Fight Interrupted

For any who has never read this blog before, I must explain something before continuing with this tale.
First of all, I have a hobby which some people might consider strange. About eight or nine weekends of the year you will find me clad in the sort of clothing that Ninth Century Vikings would have worn and running about in a forest somewhere armed with a bloody big spear with the sole intention of killing any Anglo-Saxons, Mercians, or any other dodgy looking people that might cross my path.
I am not mad, and neither am I alone in this pastime as I am a member of a Viking/Saxon re-enactment group and generally every month or so, as any of us as possible will get together somewhere in the country that has a) a village hall where we can cook and bunk down, b) a site nearby where we can have fun beating the crap out of each other by having although not 'staged', but fully trained for safety's sakes skirmishes, and c) a decent pub within staggering distance.
The weekends usually follow the same pattern.
Friday night we all get to the hall (or campsite) and put our bedding down before heading to the pub to say hello to old friends and maybe meet new ones.
Then on the Saturday, we will wake up full of vim and vigour and proceed to the allocated 'fighting site', where we will spend as much time as we can fighting, skirmishing, playing along to the weekend's plot (such as 'Who can win the most treasure from the other units) before either we all get too tired to play anymore or it gets too dark to 'play' safely.
After we've worn ourselves out, it's time to go back to base for a rest before dressing in our finest kit in readiness for the evening's banquet wherein we scoff ourselves full of ninth century style food, washed down with as much ale and mead as we can get our paws onto.
The quaffing side of the banquet generally leads to fun entertainment such as singing, story telling, belt wrestling, puffin shooting, or on one occasion almost full frontal nudity and the theft of a chalice that belonged to a venerable saint.
So I hope new readers get the general idea, and that older readers will understand what I'm talking about when next I say that I'm off for a weekend's pillaging.
And now back to the story.
The last time I went away on one of these weekends, (not even a moon ago as I type this) we shared our fighting site as usual with many people taking their horses out for a hack, and also mad persons on bicycles who generally give no warning before hurtling past at speeds of up to thirty miles per hour for no apparent reason other than to see who can go the fastest along the very dodgy trails without falling off their bike.
Now, being the considerate folks that we our in our society, if we spot any horses with riders heading towards us, we will stop fighting and call 'Spears down' as horsies do not like strange things and tend to get very spooked when the see spears in the air.
We will all stop fighting and wait until the horses (and riders) have gone past before we start beating each other up again which if the riders stop and ask us what we're doing, can take some time.
The same rule also applies if we spot any cyclists speeding towards us, although we don't put our spears down, but instead try to resist the urge to shove them between the spokes of their wheels as they zoom past.
As with horse riders (and indeed any other members of the public) if they stop and ask us what we're doing, we will patiently and politely explain while wishing them to sod off go away again as soon as possible so that we can carry on where we left off.
Another safety rule that we all adhere to, is that if any of us see something that will endanger any of our society or passing members of the public, we will shout out 'Stop!' as loudly as possible and repeat the command until everyone has done so.
So.
There we were a weekend or so ago, at a fighting site that is frequented by many horses with riders and madmen on mountain bikes.
We were fighting at the very top of the hill which has a flat circular top with amazing views over the surrounding countryside.
There was plenty of space for members of the public to walk or cycle past us without getting in our way and as the blood boiled, the battle between Vikings and Saxons grew ever heated until we were lost in a melee of spears, swords and shield clashes and the air rang with curseS, and threats of revenge for previous battles fought and kinsmen lost.
Until I saw a prat in skin tight cycle wear ride right into the middle of the fight.
I shouted out 'STOP!' as loudly as I could, and slowly the fighters on both sides laid down their weapons.
I think that most of them simply couldn't believe that a member of the public had cycled right into the heart of the battle as surely no-one could possibly be that stupid, could they?, and a couple of Saxons even asked me why I had called a halt.
As I pointed to the twat on the bicycle, they at last realized that yes, someone had indeed been that stupid as to ride a bike into the middle of a group of about twenty people, all hell bent on hitting their opponents with although not sharp, heavy bits of weaponry that can do some pretty serious damage if not used without prior training.
We all stared at the man with open mouths and puzzled minds until the man smiled and asked,
"Are you in the middle of filming something?"
There was a long pause before someone replied to him that no, we were not and why would he think so?
He went on to tell us that the previous week some people had been filming, and he wondered if we had anything to do with it as it all looked jolly exciting.
How we all bit our tongues and didn't say something along the lines of "If we had been filming you'd have just wasted a couple of thousand pounds of our budget" at him or berated him for getting in our way which could have resulted in him being seriously hurt, and would he please piss off so that we could get on with our fun, I don't know, but we all had a good laugh about it while regaling the tale to those folks who had missed it.
So please, if anyone out there reading this is ever travelling through a forest and espies a load of Vikings and Saxons beating seven shades of shi sugar out of each other, do not, I repeat do not! wander into the middle of the fracas.
We might not be so quick at spotting someone there next time.

