Housekeeping first: In the previous post I wrote that the wife likes my new goatee beard and that she compared me to Johnny Depp. Her lawyers, Messrs Gettum Inn and Fleecum, have asked that the following clarification be made public.
"Our client wishes to express in the strongest terms possible that she hates the aforemetioned goatee and that she did not compare the author favourably with Mr Depp. What she stated quite clearly was that even Mr Depp did not look good with a goatee. If the author does not shave that damn thing off our client will be forced to withdraw from the marriage forthwith".
What can I say, I`m heart broken. Moving on, I have had complaints about yesterday`s exposé of the seemy underbelly of alpha male banker activity post bonus involving east european hookers, gym slips and warm custard.
One female banker correspondent, who goes under the pseudonym "Filthy Lucrezia", pointed out that women also get obscene bonuses. Quite right too, mea culpa.
So I decided to explore what female bankers get up to with their big bang bonuses. Of course we all know about what they get up to with Botox, Blaniks and Bimboys, but what else can the loaded girl about town splash her cash on?.
Exotic beauty products and treatments were an obvious angle to explore. Following a tip off from my correspondent I investigated the latest en vogue treatments available. I just wish I hadn`t.
The first treatment I found is called a Geisha Facial. This sounded interesting and I was ready to phone the local brothel to book myself in. Thank goodness I didn`t. The Geisha facial is where you have nightingale droppings rubbed into your face. Yes thats right, you pay money to have bird shit rubbed on your face. Apparently this originated in Japan because Geishas had trouble removing the thick white makeup. One day someone had the inspiration to rub nightingale dodo all over her face just to see what happened. I am speechless.
I thought this was as low as it could get, but oh no. The next treatment I found was Bull Semen Hair Treatment. I know!
My research told me that the idea came (forgive me) to Katherine and Hari Salem, who own and run a hair salon, over dinner with friends. Now I have been to some pretty rum partys in my time but I can honestly say the subject of bull semen was always considered beyond the pale, because its difficult to catch in a bucket I assume.
Anyway, as luck(?) would have it, at this party there was a cow cum pusher?, puller? tugger? whatever the correct terminology is. He agreed to pimp his cows and so the treatment was born. Apparently, the sperm is applied to freshly washed hair, massaged in and left for 30 minutes and is a best seller. It leaves the hair soft and bouncy but not lank and flaccid, which I guarentee is more than you can say for the bulls.
I cannot help thinking that you could achieve the same effect at a fraction of the cost by hiring out a pantomime cow costume, wearing it back to front in a farmer`s field and looking available and Viola!. Women scare me.
Thursday 28 January 2010
The Beard and the Burqa
I met Fatima, the bearded lady of Adliswil, this morning while out walking the snow covered mountain. She had a face like thunder altough its difficult to make out subtle facial expressions under that magnificent beard, it could just have been a touch of wind.
Anyway, I asked her what the matter was. Will I never learn. She was, she said, incandescent with rage because of a ruling by a Swiss court that a Muslim woman basketball player was not allowed to wear a headscarf when playing. This comes on top of a decision to ban the building of minarets. This was an attack on the Muslim community she said. "Would you wear a burqa?" I inquired. The answer was a resounding yes. I nodded sympathetically and said Fatima should follow her heart in this matter. I only said this because I believe that the world would be a far more attractive place if Fatima was covered from head to toe in a sheet.
I was about to say my goodbyes when I saw an avalanche heading down the mountain directly towards us. My whole life passed before my eyes, and what a disappointment it was. I must get out more.
My terrified mind tried to remember to do in case of an avalanche. What did my old scout master used to say when he called us boys in for his special after hours lessons?, bend over and relax. No that is no good, nip and tuck? no. Lie back and think of England?. I just could not remember.
As the wall of white swept towards us I was relieved to see it was not an avalanche. It was Fat Kath out for a walk dressed in a brilliant white Juicy Couture velour tracksuit. Kath saw us and had to start breaking some 50 metres away. She is very much like a supertanker when it comes to manoeverablity.
