How to steal other people's money

What the heck just happened in Cyprus?! Incompetent, bankrupt Government asks their European 'friends' to lend them 10bn Euro to rescue the country from collapse.




Cyprus: "We are on the verge of bankruptcy. Please help."
EU partners: "How bad is it?"
Cyprus: "Let's put it this way. Our President has more spare change down the back of his sofa than there is available cash in our national bank."
EU Partners: "Auch! Been a naughty boy have we?"
Cyprus: "Please help, we need a 10bn Euro loan."
EU Partners: "Okay, no problem"
Cyprus: "Thank you so much!"
EU Partners: "No problem, what are friends for. We are one big happy family right? By the way we forgot to mention that to get the loan you will need to find 5nb Euro first."
Cyprus: "But we are bankrupt!?"
EU Partners: "You will think of something." 

And so they did! I wonder what 'financial genius' first came up with the idea that the Cypriot Government could simply steal a load of money from ordinary savers. Quick, get the Nobel price for finance out.

Makes you wonder why Cyprus needed a loan in the first place. Surely the Cypriot Government could just steal the full 10bn Euro. Or why not make it 20bn Euro - just to be on the safe side. I mean, when you are able to get hold of other people's money, make sure you use both hands!

I love the irony of it all. The Cypriot Government has made a major mess, but when it comes to cleaning it up - everyone is suddenly in it together.

A Cypriot Government spokesman suggested that it was the people's own fault, having elected such an incompetent Government in the first place!


Now I finally understand why they have the 'right to bear arms' in the USA. 
"So you want to steal my money? Well, let's see what Smith & Wesson thinks about that!"

Popcorn, bloody popcorn!

I don't like popcorn. Why? Because bits of shell get stuck in between my teeth forever. 
While watching 'Die Hard 1' I ate a large bucket of popcorn. Naturally a stubborn piece of shell got stuck and it was still stuck by the time 'Die Hard II' was released. After that I stopped eating popcorn.



Simon and I went to the cinema last night to see 'Parker'. It was my treat, so I wanted to pay for the tickets.

"Two tickets for Parker please," I requested from the young man operating the till. He had a metal stud by each temple, at the end of his eyebrows, and one though the skin under his lower lip.
"Do you want popcorn with that?" he replied without looking up from the till.  
"No thank you, and I don't want fries either," I replied with a smile. He looked up, clearly confused by my attempt of a joke.
"We do small, medium or large."
"No, just the tickets please."
"And we do sweet or salted?" His finger poised on the till, ready to take my order.
"I don't want popcorn."
"Okay, how about you boyfriend?" He looked past me at Simon, who was patiently waiting for me to return. "Does he want popcorn?"
"No!"
"If you buy two large popcorn, you get the second half price," suggested metal head, who  clearly had a bright future ahead of him as an irritating double-glazing salesman.
"Okay Mr & Mrs Townsend, that's three exterior windows and a patio door. Do you want popcorn with that?"



The situation reminded me of a story that Simon had told me. Years back he had been to Tunisia in North Africa on holiday when we was hassled by a street vendor, who wouldn't let he leave without selling him a carved wooden mask.

"You buy beautiful mask, yes? Only 75 dinar"
"No."
"70 dinar and beautiful mask is yours. You buy, yes?"
"No."
"Okay I see, you want more. Okay I give you more. 70 dinar and you can kiss my wife, and then you buy wooden mask?"
"No."
"You tough, but I not give up. 70 dinar, you kiss my wife and sleep with my best camel, and then you buy beautiful wooden mask. Yes?"
"No, I must go now."
"Wait, okay, okay! I understand. 65 dinar, you sleep with my wife and my best camel, and then you buy my beautiful wooden mask? Yes?"
"No, I really must go now"
"Wait, I give you final offer! 60 dinar, yes? And you sleep with me and my wife, together or separate, whatever you want, and then you sleep with my best camel, and I lend you ladder so you can reach, and then you buy my beautiful wooden carved mask, yes?"

I finally returned to Simon with our Parker movie tickets, without popcorn I am happy to note, and we quickly found our seats. It was an excellent film. Only negative was when I had to turn around and shush two men behind us, who was eating - guess what - popcorn very laud indeed.

After the movie, on the way back in the car, I noticed that something was not quite right 'downstairs'. I was itching a lot and wondered if Simon had been kind enough to give me a nasty STD?

Back at my flat I locked myself in the loo. I pulled my trousers and knickers down to have a closer look at the itching. And guess what I found in my knickers. Bits of bloody popcorn!!

The only explanation that Simon and I could come up with was that the men behind us didn't like that I had shushed them, and hence, they had decided to drop bits of popcorn down my back, while I was engrossed in the movie. Or as Simon suggested, maybe they were just messy eaters?

