare room)</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Nevertheless, one is delighted to announce that <i style="font-weight: bold;">everybody</i> can share in the joys of a well hung Jake on their wall, to enjoy every day of 2014 ... and trust one ...with his well balanced proportions, it will hang beautifully. Simply pop along to <a href="http://www.jakecanusoshop.com/" target="_blank">www.jakecanusoshop.co.uk </a> where one can be ordered and delivered in only a matter of days, arriving in plenty time for the new year. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Furthermore, worry not if you are in a </span>foreign<span style="font-family: inherit;"> land, as there are options for all international poppets too.</span>Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-18755564907814780802013-08-24T16:49:00.001+01:002013-08-24T21:38:35.917+01:00Crusty Examines Big Brother's OpeningOne was sitting in <i>Litten's</i> - the oak panelled bar at Crusty Hall - enjoying a stiff one. One's faithful houseboy, Chu Me had plonked into one's hand moments earlier. It was a little cold, nevertheless, was sliding down the back of one's throat in the most pleasing manner <i>(as, indeed, all glasses of gin should)</i>.<br />
<br />
As Chu Me fought off one's pussy, Crotchet, while he was trying to munch on the sole of his evening flip- flops, one squealed with delight to see one's treasured poppet, Louie Spence appear on one's 32 incher! What was this programme that was bringing one one's dear twitterchum into one's home over the televisular airwaves? It was, of course, Celebrity Big Brother 2013.<br />
<br />
Louie looked utterly delicious as he entered the monitored dwelling, in glistening sequinned jacket. My goodness, his attire almost sparkled as brightly as his infectious personality and one thought the entire show was going to be worth watching even if he was in there alone. Who else was to enter this years competition, one wondered?<br />
<br />
In previous years, that awful word "celebrity" had been used in various programmes with a little too much poetic licence; a little like those profiles on dating website and chatrooms where people describe themselves as "cute" ... yet, they very seldom are. In the past, we had people that were aspiring to a 10 year wait to reach the double Z list of celebritism and occasionally even those, a nation sat in the comfort of their sumptuous home furnishings, pointing at the screen and exclaiming, "I thought they were dead". Needless to say, with the injection of dear Louie one began to think it was to be a bumper year.<br />
<br />
The next two contestants were Lauren Harries and Sophie Anderton. The former, Lauren, has always been a most interesting creature. One remembers Lauren<i> </i>appearing on <i>Wogan (the television show ... not the man himself) </i>many years ago, when she was a young boy called James. He was always a very interesting, if not slightly precocious, child back then, so now with gender reassignment, one is quite sure she will be a one to watch. Her entrance wasn't as glamorous as it should have been, however; one fancies the overly high heels and incorrect poise resulted in a uncomfortable clomp, rather than an elegant sashay. The frock also looked, perhaps, a size too small, judging by the overflow of body fat and the two highly compressed hooters attempting to escape at the front. Neck up she had achieved the look of a genetic merging of a young Barbara Cartland and Myra Hindley, had she discovered back combing.<br />
<br />
As for Sophie Anderton, one must admit one has never heard of her. Apparently, she is a model who became famous <i>( if indeed she ever did)</i> for having pictures taken in the grass, or some such fancy. Well, we've all done that on a hot Summer day, have we not? ... only one had the foresight to have the negatives destroyed afterwards and the midge bites treated with Savlon as soon as one returned to the car. Before entering the house she revealed that her drug addiction was well documented; quite a pity she is of such insignificance or it may have proved interesting reading. "Believe it or not, I can be quite boring", she said ...after only 1½ minutes of her introductory interview, one was entirely convinced.<br />
<br />
In the usual twist, our first three house mates were taken to another room. From that point, there was the steady influx of the remaining participants. Predominantly, poppets who could carry the title of c<i>elebrity;</i> there was Ron Atkinson, Vicki Entwistle, Carol McGiffin and Bruce Jones. Sadly, however, there was a further injection of those not so worthy ... the "I thought they'd died" ... and a couple who were only feeding around the anal sphincter of celebrity, praying for a life of fame and fortune in return for offering very little, if no, talent at all, such as Charlotte Crosby and Courtney Stodden.<br />
<br />
As a native resident of the utterly gorgeous North East of Her Majesty's realm<i> (What? You've never been?! Goodness ...come at once, you'll adore the hospitality and friendliness!)</i>, one must first apologise for Charlotte Crosby. She has received notoriety from being part of a most embarrassing programme called Geordie Shore. You can remain quite certain - and safe in the knowledge - that she, with the large head in relation to her frame and the pre-middle-age bingo wings - is not a typical example of North East ladyism and that most in one's beloved region can communicate orally without shouting louder than a back-firing Fiat Punto.<br />
<br />
When one saw Courtney Stodden one must admit one was horrified! Having just emptied one's Baccarat crystal tumbler of liquid refreshment, one screamed to have Chu Me filled it at once. He slapped hurriedly across the parquet flooring in his half eaten flip-flops <i>(Crotchet, still running after him)</i> and began to pour, "Don't bother about the tonic, dear! One'll take it neat! Have you seen what has just appeared on screen?"<br />
<br />
Chu Me stood by one's side, dibbling at the sight of this breastular-inflated individual.<br />
<br />
"Stop dribbling at once! Furthermore, never trust a woman whose breasts are the size of two Pacific islands and whose hair will not move in a force 8 gale!"<br />
<br />
Indeed, looking at her hair a little closer, one realised the last time one had saw anything with a texture like that, it was being rolled up and tied by our local farmer's combine harvester! In the outrageously high heels she was wearing and her spindly legs, she resembled two cocktails sticks that had been plucked from a mutually pierced cheese and pickled onion hedgehog at an inferior evening buffet.As house mate after house mate entered and one saw her leaning against the kitchen counter, one wondered if she'd ever been on her feet that long before!<br />
<br />
Coming up the behind, there was Abz from Five <i>(one's not sure he could count any higher, dear), </i>Mario <i>my-manbiscuit-has-its-own-postcode</i> Falcone, Dustin "Screech" Diamond who claims to have slept with over 200 women <i>(one wonders if they knew) </i>and Danielle Marr. Danielle said "You'll know me best for Dublin Wives", to which one replied, "Then one doesn't know you at all, dear."<br />
<br />
One's only complaint was the young creature whom was presenting the opening extravaganza; Emma Willis. Certainly pleasing to eye but, my goodness, when trying to speak over the crowds, one thought Dino from the Flintstones had come out of retirement. Not only do we have a "Screech" inside the house ...Channel 5 have given us one <i>outside</i> too!!<br />
<br />
Anyhoo ... the house it filled it is now only a matter of time before the ..[no, not ejeculations, Chu Me ... that's something altogether different] ... evictions begin. One prays, however, that one's twitterchum Louie is victorious. One thing is for sure ... he will bring a burst of sunshine and joy into our lives each day he is in there.Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-51854191547539773402013-03-16T19:11:00.001+00:002013-03-24T15:32:56.060+00:00Dame Crusty: "There Shall Be No Balls For Breakfast"It was only but a week or so ago when one awoke from a deep
sleep, in the sumptuous snuggly softness of one’s nightly retreat. The curtains
were drawn and, though one’s bed chamber was filled with a low level of natural
lightage, one of Señor Sol’s tentacles of light had found its way through a
small opening between the lush, heavy hanging fabric to land on the wall above
the fireplace. The grounds of Crusty Hall seemed silent, save the gentle
chirrup coming from a feather congregation.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One’s eyes were still heavy and one thought one could quite
easily fall back to sleep. In an attempt to raise oneself from one’s semi-tired
state one leant over to the radio on one’s mahogany bedside table and switched
it on. A bit of the delicious Chris Evans would surely to the trick.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was rather disappointing, however, when one entered a
conversation with some poor individual who, evidently, had terrible health
problems; words rattling out at a rate of knots with a frequent audible gasp
for breath. One bit one’s lip in sympathy at this poor poppet who, one could
only assume, suffered her difficulty acquiring oxygen from something as ghastly
as a collapsed lung perhaps. With one’s levels of sympathy rising with every
gasp, one was rather horrified at the distasteful insertion of popular
musicality. This was too serious a moment to be putting toe-tapping ditties on!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As one’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me, turned the knob on one’s
bedroom door and entered with a squeak (<i>coming
from the hinges of the door, or course, and not from </i><st1:place><i>Chu</i></st1:place><i> Me)</i>, he made his way – in a rather dashing pair of flip-flops – to
the side of one’s bed with a tray of breakfast goodies. One turned down the
volume on the radio slightly and relayed a summary of this poor creature. <st1:place>Chu</st1:place>
Me looked a little puzzled and placed the breakfast tray across the mound of
duvetliciousness that covered one’s lallies and reached over to the radio to
turn up the volume. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He listened for only matter of seconds and then – with a
totally unnecessary and unbecoming tut – advised me the person was not an
oxygen-deficient lung collapsee, but was in fact Zoe Ball!! Good Lord!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyhoo … as soon as one realised who it was, one has to say
all levels of sympathy evaporated and she simply became increasingly annoying
and totally unsuitable for early morning airage. Particularly with her
recounting the story of when she was walking down the street with last night’s
G-string stuck to her face without her knowing … or some such fancy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<st1:place>Chu</st1:place> Me withdrew and one was left with
the voice of old-gaspy-knickers unpleasantly oscillating through the air
molecules of one’s bed chamber.As one concentrated on the gargantuan intakes of
breath, one began to grow weary. One’s eye lids became heavy and one found
oneself slipping off. Before one knew it one was in the production studio of
Radio 2.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking through the misty haze one could see the figure of
