merry easter and a happy ramadan

that should get me noticed… to write something that’ll have me freshly pressed…….this will probably be my penultimate post on this blog, and it’s going to be a quicky too because i really do have to finish this bloody drawing before i end up leaving the job to one of my children in my will [note to self: get a will] so i just want to say it’s been a pleasure etc; you haven’t heard the last of me however; my final post will be to tell/ask/demand that you all go to my new blog that will go live in the new year [note to self: aim for 2013] it’ll be great, i promise

so for the mean time let me leave you with a lovely little christmas song – there are so many great ones to choose from; christmas in new york, that one by slade, santa baby, to name but a few…….but i think this one embodies the season to a t….or maybe an f


what…never seen two cherubs spit roasting a dragon before?

a foul act indeed, sir

a foul act indeed, sir


well you have now….this beautifully sculpted image (one of two in fact) sits atop the door that leads to the brasserie of the hotel in which i work….i can honestly say that i don’t think anyone’s ever actually really looked at it…or is that in fact the reason our restaurant numbers are down

you gotta chase that happy

or else

diary of a couple of nouveau poors

about januaryish this year i was asked to ‘write something funny’ for a charity newsletter that deals in all things related to parenting/pregnancy and suchlike, it comes out every three or four months or something – i’d written a babies’ horoscope piece for a previous edition but that was shelved for reasons beyond the readership’s intelligence (i paraphrase) – so i tried to write something that would get in this time

the subject of this newsletter was money and how to save it……..i live in cheshire, considered to be an affluent county, with members of this charity struggling daily with the school run in their 4x4s – i am not one of these (the 4×4 part that is) as are many others, however, i very often can’t resist taking the piss – so i thought i’d take the line that the nouveau riche have had their day, it is now the time of the nouveau poore (sic), which i discovered was a genuine thing – late again – just without the latter half being french

and here it is; the first part is the husband, the second part is the wife…..and my question is, is it actually funny?

i haven’t read it since the newsletter came out; i’m about to copy, paste then read; and this is the un-edited email version, it was tweaked slightly to make it fit but i don’t know where that version is…..wish me luck

Day 1

Today is the first day of our penny-pinching ‘experiment’, my wife’s idea, and quite frankly I think she’s mad; the little spots of indulgence that we have come to love and in some instances need in order to maintain household sanity have been banned….or at least diluted to such an extent it would make a homeopath laugh. And if she thinks we’re trading in for an X3 she’s living in cuckoo land.

The first thing that went was the fresh brewed coffee, we now have to put up with that instant tripe, and apart from the fact that there are a multitude of sources that show fresh is cheaper, I came down this morning to find my beloved Elipta espresso and filter combination coffee maker with cup warming feature gone! No ceremony, no farewell last taste, just gone! Along with the taste and smell that no longer stimulate my senses of a morning I also found a multitude of secondary pleasures now wanting; the performance of making coffee! From the grinding of the beans in my KitchenAid with 15 precision grinding levels, the familiar taps, knocks, shakes, the low growling through to the climactic roaring that showers forth pure liquid gold! I had no idea I needed all these things to make my morning coffee the experience it was…..but my protestations fell on deaf ears……there must be an App available for such emergencies.

I still retain my iphone….though with an App purchasing limit.

Day 3

Due to the lack of decent coffee I got a headache, had to lie down, and so possessed no inclination to write yesterday; there’s a little electricity saved. Speaking of which, I type this wearing for the second time – double that which I thought I’d have to suffer it – the abominable Christmas jumper knitted for me by Great Aunt Flo; the heating has been off all day and coming home from the office it felt like entering a morgue, the coffee failed to warm me but thank heavens Harriet had dug out this jumper for me to wear!

However, it was dinner that suffered the most tonight under the new regime; duck with oranges rather than cherries I can abide, but what I will not stand for is ice cream without the little star-shaped chocolate sprinkles doused all over it!! Needless to say I stood for it……I took the dog for a walk, I did threaten to take it for a drive as a high meat diet supplying the calories for said walk creates a greater carbon footprint than driving…..but I didn’t want to risk the prospect of meat-free meals.

