Pissed Off of Blogblockdom

Not sure if this will even post as my site will no longer allow me to be signed in - despite signing in 50 times. Blogspot 'help' is totally useless. Cannot get beyond half a sentence. Don't know if I'll be able to publish this as I cannot even comment on my own posts. I may just give up entirely and start again with a different name on a different forum. Just saying...

Now What's That I Call Never at Home Education Volume 87

Today I saw.....

My hand waving goodbye to BOYS clutching golf clubs as I drove awaaaaaay from the house.

Frant Railway station despite the Sat Nav telling me to turn around where possible. And chums. And a parking space. Well I never did...

Charing Cross after many many years - this used to be my personal corridor. Didn't it miss me?

The Olympic clock ticking away our innocent lives.

A Tom Hanks-a-likey Australian swallow a whole modelling balloon. Then a bemused Brazilian (with very little English) and a stately Dane (with a slightly better command) padlocked him into a straight jacket and chains and he still managed to get his hat on. (He also dislocated his shoulder and escaped in 3 minutes...yeah yeah) - but the balloon and the hat!!!

Turnaround and more chums - Happy New Year! Did you see what he did with that balloon?

The National Portrait Gallery's child-confuser - the rotating door doodahs. Always a laugh. Brings to mind a certain comedy incident at Bluewater's John Lewis some time ago involving a splat of Minx on their too-clean windows. Forever imprinted....

Lots of wonderful photographic portraits and a very attractive tiled floor. Where to look?

Willies and boobies.

The time!!

Blue sky above a bitter coffee.

The Coliseum thingy on top goes round and round - I'd never noticed before...

Look more chums!

And Johnny Depp!!

Only joking...

Lovely lovely floors... and windows... and mosaics.... and curtains.... and curly things and...... wow!!! The Coliseum!!!!

And nice toilets.

The English National Ballet - Strictly Gershwin. I dislocated my jaw. Sharpen your elbows and get a ticket. Get A Ticket. The Man I Love! An American in Paris!! The Eiffel Tower dances I tell you!!! Even the conductor shimmies.

Tears a-sparkling as dazzling as the costumes. The costumes!!

Nice toilets. Posh ice cream. (The latter down Minx's top. White top. Chocolate.)

Rhapsody in Blue.... Summertime.... Get. A. Ticket.

Nice toilets and Minx's face looking exasperated. I can't help it I'm old.

Back onto the very attractive tiled floor for the rest of those portraits.

My hand releasing lots of coins for lots of postcards.

And Tudor portraits - we dun Tudors. Minx dun Tudors. Nose right up to the canvas and gasping. Teenage Engage! THAT is cool! (Nearly teenage... I have an Olympic clock of my own counting down my sanity.)

The inside of a lift-that-don't-go-down-there.

Smiling faces of people seeing us come out again helpfully pointing to the stairs-that-do.

One more circular tour of the doors for luck.

Two more then...

A firm yank. (No. Not Johnny Depp.)

The thingy that goes round on top of the Coliseum lights up at night too.

Charing Cross. Still seemed to be getting on OK without me.

Burger King. BK said hello at least.

Frant by night.

The welcome glow of the back door through the forest of neglect. (I did say welcome and not sinister didn't I? Oh good.)

Minx's face looking exasperated - left all the postcards on the train.

Boys. Throwing darts. Mostly at the dartboard.

My feet - up.

The insides of my eyelids....




Then I saw.... that balloon.... where the squeak-pop-ouch did it go?


.....haunting...

Never At Home Education Part 23

I am not going to over-book ourselves again for the next 4 months. I am not.

Really really.

Really.

I said this in September I did.

I collapsed in December.

Now January is flaunting it's godless temptations before my still blinking-in-the-new-year-light mincies with no shame.

And February is slinking up behind that with dangerous disregard for the law.

March shouldn't even be out here yet - is that a lollypop in her pouting lips?

Be gone you flagrant sirens of certain destruction before I can form the outline of April rising to her feet with slow poison - be gone!!!

Oh may the gods of finding a clean top deliver me from this onslaught....

May they guide my weakened fingers away from the laptop keys of 'yes'.

But I fear it's already too late.... I can feel my head turning... my ears burning... my face gurning.... it's... it's.... ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....... farewell house - faaare theeeeee weeeellllllllll.........


......................................................