Either way I now hate popcorn more than ever before - whatever they are stuck between my teeth or somewhere else!

Two men in a pub...

Simon, my dead boyfriend, loves to make me laugh by telling jokes.

Here are a few of his best jokes (those that actually make you laugh!)

Two men in a pub.
- I am crazy about Diane even though she lives very far away. To keep in touch I have written her a letter every day for a year.
- Sounds great mate.
- Not really, she has just married the postman!


Teacher asks the class
- Why is English called your mother-tongue?
Someone from the back of the class answers.
- Because dad never gets a word in.


Father returns to house and meets his son.
- Dad. Dad! I drank a little vine together with mum and the postman today.
- Did you get dizzy?
- No not at all, but mum and the postman did.
- Really?
- Yes, they said that they had to go lay down.

(Simon got all red in the face when he told me this one, as he obviously thinks this is a really naughty joke. Bless!)

The inverted nibble

Recently, I acquired a new boyfriend, Simon, which has left me with little time for my five best girlfriends or writing my Blog. 

Rather than "The Koala speaks", maybe I should just rename my Blog to "The Dead Koala ", which seems to suggest that "The Koala" may not write a new entry any time soon. Takes the pressure off big time!

As for the girlfriends, I think they have given up on me going out with them Friday or Saturday night, like we used to do BS (Before Simon). 

Believe it or not, Simon and I still managed to run into them - well sort of. 

This Sunday, Simon took me to lunch in a pub on the edge of Bristol town centre. In the evening, the pub is heaving with drunk and sexually frustrated men and women, while the clientèle found wondering in around Sunday lunch time, when they serve up a half decent roast dinner for under five pounds, tend to be able to stand unaided and be less likely to vomit repeatedly in someone's handbag.

We sad at a small wooden table next to the bar and was tucking into the roast pork with all the trimmings, when I heard the two men behind the bar laughing their heads off.
From what I could initially make out, one of them had been working behind the bar the evening before, when a group of girls had walked in and sat down at the bar. 
One of the girls had been particular interested in chatting him up, and had after a little small talk asked if he wanted to pop around later and see her inverted nibble.



I don't know about you, but even if I was the last woman on Earth, and I somehow did have one or more inverted nibbles at my disposal, and it was up to me to save the human race by attracting a suitable mate, I would be unlikely to say: "Fancy a cup of coffee and a bit of inverted nibble at my place? Shall we say 2 am?"


As I sad there and looked at Simon shovelling down his roast dinner, I could not help but wonder what crazy woman would use her inverted nibble to pull a barman in a sweaty Bristol pub. And then it struck me that my friend Bev actually is the proud owner of an inverted nibble (I know because I have spend many an hour looking at it against my will, but Bev insists that I check it over once in a while to see if it is turning into a 'normal' nibble!), and that she is very much single. 
As not to put Simon off his pudding, which was quickly disappearing down the hatch too, I kept my suspicion to myself.

When we got back to my flat, and Simon had taken up permanent residence in the loo with the Sunday newspaper, I saw my chance to call Bev. 
After the usual greetings and chit-chat, I asked what she and the girls had been up to last night. Only to keen to let me know how much of an 'Oh my God brilliant night' I had been missing, she started off telling me about their evening and how they had visited the pub where Simon and I had just inhaled a large Sunday lunch.

"So, did your 'use-inverted-nibble-to-pull-barman' trick work?" I asked cheekily.   
Dead silence!
"Bev? Are you still there?"
"Maybe...," Bev replied. "How the devil do you know about this. Did you spy on us?"
"Spy on you, come on woman get a grip," I laughed "The barman told his friend, who is now busy Tweeting about it, and I just happened to overhear them."
"Oh my God!", whispered Bev. 
"And I just realised what my next Blog entry will be about," I continued. "Before long you will have people stopping you in the street politely asking you to expose your bosom and your special nipple. Bev, you are going to be famous!"
"Oh my God!!!", screamed Bev.
"So did it work or not?" I asked again. No answer, she had slammed the phone down.

Don't know about you, but I am keen for Bev to let me know if she got lucky or not, though it may take a decade or two before she has forgiven me writing this entry.

Sorry dear crazy and horny Bev, but the world just gotta know. :))

Pope Frances I - a real rebel!

First the abdication, then white smoke, we have a new Pope - Hallelujah! 

Finally, the world  makes sense again! After having camped out in front of the telly the last 48 hours, afraid of going to the loo in case I missed anything, a new Pope has finally been elected. (I guess this means that I have to go to work tomorrow?!)