And so another week begins.

Apart from seeing some friends yesterday and the occasional womble to the shops, all I've done the last couple of days is mostly spleep.
Which is not just nice, but wonderful seeing as most nights I managed to get a couple of hours max.
It's also meant I've had some very interesting dreams too.
One of the best was where I met Jeremy Clarkson and told him it was about time they had a female test some of the cars on Top Gear, and next I knew I'd got the job!
The dream got even more fun when I found out I had to share a dressing room with Richard Hammond, oh yes.
The dream when I was being chased through a deserted housing estate by something very big and angry was not so much fun, and has also left me worried as I've read that dreams are your unconsciousness's way of sorting out any problems you have in reality.
What the feck do those dreams say about my psyche, eh?

Anyhoo, before I go find a copy of Freud's Interpretation of Dreams, your choices for the Monday Choose-O are -

• The Accused
• Fight Interrupted
• Shop

And while you're leaving your vote, why not tell me about any interesting dreams you might have had recently? Your secrets, as ever, are safe with me.

It's F-F-F-Friday, woohoo!

But sadly I bring you some sad news to start this last post of the week.

It's only day five, and already Jade Goody's been evicted from Heaven.

But to cheer you all up and get your grey matter into the mood for some fun, your game for The Weekend is to think of as many of 'The Worst Possible Things to Hear Whilst on an Aeroplane'.

For example:

"Howdy folks! The in-flight-movie ain't workin' all too good, so instead we're gonna have a li'l ol' sing-song instead, m'kay? 'One thousand bottles of beer on the wall, one thousand bottles of beer!"
"This is your co-pilot speaking. Does anyone on this flight happen to have a Sat-nav on them?"
"Oh my god, we're gonna crash! We're gonna crash! Hahaha, April fools!"
"This is your Captain speaking. Has anybody seen my guide dog?"
"Allahu Akbar!"
"Snakes! Snakes everywhere!"
"To receive your emergency oxygen, please place your credit or debit card in the slot above and..."
"Does anyone on board happen to work for Rolls Royce Engineering? Only we seem to have a little bit of a problem"
"This is your new Captain, Osama Bin Laden speaking"
"Mountain goats! Mountain goats everywhere!"
"This is God speaking. Your flight was interrupted"
"Welcome to EasyJet"

As usual, I'm sure you can do better, but if you can't think of anything, just tell me any sick jokes you might have heard recently instead, akay?

Have a wonderfull weekend y'all,
Tootles!
*mwah*

Additional, 15:35 hours.

