My Life Oy Vay No. Ten

MY LIFE OY VAY (Number Ten)
Went into R.A.P. (The Recovering Alcoholics Project) today and heard some words that sent a shiver down my lily-livered backbone: no, not that you can never have another drink, but the management have decided that 're-structuring' is needed. That's management speak for we are going to cut services, i.e. the drop-in centre. It really pissed me off, I couldn't concentrate on Marjorie's tits. Oh this girl has got a body to die for and lips to come over.
The Wettest Drought Since The Last One.
As I sit and stare out of the window it's chucking down stair rods. Damn this drought! I was aiming to get down to an AA meeting (Arthritics Anonymous) for 5pm and as I refuse to take public transport, I would get very wet. I'm with the great philosopher Homer when he said that 'Public transport is for losers!'. Maybe I'll have to break out the 'umbrijig' (My gran's name for an umbrella: bless her goitered old neck) and waddle down to the meeting. It's funny, at these Arthritics Anonymous meetings all they seem to talk about is drinking. Maybe they fell over so many times it caused their arthritis.

Mind you there is a footy match on at 5pm between two teams (natch; not much of a football match with just the one team) that are leviathans of the game. Wales and Trinidad & Tobago. Mind you we play Trinidad & Tobago in the world cup so we'll have to keep a watchful eye on them. Hang on a sec. Wales and Trinidad and Tobago? That's 3 teams innit? Does UEFA know? Doesn't seem fair on Wales to have to play against 2 teams.

Wake up with hangover and decide that today will be a getting better day. I know I'll go for a stroll across the Heath. I make a couple of sandwiches of low calorie cheese spread - one has to think of one's figure. I chill the flask gently for I know what happens when you stick iced cubes straight into the flask. I did it once and peered in. There was an explosion. Luckily none of the chips, of whatever cheap flasks have inside them, punctured my eye sockets. So: chill the flask slowly. I pour the chilled cider into the flask, using a funnel that's been specially cleaned and kept in the fridge, so that optimum temperature is maintained. I pack into my picnic hamper a couple of posh glasses that I nicked from a pub and sally forth. Why two glasses prithee tell? I'm going to Hampstead Heath. Duh!

I've just watched England fail again to clutch defeat from the jaws of victory. Yes it's World cup footy again and we only just failed to lose against no-hopers Paraguay. We went 1-0 up after 3 minutes but try as we might we just couldn't lose to them. We've also got the start of the grass court tennis season starting on Monday, and I'll have to record it all on the mucky videos a friend of mine has given me. God they're enough to make one go vegetarian. Like staring into a butcher's shop window so it is. All that gashed flesh and wrinkled bollocks, I'm definitely one for doing it with the lights off. And most of the guys have had to have had, penis enlargement. Don't tell me that the average 'donger' is 12 inches long. I'm just jealous really. I should be able to record all of the Queens Court championships and Wimbledon. It'll seem a bit odd to watch recordings of Tim Henman lose to a blind one-legged pensioner from Togo as the snows gently fall outside.

DATELINE NEWS REPORT FROM CHAV CITY.
One man tried to self immolate and another stabbed to death in 'The Cres' on Saturday night, and the World Cup has only just begun! Come on chaps, I know we played badly but we did win. The one positive we can take from all this is: that come the end of the World Cup we shall be shot of several hundred of these slack-jawed flag waving morons. Did you know that Chav is an old Romany word for non-travelers? It's a bit like the Yiddish word for non-Jews - Yok. Ah, it's nice to know that these people redress the balance with their own racist slurs. Sweet!

I watched the Czech v America football game and was waiting for the commentator to say something crass, well more crass than normal. And it wasn't until 74min.54sec into the game when he mentioned that the Czechs were bouncing! He must have sat up all night thinking that one up, and praying that the Czechs would win. Oh and they had a player named Polak and when he was tripped the commentator exclaimed that "Polak has been poleaxed!" God it's almost Shakespearean isn't it?! No. It isn't. I know what I'd like to do with the pole from an axe and where to shove it. And why do we call the country that is Czech, The Czech Republic. The commentator didn't mention The American Republic once. We've managed to stop calling Lebanon The Lebanon, Sudan The Sudan and Ivory Coast The Ivory Coast and Gambia The Gambia. Czechoslovakia was a contraction of Czech and Slovakia, so wossyerproblem!

An expert - Dr Laurence Shaw of the Bridge Centre fertility clinic in London - has said that we should not condemn our teenage girls for having sex 'behind the bike sheds' I read today. I thoroughly agree: what I want to know is; where are the bike sheds and how much do they charge? Or can I just watch? For free.
Thames Water Board are ever so slightly miffed that OFWAT the regulatory body, are thinking of fining them for not meeting their targets for reducing the millions of gallons of water, lost due to the leaks in the creaking water system in London. They're thinking of coming up with their own body to hit back at the regulatory bodies. It's title is slightly long-winded but put their feelings into context. It's called The Office of Bureaucratic Unifying Gregarian Gainsayers of European Recalcitrants: or OFBUGGER.