So there we were, we three, chewing the fat. I noticed that out of the three of us I was the one with the least facial hair. This is strange as I have been trying to grow a goatee beard for the last week.
There comes a time in every chap`s life when he has to prove to himself a man. As both jousting and pillaging are now largely frowned upon, war too dangerous and dwarf tossing outlawed in most parts of Switzerland, there are not many manly avenues left. And the wife loves it. This morning she compared me to Johnny Depp.
I asked Fat Kath if she would wear a burqa, more in hope than expectation. "I only wear Juicy Couture" she said. I left the bearded ladies discussing post natal stiching and headed home. I intend to write to Juicy Couture HQ to suggest they introduce a line, maybe Burqa Babes. Remember, you heard it hear first.
Anyway, I asked her what the matter was. Will I never learn. She was, she said, incandescent with rage because of a ruling by a Swiss court that a Muslim woman basketball player was not allowed to wear a headscarf when playing. This comes on top of a decision to ban the building of minarets. This was an attack on the Muslim community she said. "Would you wear a burqa?" I inquired. The answer was a resounding yes. I nodded sympathetically and said Fatima should follow her heart in this matter. I only said this because I believe that the world would be a far more attractive place if Fatima was covered from head to toe in a sheet.
I was about to say my goodbyes when I saw an avalanche heading down the mountain directly towards us. My whole life passed before my eyes, and what a disappointment it was. I must get out more.
My terrified mind tried to remember to do in case of an avalanche. What did my old scout master used to say when he called us boys in for his special after hours lessons?, bend over and relax. No that is no good, nip and tuck? no. Lie back and think of England?. I just could not remember.
As the wall of white swept towards us I was relieved to see it was not an avalanche. It was Fat Kath out for a walk dressed in a brilliant white Juicy Couture velour tracksuit. Kath saw us and had to start breaking some 50 metres away. She is very much like a supertanker when it comes to manoeverablity.
So there we were, we three, chewing the fat. I noticed that out of the three of us I was the one with the least facial hair. This is strange as I have been trying to grow a goatee beard for the last week.
There comes a time in every chap`s life when he has to prove to himself a man. As both jousting and pillaging are now largely frowned upon, war too dangerous and dwarf tossing outlawed in most parts of Switzerland, there are not many manly avenues left. And the wife loves it. This morning she compared me to Johnny Depp.
I asked Fat Kath if she would wear a burqa, more in hope than expectation. "I only wear Juicy Couture" she said. I left the bearded ladies discussing post natal stiching and headed home. I intend to write to Juicy Couture HQ to suggest they introduce a line, maybe Burqa Babes. Remember, you heard it hear first.
Tuesday 26 January 2010
Laughing All the Way From the Bank
It is the end of January and the snow is lying deep and crisp and even. It is the signal for some strange ritual behaviour. Zurich rings to the sound of giggling bankers running to the local Bentley dealers. There is a fug of fine cigar smoke that hangs over the city and champagne cork related hospital admissions are at their peak. East European prostitutes wake from their hibernation, shake the moth balls from their mink coats, and head off to feast at one of the glitzy hotspots. They hunt as a pack, circling the small, balding and helplessly coke adled alpha male bankers. Using their finely honed implants, they sniff out the weakest, moving in ruthlessly to take the prize, usually a juicy pay day or, if they hit the mother load, a fat cat husband. Yes, that`s right, it`s bank bonus time again.
Thursday 21 January 2010
In a Tights Spot
Off to the supermarket to buy the wife more tights. What the hell does she get up to to get through so many pairs is what I want to know, but probably never will. Anyway, as luck would have it the ladies underwear aisle was empty. Unheard of! I couldn`t believe my luck. In I went, secured the targets and moved away to the relative safety of soft furnishings.
Flushed with success I moved with confidence to the cashier. I then remembered that I had a money off voucher. Arriving at an empty check out (too good to be true) I whipped out the token, presented the cashier with my feminine fripperies and said I would like to use the token. Then things started to go wrong, badly wrong.
