Anyone seen a jolly fat man with a white beard?

T'was the night before the night before Christmas and all that could be heard was the beating heart of a woman locked in inner turmoil with the demons from Benson and Hedges.

Do I? don’t I?
I can hear her brain thinking from across the room.
Don’t do it! Go and have a bath, play Scrabble, or anything, just not THAT! - I shout from inside my head.

“Would you like a cup of tea sweetheart” I ask, then wait for a reply with baited breath.

Once again I can hear her thoughts “Go fuck yourself and your cup of fucking tea”

“Ok that would be good ta” she replies through gritted teeth.

“How about something to eat? You want a chocolate or something”

“Fuck you and take the fucking chocolate and shove it up your fucking fuck arse you fuck” – her thoughts are getting louder

“No thanks, tea is fine”

“Anything happening? Any exciting emails?” I enquire

“What the fuck do you care you nosey fucking twat, go fuck yourself an your sticky fuckin beak an shove it in someone else’s fucking business”

I sense from the severity of the language in her thoughts that I should leave her alone.

“No, nothing new or exciting, how’s the tea doing?”

---------------

This is of course complete fiction and the last 24hours in my house have been nothing like this. Mrs cV and I are in the throws of quitting the demon weed. I am so proud of her for not giving in and taking the easy option. I really think she can do it this time.


So, Christmas I really really very nearly upon us, it’s so near I can almost smell the stench of old pissed up men wearing santa hats and peeling sprouts.

Yesterday we took youngest to see Father Christmas at the garden centre. It truly was a magical experience for her, inside the grotto they even had twigs on the floor that crackled beneath your feet with lots of fairy lights and plastic snow all over the walls and mirrors.
Once inside, little cV had an attack of the shyness and got all silly with Santa, putting her hands over her mouth trying to explain to Santa what a rippety dreams house is (like I’m supposed to know). Bless poor Santa, he also looked as perplexed as I felt.

Good job mum was on hand to jump in and usher youngest into some semblance of normality.

“Well, I’ve heard you have been a good girl, you can choose whatever toy you want off my shelf”

Ok, plenty of toys here, all pretty groovy looking, and a really cool Guess who? game.

So littlun deliberated for about 2 minutes deciding what she wanted, so trying to use the ancient methods of Jedi mind control I try to convince her to take the Guess who? Game thinking of the hours of fun we could all have playing.

Now, I feel I have a gift for reading minds, pre empting & second guessing so I thought we’d have a chance of hitting the jackpot with the game.


As we got in into our car some 5 minutes later, I looked adoringly at my little girl clutching her bloody bastard stuffed tiger that she chose from Santa’s grotto.

Mind control eh, what a load of shit...

Have a good Christmas/Yuletide/Noel or whatever else it’s called.

Hi to brother in law 'bro'

Be Beautiful folks

cV

HO HO HO

A guy walks into a bar with his pet monkey. He orders a drink and while he's drinking, the monkey starts jumping all over the place. The monkey grabs some olives off the bar and eats them, then grabs some sliced limes and eats them, then jumps up on the pool table, grabs the cue ball, sticks it in his mouth and swallows it whole.

The bartender screams at the guy, "Did you see what your monkey just did?" The guy says, "No, what?" "He just ate the cue ball off my pool table - whole!" says the bartender. "Yeah, that doesn't surprise me," replies the patron. "He eats everything in sight, the little twerp. I'll pay for the cue ball and stuff." He finishes his drink, pays his bill, and leaves. Two weeks later he's in the bar again, and he has his monkey with him. He orders a drink and the monkey starts running around the bar again.

While the man is drinking, the monkey finds a maraschino cherry on the bar. He grabs it, sticks it up his butt, pulls it out, and eats it. The bartender is disgusted. "Did you see what your monkey did now?" "Now what?" asks the patron. "Well, he stuck a maraschino cherry up his butt, then pulled it out and ate it!" says the barkeeper.

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me," replies the patron. "He still eats everything in sight, but ever since he ate that damn cue ball he measures everything first!"

-------------------

No! I’m not about to shove anything up my butt!

Its that time again for another thrilling instalment of the where’s and why’s.

