Farewell my little angel

I'm overcome with a deep sadness.

My lovely little companion is no longer with me. After 15 years of joy and happiness there is a huge hole in my life.

Her final day was so painful for me but she seemed the brightest and happiest she'd been in ages. It was easy to forget about her worsening breathing problems.

I was holding her as she drifted off to sleep. She looked at me so knowingly with those loving little dark eyes. In an instant she was gone but it was a precious moment in time that I will never forget as long as I live.

Today I'm remembering all the great times we had and the fun and love she brought to my life. However the pain of knowing I will never see her greeting me at the door or get to cuddle her on the sofa again is too much to bear right now.

Goodbye Molly. Thank you for sharing your life with me. I will love you forever.

My heart is breaking but I know you're at peace now little one.

Wardrobe Washing and Tepid Sausages Part 1

Friday and panic is setting in. I was frantically cleaning the estate as housemate was returning from 2 weeks in Greece. I'm really not a lazy sod but 2 weeks of dog sick and withering houseplants have taken their toll and generic dusting and laundry have taken a back seat

Half way up the hall, the Dyson finds a USB lead and decides to commit hoover hari-kari. It screams loudly before wheezing to a stand-still with 1 careful owner stood there in a blue sarong looking flushed. I dunno what it is with household appliances. They must hate me. It's only been 2 weeks since I wrote off the VAX carpet cleaner. Got a bit too close to the stairs and it plunged to it's death down 2 flights to the basement. It was a bit like a car stunt on Emmerdale only more realistic.

I only have 3 hours left and nothing but a drawer full of Sainsbury's anti-bacterial wipes to whip this place into shape before I set off on my clubbing weekend. I used up 3 packs but the carpets and tiles came up a treat. The whole house smelled like Lemon Toilet Duck. Better than dog sick and peanuts I guess.

Packed my trolley case, ordered the cab and headed off to the South Coast again to meet up with my mates. This time we're celebrating because we've all managed to secure jobs after the re-org/re-structure. Could have been very different but after months of uncertainty it's all come good so I'm expecting to look like Michael Foot after running the London Marathon by Sunday.

The hotel was something I wasn't expecting. It's in a lovely grand Georgian Square in Brighton but as the cab turned the corner I spotted a frenzy of scaffolding and just knew that it was crawling over our hotel.

I stood ringing the doorbell on a damp maroon carpet with my heart sinking into my scrotum. As I peered through the greying glass I could see the interior decor was like a 1970's funeral parlour, only less tasteful.

Eventually a skinny bloke in a 100% polyester suit from Mr Byrite poked his head round from next door. 'Did you not read the notice'? he sighed, pointing at a card the size of a fag packet stuck to the inside door at knee height. Plese knock next door it said. Yes it said Plese. That's not my typo! I decided it best not to comment and asked him to check me in.

I hauled my case up to reception. Well I say reception but it was really just an airing cupboard with a laptop. It was at this point I noticed the cracks in the walls and part of the ceiling bearing down on us like an Airtex ice flow. I imagined Charlton Heston leaping through the bay window to rescue me during the next after-shock. Skinny bloke was actually quite friendly and helpful and gave me a cheery smile as I headed up the stairs to my room to wait for my mates to arrive.
Up and up I went as the stairs got smaller and leaned further and further over to the left. The banister wasn't looking right solid either so I'm now worried about leaning over too far and landing up with a broken neck on the maroon marshland below.

I made it to my room. Key in door. Flick to the right and threw open the door to be confronted by a toilet on a 32 degree slope! I stood for a bit staring at this toilet and wash bowl and after what seemed like an age I realised there was another door on the other side of the toilet. I stepped uneasily across the sloping floor and opened the other door to reveal the place I would be staying for the weekend.

To say it was small and cramped would be like saying Wayne Rooney is a dumpy, hirsute, chav with a liking for shagging old birds. The photo here doesn't really do it justice but I think you'll get a feel for my disappointment. The tiny built-in wardrobe had been cut in half and the right hand section converted into a shower. I haven't seen such a small shower since that time when I was persuaded to try a caravan holiday on the Isle of Wight during Scout week. Every morning we were knocked up early and often by relentless, spotty youths asking if we wanted anything done for a pound. A bob was a fecking shilling in my day but I guess that's inflation for you.




I finally managed to lift my case, sideways, into the room but take out an IKEA bedside lamp on the way with the retractable handle and collapse onto my narrow bed. My mobile starts ringing and as I swing round to answer it my knees hit the dressing table and my leg is gouged by a lethal looking drawer handle and the kettle falls off the shelf and soaks my shoes. I glance up at the telly. I now know why they've got flat screen TVs............you couldn't fit a bloody normal television in here!