The cashier, took the voucher, looked at it, turned it, held it up to the light, bit it and shook her head. "I don`t think I can accept this, but let me just check" she said. In a milisecond I realised what was about to happen. In bullet time slow motion I saw her open her mouth. For a nanosecond I considered beating her unconscious with a family fun sized Toblerone from the impulse buy display, but I was not fast enough.
She called out to the cashier next to her, in a booming voice honed down the generations by yodelling and Swiss inter valley shouting competitions. "Ermintrude, can we take vouchers for super slinky 20 denier deluxe women`s tights?. This er, gentleman, is asking".
Ermintrude (I know!, Magic Roundabout) took the voucher, scanned it then called to her neighbouring cashier, a woman called Grit. And so the process went on, four cashiers were consulted, four lines of shoppers listened in, glancing my way with distaste. I was mortified.
To make matters worse my check out was now filling up. Directly behind me were four builders, not your average builders, oh no, but the sort that can spit rivets through sheet metal and consider cage fighting somewhat effeminate. After 5 minutes it was decided the voucher was not valid, by that stage I could not have cared less. Oh why did I try to save money, never again, the humilation. I now have to find a new supermarket, I simply cannot bear the shame of going back there.
Crying most of the way home I stopped briefly to look at the village noticeboard which is actually the underpass where the locals spray paint and write very interesting locally focused news. This being Switzerland it is repainted every few weeks thus ensuring the news is always bang up to date.
A quick reading revealed that the local urchins wanted to inflict a wide and imaginative variety of sex acts upon a local police constable and that Shaz has a weight problem and is quite free with her favours.
One posting caught my eye. A girl called Bambi will do anything for 50 Swiss Francs, very reasonable. I have been having problems with a blocked U bend recently so I took down her number and will see if she can help me clean out my pipes. Will let you know how I get on. Have lovely weekends.
Flushed with success I moved with confidence to the cashier. I then remembered that I had a money off voucher. Arriving at an empty check out (too good to be true) I whipped out the token, presented the cashier with my feminine fripperies and said I would like to use the token. Then things started to go wrong, badly wrong.
The cashier, took the voucher, looked at it, turned it, held it up to the light, bit it and shook her head. "I don`t think I can accept this, but let me just check" she said. In a milisecond I realised what was about to happen. In bullet time slow motion I saw her open her mouth. For a nanosecond I considered beating her unconscious with a family fun sized Toblerone from the impulse buy display, but I was not fast enough.
She called out to the cashier next to her, in a booming voice honed down the generations by yodelling and Swiss inter valley shouting competitions. "Ermintrude, can we take vouchers for super slinky 20 denier deluxe women`s tights?. This er, gentleman, is asking".
Ermintrude (I know!, Magic Roundabout) took the voucher, scanned it then called to her neighbouring cashier, a woman called Grit. And so the process went on, four cashiers were consulted, four lines of shoppers listened in, glancing my way with distaste. I was mortified.
To make matters worse my check out was now filling up. Directly behind me were four builders, not your average builders, oh no, but the sort that can spit rivets through sheet metal and consider cage fighting somewhat effeminate. After 5 minutes it was decided the voucher was not valid, by that stage I could not have cared less. Oh why did I try to save money, never again, the humilation. I now have to find a new supermarket, I simply cannot bear the shame of going back there.
Crying most of the way home I stopped briefly to look at the village noticeboard which is actually the underpass where the locals spray paint and write very interesting locally focused news. This being Switzerland it is repainted every few weeks thus ensuring the news is always bang up to date.
A quick reading revealed that the local urchins wanted to inflict a wide and imaginative variety of sex acts upon a local police constable and that Shaz has a weight problem and is quite free with her favours.
One posting caught my eye. A girl called Bambi will do anything for 50 Swiss Francs, very reasonable. I have been having problems with a blocked U bend recently so I took down her number and will see if she can help me clean out my pipes. Will let you know how I get on. Have lovely weekends.