I just can't help laugh because of the hysteria surrounding the whole thing. One woman, who was asked what Pope Frances Ist mend to her, almost couldn't get the words out. Crying she said: "It is wonderful, I am so full of hope for the future"


My initial reaction is why? Does she expect the Pope to drop by to personally help her with the electricity bill, the dishes or to put a good word in for her at her next job interview?

Pope: "You must hire this one, she is such a good Catholic, has never used contraception in her entire life." 



According to those who know about this Pope business, by selecting a 78 year old man from Argentina, the Cardinals have apparently send a clear signal that the Catholic church is ready to move in a new and highly exciting direction.

Pope Frances I is the first Pope to be elected from outside Europe in 1300 years, he is the first Pope to take the name Frances, and he is, are you sitting down, the first Jesuit Pope. 

Blimey, I don't know about you, but I can't take much more excitement. Sounds like the church and the Pope are completely out of control! Wonder if he is the first Pope to wear his underwear back to front too? A real rebel indeed!

Oh! I nearly forgot in all the excitement. The new Pope naturally objects to gay marriage, but he is apparently a staunch fighter for social justice and the poor, as long as they are not gay and want to get married.

At least the Pope is on Twitter, which should enable him to quickly get the message across that he and the Catholic church is staying firmly rooted in the past.

I believe this is called "Progressive Conservatism" i.e. standing still.  

Viva il Popa!

Mothering Sunday

Yesterday, it was 'guilt trip' Sunday here in the UK, also known as Mother's day.

I am sure there are millions of people, who on a daily basis pay tribute to their mother by complementing her latest gastronomic creation, making a thankful remark when finding that the dirty socks under the bed somehow magically have returned to the sock draw clean, or like myself keep in touch regularly on email and phone throughout the week.

An yet, if you don't participate in Mother's day by spending huge sums on a truck lead of flowers, mountains of chocolate, a tent sized card with a sickly sweat inscription and a meal out in a five star restaurant, well then you simply don't appreciate your mother. 
You are in fact viewed as extremely ungrateful, clearly forgetting that she carried you around for nine months, and that you have never really given her anything else than ugly stretch marks and sleepless nights.

If you dare to answer 'Nothing?!' to the question: "So what did you buy your mother?", well then you are looked at suspiciously as if you are in the process of farming you old mother off to the first and best old folks home, so you can flock her house and last remaining possessions in a garage sale. 

Mother's day must be the best business idea ever. Get one 1/3 of the population to feel guilty and get them to spend heaps of money buying stuff for the other 1/3.
There is simply no end to the variations, a goldmine indeed.

"Really, you didn't buy the guy who lives across the street from you, and who you have never spoken to before anything on stranger's appreciation day?"
Or 
"No wonder why your dog is upset with you. You haven't bought him anything at all to celebrate pooch's day!"

Clearly scared of being the only daughter in the UK, who didn't get her mother anything, I bought flowers and a box of chocolates. In fact, I was so guilty that I out of respect for my mother washed the car before driving the eight miles across town to visit her. I haven't washed the car for a while, turns out it is white!

My mother was of cause please to see me, though her joy dampened when she realised that the chocolate contained traces of nut. She has an allergy, and had to watch while me and dad eat the lot :) 

How sad that we measure love in how much money one spends on a particular Sunday once a year. Commercialising love and appreciation for another human being just seems wrong, and yet we have come to accept that this is the best way to show someone that we care and deal with our own guilt.

Anyway, just can't wait for Daughter's day! :))

Advanced diplomacy

For once, my boyfriend Simon is not coming over this evening. The flat feels a little empty and while watching TV I find myself missing him. Amazing how quickly I have got used to having someone around to make me tea, pop my favourite CD in the stereo and generally carry out my smallest, yet highly important wishes.

On the other hand a little 'me' time is always welcome. Firstly, I am completely in control of the remote, which suits me just fine. It stops me from having to watch the BBCs antique road show (Simon's can't get enough of the antique road show despite the program format is as old as some of the junk they are showing off!)

Also, I don't have to worry about the toilet seat being left up. It constantly catches me out. One minute I am happily minding my own business, the next I am having a freezing cold ring of porcelain pressed against my backside. As girls do, I first scream loudly, then I swear for a few minutes at Simon, while letting him know that if he really loved me he would surely be putting the bloody toilet seat down. (Yes, I know I could have checked, but it is far easier blaming Simon!)


While I am busy blaming Simon on behalf of all women, I of cause forget that the toilet seat is up. Hence, when I am finally ready to get back to business, I get the now famous cold-porcelain-on-naked-bum treatment a second time :( That should teach me!

Having settled down with a good book, the phone rings. It is Tracy. She is crying and from what I can hear, calling from a cake tin with bad reception. It turns out she is sitting in her car, having minutes earlier left the flat she share with her long-term boyfriend Steve after a heated argument.
"Tracy," I start, "what is happening? Are you okay?"
"Yes, we had a big fight! A really bad one," she sobs.
"Pure Tracy," I say, "tell me what happened."