old-gaspy sitting there. Clicking on a button, from which one could establish
communication with her, one offered direction.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re coming through rather loud, dear. One fears you may
need to step back a little from the microphone.” She rose from her seat and took a step back. “Will this do,
Dame Crusty? >gasp<”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“A little further, dear.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“>gasp< Will this do?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“One fancies a little further.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That ok?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“A little further?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A distant voice said, “It that – erm – ok now? >gasp<”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"A few steps more, dear?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Is that ok now?” The voice was faint but one was still not
satisfied.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“One thinks just a couple more steps back and we’ll have it,
poppet.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The distant mumble came immediately back. “I can’t go any
further back, Dame Crusty, my backs against the wall of the stationery
cupboard”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Can you manage to kick the door shut, dear?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was the far off sound of her hoof catching the side of
the door and eventually there was a click as the door closed and the catch
secured itself. After several minutes there was nothing but silence. “Ah! Now
that’s much better!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As one awoke from one’s dream, one felt a warm feeling at
one’s accomplishment … or so one thought until one realised one had knocked the
teapot over from the breakfast tray and it was soaking through one’s bed clothes. Still, it certainly
put a spring in one’s step for the remainder of the day.</div>
Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-70408288382108257942012-09-17T23:13:00.001+01:002012-09-17T23:13:03.109+01:00Celebrity Big Brother 2012 - Julian Clary; Last One Tossed Off<span style="font-family: inherit;">As one reclined on the leather
couch in <i>Litten’s</i> – the bar here at one’s
beloved Crusty Hall - the lush natural fabrics of one’s <a href="http://www.masato.co.uk/" target="_blank">Masato</a> ensemble draped
deliciously over the rich, soft hide and one’s back supported adequately by the
plumptiously filled Jake Canuso embroidered scatter cushions, one - for some
inexplicable reason - pondered the events of the Celebrity Big Brother house.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One cast one’s mind back
to when this season all started and recalled when the celebrities <i>(‘celebrities’ being used in its broadest
sense, of course)</i> entered the infamous reality house for their period of
televisual incarceration. The customary insistence when such programmes are
created - and the dreaded word ‘celebrity’ is used - to pluck any old duffer, that
has had so much as one column inch in a tawdry periodical, out of the ether had
certainly been maintained . <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Prince Lozenge Bolognese –
a rather fragrant and delicious poppet - being the perfect example of this
ongoing practice. Apparently, from what one has heard, he has appeared on our television
screens before! One is sure he has … and how very nice for him. However, Chu
Me’s former love interest, Tess Tickle, has also appeared on television (<i>a local news report, where she was seen
buying a nit comb from the village chemist, Annelise Stules-Hoffen, in a rather
unflattering pair of dungarees, tan brogues and gingham</i>) but make a celebrity
of her it most certainly does not!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Enticed further, one was
horrified at one stage of the inaugural extravaganza when one sat open-mouthed
- a crystal clear meandering of gin flowing down one’s chin as a result of the
dropping of one’s jaw - and dripping upon one’s exposed bosom, “Jimmy
Saville?!! In a leopard skin print??!! Good Lord! One thought he was dead … and
wore nylon?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was then that one’s
faithful houseboy, Chu Me, informed one it was actually <st1:street><st1:address>Coronation Street</st1:address></st1:street>’s Julie Goodyear. Upon closer inspection one
realised Chu Me was, in fact, correct; the sagging bags under the eyes, the
hair with the texture of Hessian wallpaper and her mouth masticating a large
ball of gum as if her life depended on it (<i>one
has read chewing of gum is a good way to maintain the tautness of the jaw line
… looking at the Bulldog-esque jowls of our leopard skin print diva, she
clearly needed to chew a lot harder … and purchase significantly more gum)</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Other celebrities – worthy
of the title – were introduced one by one; the lovely Coleen Nolan, the
delicious Martin Kemp, the glamorous Julian Clary, the adorably delicious Cheryl <i>they’ve-killed-‘Ev</i> Fergison … and the
rather tottylicious TeamGB Ashley McKenzie who, after the performance of the British
team at this year’s Olympics, is not a mere celebrity but a Judotastic star!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then, as one feared, it
all started going down hill. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A young, handsome poppet
called Mike Sorrentino, who had opted to refer to himself as The Shituation, or
some such fancy. An abdominal expanse you could bounce a conker off but all the
personality and appeal of overcooked pasta.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A rather odd looking
poppet, called Jasmine Lennard, who if the Daily Mail is ever to believed is 27
<i>(however, her face, bony lallies and the
overall appearance of a lanky streak of piss in designer frockage, suggested a
typo had occurred and those two digits were, in fact, destined to be reversed)</i>.
Jasmine is apparently a lover of both the man-biscuit and lady-garden and she has
even dated Simon Cowell <i>(which has certainly
drained the life from her, poor thing)</i>. She also has a son to American
musician Seth Shift y’binz. <i>(however, if
Seth put his bins out after </i><st1:time hour="21" minute="0"><i>9pm</i></st1:time><i>, then I
for one would wholly support him in leaving them where they were until they’d
been emptied!)<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">An attempt at glamour was
made with the introduction of Danica, who as one understands it is an ‘international
lingerie model’ <i>(Essentially meaning she
flashes her knickers to the world)</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Danica <i>(which sounds more like the brand name for a
range of kitchen units)</i> clomped enthusiastically into the house, as did
another model, Rhian <i>no-relation-to-Percy</i>
Sugden. Rhian has been a page three girl and has flashed her baps over many a
glossy, such as <i>Zoo </i>… indeed, many <i>Nuts</i> have been grabbed <i>(in more ways than one, one suspects)</i> by
young heterosexual males wishing to finger through the pages until they come
upon her picture, in the privacy of their bedrooms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListBullet" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListBullet" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, Samantha Brick <i>(who, coincidentally, from what one has
observed, has the complexion of a breeze block)</i>. Samantha was the
journalist who claimed her life was difficult because she was so beautiful.
Having seen the amount of spottage on her facial epidermis, her crooked mouth
and gammy eye, one fears her case is rapidly being lost in the law courts of
aesthetic appeal. Many gentlemen who have come upon her in bars, restaurants
and even the streets of our bustling metropolis have whipped out their wallets
and insisted on paying for her, simply because she is earth-shatteringly
gorgeous. If any of those men have been watching Celebrity Big Brother, there
is sure to be a line longer than any Marks & Spencer returns queue, with all
of them having an eager desire to have their money refunded, without so much as
a quibble.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListBullet" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListBullet" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">All in all, the show was
reasonably entertaining and if viewers didn’t know that Julie <i>no-I’m-not-Jimmy-Saville-in-a-leopard-skin-print
</i> Goodyear was a national icon, famous
for being the landlady of the Rovers Return for 25 years, 70 and disabled, then
they certainly do now … the woman never shut up about it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListBullet" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListBullet" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One also understands from
newspaper reports that, since the show has ended, Danica <i>Knicker-flasher</i>
Thrall has had blazing rows with her boyfriend but, thankfully, the model, who
apparently has made her name taking money and gifts from rich men, is receiving
consolation from multi-millionaire hotty Prince Lozenge Bolognese. One suspects
the words ‘ching’ and ‘ker’ have been involved, though not necessarily in that
order.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListBullet" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListBullet" style="margin-left: 0cm; mso-list: none; tab-stops: 36.0pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyhoo … one was rather
delighted to see that the very elegant Julian Clary was victorious. Though one
was quite surprised Martin Kempt didn’t win, one was chuffed as punch Julian
came first. Bravo dear!</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-90258719786063815662012-08-04T00:33:00.000+01:002012-08-04T19:02:06.524+01:00Karl Lagerfeld Let's Rip ... Again! ... [Nurse!!!!!]<span style="font-family: inherit;">The </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Metro</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> periodical was lying open on the workbench of gardener’s
greenhouse. He was in the far corner, somewhat preoccupied with pulling off
Basil, so had left it unattended. Naturally, one felt drawn to read the words
scattered within the pages. As one did, one was flabbergasted at what one read,
as one focused in on the typeset! So much so, one had to put one’s binoculars
down and sit back in the studded leather captain’s chair of one’s study to
reach an acceptable level of damely composure.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 12.9pt;">
<span style="color: #515151; font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">"Kate Middleton has a nice
silhouette and she is the right girl for that boy <i>(by ‘that boy’ one assumes you mean Prince William, our future King,
dear)</i>. I like that kind of woman, I like romantic beauties. On the other
hand, her sister struggles. I don't like the sister's face. She should only
show her back."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One
was outraged! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Even
the slapping of a member of household staff, as she picked up remnants of Chu
