A Very Lovely Picture And A Joke / 2nd Attempt At The Sodding Thing

Oy, you smug baaastard, I'm talking to you!

 

Sorry about that, I’m not trying to be a spammy sod in your email but I’ve had to do it again – I had it all lined up nicely in the centre, and I had two big headers but then it all fucked up and the joke and my nice headings disappeared. Fucking shaggy pictures.

 

 

Here’s the joke.

 

A pair of zombie twins start fighting at the dinner table.

‘Stop it!’ shouts Mummy zombie.

‘He started it!’

‘No, he started it – he wouldn’t let me dip my bread in his neck.’

 

Don’t Die Of Shock Everyone – Dotty Has Accepted An Award

It’s the GOLDEN SHATNER AWARD 

and I’ve accepted it from VICTOR TOOKES

whose blog you can find HERE,

because I like William Shatner, he’s stupid, and all you have to do is give the award

 to four people. But I still can’t choose, there’s LOADS OF YOU I want to give it to.

So TAKE IT

EVERYBODY

I SPECIFICALLY AWARD IT TO ALL OF YOU

not like my own award

The Dotty Headbanger Award For Being Mental & Loving It

which you award to yourself - 

this time I’m specifically choosing to specifically award

EVERYBODY this lovely award and if I could be bothered I’d do

links to all your blogs but I can’t be bothered so I won’t.

 

 

P.S. It has a big, better picture for those of you who can do big pictures without shagging up

your blog (not me, I fuck it all up with pictures) and you’ll find the big picture

at Victor’s blog if you click on the link I put in at the top.

 

P.P.S.  They got me in the end.

 

P.P.P.S.  No more and never again.

 

 

 

Happy Headbanger Family (We’re Like The F***ing Waltons)

 

SNOW – lots of it

WIND – blowing a hooley round my house

= WILD FUCKING BLIZZARD

It hasn’t let up all morning.

 

And I’m snowed in. Not downstairs, that’s okay, but if I need to get out of one of the two upstairs windows that face the BLIZZARD I can’t because they’re CAKED IN SNOW, I can’t see out of them it’s piled so high up the windowsills. I had a panic attack when I realised I’m snowed in so Lottie told Scotty to get the big ladder out of the shed and go and clear it off. He said ‘But she doesn’t go out,’ so I said ‘THAT’S NOT THE FUCKING POINT.’ He’s doing it now. I’m sitting on my bed watching him and he’s swearing like fuck - the wind’s too strong for me to hear but so far I’ve managed to lipread FUCKING ‘ELL – SHIT – FOR FUCK’S SAKE – BASTARDING FREEZING SOMETHING SOMETHING WANKER. And he’s just said BOLLOCKS.

They all stayed here last night, Scotty, Lottie, and THE BERSERKERS. Scotty slept on the couch, Lottie and THE BERSERKERS slept in my bed and I slept in the spare room which was nice, I’ll have to do it again sometime, it was like going on holiday and waking up and not knowing where you are and realising oh, I’m on holiday, except I went oh, I’m in my spare room.

Last night was lovely. I didn’t have to do anything, I vegged on the couch with a plate of Cumberland sausages, a packet of Hobnobs, and continuous refills of nice cold Diet Coke. And THE BERSERKERS who I thought at first would start slapping me on my bandages or something, but they didn’t, were KIND TO ME. We watched a film (Cinderella? I don’t know, I must have dozed off) then when it was time for THE BERSERKERS to go to bed they told Lottie they wanted ME to take them up and tell them a story and, bless their little cotton socks, so Lottie wouldn’t hear, they didn’t tell me it was WINNIE-THE-SHITE they wanted till we were up in the room – they’ve got their heads screwed on the right way, those two. I thought they’d have forgotten WINNIE-THE-SHITE by now, I almost had but they put me right if I got a bit wrong.

When they were asleep I went back downstairs. Lottie and Scotty were in the kitchen, doing the washing up.

‘Did they get off all right?’ Lottie said.

‘Yep. Fine.’

‘What story did you tell them?’

‘One about a bear.’

‘Winnie-the-Shite?’

‘HOW THE FUCK DID YOU KNOW?’

And she LAUGHED!!! Lottie!!!! And she threw some Fairy Liquid bubbles at me and then she threw some at Scotty and we ended up having the best laugh we’ve had together since we were little.

 

I’ll have to go, Scotty’s getting down off the ladder and he looks like a YETI. I’ll get him a towel, one of my new bathsheets from my collection in the airing cupboard. And I’ll make him a cup of tea for when I ask him to go back out and clear the gutters – he might as well do it now seeing as the ladder’s already out.

 

A Dotty Picture Puzzle

 

What’s the answer to the picture puzzle?

Robert de Niro's waiting

It’s easy.

 

 

talking Italian...

 

 

 

First one to get it right can have the pictures if they want.

I’m only doing a picture puzzle to practice doing pictures and making them stick where I put them.

Fingers crossed!

 

Dotty Had A Lovely Day Yesterday But Today Might Be Shitey Because Of My Leg

 

I had a LOVELY day yesterday and no one spoilt it. Little Emily arrived with a big beautiful bunch of wildflowers for me that she gathered on her walk down to my house and she brought us an apple and gooseberry pie – when I first glimpsed the pie my innards flipped in disgust, I thought it was another Wabbit pie, but no, it was an apple and gooseberry pie and very yummy it was too. We ate it after we ate the Cumberland sausages and before we ate the plain Victoria Sponge Sandwich Cake (sorry, Judith, little Emily snaffled the last quarter that I’d saved for you) and everything we ate was scrummy and yummy and we stuffed our faces like the little greedy gannets we are.

After our feast we were too full to do anything so we sat and talked for a while. Then we got bored with talking so we decided to play a game – Scrabble, which is one of little Emily’s favourites of the games I’ve introduced her to (another favourite is Cluedo and another is Crazy Taxis – ‘Ram his arse, Dotty, ram it hard!’). I don’t really like playing Scrabble with little Emily, not because she always wins but because she’s so fucking SLOW to put a word down, her little hand goes back and forth from her letter holder to the board, from the board to her letter holder, and she umms and aahhhs and bites her lip and screws up her eyes and you’d think she was contemplating THE ORIGINS OF EVERYTHING not just whether ‘bat’ will give her more points than ‘cat’. But I was doing my best to be a good friend because I don’t mind telling you I’ve missed her and I don’t want to scare her away like I have with all my other friends. Sometimes I miss them too, but not often, they were all a set of bitches, the lot of them — except Kathryn, she was nice. I didn’t scare Kathryn off, she moved away and by the time I started answering my phone again she’d been gone for over two years and she’d stopped leaving messages on my answerphone. She’d given up on me, the cow.

Anyway, to cut a long happy day short, little Emily and I had a long happy day ending with little Emily deciding to stay the night. She made us a nice cup of hot chocolate to take up to bed and that’s when my leg got scalded, the dozy bint spilt hers down my shin and jesus christ and his nails it hurt like fuck, I let out a scream that should have shattered the windows but it didn’t, they’re all still intact. Little Emily ran for some water and came back with it in my TOOTHBRUSH MUG with my toothbrush still in it, I said ‘what the fuck do you want me to do with THAT, brush my teeth while MY LEG IS BUBBLING UP WITH BLISTERS?’ She ran downstairs and she was gone for AGES and when she came back she had a bowl with EGG WHITES in it, (she took so long because she’d been trying to separate the eggs and couldn’t do it without a bit of yolk going in it) and then she poured the EGG WHITES on the sore bit and said I had to sit still until the EGG WHITES dried, so I did, I sat as still as a fucking meringue.

I didn’t sleep much, as you’ll have probably guessed. And if I couldn’t sleep I was fucked if I was letting her have a good, restful night in the land of Noddy. No, I made her stay up with me and run round after me and feel guilty for CRIPPLING ME and BURNING A BIG HOLE IN MY LEG, THE SAME LEG THAT WILL SOON BE AMPUTATED BECAUSE GANGRENE WILL SET IN UNLESS I’M PROVIDED WITH A CONSTANT SUPPLY OF THE SPECIAL PROTEIN THAT’S FOUND ONLY IN CUMBERLAND SAUSAGES. It’s amazing what a Victorian will believe, you can tell them anything - as long as you say it’s been PROVED BY SCIENCE they’ll lap it up like scabby, starving kittens at their milk. 

So off she went this morning to buy some more eggs from the farm they get their eggs from and I hope she remembers to bring me something nice to eat, I told her I need chocolate (Lindt, lots of it) it’s a proven fact that chocolate is good for the circulation and I need to keep my blood going round or my leg won’t heal and necrosis will set in and eat my leg and it’ll turn black and drop off. And ice-cream (Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food, 4 tubs) to help unthicken the chocolate as it works its way through my veins. And those little cheesecakes you get in packs of four, toffee ones (2 packs) because something in the process of putting cheese in a cheesecake results in essential nutrients being fast-tracked to the skin, ensuring rapid healing and the forming of good, healthy scar tissue.

I’m going to watch the first series of Dexter again with my leg up – it’s the best series of Dexter even though I know his brother did it – and wait for little Emily to come back with my goodies. Then she can make our dinner – Cumberland sausage sandwiches. And I’ll have a little cheesecake or two for my pudding. And then a bit of chocolate. And then a bit of ice cream. And then I’ll probably need a little sleep, but little Emily will be here to watch over me.

I love my little best friend.

 

 

Zippedy Doo Dah, Zippedy Day, My Oh My What A Dottyful Day

 

I’ve been up since stupid o’clock making preparations for when little Emily arrives later this morning. I made a big batch of Cumberland sausages yesterday, I made more this morning, I’ve CLEANED SOME THINGS like the kitchen worktops and the kitchen chairs and the kitchen table and I haven’t cleaned the kitchen floor yet because Numpty the Boilerman cleaned a section of it the other day and that’ll do for now, I’ve dusted my laptop with my funny little laptop duster (mine has eyes and it’s pink and it stands up on its one big foot) and I’ve emptied the kitchen bin but I haven’t put the rubbish out because I don’t want to have a panic attack this morning, I want to be all calm and collected when she arrives.

And today, fingers crossed that anyone still wants to read my little blog, I should reach – dah dah – 10,000 hits on my little blog AND I HAVE MADE A CAKE TO CELEBRATE and it’s a VICTORIA SPONGE SANDWICH CAKE, just a normal one, no added medicinal extras because little Emily likes her cakes plain. And I have a little sticker that lovely WordPress gave me yesterday for 1,000 likey-likes and let me just see if I can make it stay where I put it (I’m rubbish with pictures)

Please stick to the page.

I’m not showing off or anything (I’m not like that), I just NEED YOU TO SEE IT so fingers crossed it does what it’s told and doesn’t shag up my page.

I wonder if I’ll get a badge for my 10,000 hits? And I wonder WHO WILL BE NUMBER 10,000?

Little Emily’s going to be SO EXCITED!

eeeekk, eeeeeekk, eeeeeeeeeeeekkkkk!

 

 

 

Stinking Stillness – (What To Do)?