Thank you, Tzonar! x

Yesterday I went to my local supermarket to hunt down something for dinner.
I found what I was after and joined one of the three equally long queues for the checkout.
After what felt like an hour, it was at last my turn next to pay for my purchases and I stood clutching my shopping bag ready to throw my groceries in whilst the couple in front of me faffed about trying to work out how to type their pin number into the card machine and pack all their stuff back into the trolley as slowly as possible.
While I stood there biting my tongue to stop me from yelling at the couple to hurry up, the cashier turned to me and indicating to the cardboard box full of groceries next to me on the conveyor belt, told me to unpack it.
I looked at the box, looked back at the cashier and told him that no, I would not unpack it.
He told me that I had to unpack it as it was store policy that all items on the conveyor belt had to be loose and not in a box, pointed to the tiny sign at the far end of the tills, and again told me to unpack the box.
Again I told him that no, I would not unpack the box and asked him as to why I should do so.
He was beginning to look rather angry by this time and once more he explained that it was shop policy that all items on the conveyor belt had to be loose and not in a box before paying for goods as it made his job more difficult and slowed down the other customers waiting in the queue as well, and now would I unpack the box?
Again, I said no, why should I unpack it?
By this time he was getting very angry and I thought he was going to call the manager over which would have been fine by me if had done so.
Instead he yet again explained why the box had to be unpacked, and at last said the magic word, 'Please'.
Please would I unpack the box.
This time I replied that no, I was not going to unpack the box, and could see no good reason as to why I had to unpack it...

because it was not my box, it belonged to the couple of men behind me.
My shopping consisted of the five items in front of the box that were separated from the box by the yellow plastic 'toblerone' in front of it.
I do so enjoy hearing men grovelling apologies.
Really makes my day.

Oh yes...

It is time again my preciousnesses...

Can you feel the tension in the air? The almost tangible excitement? The promise of yearnings sated and dreams fulfilled?

No?

Ah well, maybe it's just my medikashun playing tricks with my mind again then, but I feel certain sure I'm going to get stuffed stupid today, and I can almost taste a juicy 69 although we haven't even warmed up with a bit of stretchy fun as I type this.

Anyway, talking about medikashun brings me neatly on to the piccy for today's Caption Competition; the reason being is that it was sent to me by one of you darling readers that I feel sure get the same drugs on prescription as I do shares the same slightly deranged sense of humour as myself*.
So without any more faffing about, here's the pic -

There's an 'After Eight' mint going for every entry, and a Peppermint Schnapps is on promise should I get me another delicious 69.
So, what are you waiting for?
You know where my box is, start stuffing it!

*Thanks again, Mr Free Market!