Me’s flip-flops from a rough section of the parquet flooring, could one release
the pure anger one felt at such a revolting comment about the utterly gorgeous
sister of our future queen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Who
made this comment, Dame Crusty?” One hears you ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One’s
gag reflex is held at bay as one mentions his name … Karl Lagerfeld.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One
acknowledges that this member of the fashion community has been around for … well,
goodness … it would seem like centuries <i>(something
certainly backed up by the way he dresses; wearing his usual high collar shirts,
black suits and thigh length boots … often resembling a 17<sup>th</sup> century
hooker with a vampire fetish)</i>. As for the best sides to be taken from <i>(especially where the rear is concerned</i>),
one suspects he speaks from significant experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If
you are still unsure, picture the same outfit as one has previously described
in your mind’s eye; black suit, high collared white shirt <i>(one fancies to hide the turkey-neck at which even Coronation Street’s
Audrey Roberts would grimace)</i>, thigh high leather boots <i>(and one’s talking heels here)</i>, a face
with the complexion of a pensioner’s left testicle and with white wiry hair plonked
on top of said teste-face <i>(akin to that
of the pubic foliage surrounding that very same pensioner’s downstairs area)</i>
brushed back into a ponytail. Finish that image off with a pendulous pair of
ears, a pair of Mick Jagger-esque lips which haven’t seen lip salve in a month
and a pair of sunglasses … et voila! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That’s right … that’s the one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Karl dear, you are no oil painting yourself ... if oil was involved, however, one suspects it would be crude.</span></div>Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-51511849871137893032012-07-14T21:59:00.000+01:002012-08-04T19:01:08.720+01:00Crusty, Fanny and the Tale of the Creamy Fingers<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">One awoke that morning
feeling a little bloated. Though still maintaining an agreeable level of
elegance <i>(naturally)</i>, one felt one
had mysteriously gained a little more weight through one’s slumbers; yes, one
had enjoyed a rather erotic time in one’s dreams sharing some bowls of whipped
double cream and sticky toffee pudding with one’s delicious poppet Jake Canuso …
and in various positions … but one knew it wasn’t possible to increase one’s
weight as a result. This is not </span><st1:street style="background-color: white;"><st1:address>Elm Street</st1:address></st1:street><span style="background-color: white;"> after all.</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was all highly bizarre
and, naturally, it turned one’s mood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One’s faithful houseboy,
Chu Me, acutely aware of one’s morning bout of sadness, tried to do what he
could to cheer one up. He tried to mount one’s pussy, Crotchet, and ride him side
saddle along the corridor outside one’s quarters; one could not even raise a
smile. Even when Crotchet repaid the compliment by clawing at Chu Me’s clothing
with short, sharp blows of his curled up, claw-extended paws and hissing wildly,
one still took no interest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The two walked off slowly,
Chu Me’s shoulders slumped with disappointment and Crotchet’s tail dragging
lifelessly along the carpet behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As one dressed in
appropriate attire for breakfast, one could see from one’s dressing room window
that <st1:place>Chu</st1:place> Me had decided to make a special trip to the side
of the stables to collect some fresh eggs from his hens. One caught sight of
him as he picked up the elliptical shells of creamy yolkiness and put them in
his wicker basket - his hens scurrying around his feet with pride and joy at a job well
done. Bending down to cup his hand around the underside of his cock, he squeezed
it lovingly to his chest and kissed it on the head before he released it, setting
it back on the ground next to his feet<i>
(one could almost hear the thud through the double glazing … it is a mighty
beast indeed)</i>. Leaving the coop, he secured the padlock on the door and
headed back toward the residence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A small glistening droplet
of ocular liquid forced itself from one’s right tear duct as one realised the
love he had for these creatures and indeed for ensuring one had the best of
everything. It was clearly one’s weakened state that caused such an
unnecessarily emotional reaction at such an early hour of the day. Taking a
deep breath and clenching one’s hands into stylish and epidermally soft fists, one
established composure once more and made one’s way down the staircase of the
Great Hall to the breakfast room. The household staff were busying away with
their chores while trying to be inconspicuous. The one brushing the stairs was,
however, certainly not. One did not have the energy to say anything and decided the kick
one executed to her right thigh would have to be enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sat in the breakfast room
with one’s gorgeous North East legend Colin <i>his-twinkle-makes-me-tingle
</i>Briggs relaying the local news on BBC Breakfast, one settled down for
something to fuel one for the day. One put Chu Me’s eggs into one’s mouth and found
them extremely creamy - with just the right amount of saltiness. Yet despite
this, one’s mood did not improve. The
lightweight Masato ensemble of natural fabrics one had chosen, along with
diamond mounted accessories should have made one feel utterly fabulous most
certainly, yet one could not help but feel a little uncomfortable as the
gorgeous fabric clung a little too tightly to one’s shapely frame. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Checking one’s social
calendar, one noted one had arranged to meet one’s dear friend Fanny O’Dour –
landlady of the Badger’s Snatch – for some refreshment. We had agreed to visit the
local coffee shop rather than attend her own watering hole. One often felt she
spent her life there and it was always nice to have a change of surroundings.
Her husband, Willy O’Dour, was more than capable of running the show for a few
hours … and quite right too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At <st1:time hour="11" minute="4">11.04am</st1:time>, one set off in GUSSET 2 from the crunching gravel
drive of one’s beloved Crusty Hall and sped down the winding country lanes towards
the heart of the village, the delicious sounds of one’s treasured and iconic poppet, Holly
Johnson filling the cabin with melodious joy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Fanny was waiting on the
bench at the corner of the village green when one arrived, reading <i>(with alarm,
one imagined)</i> a pamphlet that looked suspiciously like the ones handed out by
the vicar’s wife, Marjorie Flecks, whenever she had a singing recital planned. One
parked the Aston in one’s usual place and sashayed elegantly across the black
and glistening tarmac of the road to join her. Despite the inclement weather, there was a
warmth in the air and a breeze that brushed one’s soft cheeks like that one
enjoyed annually on the shores of one’s beloved Montgat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Crusty!” She squealed and
extended her arms. We kissed each other affectionately on each cheek, linked
arms and made our way towards the coffee shop. Telling her of one’s misery at
feeling a little plumper today she attempted to cheer one up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Don’t talk nonsense,
Crusty! You look as radiant as ever and you have a figure to die for.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It certainly seemed to
help. As she pressed the latch of the coffee shop door and we entered to the
sound of the bell suspended above, one’s spirits did indeed lift, even in the
face of resting one’s eyes on the horrendously long queue of people at the
counter. Perhaps one wasn’t as temporarily
overweight as one had thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyhoo … eventually, a
rather sorry looking individual got round to serving us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Good morning, Dame
Crusty. Sorry about your wait” she announced.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sorry about one’s
weight?!” One screeched. One was
outraged!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“And one’s sorry about
your saggy tits, fat arse and rather unkempt yellow hair, dear! Now, two creamy
fingers and a pot of tea if you please!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As the embarrassed individual
curtsied and turned quickly to tend to one’s needs, Fanny leant forward and
whispered in one’s ear. “I think she was referring to the queue, Crusty.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One stopped and thought
for a moment. Ah, the wonders of the English Language. As soon as one realised,
Fanny and I giggled like schoolgirls at the misunderstanding, carrying our fayre to our
usual table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Later, as Fanny and I
prepared to leave the coffee shop the servant girl came to our table to collect
the cups and payment. It was here, one fancies, she tried to get some level of
revenge for one’s tiny little mix-up earlier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What?! No tip?!” She said,
with a hint of venom wisping from her unpleasant breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh sorry, poppet” one
replied. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Holding her coarse hand with
one’s left, one covered the back of it with one’s right and patted it
gently. Looking endearingly into her bloodshot eyes one said, “Yes of course,
dear … a longer tabbard to cover your arse, a pair of chicken fillets to lift
your bangers … oh … and a hat … to hide y’ tatty hair. Good day to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With that, Fanny and I
walked out – to the sound of smashing tea cups and a scream - and made our way down
the street to the Badger’s Snatch, where we had planned to sneak in through the
back but when we came across the drayman pulling off his kegs at the entrance
of the beer garden, we instead entered through the lounge entrance and partook
of a refreshing glass of <i>Pere Ventura Tresor Reserva</i> Cava before one set off
home to the opulent comfort of one's beloved Crusty Hall.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-43807313637136796302012-07-04T16:46:00.000+01:002012-08-04T19:00:53.566+01:00Daphne Dewdrop's Brush With The Law<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One had just visited Mr
Peppercorn’s butchery emporium for some supplies for the kitchen at one's beloved Crusty
Hall. Cook will normally order items to be delivered, however, one always likes the
ability to grab some local meat. There’s nothing worse, one finds, than nibbling
on a gristly sausage that’s travelled half way around the country ... or getting
one’s hands on a hunk of beef that is inadequately hung. One always feels so let down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Plus – of course - Mr.