 

the towels stink

i stare at them and stare at them and stare at them

but they still stink

 

Dotty’s SECRET PLAN For Retrieving Her New Towels And Her Washing Up Basins From The Back Garden

 

Right, this SECRET PLAN of mine is going to surprise you. Shock you even. It shocked ME when it slammed itself right to the front of my thoughts, knocking all other possible plans that might have been forming back down into the strange and shady pit of my subconscious. It took me a while to get my head round the fact that THE PLAN was really there, shining and magnificent, the ANSWER to a problem I hadn’t had time to think and worry about. A little MIRACLE had happened.

But it wasn’t just the presence of THE PLAN that astounded me – it was THE PLAN itself, what it entailed, what it implied, what it MEANT, not only in relation to the retrieval of my new towels and my basins but, if I could pull it off successfully, FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.

I won’t tease you by spouting lines and lines and paragraphs and paragraphs of distracting words to keep you in suspense and keep you reading because you might get bored of having to wade through word after word after word, and line after line after line, and paragraph after paragraph after paragraph. We Who Are Mental can have short attention spans and you might lose the thread and just skip down the page to The End to see what happened, or worse still, you might LEAVE THIS PAGE. But if you were to skip down to The End to see what happened, or if you were to LEAVE THIS PAGE you’d miss me

 

 

eeeeeekkk! eeeeeeeeeeekkkkkk!!!! eeeeeeeeeeeekkk!!!

 

 

GOING OUT OF MY HOUSE ALONE

 

 

Yes, yes, you did, you read it correctly. I went out alone. On my own, on my todd, solo-solo-marco-polo. I DID IT.

She-Hermits, He-Hermits, everyone else – I bet you’re gagging to know HOW – well, I’m going to tell you, you’ll just have to hold on a minute while I turn my Cumberland sausages before they burn on one side.

 

♪♬♪ dooby-dooby-doooooooo

dooby-dooby-doooooooo ♬♬♪

 

You can tell how excited I am, can’t you? I NEVER EVER EVER leave my Cumberland sausages to cook by themselves without keeping a supervisory watch over them to stop them spitting at each other and violently rolling into each other’s sides. It’s just not worth it, an unevenly cooked Cumberland sausage can be just as bad as an undercooked Cumberland sausage, but I’ve turned the gas down now so they should be okay.

Okay, how did I do it? How did I GO OUT OF MY HOUSE ALONE? Actually I don’t really know,  I JUST DID IT. I didn’t think about it, instinct or something must have taken over, I didn’t even put any shoes on, I just grabbed a cold Cumberland sausage from the fridge, stuck it half in - half out of my mouth so I wouldn’t scream - in case I dropped it and also to nibble on for sustenance and energy while I was running – then I unlocked the back door and RAN.

And you should have seen me - I was like USAIN BOLT, like the WIND ON LEGS, faster than the speed of light, I was REALLY fucking fast, if anyone was watching they wouldn’t have SEEN ME I was that fast, I’d have been nothing but a SPEEDY LITTLE BLUR before their eyes, THERE and GONE, what WAS that?

RUN, FORREST, RUN!

Four strides to the corner, four strides back. That’s eight strides, eight record-breaking fast-as-fuck STRIDES I DID OUTDOORS.

Waaaaahhhhhhooooooo!

And in between was the swiftiest little pick-up ever. I didn’t even STOP for the pick-up and I had TWO BASINS FULL OF NEW, WET TOWELS to pick up. TWO. It was like a sprinty dance the way I did the turn and the pick-up at the same time while still managing to keep up the flow and the momentum of the run itself – FUCKING FLUID AND BEAUTIFUL, that’s what it was, like Dancing On Ice except it wasn’t dancing it was running and it wasn’t on ice it was on my concrete path – and those TWO BASINS FULL OF NEW WET TOWELS were really heavy, I thought I was definitely going to drop them or snap my hands off at the wrists and I knew how the skaters must have felt during PROP WEEK on Dancing On Ice, it’s bloody well hard you know, you don’t realise HOW HARD it is when you’re watching them on the telly because they make it look SO EASY, and so did I, I made it look like a piece of piss, I’d have been TOP OF THE LEADER-BOARD if Robin Cousins had been in my garden, judging me, and if Jayne and Chris had been there too they’d have FUCKING LOVED IT, they’d have wanted to COACH ME but I’d have said no because I don’t think I’d like ice-skating, I like to keep my feet firmly on the ground, thank you, but I wouldn’t mind having a go at the FLYING ROUND THE RINK thing, that looks like SUBLIME MAGIC and ROMANCE on a safety harness and a sturdy length of steel wire.

I reached the back door again and as I entered the house I let the TWO BASINS FULL OF NEW WET TOWELS drop onto the kitchen floor and I executed a STRIDEY LEAP over them that would have only scored maybe a low four because I was knackered by that time and all the power had gone out of my legs.

My heart was thumping, not panicky thumping, good thumping and I flopped flat over the kitchen table to get my breath back. I was SO PROUD OF MYSELF, SO VERY FUCKING PROUD that I wanted to ring Lottie and tell her what I’d just done, but I couldn’t get up and by the time I did get up to shut and lock the back door the urge to ring her had gone.

This is the SECOND TIME I’ve been out since I started my little blog back in December of last year. But it’s the FIRST TIME I’ve been out ON MY OWN for THREE YEARS.

In the space of a few days I’ve planned the party that wasn’t a party (planning it counts?) and I’ve GONE OUTSIDE MY HOUSE ON MY OWN.

What’s happening to me?

 

 

Cometh The Boilerman, Cometh The Flood – The Book Of Dotty: 10:20 (am)

 

Numpty the boilerman came back this morning with the parts he needed to fix the boiler. I don’t know what they were, I kept myself hidden in my laptop reading through someone’s blog while he did what he had to do. He rang yesterday evening so I knew he was coming and this time I took extra beta-blockers and a big, BIG swig of laudanum to help me cope while he was here. 

I was in the living room to save my ears from imploding and so he couldn’t talk to me and make me even more panicky. The boiler is in the utility room at the back of the house. He’d been here about half an hour when he came to the living room door and tapped on it. ‘S’cuse me, love, have you got some old towels?’

Old towels? Oh for fuck’s sake. ‘How bad is it?’

‘No, it’s not too bad, don’t worry yourself.’

I went to have a look.

WATER, WATER EVERYWHERE, AND NOT A DROP TO DRINK 

Why are people so FUCKING USELESS?

I got him some towels from my airing cupboard, which weren’t old towels they were NEW towels from the collection that fell on me the day Granny Euphemia came to see me. I thought - why am I not in a right tizz, panicky and terrified, but I wasn’t, no, my extra medication must have been just right. I’ll have to write down what and how much I took so I know for the next time something comes up. I took the towels downstairs and waded through the big puddle near the back door.

He pointed at the cooker and said, ‘If you start there you’ll stop it running underneath.’

Me??

ME??

I DON’T THINK SO

So I calmly said –

YOU INCOMPETENT TWAT OF AN ARSEWIPE, YOU CAN FUCK OFF. YOU MOP IT UP OR YOU MIGHT AS WELL WHISTLE FOR YOUR MONEY BECAUSE YOU WON’T GET ANY OF MINE.

and I went back into the living room and carried on reading the blog.

Another hour and a half later he tapped on the door again. ‘I’m finished, love.’

And guess what? He had.

The boiler is working, no leaks, and he did such a good job mopping up that my kitchen floor has PATTERNS IN THE LINO THAT I’D FORGOTTEN ABOUT.

I might ask him if he wants a cleaning job, cash in hand.

So all’s well that ends well.

Amazing.

Except I don’t know what he’s done with the new pack of towels I gave him.

Where are they?

 

 

EDIT EDIT EDIT — I can see the towels but I can’t get them. The bastard’s left them in my two washing up basins OUTSIDE. I can’t reach them because they’re JUST ROUND THE CORNER, I can see about eight inches of towel and about one inch of basin. What will I do, what will I do?

 

 

Why Do I Bother? Eh? Tell Me, Because I Don’t Know

 

Right, to start with I’ve put my newest fascinating collection on display here –

 Dotty’s List Of Collected Countries

 

Next, I want to ask why loads of you have just rudely dismissed the work I put into making YOUR  new page

Dotty’s Pet Blogs 

Have I got MUG written across my forehead? Do I do these things for the good of my health? NO I FUCKING WELL DON’T –  SO, FOLLOWERS, READERS - GO AND ADD YOUR BLOG TO THE LIST and other people will visit you and follow you and we will all be like ONE BIG HAPPY FUCKING FAMILY.

ALL RIGHT?

WELL GO ON THEN, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?

 

 

I HAVE  850,492,786.5 FOLLOWERS AND ONLY 17 OF YOU HAVE POSTED LINKS TO YOUR BLOGS ON DOTTY’S PET BLOGS. SHAME ON YOU ALL.

 

 

EDIT EDIT EDIT EDIT —- If you’re wondering, the Dotty’s Pet Blog page is working, I’m seeing more clicks than ever before. So I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to add YOURS to the list, unless you don’t want anyone to read it, but in that case MAKE IT PRIVATE.

 

 

Yet Another Dotty Gloomy Shitey Poemy Shitey Pile Of Shite (Sorry)

 

Wraith

 

like some ancient, lost ethereal thing

on and on I stumble

 

down springs, autumns, winters, summers,

into the slows and sloughs of remembered other days

 

where I sift through piles of sighs

green with lichen and moss,

 

harvest memories of a kiss,

a smile, a touch, an eyeflash

 

 

there are no flowers…

just memories, like raptors, gather

 

 

another dawn breaks

and I wake

crying in colours and mad, mad sparks,

trying to suck the screams back into my heart

as the sun

my beautiful sun

slides from the throat

of the beast

 

 

Numpty The Boilerman And His Lack Of PARTS

 

He’s been.

Finally.

But guess what, it’s sod’s fucking law he has to come back again next week because I WAS RIGHT and the boiler needs two new PARTS that can’t be ordered until Monday so won’t arrive until Wednesday but he doesn’t know WHEN he will come to fit them. If he had come yesterday when he was supposed to he could… oh, frig it, what’s the point?

He’s been.

And DIDN’T lock him in.

I didn’t hit him.

I wasn’t sick on his shoes.

I didn’t have a panic attack (came close a couple of times).

I didn’t cry in front of him, just a few tears that I managed to blink away.

I don’t THINK he heard my heart battering away, or me whispering my special mantra for peacefulness and calm, taught to me by HIS HOLEY CHEESENESS, THE DAIRY FFARMA (fuckshitebastardfuckshitebastard) but he did keep giving me funny looks so it’s possible he might have noticed.

I did stutter, but for all he knows I might HAVE a stutter and there’s nothing wrong with having a stutter, it’s only if you have a stutter when you’re a TRAMPY SHE-HERMIT that it really bothers people.

I don’t think I was TOO mental.

I did shake slightly.

I made him a cup of tea because he asked for one.

I didn’t shake enough to scald his hand when I handed him the cup of tea he asked for because I didn’t hand him the cup of tea he asked for, I left it on the kitchen worktop for him.