Pin Down

Quite a few moons ago I went to a party in a flat above a pub.
It was on a Friday night and everyone there was determined to get into the weekend spirit with great gusto, and everybody was not only letting their hair down but shaking it loose and all about as well. Although the party was being held in the flat, most of the guests were taking advantage of the pub until closing time so that the drinks upstairs wouldn't run out early on
I'd gone with a couple of friends, one of which was going out with one of the chaps who lived in the flat, and as the evening progressed, the boyfriend in particular was shaking not just his hair about, but trying to shake anything else he could get hold of about as well.
He wasn't doing anything to hurt my friend, but his antics were getting more OTT the more he drank, and in brief, by about ten o'clock, he was making a total tit of himself.
My friend was understandably a tad upset by this and decided that it would be a good idea to get him upstairs and try to get some coffee into him and so the three of us and one of the other flatmates grabbed hold of him and between us managed to get him upstairs and onto the sofa.
The flatmate left us in order to go back to the bar as we boiled the kettle to get the coffee sorted.
After a cup of very, very strong java, the boyfriend seemed to sober up a bit, but after a little while we realized that he was not so sober after all.
Instead of just being drunk, he was now a drunk with a great deal of caffeine in him and the result was a bloke trying to make even more of a twat of himself as quickly as possible.
For some reason he decided he wanted to go back to the pub, but my friend was having none of that as she didn't want to be embarrassed by him in front of her other friends, and when he made to get up off the sofa, she grabbed hold of him and sat on him to stop him.
It didn't work and so she asked us to help keep him down which we did, and pretty soon we were all in fits of giggles as he tried to shake us off and we tried to pin him down.
But then the effect of the coffee wore off.
Within seconds the bloke was lying on his back and snoring for Queen and country, totally out for the count.
We tried tickling him, shaking him, shouting in his ears, and pouring cold water on him but nothing we did would rouse him from his stupor.
And so my friend decided to get him back for making a tit of himself and embarrassing her in front of all her friends.
The first thing we did was to apply some lipstick which was quickly followed by rouge, eyeshadow and glitter stars on his cheeks.
His shirt was replaced by a boob-tube stuffed with some socks, and his jeans were exchanged for a mini skirt and hold-up stockings.
As none of the girlfriend's shoes fitted him, his trainers had the laces replaced with bright pink ribbon and more glitter stars, and a long, curly blonde wig finished off the new look.
Trying not to laugh but failing miserably, we headed back down to the bar leaving the bloke snoring his head off.
We'd just bought a round of drinks when the bloke came back to the pub as well, much to the amusement of everyone in the bar.
He was still so ratted he didn't notice anything amiss, and for the next hour or so we all tried desperately not to burst out laughing as we watched him carry on, blind drunk and so beautifully tarted up.
It was only the next morning when he staggered to the bathroom and caught sight of his reflection that he realized that he was wearing women's clothes and make-up.
I can still hear the scream followed by swearing to this day, although I am desperately trying to blank the sound of him calling God on the Great White Telephone from my memory.
I don't have a photo, but according to my friend there are still some in circulation.
I keep checking Google images in the hope that I find one, but so far no such luck.

Helloo my sugarlumps! I'm back from my adventures in one piece, albeit one very achy and rather bruised piece, but I had a fantastic weekend of catching up with good friends, hitting people with Mr Pointy, all followed by an extremely tasty banquet on the Saturday night.
I'm sure the bit where I made a circuit of the hall on a space hopper was just a bad dream induced by too much cheese though.
Yesterday was mostly spent sitting outside a gorgeous pub in a small village and happily making friends with the local dogs, none of whom minded being patted for a while, and the clothes I was wearing are now covered in mud and dog fur.
Yay!
For the first time in a very long while I didn't want to come back to Londinium, but here I am, and I'm ready for the week ahead and will start off here in the blogosphere with the usual Monday Choose-O.
Your options today are -

• The Accused
• Pin Down
• Fight Interrupted

Please remember what I said last time about the title possibly being not quite what you think it may mean and to choose wisely, but I'm sure you will do so anyway.
Oh and please don't forget to tell me all about your adventures over the last couple of days! I do like to find out how you're all doing, and it might also take my mind off the bruising on my stomach caused by some very hard hits with a spear tip wielded by the enemy.
Mind you, you should have seen the other guys.

I do have more (and rather more interesting) photos to upload by the way. I didn't just take piccies of my bruises, honest.
And it is good to be back here though, and I did miss you all. I could live quite happily in a simple little cottage miles from anywhere as long as I had internet access at all times so I can find out how you're all doing.
I'm starting to waffle now and as I haven't had much spleep over the last couple of days, the walls are starting to move.
So I shall sign off for now and leave you to fill up my box with all your commenty goodness.

