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Archive for September, 2012

Bitches Be Trippin

Alfie came back from an all-night party the other day strutting about crowing  ‘Bitches be trippin!’  It’s to do with girls swarming him and biting his chest.  I am tempted to hijack this joyous phrase, as it perfectly depicts me and a couple of fwends mobbing the second-hand shops.  What fun it is to steal the lingo off of the youf, thereby ruining it for them forever.  When I ask Alfie to do something he says brightly ‘Yeah, but….’ he narrows his eyes regretfully, ‘CBA.’   This means Can’t Be Arsed, which he Can’t even Be Arsed to say.  So when he asked for money to buy school shirts, I relished the narrowing of the eyes and the sweet timing of my own ‘Yeah, but…..CBA.’  Ha ha, it all comes back at you doncha know.

On Tuesday I drove to Cambridge myself.  You can see why they tell you not to drive for quite a time though.  It’s because, you don’t realise, but driving uses your back muscles quite drastically.  So as your arm pulls the wheel round, the back muscle which is now part of The Beaut contracts and feels odd and tight across the front.  Lisa the Breast Care Nurse told me that the muscle will give up after a bit.  It’s still trying to do its job, poor thing.  (Ooh, this last sentence illustrates rather well the difference between ‘it’s’ and ‘its’, doesn’t it?)

The doctor (Miss Benyon was away) looked at me in wonder and asked if I was still drinking my Synergy drink.  Impressed she had remembered,  I said I was.  She told me I can now shower all of me as opposed to half of me.  Lordy, that’s a relief.  I am also allowed to swim in the sea by the end of September.  And now I don’t have to go back to the Plastic Surgery Unit for a whole month.  Bitches be trippin!

Fred and I went to the ponies a few days ago.  I can easily do their food now, brush them and even pick out their feet, but one thing I can’t do is pick up the car battery which powers the electric fence.  I have not had the electricity on for a couple of months but anarchist Princey has increasingly been taking the piss, knocking down posts and wandering wherever he likes over the farm.  The blokes building a big shed for Tom the Farmer’s Vietnamese tank (I know!  we are surrounded by eccentrics) tell me that every day at one o’clock Prince casually busts through two fences to go up the top to scratch his arse on the tank.  He has his own little routine.

So Fred moved the battery down the bottom and we connected it up.  Unfortunately we forgot to tell Chloe, who did the ponies the next day.

She got her first shock as she tried to open the fence, but didn’t twig as she’s a bit of a duh.  She then stepped over the fence one leg at a time and got a massive jolt to the nether regions. This has happened to me before and it’s better than sex, if a bit of a surprise, rather too quick and lacking foreplay.  Later she pushed the metal barrow under the fence and got a huge bolt through her shoulders and down her arms.  I have experienced this one too and it’s horrible.  Your arms start smoking and your heart nearly gives out.   She came home with a strange energy to her and did all her packing for Boston in one frantic go.  It woke her up that’s for sure.  Electrotherapy to be recommended for spaced-out youf.

Reminds me of a time when we kept the ponies on a farm in Manuden.  We had taken several unsuspecting visiting children including Nay and Olive and Ruby and all of our lot with us.  I went off on a trot round the block with a couple of them, leaving the others to pick up poos with Fred.  We came back to a line of freaked kiddies all with their hair standing on end and their eyeballs popping out.  Alfie had also walloped Bashi because he thought she’d kicked him.  It transpired that Fred had been teaching them a Russian Roulette type of  game where you take it in turns to touch the fence.  When I asked him why he did this, he answered, ‘Because it’s what we played when we were young.’

Fred thinks he knows a lot but he does make quite drastic errors.  One time we had a little flood in our cottage in Wimbish.  He went into a small cupboard to turn off the water mains.   The stopcock was in a hole under the floor of the cupboard.  It was stiff so he squirted it liberally with WD40.  He couldn’t really see where he was squirting as it was so dark down there.  (Ooh sounds rude fnarr fnarr, as does the next bit!)  He couldn’t find a torch anywhere so he lit a candle, put it in the hole and again squirted the stopcock enthusiastically.  Boom.  Out came Fred with smoking eyebrows and a black moustache.  Ahhh, wot a larf we do ave.

The gin group is sadly in a state of crisis, perhaps even demise, due to differing opinions on rules of entry.  Barney says it’s like the Bolsheviks and the Menshevics… he is so right.  It is exactly like that.  Wikipedia explains:  ‘Martov, until then a close friend of Lenin, agreed with him that the core of the party should consist of professional revolutionaries, but argued that party membership should be open to sympathizers, revolutionary workers and other fellow travellers.’  My rampant, whorish sociability has led me to adopt this Martov type of stance.  Bashi just sighs calmly whilst I am wringing my hands about all this, and says ‘Mum, every day at school it’s like that.  I’ve been dealing with this sort of thing for years.’  She then quotes at me:  ‘As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.’  She is a great comfort to me.   How did she manage to be born so sane?

Dennis turned up yesterday with a bottle of  Germanium water for me.  He tells me that a scientist analysed the healing waters of Lourdes from the spring of Massabielle in France and found that the water contained Germanium Sesquioxide, a trace element which stimulates the immune system.   Dennis bought it at great expense from Peter, the chap at the Cancer Help Centre who eats broccoli soup for breakfast.  Having been given eighteen months to live (thirteen years ago!), Peter  indulges in every anti-cancer thing going and strikes one as luminously well.  He complains ruefully that, since he does not know which of his many expensive remedies is doing the trick, he has to keep all of them going.

Kind Dennis gave me more healing.  I felt a bar of heat from his hands humming from temple to temple.  He has done no healing for a month and was on top form.  I felt warm waves throughout my body, saw purple shifting hazes and  have felt deeply loving ever since, to friends, family, warring factions, all living things even frisky mice, Miss Benyon, the Earth and the Universe.

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