An hour later we have to hang up. Tracey's phone is running out of battery and I am on my second ear, the left one fell off after 45 minutes.

In the end Tracy decided that driving around Bristol all night was not the way forward, and she returned reluctantly to the flat to speak to Steve. I write reluctantly, because my dear friend Tracy did have a lot of explaining and apologising to do. Explaining because she apparently had been receiving txt-messages from another man, and apologising because she, before leaving the flat, had told Steve to - and I quote - "get used to making out with himself and when finished he could always go fry his fat face."

As you may have guessed, Tracy is not much of a diplomat. If everyone followed the 'Tracy' approach to world peace, a few of us might be lucky enough to eke out a bleak existence in a post nuclear apocalyptic world inhabited by mainly rats and other beings capable of withstanding high levels of radiation.

And I thought Simon and I had issue! We practically look like an old couple, who have been married happily for 40 years! 

Simon, I miss you!

Bev's Canadian manhunt

What a brilliant evening - if I may say so :))

I had invited my boyfriend Simon and my five best girlfriends - Bev, Kathy, Sandra, Lisa and Alison to dinner.

Sharing your food with others are a powerful way of putting everyone at ease. Exactly the sort of approach to take when introducing your boyfriend to a bunch of inquisitive (read: nosy) girlfriends for the first time.

So there we were. Spread out in my living room, some of us are sitting on the floor, while others had opted for a deep armchair. Each of us digging into a steaming hot bowl of stew served with crusty bread. The stew contained beef, which is quite a novel ingredient as most people these days seem to be serving up horse!

It does not take long before the first questions start to flow from the girls.

"So when did you to meet," asks Kathy while looking me straight in the eye.

Before I can answer, Bev is butting in.

"Simon dear, how large is your penis?"

Okay she didn't ask Simon that question, but she will eventually ask it of me, when she has me cornered. Possibly when I am next in the loo, which seems to be her favourite place to hang out when exchanging dirty secrets.

Between you and me, Bev is crazy about men. I mean real crazy! Once she went out with this Canadian guy, Luc, who dumped her after just two weeks. 
Right after the breakup Bev disappeared of the face of the earth for a week. We thought she had gone into hiding. Mending her broken heart by crying her eyes out, like 'normal' girls do. But no, not our Bev. 

It turned out that Luc had returned to his native Canada, and was not living permanently in England as he had suggested, I can only assume, to convince Bev that he would still be around after she had slept with him! 
After Bev had figured out that Luc had gone back home, she managed to track down the address of his parents, who lived in a suburb of Ottawa.  This must have cost her a fortune in long-distance phone calls.
Rather than just phone Luc's parents, she purchase a plane ticket, as you do when you have spare cash but not a lot of common sense, boarded the first plane to New York and from there travelled on to Ottawa.
I am still not sure what Bev hoped to achieve by travelling all that way. And I am pretty convinced that Bev remains completely in the dark on this point too.

After a lot of travelling, she eventually arrived at her destination. Luc's parents must have been rather surprised to see a jet lagged woman staggering up their drive way, while dragging a small suitcase behind her.
Even more so when she knocked on their front door and introduced herself as: "Hi, you don't know me, but I am Luc's girlfriend from England. Is Luc around?"

After she had helped both of them to their feet, she was apparently invited inside for a cup of coffee, while Luc's mum and dad enjoyed something a little stronger. 

As it turned out, Luc was not at home because he lived in a different part of Canada.
However, more disappointingly for Bev, Luc's mum and dad insisted that he did not have time to see her. 
After having returned from his short holiday in the UK, Luc had a pretty busy schedule on his hands. Not least because he was getting married in two weeks!
(There is nothing like a bit on the side before the wedding vows start to bite!)

After that revelation, Bev decided that it was in everyone's best interest if she called off her manhunt, as it was unlikely that the bride-to-be knowingly would be interested in sharing her husband either before or after the ceremony.

So Bev returned home empty handed. No Luc by her side, not even an invitation to the wedding, which seems a little mean if you ask me.
=====

To be honest, I am not sure what I was so nervous about that I thought it was necessary to whisk Simon away to Devon. The girls behaved themselves very well all evening. 
Simon now knows who I hang out with, and the girls know who Simon is. Perfect :))

More beef stew anyone?

Murder in the bathtub

Right, Simon and I are still in hiding in a small hotel in Devon in Exeter. 


I case you are wondering, we are not hiding from the Mafia, though it clearly would spice up an otherwise pretty dull day and add a gritty edge to my blog. Truth be told, I just couldn't face my five best girlfriends and their 1,546,983 questions about me and Simon.



