Saturday, 9 October 2010

One for the Toad

Coming home late the other night I was beaten through the back door by a toad. A real beauty. Don't get rated on their looks too much do toads. I think that's a shame. Our friend was big and gorgeous. Got Honey Badger Boy to scoop him up in a big bowl so we could take a picture before Mr GPants escorted him to the other side of the 'Fuck! He's jumped out!' Ah well. It was outside again at least. Keep meaning to look up those nice amphibian people I mentioned before and be all Citizen Scientisty with my latest sighting. Yeah - like, tomorrow...

The toad theme is echoing somehow. The show on near Xmas this year at our nice cosy theatre is The Adventures of Mr Toad. Now I like to take the little sodlets to see a show at Xmas, and I like to do followy-uppy things so something about a toad seems perfect right? And we're getting a schools rate discount. So what's the grief?

I fucking hate The Wind in the Willows.

So I'm busy texting the friend who's organising it. Minx, at their house, has said she wants to go, so I feel guilty enough to ask the boys what they think. Stupid. 'Right, does anyone want to see a show with like people dressed up as a toad and stuff?' Really stupid. This sounds cool to small boys. Bugger. At least Honey Badger Boy screws up his face and says 'Nah'. Was a bit worried there as he's the real animal-obsessor. Safeish ground tho' on the 'show' front - it's inside, you have to sit down, and it's usually a bit crap. Why did I ask the small ones tho'? They say 'Yes' to everything.

Mr GPants comes back. Thoughts pop up.

'Do you like The Wind in the Willows?

'No I fucking hate it. Posh boys shit.' - with added wanking hand signals.

Bugger. I text back 'Can Minx go with you?' I tell the boys 'Shame.... all the tickets have gone.'

Did I dun good or is I a bad bitch? I did consider it see? The make-up might be cool.... But I faltered at the point where I imagined me handing over money. I stumbled when I thought about luvvies in latex and tweed. I choked when I heard the first throaty jolly lines in my head. No. I can't do this.

I really can't do Wind in the fucking Willows.

Nor can I do Enid bleedin' Blyton. Or Alan twatting Bennett. I sometimes wonder if I am English at all? I also hate Wimbledon wankin' tennis. And The Last Night at the poxy Proms. Especially Pomp and cocksucking Circumstance. I hate David dickhead Dimbleby. Alan titface Titchmarsh. Both these last 2 could be described as 'toady' - no way! My toady was lovely. The English language is weird. The English are weird. Especially things considered 'quintessentially English'. Instant repulsion. Back to my hate list then... Chuffin' Chaucer. The bloody Boat Race. Blue pissin' Peter. In fact most of Radio knobbin' 4 is wank - even the bits I like (the dour pauses and tweety bird sounds whenever they do an OB). Not interested in the rancid Royals at all, or the arse-roll newspapers they appear in - whether they're 'toadying' (no!) to them or issuing poison. Nor do I have any time to waste (sliding further down the slimy scale) over the likes of Damian h'wanker Hirst, or Florence felchin' Welch or anyone from a shitty gritty Soap or or ANYTHING. I don't even like The chirpy bastard Beatles.

So what'cha gonna do? Slam me in the stocks outside the Albert Hall and pelt me with roast beef, yorkshire pudding and builders' tea whilst Vera Lynn sings The White Cliffs of Dover in a tin hat?

I'm gonna stay in my little 18th Century English farmhouse and be all English in my own way. I'm gonna drink Columbian coffee; eat curry, pasta and pain au chocolat; listen to Country & Western; wear clobber made in Asia somewhere; start that Stieg Larsson book and watch Match of the Day.

Having a laugh at the idea of the Commonwealth Games tho'. Mr GPants can't really believe it's still going. Just the word 'common-wealth' makes him ramble on about our dodgy history shenanigans til we're praying for Billy Bragg to crop up somewhere for some light relief. He thinks it's all a bit 'we are still the British Empire'-y and especially rubbish 'cos most of the winners wouldn't win if it was the Olympics. Not sure what I think. It's nice the competitors get a chance to do their stuff I suppose. And at least when someone English wins they now play 'Jerusalem' instead of God Save the cakkin' Queen.

I know it's still got god references but.... it's William Blake. Now I like him.


