Little Emily Has Almost Stopped Being A Morky Bitch!!


Branwell sorted it all out for me, he told her she’d better get down here to see me or he’ll use the pages of her novel to make his roll-ups with. He’s been trying to get her to come here for days, he said he’s sick of her slouching round the house spouting moody poems and shite, even Charlotte became fed up of her miserable face and that’s saying something because Charlotte’s face is EVEN MORE MISERABLE than little Emily’s so she’s got no room to talk.

So little Emily has been and gone this afternoon and she’s coming back again tomorrow. I told her about my migraine and how nice Branwell had been about giving me more laudanum to replace the extra I needed to take that day and all she said was she doesn’t like The Fucking Migraine Poem, it doesn’t scan properly, it has too many verses and I should be highly ashamed of it. Well, yes, I am now.

She wanted all the gossip. She asked if I’d had any comeback from dibble after I dosed Sergeant Sherlock’s Cumberland sausages with laudanum that day, but no I haven’t, I haven’t heard dicky-boo from them and that’s fine by me.

We’re not quite as easy with each other as we were but I suppose it’ll take time for her to come out of her strop completely, she doesn’t half know how to hold a grudge. As a gesture of friendship I said she can have a whole blog post of her own to do what she likes with – and she cheered up then, of course she did, she’s been dying to have a blog post – I asked why she doesn’t just do her own blog and she looked at me like I was stupid and asked ‘In which century was the internet invented, Dotty?’ Oh, yeah.

But don’t expect her blog post any time soon, she always makes a right meal of her writing – she has to have everything perfect and JUST SO, she’d edit edit edit until the cows came home if Charlotte let her. Write it straight into the blog post box thingy like I do, I said and she shuddered and called me a slap-dash heathen and I called her a fucking luddite and by the time she left we were almost back to normal. 

I’m off to make some more Cumberland sausages for tomorrow – she puts away a fair amount of scran for someone so little, I don’t know where it all goes.


Leave a comment


  1. Dear Dotty,

    She didn’t like the Migraine poem. I thought it was brilliant! She is looking at it from a 19th century perspective — she’ll come around once she’s been back at your place a while. I hope the two of you work things out — she has been a good friend, more than half the time you’ve known her. Good luck with it. And try not to be too ashamed; that is 19th century thinking.



    • Dear Judith,

      I’m going to try to get her to write something in a similar vein –

      Heathcliff, Heathcliff, Heathcliff
      moody fucking Heathcliff
      fucking moody fucker
      in my book

      I don’t know if she’ll go for it though.

      Love Dotty xxx

  2. Dear Dotty,

    That sounds great; reward yourself with some Cumberland Sausages and enjoy!


  3. Dorothy

     /  March 25, 2012

    SJSjjeneujjdkkslc…………………in zombie speak that means I like your post but I don’t type well with my pinkie. I am half dead and will return to full life tomorrow hopefiu;;y.
    Deadpan Dot

  4. I hand write all my posts before I transcribe them to my blog. Except for the days where I just sit at the keyboard and let the bile spew forth. Or when I am doing some artwork scans or funny Photoshop stuff and the words form around the pictures like ice on a cold morning.

  5. I cannot like this post Dotty. You should NOT be ashamed of your poem. You hear me Dotz? Emily is a bitch… “…it doesn’t scan properly..”?? What she mean? It scans perfectly!


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