Carry On Croydon

Well the last 24 hours turned out to another worryingly bizarre day and I'm starting to think I'm in some secret Reality TV show. I'm expecting Ant n Dec to pop out of the linen basket soon or find Dale Winton hiding in the shed.

Things started calmly yesterday and I was having a nice birthday. Lots of cards and pressies and mates coming round for the evening for a few beers. Not sure they were coming to celebrate my birthday mind cos the England match was on and I have the biggest telly.

Spent the duration of the match chewing the ends of my fingers off and 2 of them are still bleeding where I caught a big bit and pulled huge chunks off flesh off in the process. The match was the usual England roller coaster. Her upstairs was having hysteria again and at one point I thought my Habitat ceiling fan was a goner at her jumping up and down. She's only small but when she's watching football it's like having Giants Haystacks on a pogo stick upstairs. Dis-allowed goal, extra time and penalty shoot out obviously followed and after Beckham sent his ball into orbit around Pluto you just knew things were not gonna go well. Outcome = inevitable.

I could hear the police sirens and helicopters already. The lesbians were out so no doubt they were trashing some pool table with their mates.

Just as we recovered from the match and sinking a few half pints of wine events took a turn for the bizarre.

Housemate has suddenly gone a bit mad on the whole dating scene and is juggling 4 f**k buddies. I think after the events of the last 24 hours he'll be cutting back.

About 00.30 he starts getting abusive drunken texts and voicemails from 1 of them which escalates into f**k buddy 1 driving round pissed as a fart and causing a big stink on the doorstep. Of course housemate is hiding in his room so muggins here is left to play British Bulldogs on the front path with a hysterical skinhead to stop him getting into the house. The dog decides to join the fracas but limits her involvement to ear piercing screeching from a safe distance in the hall. I manage to calm the skinhead down with threats of Police and a Glasgow kiss and he eventually staggers off back to his car, falling into the hedge and a recycling bin on his way.

I'm now more hyper and land up polishing off more wine before drifting off to bed fully clothed.

Had the worst hangover today. Really bad. Nothing worked. Alka Seltzer, Berroca, hot bath, water, cooked breakfast. Haven't done a poo yet either which is a bit disturbing.

About 16.00 f**k buddy number 2 arrives for the weekend and everything going fine until a couple of hours later when the doorbell goes. I answer it and there's f**k buddy 3 standing there with a bunch of flowers. OMG. What do I do. Panic stricken I take him into the lounge. My mouth's not working properly and the hangover suddenly appears to take a turn for the worse so I can't get my words out properly and just keep saying 'You OK mate'. I shut him in the lounge. Luckily housemate and f**k buddy 2 are downstairs so I'm now thinking 'How do I get housemate upstairs'. After mind racing for a few minutes I decide to call him on his mobile. He answers it saying 'WTF are you phoning me. I'm here'. I explain the predicament and he comes upstairs looking flushed with eyes like organ stops.

So the plan we hastily come up with is that he will chat with f**k buddy 3 in the lounge whilst I keep f**k buddy 2 occupied downstairs. Brilliant! Except after 10 minutes f**k buddy 2 decides he wants a fag and heads for the stairs. I consider a rugby tackle or maybe locking him in the downstairs loo but he's too fast. We go out for a fag and thankfully not been spotted. However mid-ciggie I turn round and see housemate and f**k buddy 3 looking at us from the Kitchen.

The game's up and I'm thinking I can't cope with more brawling. However housemate just introduces everybody and we all land up chatting on the patio for 20 minutes about nothing in particular. Housemate is sweating profusely by this stage but it all goes off without a hitch and eventually f**k buddy 3 says his farewells and departs.

I think we're off the hook...............for now.

On a lighter note I went out for another fag about an hour later and caught next door's cat mid-poo on my flower bed. It got such a fright when I appeared that it jumped about 2 feet in the air and the last bit of poo shot out at high velocity and hit the fence LMAO!

Bumps, Beds and Soggy Bottom

I think I'm turning into Frank Spencer!

Having recovered from the D&G spectacle debacle I was enjoying a relatively tranquil day yesterday. The sun was shining and I was chuffed that I'd managed to complete all my work tasks by the early afternoon. Well you know that expression pride comes before a fall > I wanna slap the supercilious git who coined that phrase!

First of all I went arse over tip trying to get to my mobile phone and smacked my head on the wardrobe. I'm sure I didn't leave my gym bag there. Maybe the dog is getting it's revenge for the breakfast incident.

When I get up in the morning she usually rushes through to the kitchen with me to get her breakfast. Strange that she staggers about the place looking like she's an arthritic pensioner until there's any mention of food and suddenly she's whizzing about like she's on speed. Anyway I gets to the kitchen and there's no sign of her. I call her name but still nothing. I start to worry and walk back through to the lounge only to find her struggling across the room dragging her bed which had somehow attached itself to her back leg. Of course my initial reaction was to fall about laughing and she didn't take kindly to that and started whimpering. I gave her a reassuring kiss and tried to get her free from the bed attachment but the threads have got themselves well and truly tangled around her paw and her whimpering escalates for more dramatic affect.