Day 7

It’s been a week and the only plus side I can see to the ‘experiment’ is that I’m not the only one reduced to wearing a silly jumper! Regardless of my efforts to maintain the status quo, last night was ‘vegetarian night’ and due to the 75% ‘success’ rate it is to become pluralized.

We are having a family meeting later to run through the figures and see how much we’ve saved….my suggestion to have a professional look them over was ignored.

We appear to be doing very well…praise was given all round with an especial emphasis placed upon my coffee and packed lunches…I thought it was probably a little overstated but I’m not ashamed to admit I felt a pang of pride.

Day 10

There is foul play afoot! As I was rummaging through the rubbish in search of the copper wire I’d inadvertently thrown away I spied not one, not two, but three Penguin wrappers!!! Not since the very beginning of this laudable crusade has the biscuit of the gods been seen under this roof; a collective sacrifice of a greater impact I’m confident in saying has not been made!

I retrieved the three wrappers and concocted my plan on how to catch the usurper…….

As you well know, Penguin wrappers have printed on them what are akin to Christmas cracker jokes, my idea was to drop some references to these and through the observance of subtle eye movements, body ticks and breathing rates I would determine the culprit…………………

I’m now partaking of tomorrow’s wine allocation with which to console to myself.

Day 11

After leaving both the kitchen and bathroom lights on all last night, and the fridge door open I have taken the decision to forgo the search for the Penguin pincher and concentrate on more productive means of money-saving: namely energy-saving light bulbs. Did you know that by changing just one inefficient filament bulb with an energy-saving alternative it could save you about three whole pounds a year? I did not know this, and that swapping all the bulbs could save you around fifty-five English pounds? Again I must confess my ignorance. But did you also know that the majority of the 650 million light bulbs in the UK are inefficient ones, and that changing them all will add up to a significant reduction in the nation’s energy consumption? Well you do now, and this I am told is a laudable aim to which we should all aspire.

Day 12

I was lead to believe that from the very term ‘light bulb’ I was to expect light to be emitted; for it is certainly not an apt description of its weight.

Day 13

I have a broken toe and began an hourly subscription to the swear jar.

Day 14

At the family meeting this evening I took the opportunity to unveil my new energy-saving device that I have calculated will generate enough electricity in order to bring back ‘Computer Game Night’ to twice a week! A number of free-standing, waist-height ‘windmills’ will be dotted about the house, all we have to do each time we walk passed one is spin it, they are all wired up to a storage device into which can be plugged whatever area of pleasure you wish………this last choice of words did dampen the dramatic unveiling somewhat as the laughter took some time to subside, but it was welcomed most favourably and I trust it not remiss of me to say that it wasn’t just the one area of pleasure opened that evening……


Day 1
Today is the first day of our new and much-needed economy drive, needless to say my husband is opposed to the idea and has begun to stomp around the place huffing and puffing, and mumbling about household dynamics getting thrown off kilter – amusing in itself as these comments would suggest at least a fleeting knowledge about how this household is run…..
My remarks about the X3 seem to have had the desired effect….does this man not know me at all?!
My first unilateral decision was to get rid of all his infernal coffee-making paraphernalia; the noise that must be suffered and the contraptions that must be clambered over in order to reach the teabags, just for him to have one of his silly little espressos in his silly little pre-warmed cups was enough to make that decision an unconscious one. And I had no idea that he was so attached to the minutiae of coffee-making that his monologue on the subject nearly had me in sympathy……….nearly.
Day 2
Quiet day today; the ‘droppings of the devil’s own rabbit’ as he is wont to call instant coffee have given him a headache so he went straight to bed when he got in.
I’ve cut back on the amount of time the heating is on during the day and I’ve no reason to see why it should be on full blast of an evening either, so I’m preparing myself for the……Arctic reference I’ll plump for……..and have dug out the family’s set of reindeer jumpers from Great Aunt Jo. I wonder whether I set myself up for Grayson’s rants but the children and I just find them so comical that I’m loathed to give them up, and besides, I think he quite enjoys it; after a day of kissing arse at work he needs the release.
Day 3
Checked all the use by dates on all the food this morning and resisted the temptation to bin everything that was past it; there were only a couple of things anyway, namely the duck and the oranges which made the decision as to what we were having for dinner an easy one. As well as money-saving I’m also going to try to instil a little more healthy eating and environmental awareness; there’ll be a vegetarian night at least once a week – the amount of carbon produced by the meat industry is frankly criminal – and certainly no more of those pointless chocolate star sprinkly things, I don’t think anyone really likes them anyway and only eat them because they’re there; the habit of buying stuff because I’ve always bought it I need to shake!
And it was a morgue, not the Arctic.
Day 4
Faith and I in order to save water are converting to showers instead of baths as the simple yet effective experiment conducted today showed. She’ll be fine with it, we’ll have one more each to use up all the Moroccan Rose Otto bath oil and then it’s over to less exotic means of replenishing one’s skin, as it does dry out if proper care is not taken.
We’re sticking with the more expensive dog food……needless to say Barnabus was not happy with his change of diet.
Day 5
I’ve succumbed to buying myself a packet of ‘Boss’s Perk Penguins’……I do feel a little guilty about it…..but when that chocolate coats the inside of my mouth all guilt disappears, leaving only a decadent taste of forbidden pleasure…….it’s only day 5.
Day 6
Vege’ night was a triumph! The spinach and ricotta gnocchi was inspired (thank you James Martin!) With three votes in favour of upping it to two nights next week, and one abstaining – which frankly is as close to a ‘yes’ as we’re ever likely to get from a man who seriously believes that vegetarians are lacking a chromosome!
Day 7