I did scream once but it wasn’t a mental scream it was a METAL scream due to sudden excrutiating HURTY NOISE in my ears when the bastard was trying to get the front of the boiler off and IT SOUNDED LIKE A GIANT METAL AEROPLANE SCRAPING ACROSS MY ROOF BECAUSE I HAVE HYPERACUSIS AND THE FUCKER SHOULD HAVE DONE HIS JOB QUIETLY LIKE I TOLD HIM TO.

I bleached the cup when he’d finished his tea.

And then I bleached my hands that had touched the cup that he had touched with his mouth before it was bleached.

He had stupid hair.

And he was a CHATTY BASTARD. But I know how to deal with CHATTY BASTARDS. I told him I’m deaf, which I’m not I just can’t hear properly, so he shut up and only spoke to me to ask me what he had to ask me which wasn’t much.

I wanted to go away from where he was. I really wanted to.

I couldn’t, for all the reasons that everyone can’t when they have a STRANGER IN THE HOUSE —

they steal your things

they sneak a look in your cupboards and drawers

and your fridge

they eat the food in your fridge (and I had made HEAPS of Cumberland sausages to see me through THE DAY OF WAITING)

they write rude things in the dust

they plant secret hidden mini-miniature cameras all over your house

they look for hiding places so they can sneak back in and hide until you’re asleep (which means you can’t go to sleep again)

they PISS IN YOUR SINK

they drink your beer if you have any beer, which I don’t because I don’t drink beer or any other alcoholic beverage - I am TEETOTAL apart from my morning ABSINTHE & BANANA SMOOTHIE, which doesn’t count because  

1 – Absinthe is made of WORMWOOD which is a plant I grow in my garden, therefore Absinthe is a PLANT EXTRACT like SUNFLOWER OIL.

2 -  My ABSINTHE & BANANA SMOOTHIE is a FRUITYHEALTHY, NUTRITIOUS SMOOTHIE FULL OF VITAMINS AND GLOOPY GOODNESS  

3 – I drink it in the morning and if I were drinking alcohol in the morning I would be an ALKY which I AM NOT.

 

So I survived - but I’m fucking shattered, wiped out from two days of high stress and high anxiety (I watched that once, long ago) and a few panic attacks.

And there are at least five days to go until he comes back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Made A New Page For You While I’m Waiting For The Boilerman

 

It’s for you all (y’all) to add your links to your blogs and so you can find other good blogs to read.

SPREAD THE LOVE, MY CHICKADEES, far across the wide, wide, WordPress.

Add your own blog to DOTTY’S PET BLOGS.

And go and visit each other.

But always come back to me.

Because I love you.

You are ALL beautiful.

And sparkly.

No exceptions.

Except one.

 

Dotty Is Slightly Miffed With The Boilerman

 

 

 

 

OY, BOILERMAN – see that writing in the picture? It’s for YOU, you LYING FIBBING SHIRKER.

Just you wait till morning - that’s if you ARRIVE in the morning and you don’t make up another excuse not to come. ILL? yes right, what with? DOUBLE PNEUMONIA? BERI-BERI? E-COLI? THE BUBONIC PLAGUE? ill my fucking granny’s gums, you are NOT ill if you’ve got anything wrong with you it’s MAN FLU, you woosy-arsed whiney fucking WIMP. If you want to see ILL you should have seen me today WAITING FOR YOU TO COME AND FIX MY BOILER but just you wait, tomorrow I’m not taking ANY of my FUCKING PROPANOLOL and tonight I’m not taking my FUCKING MIRTAZAPINE AND MY FUCKING NIGHT BETA-BLOCKERS AND I’M NOT TAKING ANY FUCKING PILLS AT ALL TONIGHT OR TOMORROW SO IN THE MORNING YOU WILL GET THE FULL EFFECTS OF ME NOT TAKING MY FUCKIGN PILLS AND THEN YOU WILL KNOW WHAT BEING ILL IS YOU LYING LITTLE BASTARD AND i WILL LOCK THE FUCKING DOOR SO YOU CAN’T GET OUT AND YOU’LL THNK YOU ARE LOCKED IN WITH A RAVING LOONY AND YES YOU WILL BE LOCKED IN WITH A RAVING LOONY AND THAT FUCKING LOONY WILL BE ME. 

 

Dotty Sundays Are Very Very Boring

 

I’ve eaten a lot of Cumberland sausages today because I’ve been bored out of my skull and my eye still hurts. I don’t know WHY Sundays are so boring, they’re just the same as every other day for me, here in my house, because I CAN’T GO OUT, but there’s a boring Sunday feeling to Sundays that I don’t get on the other days.

tO RELIEVE SOME OF THIS shitey boredom, i’M WRITING THIS SENTENCE WITH THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON SWITCHED ON, but i’M ALSO USING THE SHIFT BUTTON IN TWO WAYS, FIRSTLY i’M USING IT JUST AS i WOULD IF THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON WASN’T SWITCHED ON, AND SECONDLY i’M USING IT AS A shouty tool EXCEPT IT DOESN’T look to be working because this part looks more like a whisper than a shout. wHAT DO YOU THINK?

i’M GOING TO MAKE SOME MORE cUMBERLAND SAUSAGES. i MIGHT AS WELL STUFF MYSELF UNTIL i can’t fucking move.

I AM SOOOOO FUUUUUCKING BORED. BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED

 

Where’s my brick?

 

 

 

The Wind That Blows Between Their Ears

 

 

Oh, but they are stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. STUPID. When I tell you who I’m talking about you’ll agree with me and if you don’t, if you’ve ever said this thing that they say, which I’m about to tell you – well – well I don’t know what I’ll say to you if you have ever said it except DON’T EVER SAY IT AGAIN because it’s one of the most stupid things you could ever say. Saying it makes you look stupid, and I know you’re not stupid or you wouldn’t be reading my little blog.

Imagine you’re watching a game show. It doesn’t matter which one, just make it one that has a quizmaster, a contestant and a question.

The contestant is in his twenties. He’s answered most of his (or her) previous questions, he’s been to university, he’s got a good job. He doesn’t SEEM stupid –

UNTIL

the quizmaster asks the next question and the  next question is something like one of these questions —

 

In which year did England win the world cup?

In which year did Elvis Presley die?

How long did Queen Victoria reign?

Who was the first man on the moon?

How many Number One songs did the Beatles have?

 

 

 

And the contestant’s answer is 

 

‘I DON’T KNOW, I WASN’T BORN THEN.

 

 

On how many levels of STUPID does this contestant live? ALL OF THEM, that’s how many. I was going to do a long post about EACH LEVEL OF STUPIDITY but I decided not to because if you don’t know how STUPID this answer is then have a little think about it and if you still don’t know – DON’T ASK ME because all I will say is YOU ARE VERY, VERY STUPID AND YOUR STUPIDNESS WILL ONLY BECOME MORE STUPID AS YOU GET OLDER, YOU STUPID,STUPID PERSON.

 

 

 

 

P.S. Did anyone notice the absence of swear words in this post? Did you notice how well I did? Not even ONE swear word. I deserve a treat for that and I’m going to have one. Now.

 

 

Dotty and Lottie (But Not For Long)

 

 

Morning (barely) and I was woken up AGAIN by banging at the back door. I’d fallen asleep at the kitchen table sometime in the early hours, I can’t remember when. I think the last time I looked at the clock it was 3.42 am but it might not have been, I don’t know.

This time it was Lottie. She barged past me the second I had the door opened, storming into my kitchen shouting ‘WHERE ARE THEY? WHERE ARE MY GIRLS?’

‘Hold your horses, will you. They…’

‘TELL ME WHERE THEY ARE!’

‘I fucking ATE them, where do you think they are?’

She made towards the door that leads to the stairs, ‘PRISCILLA! CECILIA!’

‘Shut up, you silly cow, they’re sleeping.’

She turned round. ‘Are they all right? Were they upset?’

‘What do you think? He dragged them here in their pyjamas, they were crying their eyes out.’

‘Oh God.’ She sat down at the table. ‘I nearly died when I went into their rooms and they weren’t there. You could have rung me, you know, why didn’t you?’

Cheeky bitch! ‘Because I was SETTLING YOUR KIDS – that’s why. Anyway you’re a bit late to notice they’re gone, aren’t you? They’ve been here since half nine last night.’

‘He didn’t tell me. I got up this morning and… ‘ Then she BURST INTO TEARS.

Lottie did. 

She BURST INTO TEARS (sorry I just had to say it again, I couldn’t resist, I haven’t seen her in tears since we were little). She BURST INTO TEARS and sat there crying for a bit.

I watched her. She doesn’t cry like normal people, she makes a strange HAHURR, HAHURR, HAHURR noise in amongst all the snivelling. I think there was a moan or two in there as well but I couldn’t swear on it because of my tinnitus being so bad. I hate people who moan when they cry, they do it for attention - just CRY for fuck’s sake, don’t make a big show of it, no one gives a toss.

After a couple of minutes I put the kettle on to make a drink. ‘Tea or coffee?’ I asked.

I think she said tea so I made her tea. I had coffee - I don’t like tea, it tastes like soggy washing. I wanted to make some Cumberland sausages for my breakfast but I thought it might look a bit heartless if I put the frying pan on while she was still crying, but then I thought no it won’t because I’ll say I’m making Cumberland sausages for THE BERSERKERS’ breakfast.

‘I’m making Cumberland sausages for THE… girls’ breakfast. Do you want some?’

‘No.’

Fair enough. Wait till she got a whiff of them cooking, she’d want some then.

‘Do you want toast instead?’

‘I don’t want anything.’

Fine. I got on with making my breakfast. Two Cumberland sausages each for THE BERSERKERS, six little beauties for me. I was starving.

My Cumberland sausages were quarter-cooked when she said, ‘Did they get to sleep all right?’

‘Yep.’

‘What about Cecilia? She won’t go to sleep if she doesn’t have her teddy.’

‘She didn’t mention a teddy.’

‘Oh.’

Silence again except for the sound of the Cumberland sausages cooking. Hiss, hiss, pfff, pfff. And an occasional sniff from Lottie. I got the bread and butter out, and the plates, and a couple of cups for THE BERSERKERS’ milk. 

‘Wayne’s seeing someone else.’

WHAT? FAT-FUCK? SHAGGING AROUND?! HA HA HA HA HA!

‘He’s leaving me. That’s where I went last night, why I left the girls with Scotty. I followed him to her house.’

I turned the gas down so my Cumberland sausages wouldn’t burn. I didn’t know what to say to her. What CAN you say? So I said, ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘No, me neither, I thought we were happy, everything was fine. I can’t believe he’d do this, he always says the girls and I mean the world to him.’

‘No, I mean I can’t believe someone else would want him.’

Oops.

‘What do you mean?’

In for a penny, in for a pound – ‘Come on, Lottie, he’s a fat wanker – he’s a waste of good eyesight. You’ll be well rid of him.’

That did it.

‘WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT MY HUSBAND? HE IS NOT A FAT WANKER, HE’S WELL BUILT AND HE’S A PROPER MAN, NOT LIKE THE WIMP YOU MARRIED AND WHERE IS HE? OH LOOK, HE’S DEAD BECAUSE YOU MADE SUCH A GOOD CHOICE OF MAN YOU HAD TO KILL HIM.’