Monday 18 January 2010
Children are Unbeatable
This morning I met up with Reg Hitler, who, by a cruel twist of fate, is the street`s resident Communist. Reg is a well known activist and is manna from heaven for the local newspaper headline writers because of his surname. Recent examples include "Hitler is a Stalinist" (he advocates gulags for bankers) "Hitler Rear Ends Elderly Gay Couple" ( Reg drove into the back of a car belonging to the street`s official homosexuals, Butch and Sundance) and "Hitler Only Wants One Ball". (Reg complained about filthy rich bankers staging too many glitzy black tie events this Christmas).
Anyway, I met up with Reg and his life partner Polly Glot at their eco friendly house for coffee. They are typical middle class lefties and so I had to wait for an eternity while Polly ground the Guatemalan Free Trade Eco Lentil Mung Bean No Harm to Anything coffee beans. She does this with a hand grinder. It took so long I was getting a caffeine withdrawal headache. Finally, Polly put the kettle on and I got my coffee. And it tasted awful.
I bet there is some Guatemalan coffee farmer driving a big BMW and laughing all the way to the bank. Just because he doesn`t use deodorant he can claim that his mixture of mud, bark and bat droppings is sustainable eco coffee and sell it at a premium to gullible western ecohippies. Everything in Reg and Poly`s house is sustainable, with the exception of Reg`s erection, which is why they are attending couples therapy at the moment. But that is another story and I am not one to gossip.
As I pretended to sip the foul brew conversation turned to the subject of beating children. I said I had read an article that stated children who are smacked when naughty grow up to be well adjusted and more valuable members of society than those that aren`t. Polly wasn`t having any of this and proceeded to drone on for half an hour about the military industrial complex, human rights and something about bondage and marmite. I must admit I wasn`t really paying attention. I was watching Reg and Polly`s 4 year old daughter, Chlamydia, as she took a screw driver to Polly`s Brotherhood of Man CD. Chlamydia has a reputation around here as the spawn of Satan.
"Don`t do that to mummy`s favourite CD please darling" said Polly. Did she pay attention? I think you can guess. After she had finished carving 666 on the CD, dear sweet little Chlamydia then proceeded to stab the cat and her mother with the screw driver, scream like a banshee when put on the naughty step and then throw the coffee pot from the table on to the very expensive sustainable Peruvian folk art rug. We discovered that it was infact a stainable Peruvian folk art rug. I must admit I was glad about the coffee pot as I was coming dangerously close to being offered another cup.
I decided to leave when Reg and Polly started to cry from stress, passing Chlamydia on the way out as she set fire to the family dream catcher. Bless her.
Anyway, I met up with Reg and his life partner Polly Glot at their eco friendly house for coffee. They are typical middle class lefties and so I had to wait for an eternity while Polly ground the Guatemalan Free Trade Eco Lentil Mung Bean No Harm to Anything coffee beans. She does this with a hand grinder. It took so long I was getting a caffeine withdrawal headache. Finally, Polly put the kettle on and I got my coffee. And it tasted awful.
I bet there is some Guatemalan coffee farmer driving a big BMW and laughing all the way to the bank. Just because he doesn`t use deodorant he can claim that his mixture of mud, bark and bat droppings is sustainable eco coffee and sell it at a premium to gullible western ecohippies. Everything in Reg and Poly`s house is sustainable, with the exception of Reg`s erection, which is why they are attending couples therapy at the moment. But that is another story and I am not one to gossip.
As I pretended to sip the foul brew conversation turned to the subject of beating children. I said I had read an article that stated children who are smacked when naughty grow up to be well adjusted and more valuable members of society than those that aren`t. Polly wasn`t having any of this and proceeded to drone on for half an hour about the military industrial complex, human rights and something about bondage and marmite. I must admit I wasn`t really paying attention. I was watching Reg and Polly`s 4 year old daughter, Chlamydia, as she took a screw driver to Polly`s Brotherhood of Man CD. Chlamydia has a reputation around here as the spawn of Satan.
