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Tuesday, 9 September 2014

Blog 100 My Parents Never Had Sex


Firstly I would like to say ‘thank you’ to my parents for producing me. I know that people who grew up in post-war Britain didn’t really do it. My parents were young adults in the late 1950s and so – as my mother explained to me - they just got into bed together, woke up with their PJs on the wrong way round and then had babies.
Yes – I think it is appropriate – don’t you – to do a Gwyneth Paltrow, Oscar type speech for my hundredth blog?

I’ll continue...

Thanks to mum and dad for whatever courageous act of selflessness brought me here, which as my sister pointed out when we were young - must have been x3 because there are three of us

Secondly I would like to express my appreciation for all the powerful, rich and famous for regularly being so ridiculous that any of us drawn to satire are spoilt for choice of material. It has to be said and has been said before – though I do not hesitate to say it again – some have gone so far as to become their own satire (there I said it). I nominate,
Sarah Palin
Reality T.V. ‘stars’ all
Bankers
Tony Blair
Boris Johnson
Harry Redknapp
And everyone else who you just KNOW is in that list.

Thanks to my friends; those few but special [very special in some cases...] people who listen to my witterings, managing to keep the looks of boredom and / or bewilderment at bay with practised ease.

Thanks to my daughters who, for my own good, occasionally  sigh and groan and say “oh for heavens’ sake mother get a grip” and either stomp off to the bedroom – (no. 3), go silent from tedium (no.2) or subtly change the subject (no.1) whenever I talk about writing.

Thanks to the woman next door for regularly letting her large, noisy dog shit in my garden. This helps to keep me in touch with the real world and not float off into a fantasy paradise where one only has to deal with one’s own crap.

Thanks to Melissa for setting up this blog for me which I only broke about 3 times in the early stages.
N.B. Throughout all this please envisage me blubbing attractively. You know the sort of thing – nice round tears but no wrinkles or snot or distorted face and no messing of the make-up – even though I don’t usually wear make-up unless performing but imagine it anyway... Perhaps there may be a pretty gulp to show how feminine I am or high pitched whimper to show how affected I am by the occasion.

Thanks to the local co-op for stocking artisan bread which often fortifies me while I stare at a blank screen with a blank head. (Sniff)

Thanks to my partner for that look of sympathy (or is it stupefaction?) he is able to wear when I am moaning about my IT inadequacies, or tiredness. And for always saying ‘this tastes lovely’ whatever I put out for tea. And never ever ever saying ‘oh... pasta again!’

Thanks to my daughter’s new bunnies for being extra cute and giving her a reason to get off the @+*^&% computer. (Brave smile)

Thanks to all the folk I left behind in the N.E in May for pretending to be sorry to see me go and not throwing a HUGE party when my back was turned - you didn’t did you? (Nervous titter)

Thanks to my a---hole maths teacher at school for telling me in front of the whole class that I would NEVER EVER EVER pass my maths o-level – which spurred me on to pass when he was no longer my teacher and also to pass my law finals accounting exam. You are just the kind of teacher the education system needs. (Huge whimsical sigh, maybe briefly raised eyes and an almost imperceptible shake of the head but short of smug)

Thanks to my uncles for being proper uncles when I was a child. The sort who swung you round by your hands and feet and made bonfires and told terrible jokes.

Thanks to Roald Dahl for writing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (though I have to say WOT was The Great Glass Elevator about - I mean what were you ON?)

Thanks to Dr Seuss for Green Eggs and Ham. (Big tears and perhaps I step away from the mic momentarily to recover myself with admirable dignity)

Thanks to Cervantes for Don Quixote, Shakespeare for Lawrence Olivier’s version of Richard III (the one with all the shadows) and to Tolstoy for proving that books the size of a small cupboard don’t have to be tortuous (Proust I hope you are listening).

Thanks
(Big brave smile and possibly a wave – audience cheering madly – maybe some of them crying too, affected by my affectedness-ness. I get kissed and hugged by lots of thin beautiful people with perfect teeth and no one notices that I am wearing turquoise sweat trousers and a baggy man’s shirt with my breakfast on it because I am typing hunched on a beanbag!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Click below for x2 comedy performance treats.
HOW TO BE A BETTER BIGOT
AFRICAN JOURNALIST IN BRITAIN

1 comment:

  1. No we didn't throw a huge party, partly because you ate all the bloody cake before you left and partly because all my friends have gone to Edinburgh and I have none left here to throw a party. Self-pity welling up within -- you then paid visits for more CAKE! You think I don't know it's the cake and biscuits but I do you know. Cake begets more cake. I expect you are now thinking how great it would be to have a BLOG CAKE with 100 candles -- wouldn't put it past you to on the next train ;)

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