Peppercorn has been servicing one well for many years; one wouldn’t dream of
taking one’s business elsewhere. Whenever cook has a tasty pie on the menu, for example, Mr. Peppercorn always gives one a good filling and when he slips one some of his tongue as an extra … well … let one just say, one takes
a little step closer to heaven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyhoo … it was this very
morning and he had wrapped up his meat in some greaseproof paper. One grabbed
his bulging packet and put it in one’s shopping basket, bid him farewell and
headed off to the local bakers, ran by the delightful Pat Tissery. One knew if
one could get there early enough, one could beat the queue and be able to get
one’s hands on a pair of her crusty bloomers; the yeasty aroma that emanates
from them is heavenly and one can never resist holding them up to one’s nasal
passages and giving them a good sniff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just as one sashayed to
the threshold of the traditional purveyor of bready products, one’s glisteningly
youthful eyes fell upon local model Veronica Manntrapp; she was just leaving, with
a rather unbecoming bag full of cream cakes <i>(One
wonders how on earth she maintained her figure! She has the appetite of a farm
animal)</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh Crusty, I’m glad I’ve
seen you. You must go and console Daphne. She’s distraught. She’s been given a
police caution by WPC Hel Mett.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Goodness! What on earth
has happened?!” One exclaimed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“She was caught driving
with her top down. She’s round the corner outside the Chemist, crying her eyes
out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“One shall tend to it at
once.” One reassured her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Continuing one’s sashay
hurriedly, with one’s shopping basket swinging pendulously on one’s forearm,
one couldn’t help but be mystified by the predicament that Daphne Dewdrop found
herself in. She had always been the village member with the loosest of morals …
a party-girl if you will. Often, after a Saturday night out, she could be found
slumped back on the wooden bench on the corner of the village green, her
knickers round her ankles like an off-white cotton anklet, clutching an almost empty bottle of Diamond White like a much loved kitten. But how on earth
could she have found herself receiving a caution for something that wasn’t even
illegal! For heaven’s sake, millions of people must be driving round like that
when the weather is of agreeable conditions!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyhoo … all became clear
when one turned the corner and saw her Renault Clio parked outside the Chemist.
She has not been stopped for driving in a convertible state, as one had
initially thought; WPC Hel Mett had, in fact, given her a warning for driving with
her <i>top down, </i>that is to say … her boob-tube
pushed down around her waist. It was therefore, hooter exposure that had
resulted in her brush with the law and the subsequent stern words from our
member of the local constabulary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Leaning against the sill
of the open window on the near side, while maintaining a ballerina-like posture,
one attempted to cheer up poor Daphne.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She was sat there with
tears streaming down her overly made-up face; mascara was oozing down her rosy
cheeks in such meandering swathes it gave her the appearance of a slightly
sun-kissed Alice Cooper - only without the wrinkles and unnaturally white
teeth. Across the exposed boobage WPC Mett had stuck a parking notice pouch
across each of her areas of nipplage to make her a tad more decent than she had
been found. A little severe one thought, but when one notices a young boy who
had obviously hit a bin and flew over the handlebars to end up head first in the very same refuse receptacle – his legs kicking and his muffled cries for help being ignored - one
thought it was, perhaps, the better thing to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Come along, Daphne
dear!!” One said heartily. “Stiff upper lip and all that, old thing!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’ve never been so
ashamed, Dame Crusty.” She sobbed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Now, now … let us
consider it a lesson learnt."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I s’pose” she sniffed,
wiping her blackened eyes with a McDonald’s serviette <i>(still encrusted with a
piece of fried onion and smear of ketchup from the time it was purchased).</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Incidentally, dear, that
yellow in the parking notice pouch suits your colouring magnificently!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“She looked down towards
her hooters and with her chin gathering together like an epidermal concertina,
she made an approving, “Mmmm … Do you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh yes! Quite delightful,
dear! So, though you may have been in danger of the full force of Her Majesty’s
justice being thrust upon you, at least you’ve found another colour for your
wardrobe … so every cloud and all that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Her spirits visibly
lifted, one turned and glided away elegantly along the pavement, humming a adhoc assemblage of notes. A visitor to our charming village heard one as one passed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">" Oooo! That sounds like Cheryl Cole's new song!" She said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">One stopped ... looked at the woman right in her eyes <i>(although it was quite difficult with her right one as it wouldn't rest in one place)</i>, looked down at her synthetic attire, back up to her eyes, then slapped her across the dish and stormed off. Outrageous, one thought!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">After a few
steps, one turned for one last time, to reassure oneself that one’s friend was
well. Looking past the unpleasant individual who had insulted one so, as she bent over clutching her left cheek, one saw Daphne. She seemed engrossed in the lifting of her right book to the side of her
face to analyse the colour </span>complementation<span style="background-color: white;"> of the sticky pouch in her rear view mirror.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">A crisis averted, one placed one's shopping in the back of GUSSET 2 and headed off to the beer garden of the Badger's Snatch for a stiff one with Fanny O'Dour.</span></div>Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-15537201191176137782012-06-20T23:29:00.000+01:002012-06-20T23:31:33.030+01:00X Factor Returns - Poppets Prepare!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Opening the pages of our local daily newspaper <em>The Evening Chronicle</em>, - a pillar of truth, justice and community news – one squealed with a mixture of delight and dread when one read the X-Factor is returning to our televisual pixels, with auditions being held - possibly - as one writes this fluidic wordage.<br />
<br />
A Caravan of judges <em>(and one refers to the line-up and their entourage flooding in, rather than them being towed about in a 4-berth box on two wheels and a porta-loo)</em> had descended onto the North East Riviera to assess the acceptability of the tsunami of talented poppets that attended the aforementioned auditions from one’s beloved region.<br />
<br />
Gary Barlow OBE had snuck into the region without even advising Crusty Hall. Quite outrageous and one naturally advised cook and one’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me, that if a call comes from the cusp-of-chubby poppet for tea and biscuits, he is to be rejected without delay and given an explanation that one is busy taking Boyzone up the rear for 'One Kiss At A Time' by the indoor pool. <br />
<br />
Tuloola Popadopalous was back in her judging role and going down well <em>(from the images glimpsed from her “special tape” one can hardly say one is surprised)</em> and crowds were screaming at the arrival of that rather peculiar creature, Nicole Shitslinger.<br />
<br />
Louis Walsh was of course on hand; the 4th judge added to the panel to make up the numbers. He was proving himself very brave visiting our region, as only weeks earlier it was reported, in the very same periodical, that he had got into a bit of a slanging match with Cheryl <em>y’nailed-it-Tweedy-Pie</em> Cole.<br />
<br />
Apparently, it all began after Cheryl had attacked Louis claiming, as a manager, had had done very little for Girls Aloud <em>(it was only fair when they, in turn, had done very little for music lovers around the world)</em>. Our hair dyed vixen <em>(and one refers to Louis Walsh and not our screeching Geordie Harpy)</em> hit back claiming Cheryl was in desperate need of singing lessons <em>(hear, hear, dear!)</em> and was just a clotheshorse.<br />
<br />
Anyhoo … One pondered this for a while and looked through a back catalogue of pictures of Girls Aloud’s biggest member; creased, crumpled and, occasionally, damp clothing hanging loose and lifeless upon a wiry frame? … Now that one comes to think of it … our little Irish imp of a poppet may have hit the nail on the head!<br />
<br />
Bravo dear!Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-69929734536947505392012-06-13T22:06:00.000+01:002012-06-17T02:18:48.728+01:00Diamond Jubilations - Dame Crusty Reflects.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgImHmPus1_g8esc7cwrdbEVH4mc8hrEx_N2i1ByZUunXdimlKMWNw6HQLfSHmAQ6ICbcXZ5GefmUJf_Qfuq8JcVll2Ht1Hu_8rhn5CJ2g_AHnZmbMHL0e3rPBisWU_aYPp6iYlWTcCOvI/s1600/Jubilee.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" pca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgImHmPus1_g8esc7cwrdbEVH4mc8hrEx_N2i1ByZUunXdimlKMWNw6HQLfSHmAQ6ICbcXZ5GefmUJf_Qfuq8JcVll2Ht1Hu_8rhn5CJ2g_AHnZmbMHL0e3rPBisWU_aYPp6iYlWTcCOvI/s400/Jubilee.bmp" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
As a nation, we have long been associated with a reputation for exquisite pomp and pageantry. Our long and ancient history and our traditions have made it impossible for anyone to match us in that regard. That was certainly the case over the recent Diamond Jubilee celebrations held in honour of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.<br />
<br />
An entire nation of patriotic poppets came together down The Mall <em>(and that’s quite an accomplishment, one can assure you!)</em> over four days of regal festivities.<br />
<br />
On the Sunday, the armada of aquatic vessels on the Thames was magnificent, despite the horrendous weather conditions. As the troop of operatic singers sang their tribute to Her Majesty on the orchestral barge, mascara trickling down their cheeks and their hair sodden, one squealed with glee at their sacrifice.<br />
<br />
The day after, Monday, saw the long awaited and much hyped Diamond Jubilee Concert, organised by the Take Thatularly delicious Gary Barlow. He certainly had his work cut out for him, trying to please a population with such diverse tastes in musical entertainment but if anyone was able to accomplish the task, it was he.<br />