We arrived just after 3:30 pm, and have stayed in the room watching telly. Weird how exciting it is to lie on a hotel bed, watching day-time TV, while raiding the small bags of free biscuits. I am a simpleton!

Eventually our attention was draw to an old man and woman shouting loudly in the room next door. We guessed that they were in the bathroom together as we could hear a lot of water being splashed about in their bathtub. The splashing went on and on, and so did the shouting.

As you do, we started to invent scenarios, which would explain the sounds reaching us through the wall. Here are the top four:

1) The old man is drowning his nagging wife in the bathtub. (I am not sure I find this one funny. It was Simon's suggestion, so I guess I have to be careful!)

2) The old man is training breaststroke, and his wife is timing him and encouraging him by continuously shouting at him.

3) The old man is taking a swim with this pet hippo. (Based on the amount of splashing going on this will most likely turn out to be true.)

4) The man and woman were enjoying a quiet bath together when one of them suddenly had a small  accident. Both are now desperately trying to get out of the tub without drinking the water.

=====
Simon and I are going back to Bristol tomorrow. Before we get back I will need to explain to Simon what 'death by questioning' is all about, and who the executioners (Bev, Alison, Kathy, Sandra and Lisa) will be.

Crazy how frightening it can be to mix the girlfriend world with the boyfriend world.
But if I want both, which I do, then I have to be brave and bring the two together. 

Will let you know how I get on! Sleep tight.

A circling Shark and death by Car

Only God knows (and even He may be struggling!) how Bev figured out that I have got myself a boyfriend. She can almost certainly smell it, like a shark that can smell a few drops of blood from 5 kilometres away.

She phoned just before lunch, and one minute we are chatting about the weekend, the next she innocently asks: "So who is this new man in your life?"  
I could feel panic setting in. The shark was circling and I knew where this was going.

Simon and I have only known each other a few weeks, and I am not quite ready to unveil him to Bev, Kathy, Alison, Sandra or Lisa. 
If I tell Bev anything I might as well go on live radio and do it myself, and just for good measure write a front page article for the local newspaper at the same time. The effect will be the same. Everyone in Bristol will know. Some stranger will come up to me in the street and ask how Simon and I are getting on.

In short, Bev will tell Kathy, Alison, Sandra and Lisa, and from that point forward there is no knowing where it will stop. They seem to know everyone and a couple of them appear to live on Twitter and Facebook. Like a drip, it keeps them alive!

So I did the only thing I could do - I put the phone down! I know! Pretty stupid, right? Like trying to out-swim a starving great white with a pound of raw steak strapped to each leg.
Now Bev knows for sure!

I called Simon and explained to him that we were going away for the weekend.
Rather hesitating he asked: "When are we leaving?"
"Now, I am picking you up in 90 seconds"
"But I am having a bath," came his feeble reply. 
"Come on Simon, how long can that possibly take?"
"Where are we going?" asked my dear, confused Simon sensibly. I could hear running water in the background.
"Are you still having a bath?" I replied slightly irritated.
"Well yes, but as soon as I put the phone down, I will get out." 
(Don't you just wish that men just once in their lives would be able to multi-task!)
"Its a surprise," I lied. "See you in 5 minutes". I put the phone down. 

By the time I had finished my short conversation with Simon, I had three missed calls, three SMSs and an email - all from the girls. I turned the phone off and quickly packed a few things in a bag before they started to form a queue by my front door.

In the end, we managed to slip away from Bristol and have found a little privacy in an old hotel in Exeter in Devon. (This is my first blog entry from Exeter :)) )

Simon seems very existed. He has told me that he loves me being so spontaneous about the whole thing. Whisking he away in February wrapped in just a towel doesn't seem to have dampened his spirits! Bless!
==========

On a much more sobering matter. On the way down here, driving on some of the smaller country roads, we counted no less than seven badgers killed by cars.

I feel so terribly sad when I think about how many badgers must be killed all the time. 

The UK Government has considered culling 80-90% of all badgers in some areas to help combat TB in cows. By the looks of it, they can just leave it to the average car owner, who seems to be doing a brilliant job.

What a waste!

A disturbing bedtime story

Following on from yesterday's Blog about my boyfriend Simon and his leaky behind I just have to share what happened later that evening!

While we were watching a film on the telly, and being cosy on the sofa, Simon kept whispering in my ear that he was going to 'show me a good time' afterwards. As soon as he had said it, he 'kissed' me. I write 'kissed' though it involved Simon trying to lick the little thing that hangs down at the back of my throat.

That I wasn't sick all over him was more by luck than good manners on my part! 