ttfn,

X

And so my cherubim, once again we wend our way into the weekend, and for the first time this year I am packing up my kirtles and spear in order to spend the next couple of days hitting people in woodland somewhere near Gatwick, hurrah!
Everyone needs a way to relax, and for me the best way is to release my pent up stress by skirmishing in forests whilst dressed in my Viking gear before heading back to the hall for a most excellent banquet* during which plenty of ale and mead has to be quaffed*
And all the preparation and planning for this weekend started me off thinking.
Would I really have liked to live back in the ninth century?
True, there was a lot of disease and violence, but after spending time in a replica Viking village where all the cooking was done over the fire using my fabulous cauldron, and days were spent creating things such as cloth, clothing, and jewellery and preparing food from scratch, I found myself enjoying the really simple life.
If I ever get my time machine working again I'd like to give living with real Vikings a go, but if I really could travel back in time with only one choice of time destination, would that be my choice?
Given the chances of catching something horribly life threatening (such as a sword through the stomach) I decided that maybe a gentler time would be preferable, and gave some consideration to around a hundred years ago around where I live now, just so that I could see how my stomping ground used to be.
I also wondered how things would have been in London during WW2, but the possibility of getting bombed also put me off a tad.
And so I finally decided on when and where I'd like to spend some 'time', and it would be London, circa 1973.
I was too young to appreciate it the first time around, but I have many happy memories of how things were before computers and mobile phones were everywhere, and you weren't bombarded with constant advertizing telling you how to live your life.
When I was little there was far more freedom, and I'm lucky but also very sad that I'm one of the last generations of children that know what it was like to be able to head out on your bike with friends in the morning, and not head back home until it was either dinner time or it began to get dark without parents panicking about you getting murdered or kidnapped or worse.
The music and fashions back then were more 'fun' than any other time I can think of, and apart from worrying about being blown up by the IRA, there was much less violence and seething hatred like we encounter all too much these days, or that's how it seems to me at any rate.
I know there were skinheads and punks going around saying that they hated the rest of the world and Anarchy was the only option, but nowadays the hatred and violence is far more insidious and you don't know where it's hiding.
That scares me.
So anyway, apart from being a well-to-do Victorian lady, to quote Sandi Thom, I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair.
What about you lot?
Where would your time machine take you and why?

Oh, and before I get back to my packing, don't forget to have a fabulous weekend, whatever you get up to!

ttfn!

X

*I know it's going to be excellent as I'm the one who's cooking it!
**Like drinking, but a little bit more gets spilt.

On people doing really stupid things and giving the rest of the world a good laugh.

Years ago I had a friend. She's no longer a friend, and I most certainly never want to see her again as long as I live, but that's another story entirely.

Anyhoo, I was round at this girl's house and she'd just received her first credit card. She was very excited about owning one and was planning going on a shopping spree to test it out.

She kept showing the card to anyone who came to see her that day, and kept showing it to me every five minutes, just in case I hadn't seen it properly the previous times.

It was around the tenth time she'd shown me the card when I noticed that she hadn't signed the back of it, and I told her to remember to sign it before she went shopping.

She replied that she wasn't going to sign the back, because if she lost it and anyone else tried to use it, they wouldn't be able to forge her signature.

I couldn't have explained what was wrong with that plan even if I'd wanted to as I was laughing so much my face hurt and a little bit of wee escaped.

I still giggle whenever I remember.

Has anyone you know done anything face-achingly stupid? If so, you know where to share all, and as ever, I promise your secrets are safe with me.

Hooray for Hump Day! Or as it's better known in this wee corner of the blogosphere, Double Entendre Day!

Ah yes, the perfect opportunity to slip an enormously huge one to your local MP without fear of getting arrested!* What more could you ask for in life I ask?

And so, regular readers know what's coming next, but for any persons who have not yet stumbled across this bloggy haven of delights, the object of the game is to study the picture below, and then add as many witty, erudite, and above all, smutty and possibly risqué comments for it in the comments box at the bottom of this post.
I'm sure everybody is on the same page now, so without further ado, your photo for today's Caption Competition is -

As usual, a 69 would be absolutely well appreciated, so your incentive for commenting is a Wagon Wheel for every entry, and should I be as lucky as I was last Friday, the person that gets me 'there', will receive a dozen Tea Cakes as reward.

Still here? Shame on you!
Get thee down to the comments box, tout suite!

*The writer of this blog takes no responsibility for any reader's actions regarding the previous statement.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time.