To be continued........................................

Wish I Was There Part Deux

So I trek back home as I'm being summoned to work for another interview.

The dog's developed a nasty cough/retch combo in my absence so my first day back and I'm off to line the vets pockets again. £78 for some pills and a bottle of ear cleaner. If any parents are reading this crap, my advice would be to encourage your children to become vets. It's like a license to print money and no one ever complains because their little precious babies are worth every penny. It's simply not the done thing to whinge about being robbed blind by the bloke in the green coat with bad hair who just stuck a thermometer up Fifi's arse.

Got myself in a right 2 n 8 over my pending interview. Woke up with hives and the scalp scabs were itching something rotten. As the morning wore on I couldn't settle and just walked around the house picking up stuff for no reason and putting it down again.

As this was a final interview and I'm supposed to be on holiday they decided to do it by phone rather than make me travel up North again. By the time the phone rang my t-shirt was wringing wet and I was having trouble walking. My bum hole was red raw and felt like a blob of mince and drawing pins. Not even supersoft Andrex Quilts could prevent it's demise.

Actually the interview went really well until the dog had a cough/retching fit and I made a dash for the door so they didn't hear her. I tripped over a toothbrush charger and fell into the huge banana plant that I'm babysitting for my mate while she's on holiday. It was snapped in 2 but I got the job so it's not all bad news. I've got a few days left to think up a good story about the death of her beloved plant. I've got rid of the evidence. It's currently in small bits in our wheelie bin and should be land-fill by the weekend.

Without an ounce of remorse I was back off to the coast to continue my holiday. The rain started almost immediately.

Had a great night out with mates for a birthday celebration. We had a magnificent Thai feast served up by what looked like the cast of a fat ladyboy cabaret. Staggered back home and fell asleep on the sofa squinting at Charlotte Church with one eye on SKY+

Next day went shopping in Brighton with my mate. We got drenched darting between GAP and Mambo. Spent the rest of the afternoon damp and in charity shops as mate was searching for Scally footwear. He tells everyone he buys these used shoes to re-sell on Ebay. We all believed him until his Mum's loft collapsed and she was buried for 3 days under a pile of Dr Martin's!

Wish I Was There Part 1

Holidays are supposed to make you feel relaxed aren't they?

I've just had over 2 weeks off work and look like some disheveled hobo with TB. The stress rash I developed on my scalp has started bleeding so I now have red dandruff.

Things didn't start well. 2 days before my holiday we were all told that our department was being restructured. That's business speak for cutting back on staff but not the volume of work! The bottom line was 'If you don't have a job in the new department by the following week......you're out' My 'interview' had been booked for the following Tuesday. In Bradford!

OK I should have made a decision then to postpone my holiday but I'd already agreed to house sit for friends so my hands were tied. So started the weirdest vacation ever.

I hung around at home over the weekend. No point traveling South for a couple of days to come home and then venture to the North for the interview. Hanging around just made me more anxious, so by the time I got to Bradford my breathing sounded like a camel having an orgasm.

I covered myself in Garnier Shine Control moisturiser and Sure Extreme Protection but still sweated up like a Turkish wrestler.

The interviews were behind schedule and in the end I landed up with the after lunch slot with a woman from Human Resources wearing low slung pants and a short cardigan. Neither came close to covering her ample and blotchy stomach. I was transfixed on the messy belly button that looked like it had gone sceptic after a botched piercing. She was having problems keeping her eyes open. Was I boring her to death or had she had a couple of pints and steak pie and chips down the pub for lunch. This slug was deciding my future career!

30 minutes later it was all over and I was despatched back to London to continue my anxious wait/holiday. A quick change of suitcase and I was off to the seaside.

Arrived in Brighton and headed off to the chemist to get my prescription. As luck would have it the local chemist closes early on a Wednesday so now I can feel a panic attack coming on.

17.15 I have no idea where the next chemist is. I start walking East. Not sure why but it seemed to make sense at the time.

17.26 I find another chemist in the nick of time. A small, surly Scandinavian woman is getting ready to shut up shop as I bluster through the door, knocking over a display of cheap reading glasses. The troll gives me daggers as the pharmacist takes pity on me and agrees to make up my prescription. I buy a purple nail clipper set out of gratitude.

17.36 I wave goodbye to the pharmacist and her grumpy troll and head back.

17.37 A monsoon hits Brighton and t shirt/shorts and flip flops suddenly seem inappropriate. 3 blocks later and I'm drenched. I've stuffed my drugs down my shorts to keep them dry but I'm soaked through to my Calvins.