The family meeting went well, and although I’m sure Gray noticed the slightly patronising extra emphasis placed on his good behaviour with regards to coffee and packed lunches, I definitely heard a more pronounced self-satisfied tapping coming from the keys of his laptop this evening. In all seriousness he is doing well, and although he doesn’t want me to catch him I have noticed his little ‘to be repaired’ pile that previously would be in the ‘to be replaced’ one, and with no more quips about turning up to an earthquake with a dustpan and brush whenever he puts anything in the recycling boxes I think we’re on the way, if not to a full-blown conversion, to at least a vague idea of in which direction Damascus lies.
Day 10
I’ve been rumbled!! I knew I should’ve taken more care in disposing of those Penguin wrappers! Gone are the days when one can close the lid of the bin in the sure and certain knowledge that the next pair eyes to lay upon its contents will be that of a landfill gull……..oh lord he’s coming to confront me!
Inspector Morse he is most definitely not. Even Inspector Clouseau is leagues ahead; what on earth was he thinking? It took all my strength not to burst out laughing as he made inane reference after inane reference to penguins; what they like to drink, their mating habits and where they go when feeling ill; it was only after Harvey told him to go away and take his perverse penguin-love with him that he skulked off and helped himself to tomorrow’s wine allocation.
It was odd though that he had no idea who out of the three of us it was, I assumed I was so transparent that he would immediately oust me as the culprit…..with more time to think I suspect he will come to the correct conclusion.
Day 11
It appears his time is up. With lights left on and a fridge door where it shouldn’t be, M. Poirot is now feeling too guilty to continue his investigation and has been sent to the shops to stock up on energy-saving light bulbs, but it seems he has left his brain somewhere else; rather than just make a list of the numbers of bayonets and screws and their sizes and take that, he proceeded to remove every light bulb we have in the house and take them all with him……I despair.
Day 12
One step forward, two steps back – we all had to suffer the wrath today due to the flagrant lack of immediacy shown by the new light bulbs. I admit they take a little time to reach their full strength but I don’t believe this to be a bad thing; it allows one’s eyes to gradually become accustomed and just so long as one doesn’t go charging head long into a semi-lit room nothing will get broken.
Day 13
Me and my big mouth. And the swear jar hasn’t seen such action since Barnabus’ not inconsiderable head made violent contact with his master’s nether regions one Sunday morning – I even had a call from Harvey’s form tutor asking where my usually so polite and chastely spoken cherub had picked up such a cacophony of iniquitous language? I explained the situation and Mr. Bent – why on earth he went into teaching with a name like that is beyond me – fully understood.
Day 14
Bless him, bless him, bless him, he tries so terribly hard at times and if his new-fangled contraption wasn’t enough to have us in stitches then his suggestion that we all have sex with it certainly was. But we played our parts admirably, and when the children had gone to bed, and the lights were dimmed more than usual, I allowed him a decadent taste of forbidden pleasure – we ate Penguins in bed.