Some moons ago when my darling Pudsey was still alive and barking, the ex-partner-in-crime was staying in the downstairs bedroom.
It was the middle of summer and for a change the weather was hot, hot, hot, even during the night, and as Pudsey liked to get up and roam around the garden from time to time during the night, we would leave the back door open for her so that she didn't have to ask us to open it for her every time she wanted to go out.
This arrangement suited us all fine. Pudsey could take her leave of where to spleep and would start the night with me, then go check the garden for dragons before going to bark at the ex-partner-in-crime just for the hell of it. Then she would either jump on his bed to ensure he was as uncomfortable as possible for a few hours before making sure the garden was free of squirrels, taking a snooze on the sofa, then heading back up the apples and pears to keep me company again.
She would occasionally vary the routine and go to spleep on the sofa before waking the epic, but generally she would stick to being a doggy of habit.
One night she'd decided to bark at the ex for twenty minutes or so before padding back to the front room and claim her sofa before her next patrol.
The epic had just managed to get back to spleep when he felt the familiar weight of a smallish creature jumping onto his bed and turning a few circles, stamping on his legs as it did so.
He told it to please stop stamping on his and to go back to spleep and was rather surprized when the stamping suddenly stopped, as Pudsey was a stubborn pup when she wanted to be, and didn't take orders from him very seriously at all.
It was then that the ex noticed a strange smell; not strange as in 'odd', but as in unfamiliar.
Still half aspleep it took him a little while to notice that the creature on his bed weighed rather less than usual as well.
Switching on his bed side light he looked up and found himself staring at a fox, which was staring back at him with a most indignant expression at having the light suddenly in it's face.
The epic and the fox stared at each other for a moment before the epic told it to bugger off. To his surprize the fox simply gave him another baleful glare before heading back out to the garden via the kitchen.
The ex finally managed to get back to spleep, wondering if he'd simply imagined the incident as it was rather unlikely that a fox would do such a thing; he'd never heard of one doing so before at any rate.
A couple of hours later he was in the middle of a dream when he was once again woken up by what he thought was Pudsey jumping on his bed.
He decided to make sure it was Pudsey and switched the light on, only to find himself face to face with the fox again.
The fox gave him another glare which the ex took to mean 'Oi, I am trying to get some spleep here, will you stop switching the bloody light on!' before it lay down at the end of his bed.
He was about to tell it to sod off again when Pudsey came into the room and was incredibly annoyed to find a fox on her bed!
The following barking, howling and swearing woke me up and I dashed downstairs pausing only to pick up my old hockey stick in the doorway as I went.
I entered the room to find Pudsey chasing the fox which was bouncing off the walls and furniture as it tried to remember which way the door was. The ex was standing in the middle of the room wearing the same outfit he'd worn the day he came into the world and was also being bounced on by both Pudsey as she tried to get the fox, and the fox as it tried to get away from Pudsey. His lack of clothing meant that he didn't have much in the protection department which was a shame as both fox and dog had sharp teeth and claws.
I stared at the scene in astonishment, not knowing whether to shout, wade in to the melee, or simply laugh.
While I stood there gawping, the fox spotted me and finally figured out where the door was and next I knew it had bolted out the room nearly knocking me over as it went.
Pudsey hared off after it barking insults and threats as she went, before stopping in the kitchen to check that her biscuits hadn't been touched.
It took us a little while to settle our nerves after the escapade, and Pudsey was really angry that the epic had let the fox on her bed for a very long time after.
We went back to keeping the back door closed at night after that, and as Pudsey only ever barked at the epic when she wanted to go outside, I was fine with the arrangement.

Hello my lovelies, and a happy, day full of the joys of spring to you all!

Sorry for my tardiness in bringing you today's Choose-O, but I was having a particularly scrummy dream wherein Richard Hammond gave me a 69!
Then, when I finally had to wake up I find that half the dream had come true!*
Which was nice.

Anyway, your choices for tomorrow's entertainment are -

• The Accused.
• Pin Down.
• The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time.