So this week has pretty well flown by, trying to get the whole work thing finished up to date so I can take my time off without fretting about things being ballsed up. I’m looking forward to spending some quality time with my wife and family, who knows, by the end of this blog entry it could be extended…

So Christmas is almost upon us, I’m starting to get that ‘jingle bells’ feeling at long last, it sure as hell has taken long enough to arrive this year.

So Christmas, St Nick and all that… What’s it all about?

From my upbringing in deepest rural Devon, Christmas was about waking early, being told to go back to bed, sitting in your room, waiting for another 30 minutes to pass, then being told to go back to bed again, finally being allowed downstairs at around 7am, not being allowed to open anything until breakfast was eaten, the washing up had been done, and mum was dressed! By this time I recall having been shouted at about 10 times to calm down.

Finally, the unwrapping. My mum always had this trick that none of the presents had any tags, nor where they wrapped differently in his/hers paper (I have an older sister). We had to sit while a gift was handed out, we would open it, and ‘absorb’ it for 5 minutes. Fuck that man I wanted all of them right there and then, I wanted to rip that bow off with my teeth, I wanted to roll around in the crumpled wrapping paper, I wanted to pull my gift out of it’s box with wanton gay abandon (non-bent use of the word gay by the way) and shake it above my head while all the pieces showered my family like an Airfix hail storm.

This particular year I’m recalling was a particularly bad one in the behaviour stakes. My sister and I were fortunate enough to have new bikes. These bikes were perfect in every way, they looked like they had been carved from wood and blessed by Father Peter on his way to Bethlehem.

They were the mutts nutts. And I fucked up everything!

Now, in my defence you would have thought from a parents perspective that leaning two new bikes against a polished rosewood dining room table would be a bad idea, yeah well I would have!

I leapt on my gleaming bike at around a hundred miles an hour, and etched the deepest scratch cum trench about 10 inches in length right the way across the table, I mean, this trench was so deep you could fill it with water and use it as an indoor water feature.

That was it. bike was put outside, I was sent upstairs in disgrace for the best part of the day, my sister was in tears as hers was also taken outside, my mum was bleating about the table, my dad was cussing at “Christmas being ruined by that little shit” blah blah blah.

And that’s about all I remember of Christmas as a child. That one bad year.

I’m sure I had plenty good ones, but that one will always be remembered.


And now? I don’t buy rosewood that’s for sure…

-------------------

There were these two guys in a bar, which was on the 20th floor of a building. The first man said " I bet you $100 I can jump out that window and come straight back in!" The second man says "Ok, sure." and the barman holds the bet. The first man jumps out the window and disappears for a second before jumping straight back in. Disappointed about losing the $100, the second man says: " I'll bet you another $100 you can't do it again." So the barman holds the bet. Sure enough, the first man jumps out the window, disappears for a second, then jumps straight back in. Thinking he must have caught a freak gust of wind, the second man says "Ok, I bet you $300 I can jump out the window and come straight back in." The first man says" Ok, sure." The second man jumps out the window and falls to the footpath below. He is dead. Back up in the bar, the barman says to the first man " Gee, you can be a bastard when you're pissed, Superman."

-------------------

Before I go, I just want to say merry Christmas to all our kids.

Be beautiful folks.

cV

TV Hell

Heavy Bummer Man

So the die has been cast and the final of crap factor knows its line-up.
Poor old dirty Ben couldn’t cut the old yellow stingy stuff on the night – and I don’t mean a wee infection.

Little Eddie Munster played a blinder on national television and cried… Yup, he cried. I can hear my Mum and Grandmother all the way from Devon going “awwww bless his heart, lets text vote and keep him in” now in normal circumstances this could be true, apart from the fact I know my mum can’t even work a car stereo let alone fathom out how to text from a mobile (cell phone).

As for Leona, yes I know she cried too but with THAT hair, I think it can be forgiven.

So Dirty Ben, leant over, and took it straight up the tailpipe. Justified?

It would have been a more interesting final had he got through, but then again, who cares. The life expectancy of one of these reality show winners generally only ever amounts to the Christmas number one and then a follow up single that isn’t promoted and dips in around number 15 in the charts and out again (Michelle McManus anyone?).

So who are the real winners? The phone networks who get around 50p every time you text a vote, which factually costs bugger all to process? The ITV network who’s viewing figures go through the roof on an otherwise unchallenged slot on Saturday night television, or good old Mr Cowell, who probably makes ooberzillions every time a series is aired. I’ll let you decide among yourselves.