<br />
Here at one’s beloved Crusty Hall, one reclined elegantly on the faux fur covered chaise in Litten’s <em>(the bar at Crusty Hall)</em>. The walls were festooned with Union Jacks and Bunty was hanging from every picture. The scene was set for one to enjoy the star-studded extravaganza. Chu Me was armed with a bottle of gin behind the bar and on standby to satisfy one’s needs for the crystal clear elixir while one’s pussy, Crotchet, lay against ones left thigh looking completely disinterested by all the fuss and licking his … <em>(oh dear!)</em>… well … let’s just say he was cleaning himself.<br />
<br />
As the Royal Family settled in their seats and the crowd, gathered around them, cheered, we were off!<br />
<br />
A rather portly Robbie Williams opened the show with ‘Let Me Entertain You’ <em>(One thought, it’s a little bit late in your career to be starting now, dear)</em>. He was being flanked by a line of Coldstream Guards blowing their long and slender horns. We were also tret to a small pianotic interlude from the highly digitally dextrous Lang Lang. His addition was most welcome but upon seeing him Chu Me’s face dropped.<br />
<br />
“One feels your pain, dear. If only Gary Barlow knew how well you played chopsticks, one suspects you would have been asked instead.”<br />
<br />
Then slight glimmer of what might have been brought a smile back to his face, despite the fact one was talking nonsense. Needless, to say it was all going rather well. Rob Brydon began the hosting of the show and was a good choice. He’s of that neutral variety is he not? He can be funny and … cannot be funny … but he is of sufficiently impish appeal that … well … you’d forgive him anything, simply tilt the head with a slight smile and say, “Bless!”<br />
<br />
When the leg-bucklingly gorgeous legend Tom Jones took to the stage, one could feel every natural fibre of one’s undergarments disintegrate with each note that exploded from his voice box. This tsunami of pleasurable oscillations lapping over one’s epidermal expanse was brought to an abrupt halt, however, when one was more than a little disturbed and caught off guard with the control of one’s gag reflex when one saw Cheryl y’-nailed-it-Tweedypie Cole standing aside Gary Barlow in an over-the-top synthetic frock. Was she there to clean up after everyone was finished, one wondered? Was she serving bags of chips to the audience, perhaps? No … one’s worst fears were realised when the music started and one realised she was going to “sing”.<br />
<br />
As she started screeching the first lines of the forgettable song, one held one’s throat to keep at bay the rising bile. One wondered how many witches tits there must have been, throughout our land, that were envious at just how flat she was. Had she been a Michelin tyre one suspects even ATS would have been unable to seal her hole.<br />
<br />
Dame Elton John was quite magnificent, though when he walked on stage with his little buttocks clenched, in his pink sequinned jacket one did have to send one’s faithful houseboy to one’s dressing room to ensure one’s own was still there. As the sound of Chu Me’s flip-flops slapped with increasing repetition, one shouted, “He only wanted to borrow it for a sample pot from B&Q, dear. One never said he could keep it!”<br />
<br />
The legendary, iconically delicious Grace Jones was breathtaking! Singing an all time favourite of the Crusty residence, one could feel one’s foot tap against the parquet flooring as one fixed one’s eyes on her hoop.<br />
<br />
One suspects it came as no surprise to anyone when Dame Birley Shassey was wheeled out. She looked quite remarkable for her age. Her hair was coiffured into a pleasant style and she complemented her white ensemble with a sheer cape; an ideal choice of garment to disguise the bingo wings as she belted out ‘Diamonds Are Forever’ <em>(they certainly are, dear, but a taut upper arm, alas, is not)</em>.<br />
<br />
Anyhoo … as well as the acts being diverse, so too were the presenters. Naturally, Rolf Harris was invited along and for his segments one felt he couldn’t have fawned over Her Majesty to any greater extent. Just one gnat’s testicle more and he would have been either arrested for performing an indecent act on royalty or be starring in a black market XXX-rated DVD for the top shelves of a local sex emporium. Still, he is an icon of our nation and one must say, one was rather alarmed when Lenny I-was-funny-once-on-a-talent-show-in-1975 Henry, interrupted Rolf as he performed with Two Little Boys. Needless to say, the crowd turned and Mr. Henry realised the error of his ways. As Lenny withdrew from behind, Rolf continued to finish off Two Little Boys in front of a mesmerised audience.<br />
<br />
One was certainly enjoying it all. So much so, before one knew it, while munching on a Mediterranean nibble, the last act of the night was coming on. The levels of excitement welled up inside one. For several seconds one was convinced one’s hooters were going to explode with pounding exhilaration. <br />
<br />
“Who could it be?!” One squealed, gripping the arm of the chaise.<br />
<br />
One could not find the words to express one’s utter disappointment and devastation when one discovered it was … Sir Paul McCartney. <br />
<br />
“Dear Lord!!” One cried, “He couldn’t sing at the last one! There’s very little chance he’ll be able to now!” Even Crotchet jumped down from the chaise and walked out of the bar giving a little pump of disgust as he walked into the adjoining room.<br />
<br />
As one feared, the performance was terrible and as one watched him sitting at the piano singing ‘Live & Let Die’, one looked at his jowelled face – the appearance of which resembled a toothless hobo sucking on an onion – and wondered if his memory was fit enough to take him back to a time when he could actually hit a note.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, the myriad of exploding fireworks that accompanied the performance drowned out the squeaks and croaks <em>(croaks so regular they would have given a whole new dimension to The Frog Chorus). </em>One should warn the world that he is booked to sing at the closing ceremony of the London Olympics. One apologises on behalf of Her Majesties realm now.<br />
<br />
All in all, the extended Bank Holiday fiesta was a roaring success and one fancies it brought a new sense of pride and unity to our great nation … and one is all for that! And one must say Her Majesty looked utterly delicious throughout the celebrations! Bravísima, dear!Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-44956841913720335502012-04-18T21:39:00.001+01:002012-04-18T21:40:08.232+01:00Samantha Brick - Beauty or a Beast? Dame Crusty Ponders.One was perched elegantly on the edge of a bar stool in the Badger’s Snatch, catching up on the local gossip in the village with the landlady; one’s dear friend Fanny O’Dour.<br />
<br />
All appeared to be well and all of the local businesses were avoiding the recession that we are constantly being told we are on the cusp of; Mr. Peppercorn’s butcher emporium was certainly thriving. This came as no surprise, as he has the most meaty, mouth-watering sausage one has ever set one’s eyes upon; encapsulated in a gossamer thin sheath. One can chomp on it for an age without feeling so much as a hint of gristle between one’s teeth. Seasoned deliciously, it always leaves just a hint of saltiness as it slides down the back of one’s throat. <br />
<br />
Pat Tissery’s bakery establishment had also seen a surge of eager shoppers grabbing her crusty bloomers while they were still warm; sniffing them, blatantly, as they rush down the street to hide them in their pantries.<br />
<br />
The only piece of scandal was that Mr. Craddick had escaped from his cottage in his pyjamas again. Due to a catastrophic failure of drawstring knottage, his bottoms had dropped round his ankles while he was buying a head of broccoli at the village greengrocers. A charge of exposure was averted <em>(thankfully)</em> when the local magistrate explained that by the time any passers by had made the effort to look at what was desperately trying to “<em>hang there</em>”, the outcome would have simply been a case of public exhaustion, of which there were no appropriate statutes. Mr. Craddick’s only defence was that it was a very cold day.<br />
<br />
Anyhoo … as one sat sipping a rather refreshing flute of chilled <a href="http://www.pereventura.com/" target="_blank">Pere Ventura Tresor Nature</a>, Fanny was wiping the rim of her bucket when she suddenly asked, “Oh, and what about that Samantha Brick, Crusty? Can you believe it?!”<br />
<br />
“One has heard her name mentioned, Fanny dear, but one couldn’t tell you who on earth she is.”<br />
<br />
“Hang on! I’ve got some copies of the Daily Mail under the bar that need to be thrown out.”<br />
<br />
“Only some, dear?” one questioned.<br />
<br />
Fanny opened the pages and showed one the pictures of the woman that was creating such an international storm.<br />
<br />
“There. That’s that Brick woman.” Fanny said, as she pointed at the images.<br />
<br />
“Goodness!” one replied, “Brick, you say? Are you sure her surname isn’t double-barrelled … and <em>Shithouse</em> hasn’t been removed from the end of it? Quite a sturdy girl, is she not?”<br />
<br />
One’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me, sat next to one, licking the crust of a, particularly large and hairy pork scratching. He glanced across at the photographs and sniggered, hunching his shoulders as he did so. <br />
<br />
“Now, now, Chu Me! Let us not pre-judge. Let us first examine the extent of this individual’s self-professed outer deliciousness.” <br />
<br />
Reading the article, it seems Samantha feels women hate her for no other reason than her ‘lovely looks’. She is of the opinion that her beauty is so intense that it has caused men to rush up to her with flowers, offer to pay her taxi fares at the drop of a hat and waiters to refuse to allow her to pay her bar bill; all because of her self-proclaimed gorgeousness.<br />
<br />
One sat and gazed upon the pictures laid out on the bar counter as the golden bubbling elixir of Catalonia passed one’s lips. <br />
<br />
At first one thought there was a look of Anneka Rice about Samantha. The sort of look that may have been achieved had Anneka let herself go. There wasn’t the same delicious smile, clearly, and she appeared to have split-ends any diviner would have been desperate to get their hands on to start dowsing for water immediately. Nevertheless, squinting one’s eyes and turning one’s head from side to front, side to front … very quickly, the resemblance was there.<br />
<br />
The body – in unflattering clothes – certainly didn’t support her case of womanly beautifulness and with her kite <em>(a Geordie phrase for stomach)</em> expanding underneath her mid-riffular section of fabric, one couldn’t help remind oneself that one must catch up on the goings-on in Eastenders, since the malicious murder of Heather Trott. <br />
<br />
The rather ample and mighty oak-like lower limbs protruding from below the hemline of her frockage almost led one to believe she was an athlete, or some such fancy … a shot-putter perhaps?<br />