17.48 I eventually make it home and collapse with my drugs and a bottle of Jacobs Creek.

Things can only get better.......................right?

Briefs Encounter

Ok Ok enough is enough. This heat is getting on my flippin' tits now.

I love a bit of sunshine when I'm on holiday or chilling on the decking of a weekend but equatorial conditions are not conducive to pleasant working conditions.

I'm refusing to go into the office right now due to the lack of decent air-con. Went in to do my expenses the other day and had to walk home with a wet arse. I was wearing khaki combats so it looked like I'd forgotten to put on my Tenna's much to the amusement of the kids playing footie in the park. This black kid with a half afro and Crystal Palace top on shouted over 'Hey Mr. You need your nappy changing' I pretended I didn't hear. My mobile rang. I dived into my backpack to fetch it and collided with the dog shit bin!

The other day I had no choice but to travel up to Liverpool for work. Just my luck. Turned out to be the hottest day of the year.

The trip up was OK. Quiet train with great air-con. Managed to catch up on some Iain Lee podcasts. The meetings went well. We had desk fans and shared a can of Magicool. I'm convinced that stuff is evil. Sure it cools you down but what must it be doing to your skin and the ozone layer???

Any road up. I jumps in a taxi to the station and was treated to the Scouse remix of You To Me Are Everything by a very jolly and very flushed driver. Ginger people don't look great in the heat. Poor souls.

Again the train was quiet and dead cool. This time there was the added bonus of 2 latino chicos sitting across the aisle with shorts on. Jeez they were fit and spunky. I put my shades on and pretended to be asleep and spent the best part of an hour imagining what I would do with them in a jacuzzi! Unfortunately they got off at Nuneaton. I guess you could say they got off before I got off!

Journey was going well and on time until we approached Watford. Stopped dead and sat for just enough time to witness my connecting train departing as we pulled in. I wasn't even angry. Next train was in half an hour. I'll just get a drink and read a bit more of HEAT.

After clambering across to the correct platform I was already pouring buckets of sweat. There was a wind getting up so it felt like a Sahara sand storm now.......without the sand, obviously. The poor girl in the kiosk looked like the fat person in the gym. You know the look. Red face, cheeks pulsating, blowing and puffing continuously in a baggy t-shirt and cycling shorts. She had no water left so I ordered an Americano. I was fiddling around with the sugar cubes at the counter and I don't know how it happened but as I tore open the paper cover the cubes leapt in the air. For some reason I tried to catch them and hit the kiosk girl's arm as she passed the coffee to me. The coffee went everywhere. Soaking her t-shirt and a tray of flapjacks. I was mortified. She looked like she was going to cry.

It was my turn to cry now. Next train was cancelled due to defective rolling stock. I'd have to wait another hour for a connection.

It was getting hotter and hotter. I felt faint and needed a sit down. I dragged me and my trolley over to the lift and sat down on this ledge thing that went around the building. It was like sitting on molten lava. I think I smelled pork crackling as I leapt to my feet clutching my buttocks. 4 girls on the opposite platform were sniggering behind their Volvics.

Now I needed a pee so scuttled off to the lift with my trolley and crossed to the platform with the loos.

In the gents I was confronted by a bloke in a dirty suit with hair like Brian May, washing his feet in the basin. Well I say washing but he had this thing that looked like a giant cocktail stick and was picking away at his toes in the process. He mumbled something with a foreign twang and I just gave him a slight smile. After my wee I got some Wet Wipes out of my trolley and gave myself a good freshen up before nodding to foreign foot fellow and heading back to the platform.

I gets in the lift and before the doors shut, they open again and I'm confronted by this rather round black lady pushing a trolley with what looks like enough luggage for the whole of Ethiopia. I press the doors open button as she maneuvers her load into the lift. She's speaking to me very loudly in her native tongue and I'm just smiling and sweating. Eventually she gets in. It was like watching a drunk parking an HGV. When the doors open she gives her load a shove and knocks my little trolley out on to the platform. It's at that moment I realise I didn't zip it up properly when I got the Wet Wipes and the contents of my case is now blowing around platform 9.

The African Queen is stuck in the lift as I'm scrambling around on all fours collecting my bits and stuffing them back in the case. I'm so hot and stressed now that my shirt is sticking to me and my pants feel like I actually hadn't made it to the toilet.

I've gathered my bits and my train pulls in. I flop onto the train and collapse in a heap. As we pull out of the station I glance over and see a pair of my Abercrombie & Fitch briefs hanging from one of the African Queen's suitcases!!!!