"Don`t do that to mummy`s favourite CD please darling" said Polly. Did she pay attention? I think you can guess. After she had finished carving 666 on the CD, dear sweet little Chlamydia then proceeded to stab the cat and her mother with the screw driver, scream like a banshee when put on the naughty step and then throw the coffee pot from the table on to the very expensive sustainable Peruvian folk art rug. We discovered that it was infact a stainable Peruvian folk art rug. I must admit I was glad about the coffee pot as I was coming dangerously close to being offered another cup.
I decided to leave when Reg and Polly started to cry from stress, passing Chlamydia on the way out as she set fire to the family dream catcher. Bless her.
Monday 11 January 2010
Route 66 (minus 22)
Last week I turned the square root of 1,950. The strange thing is I really do not feel that old, although I am getting thin in areas I dont want to be thiner in and larger in areas that I would like to remain thiner. But at least I have all my marbles, no sign of Alzheimers or short term memory loss yet thank goodness. But at least I have all my marbles, no sign of Alzheimers or short term memory loss yet thank goodness.
Only two whole days after my birthday the wife took me into town to buy me my birthday gift, a rather super Tag Heuer watch. Guilt gifts are always the best.
Then as aways seems to happen on me oriented shopping expeditions we went on to buy stuff for the girls. Strange how that always happens. Anyway, we ended up in the cosmetics department of some chic boutique where the wife stocked up on Botox and assorted lotions and postions.
When the time came to pay I noticed that the saucy young sales girl was gazing intently at me. "Well the poor girl is only flesh and blood" I thought " who can blame her if she gets hot and bothered by a tall, dark international man of mystery". I gave her my brooding, Mr Darcy look that said:" I know you are fighting your passions but you must be strong. I am a married man you know".
"And perhaps Sir would like some of our new Clinique Age Defence Hydrator" she said. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather. She did not see me as a sex object, only as a sales opportunity, obviously in need of age reducing gloop. My ego has been on life support ever since.
Do I really look like I need age defence products?!. OK, I admit that over the last few years I have been using a hedge strimmer on my eyebrows, chase nesting birds from my nasal hair and developed an unexplained fondness for The Antiques Roadshow, jigsaw puzzles and Werther`s Originals, but for goodness sake I am still only in my extremely late thirties.
I have just checked the post and would you believe it, those scallywags at Saga, the magazine for people shortly about to cool to room temperature, have sent me an offer. Buy a stairlift and you get cut price Viagra. I am appalled but strangely tempted. Must dash if I want to catch the last post.
Only two whole days after my birthday the wife took me into town to buy me my birthday gift, a rather super Tag Heuer watch. Guilt gifts are always the best.
Then as aways seems to happen on me oriented shopping expeditions we went on to buy stuff for the girls. Strange how that always happens. Anyway, we ended up in the cosmetics department of some chic boutique where the wife stocked up on Botox and assorted lotions and postions.
When the time came to pay I noticed that the saucy young sales girl was gazing intently at me. "Well the poor girl is only flesh and blood" I thought " who can blame her if she gets hot and bothered by a tall, dark international man of mystery". I gave her my brooding, Mr Darcy look that said:" I know you are fighting your passions but you must be strong. I am a married man you know".
"And perhaps Sir would like some of our new Clinique Age Defence Hydrator" she said. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather. She did not see me as a sex object, only as a sales opportunity, obviously in need of age reducing gloop. My ego has been on life support ever since.
Do I really look like I need age defence products?!. OK, I admit that over the last few years I have been using a hedge strimmer on my eyebrows, chase nesting birds from my nasal hair and developed an unexplained fondness for The Antiques Roadshow, jigsaw puzzles and Werther`s Originals, but for goodness sake I am still only in my extremely late thirties.
I have just checked the post and would you believe it, those scallywags at Saga, the magazine for people shortly about to cool to room temperature, have sent me an offer. Buy a stairlift and you get cut price Viagra. I am appalled but strangely tempted. Must dash if I want to catch the last post.
