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Thursday, 17 December 2015

In which One pokes One's oar in where it's not required...

Instructions for getting the tea when your partner is late home from work
This recipe is for men only


Pour large Scotch
Light a fag

Open freezer
Search (among the easily prepared items) until you find some meat
Preferably some diced beef that hasn't been well enough hidden and was being saved for SLOW COOKING in a stew

dice an onion, being careful not to soften in oil, and chuck it in a frying pan with the non-sealed beef
pour in half a bottle of Worcestershire sauce
Boil to feck

Pour another Scotch
light another fag

Meanwhile...

place some pasta in cold water in a saucepan and leave

Enter sous chef

Sous chef, attempting to help places the assembled ingredients into a casserole dish, adds some stock, herbs and tomato puree and puts it in the oven throws the cold flaccid pasta in the bin and gets out some rice.

Man, sitting in the lounge with a face like he's chewing a wasp, gets the hump since he was 'cooking the supper' and he 'doesn't come in and start messing about with stuff when you're cooking' adopts hurt demeanor.

Ok, maybe One should be grateful to have such a kind and thoughtful Admiral in the galley...

One is!  One really is!

Pass the Gaviscon






Tuesday, 15 December 2015

In which One is absolutely fecking fed up...

Through the years
We all will be together,
If the Fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.
And have yourself A merry little Christmas now. 


One received a seasonal greeting in the form of a final solicitor's letter demanding One pay the best part of eight thousand pounds for the 'damage' caused by One's inoffensive butt.
Failure to comply will result in court proceedings.
Obv a load of nonsense.
Today One will be sad and a little bit scared, but One has the help of many previous victims so although the protagonist is no doubt rubbing her gnarled hands together with her customary fiendish glee, One shall prevail.
One's long list of previous harassment incidents have been deemed 'irrelevant' by the trainee solicitor acting on behalf of the 'person' in question, who incidentally isn't using her usual solicitor (they probably have had enough) but, each and every incident recorded is a fact and will be proven.
Today One shall be copying all the correspondence and mailing it to every flat in the block, because, 'a pound to a pinch of shite' I'll bet the residents are unaware of the large amount of our maintenance fees are spent on litigation.
Any road up, One shall have to grin and bear it until such time as I can sell my lovely home and escape...

                                                               ~

On to matters amusing...
A rather strange headline appeared in the Daily Mail last week, the premise of which was that 'Obesity in women is more of a threat than Terrorism.'
Really!
It has always been thus that a large woman is vilified simply for taking up space, but One was blissfully unaware of the threat us biffers cause to national security.
Are we likely to explode without warning?  Will one more sausage roll cause a random ignition of a fat girl, taking out innocent passers-by?
Who knows?
Police are currently abroad on the streets breaking up groups of more than three fat girls hanging around outside Greggs, luring them into black Marias with the promise of sugar-dusted mince pies.
What a load of old bollioks!
As if One hasn't got enough to worry about without the fear of being water-boarded and interrogated by the plod, just for being a biffer.


Tuesday, 8 December 2015

In which One carries a heavy load...

Little donkey, little donkey
On a dusty road
Got to keep on plodding onwards
With the precious load.
Been a long time little donkey
Thro' the winter's night.
Don't give up now little donkey
Bethlehem's in sight.


That's me that is, that little donkey...

One shan't have to worry about who's going to carve the Turkey Twizzler, since One is working Christmas-fecking-eve, Christmas-fecking-day and New-fecking-Year day an' all!

So, life at the shit-face goes on... and on... and on...

No matter, One shall prevail.

A call yester-eve from Aged P...

AP    'Have you seen Vile ex Husband? (obv she doesn't call him that, but for the purposes of this diatribe that's what he's known as) I just wondered how he is and what he's doing?'

LO    'Why would I have seen him?  I'm not married to him and for all I care he can go and boil his fecking head.'

Anywho, such is One's odd little existence...

Christmas is hereby cancelled in the Underground Lair and as for the New Year, it will go and come without herald.

Still, the tree's up and there's a couple of empty fag packets and a wine bottle underneath it and just to put the tin fecking hat on it, some bastard's parked in me space.

Ho Hum, deck the halls with soiled wet-wipes, fa la fecking la la bolliocks!

Tuesday, 1 December 2015

In which One's got the hump...

'Share if you love your daughter/mother/grandmother/dog/cat/son' on Facebook.
WHAT A LOAD OF OLD BOLLICKS
Or...
is One at odds with the world at large...
One is busy actually loving personages in real life and not on Facebook with the rest of the great unwashed.

Any road up, One is at odds with the general populous, since One

a     doesn't like chips
b     absolutely abhors popular culture
c     haven't put me Chrimbo Tree up yet

What is it with all that Strictly Come Dancing stuff?
One couldn't give a rat's fat who wins, or who dances at sodding Blackpool Ballroom.

One is at one with some, however, since is watching 'I'm a Celeb, shoot me in the head' or whatever it's called.

What's next?  Celebrity Amputations?

Anyway, back to the Chrimbo Tree...

Where to put it?  What to hang on it?

Since the Underground Lair is in 'special measures' yet a fecking gain, there will be a turkey twizzler and a length of tinsel draped over the unpaid debts/bills, 'twill be a severely cut down Festive Season, as per...

There won't be twenty quid for the homeless/sad donkeys/stray pussies or anyone for that matter, since One is on the bones of One's arse again.

Woe Woe Woe is the Christmas mantra from down in the Lair.

No matter, maybe next year will bring some good luck...