Pampered Pooch & Pushing the Punto

Looking at that picture you would think that my dog was a sweet little thing. My arse!

She's next to me now and delighting me with silent farts that smell like Irish Stew that's been left in a pot for a couple of weeks during a particularly hot spell. It's her way of attracting my attention since she's forgotten how to bark now she's expecting a telegram from the Queen. 105 in dog years is not bad going for a West Highland Terror from a grubby pet shop in Epsom.

Becuse she's nearly blind, tone deaf and troubled with arthritis I decided to treat her to a home haircut instead of sending her off in the Dog Pound van to the Pooch Parlour. She looked dead scared the last time so I felt really guilty and made a promise to her not to send her there again. I found this great Mobile Dog Groomer on the internet and booked her an appointment.

The big day arrived. I think she knew something was up cos I brushed her 3 times that morning so she looked a bit decent for when he arrives. The 3rd time she'd set a trap and I caught the brush on a fresh clinker hanging from her tail.

Right on time this huge van arrives outside my house. I spend the next 20 minutes watching nervously as Mr Mobile Dog Groomer attempts to park this monster truck into a regular parking bay between my neighbour's cars. After a few close shaves with bumpers and headlights I decide to rescue him and offer him my neighbour's car keys to shift her car across the road. She'll never know. Another 15 minutes went by with him gradually edging closer and closer to the car in front. He can't find reverse

OK so now we have to get my friend's car back to where it edged from. It's not a big car so it's quite easy for the 2 of us to move. Trouble is he keeps turning the steering wheel too much and now we're all on the pavement. Me, him and the frickin car. Back and forward we go until eventually we get her car back in position and now with enough room for him to have another go at parking his van.

I stand there sweating with my eyes screwed up, hoping he misses next door's new BMW. 45 minutes in and we're good to go.

He opens the side of his van to reveal a big blue bath, a grooming table and a strong whiff of Bonio. Actually as he's chatting to me I discover it's him that smells of Bonio. I think he might have had a snack en-route!

With everything set up I dive inside and gently wake up the little angel. She looks befuddled as we go outside and then farts on my t-shirt as I'm struggling with the door latch.

I leave her in Mr Bonio's capable hands and get back to work. 2 minutes later I hear this blood curdling screech coming from outside. What the hell's he done to her. I run outside and stub my toe on the Recylcle Box. It was full too as they hadn't collected for a bit due to that Council strike. Hopping to the van I can see her shaking like a leaf on his grooming table. 'She doesn't like her nails being clipped, does she' he says. I didn't know cos I'm never usually there when she's being 'done'. No wonder the old place used to call her the The Screamer!

I hop back indoors and cringe through the next 19 clips as she screams and yelps. It sounds terrible so I close all the windows and doors to try and block it out. I can still hear her so I shove my iPod on and have a burst of The Shapeshifters while she endures her torture. Next thing the 2 old biddies from the corner house are out and having words with Mr Bonio. I decide against going out and telling them to shift their moth balls and piss smelling arses. He's humouring them and eventually they waddle off back and pretend to be trimming their hydrangeas.

Things go very quiet until an hour later the door bell goes as I'm changing the Jeyes Bloo block. I open the door and in she comes, dancing around like a little lamb. Mr Bonio looks worn out and his left eye is twitching.

That evening I'm off to the gym with my neighbour. We get in her car and just as she turns the ignition on she leans towards me and puts her hand under her bum. She's sitting on a dog biscuit...........................................

Trolley Folly

I think I might be sick. In fact I just burped up some bile. I'm feeling so hungover today that I might have to have a drink as nothing else seems to be making feel any better.

Things got off to a bad start this morning. Well I say morning but in fact it was 12.48 when the maid entered my hotel room. I dunno who got the biggest fright. Me at being woken by a small black Geordie with blue glasses, or her at seeing me lying naked, sideways across my bed.

She quickly shut the door. Apologised from the other side and reminded me that check out is 12 noon. A wave of panic overtook. I've missed my train and will probably be charged for another night in the hotel. Oh and I am seriously ill.

To be honest I felt so rough I didn't really have time to contemplate the immediate impact of my inability to wake up to 2 alarms!

I showered, packed and vacated the room in about 10 blurry minutes and sneaked out of the hotel side door before the receptionist knew I was gone. Dragged my now sweating body up what could only be described as a cliff face from the Quayside to the main road in the centre of Newcastle. I checked out the position of the train line from the viaduct and trekked off to the station...........in the wrong direction!