So what now? Well, If there’s any justice, Ray and Leona will be promoting in their respective buses up and down the country during finals week and Ray will go to the dentist to get his manky chippo toof capped and the dentist will accidentally cement his gob up, and whilst at the hairdressers, Leona will accidentally scoff down a thickening agent instead of a coffee and weld her jaw shut.

So now, we have Lionel Richtea biscuit on, in his rather fetching black shiny pyjamas. Can my evening get any more wired? I feel like I’m in the zone, the zone that is of complete boredom and potentially damaging to my wrists should something sharp happen to fall into my reach. Oh Jesus, now bastard Westlife are on stage with him aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.

On a more positive note, the weekly shop wasn’t half as bad as it could have been, and that’s it over for another week (I hope).

Be Beautiful

cV

Beware the ides of March.

Well everyone, it’s Friday – my third favourite day of the week.

Not a lot has happened this week, and it only feels like yesterday I posted my last entry.
Man it was nearly a week ago, but in my defence - I do have to prise the PC away from M.E with a crowbar and blowtorch these days.

I keep searching my brain for a solution to this problem and can only come up with a few suggestions…

1) We share the time and have ‘time slots’
2) I just stop whinging and snatch snippets whenever possible.

I think number two is more likely right now.

One thing I do want to talk about, is Radio 1.

Now I have never been a listener to the good old wireless until I swapped jobs just over a year ago, now it’s my salvation from intense boredom.

My favourite is ‘The Chris Moyles’ show from 7am to 10am Monday to Friday.
This is backed up by the weekly podcast - www.bbc.co.uk/radio1/chrismoyles/

Anyone who has a spare half an hour, go and have a listen, it is hilarious (sometimes).

I used to think Moyles was a jumped-up little tosser who had delusions of grandeur and no talent. Now I know he’s a jumped-up little tosser with delusions of grandeur, but boy he’s funny. I also like to frequent his blog site in various disguises peppering it with plugs for M.E’s books hehe.

Saturday tomorrow, you know what that means… Weekly shop.

Superman has Kryptonite, I have Farm Foods
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh

It’s times like these I wish my better half could drive, but then it’s also times like these that we have a half an hour drive each way to talk to each other without distractions of T.V and PC. Once there I tend to switch my brain off when we walk around pushing the trolley like the gormless chav’s that frequent the trolley park outside.

But the plus side is I’ll get a mega fat bastard curry ‘sting the shit outta my aerosol’ for dinner, negatives carrying positives again.

I’m contemplating attempting to write a short 30min screenplay to submit to the beeb, I know I have the humour in me for that amount of time at least, and I’ve been talking about doing it for months, so no doubt I’ll probably put it off again and blardy blah.


The general idea revolves around a bookmakers/betting shop and features a core group of 5/6 people. My working title (if I got working on it) would be “Gone to the dogs”.

That’s enough about that – I can hear the zzzzzz’s from here.

Be Beautiful everyone.

cV

Anyone for Cauliflower with a bit o' cheese?

The weekend once again has piddled past faster than a cat through Chinatown.

Friday afternoon was a blur of Christmas paraphernalia (ho ho ho) at school along with the 'you pay 10p to play this game and you can win a 2p sweet' - yippeeee.

I know its all about the taking part and all that, but shouldn't we be teaching our children about economics?
I contemplated going to the shop and buying a bundle of 2p sweets and charging the kids 5p a go, so not only do they learn about competitive pricing and customer loyalty, but also that some bastard can come along and rip their profitable business out from underneath them in a price war. I didn't by the way!
Saturday, well, didn't really do an awful lot, played a few rounds of golf, about 20 to be precise, got a hole in one on the 6th at St Andrews, and out-drove Tiger Woods...

Decided to try and keep a semi low profile as M.E seemed a bit coiled.

Which leads me nicely into Saturday evening t.v, and today's poll - who the hell is gonna win X-Factor? (chuh! like I care)

Now, for our friends across the pond, X-Factor is a lot like American Idol (Simon Cowell is also in this- the knobhead!).

Will it be Ray?

Or Leona?

Or dirty Ben?

How will Simon shag the winner's cred up this year?

Will Louis (Walsh) think its "jest emerrzing" while nibbling on lecky cheerms?

Will Sharon (Osbourne) be able to stay awake for just a couple more shows?