The Toilet-Floor Guide to Happiness from the Ever-Slinking World of the Grub

This is the best start to a new year ever 'cos I haven't failed at any new ambitions. This is the way to go....

And I have started my patchwork quilt - the one I've been prattling on about for about um... 30 years. And it all began 'cos I couldn't be arsed to do my setteeful of folding. So I sat on it and started sewing instead. It's my new blobby project - every month when I feel too shit to move about I'm gonna grab me patches and get inertially happy. In a year I might even have something to show for my otherwise useless grubdom. But it's not a resolution. No no no.

I've also downsized my usual A4 Day-to-a-Page diary to a humbler A5 - I could put it in my bag.... I might draw pictures in it.... I will hopefully list less humdrums and be more disciplined in my witterings. Definitely not a reso. Less is... less shit.

I'm still knitting my don't-know-what strips of randomness. I like knitting. Am rubbish at knitting. So just knit. Because I can. Can't, but can anyway kind of can. Don't know what, don't know why, don't know how kind of can. 'Tis a decent philosophy.

I may not have actually started the Stat of Lib yet but am still excited about going thro' the bag of greenness to make sure I have to go back to the wool shop. I know I will go back to the lovely shop full of lovely fluffy loveliness - I just have to waste a bit more time cataloguing shades of not-right first to justify my cape-flapping swish up their stairs rather than a guilt-ridden sneak. It won't be hard - I can always convince myself that wool is essential. Wool is essential.

But the most creative endeavour is my new song. I sing it when I'm putting shopping away in not the right place, and when I'm hurling clobber in the dryer that shouldn't be, and when I'm sticking hair gel in a mop that needs washing.... it goes like this:

..ahem....

Fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit

Fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit

It's very jolly and rolls off the tongue in skips and twirls. It's my new answer for everything. May you all join in when you have picked up the words - it fair speeds the day.

Come on kids...

Fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit

Fukit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit fuckit

Don't you feel better?

I only wish I'd been given a glimpse of this wonderful enlightened life years ago.... but you have to work at it to get to this height of lazy. Sigh....... I might even grow a beard and wear a duvet. I could charge a fortune for this.....

The R-Word

As previously stated in relation to the popular compiling of bullshit promises, this year I am merely going to pursue my abounding badiness, smellificiency, fatiosity, bigly ungrammaticalitence, rudeorama and uncharitableables with the chuggessence I usually reserve for motorway driving. Rock on self-unimprovement. No wasting my talentlessness on ambition for me. Oh and I have just publicly announced on Facebook, I am going to knit The Statue of Liberty.

The last choice was a typically oppositional stance to my furrowed promise to never ever ever make xmas adventy calendar thingies ever ever again ever.

I unfurrowed, sighed, felt a wave of relief... and started planning next year all over again.

It started simply - paper snowflakes. Not another vein-pulsing over-ambitious attempt to create a whole miniature hanging forest of pagan delights like this year. Paper snowflakes. Not even opened out - they can do that themselves. In fact I could get them to make them by themselves. Now I'm using my noodle.

But then the noodle gets cocky and starts plotting while I'm not looking.

Then it starts bargaining with me. I do have a bulging bag of beads and bells and buttons and bollocks that I really should use up. All I need is a little more wire, string all the b's together in 96 random clumps (won't take long) and Bob's yer unc etc....

'Cept Bob is not my unc. I have 5 remaining uncs and none of them's a Bob. Neither do I have a Fanny for an aunt but I do have a twat of a brain which then led me to the wool shop to buy 3 different balls of blue wool - to make a background fringe for the beads of course. And some wire. Silver. 50p more expensive than gold. And then obviously I am going to either paint the lyrics for Fairytale of New York onto the leftover beads - or buy yet more beads with letters already imprinted - and it's still oh so simple.

But just to make it interesting I should now have the fringed lyrical bead garland spiralling in a more pleasing display.

And naturally this should be entwining a towering female figure.

So I evidently need to go back to the wool shop to get some more green wool as the accompanying bursting bag full of leftover green wool doesn't contain any of the right oxidized copper shade in order to knit an impressive Statue of Liberty around which the beady Shane words can shimmer.

So there we have it. A glimpse into the circles of my mind....

I think someone was indeed tossing in a stream.... my stream of consciousness.... Maybe I should start drinking again and regain unconscousness....

As previously stated in relation to the popular compiling of bullshit promises, this year.....