  1. Bum! was rather hoping I was Ms Blyton in a previous life (with marginally less locking the sproglets in the nursery!) I like all that tosh you mentioned ... say we can still be friends?.... it would be 'beastly' to fall out ...

    .....Land of ho-ope and glooooo-reeee.....mother of Sher-eeeeee....

  2. you should be working for the tourist board, mme sg. you are a perfect poster girl for post modern 21st century britain. you combine the modern with the traditional.

    have you got a whippet?

  3. Can't do Wind in the Willows either. It's so long...and so tedious..and it's about boring animals and a toad in a racing car (duh?)

    but I do love Alan effing Bennett. Never thought of him as posh boy, though he did go to Oxford didn't he? More a quirky Leeds bloke with a mad woman in a caravan in his front garden and some crackers under the sofa. And his book about the Queen made me giggle. And some of his stuff is both funny AND rude. Which gives him a few extra brownie points from me.

    Pomp and CSing that made me laugh.

    Who's Florence Welch?

  4. Shame these Commonwealth Games are going to be remembered for everyone getting the shits. I gather the toilets at the athlete's village are bunged-up with used condoms. Is that the English shafting other countries again?

    Yeah, who's Florence Welch?

  5. Oops. I do go on a bit don't I.....

    Now, I'm not merely anti-posh. I quite like posh. Especially posh girls - always up for a giggle.

    It's just the 'Englishness' bit. I am as boringly English as you could get (ie faint traces of Irish, Scottish and apparently even Danish). And that's about as English as anyone could claim to be I reckon.

    But I'm just not very good at it.

    It was Mr GPants' reaction that took me by surprise - I hadn't thought about Wank in the Willows as being posh - just twee. Yes that's my problem - TWEEness!!! I've just realised what I was ranting about. There you go.

    Or it could just be a very childish knee-jerk thing - I think my mum probably loves everything on my Hate List. Except maybe the art wank boy and the who's Florence. Ah now - she's the god-awful shrieker with lovely hair and great frocks who recently murdered 'You've Got the Love'. At the risk of sounding like my mum, she seriously offends my ears and what little there is between them. She 'sings' sharp. I hate sharp. I can handle flat. It has charm. Sharp makes my innards convulse.

    Anyway - foul-mouthed guttersniping over (for today) ......

    L: Ooooh - tosh, bosh and piffle dear heart. Indeed there can be no night without day, nor ebb without flow, nor nice without me.

    G: No whippets, just gribbits. (The toad?) Now, me on a poster...... with my chinny delta map? Really not nice that. In fact I might consider it. Well hell yes! Mr GPants! The camera!!!!!

    BMF: Mr Bennet is rather proud of being unposh among the posh. Which makes him somehow even more twee. But what the bleedin' bleedin's does that make me? Bitter. Hooray.

    T@MGT: I'm going to tell Mr GPants the 'English shafting...' bit. Love it!

    Oh god SOMEBODY shut me up..... this is as long as a bleedin' post..

  6. How I wish you'd write a bonkers book, Madame.
    'Is it just me or is everything fucking twee?'.
    I like the sight of a Spitfire flying in a cloudless Kent sky, me. And Kate Bush's 'Lionheart'. And 'Puck of Pook's Hill'. Maybe it's because I'm from the grim West Midlands? There was NOTHING twee there.

  7. Kate Bush!!! Yes Yes Yes!!!! Ms Bonkers from Welling, Kent. I went to school in Welling. Hooray for Kate Bush for managing to emerge from the most dismal 1930s suburban subhuman shit-hole on this planet. You ain't seen 'grim' til you've spent 5 years dragging yourself to Welling.

    Yay Kate! I hear she managed to propel herself all the way up to Blackheath. Hot damn!

  8. Oh yes. Welling is indeed a shithole. Used to have a friend who lived there, and referred to it as part of the 'Nazi Triangle', which also encompassed Bexleyheath and somewhere else equally ghastly. He had a Welling friend whose nickname was 'Glass Eyes'. Say no more.
    But Kate Bush - gawd love 'er.

  9. Nazi Triangle....... I need to know the 3rd point!!?

    Sidcup? Erith? Dartford? Shivering at the very thought.

    Wonder if Glass Eyes went to the same school as me?

    Wonder if they ARE me?