You know what... - I couldn't give a fiddlers f*ck.

Before I go, just a quick hi to my B.I.L Mick
Well done Newcastle on not gettin beat this weekend.

Be beautiful everyone.

cV

Add just a drop of vinegar…

Happy Christmas everyone, as we are now officially in December I feel it appropriate.

I don’t really have a lot to blog about today, so I am gonna cheat and use M.E’s post from yesterday as a discussion point.

Just for the record, M.E’s derrière, it ent big, I know she will disagree, so here goes…

1) Does it have a strategically placed ‘H’ in the middle for the helicopters to land?

2) Do you have a ‘wide load’ sign on your bum?

3) Do you make ‘beep beep beep’ noises when your go backwards?

4) Could you really park a bus between your cheeks?

5) Do you honestly, in your wildest dreams think your bottom looks anything like that old cow’s at the school – the one with the kid with the huge conk.

6) Do you take up two seats on the bus?

7) Can you still scratch it without taking a crash course in contortionism?

8) Have a family of gypo’s moved in on it and made a camp?

9) Have the council marked it out into bays and allowed people to park on it?

10) Is it now on the Ordinance Survey map of our town?

If you have answered yes to any of these then ok you may have a point? If not, well…

Nuff said.

Reminds me of a song by The Beautiful South “Perfect 10”.

“Well 8 or 9, that’s just fine, but I wanna hold something I can see”

The Billman

Absolutely and totally true, and hilarious to listen to through the crack of the door. I was sat in the lounge, thinking “oh shit, you really don’t wanna piss her off right now” but then another part of me thought, “you go for it mate, better you than me”

My prediction, British Gas will call today he he he – I may even record this on camera if they do, M.E’s head may quite possibly explode. Could get £250 for it on ‘You’ve been framed” – Well you know, all negatives carry a positive an all that.

That’s it for now.

Be beautiful - like my wife

cV

This is in Keithley, The dirty bas*ards.

Not content with looking after Wild Childs & Freyas cover art, I like to support my good lady wife with her one woman mission to take over WHSmith.

Hell, if you can’t beat them – join em.

Promoting anything is hard, promoting a book must be a nightmare.

I’m lucky to have a few associates in the celebrity world to help with this, all of which where only too happy to help, heck they even chipped in with a few words of praise.

Here we have the lovely David B.

“The best I’ve read since ‘War and Peace’, this is back of the net stuff”

As for Heather Mills-McCartney.

“Divorce? That can bloopin well wait til I’ve finished chapter 5. What! it has no pictures – where’s my solicitor”

Big Davey G

“Hey y’all this is as shiny and black as ma dome, this is well safe man”

Wee Tommy C

“Ace man, I can gain an extra inch by standin on this, Hey Katie, pucker up for tiny T and his pocket rocket”

Madge and her scabby fadge

“You gotta get into this groove guys”

Little Georgie and his Bush

“I can smell tinkle”


Well, if it's good enough for them...

Be Beautiful evryone.

cV

Greetings from Siberia

Wow err I mean Hi.

This being the first blog entry I have ever done, I mean, you know, you want it to be right, at the end of the day it’s first impressions that count - so do I go with some apocryphal tale that can drag on and on and on over several hours and hope that you guys stay awake, thus in the process make myself seem well educated and literate?

Or do I go for the witty end of the stick (so to speak) maybe tell a few jokes like “what do you get if you put ink the freezer? =[ iced ink ]= well have a bath then” thanks to my 4yr old for that one, you know the answer there, especially if I have to take tips from an infant.

Do I go for the masculine angle and talk about nothing but sport? I’m a Plymouth Argyle fan, my golf handicap is in three figures, and my highest score in darts is 17 - I think we can leave sport well alone.

How about the kids angle and talk about PlayStation? Once again, I get no joy about being rammed off the road, being beaten 7-0, or getting my arse blown off – all this by an 8 year old. Ok so this is slightly embellished, it was an 8, 11 and 14 year old.

Cookery? Can’t cook can’t cook
Writing? Abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz thash my limit
Singing? Err no – even doeraymefahsolahteedoh – ends up sounding like farty dough.
DIY? Hell no, though I do have some shelves still up that I made about five years ago.

Hopefully next time I'll have found something interesting to yak about.

Until then, be beautiful.

cV