With An Armalite In One Hand And A Mop and Bucket In The Other...
Mood:  incredulous
Now Playing: Medea-Cherubini
Topic: I feel quite giddy.


Good Afternoon,

I've been a busy little bee today. I spent a full hour at the gym and am pleased to report a reassuring tightness in the buttocks. My empty cupboards then forced me into a spot of shopping. I only intended to buy food but the lure of Dior cosmetics at only #2.99 in TJ Hughes proved too strong to resist.

Since getting home I have been lying about reading Marie Claire winding my brain down. I was particularly taken with an article about the McCartney sisters. Aside from being impressed by their bravery and determination I was struck by the following sentence describing the immediate aftermath of the murder.

'...specially trained IRA women arrived to eradicate any forensic evidence with bleach..'

Terrorist cleaners! Whatever next? I seem to recall ranting in an earlier post about female collusion with male violence. This, however, takes it to a whole new level. Do they phone up these moronic bitches saying 'Hi we've just killed someone, can you come and clean up?' IRA cleaners! I wonder if there are loyalist cleaners as well. That could get very nasty knowing how competitive most women get about that sort of thing. Do you think they go round to each others post clean up murder scenes looking for evidence of sloppy work? Truly, the mind boggles.


I have little else to report so will go back to Marie Claire and the papers.


Cheerio

I Have Finally Found My Calling in Life.
Mood:  chatty
Now Playing: Career Opportunities- The Clash
Topic: I feel quite giddy.



Afternoon,

There I was one eye open reclining on my couch watching a heated debate about 'chavs' on Heaven and Earth on BBC2 this morning, the last thing I was expecting was to find my calling in life, but that's exactly what happened.

Following the 'chav' debate which can be summarised as 'they're idiots' 'no they're not' 'well they are but it's not their fault', the presenters decided to have a look at the morning papers and that's when I found my vocation. Remember people, you read it here first. I am pleased to announce that for the meagre sum of #25,000 per annum I will be delighted to accept a position as a 'thinker' for any individual or organisation that requires one.

Apparently Bristol City Council have employed pretentious arse Pat Kane formerly of Hue and Cry as the city's official thinker. Click here if you don't believe me. Don't be fooled by the drivel on this blog. I am clever. I can think. I have plans in my head for the secularisation of the Scottish education system, environmentally friendly, socially affordable housing, reform of the asylum system and all sorts of clever, important stuff. I'm a one woman manifesto, ready to seize power at a moments notice, should the people request it. I love thinking, I'd be a great thinker. All I'd need in addition to the aforementioned modest salary would be my own office with a nice view. That's it. No support staff, no red carpet, no selection of small animals to play with. Just my own office and #25,000 a year. I'm a bargain.

Interested parties can contact me at the e-mail address in my profile or leave their details in the comments bit below. Those of you who came for laughs and have been disappointed can click here and laugh at pictures from Geri Halliwell's new video.


Cheerio.

I'm a Mother!
Mood:  celebratory
Now Playing: Jamie Come Try Me- Eddi Reader
Topic: I feel quite giddy.


Congratulate Me! It's official. I am a mother. A parent. Oh yes! There I was having a post Footballers Wives swish about the net, when on a whim I decided to look into this internet adoption caper. Before I knew it I had adopted little Henrietta. It's true, she's not a conventional child, but to see her is to love her. The adoption papers are on the way in, what I am told is an attractive presentation folder.

Of course little Henrietta won't actually live with me as a result of my self-obsession disorder. Instead she'll live on Hillside Farm with lots of little animals to chat to and will keep in touch via newsletter.

I haven't consulted my sparring partner about any of this so I will be a single mother. For help and support I shall be relying heavily on my readers. Little Henrietta will be like a sort of blog adoptee. A collective adoption, if you like.

I identified with Henrietta the moment I clapped eyes on her little face. I used to work in a call centre, so I understand the battery-hen experience to an extent. Naturally Henrietta is a super-intelligent hen that can write letters. I'm wildly excited I've never had a newsletter from a hen before! Not even once! I wonder if Henrietta will actually do the typing or if she will lie on chaise lounge, Barbara Cartland style and dictate. I will of course keep you all posted.

I must go now. I have to explain to wee Belle (my guinea pig) that just because our little family has got bigger I don't love her any less.

Apopt Now! It's very rewarding.

Cheerio

GAIL PORTER IS ALIVE!
Mood:  lyrical
Now Playing: Na Na Na Na Naa-The Kaiser Chiefs
Topic: I feel quite giddy.


There is no real point to this post. I'm just into the discipline of regular posting. Take note Sian and Danny.

Excuse me whilst I fight back the tears of empathy I am currently shedding over Gail Porter's bid for attention/suicide attempt.