<br />
Then one’s eyes lowered to, what one thought were, a pair of club feet, before one realised that there were just an unfortunate choice of chunky shoes that the poor poppet had mistaken for fashion <em>(if only she had had the foresight to consult one’s gloriously talented fashion powerhouse <a href="http://masatostudio.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Masato</a>, she may have learnt a valuable lesson).</em><br />
<br />
All in all, the assembled package was not in the slightest bit desirable.<br />
<br />
Furthermore, she had claimed that at soirées, men would flock to her; enchanted by her beautiful looks. Having looked at the evidence, one would suggest this has nothing to do with her looks at all. One knows only too well, when the gin-goggles are on … it’s any port in a storm for most men. Plus, we have all been to such functions and we all know just how warm these occasions can be. Judging by the armless frock she was wearing in one shot - one could not forgive any man, woman … or, indeed, family pet for trying to be within range of her bingo wings, in order to get the chance of a cooling breeze each time her arms stretched out for an oven-warmed vol au vent.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and, as our poor poppet Samantha looks into her opaque mirror, one can offer only sympathy to her for the fight she so clearly has against her cataracts.Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-32314484559164228392012-03-04T15:03:00.000+00:002012-03-04T15:03:22.075+00:00Eurovision - Chu Me Takes The Hump<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rIMmohv4tdXHKNgFO8t3C5-K9Cr2HsMDOKdL2YTkfQ-alYIBud21_8DJA6WYEwD5KhSe_wzGYXU-BagxNPPAx1QoLW5Q0yErcQQv_zqMiXkt86bxDNCO6AyyTNtdBOEm5fv5VpuEZss/s1600/englebert_bbc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rIMmohv4tdXHKNgFO8t3C5-K9Cr2HsMDOKdL2YTkfQ-alYIBud21_8DJA6WYEwD5KhSe_wzGYXU-BagxNPPAx1QoLW5Q0yErcQQv_zqMiXkt86bxDNCO6AyyTNtdBOEm5fv5VpuEZss/s400/englebert_bbc.jpg" uda="true" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hump for Great Britain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>One’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me, entered the breakfast room with a puzzled look on his face. This, combined with the erratic slapping of his flip-flops, and the history that he normally bumps into things when such puzzlement takes hold, one thought one had better investigate. One finished munching on the tip of Mr. Peppercorn, the Butcher’s, meaty sausage; swallowed; placed the silver fork on one’s plate and dabbed one’s mouth with the starched, white cotton serviette lifted from one’s lap.<br />
<br />
“What troubles you so, poppet? You look a little distressed.” One enquired. <br />
<br />
“Bumpy dick” He replied. <br />
<br />
“Goodness! Have you caught it in something, dear? ”<br />
<br />
“No! Any dirt bumpy dick!”<br />
<br />
One slumped back in one’s chair and look at him completely dumbfounded.<br />
<br />
“What on earth are you talking about, dear?! Have you had a stroke this morning? <em>(he blushed)</em> Do you wish one to call Dr. Pedic … and more importantly, after the reaction to the previous question - and bearing in mind we are taking breakfast – have you scrubbed your hands with Swarfega?”<br />
<br />
The puzzled look on his face changed to one of frustration. His flip-flops carried him, like a soldier marching on parade, across the floor to the television in the corner of the room. Switching it on to BBC1, he skilfully navigated to the text page to clarify the confusion, by pointing at the screen.<br />
<br />
“Ah! Engelbert Humperdinck, dear! Goodness, has he died? … again?”<br />
<br />
Reading further into the story one discovered that Humpy was, in fact, very much <em>alive</em>! Nevertheless, one could not believe what one’s eyes were digesting as they scanned the lines of summarised text. At 76 years of age, it had been decided that he would be the person to represent Her Majesty’s realm in the upcoming Eurovision Song Contest on the 26th May.<br />
<br />
Chu Me and I looked at each other … then to the screen … then to each other … then to the screen … then when we faced each other once more, he simply held out his hands at the side of him, shrugged his shoulders, turned and left the room shaking his head. The power of his silent gesticulation summed up the situation beautifully.<br />
<br />
Only this week, on BBC Breakfast, one had heard the gorgeous Sian Williams and the delicious Bill Turnbull tell of a recent independent report that said our elderly were not being cared for as they should be. One hadn’t realised that the solution was to put them on a stage in an international song competition in front of millions! What next? Wheeling Dame Vera Lynn out on a pallet truck, getting her to sing <em>There’ll Always Be An England</em>, then reversing back during the applause with a rhythmic <em>warning-beep-beep-beep-pallet truck reversing-beep-beep-beep</em> to then take her back for tea, biscuits and a game of Whist before bath time?! One thinks not!<br />
<br />
This year’s contest is being held in Baku, in Azerbaijan. This must not, of course, be confused with Ba’ku; the M-class planet from the Briar <em>(no relation to Richard)</em> Patch in Star Trek. That, you will all remember, was the planet that had a ring saturated with metaphasic radiation and kept the populous from aging a single day. One fancies Humpy’s ring has been saturated with an altogether different type of radiation <em>(possibly sunbeds) </em>and alas the secret of eternal youth has eluded him.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2DmEHOtSzypC-GuLwT9o5h2MzW6NYX9N_DiKMqSrryo3lmhsH3fin48dI7jTei3hFcvk8jl08tGWnjVzcIlGoAIsoBPvSGtFxkOmivK7N1nyzpFgdbWMRXYuD8J0ThCyr9Vy_W758Kk/s1600/Engelbert%2520Humperdinck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2DmEHOtSzypC-GuLwT9o5h2MzW6NYX9N_DiKMqSrryo3lmhsH3fin48dI7jTei3hFcvk8jl08tGWnjVzcIlGoAIsoBPvSGtFxkOmivK7N1nyzpFgdbWMRXYuD8J0ThCyr9Vy_W758Kk/s320/Engelbert%2520Humperdinck.jpg" uda="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Humpy rehearsing: <em>"Stop! Let's not do close ups, guys!</em></td></tr>
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Though quite the hotty in his youth <em>(one suspects making many a lady-fan’s undergarments disintegrate with admirational pleasure)</em> he has sadly fallen into a state of disrepair. In some recent library pictures one has even noticed the waistband of his trousers resting higher than that of Simon Cowell! What will the world think of us? All the world’s <em>yoof </em>parading around with their low swinging gussets and buttocks hanging over their jeans and we’re doing the very opposite with the belt loops practically being slotted over an aging man’s ears! Is it the right contrast of styles one wonders?</div><br />
Anyhoo …the BBC have decided on Humpy for his appeal throughout the world and the chance that the realm of Her Majesty may be saved from disgrace with all the Euro shenanigans and global interference that are currently going on. Let us pray they are right!<br />
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There is no information, as yet, as to the song that our veteran crooner will be performing, but let us hope it is nothing too racy; one over-eager thrust of his pelvis may result in an embarrassing onset of hip dysplasia … and that is most definitely not what one wants to see on the international stage from an icon of yesteryear.<br />
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Further more, unless the song is of a Latin nature, one would recommend he stands very still while performing. Too much movement may reproduce an unacceptable sound of castanets from the clicking of his knees and may very well penalise us on points.<br />
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Needless to say, our gladiator has been chosen and one wishes Humpy good luck. The nation is behind you offering their support ... and a chair should you need to have a sit down.Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-14814268201912253812011-12-03T22:37:00.000+00:002011-12-03T22:37:46.991+00:00Dame Crusty Ponders - Marsh or Quagmire?On Thursday evening, one was reclining on the chaise in the conservatory watching one’s weekly mental injection of political shenanigans on the glorious BBC; <em>Question Time</em> and <em>This Week</em>.<br />
<br />
One normally doesn’t step into the world of politics. One does not possess shoes of adequate dullness, which could be deemed appropriate enough to step into the cess pit of self importance and spin-laden nonsense offered by our MPs.<br />
<br />
Anyhoo … having watched a less than eventful <em>Question Time</em> and while waiting for the commencement of the Dame Crusty Follow Friday Frenzy in the Twitterverse, Chu Me poured one a Baccarat tumbler of gin and one settled back to view <em>This Week</em>. There is always a little game Chu Me and I like to play. We see who can guess the colour of Andrew Neil’s hair … against those set out on the Cuprinol colour card. This week he had opted for a dark mahogany <em>(and by the looks of it, one was unclear if he had had it applied with a brush or if he had, instead, been dipped)</em>.<br />
<br />
During the introduction of this week’s guests, one found a vaporised spray of gin exploding from one’s lips as Andrew described Jodie Marsh as “a bodybuilding glamourpuss”!<br />
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One was astounded! <br />
<br />
One was not quite sure if “glamourpuss” was the correct descriptive. Yes, the ending could certainly be “uss” … but with a nose that even Michael Jackson would have laughed at and returned for a full refund, one fancies a far more appropriate stem would’ve been “hiddy”.Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-51896853250594757652011-11-27T23:32:00.000+00:002011-11-27T23:32:19.809+00:00Crusty Reflects On Jungle ShenanigansReality television seems to have taken over our lives once more, has it not? It seems wherever one goes one can’t avoid it and every member of the village, that is beneath one’s beloved Crusty Hall, wishes to discuss dancing-Xfactorial-Jungular shenanigans at every available opportunity.<br />
<br />
It was only yesterday that one visited the village hardware emporium. Chu Me had watched an excessive number of his old specialist nature videos and was in need of something to clean a rather worn out head. One, on the other hand, was in desperate need of a screw. <br />
<br />
One had to secure a picture on the oak panelled wall of <em>Litten’s</em> - the bar at Crusty Hall. One’s most treasured poppet Jake Canuso – beautifully hung, with a magnificent frame – kept coming off and dropping heavily on one’s forearm. It was not right that such a delicious creature should suffer in such a outrageously gravitorial manner, so action was required.<br />
<br />
Now, you would have thought that at least one member of household staff would have had a screw somewhere on the premises, but it was sadly not to be <em>(although, there is an unidentified stain on the carpet in the library. One is led to believe that the heady scent of a mixture of Cillet Bang and Brasso can be a potent aphrodisiac to those in service ... but that's a matter for another time.) </em><br />