After about 10 minutes my case was getting heavier and heavier. Felt like I had a senior citizen joy riding on it cos she'd missed her shop mobility bus. I stopped outside a derelict chip shop and asked directions from a weeble in one of those fluorescent safety coats. He pointed back the way I'd just come and all I could say was 'Fuck'. The weeble grinned and walked off as I looked at the journey ahead. I feel like crying now.

The noise of my trolley wheels on the cobbles was drilling into my fragile and sweating head. What is it with fucking cobbles! Tarmac the lot of it I say.

20 minutes later I've oozed about 3 pints of stale Stella and reached the station. I've missed my scheduled train so have to purchase another one at full fare. Then I notice a London train on Platform 4. Leaving in 1 minute FFS. With my last ounce of energy I clamber over the bridge and nosedive onto the train just as the doors are shutting. An old man in top to toe green corduroy helps me to my feet as his munchkin of a wife looks at me disapprovingly. She can probably smell the aroma of last night's lager that's dampened my t shirt.

The train was boiling hot as per usual and after 3 coffee's and a Breakfast Ciabatta, that looked like a festering foot, I was still sweating. Waves of nausea kept coming and going. It was particularly bad around Doncaster. I was forced to brave the electronic sliding door toilet. I kept my gaze fixed on the flashing 'locked' sign as I pebble dashed the ceramic. Deed done and stood up to pull pants up. The frigging door starts opening and the old munchkin lady is stood there looking at my arse!

I fumble with my pants, press the lock button again and as I apologise to the munchkin my chewing gum flies out and hits her on the cheek

I'm never drinking ever again.....................

My erection can be seen from space!

I kid you not! I now have the biggest garden shed I have ever seen in my garden. Not only is it massive but it's been built on a raised platform due the slope in my garden so it's massiveness is magnified ten fold, much to the obvious delight of the neighbours. During the erection process we kept getting glimpses of the lesbians peering through their blue plastic Ikea blinds and the dirty old goat from next door kept peeking over his windowsill in a manner that made him look even more like evil Bob from Twin Peaks.

I daresay had these been normal circumstances the neighbours might have been up in arms about such a blight on the Croydon landscape. I mean our gardens are an ex-woodland so the appearance of what could be described as an bright orange Butlins Chalet might not have gone down too well. However the back garden could in no way have been described as 'normal' for the last 2 years. Not since my mate decided we needed more storage space and put up a Scouts marquee on the lawn!

Seemed like a good idea 2 summers ago and it was great for parties. Then gradually it got filled up with well.......................crap really. Then the foxes moved in and it was their turn to party in this purpose built foxy fun house with en-suite toilet. The stench of fox urine made your eyes water and piles of fox poo kept appearing in places that made you wonder how the hell the fox managed to get into such a position to drop one there. I'm sure they were using the storm lantern as a trapeze.

During the next 2 years rubbish builders came and went. Mostly went actually as they were all so unreliable that they would rarely appear on the day they were supposed to. They'd always drop by unexpectedly when your in the middle of a morning wank over some hunk's holiday snaps in OK magazine or the Torso of the Week in HEAT. Many a time I had to answer the door stooped over with an Argos catalogue covering my own personal marquee.

In the end we gave up on them and decided it shouldn't be too difficult to finish off the base ourselves. I mean how hard can it be to lay a concrete floor. Well very hard as we found out to our cost. Sand, water, gravel and 2 cold poofs is not an ideal combo. After 4 long hours of swishing around in this mess the surface had more bumps than the A3. We crawled back indoors, defeated and phoned the builders again.

Unbelievably they turned up and within a couple of days we had a flat deck for the shed.

The day of the erection arrived and whilst me and her from upstairs stood there trembling with fear at the thought of building this monstrosity. Mate was keeping us motivated by ordering us around and giving us encouragement by rolling his eyes and saying things like 'Don't touch that'!

In fact the whole thing went up very quickly and was very painless. Except when the ladders fell over while I was having a swig of tea and I spilled it all down my right arm.

It was fortunate that the erection was fast as we kept finding cat shit everywhere. We'd unearthed a cat toilet in the garden and the more we dug......the more stenching nuggets we uncovered. What is it with my garden that attracts the local wildlife to empty their bowels.

Skip's coming next weekend and the marquee will be no more. Maybe then the dog can get back in the garden again and oust the fouling felines and foxes. She needs to get her jobbies up there and reclaim her toilet.

Ok I'll keep you posted on the demise of the marquee next week and try not to do any more angry rant blogs in the meantime LOL ;-)