Wednesday 6 January 2010
Ice Age
Very quiet in the compound today. The weather is keeping most of the breast feeders indoors, it`s nipple crackingly cold here. The paths are covered in snow and ice, a real death trap if you wear fashionable winkle pickers I can tell you.
Winter sports have never really been my cup of tea but as the wife is a ski nut I have had to make concessions. To be fair I do quite enjoy skiing now. But ice skating, no. This stems from an incident back in 1978 when I brained myself during Kevin Stevens`birthady bash at the local ice rink. The old bean took quite a pounding that day I can tell you and I lost a considerable amount of computing power, which explains why I am like I am, and the 12 year old me vowed never again.
I would like to apologise to the 12 year old me because I have broken that vow. The wife and daughter and associates decided ice skating would be a good idea. I pointed out that it is bloody dangerous. Do you ever see road signs saying "Icy Conditions Ahead-Enjoy Yourselves". No you don`t. It is lethal stuff and should only be approached with hob nail boots and a bucket of salt.
Would they listen, no. So off we went. All the other adults and kids took to the deadly frozen water like skate wearing ducks. I ventured on, did an impression of a new born giraffe on roller skates, and lunged for the side rail. And that was as far as I got, and will ever get. Unfortunately, the daughter loves it and wants to go all the time, fortunately I have discovered a cafe with sheepskin covered chairs that serves a delicious hot chocolate. I can lounge around, reading the paper and pretending to be a great skater simply resting between pirouettes, and no one is any the wiser. It is my birthday tomorrow and if i get ice skates I am going postal.
Anyway, I have sent off my application to join the local "Stitch 'n' Bitch" group. This is where you sit around sewing, darning, knitting or, I assume, learning practical medical procedures for closing wounds and have a good gossip. Should be fun and save a fortune on socks.
Finally, a big hello to my worldwide readers: Big J and Annie Down Under, Blind Jon on his firm sponsored world jolly and my dear old friend AM from Leipzig who hates receiving this blog. Give me an answer and all will be as before. Cryptic eh
Winter sports have never really been my cup of tea but as the wife is a ski nut I have had to make concessions. To be fair I do quite enjoy skiing now. But ice skating, no. This stems from an incident back in 1978 when I brained myself during Kevin Stevens`birthady bash at the local ice rink. The old bean took quite a pounding that day I can tell you and I lost a considerable amount of computing power, which explains why I am like I am, and the 12 year old me vowed never again.
I would like to apologise to the 12 year old me because I have broken that vow. The wife and daughter and associates decided ice skating would be a good idea. I pointed out that it is bloody dangerous. Do you ever see road signs saying "Icy Conditions Ahead-Enjoy Yourselves". No you don`t. It is lethal stuff and should only be approached with hob nail boots and a bucket of salt.
Would they listen, no. So off we went. All the other adults and kids took to the deadly frozen water like skate wearing ducks. I ventured on, did an impression of a new born giraffe on roller skates, and lunged for the side rail. And that was as far as I got, and will ever get. Unfortunately, the daughter loves it and wants to go all the time, fortunately I have discovered a cafe with sheepskin covered chairs that serves a delicious hot chocolate. I can lounge around, reading the paper and pretending to be a great skater simply resting between pirouettes, and no one is any the wiser. It is my birthday tomorrow and if i get ice skates I am going postal.
Anyway, I have sent off my application to join the local "Stitch 'n' Bitch" group. This is where you sit around sewing, darning, knitting or, I assume, learning practical medical procedures for closing wounds and have a good gossip. Should be fun and save a fortune on socks.
Finally, a big hello to my worldwide readers: Big J and Annie Down Under, Blind Jon on his firm sponsored world jolly and my dear old friend AM from Leipzig who hates receiving this blog. Give me an answer and all will be as before. Cryptic eh
Tuesday 5 January 2010
X-Men and a Baby
Well another Christmas is over. I love the festive season, scrumptious tucker, crap telly and having good friends to stay. Sadly this year the good friends were busy so we had to bus in the standbys.