I need to get scissors to cut her free so leave her while I go back to the kitchen and the whimpering takes on a 'don't leave me' tone. Back and armed I wrestle with the thread for about 5 minutes trying not to hurt her while she shrieks everytime the scissors go anywhere near her paw. At last she's free and somehow immediately forgets about her trauma and rushes through to the kitchen, tail wagging and dancing round her food bowl.

So I'm convinced she set the gym bag trap to get her revenge for the morning ordeal but luckily no more face damage - just a lump on the head to remind me that SHE is the boss.

Watched the footie in the evening and had some laffs with my forum buddies and prepared to watch Big Brother. Thought I'd pour myself a glass of red wine and recline on my Linda Barker. Grabbed the box of Bantrock Station and a glass and proceeded to the lounge. Just as I get through the door things went slow-motion. The bottom falls out of the box and the sack splatters on the carpet gushing red wine everywhere - carpet, sofa, walls, Next cushions!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The horror unfolding before my eyes freezes me to the spot for what seemed like forever. I manage to grab the sack and stop the deluge and run through to the kitchen, dump the remains in a casserole dish and run back armed with paper towels. 2 rolls later and the place is still sodden so I raid the towel cupboard and continue with the frantic mopping. Next thing housemate walks in and looks at me like I've just slaughtered the first born of every family in Croydon and without saying anything he stomps off to the shed. I'm hyper-ventilating now.

Back armed with one of those Aqua Carpet Cleaner things he takes over with a sarcastic 'I'll do it' look on his face. Huffing and puffing just to make sure I feel worse that I already do. 20 minutes later it's looking much better but we'll have to wait till it dries before we know if we've managed to get the stain out.

After a couple of fags to de-stress we polish off the remains of the wine from the casserole dish and retire to bed.

I'm sure I caught a glimpse of the dog smiling to herself before I closed the bedroom door!

The Dolce & Gabbana Spectacle

Now I have never been a huge fan of MSN because I'm rubbish at typing fast. I do however have a special MSN buddy who makes me laff before bedtime so was traumatised to discover I couldn't log on the other night. After much cursing at MSN and Hotmail I thought I'd snuggle under the duvet and watch a bit of telly. Wondering if there would be any more punch ups in the BB house.

Next thing I know I'm waking up with with something poking into my cheek. Lifting my head off the pilow to be confronted in the semi-darkness with my D&G specs staring back at me in bits. I was still half alseep so anger didn't hit me at that precise moment. Instead I just kinda stared at them for a bit - well 4 bits to be precise. After what seemed like an age I pulled a stroppy face and rolled over to check the time and sent the bed side lamp flying across the room taking the clock, my mobile phone and a bottle of Nivea sensitive balm with it. Needless to say the dog starts having hysteria at all this commotion. I slump out of bed screaming abuse at the dog and pick up the debris from the floor. It's 6.50 am on a Saturday morning!

Oh and did I mention that the tv is still on but has somehow changed from E4 to MTV Dance in the night and on comes Alice Deejay singing about it how we're 'Better off alone'................Belgian Bitch!

So I chase the dog down the hall to the kitchen muttering obscenities. Make a cup of coffee and chuck some Cesar in her dish to shut her up. Was just about to go back to bed when housemate surfaces in his Littlewood boxer shorts, smelling of stale Stella. I apologise for waking him and make more coffee aware that he's looking at me funny. I know I'm no oil painting in the morning but this is a bit unsettling. Finally he says 'What happened to you'. What did he mean? 'Your face'.

I go into the bathroom and there before me is what can only be described as a seagull attack! My face is covered in scratches. All over. With a chunk of flesh hanging off the end of my nose! How could the D&Gs have caused so much damage? Mind you looking at the pillow carnage it must have been quite a fracas during the night.

After a shower and an application of Tea Tree lotion the visage was looking slightly better but blimey - what a mess.

Had to go shopping to Sainsbury so I covered up in a baseball cap and sunglasses 'a la Posh Spice' to hide the chopped up face and just drew more attention to myself.

Bumped into fat bloke and his noisy bird from over the road (the pair that leave their windows open during love-making just so we can all hear her sounding like she's having her wisdom teeth extracted with a spanner) and she asks why I'm in disguise.

So I take the cap and glasses off and she says 'Oh Steps my Mum's got a cat like that'???????????????????????????????????????? I didn't feel inclined to tell it was a pair of D&G specs.

Lesbian Shoe Throwing 2004

I found a shoe in my garden this morning. Well I say a shoe but it was more of a faux Kickers ankle boot. It was a size 6 so it couldn't be mine and housemate is a 9 so it's not his.

I was pondering this strange uninvited guest over coffee and a fag after disposing of 4 Molly poos.........that dog must be 90% bowel the size of these muthas.