Later as we were undressing and getting ready for bed, me just in my knickers and Simon still in his stripy socks and underpants, Simon pushed me over so I was lying on the bed on my back. He then grabbed both my legs and forced me into a position that can best be described as 'knees-to-the-ears and boobs-in-your-face'.

There I was, blind and half deaf, with a burning sensation down my spine as if one or more  discs were about to slip out of place, when I heard Simon excitedly ask me if I 'was ready to be nailed to the bed?'.

Now, I don't know about you, but I see two disturbing explanations why Simon, would ask such a question.
Either Simon had been taking cheap on-line lessons from a retired porn start in how to woo a girl at bedtime or alternatively, which is the more frightening prospect, he had recently been watching American Psycho on DVD and now wanted me to help him act out a scene from the film!

I managed to remove myself from my face, and while my spinal cord returned to its normal length, I had a very frank exchange with Simon - I shouted a lot and Simon sad with open mouth and listened. 

It turned out that Simon had not been watching American Psycho - phew! 
He just thought that a few well chosen lines from his brother's blue movie collection would lead straight to a woman's heart. Well it is not leading to mine! And Simon ended up sleeping on my cold side that night!


Our relationship should be plain sailing from here on, right?! :))

What NOT to share with your girlfriend

Simon and I are getting on famously. As most couples, we make small adjustments to our relationship as to better accommodate each other. In reality this means that I tell Simon about the things he needs stop doing because they annoy me.
Before you have a go at me, let me explain.

We have known each other a few short weeks and he has already started breaking wind in my company! Don't know about you, but I find that sort of unusual.
There we are, sitting on the sofa, holding hands, chatting about the war in Syria, and POP! He breaks wind, slips in a casual "sorry" and continues his sentence as if it was the most normal thing to 'share' with your girlfriend.

While I clearly should take this as a compliment and a confirmation of my fun, easy going nature, which is putting he completely at ease to the extend that he has lost control of his bowls, I have told him to be a little more discrete.

Simon has now adopted the policy - better leave the room than get send home by Laura! God knows what he is eating when I am not around. Monday night he turned up at six in the evening and by nine o'clock, we had spend about 7 minutes in the same room. At one point I actually thought he had gone home!


Besides the fact that Simon is producing enough methane to drive up global warming, we are having a great time together, except for a small 'situation' in the bedroom, which I will tell you about tomorrow. /:((

The Pope is (almost) dead. Long live the Pope.

Pope Benedict has shocked the world by announcing that he is abdicating. I note that the message was delivered in Latin, so there is a small but real possibility that something was lost in translation. 

Let's hope the Pope didn't say: "I am just popping out to the shops", and on his return finds that the world's news media has set up camp in Saint Peter's Square just because he had run out of bread and milk.

On a scale from 1 to 10 of the most outrages things a Pope can do, abdicating is right up there with public support for gay marriage or the Pope saying: "Hey, why don't we have a woman Pope next?"

The last Pope to abdicate was some 600 years ago, so this is clearly a big deal. The world's news organisations have gone into a frenzy. The BBC breakfast show was no exception. 
A live news feed at the bottom of the screen continuously fed the public news directly from the Vatican. Millions of people glued to their TV screens hoping to see the Pope enjoying his freedom from office by walking naked across Saint Peter's Square.

The BBC breakfast presenters explained that they were going to ask the all important questions: a) What was the Pope's legacy? and b) Who would be replacing him?



For those of you who did not see the BBC breakfast show, I can now reveal the shocking answers: a) Nothing noteworthy apart from his abdication and b) Most likely another out of touch pensioner, who can afford a fancy simmer-frame known as a popemobile.



Why out of touch you ask. Well let me put it this way.
The Pope, who I assume has not been married recently (If he has then that would clearly top the abdication story!), is telling man and woman all over the world how they should live their lives and plan their families or more to the point NOT plan their families by speaking out against the general use of condoms as if they were being promoted by a chain of family planning clinics run by the devil himself.

Okay I hear you. The Vatican has come out in support of condoms to "reduce the risk of infection" from AIDS. Time to celebrate! Let's crack open the alter wine and welcome the Pope and the Vatican to the 21st century.

And finally there is the small matter of guy relationships. As long as the Pope keeps on living in that big house with all those other men, he is not going to get much support from the gay community. Talk about throwing stones when you live in a glass house. :))

Anyway, I hope he enjoy's his retirement, should give him an opportunity to get out more, while a new 'Progressive Conservative' Pope aims to keep things just the way they are.
Hallelujah! Long live the Pope!

Fitting it all in or how NOT to raise the kids

My girl friends never ceases to amaze me. Take Alison for example. She is a mother of two wonderful kids - Jack four and Diana eight - and it shows! 
She let herself go a lot when she was pregnant, ate everything in sight. (Jack and Diana are not fussy eaters, and I am pretty sure they have their mum to thank for that!)

