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; Question Time and This Week.
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.
Anyhoo … having watched a less than eventful Question Time 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 This Week. 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 (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).
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”!
One was astounded!
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”.
Saturday, 3 December 2011
Sunday, 27 November 2011
Crusty Reflects On Jungle Shenanigans
Reality 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.
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.
One had to secure a picture on the oak panelled wall of Litten’s - 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.
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 (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.)
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.
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.
”Good morning, Dame Crusty. Nice to see you again.” Then with not so much a second’s breath, continued “Did you see I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here last night? Wasn’t it really exciting?!”
One reflected for a moment. One had indeed seen the show, though one thought a more appropriate title would have been I’m A Celebrity Watch Me Almost Chuck My Ring Up. 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.
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 (and one does not refer to one’s gorgeous North East poppets, Ant and Dec!), 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.
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!
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 Hart to Hart, so many people tried to moider her! What a controlling woman!
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?
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.
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.
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 du jour 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 Benidorm, due for screening in 2012.
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” …(was there ever any doubt, dear.)
One looked at Felicity, “No dear. One doesn’t watch it.”
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.”
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.
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.
One had to secure a picture on the oak panelled wall of Litten’s - 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.
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 (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.)
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.
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.
”Good morning, Dame Crusty. Nice to see you again.” Then with not so much a second’s breath, continued “Did you see I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here last night? Wasn’t it really exciting?!”
One reflected for a moment. One had indeed seen the show, though one thought a more appropriate title would have been I’m A Celebrity Watch Me Almost Chuck My Ring Up. 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.
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 (and one does not refer to one’s gorgeous North East poppets, Ant and Dec!), 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.
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!
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 Hart to Hart, so many people tried to moider her! What a controlling woman!
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?
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.
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.
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 du jour 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 Benidorm, due for screening in 2012.
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” …(was there ever any doubt, dear.)
One looked at Felicity, “No dear. One doesn’t watch it.”
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.”
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.
Wednesday, 23 November 2011
James 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.
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.
Munching on a delicious serving of Eggs Benedict, one drifted slightly as Radio 4’s Today programme droned on in the background.
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 (the length of his questions often makes it impossible to remember what on earth he's talking about) but one nearly choked when the interviewee kept mentioning vaginal deliveries.
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!”
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.
Munching on a delicious serving of Eggs Benedict, one drifted slightly as Radio 4’s Today programme droned on in the background.
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 (the length of his questions often makes it impossible to remember what on earth he's talking about) but one nearly choked when the interviewee kept mentioning vaginal deliveries.
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!”
Saturday, 15 October 2011
Strictly Come Dancing 2011 - A Crusty Review
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 (if you turned your head quickly from side to front, side to front, side to front and squinted) but with her rocket-red mouth ... one couldn’t help thinking there was a hooker on the hunt for her missing lipstick.
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 Sesame Street’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.
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 One Show’s Alex Jones, the gargantuanly gorgeous Audley Harrison, Nancy Dill’y’Dall’io and Holly Valance to name but a few.
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.
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.
The world of sport is represented by football bad-boy Robbie Savage.
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 (who was showing an unnecessary amount of nipplage in this particular episode, one felt) standing on a pitch, being flanked by officials (No, Chu Me … ‘Flanked’ dear!) 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 Strictly Come Dancing competition, at least he had a successful career as a lady-boy ahead of him.
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 Waterloo Road. 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!
As for the oddment of the line up, well this had to be the unveiling of Edwina Currie (and if anyone should be wearing a veil –and a very heavy one at that - it is she). 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!
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 did 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.
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 He-can-beat-one’s-bongo’s-anytime Judd or Jason he’s-still-very-big-down-under Donovan.
Tuesday, 11 October 2011
A 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.
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.
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.
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 (you wouldn’t think she was a model!) and a pair of ramblers had stopped by for a sandwich and a cup of coffee to rest from their pointless journey.
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.
”Good morning, Willy dear!”
“Ah! Morning Crusty.” Willy looked up, “We’ve missed you!”
“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?”
“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 (one shuddered … naturally), so they’ve both nipped into town.”
“A new movie you say? With Sarah Jessica Parker?” One enquired, trying to control one’s gag reflex.
“Yes. It’s called I Don’t Know How She Does It, I think. Can I get you a drink?”
“A glass of Pere Ventura Cava, if you will, Willy dear.” One replied, sitting on the supportive bar stool.
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?”
“Very kind, dear!” One said, taking one from the packet and settled back with one’s drink.
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.
I Don’t Know How She Does It, one thought.
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?!!
One doesn’t know how she does it either, dear!
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.
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.
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 (you wouldn’t think she was a model!) and a pair of ramblers had stopped by for a sandwich and a cup of coffee to rest from their pointless journey.
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.
”Good morning, Willy dear!”
“Ah! Morning Crusty.” Willy looked up, “We’ve missed you!”
“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?”
“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 (one shuddered … naturally), so they’ve both nipped into town.”
“A new movie you say? With Sarah Jessica Parker?” One enquired, trying to control one’s gag reflex.
“Yes. It’s called I Don’t Know How She Does It, I think. Can I get you a drink?”
“A glass of Pere Ventura Cava, if you will, Willy dear.” One replied, sitting on the supportive bar stool.
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?”
“Very kind, dear!” One said, taking one from the packet and settled back with one’s drink.
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.
I Don’t Know How She Does It, one thought.
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?!!
One doesn’t know how she does it either, dear!
Wednesday, 5 October 2011
The Golden Twit Awards 2011 - Chu Me Nominates His Mistress.
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.
He decided to select one for the categories of Humour (one does like to spread a little love, joy and laughter), Writing (one does offer one's scribblings on this very blogette) and ... Fake Celebrity (for which one held him by the neck and gave him a good slap across the dish!).
Anyhoo ... if you are 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!
One must say one has began making preparations should one be victorious. One has set aside an exquisite outfit, designed by the fashion-powerhouse Masato (Beverley Knight's not the only one to buy his elegant designs, you know?).
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.
One thought they could dress in black Hom budgie-smugglers for the occasion - with bow ties (naturally!) - and be glistening in a fine film of baby oil, massaged carefully in to every nook and cranny of their epidermal expanse (one thinks it best if one sees to that part personally, Chu Me), 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.
Goodness! One has rather enjoyed the evening already ... and it hasn't even arrived yet!!
Thursday, 15 September 2011
UK Deploys Weapon of Mass Destruction in Afghanistan
One 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 y’nailed-it Cole.
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.
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 (the shorter the better, dear!) 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.
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.
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.
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 (the shorter the better, dear!) 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.
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.
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