‘That’s a bit below the belt. And who said I HAD to kill him?’

She got up fast, scraping my chair across the lino.

‘Don’t do that, it hurts my ears.’

‘Fuck off, Dotty.’

Woohhooooo! She IS human. Off she went to get THE BERSERKERS and I let her, I could see it would all end in more tears if I didn’t (ha, she BURST INTO TEARS). I went back to cooking my Cumberland sausages which were almost done. A couple of minutes later I heard the toilet flush, then again, then they all came into the kitchen.

‘Cumberland sausages for breakfast!’ I said.

‘We’re going.’

‘No mummy,’

‘Yes!’

‘I’ve made their breakfast.’

She ignored me and handed THE BERSERKERS their coats. ‘Put them on.’

‘Want to thtay here.’

‘PUT YOUR COAT ON.’

And twenty seconds later they were gone and it was like they had never been. Except I had ten lovely Cumberland sausages for breakfast instead of six.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dotty Film Review – The Woman In Black

 

And today Harry the Plank Potter is wearing facial expression Number One

 

I have only two things to say about this film.

FIRST THING –  THEY’VE COMPLETELY SLAUGHTERED SUSAN HILL’S BOOK

and

SECOND THING —  HARRY POTTER CAN’T ACT – why would he even try to act, why would he want to put himself through the shame and humiliation when he doesn’t need to? HE’S A MAGICIAN, isn’t that good enough for him? He’s like these soap opera people who decide that because their CHARACTER is popular on a soap they’ll leave that soap because they’re too good for it, they want bigger things, better things and what happens after they leave is THEY ARE NEVER SEEN ON MY TELLY AGAIN. They disappear into the whirly voids of obscurity and spend the rest of their lives in deep despond about the GRAVE MISTAKE they made, and they watch their old soap and they see the people they used to work with IN STEADY EMPLOYMENT, ENJOYING THEIR STEADY MODICUM OF FAME and they cry and cry and cry. Sometimes they DO re-appear, like Ricky & Bianca & Mandy & David Wicks & Dennis Tanner and all the other old faces the telly companies hire back because THEY CAN PAY THEM LESS THAN OTHER ACTORS BECAUSE THEY ARE SO DESPERATE TO HAVE THEIR WORN AND TATTERED FACES ON MY TELLY AGAIN. Harry, you don’t need to be like them. A magician’s life is a good one. You can travel, you can have a laugh, you can do MAGIC and best of all YOU CAN BECOME FAMOUS like PAUL DANIELS. If VOLDEMORT could see you now he’d piss his pants laughing at your acting, in particular at your TWO FACIAL EXPRESSIONS (facial expression 1 – wooden / facial expression 2 – is it fear?). But why didn’t you use your magic on yourself? Or your invisible cloak, which actually is a brilliant idea – get them to remake the film with you wearing your invisible cloak over your head FOR THE WHOLE FILM. That would be a right laugh, they could still call it The Woman In Black or they could call it Headless Harry Potter in The Woman In Black Film.

CONFESSION — I haven’t actually seen the whole of The Woman In Black, I saw three clips of it but that was quite enough for me, thank you. From what I gather though, the whole film is nothing but Harry Potter and his TWO FACIAL EXPRESSIONS, some CREEPY LOCAL PEOPLE, a few TENSE MOMENTS, and a lot of bad weather.

 

Score – 4 out of 10 (I’ve marked this up by two points because I’m soft, I still like Harry, he’s young, bless him, and he did TRY).

 

Dotty Book Review – Wuthering Heights

 

My new best friend, little Emily, is the credited author of this book with a teensy bit of help from yours truly – Cathy Earnshaw has ginger hair and this was my doing because little Emily couldn’t make up her mind what colour hair Cathy should have so I advised her - ginger. Cathy runs around the moors a lot. I think she has a mental illness that makes her think she’s a ginger sheep she gallops about up there so much. I asked Branwell if he can sort her out with a little tot of laudanum to calm her down (his prices are very reasonable).

It’s Heathcliff I feel sorry for. Have you seen the state of his little house? It’s nothing but RUINS, a few tumbledown stones. I worry about where he sleeps in winter. In summer he’s fine, he sits drinking in the Black Bull all night with nice American tourists who’ve travelled a long way to visit him and when they find out he has nowhere to stay they very kindly stump up the cash for his Bed & Breakfast in the pub. It’s when the nice Americans go away that concerns me, what does he do then? Little Emily won’t have him in the house he’s caused so much trouble. He’s a moody sod at the best of times, so how anyone would put up with him lodging in their house I don’t know. I wouldn’t have him to stay with me, I couldn’t anyway because I HAVE PEOPLE PHOBIA and a moody man in the house would scare me. Having JUDAS to stay was bad enough and he’s my ex-brother, imagine what it would do to me having a relative stranger around all the time, especially one as morose as Heathcliff. No, he can’t come here.

Cathy should be the one to take him in but she won’t. She’s a bit of a bimbo, and she’s a bit slutty too. And she can’t sing. When she had black bushy hair (before little Emily saught my advice) she changed her name to Kate and she used to stand outside Heathcliff’s window singing a synopsis of the book. I’ll leave you to listen to her singing it, I don’t want to hear her again, I’ve got tinnitus and she’d do my head in. This is what she sings –

 

Out on the wiley, windy moors

we’d roll and fall in green.

You had a temper — like my jealousy,

too hot, too greedy.

How could you leave me

when I needed to — possess you?

I hated you, I loved you too.

Bad dreams in the night

told me I was going to lose the fight,

leave behind my Wuuuthering, Wuuuthering,

Wuuuthering-a Heights

Heeeaathcliff! It’s me, oh Catheee

I’ve come home I’m —- so coh-oh-oh-old,

let me in at your windoh-oh-oh-ohw.

Heeeaathcliff! It’s me, oh Catheee

I’ve come home I’m —- so coh-oh-oh-old,

let me in at your windoh-oh-oh-ohw.

Oooh it gets dark, it gets lonely

on the other side from you.

I pine a lot. I find the lot

falls through without you.

I’m coming back love,

Cruel Heathcliff, my one dream,

my only Master.

Too long I roam in the night.

I’m coming back to his side to put it right.

I’m coming home to Wuuuthering, Wuuuthering,

Wuuuthering-a Heights

Heeeaathcliff! It’s me, oh Catheee

I’ve come home I’m —- so coh-oh-oh-old,

let me in at your windoh-oh-oh-ohw.

Heeeaathcliff! It’s me, oh Catheee

I’ve come home I’m —- so coh-oh-oh-old,

let me in at your windoh-oh-oh-ohw.

Ooh, let me have it,

let me grab your soul away.

Ooh, let me have it,

let me grab your soul away.

You know it’s me — Cathy.

Heeeaathcliff! It’s me, oh Catheee

I’ve come home I’m —- so coh-oh-oh-old,

let me in at your windoh-oh-oh-ohw.

Heeeaathcliff! It’s me, oh Catheee

I’ve come home I’m —- so coh-oh-oh-old,

let me in at your windoh-oh-oh-ohw.

Heeeaathcliff! It’s me, oh Catheee

I’ve come home I’m —- so coh-oh-oh-old,

let me in at your windoh-oh-oh-ohw.

Heeeaathcliff! It’s me, oh Catheee

I’ve come home I’m —- so cold.

by Kate Bush (Cathy’s stage name)

 

Conquered – Them, Not Me. Ha!

 

VICTORY IS MINE – COMPLETELY.

I’ve got them all back.

BOSH!

But they still shouldn’t have done it in the first place.

 

 

 

Did Jesus Steal My Followers?

 

I was up all night again last night (that’s two nights in a row – how many more before I DIE?) worrying about my missing followers and trying to fill the gaping, glaring gaps in my house left by THE BINNING OF SOME PRECIOUS COLLECTIONS when I had a thought — what if my missing followers were stolen away by JESUS because I have more followers than he did at the start of his career? He could have kidnapped them due to overwhelming jealousy, or he could have tempted them away with a bit of BREAD and a FISH (if they prefer bread and fish to Cumberland sausages then I leave them to their fate, they are UNSAVEABLE).

Or Jesus might not have pinched them, they might have just been VERY TOUCHY about me mentioning the huge difference in followers. Some people do get VERY TOUCHY about Jesus, like the VERY UNNEIGHBOURLY JEHOVAH’S WITNESSES I lived next door to many years ago who tried to steal my garden the first summer I lived there (they didn’t get it – I went to my local council and REPORTED THEM). During the garden battle I happened to be going through a DECORATING MY WINDOWS phase and I put some decorative signs in one of my kitchen windows, (I had TWO kitchen windows in that house), the window that just happened to face their door. I can’t remember all the signs I put in the window, but I remember that one was a big recruiting advertisement for BLOOD DONORS (very pretty, if I recall rightly), another was a very fancy bumper sticker that said JESUS IS O NEGATIVE and across the top of the window I strung some sparkly fairy lights and a foil MERRY CHRISTMAS decoration that glimmered in the summer sun and twinkled softly at night when the fairy lights were on.

I can’t be certain if it was the garden battle or the Jesus thing but they didn’t speak to me again. I suspect it was the Jesus thing. And the amount of EVIL LOOKS they threw at me forever afterwards – all I have to say to that is professing to be GODLY and GOOD and LOVE THY NEIGHBOURISH doesn’t actually get you people to heaven UNLESS YOU PRACTICE WHAT YOU PREACH.

So if my missing followers DID leave because they were VERY TOUCHY about me having more followers than Jesus in his early days, well I’m sorry but I CAN’T HELP THAT – a fact is a fact and you’ll just have to get over it.

 

Packing Up My Collections

 

I have begun packing up my house. It’s a scary job, very daunting, but I’m doing it sensibly, a bit at a time, focusing on one collection before I even look at another. I started in the kitchen and you’ll be GOBSMACKED when I tell you that I have THROWN AWAY four whole collections. FOUR.

I binned my collection of 534 McCAIN’S CHIPPY CHIP BAGS.

I binned my collection of 211 OXO CONCENTRATED LIQUID STOCK BOTTLES.

I binned my collection of 4,876 DIET COKE BOTTLES (2 litres) which included LIMITED EDITION CHRISTMAS DIET COKE BOTTLES, LIMITED EDITION VALENTINE’S DAY DIET COKE BOTTLES and LIMITED EDITION 2010 FIFA WORLD CUP DIET COKE BOTTLES. When I’m in my new house I intend to begin a new collection of DIET COKE BOTTLES when they start bringing out the LONDON 2012 OLYMPICS DIET COKE BOTTLES. Yes, I’ve given up some treasures but Scotty said I can only take a few collections with me and it’ll be worth it when I’m in my new house and can SEE THE DIMENSIONS OF THE ROOMS.

And I binned my collection of 1,765 SUMA TOMATO PUREE TUBES because they stank.