<br />
Anyhoo …While one’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me, waited outside in GUSSET 1, one entered the hardware shop to find Felicity Flakes standing behind the counter. It was clearly a slow morning, as she stood there with a look of pure boredom on her face, trimming the ends of her nail extensions with a pair of rubber-grip secateurs over the waste paper basket. With each spring-loaded snip, shards of painted plastic ricocheted off the small packets of drain cleaner displayed at the side of the 1960’s cash register, missing the receptacle below entirely.<br />
<br />
Even here, among the myriad of tools and utensils of do-it-yourself manufacture and productivity, one was still confronted by the banality of it all.<br />
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”Good morning, Dame Crusty. Nice to see you again.” Then with not so much a second’s breath, continued “Did you see <em>I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here</em> last night? Wasn’t it really exciting?!”<br />
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One reflected for a moment. One had indeed seen the show, though one thought a more appropriate title would have been <em>I’m A Celebrity Watch Me Almost Chuck My Ring Up</em>. For on the first instalment one had seen, one witnessed the comedic legend Freddie Starr and Mark Wright, from a Channel 4 fly-on-the-wall series, sitting down to enjoy a feast – if indeed ‘enjoy’ is the right word – of strange fayre and animals body parts.<br />
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First a fermented egg. Chu Me sat at the far corner of the Doctor Christian Room salivating; this delicacy was much sought after in his village, in a place far, far away. The odious elliptical item did not go down well with Mark Wright … indeed, it almost came up more times than it went down. Next on the menu was a pair of testicles <em>(and one does not refer to one’s gorgeous North East poppets, Ant and Dec!),</em> followed by the unimaginable treat of a kangaroo’s anus. Thankfully, that particular offering had been removed from the creature before eating took place, or the trial could have taken on an altogether more sinister tone.<br />
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To finish, our daring duo sat and munched on a Camel toe … and do you know poppets, since witnessing that, one fears one shall never be able to look at a person wearing hot-pants in quite the same way again!<br />
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However, the show is bringing us a plethoratorial infestation of celebs feeling their way around Ant and Dec’s humid bush. The Hollywoodian big hitter this year is – or rather was - Stephanie Powers …and one must say having watched only a couple of episodes with her behaviour being scrutinised, one can quite understand why, in <em>Hart to Hart</em>, so many people tried to <em>moider</em> her! What a controlling woman!<br />
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To make matters worse, the most recent additions to the camp were Sinitta who, for some reason, was being described as an ‘80’s pop star’. Though one fears ‘pop’ is a little exaggerated … and ‘star’ is certainly a little too strong … but at least they got her age right, so 1 out of 3 isn’t too bad, is it? <br />
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The other addition was Pat Sharpe. He was a disc-jockey, of some description, from the 80s or some such fancy. He was known for a rather ridiculous hairstyle that never took on – save on farms in the southern American states … where farm animals pray for a sip of Rohypnol when they know their owners have been out for a spot of line dancing and moonshine and return with an amorous glint in their eye.<br />
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Needless to say, he has - for some time – bobbed deep beneath the diaphragm of celebrityism and has, by good fortune, been plucked from his bobbings to make up numbers. Thankfully, his hair has improved …slightly … but sadly, his body and attitude have not. He may have an ability to put a record onto a turntable and stick a stylus in the groove, but his manner and personality one finds highly objectionable and one suspects a revival of whatever career he had will remain out of reach when he is finally tossed off by the viewers.<br />
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Antony Cotton is proving a valuable member of the jungle with his adept cooking skills and Lorraine Chase still maintains an exquisite elegance. Delight was the word <em>du jour</em> when one saw the gorgeous Crissy Rock participating, hot footing it from the set of one’s most treasured poppet, Derren Litten’s, filming of Series 5 of <em>Benidorm</em>, due for screening in 2012.<br />
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We even have a rather focused inclusion of former Olympic athlete … the mighty Fatima Whitbread; most recently seen walking through the foliage with Pat singing “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts” …<em>(was there ever any doubt, dear.)</em><br />
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One looked at Felicity, “No dear. One doesn’t watch it.”<br />
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She looked deflated. “Pray forgive one, dear, one must away. One needs to screw a gorgeous poppet against the wall of the bar before he comes off again.”<br />
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Turning like a ballerina on point, in one’s Gucci stilettos, one took one’s purchases and sashayed majestically back to GUSSET 1, while Felicity returned to the mutilation her artificial claws with her garden clippers.Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-59790834676179750782011-11-23T23:13:00.000+00:002011-11-23T23:13:02.037+00:00James Naughtie Sours Crusty's Eggs.One was sitting in the Breakfast Room in one's beloved Crusty Hall this morning, enjoying a sumptuous selection of morning fayre prepared by Chef. <br />
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One's faithful houseboy, Chu Me, had been up early to pay a visit to his chicken coup at the side of the stables. His cock was standing proud as he collected a selection of the eggs the chickens had produced for the household overnight.<br />
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Munching on a delicious serving of Eggs Benedict, one drifted slightly as Radio 4’s <em>Today </em>programme droned on in the background.<br />
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Suddenly, one’s munching ceased in horror as one briefly caught a short extract of an interview being conducted by James Knockedknees. He was discussing some topic or other <em>(the length of his questions often makes it impossible to remember what on earth he's talking about)</em> but one nearly choked when the interviewee kept mentioning <em>vaginal deliveries</em>.<br />
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As Chu Me nibbled the end of a buttered up soldier, one swallowed one’s mouthful and turned to the radio simply saying, “If it’s all the same to you, dear, one would still prefer to have one’s mail delivered by hand!”Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-8938014350975973752011-10-15T15:35:00.000+01:002011-10-15T15:35:11.899+01:00Strictly Come Dancing 2011 - A Crusty Review<br />
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Well, this year’s glitterlicious dancefest, <em>Strictly Come Dancing</em>, is underway!<br />
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One must confess one gets a warm feeling in one’s lady-garden when one sees the wrinkled, sun-kissed face of Sir Bruce Forsythe and – to some extent - his co-host Tess Daly; the latter normally adorned in an array of ill-fitting gowns and bizarre hairdos. One recalls her wearing something on the cusp of sexy two weeks ago, when her bottle-blonde hair was set in waves down the both sides of her face, like something from the early part of the 20th century. She looked adequately pleasing to the eye <em>(if you turned your head quickly from side to front, side to front, side to front and squinted)</em> but with her rocket-red mouth ... one couldn’t help thinking there was a hooker on the hunt for her missing lipstick. <br />
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Another time, the wardrobe department had advised Tess that bright yellow frockage would be a crowd pleaser. Alas, with her statuesque height, it only made her look like <em>Sesame Street</em>’s Big Bird in a pair of matching stilletoes and a platinum rinse. Then last week, the armless metallic number she wore served no other purpose than to remind one to have Chu Me remove the foil wrapped chicken wings from the Aga.<br />
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Anyhoo … there is an impressive line-up of celebrity fodder aiming to shake a tail-feather in front of the nation and the panel of judges; the ageless Lulu, the <em>One Show</em>’s Alex Jones, the gargantuanly gorgeous Audley Harrison, Nancy Dill’y’Dall’io and Holly Valance to name but a few.<br />
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It was also revealed that Holly had a fellow Australian to support her through the season’s shenanigans. Indeed, on the opening show, one’s jaw dropped and one’s inner thighs tightened when one saw Jason Donovan on one’s 32-incher with a smile - as bright as sunlight itself - beaming across his little face. He’s certainly aged well, has he not? Yet, one always recalls him at the height of his fame, having shoes that appeared to have been put together in a North East shipyard … great big hoofers they were! Now, however, his feet appear to have shrunk to a more agreeable size, which appear to be helping him float gracefully across the floor, consumed by the story behind the dance.<br />
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One’s dear twitterchum Russell Grant has signed up too. Now, many laughed at the delicious Russell, thinking he was going to be awful but one knew there was nibble footwork dangling from the end of those legs and, true to form, his nibble danglies have had one mesmerised.<br />
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The world of sport is represented by football bad-boy Robbie Savage. <br />
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During one video clip it was explained he’s known for being rather naughty and often dropping his shorts in public and, in case we viewers were not able to imagine such a sight, we were treated to a photograph of Robbie <em>(who was showing an unnecessary amount of nipplage in this particular episode, one felt)</em> standing on a pitch, being flanked by officials <em>(No, Chu Me … ‘Flanked’ dear!)</em> and exhibiting himself in a skimpy pair of white undercrackers, with his defiant arms stretched aloft. The visible lack of man-biscuit was disappointing but one took comfort in knowing that if football became too much and he didn’t win the <em>Strictly</em> <em>Come Dancing</em> competition, at least he had a successful career as a lady-boy ahead of him.<br />