Went out with my old friend Felicity to go to see a preview of a film called Pretty Persuasion in the West End. There were 2 free tickets offered in the Guardian so I thought, yep why not. It looked to be a good acerbic American High School black comedy. I got there at the right time only to be told that there were no free tickets left. It wasn't until the next day that I realized that there were obviously ONLY 2 free tickets allocated to The Guardian. And if we wanted to see the film we would have to pay the going rate of £16. God! We thought. We could go and get drunk for that. So we did. We found a pub that had no TV and served food, and as the England V Sweden football match was about to start, I knew it would be quiet.

Quiet! When I ordered a drink there was an echo. It was odd talking to one of the world's experts on William Blake about 'stuff' and suddenly there was a massive roar from outside, and I said "Oh we've scored. Her eyes brightened and I had to explain that no 'we' haven't scored in any sexual sense, but that England had scored in a footballing sense. She became de-humective. As did I. We eventually staggered to my place and it's marvelous what a few pints of wine can do to the libido. Ahhhh!

Did something very stupid last night when I washed my favourite pair of tracksuit bottoms - well my only pair of tracksuit bottoms - last night. It has been uncommonly warm and I thought they would be dry by the morning, and duly hung them on my balcony rail. But I had forgotten that the next day was the first day of Wimbledon. And what does it do at Wimbledon? Yes it rains. And lo! I woke up this morning and it's fucking raining, and they're sodden. The only jeans I have are the ones I have from when I was 3st lighter. I put them on and get some sash cord, tie them up and put on a chunky sweater over them. I look like Billy Bunter. Yaroo! Although it's raining it's still about 70f and I sweat like a fat paedophile in a sauna that has a school party in for the day.

I read today that the reward card that one gets from your major supermarkets, records what you buy also. So if you're a parent they'll know, as you will be buying nappies and such. They will of course monitor you through the years and if you're not feeding them with vegetables and fruit by the time they're 3 or 4, there'll be a shattering of the front door at 4am. as Social Services smash their way in to remove your kids and charge you with parental abuse. I'm just settling down to watch Wimbledon, or rather recordings of past Wimbledons as it's raining. But I don't care. I'm drinking Plebian Pimms: which consists of a rather muscular cider, ice, Sainsbury's strawberry and raspberry smoothie and locally grown stinging nettles in place of mint scattered on the top. Just for some bite you understand. My lips do look a little like Angelina Jolie's, but after the first sting one just doesn't notice.

Jordan About To Explode said the headline. "Whoopee! I exclaim. Unfortunately the paper was referring to the country and not the model. Oh if only her inserts were to explode drowning both her and Peter Andre in a spumy sea of silicone. But no, it gets worse. Apparently she's signed a deal with Random House to 'write' two novels and a second autobiography. The first one sold 500,000 in hardback alone?????? Chicklit will never be the same again. Or should that be clit-lit. There's another report about binge drinking in this country, and it seems that 13 to 15 year old girls are much more likely to get drunk than boys of that age. This makes for depressing reading. God in my day it was us boys who were more likely to get rat-arsed. Come on you guys, you know you can do it. But wouldn't I have taken advantage of the situation as a feckful youth!
Sunday.
Felicity and I went to our first Bangla Deshi Mela today. Oh the dancing girls and the movements they made with their hands. Hooee! What they could do with those hands and a bottle of baby oil. One of them was a dead ringer for Alicia Keys. You could arrange a marriage for me with her any day. It was a stiflingly hot day, certainly 100f in the sun and there was no fucking beer tent. "They're probably Moslem Felicity muttered to me. "Bleedin' Taliban fuckers, they just want to rain on everyone's parade I growl back. We had some rice and Chicken Tikka which made us sweat like billy-ho. They brought some rap band on and no it doesn't sound any better in Bangla Deshi. Shite! We repaired to a pub outside the park just to get some vital fluids inside us.
Monday morning: God I suffered this morning, I shouldn't eat white rice. I needed a fucking caesarian section to crap. Thank god for Vaseline, I might have had a stroke without it. Before administering it the veins in my forehead must have looked like hanks of rope. Must remember not to use said Vaseline on chapped lips in future; butt hair on lips, especially with clinkers on, tend to raise eyebrows in polite society.
Wednesday: And the heat is back. I stumbled into town early to get much needed vitals from the 'offy' oh and food before the heat was at its worst. My left knee is giving me gyp on a regular basis. I'm now just waiting for an appointment to be
re-cartilaged.
Luckily I've managed to blag a fan that looks like it once belonged to a Spitfire. All I need is an old fashioned pilot's hat and some goggles, to off-set the G-forces generated by it. That reminds me of the time an American bought a booster rocket, (only in America eh?) and welded it to the back of his Ford Mustang or some such, so that he could go very fast. He took it to some salt flats or the desert and lit the blue touch paper. Unfortunately you can't switch them off. The police sergeant in a laconic southern drawl was understatement itself; "We estimate that he wuz travlin' at about 4 hunnert and fifty miles an hour when he hit the cliff. I pissed myself laughing when I read that.
Har har, New Labour in the mire again. This time it's the cash for beverages fiasco. It seems they don't want to pay for their tea and coffee in the members bar. Cheeky buggers! Lord Levy the man at the centre of this imbroglio, has gone on record as saying that they need all the caffeine they can get, so that they can be alert when they rip the proletariat off.