The first lot were the Gillespie Massive, a well known South London crime family. With admirable foresight I had planned for their every need and layed in industrial quantities of Vaseline, alcohol, intimate wipes and steroids which kept the whole clan in the festive spirit. Despite the restaurant incident, where a diner took a fork to the eye, the car jacking and the disgraceful things they did to the local Heidi impersonator, the authorities mercifully decided not to press charges. Thankfully the rest of their visit passed off without a major diplomatic incident. They were waved off from Zurich Airport by the rather relieved Swiss riot police.
Then a few days later Captain America and the X-Men arrived accompanied by their official photographer. Must be a new film out soon. The whole compound knew that they had arrived when we heard the car horn blaring out a rendition of James Brown`s Living in America. I glanced out of the window to see a gleaming white super charged Hummer.
Once they were settled and were satisfied that their communication equipment was draining the Swiss national grid, I offered them a cup of tea. No sooner was my back turned reaching for the Hob Nobs, than Captain America, or Stu as he likes to be known when off duty, proceeded to impregnate the official photographer. The official photographer looked somewhat startled as you would expect.
Well what does one do in such a situation, does one offer congrats or phone the fuzz?. I decided to play it safe and cracked open a fresh tin of First Flush Lapsong Suchong.
I consoled the photographer and offered her one of the buns I had in the oven. She collapsed into a feotal postion and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. "Why me? My life is ruined". Well I have never been in a situation where someone reacted like that, not since my wedding night anyway.
When she had calmed down I promised her ( I won`t use the real name because Jacks asked me not to) that all was not lost and I would use my super blogging powers to boost her fledgling photographic business. Anyone want any photographic work done? She really is rather terrific.
The rest of the visit passed quietly with Captain America pausing only briefly to remodel my house, rescue small children locked in bathrooms and drink the European wine lake dry. I can`t type anymore because I pulled a muscle carrying the emptys to the bottle bank this morning. Check in soon.
PS-can everyone who gets this let me know as I am trying a new thing
The first lot were the Gillespie Massive, a well known South London crime family. With admirable foresight I had planned for their every need and layed in industrial quantities of Vaseline, alcohol, intimate wipes and steroids which kept the whole clan in the festive spirit. Despite the restaurant incident, where a diner took a fork to the eye, the car jacking and the disgraceful things they did to the local Heidi impersonator, the authorities mercifully decided not to press charges. Thankfully the rest of their visit passed off without a major diplomatic incident. They were waved off from Zurich Airport by the rather relieved Swiss riot police.
Then a few days later Captain America and the X-Men arrived accompanied by their official photographer. Must be a new film out soon. The whole compound knew that they had arrived when we heard the car horn blaring out a rendition of James Brown`s Living in America. I glanced out of the window to see a gleaming white super charged Hummer.
Once they were settled and were satisfied that their communication equipment was draining the Swiss national grid, I offered them a cup of tea. No sooner was my back turned reaching for the Hob Nobs, than Captain America, or Stu as he likes to be known when off duty, proceeded to impregnate the official photographer. The official photographer looked somewhat startled as you would expect.
Well what does one do in such a situation, does one offer congrats or phone the fuzz?. I decided to play it safe and cracked open a fresh tin of First Flush Lapsong Suchong.
I consoled the photographer and offered her one of the buns I had in the oven. She collapsed into a feotal postion and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. "Why me? My life is ruined". Well I have never been in a situation where someone reacted like that, not since my wedding night anyway.
When she had calmed down I promised her ( I won`t use the real name because Jacks asked me not to) that all was not lost and I would use my super blogging powers to boost her fledgling photographic business. Anyone want any photographic work done? She really is rather terrific.
The rest of the visit passed quietly with Captain America pausing only briefly to remodel my house, rescue small children locked in bathrooms and drink the European wine lake dry. I can`t type anymore because I pulled a muscle carrying the emptys to the bottle bank this morning. Check in soon.
PS-can everyone who gets this let me know as I am trying a new thing
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