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Before the series actually started, one was transfixed by the trailers for the show. Particularly, by a pretty young thing, strutting down a fictional BBC street, music playing, with an overly jiggly bosom. It was, of course, Chelsee Healy from <em>Waterloo Road</em>. However, ‘bosom’ doesn’t quite accurately describe a set of hooters like that! Especially when they look like a couple of activated airbags from the dashboard of 18-tonne truck! <br />
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As for the oddment of the line up, well this had to be the unveiling of Edwina Currie <em>(and if anyone should be wearing a veil –and a very heavy one at that - it is she)</em>. Edwina, during a promotional video, told the viewers that she was really worried about doing the show in case she got egg on her face. Goodness! Through the Major years one fancies she had much worse on it!<br />
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As it turned out, however, she was the first to be voted off. One suspects it was due to her lying on her back at the end of her routine and kicking her legs in the air to a ripple of applause, while flashing her expansive buttock region. Having said that, the ripple of applause <em>did</em> stop when her feet returned to the floor, so it may actually have been airborne thigh-slappage that had created the ripple and not the audience, as one had first thought.<br />
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So with one down the show must go on and the competition must continue for the winner to be awarded the prized glitterball trophy, though one suspects it is all in the bag for either the taught-torsoed Harry <em>He-can-beat-one’s-bongo’s-anytime</em> Judd or Jason <em>he’s-still-very-big-down-under</em> Donovan.Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-53445419248422650252011-10-11T23:40:00.002+01:002011-10-11T23:43:47.321+01:00A Moment of Reflection Munching a Meaty Ring.The heavy wood door of Crusty Hall slowly opened, as one grabbed the immaculately buffed knob and twisted it to the left. Señor Sol’s tentacles of light burst through the opening and bounced off the reflective surfaces of the tiled vestibule and ricocheted off the walls of the Great Hall.<br />
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At the foot of the steps outside, one’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me, had prepared GUSSET 2 for one’s excursion into the village. With one thing and another, it seemed like an age since one had ventured out of the grounds of one’s exquisite residence. One had decided that a blast down the country lanes, into the heart of the village, to partake of a snifter or two with one’s dear friend, Fanny O’Dour, at The Badger’s Snatch, would be the perfect opportunity to catch up.<br />
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Chu Me held the driver’s door open on the glistening silver Aston Martin as one elegantly plonked oneself into the leather seat. Once settled into position, he clicked the door shut. Blowing him a kiss with one’s glove-covered hand, one pushed the gear stick into first and sped off down the drive. In less than 5 minutes, one was pulling up at the front of The Badger’s Snatch.<br />
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Sashaying majestically into the front entrance once saw Fanny’s husband, Willy O’Dour, standing behind the bar. It was very quiet. The musical ping-ponging of the fruit machine in the far corner echoed out spasmodically; Veronica Mantrapp was sitting in a booth with a bottle of Brown Ale, a straw and a copy of the latest Hello! Magazine <em>(you wouldn’t think she was a model!)</em> and a pair of ramblers had stopped by for a sandwich and a cup of coffee to rest from their pointless journey.<br />
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Willy had his laptop on the bar and seemed engrossed in whatever he was looking at. So much so, that he hadn’t even noticed one enter.<br />
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”Good morning, Willy dear!”<br />
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“Ah! Morning Crusty.” Willy looked up, “We’ve missed you!”<br />
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“One must apologise, poppet. Things have been rather hectic at Crusty Hall. One has felt like a prisoner in one’s own home. But, at last, one is free!” Removing one’s gloves and resting them on the bar, one continued, “One thought one would nip down and catch up on all the gossip with Fanny. Is she in?”<br />
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“She’s out I’m afraid, Crusty. Daphne Dewdrop was in last night and asked her if she fancied seeing the new Sarah Jessica Parker movie today <em>(one shuddered … naturally)</em>, so they’ve both nipped into town.”<br />
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“A new movie you say? With Sarah Jessica Parker?” One enquired, trying to control one’s gag reflex.<br />
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“Yes. It’s called <em>I Don’t Know How She Does It</em>, I think. Can I get you a drink?”<br />
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“A glass of Pere Ventura Cava, if you will, Willy dear.” One replied, sitting on the supportive bar stool.<br />
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Willy placed the chilled glass of golden, bubbling elixir in front of one. He picked up a brown bag by his laptop and lifted it towards one, “Would you like a barbeque Hula Hoop, Crusty?”<br />
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“Very kind, dear!” One said, taking one from the packet and settled back with one’s drink. <br />
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Willy leant over the bar and continued scanning his laptop screen while one played with his meaty ring with one’s forefinger and thumb, before navigating it between one’s lips and enjoying a good munch.<br />
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<em>I Don’t Know How She Does It</em>, one thought.<br />
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She’ll certain never know the heartache of losing her good looks … but she must have all the best stylists at her disposal … she must have accumulated a sizeable fortune from her moderately successful career. Furthermore, she must have a plethora of designers flinging their outfits in her direction, to hang lifelessly upon her skeletal frame… yet she still looks like that?!!<br />
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One doesn’t know how she does it either, dear!<br />
<br />Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-71065777299502109012011-10-05T00:28:00.000+01:002011-10-05T00:29:00.974+01:00The Golden Twit Awards 2011 - Chu Me Nominates His Mistress.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
One was surprised, yet humbled to the core of one's bosom, to discover that one's faithful houseboy, Chu Me, had put one forward for this years Golden Twit Awards.</div>
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He decided to select one for the categories of Humour <em>(one does like to spread a little love, joy and laughter), </em>Writing <em>(one does offer one's scribblings on this very blogette)</em> and ... Fake Celebrity <em>(for which one held him by the neck and gave him a good slap across the dish!).</em></div>
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Anyhoo ... if you <em>are</em> fellow Twitterees and have leanings to place your vote for one, then you may navigate to the appropriate voting booth in a jiffy by clicking the image below. On arrival at the page, simply sign in with your Twitter details and off you go!</div>
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One must say one has began making preparations should one be victorious. One has set aside an exquisite outfit, designed by the fashion-powerhouse <a href="http://masatostudio.blogspot.com/">Masato </a><em>(Beverley Knight's not the only one to buy his elegant designs, you know?). </em></div>
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Also, one has had Chu Me send scented invitations to some of one's most treasured poppets; Jake Canuso, Derren Litten, Holly Johnson, Christian Jessen, Louie Spence, Dan Brocklebank, John Mason and Alex Nicolaou. </div>
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One thought they could dress in black Hom budgie-smugglers for the occasion - with bow ties <em>(naturally!)</em> - and be glistening in a fine film of baby oil, massaged carefully in to every nook and cranny of their epidermal expanse <em>(one thinks it best if one sees to that part personally, Chu Me), </em>then they can all take one up the aisle, help one onto the stage, where one can use one's oral skills to show one's gratitude - with one's poppets surrounding one in a semi-circle of oiled up deliciousness - before pulling them off one by one, to a ripple of applause and returning to our table to enjoy the rest of the evening with some bottles of bubbly and a few nibbles.</div>
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Goodness! One has rather enjoyed the evening already ... and it hasn't even arrived yet!!</div>
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Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-958366057644304512.post-10791575449830286072011-09-15T22:48:00.000+01:002011-09-15T22:48:14.132+01:00UK Deploys Weapon of Mass Destruction in AfghanistanOne awoke this morning to the wonderful – and long awaited – news that the Ministry of Defence had finally chosen to deploy our most heinous, lethal and abhorrent weapon into the heart of Afghanistan, in an attempt to bring the eternal battle there to an end; Cheryl <em>y’nailed-it</em> Cole.<br />
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While munching on a length of Mr. Peppercorn’s meaty sausage in the sumptuous comfort of one’s bed, one nodded approvingly at the decision that had been made. One’s faithful houseboy Chu Me attempted to tell one that she had gone there to motivate the troops, however, having burst into a state of hysterical laughter, with glistening droplets of joyous tears streaming down one’s face for 22½ minutes, one assured him his interpretation of the news was quite ludicrous. One still suffers a tad gigglelicious moistness at the thought even now.<br />
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Anyhoo … one is quite confident that, with the aid of some loud speakers strategically placed throughout the country and an impromptu concert where she sings a short <em>(the shorter the better, dear!)</em> medley of her hit, we will soon see the Taliban insurgents willingly jumping onto their own roadside IEDs and swan-diving majestically from the roof tops of tall buildings into the most densely packed areas of their deadly minefields with a overwhelming sense of urgency and purpose.<br />
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Once they have been taken care of, there is no reason, that one can see, why we can’t have all our brave troops back home with their loved ones by teatime on Saturday. <br />
<br />Dame Crusty Gussethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01246120392804754080noreply@blogger.com3