I have been of the opinion she was a complete halfwit since she said she cried when FHM projected a picture of her arse on to The Houses of Parliament.

What's her problem? I would love my arse projected onto any public building. In fact I feel another of my campaigns coming on. I demand that you all write to Tony Blair and order him to commission a nightly projection of my arse on to The Houses of Parliament. The Project Clairwils Arse Campaign can, I feel only help the Olympic bid. And my mum would be so proud.

Strolling back to the point-Gail Porter. When I heard the news of her cheap publicity stunt/suicide bid, my reaction was- who gives a fuck? Well OK I might have smirked a bit. But lets compare the above with one of her fans whose comment I have kidnapped from a rival website.

Jase Mar 27th, 2005 - 12:37:46 PM
Thank goodness the Dr saved her in time. Depression is an illness that *can* be cured.
Hope she recovers soon, she's very tasty.

Well thats bound to her the world of good eh? Just as well she hadn't lost her looks or Jase would be out with his sawn-off shotgun to finnish the job. Surely he can't be that short of birds to wank over.

Anyway on to more important topics-me. I spent yesterday pottering about the town and bought some pants and a bra.

This is more difficult than you may imagine. The first problem was that all the shops have decided to stock 'pretty and feminine' underwear. Like most Glaswegian women I'm built like a fucking tank, therefore 'pretty and feminine' is, apart from being shit and twee, somewhat unrealistic. So making a virtue of necessity I realised some years ago that the nearest I was getting to sexy was to aim for the 'hoor' look.

After tearing through all the pastel coloured bras and drawers my fellow carthorses were deluding themselves into purchasing I finally located something matching in red and black and reasonably transparent.

And then a woman stole them! I'd rested my bra and pants on a display to look at some reduced tarts drawers and a big fat bird thieved them! She was twice my size at least and had a faint suspicion of a moustache! What did she want with my underwear? I thought about apprehending her but I didn't fancy the idea of cutting about in scanties she'd had her mitts on.

Fortunately I was able to find a suitable alternative. But yuck! What can it all mean? Is it some sort of lesbian mating ritual? If so, all I can say is that the moustachioed witch has got ideas well above her station.

I spent the evening with my sparring partner watching a Cheaters DVD. The majesty of that show cannot be overstated. To the unfamiliar the format is simple. Every week astonishingly stupid and unattractive Americans summon Tommy Grand and the team to spy on their partner, who they suspect of shagging around.

Tommy then shows them the videotaped evidence of their partners deceit whilst giving off a faint air of inner gloating. The man simply oozes insincerity as he 'comforts' some minging bloater with words like 'so how do you feel as you think of spending the rest of your life alone?'. I strongly suspect that Tommy Grand has been trained by the CIA to break people.

Then, armed with the evidence the cheatee chases the cheater and co-cheater round a car park shouting JUST DON'T TOUCH ME! as Tommy oozes around uttering his catchphrase 'How could you do this to this woman/man/other?' You really have to see him gesturing towards the eighty stone intellectual Chernobyl of a cheatee in question as he says this to get the full comedy effect.

My favourite on the DVD episodes was the fat dull woman, who for some reason refused to have sex with her fiance.

I think I see where the problem was.

Lord knows, I'm not the most attractive person ever to have drawn breath, but if I looked like her I'd be lying in the middle of the road with diversion signs pointing up my fanny, shouting triple penetration please! I'd fuck animals, close relatives,Daniel and Natasha Beddingfield, the entire shadow cabinet, anything. Beggars cannot be choosers.

Please visit the Cheaters website. It truly is the gift that keeps on giving. Oh my god! listen to Tommy Grand/Habeeb's home page!

The lovely picture of my favoutite fallen idol Mike Tyson is there merely because I fancy him. I have no comment to make on Iron Mike on this post.

Cheerio.

Morrissey
Mood:  amorous
Now Playing: What the Moon Saw-The Band of Holy Joy
Topic: I feel quite giddy.
I went to see Morrissey supported by PJ Harvey at the SECC on Monday night. The Peej (or that lesbian to my mum-I know you can't choose you parents) was on fine form but hampered by shite sound.Then Morrissey appeared dressed as a priest of all things. I always wondered what a male Madonna would look like. Now I know. I must admit to having experienced some impure thoughts during the performance. A great evening.
On the work front I hosted my first training session and have formed the opinion that one of my trainees is unbalanced. The random interjections, the giggling and rolling eyes are, I feel clues.
But the best news of all is that Davis Blunkett has resigned. HAAAAA HAAAAA HAAAAAA! I feel about 2/3 of the euphoria I felt when Thatcher resigned. If his dog went rabid and attacked his baws I could probably go to Thatcher resignation euphoria levels.
Anyway its the obligatory office party this Friday with an M&S buffet no less. I shall of course report all scandal.