But despite her generous physical proportions she still insists on wearing a size 14. This weekend, she turned up at my flat asking for help closing the zip on the side of this little black number she had somehow shoehorned herself into. Her husband had already tried and failed, so it was up to me, Bev and Tracy to help 'fold' her into the dress. While Bev and Tracy did the folding, I carefully edged the zip upwards, trying to avoid bits of skin, boob or nipple getting caught.

When we were done, Alison was blue in the face and unable to breathe. Before she passed out she manage to smile a little and whisper: "Thank y...".

A couple of weeks ago, I called her and asked when she and the kids were up to. It turned out that she was upstairs on Facebook, so she could listen out for Jack, who was asleep, while Diana was watching "Resident Evil III" on DVD downstairs. 
Let me just repeat that in case you didn't get it the first time. Her eight year old daughter was watching "Resident Evil III"!

"Are you sure that film is good for her?", I asked dumbfounded.
"Yeah, she will be fine, she has already seen I and II," came the answer. "She seems to like horror films."

Sure I know it is not my place to judge how Alison raises her kids. But am I the only one who is thinking: "WHAT THE FECK!?!" 
It is official! Alison's common sense, whatever little there was in the first place, has been completely replaced by body fat.

I have decided NOT to give Diana a hamster for her next birthday.  God knows what she might do to the poor thing?
"Mummy, mummy, the hamster was evil, so I decided to eat it."

Not really sure what you give to a little girl, who can watch Resident Evil III without wetting her bed afterwards! Maybe a 'My Little Pony' DVD - just to even things out?!

The horse and the beef burger

I love horses as much as the next person. When I was a little girl, I enjoyed riding on them, stroking their soft noses and feeding them apples. Horses are brilliant fun!

Apparently I also like eating them - lightly grilled, and stuck between two sesame buns, with tomato ketchup and a large helping of gherkins. Yummy - not!

How do I know this? Because I was one of the lucky shoppers, who recently bought Tesco's frozen beef burgers, which turned out to contain a generous portion of horse meat. 
I have still some left in the freezer, but I am not sure that I can face another slice of 'Black Beauty' any time soon.

Clearly the UK Government's Food Standards Agency, Tesco and consumer groups are up in arms. Not so much because of the extra horse meat, but because the beef burgers was not labelled correctly!

This suggest that I shouldn't be upset by finding a bit of Shire Horse in my evening dinner, as long as the so called 'beef burger' I am eating, somewhere on the package, has the word 'Horse' printed on it.


Sure the label is important, but should we not worry about the fact that when I look at a horse, I see well... a horse, while others apparently see beef! 
Someone was clearly not paying a lot of attention when the difference between a cow and a horse came up in biology.

Obviously the UK's food labelling laws are very stringent  and as a consumer I can appreciate how easy it must be for a food producer to break the law.

"But Mr. food inspector, I can assure you that we don't know how a flock of horses gained entry to the factory and one by one jumped into the meat grinder!?"

To avoid the food industry breaking the law, I suggest the labelling of beef burgers be relaxed. Here is how this could be done.

1-"Beef burgers - may contain beef"
or 
2-"Beef burgers - with a hint of 'My Little Pony' "
or 
3-"Beef burgers - contains assorted mammals"

Yum yum NOT! 

The man who liked my fried eggs

What a brilliant 24 hours it has been!

Yesterday evening, my friend Simon came to visit. We have known each other for a couple of months, and he pops around once in a while to chat and look at my Victorian postcard collection. 

He is quite clever, compared to many other men, and is able to hold what I consider a normal conversations without mentioning football, his mother or confirming the name of his penis.

However, I had a suspicion that he was using the postcard collection as an excuse to visit me, because I only have 7 postcards and two of them are duplicates. Nobody can be that interested in postcards, surely?

It turned out I was right. One minute he was shuffling postcards and the next he was standing in front of me, looking me straight in the eyes, asking it we should be more than just friends.

Slightly taken back, I suggested that we could be really good friends.
I quickly continued, "I am not sure I understand, please explain?"

He then pointed to my heart. Well, I thought he pointed to my heart, but then he smiled a cheeky smile and pointed to my crotch. Men are so uncomplicated in these situations!

Turned out he had pointed at my boobs, not my heart! Still quite sweet and flattering, as my boobs are quite small, like a pair of fried eggs. (I am generally short on offers and compliments from the opposite sex, so it does not take much to impress me!)

So I have suddenly got myself a boyfriend, who is fond of Victorian post cards, enjoys my fried eggs whatever served during the night or the next morning for breakfast ;))

How did life get this good?!

"Oh my God!! We are all going to die!!"