so there you have it….enough links for you all? i hope you didn’t click on any of them; they’re of no help to anybody, except maybe the penguin one for the americans

usa shot glass vs uk shot glass

there’s simply no contest…..just look at how many more answers you can fit in the american one

Meeting of the Council of the United States of Americheese

This ‘fictitious’ meeting of the Council of the United States of Americheese was inspired by this post by Tracy Fulks, whom I stumbled upon thanks to Le Clown’s post extolling her virtues while still managing to write about himself – a skill shared by this man. Whilst the ‘personalities’ below are a little further away from the cheeses themselves and lean more towards the stereotypes of their nations of origin, I’m confident I’ll be forgiven…and by ‘forgiven’, of course I mean ‘not read’.

And it does contain SCENES OF A SEXUAL NATURE, so beware.

And capital letters.

And fullstops.


Cheddar calls the meeting to order, “Please gentlecheeses, can we get back to the next item on the agenda……………thank you. As you well know, we as the ruling body of Americheese have very little to do, but today we will face our greatest challenge, one that will put us at the very forefront of influential decision making….Manchego will you please stop fucking the Danish Blue!”

“Hey! Whadaya mean stop! Who’s gonna notice one more vein in this cute little-“


He stopped……. “Ok gringo, chill out. Adiós amore.”

“Come,” says Gorgonzola. “Let us come together around this table, let us break bread like brudders, share sandwiches, tell a few jokes yes, but don’t show disrespect.”

“Thank you, Gorgonzola,” says Cheddar.


Gouda pipes up, “Is it true Mr. Cheddar sir, that someone wants to become a cheese?”

“Thank you Gouda, for slapping us back to the point. Yes, the reason we are here today is because a non-cheese foodstuff has expressed a wish to become a cheese. Regardless of whether or not the procedure would be possible, let it never be said that we were not a progressive dairy product and open to new ideas. That and the fact we’re getting a lot of pressure from above to come up with something groundbreaking after yogurt’s highly successful ‘We Cure Thrush’ campaign. The boss however, doesn’t want anything even remotely vaginal, so we’ve decided to open ourselves up to having foreign objects penetrate our inner circle. Gentlecheeses, please welcome, the Chicken Nugget.”

“Thank you ever so much for seeing me like this,” said the Chicken Nugget. “I usually get shunned wherever I go now, no-one invites me to parties anymore, and do you know why? Because that fucking Jamie Oliver asked his stupid Food Revolution Community on Facebook what the worst processed food was, and I fucking won! I am the worst apparently, and not even of just the meats! No-one in the Food Revolution Community on Facebook appears to have come across the shit that is bear-shaped processed meat! And I’m not even classed as junk food any longer, and I’ve undergone a major change in a number of outlets who have dared to make me actually resemble actual chicken.

“But the damage is done, the facts are wrong but image is everything, there’s no going back, all the others have banded together – third place on the poll was ‘Fake Cheese’ for fuck’s sake. Third! If that doesn’t stink of conspiracy then I’m a Dutchman!”

“I remember seeing sat poll,” said Swiss. “I sought it was extremely badly done. Very biased. Sey had pictures of se sree sey wanted people to vote for as examples of what to vote for. Disgraceful…..But please don’t mistake what I just said for an admission of anysing partisan…in fact I shall put in for an abstention of my vote right now. And I’m late for my hot pastrami with mustard on rye-tial.”

“Mr. Cheddar sir!” squeaks Gouda. “Umm, Manchego…”

“Manchego, please stop fucking the Västerbottensost!”

“¡Si Señor!”

“Well I say no!” exclaims American. “We don’t want no Chicken Nugget dirtying up our board – no offence there, buddy – there must be a better way to compete with yogurt…….you got any skills, Chicken Nugget?”

“Umm…..I can be the sole food item in your diet for 15 years and not kill you?”

“Buddabing!” Hiccupped Provolone. “I’m just a sandwich guy. Italian cold cut is my specialty.  I melt up real nice on a steak sandwich or meatball sub. I ain’t nothin’ special, but for what my open onion is worth, I likes the guy and I would welcome him into the family.”

Brie fluttered her eyelashes, uncrossed…re-crossed her legs, “Mais oui, I like ‘is ‘I don’t know what’. I like se way he shares my colourings after I have been baked. Do you sink sat you can match up in all departments, Monsieur…….Nugget?”