I didn’t bin my collection of 701 FLORA LIGHT MARGARINE TUBS because they’ll come in handy to store OTHER collections in, such as my collection of 98,543 COLOURED DRAWING PINS, or my collection of 3,621 HISTORICAL TIDDLYWINKS (this collection goes back years, back to when I was five years old, and I still have the red NUMBER 1 TIDDLYWINK which I liberated when Susan Green ran off to tell her mother I had nipped her arm and spat in her hair).

I still have a few collections to sort out in the kitchen but they’re not huge. Then I’ll move on to the living room, then the hallway, then I’ll do upstairs. Generally I’ve not been panicking MUCH if I keep focused on what I’m doing and remember to take my pills at the right time. Scotty has been a great help, singing to me if I DO get a bit panicky or apathetic, cleaning all the shite that my collections have been, until now, covering up (I didn’t know spiders went HARD when they were a long time dead – the legs have been snapping off them here, there and everywhere and Scotty has had to locate every single one of them because I’m NOT sleeping in a house that has DEAD SPIDER’S LEGS all over the place), and all in all he is being the brilliant brother that he has always been.

Strangely I haven’t cried at all today, even when Scotty’s been taking the binbags out to the skip in the front garden. I just give my collections a little wave and blow them a kiss and in my mind I say a nice goodbye and hope they don’t think too badly of me. I’m surprising MYSELF with how I’m reacting (or NOT reacting) to it all and I just KNOW that this move is the best thing that could have happened, it’s come at JUST the right time. The one thing I’m looking forward to above all the other fantastic things this move will bring is going for my first walk alone. Can you picture me walking in NOWHERE? I can. I can sense the freedom, I can almost remember what it felt like to just GO OUTSIDE AND WALK without a care. Eeeeek! Eeeeeek! I can’t wait!

I’m going to go and whittle down my collection of 364 BETAMAX VIDEOS now. I might just chuck the lot out, I can’t even remember what most of them are since my BETAMAX VIDEO PLAYER broke in 1998.

 

 

 

Scotty Has Bricked Up My Front Door

 

He’s finished it. And he made a better job of it than I could. Very neat, and he painted it and did all the tidying up afterwards. He’s having a little sleep now so I’ve got time to do some blog.

I don’t think I told you much last time, did I, except about our shopping trip to the 24 hour Tesco. Okay well, Scotty arrived about 1.05 am the night before last (twelve taps on the kitchen window and a noise that’s supposed to sound like an owl but never does, bless him). He looked different from the last time I saw him, bigger, much BIGGER and when he took his coat off I saw his arm muscles and they were the BIGGEST ARM MUSCLES I’D EVER SEEN, like DEAD PUPPIES curled up under his skin, and his chest looked like a GIANT’S CHEST and I asked him if he’d been going to a gym (he doesn’t normally join things unless he’s on a job and in disguise) and he said no, it was the job before last that had required him to spend a long time lifting a lot of rocks and boulders in order to look inside caves to see if his target was there. He couldn’t tell me WHO the target was, he never can (outright), but he did a lot of nodding and winking towards my waste paper basket, saying ‘That BIN‘s a bit LADEN, Dotty’ and finally I got it. Ha! But OF COURSE they would have HAD to hire Scotty after all that time spent looking. I should have realised before now.

When we were eating our Cumberland sausage sandwiches (he ate eight of them) he said he was sorry he couldn’t make it back for Christmas, he would have been here, he really, really wanted to be but he was stuck in LIBYA trying to find a way back out again (another job done, isn’t he clever) and he couldn’t find a post box to send me my Christmas card (that explains his tan – I’ll admit I was A BIT worried at first when I saw him, I thought he’d joined a gym with a sunbed in it and become all fairy-fied and metro-sexual like a big muscly PONCE, not that big muscly ponces aren’t nice people or anything). And he looked so sad at missing Christmas that I had a GREAT IDEA (which led to the shopping trip to the 24 hour Tesco) – tomorrow I’m going to make a PRETEND CHRISTMAS DAY for Scotty. You should have seen him when I said we’re going to have a pretend Christmas - he had tears in eyes and I had to punch him one in the face to stop him blubbing, the big girl. We finally found all the decorations, (after a big hunt through my collections because I couldn’t remember where I’d put them), we’ve put the tree up, the turkey and the goose and everything are happily defrosting away and Scotty finished bricking up the front door (yes, I know I’ve already told you that, now I’m telling you again. So what?) He’s painted it white and at the bottom he’s painted a fireplace so it doesn’t look like a front door was ever there at all, it looks like a CHIMNEY BREAST! Not to be boastful or anything but Scotty is the BEST BIG BROTHER IN THE WORLD. Little Donkey is playing softly on the CD player, Scotty is snoring away on the sofa, the tree lights are twinkling, everything feels Christmassy AND IT’S SNOWING! Not bad for a pretend Christmas, eh?

I put the present I had bought for Scotty at Christmas under the pretend Christmas Christmas tree. I didn’t have to hunt for it, I knew exactly where it was and I went straight to it – it was in the place I always keep his Christmas present when Christmas is done with and he hasn’t turned up -  it was in the wooden bread bin that isn’t really a bread bin it’s SCOTTY’S PRESENT RECEPTACLE although it does still say BREAD BIN on the front. I can’t remember what’s in the present though so I’m just as excited to see what I got him as he is.

The present he brought me is a secret, I can’t tell you what it is, but after I shot Simon (see A Statement From The Accused) and the thieving police took all my guns away, Scotty knew just what I wanted and HE GOT ME IT. He’s also giving me his old sniper rifle sock, which has been used in some FAMOUS WAYS, because he just bought himself a new one, (a sock) state of the art – it has all the usual bells and whistles but it also has a BUILT-IN SATELLITE NAVIGATION SYSTEM which would have been useful for helping him out of LIBYA if he’d had it then. The sock, I mean, the new one not the old one, hang on yes the old one, that’s the one I mean, not the new one, he’s just bought that. Oh look, you’re confusing me now. I’m not talking about it any more.

 I’m going to dig out the Christmas Pudding that’s at the back of the kitchen cupboard. I haven’t seen it for a few years but I know it’ll be there, EVERYONE has a Christmas Pudding at the back of their kitchen cupboard.

Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin’s on his way …….

 

Dotty And Scotty Go Shopping

 

RAISE THE FLAGS. SOUND THE HORNS. FIRE THE CANNONS.

I HAVE BEEN OUT. Out of the house. Outside, outdoors, out in the air, out in the snow, out, out, out, out, out. Scotty took me to the 24 hour Tesco. He wasn’t tired after all when he got here last night so he talked me into going shopping but he didn’t have to do much convincing because I always feel safe when Scotty takes me out and I felt particularly safe last night because of my new present (which I can’t tell you about but it fits in my handbag and the silencer fits in that little mobile phone pocket in the lining of my handbag). We set off at 3.30am (Scotty has a gorgeous brand new car – it’s posh) and there were NO OTHER SHOPPERS in the whole of the 24 hour Tesco except two different, separate women in their pyjamas (who does that? Tramps, that’s who) and three separate men, but Scotty got each of them in his sights and tracked them round the aisles while I waited in the Stationery aisle and they didn’t take long to get what they wanted and go.

I bought LOADS of stuff and some lovely, lovely stationery. Have I told you I have a thing about stationery? I LOVE IT ALL but especially fresh new black A5 NOTEBOOKS, soft bendy ones with metal spiralbound spines and a big elastic bit attached to the front cover so the pages don’t flop about if you don’t want them to. I love opening a new A5 NOTEBOOK and seeing the first blank page and knowing there are LOADS of blank pages for me to fill up with whatever shite I want. And I love getting to the last page and knowing I’ll soon be able to open a NEW ONE again. I LOVE MY A5 NOTEBOOKS. I bought a good few of them (32) because who knows when I’ll get to go to the 24 hour Tesco again.

I also bought TWENTY PACKETS OF CUMBERLAND SAUSAGES because I’d rather have Tesco Cumberland sausages than Asda’s (see Dotty Will Soon Be Done For) and like I said, who knows when I’ll get to go there again. I won’t bore you with my whole shopping list, bread, milk, McCain Chippy Chips etc etc because you probably buy similar things to me except if you’re American and you buy things like buttermilk and rye bread and chilli dogs and cornbread and grits and pot roasts and succotash (what the fuck is THAT?) — I have to tell you that in my recipe book collection I have spiralbound copies of both WHITE TRASH COOKING I and WHITE TRASH COOKING II so I know what you people eat and let me tell you IT IS VERY STRANGE and UNHEALTHY and when I’ve got some time I’m going to write to YOUR PRESIDENT MR BARACK OBAMA on your behalf and tell him you need PROPER NUTRITIOUS BRITISH FOOD in America, like Cumberland sausages and Yorkshire puddings and Jam Roly Poly and Chicken Dippers and Chicken Jalfrezi and haggis and Spotted Dick and McCain’s Chippy Chips (which are REAL CHIPS – THEY ARE NOT CRISPS) and sausage rolls and Melton Mowbray pork pies and HobNobs and onion bhajis and Scotch eggs and haslet and samosas and Spam and prawn crackers and Billy Bear sausage and Turkey Twizzlers and all sorts of PROPER NUTRITIOUS BRITISH FOOD that y’all (see what I did there?) should be eating.

Anyway, look what you made me do – I don’t have time to tell you any more about Scotty being here because he’s going to show me some of his photos and things and he’s going to tell me how to get Lottie back for what she did the other night (he was DISGUSTED by her behaviour and he’s going to order me a special trepanning kit from off the internet to replace my hand-drill that the police nicked off me) so I’ll have to tell you all about it next time. Okay?

 

EDIT EDIT EDIT  — Panic attack, panic attack — I did a spelling mistake that I’ve had to come back and edit. I HATE making spelling mistakes, HATE it.

 

 

 

 

Ssshhh, This Is A Secret

 

 

Oh my giddygoddyjesus, I’m as happy as a pig in shit. I can’t stop squealing, eeek, eeek, eeek, not Psycho-stabby eeek, eeek, eeek, not tonight anyway, I’m doing happy eeeks and I can’t stop. Do you know why?

MY BROTHER IS COMING TO STAY WITH ME TONIGHT !!!!!

and I didn’t find out until now because you know when you buy a box of plasters and you get those little round ones that no one uses? I use them. They’re the perfect size for sticking on your electronic things over suspect lights that are really hidden cameras. I’ve got one plaster on a strange light on my laptop (Lottie said it isn’t a camera, it’s a microphone, but who believes HER the spying bitch?), one on my telly, one on my digi-telly-box, one on my DVD recorder, one on my microwave, one on my digi alarm clock, two on my Wii thing, in fact anything that has a red light (or any coloured light, they do blue and green ones nowadays), has a little round plaster on it and this includes my telephone answering machine so I didn’t see the message Scotty left me this morning to say he’s coming (he leaves a coded message, usually a song or a nursery rhyme to outfox Interpol) but I didn’t know the little light was flashing until I accidentally knocked the whole phone off the wall with my hod-carrier a few minutes ago (I’m still on with bricking up the front door, I seem to have missed a few hours somewhere since yesterday, but it doesn’t matter now, Scotty will finish the job for me).

I have to go and start cooking him some sausages. He’ll be starving when he gets here.