Yesterday evening was almost identical to last Saturday. My girl friends, half drunk and semi naked despite it being February, turned up at my place. 


My flat has become the place where we hang out before I navigate the six of us towards the centre of Bristol, where I as usual, I am sure, will end up in a smelly pub. Yummy!

Why they insist on wearing those skimpy outfits I don't know? Because they were freezing cold their nipples looked like hazel nuts, that might just blow a hole in the material any minute and hit you straight in the eye. You properly have to be a male butcher to appreciate all the meat on display!

Before they were through the front door, I was greeted by the first "Oh my God!!".

In case you wonder, this phrase makes up about ~75% of the 'sparkling' conversation we share amongst us. Trust me it is riveting stuff! At times we seem to make less sense than a group of toddlers babbling incoherently, while slinging porridge onto the nearest wall.

And so it continues...
"Oh my God!! Laura, are you wearing knickers?" (Just so there is no confusion, I ALWAYS wear knickers. But to my surprise last night I learnt that Kathy apparently doesn't!) 


"Oh my God!! Why are you wearing three layers of clothes?"
"Oh my God!! Let me help you look like a professional tart."
"Oh my God!! Is that your face? Quick. Quick! get me a bag!"

I try to move the conversation on. So I tell them that Koalas have been known to get so high on eucalyptus leaves that they have actually fallen from their tree. No response.

So I turn it up a notch and tell them that asteroid 2012 DA14 is heading towards Earth and will miss us by just 17,000 miles. What a stupid idea that turned out to be!


"Oh my God! Really, it is terrible. What will happen?"
"Towards Earth? Oh my God!!"
"You mean this Earth? Oh my God, oh my God!!"

 Panic spreading throughout my flat like a bad smell down wind.

"Oooooooooh mmmmmmmmmy Goooooooooooood!! We are all going to die!!!"
Bev, more than a little drunk, threw herself head first onto my bed and sobbed away in my pillow, leaving random black mascara stains all over it. 

"Do you think it is safe to go out tonight?," whispered Kathy.
I wanted to say: "Nope, it is landing next door in five minutes. Nice knowing you all."

But I couldn't get myself to be rude or sarcastic towards them. We have known each other such a long time, They are my friends, always will be, and despite their many faults and lack of common sense and knowledge, I do love them. I really do. Bless!

About half an hour and 300 "Oh my God!!" later, they have finally all calmed down, and we trotted off, arm-in-arm as best friends do, me forgiven for raising such a complicated and scary subject on a night out, down the stairs we went, into the smelly world of pubs and sweaty night clubs.

Three Step Turkey Recipe for unwanted visitors

We have all tried it. The entire family turns up unexpectedly, unannounced and unwanted.

They of cause assume you are in the mood to entertain and feed them. There they are, sitting at the table, looking at you, smiling, waiting, hungry. 

So what do you do?? 

Don't panic, my Three Step Turkey Recipe will provide the perfect meal.

Three Step Turkey Recipe

Step 1: Place raw turkey* on large serving plate

Step 2: Cover completely in fake tan

Step 3: Server with a smile and excuse yourself.

* If you don't have turkey, use chicken instead.

My top 5 tips on how to be a BRILLIANT friend

Been out with the girls, brain spinning, what an eventful evening!!!
Can't sleep, on a complete high!!!  Might as well Blog about it :)

I have been such a liar, one thing after another, right from the word go.
Here is how to be a brilliant friend.

• If you have a friend, who lives for chocolate and have the wobbles to show it, who tries to drill herself into a size 11, which rips, and you help her blame it on the dress THEN YOU ARE A BRILLIANT FRIEND!

• If you have a friend who uses so much make-up that you have trouble recognising her, and who wears less than the legal and socially expected amount of clothes when going to the pub, and you don't tell her that she looks like someone who earns her money lying down THEN YOU ARE A BRILLIANT FRIEND!

• If you have a friend who has been dumped by her boy friend, and who needs your shoulder to cry on while sitting on a freezing curb for 45 minutes, while her runny mascara is staining your new coat, and you don't tell her that she owes you for the dry-cleaning THEN YOU ARE A BRILLIANT FRIEND!

• If you have a friend who for the n'th time don't have enough money for a taxi home and you are worried for her safety, and you drive her home safely home without telling her that she should get herself a job as the benefits are not stretching to help with the petrol or a generous tip THEN YOU ARE A BRILLIANT FRIEND!

• And if you have a friend who is still upset about her stupid boy friend that dumped her, and generally seems unable to stop crying and really could do with a friendly face in the morning, and you let her sleep in your bed next to you, despite her looking washed up and needing a bath THEN YOU ARE A BRILLIANT FRIEND!

Nite nite Bev - you smelly thing!! :))