Anyways I got to thinking about football for some reason and the affect it has on Lesbians. Did I tell you we have Lesbians at the bottom of our garden. They are like foxes really. Never see them during the day but what a bloody racket they make when they kick off. We've had 2 outburst recently following the England games in Euro 2004.

Last Sunday we could hear them whooping and screaching during the game. Come full time and things went quiet for a while. Next thing the pair of them are hurling abuse at each other, doors are slamming and their German Shepherd is going nuts in the garden in between chucking itself at the living room window. No doubt trying to get in there to split them up.

OK so post-match madness is not restricted to our Lesbians. Apparently the entire contents of the Walkabout pub in Croydon spilled out after the match and mugged a tram and jumped on car roofs just to make sure everyone knew they were pissed off. We had helicopters circling for hours.

Yesterday the England boys were at it again and needless to say the Lesbians were on the terraces in spirit. Singing and cheering they're hearts out. They were ecstatic at the result and played Three Lions over and over again until one lager too many and the fireworks started again. This fight lasted another hour, indoors and out, until a police car rolled up and tranquility was restored again.

The point of this rambling is that it's strange the affect that alcohol can have on people. I'm lucky. I just get happy/daft and then fall alseep but some people get so aggressive and argumentative irrespective of whether or not they have had a good time.

Any-road-up - I've just been trying to assemble the washing airer that I got from B&Q yesterday and who should be hanging over the fence but Lesbian No 1. The one with the long mullett that looks like Gene Simmons from KISS but less attractive.

'Hey Steps' she says. 'Can I have my shoe back'

Take-a-way Terror

So housemate says to me he needs a hand getting new fencing from B&Q today. Fair enough I thought and off we go in the van to Purley Way.

Now I'm a really nervous passenger in a car since I was involved in an accident a few years back so not a great car partner on busy roads. Needless to say Purley Way was like Whacky Races as per usual and after a couple of near misses and cut-ups the old palms are sweating and the colour is draining from my face. Not helped by the fact that my mate is effing and blinding at everyone and it's starting to feel like I'm in that truck scene from Teminator 3.

So we finally get to B&Q and I escape from the van and breathing returns to normal by the time we enter the corrugated kingdom. Wandered around aimlessly for about ten minutes before approaching a B&Q assistant in ill fitting black shorts exposing his blue legs. The chirpy chappy tells us I need to go to aisle 46 for a clothes airer and mate should go outside for fencing.

We go our seperate ways and forget to arrange a meeting place.....of course. Needless to say we spend the next half hour playing hide and seek up down the aisles. I finally bump into him in Kitchens and he's sweating buckets after dragging the fencing around the store looking for me and gives me one of them 'where the hell have you been' looks. I decide it's best not to get into a barney and just smile and help him drag the trolley up to the checkout.

As we approaching the van my heart sinks. I'm looking at the size of the fencing and thinking 'this lot is never gonna fit in there'. My mate see's the panic on my face and tries to comfort me by saying 'Don't worry - we're gonna put it on the roof'.

OK so I'm thinking how the hell are we gonna fix this lot to the roof? He must have a plan I thought.

We lift the 6 peices of fencing (6' square BTW) on to the roof of the van after much puffing and blowing and 3 splinters.

My mate then produces an ancient washing line that looks as if it would snap under the weight of a pair of wet jeans and we proceed to lash the timber mass to the roof. My stress levels are rising again at the prospect of driving home with this lot wobbling around up there.

We start off on the journey home and after the 6th roundabout there is definitely something stirring above and a quick look back reveals the washing line is sagging. It's at this point we hit the busy road again and we are propelled onto the Purley Way with about a ton of fencing dancing on the roof.

I'm now visibly shaking and mate says 'Don't worry. It'll be fine'. The words had just left his mouth when a bloke on a motorbike pulls alongside waving frantically. I'm sweating now and think I'm having a seizure. My mate almost doesn't see the traffic changing and slams on the brakes. I grip the dashboard and shut my eyes. We're OK it's still there.

The motorcyclist is alongside again and tells mate that the washing line is unravelling and trailing behind the van. I'm expecting mate to pull up and tighten the line. Instead he says thanks to the bloke and off we go again down Purley Way. I think I'm gonna start crying by this time and too stressed to say anything. I just sit there with eyes closed and teeth and buttocks clenched thinking of ways to kill my mate and dispose of the body.

I think he was beginning to panic too by this stage and we slowed to a snail pace for the remainder of the journey and finally got home with the fencing in tact.

'That was fun' he says.

I've just finished putting his limbs in black bin bags and off down the local dump now!

Hello

Blimey so this is a Blog is it

Oh this should be fun :-)

Cryptic character assassinations (Jason take note! I know your binround)

Attention seeking 'boo hooing'

Telling all my mates how much I love them and how I will always be there for them.

Very personal revelations that really ought not to be in a public domain.

THIS IS GONNA BE WICKED!

Woooooooooooooooooooooo Hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

LMAO