OH! AND HE’S BRINGING ME A PRESENT!!!! I know because he sang Baa Baa black sheep, have you any wool, yes sir, yes sir, three bags full, one for the master and one for the dame, and one for the little dot who lives down the lane. And that’s me! The little dot is me. Yippeeee! haaaappy talkin talkin happy talk, talk about things you like tooooo doooooo. if you don’t have a dreeeeeam you’ve got to have a dreeeeeeam or how you gonna make a dream come troooooo.

eeek, eeeek, eeeeek.

 

IMPORTANT EDIT THAT I FORGOT TO SAY —

DON’T TELL ANYONE HE’S COMING.

And I’m so excited I forgot to say CUMBERLAND sausages, I just said sausages. Hahahahahahahahahaha I’m such a divvy bitch, aren’t I?

 

 

Dotty In The Doldrums (with very little swearing)

 

It’s funny how thinking about one thing always leads to thinking about another. Except when you’re comatose, no one knows what your thoughts do then and there are no memories to show you afterwards. My little foray into thinking got me thinking a bit more today, not much, just one question that kept repeating itself over and over and still won’t go away –

What is Dotty?

No answers come. There are no answers. To have answers you first need truths and all my truths went out of the window years ago. One truth that everyone on this planet thinks they are certain of is BEING BORN. I’ve never been certain of it. How do I know I was born? I only have meine Mami’s word for it and that’s not really proof, is it, it’s hearsay. I don’t remember ANYTHING about my alleged birth and you’d think I would seeing as it’s up there with DEATH in the list of major life events.

 Some of us trudging this planet might not even be homo sapiens, we might be another, different, cousin species of the first apes to stand up, homo doomigloomius, homo slittywrists, homo whythefuckamIevenhere. Because most of the time I don’t feel human and human behaviour confounds and baffles me and I think, Dotty they are just like you without the fuckupiness, but no, they’re NOT, they’re SO different that I can only conclude I’m right about not being completely human, or either I’M not completely human or THEY’RE not, it depends who and what the original namer of the species was -  if he was a happy chappy then THEY became humans, if it was a miserable fuck then We Who Are Mental did.

But if we ARE all one species then it all becomes truly tragic and hopeless (which is the way WE see it now – which, I suppose, is a TRUTH after all). If we are all one species then NORMAL people are merely posturing their way through life in the hope that others will believe they too are NORMAL. Scratch down a bit and We Who Are Mental  would see them for what they really are, reflections of ourselves, because it can’t work the other way round, scratch OUR surfaces and all you’d find is more of the same. And worse.

Which is why, one species or not, WE will always be the not-quite-human humans (if we are human at all), made to feel like an alien species, unborns, mental abominations, fucking loose-minded loonies who need locking away. But it isn’t US they really fear even though they think it is - it’s what they see in us, the dark reflection, it’s what they hear in us, their own echo, it’s what they know when they think of us – that IT lives somewhere within themselves too. And it truly terrifies them. As it should.

 

 

 

 

DIY For She-Hermits

THIS PAGE IS EXCLUDED FROM THE SEX DISCRIMINATION ACT 1975 and 1986 (amended), BECAUSE I SAID IT IS.

 

For All She-Hermits

DIY is shite, we all know that. It involves planning things and DOING things that we don’t want to do. It’s not just normal shite, it’s A LOAD OF SHITE, but sometimes it’s a necessary evil, sometimes it’s unavoidable and we just have to pull our fingers out and get on with it. So I’m going to tell you everything you need to know about DIY so you don’t have to worry about it ever again.

Men treat DIY as if it’s brain surgery. Just as a brain surgeon wears his scrubs to operate, DIY men get dressed up in boiler suits or overalls (or whatever they call those all-in-one things), thinking they look work-like and sexy, but really those boiler suits are just BIG BABY ROMPER SUITS that look like BIG BABY ROMPER SUITS and serve no purpose at all. Wear your jeans, you silly man, you’re not a baby. It’s not a good look.

DIY men have all sorts of tools and power tools and gadgets, but they don’t just have ONE of everything, they have a ROOM full of the stuff, usually a cellar or a shed that they won’t let you into, packed full of it all, millions of screwdrivers and hammers and awls and drills and drill bits and pliers and spirit levels and screws for wood, screws for metal, screws for bricks (INFIDELS) and chisels and saws and grinders and welders and sanders and planes and loads and loads and loads of other bits of metal shite that are all POINTLESS and STUPID. And they make boards to DISPLAY THEIR TOOLS ON THE WALLS. What’s that all about, eh? Rembrandt the Spanner? And they won’t use THE WRONG TOOL to get a job done quickly, they have to use the exact one, the two and one eighth red posi-drive screwdriver that clicks when you turn it and JUST FITS inside the screw, and when they’ve done the job that screwdriver has to be put back in JUST THE RIGHT PLACE or they moan and moan and moan like the big whiney-arses they are. WELL BOLLOCKS TO ALL OF THAT. Every single DIY job can be done without keeping B&Q and Toolfix in business. To do a DIY job to perfection a She-Hermit doesn’t need all that fuckwit-stuff, you only need a few tools and a few all-purpose things that I’m going to list now.

 

1 massive straight-headed screwdriver

1 stiletto shoe (strong heel, metal tip)

1 palette knife

1 carving knife

1 fish slice

1 nail file

1 pair of eyebrow tweezers

1 big, big bag of nails

miscellaneous household & garden things

 

And that’s it. Not even a drawerful, but you don’t need anything else and I’m going to demonstrate this by telling you about a little DIY project that I completed last year.

 

HOW TO MAKE AN AIR-RAID SHELTER IN YOUR CELLAR WHEN YOU HAVEN’T GOT A CELLAR

Begin by taking your floor up in the kitchen. Lift your lino then take the floorboards up by prising at them with your massive straight-headed screwdriver. Be careful you don’t rip your lino or snap your floorboards, you’ll need to put them back down again when you’ve finished.

Get your garden spade and start digging out your Air-Raid Shelter. Use your pots and pans for the soil and when they’re full empty them out of your kitchen window. As you empty more and more pots and pans a soil-wall will grow in front of your kitchen window providing you with a natural block against nosey neighbours peering in. Dig down deep, the deeper the better, and you’ll tap into the natural geothermal heat that the centre of the earth provides for free, saving money on future heating bills when you spend time in your Air-Raid Shelter.

When you’ve dug out your big hole you need to line it with something. Get a lot of wood (send your Shopping Person out in the middle of the night to nick a big fence) and get your stiletto and your big bag of nails. Nail all the wood together to form walls and a floor. You’ll need to water-proof the wood or it’ll rot at some point – A DIY man would tell you that you need to tank your Air-Raid Shelter with something non-permeable and spend loads of money doing so, but in the same way as you line a pond by sealing it with puddled clay, you can water-proof your Air-Raid Shelter with a mixture of solidified Cumberland sausage fat and the dust from around your house (leave the dust for as long as it takes for 3 inch piles to form and when you need it for water-proofing your Air-Raid Shelter you can just peel it off in lumps). Spread the mixture all over the wooden walls and floor to seal it permanently.

Now comes the fun bit – choosing the wallpaper. White is good because it brightens the place up but it can be a bit sterile so I went for a lovely background shade of Apple White, (which is white but with a little hint of apple green), and in the foreground is a repeating picture of a little blue bird on a branch, just right for when you have to spend a lot of time down there and you can’t see any nature. Use your carving knife for slicing the strips of wallpaper to the right size. Stick it straight onto the walls and it’ll stick to the Cumberland sausage fat and dust mixture, no wallpaper paste required. Use your fish slice for smoothing it into place and getting the bubbles out. (You can paint the walls if you’d rather – your massive screwdriver will easily open the paint tin, doubles up as a stirring stick and you can jam it into the head of a paintbrush if you’ve lost the original handle). Ba-da-boom, one beautifully decorated Air-Raid Shelter ready to furnish as you please but remember to put in a food shelf (use nails and stiletto), and a bed (bring one down from upstairs).

When you put the floorboards back be sure to make a door in them (with your carving knife to cut out the shape, nails, stiletto). Don’t forget to cut a bit out of your lino for access.

 

When I can be bothered I’m going to tell you about how I made the wasted space in the insides of my walls into extra storage space for my collections by taking out the cavity wall insulation. You need some little children for this, to squeeze into the narrow spaces – I used THE BERSERKERS but any will do. Also you might need to borrow two tools from a man – an angle grinder and some bolt-cutters. These are to cut through the metal butterfly ties that join the inner and outer walls together. Remember though, big electric power tools are dangerous so give the angle grinder to the eldest child and the bolt-cutters to the youngest – Prissy is the eldest BERSERKER (she’s 7) so she had the angle grinder, Cissy’s only 5 so she had the bolt-cutters. If you’re American and live in a wooden house you won’t have to borrow these tools, in fact you won’t have to use the insides of your walls at all, you can just get your Shopping Person to nick a load of fences and make some more outside walls for your house, leaving as much of a gap as you want.

 

So you see, She-Hermits, DIY isn’t brain surgery, it isn’t complicated and you don’t need all the tools and shit that men pretend you need. It’s a PIECE OF PISS and anyone can do it.

Happy DIYing!!

 

Adventures In The Airing Cupboard

 

Last night I was driven to hide in the airing cupboard by certain people who shall not be named (but you know who you are, don’t you?). They all scared me silly – niceness is disconcerting at the best of times but when it’s forced on a hermit willy-nilly from all directions, well, it was either the airing cupboard or total collapse and a trip to Ward 13. BUT – (and don’t all you Perpetrators of Niceness misinterpret what I’m going to say next as forgiveness or anything) - my time in the airing cupboard turned out to be one of the best times of my life and one of the worst. I’ve only just come out (well, not exactly this minute – I went for a wee and a wash and a Cumberland sausage sandwich or four before I switched on my laptop).

It started off like it usually does. I gathered what I needed (pills, brick, water, blanket, some Cumberland sausages, and a couple of little drams of Laudanum to help me sleep) and went in. My airing cupboard is larger than the average airing cupboard, in fact it used to be one of my spare bedrooms but after my children left home I stored all my new towels, sheets, duvet sets, etc in there (I like to collect nice towels and bedding) so you could say the room decided for itself that it needed a change (and why shouldn’t it?). It’s bigger than a normal airing cupboard but it isn’t Narnia so I can only fit so much in there, and the space I have to make my little bed in IS little, probably a lot smaller than the space in an Uncollector’s airing cupboard. I made my little bed on the bit of floor left in the middle of the stacks. Cosy and warm. I began the shaping of my new brick and spent about an hour or two on that (handy that I was in the airing cupboard, my towels were right there ready to mop up the blood – actually, wait a minute, I just need to check I didn’t use my white ones).

Okay, they were blue.