“Quiet Monsieur Nugget….and let your ‘ips do se talking.”

“Thank you Brie,” says Cheddar. “Toe, do you have an open oni- I mean opinion on the matter?”

“Oroyt chaps?!”

“Oh fuck, who let Somerset Brie in?”

“Couldn’t ‘elp oover ‘earin’ some soorta mee’in’. I remember back in 1915 whens I wrote ‘Of Human Cheesemaking’, we ‘ad a loda mee’in’s-“

“Oh shut up, Brie!” pleaded Cheddar. “Toe, please, your thoughts.”

The blue, pasty, often damp, pedicular bi-product gazed at the Chicken Nugget for nigh on a minute. Silence filled the room (although it was punctuated by the soft ‘tap-tap’ of Manchego’s cheesicles slapping up against Monterey Jack’s arse. Cheddar had given up trying to moderate the errant Spaniard’s singular ways). Toe regarded the slovenly figure sat opposite him; he saw a broken food; a worn skin covering a frail body harbouring a wet soul; the lines on his face betraying the high levels of chicken foot he contained; the excess fat, that would usually now be swilling around some poor unfortunate’s stomach was pooling at the base of Chicken Nugget’s chair; his very essence sweating out of him.

Toe thought about image; on the face of it, it seemed a herculean challenge to turn this sorry excuse for sustenance into something worthy of the title ‘Cheese’; but look at some of the examples that existed; Toe himself was an abomination but had done nothing to hinder cheese’s popularity, and one of the most quoted lines about the very nature of cheese’s existence had not damaged the creed either. No, it would not be a problem integrating Chicken Nugget’s public persona.

The naming of the new cheese would be more troublesome; ‘Chicken Cheese’ was most definitely out, as was ‘Cheese Nugget’, more detail would need to be gleaned about the Chicken Nugget’s place of origin; a nice sounding town name could quite easily be used…..let us pray he’s not from Shitterton.

His texture and flavour could pretty much be anything, as could his appearance; after all, the existence of Easy Cheese – whose presence was alerted to everybody due to the deepthroating she was currently receiving from Manchego – meant that there was really nothing that wouldn’t sell.

The silence – save the gagging – was abruptly interrupted by Feta, who threw some plates against the wall for no apparent purpose, and then went back to writing his list of reasons why there was no need for a salad to include lettuce.

“I think,” intoned Toe, “that there is no reason not to embrace this Chicken Nugget into our fold. For should we not be honoured that he has chosen to be a part of us, rather than sell his soul to those pompous, egotistical twats the Vegetables, or simply give up all self-worth and become a Grain?”

“Oh ma fuckin-a gord!” shrieked Mozzarella. “I look-a like-a da bollock! Why-a nobody-a say? Dis-a no sexy, dis-a no sexy at all. Some-a-one hand me da knife, I slice-a maself up.”

“Ooo yummy!” said all the Council at once. Basil and tomato were brought in, hacked up and served with Mozzarella on the few remaining plates to escape the traditions of Feta. Chicken Nugget was welcomed wholeheartedly, and should be on the supermarket shelves next to the other cheeses very soon……………………….I would tell you his new name, but [remember to insert funny/original/any reason as to why you couldn’t think up a good name for him…before publishing!]



THATCH HERRINGBONE DIES – Daily Harbinger Exclusive

During the early hours of Tuesday morning, the mutilated body of 31 year-old explorer, philanthropist and trailblazer, Thatch Herringbone, was found on the banks of the Hicksbow canal.

Police believed that the young adventurer had initially escaped from the St. Christina the Astonishing Hospital for the Regretfully Insane; although upon further investigation it was found that Thatch had never been a patient there. The Head of Therapies, Dr. Dymphna had this to say: “We were contacted by the local police department with reference to a supposed patient of ours; but upon checking and double checking our records we found that a patient by that name and never even been admitted, nor had ever been referred to this hospital at any point in its history.”

We have subsequently discovered that it was this blog post that led the police to the imposing doors of St. Christina. When pressed on the issue, Dr. Dymphna denied that any of the accusations made in the blog were true; he also refused to answer any question relating to his wife’s name….which does indeed turn out to be Mary.