When I’d finished with my brick I felt round for my torch but it wasn’t there. I know NOW that I forgot it, but I didn’t know it then and all sorts of things started going through my head, terrible things, horrible things about monsters and demons hiding in the stacks, about giant woodlice and moths crawling out to get me, about the airing cupboard being Narnia after all and Queen Jadis had nicked my torch and was going to come back and turn me into a giant snowball. At that I panicked, full blown panic. I thrashed my arms about a bit. And my legs. I think it was my right big toe that clipped the stack of eiderdowns and started the TOPPLE (I’ve put that in big and bold because it was a BIG MEGA TOPPLE). Everything came down on me, all of it, even the stacks that were wedged to the ceiling, I was underneath the whole lot. I panicked some more. I was stuck, I couldn’t get out. I got ready to die and I just knew that when I was found I would be nothing but a dried husk of a Dotty and everything in the airing cupboard would have soaked up all my bodily fluids and CSI Yorkshire would have some nice new towels and posh duvet sets after they’d extracted me out of them and they’d given them a good wash (I hoped they’d use Persil Non-Bio because I’m allergic to other washing powders). I wondered who’d come for me at the FINAL SECOND, Death, or one of his minions, Death’s mini-me, – and if Death really IS a Hoodie I’d be even more afraid than I already was because if he was anything like the Hoodies in my area he wouldn’t just carry a sickle he’d have a five inch shank and a semi-automatic and he’d call me nasty names and say ‘innit’ a lot and then he’d mug me for my phone before he took me away to Deathland (but my phone was in the drawer where I’d put it so phew! he wouldn’t get that). As all this was going through my head I started to  feel dizzy and see stars and I knew it was TIME, the life was seeping out of me, goodbye World you were a shitty place but you had some nice scenery, I’d really miss the sun coming up over Ilkley Moor at dawn on a clear winter’s morn.

Darkness fell and I don’t know what happened then because I was dead (well, obviously I wasn’t DEAD dead, but you know what I mean, I thought I was). I woke up and it was still dark so naturally I assumed I’d been transported out of the airing cupboard to Hell (in case you’re wondering, it wasn’t red, or hot, and there were no flames or screaming wraiths). My head hurt like fuck. I wondered if I’d been right all along and Death HAD mugged me for my phone and while he was at it had given me a bash round the head with his rock-hard boney fist. I put my hand out in front of me to see if it was still there. I wiggled my fingers. I couldn’t see them but what I did see, what slowly took shape right there in front of me, was the most wondrous, heart-lifting thing ever, the best thing I could ever, ever, ever have seen, and if I live until my dying day I shall never forget the sight of my Granny Euphemia standing where my left thumb should have been, her hair still curly and white, her lovely toothless face still crumpled like a squished-up peach, her favourite torn slippers still flapping at the front, her woolly brown dress, her pink cardigan, and her kitchen apron with a big picture of Michelangelo’s David on it. I couldn’t believe it, I thought I was hallucinating that I’d been taken to Heaven not Hell because my Granny Euphemia was the loveliest, kindest, goodest person that ever lived and died and there was no way she would have ended up in Hell. Euphemia Agnes Headbanger nee de la O’McDuff, – our ancestors were French Calvinists, Irish potato faminists, and Scottish barbarians (ginger Picts) -  married to my Granda, Angus McHeadbanger – (dear dead Daddy dropped the Mc when he moved to England but I’ll tell you about that another time when I can think of him without keening).

‘Is that you, Dotty, hen?’ Granny Euphemia said.

Tears were pouring down my face and I was so choked with happiness I could hardly speak. But I did. ‘Yes, Granny Euphemia. It’s me,’ I said.

‘My, my, you’ve got awfy fat, lassie. Whit have you been eating?’

‘Cumberland sausages. They’re my favourite.’

‘Sausages? Do you ken whit they put in them?’

‘They’re no worse than haggis, Granny.’

‘Am I fat, hen? Am I? Tell me now, is there one spare inch of flesh on me? I’ve been eating haggis for nigh on eighty years and I’ve still got the figure that caught your Grandfaither.’

‘But you’ve been dead for twenty years, you’re bound to lose weight.’

‘Have I? Deid, am I? Ach, well, it comes tae us all in the end. Come here and gie me a cuddle, hen.’

I still couldn’t move. I tried to but one arm and both my legs were trapped. ‘I can’t, I’m stuck. Will you help me, please, Granny Euphemia?’

‘No. If you werenae so fat you’d have sprung up out of there in no time. You need tae stop eating yon sausages.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Granny Euphemia, just shift that bag of towels and I’ll be able to move my foot to kick my way out.’

‘No I will not. Ach, whit happened tae you, Dotty, hen? You were such a nice wee lassie. I should’ve gone tae see wee Lottie instead, she widnae speak tae her Granny like that.’

Typical fucking Lottie, I can’t even have a reunion with my long-dead Granny without her butting in on it. ‘I’m sorry for swearing. Please help me up, Granny Euphemia.’

She peered at me lying there, stuck. It seemed like ages before she spoke again. ‘I’ll help you up if you dae something for me,’ she said. ‘Promise me you’ll change your ways. Swearing and eating sausages, they have tae stop. And have you seen the state of your hoose, you dirty wee pig? It’s bogging. Clean it and keep cleaning it every day. I cannae believe you’ve let it get tae that. Where dae you keep your scrubbing brush and carbolic?’

‘Under the sink.’

‘Right, I’m away tae make a start then.’

And poof, she went, disappeared, gone. I lay there thinking about what she’d said. She was right, I had to make some changes, I do swear too much and the house could do with a bit of a tidy. Cutting out Cumberland sausages though – I’d have to see about that one, I’d give it a try, for Granny Euphemia. I hadn’t promised her I’d give them up though, she didn’t give me chance to before she fucked off to find the scrubbing brush and soap, so I thought that if I can’t manage without them at least I’m not going back on my word to her.

INTERLUDE

I got out of the airing cupboard at 3.03pm this afternoon. I don’t know how, it’s all a bit of a haze after Granny Euphemia disappeared, but if I remember rightly my lovely Ian Somerhalder came and lifted everything off me and stacked it all up neatly again. As I’ve already said, I had a wash and a wee and a pile of Cumberland sausage sandwiches as soon as I came out. And I’m going to have some MORE Cumberland sausage sandwiches now for my tea because you know what, Granny Euphemia is nowhere to be seen, she didn’t TOUCH the scrubbing brush or the soap and everything in the house is just as I left it last night. So, Granny Euphemia, even though seeing you made me the happiest Dotty in the world, you can go and sit and swivel on the scrubbing brush you old slacker, I bet you didn’t even look for it, I bet you just pissed off down the pub to get sozzled, didn’t you, so if it’s all right for you to say one thing and do another it’s all right for me too. I WILL stop swearing like I said I would, and I’ll clean my house BY MYSELF (seeing as you haven’t done ANYTHING at all) but as for giving up my Cumberland sausages, Hell will freeze over before that happens.

Right, I’m off to make my tea before it gets any later. I’m starving.

 

A Few Oggerys For Hermits

 

Bloggery - (Dah-Dah!!)

Sloggery – (housework)

Cloggery – (what happens to my sinks when I don’t do any sloggery)

Foggery – (of the brain)

Coggery (the process when I try to think)

Joggery – (on the spot)

Soggery – (wet, teary pillowcases)

Toggery - (the duvet I wear all day)

Moggery – (hatred of other people’s cats)

Hoggery – (Cumberland Sausages)

Smoggery – (when I’m cooking Cumberland sausages)

Hoggery # 2 – (collecting! and keeping!)

Boggery – (this is what happens when my loo gets cloggery if I’ve neglected my sloggery)

 

 

 

A Dotty Question

Do you really like me or are you just clicking?

Bricks, Berserkers And Big Meaty Crawly Creatures

 

I have a new brick. Bricks. Whoop-diddly-doo. Oh happy, happy me. Yes, well, you’ll see why I’m not over the moon when you get to the end of this. And I’m a bit (a lot) terrified as I’m writing so forgive me if I’m not as with-it as I normally am. Fear of the unknown does that to you. 

In the end I didn’t have to go into the garden to get my brick because just as I was putting on my brassards and vambraces the phone rang. I let it go to the answerphone as usual but when I realised it was Lottie (my sister) droning on, I ran to pick up the receiver. I don’t ever do that, I can’t stand the cow, but at that moment she was the lesser of the two evils (garden? sister? garden? sister? – no contest, I know the dangers of my sister, I didn’t know what was out there in the garden) and if I could talk her into coming round to see me there was a slim chance of conning her into getting me a brick. I told her I was having a series of panic attacks (true). I told her I couldn’t cope any more (true). I told her I was going up onto the roof, a little white lie that she would have spotted if she ever bothered to listen to me – I CAN’T GO OUT OF THE HOUSE, YOU THICK BINT, HOW I AM GOING TO GET ONTO THE ROOF?

Anyway, she came. And, although she said she wouldn’t, she brought THE BERSERKERS with her. I was taking off my chain mail when I heard them coming down the front path (they only live two streets away) and I had another panic attack at the sound of them, during which one of the chain mail rings got caught on my earring and almost ripped it out of my lobe.

Knock, knock, knock at the door.

‘I’m coming.’

Bang, bang, bang on the door.

‘I said I’m coming.’

BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG

‘Stop it, you’re going to kick the panel in!’ 

‘Come on, Auntie Dotty, we’re cold. It’s snowing again. Let us in.’ Fucking hooligans.

‘I will in a minute, girls, I need a wee.’

I dropped the chain mail where I stood then ran upstairs and had a lie down on the bathroom floor. Why had she brought them? She KNOWS I can’t cope with their screeching and bawling and their devious antics, why bring them round when her reason for being here was to keep me away from the roof? What sort of mother puts their children through the trauma of watching their auntie fling herself to her death? I should ring Social Services and get the brats taken off her, mental cruelty is just as bad as the other sort. I checked my earlobe for blood. There wasn’t any, no thanks to Lottie. I could hear her shouting ‘Dotty, answer the door or we’re going home.’ Typical Lottie, leave me here to kill myself then, that’ll prove to everyone what a heartless cow you REALLY are, not Saint Lottie the Saviour, Saint Lottie the Good Sister, you’re Saint Lottie the BITCH who won’t lift a finger to keep her own sister alive, fuck off home then and take your delinquent spawn with you.

Then I remembered why she had really come. My brick. I went into my bedroom and opened the window. Lottie and THE BERSERKERS looked up at me. Lottie shouted, ‘Oh god, she’s serious. Come here, girls, don’t look. Dotty, please don’t climb out.’

Dim cow. I threw the front door keys down to her. ‘Let yourself in. I’ll be down in a minute.’

 

INTERLUDE (Are interludes allowed in blog posts? Hmm.)

 

Twenty minutes later and THE BERSERKERS had dried off and warmed up and were sitting in front of my telly waiting for Casualty to come on, blowing bubbles into their cups of milk. Their soggy hats and mittens were steaming on the radiator, stinking out the room. It was odd to see them sitting still and being quiet. Unnerving.

Lottie and I were on the sofa and all the things that had previously been on the sofa, organised in neat piles, were now on the floor, unorganised in messy heaps. She had no consideration or respect for my collections. She looked at me with that disapproving sister-shrivelling face of hers as the Casualty tune started up. ‘Dotty, the girls are too young to watch this. Can I put a DVD on for them?’

‘I’ve just bought the third series of Dexter. Have they seen it yet?’

‘Why are you being like this? You asked us to come round.’

I hadn’t got my brick yet so I thought it wise not to say I’d only asked HER to come round so I said, ‘Sorry. It’s been a really bad day.’

She asked what had happened and I told her about the local teenagers vandalising all the gardens in the area, writing rude words on the garden sheds, stealing forks and spades and bricks and windchimes and gnomes, hanging all the neighbourhood cats from washing lines, putting petrol bombs in the compost heaps.

‘Stop lying, Dotty. Why did you really want me to come?’

Before I could think of a plausible answer that would get me my brick, THE BERSERKERS started whispering to each other. They both put their cups down on the floor and looked round at me and Lottie. I did that thing with my fingers and eyes - I’m. Watching. You. – and they started giggling. One of them jumped up and, fast as a fly, got up on my lap and clamped her pudgy little arms around my neck. She smelled like marshmallows. I tried to look round her to see what the other one was doing but this one’s stupid curls were too big and bouncy and she was wriggling like a big worm, kissing me all over my face, and I only caught a glimpse of the other one’s socks as she crawled towards my extensive, catalogued DVD collection. Why? What was she going to do? I couldn’t get away from the arms and the lips and the curls and the smell and  – ‘GET IT OFF ME,’ I shouted.

‘Get Shrek,’ the one that was on me shouted.

‘NOOOO!!!.’ The little witches! Not my Limited Edition Director’s Cut Shrek with silver edging round the case and Extra Features that aren’t on the plebby version. NOBODY touches that, not even ME.

I heard the crash of my DVD stacks toppling over. THE BERSERKER that was on me leapt off and skipped over to where her sister was kneeling in the carnage, rooting through my films. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe.

Finally Lottie said in her controlled, sing-song I’m-a-textbook-mother-but-I-haven’t-reached-the-How-To-Control-My-Kids-Chapter voice, ‘Be careful, girls. Try not to mess up Auntie Dotty’s DVDs.’

TRY NOT TO MESS UP AUNTIE DOTTY’S DVDS? TRY NOT TO MESS THEM UP?

My heart was beating faster than a rapper on speed. Panic attack coming on. I took four beta-blockers out of my beta-blocker pocket and ate them and just as I swallowed the last one THE BERSERKERS suddenly screamed and screamed, screams more horrible than the screams of spiralling angels, chill screams of terror and fright, and they were back on the sofa clinging onto Lottie, sobbing, before that last sour pill had gone down my throat.

I looked at the DVD carnage. In the middle of it, on top of What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? was a big mean beast of a spider, the biggest, blackest, hairiest, ugliest fucker I’d ever seen. Its legs were thick and meaty. It’s body was the size of an orange. A Jaffa. I could see its eyes. And its fangs. It was looking at us. I screamed and yanked my feet up onto the sofa. All the while Lottie was saying ‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong?’ until the littlest BERSERKER sobbed out ‘Big thpider,’ and pointed to where it was waiting. ‘Wow,’ went Lottie, ‘that is a big one. Stop crying, girls, it won’t hurt you, it’s more frightened of you than you are of it.’

I knew she was stupid but not that stupid. At that moment I felt sorry for THE BERSERKERS, a rare occurence, but I’ll admit it wasn’t the first time I’d pitied them for having Lottie as their mother.

‘Let me up and I’ll catch it,’ she said. She untangled herself and THE BERSERKERS wrapped themselves around ME instead while she went off into the kitchen.

‘Don’t you dare use my cup. Or my glass. Or anything.’

‘What can I use then?’

‘A BRICK. Go and get a brick. Three bricks. Hurry up, it’s getting ready to run.’ 

She came back with a tea towel, an empty bean tin and the front of an old Crunchy Nut Cornflakes box I was saving for … something useful. Quick as a flash, she threw the teatowel over the spider and waited with the tin and the front of the Crunchy Nut Cornflakes box (at this point I’d have been smashing the thing with a sweeping brush) until it showed one of its legs, like a Can-Can dancer from behind a stage curtain, and then she had it in the tin and went to the door and released it to breed more huge monsters just like it that would lie in wait for me in my garden. Where my bricks are.

 

ANOTHER INTERLUDE (Tough-titty if interludes are just for plays, they aren’t any more, I’ve liberated them)

 

My Limited Edition Director’s Cut Shrek was on the telly and THE BERSERKERS were curled up on the sofa, asleep. No, I didn’t melt at the sight of them, I was just glad they were unconscious. My DVD collection was stacked up again, neatly but not in order. My earlobe was still throbbing and I felt a bit woozy from all the stress. The impossibility of getting a new brick was fogging my thoughts, a pea-souper of futility and hopelessness.

‘Wayne’s coming here after work to collect us. I rang him when you went to the loo,’ Lottie said.

‘Right.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me you wanted a brick?’

‘What? I don’t know.’ Could it be because you’re a patronising cow and you’d have given me yet another lecture about how I could stop being this way if I really put my mind to it?

‘Where are they?’

‘What?’

‘Where are the bricks?’

‘Round the parsnip bed. I was about to go and get one when you rang.’

Then she did something that completely gobsmacked me. She went out into the garden, into the snow, and I watched from the window as she dug up the brick edging around the parsnip bed. Then she went into my shed and found some log roll that I didn’t know I had and she set it all round the parsnip bed, no gaps. THEN she scrubbed and hosed the 14 bricks she’d dug up and put them to dry on my kitchen floor on some old towels she found at the back of the airing cupboard. And when Wayne arrived and they’d wrapped THE BERSERKERS in my fleecey blankets and carried them, still sleeping, into the car, and Lottie came back and hugged me before I could leap away from her and whispered, ‘Dear dead Daddy needed his bricks, too, Dotty. Do you remember?’ I managed to stay stoic, I don’t know how, but I did.

After they’d gone and I’d shut and locked and bolted the front door, I picked up my chain mail, my brassards, my vambraces and the rest of my armour and took it all upstairs. And then I laid on my bed and cried until morning came.

 

INTERLUDE

 

I’m frightened. Because of my sister being nice to me I have enough bricks to last me for ages AND the parsnips remain securely detained in their bed. But WHY was she nice to me? What is she concocting? Is she going to have me sectioned again? Or try and make me get rid of my collections? She’s up to something bad, I know it. It’s all turned out worse than I thought it would. And better. But I don’t know what to think about the better, it’s unnatural, unknown for Lottie to show any understanding, there has to be an ulterior motive behind her niceness.

I am VERY frightened.

 

 

 

 

First Aid For Hermits

 

Always being alone in your house can be dangerous but combine it with not speaking to other people and it becomes potentially fatal. I’ve had many accidents that could have been serious if I hadn’t known what to do at the time. To avoid death (and why NOT avoid it, you avoid everything else – why should death be any different?) here are a few First Aid basics you really do need to know. Bear in mind I’m NOT a doctor, I can only tell you what I personally do when I injure myself.

I’m presuming you have a well-stocked medicine room, if not just make note of the items in big writing and get your Shopping Person to get them for you- I can’t be bothered making a shopping list for you today.

 

Bumps and Bruises

For bangs on the head caused by banging your head on the wall fill the sink with equal amounts of ABSINTHE and WITCH HAZEL and put your head in it (be careful not to drown). This will help to bring out the bruising. If you think you might have knocked yourself out then it’s possible you might have concussion or a brain injury so go and have a little lie down for a while until the headache has gone. A big swig of Laudanum will help with the pain.

 

Nicks and Cuts

For little nicks on your fingers caused by the cheese grater, or for slightly deeper cuts from the scissors you use to separate your Cumberland sausage links, stop whining and stick a PLASTER on it. Deeper nicks and cuts, (such as when you’ve bought a cow home and you’re butchering it so you can freeze some for later and you chop half your hand off instead of the cow’s head), require an antiseptic ointment of OPIUM and LARD, a BANDAGE, and a strip of plaster to stop your bandage from unravelling. Clean the wound first though with your ARSENIC DISINFECTANT OINTMENT. A big swig of Laudanum will help with the pain.

 

Trapped Nerves

For a trapped nerve in the neck caused by kneeling at your window at an angle that allows you to keep watch for white vans with spies in them without being seen by your nosey neighbours, I’m afraid you need time in TRACTION. Use a SAW to make a neck-sized hole at one end of your kitchen table. Don’t worry, it won’t affect your keep fit routine, (see The Dotty Way To Exercise ©™®), in fact you’ll be using your DIET COKE BOTTLES for this too, doubling your value for money. Tie your diet coke bottles to either end of a LEATHER STRAP (a handbag strap will do, it doesn’t matter if you only have one handbag, use it – you don’t use if for anything else, do you?) place your diet coke bottles at either side of the neck-sized hole and lie down (on your back) on the table. Carefully lift the diet coke bottles and place the leather strap across the front of your neck. Let the diet coke bottles drop off the end of the table (slowly and carefully, you might want to avoid beheading yourself). Stay in this position for 3 hours. Repeat daily for 6 weeks and the weight of the diet coke bottles will free your trapped nerve allowing your future white van vigils to be pain-free and comfortable. Big swigs of Laudanum taken hourly will help with the pain.

 

Stomach Upsets

If you haven’t yet learned how to cook your Cumberland sausages you might have a few stomach problems. First of all, always cook your Cumberland sausages for at least an hour, contrary to popular belief crispy is good, so is black. To cure stomach upsets already caused by uncooked Cumberland sausages make WORMWOOD tea (if you’re not a gardener you can use ABSINTHE but not too much because it’s a potent alcoholic drink and you don’t want to get addicted). A big swig of Laudanum will help with the pain.

 

Twisted, Sprained or Broken Arms and Legs

If you haven’t cleaned your house yet you’re at great risk of tripping over some bit of shite that shouldn’t be on your floor. This is VERY PAINFUL when you do it and as you’ve no way of knowing the severity of the injury (unless you have your own X-Ray machine which I’m saving up for) it’s best to err on the side of caution and SPLINT the limb you’ve damaged. If your stock of pre-made splints has run out and you’ve been too idle to make some more, it serves you right, you should keep up with your housework, I’ve already told you this. If you’re a new hermit and this is the first time you need a splint, what you do is you take a shelf from your bookcase (lay the books in neat piles on the floor) saw it down to fit your arm or leg and strap it on to said arm or leg. You can use anything to secure it (I’ve found knee-socks work well) as long as it’s tied tight enough for the splint to stay on. Keep the splint on for about 3 months. Big swigs of Laudanum taken hourly will help with the pain.

 

Strangling Yourself On Your Shower Curtain

It might happen that one day you’re playing with your (toy) ducks in the bath and you get a bit too involved and try to swim with them underwater but when you dive you hit your head on the bottom and can’t get up and to save yourself from drowning you grab the shower curtain but you’re so disorientated you get into a fight with it and it wraps itself round your neck and tries to strangle you and when you finally get free of it you’re left with nasty strangle contusions round your neck. And it bloody well hurts. A lot. Well sorry, there’s nothing you can do for this except take a big swig of Laudanum to help with the pain.

 

May you all remain injury-free and painless, my hermits. Be safe, be careful, and most of all be prepared.

 

 

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