Any followers of Thatch’s blog will know that his last expedition was quite a fraught one; what started out as merely a scaling of Tooting High Street turned into so much more. Whether he reached his final destination of the Sajna Hair and Beauty Institute is not known from simply reading his blog, as it stops at the point where he escapes Tooting Dental Care; although this in itself is highly ambiguous as the actual ‘escape’ is not explicitly mentioned.

Our attempts at gleaning any information from his expedition team were rewarded with more questions than answers. His cameraman, Cameraman Cameraman, had, among other things even less coherent, this to say: “It was a time of great upheaval in the group; we were each standing on our own level trying to understand whether or not it was any better or worse than any of the others’, we couldn’t tell whether the level we each were on was physically any higher or lower than any other, but I for one would not have trusted that kind of arbitrary measure as a reflection of a moral comparison, which ultimately was what we were striving to formulate in our own minds.”

The archaeologist, Edwin Spackleton, seemed somewhat unaware that the trip had even taken place, until we mentioned his extraordinary stroke of luck in discovering their escape route using a map of the Dordogne: “Ah yes! Of course! My my what an extraordinary stroke of luck that was! I just had the strangest idea that the answer would simply be there….and it was….extraordinary….all the street names, just where the map said they would be. Always fancied going to the Dordogne…not now though.” “Why’s’at?” I asked, thinking I’d get at least a snippet of an alternative perspective about what went on. “I’ve recently discovered that the Dordogne River exhibits a tidal bore; and I simply don’t trust them. Ever since the….incident on the Qiantang River in China………” He then excused himself and went to his bathroom, where I then heard him sobbing; sobbing like a bereaved child. I placed my card and a note on his kitchen table and left.

Juliet Hamstring was my next and final call….I held out little hope of learning anything about the events following the Dental Care escape, let alone a state of mind that would account for Thatch’s final blog post.

Juliet lives in a modest, London apartment with her flatmate and friend of many years. She works for an auction house specialising in violins; it affords her some extremely glamorous travel, and the rubbing of shoulders with the very many weird and wonderful characters who adorn the classical music industry. She is an enthralling and captivating human being, whose most simple movements echo those sublime notes which emanate from the most exquisite Stradivarius. And her taste for red wine rivals that of Gerard Depardieu. Her body is curvaceous and, in keeping with her own views of it, should be shown off.

She leads me to two scuffed, leather wingbacks in front of a dwindling fire; plonking the glasses on the table between them she hands me the bottle and corkscrew and asks, “Would you mind? I’m all out of scewtops.” It is at this point where I simply forget why I’m there.

“So you want to know about Thatch?” In a manner of speaking….I nod. “He was a twat, and I fucking adored him.” She told me how they met; how they eventually got together; how they made use of every nook and cranny of the delicatessen she owned at the time, and of the art gallery that he worked for located in the same home county village; her subsequent split from her long-term boyfriend, and her assumption that Thatch would be her next; her ignoring the fact that it was never going to happen, not caring simply because of the vast amounts of pleasure he gave her both sexually and mentally; his stupidity in lying to her about things she’d have undoubtedly forgiven at the time, but their concentration became too great and there was nothing left in her with which she could dilute them.

“He was frightfully clever. Not in retaining information or learning things exceptionally fast or anything like that. He looked at things differently; he could take an everyday situation and relate it to something you’d never dream of; his turns of phrase were ludicrous to the point of genius….and genius to the point of stupidity. I did so many firsts with him….we could have done many more if he’d only let me in.”

I slowly managed to regain my composure: “This seems to be in stark contrast to the mention he makes of you in his blog. He writes like that last expedition was the first time he’d met any of you, or at least that the relationships were a far cry from what you’re describing.”

She smiled…I felt myself being totally and utterly pitied. “He didn’t recognise me. I turned up to our first meeting, everybody was there, and I expected either a big loving, loud greeting or a stunned silence….I got neither….I got a, ‘Hello, you must be Juliet, I’m so glad you agreed to join us, welcome, please sit down.'”

She finished her glass; I poured her another and topped myself up. She continued: “He’d changed, in himself. He was still there, his personality was still the same, he was still confused and looking for something that he knew may very well not exist; but this time he was actively searching for it, and had been for some time; it was compelling, he convinced me, and I fell in love with him all over again…he didn’t have a clue who I was.”

“And you didn’t try to tell him?”

“What was the point? I kind of saw it as another chance at something. Maybe a validation of my worth; if this Thatch fell in love with me too then maybe there was something to me….something to us.”

After meeting the first two members of the team, I was beginning to think that the four of them just locked themselves in a room, together with a big box of mind altering drugs and had at it. But Juliet’s account was succinct, detailed and left me in no doubt about the validity of Thatch’s blog. I was eager to get to the post-Dental Care part of the recollection but was in no mood to hurry her, and I was also acutely aware of the state she was in as they all scurried through the alternative streets of Dordogne: ‘a girl at the end of her wits…….who could still barely stand’, so I wasn’t holding out too much hope.

“I woke up in hospital. My flatmate was there. My mother. The last thing I remembered – and still do, nothing after has come back to me – was sitting up against the wall of the Rue de Varsovie, watching the boys – but Thatch in particular – fight that horrible thing, and using my last available strength to masturbate to him; matching him, thrust for thrust.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. I stared at her. She stared right back. Her body shone. She finished her glass and placed it heavily on the table. She rose, smoothed down her dress, leaned towards me and kissed my cheek. She whispered, “Please see yourself out….whenever you like……I must lie down.” I watched her pad barefoot across the carpet and quietly close the door behind her. I released the breath that I’d held when she rose out of her chair. I shivered; the fire was as good as dead.

At the point of publication no additional details are known about the circumstances leading to Herringbone’s grisly, untimely end. He was found by the canal, a series of deep, penetrating cuts and slashes covered his body; the absence of anything that would suggest a second party’s involvement led the police to the disturbing conclusion that the wounds were self-inflicted.

Having read his last post and then discovering that he was never writing from any hospital in the entire country, it does not take a great leap of the imagination to accept the initial cause of death as that of ‘misadventure brought on by severe psychotic episodes due to large amounts of unspecified narcotics in the victim’s system.’ It is however, seemingly impossible to understand how no-one knew of his struggles with mental health; our investigations have met with a wall of ignorance in this regard, and the only other emotion that comes close to the sadness felt by all who knew him, is that of guilt.

does the link in my previous post work?

thatch has been committed

….so it seems; he has found himself in a mental institution; i don’t know how this has happened, nor when, nor how he is able to blog under his current circumstances….i have heard a rumour that he has not been taking his medication, but saving it up in order to pass on messages (with the aid of a discarded toenail found on the floor of the ‘nail cutting room’ and subsequently secreted away from the hospital staff, he has been etching out his thoughts on the surface of all his tablets (thankfully his medication was changed to that of capsules (two-piece gelatin capsules obviously, otherwise he’d be worse off than before) so now all that is required is a fine tip pen and a strip of paper, written on, rolled up and placed inside, smuggled out of the hospital to a friend who has access to thatch’s blog and a microscope)) and if the length of his post is anything to go by, he’s been given a lot of medication…

i find this more than believable

he does appear to be having a pretty tough time though; i wonder if i should set up a ‘free the st. christina one’ campaign…..although he may actually be insane….

here’s the link

so i’ve managed to delete my film

….but i’m also managing to be rather stoic about it; it was only five days’ work after all; it only took threeish hours to get the guy to look like he was walking; the same again to get the cross hairs in the correct position; the lift scene was a work of genius….if i say so myself…..but hey ho; i’ve learnt a lot, and when i start it all over again it should take me a fraction of the time to arrive at where i was, so i aim to fill the rest of it up with additions, and a cleaner version of the original; i’d gotten to the point where i wasn’t a hundred percent happy with parts of it, but it had taken me so long and i was hoping to get it published tonight – soundtrack and everything – before this laptop goes to africa for a week; but such is life……i know for a fact that if this had happened to something i’d spent that long writing i’d be really fucked off, because i’d never to be able to recreate it; but the film is different; i know each and every scene that was in it and i know that they can all be replicated to the same, if not better, state……

so i’ll start it again in a week or so…’s great though….you’ll love it…’s got a crocodile in it….and the san francisco bridge…..and a balloon……

i’ll write something instead…….


that wasn’t it by the way