Choose wisely my cherubs and remember, titles aren't always what they seem!

And of course, as usual, don't forget to tell me all about your weekends. You know I like to live life vicariously.

Over to you then.

*See Friday's post. Cheers darlings, I haven't had one in ages and it feels good.

It's Friday, it might be five-to-five, but it's not Crackerjack!*

But I have thought up another fun thing for you to get your thinking hats on for again, being 'How Many Rude Fairy Tales And Children's Stories Can You Think Of?'

For example:

Rumpledforeskin
Little Sore Riding Hood
Allhadhim
The Three Billy Goats Chuffs
Alice in Punter Land
The Three Little Gimps
The Princess and the Pee

And as suggested by Scaryduck, the following:

Ali Baba and the 40 whores
Charlie up the Chocolate Factory
Charlie and the Great Glass Vibrator
James and the Giant Peaches
101 Fornications

And I'm sure you've got the idea by now, so over to you!

But before I sign off, I wish you all the very best for the coming weekend, and leave you with a nice picture of a kitten.

TTFN,

*mwah*

*This not not mean that you can not carry as many cabbages as you possibly can if you want to.

Blood

Many moons ago when Misty was a little girl, she was forced to go to a most hated place called 'School'.
It was so hated because although there were nice things involved such as Drama, Art and Lunchtimes, most of the time little Misty was bored witless, but the teachers (being 'oh so clever and grown up') didn't realize this and decided that little Misty was just being lazy or not paying attention.
For example, in English Lit. lessons, all the pupils in the class were to read the same book at the same time, with chosen girls reading out the different character parts and the narrative. Little Misty loved to read and would get so engrossed in the story that she would be pages ahead of the others who were reading at the same pace, and she wouldn't register the words being read out loud. This meant that when a teacher tried to get little Misty's attention because it was her time to read a line, little Misty wouldn't have a clue as to which bit she was supposed to read out, and therefore the teachers thought she was daydreaming about something else entirely and give her a punishment for not paying attention. Not once did they ask her how far ahead in the book she was, and little Misty thought that most unfair and hateful.
During those years at school, little Misty began to suffer from epistaxis, or nosebleeds as they're commonly known. Poor little Misty would be happily clambering to the top of the climbing frame, the next she'd have blood pouring out of her nose which meant that she had to spend the rest of playtime sitting down with a wad of tissues clamped firmly to her nose until the bleeding stopped.
These nosebleeds would happen without any warning and would sometimes last for up to an hour and little Misty hated them almost as much as school and the horrible teachers.
One hot summers day after a particularly lovely lunchtime, little Misty was feeling rather more upset than usual as that afternoon was to be spent in a very long lesson with one of the more spiteful teachers, and little Misty was not looking forward to is one jot.
When the bell rang the pupils all trooped up the to classroom to find that the teacher had set up the film projector and was blocking out the beautiful sunshine with thick curtains so that the room would be dark enough to watch the film.
The teacher ordered everyone to take their seats and pay attention to the film which was all about something incredibly boring, but according to the teacher 'most informative', and furthermore, no one was to speak, raise their hand, or even whisper to the person next to them until the film was ended and the teacher gave them permission to talk again.
And so with the last ray of sun severed, the teacher pressed the start button and the film began.
About ten minutes into the monotony, little Misty felt a very familiar feeling in her nose and a warm trickle slowly began to wend it's way down her face.
She tried to find a tissue, but then remembered that she'd left hers in her bag which was downstairs in the cloakroom.
As the flow of blood got rather heavier, she decided to brave the teacher's wrath and raise her hand.
The teacher spotted the gesture and completely ignored little Misty.
The nosebleed was really starting to pick up speed and little Misty was beginning to panic a tad and so decided to to call out to get the teacher's attention.
This infuriated the teacher who - instead of asking if anything was wrong - told little Misty that she was going to be in serious trouble after the lesson and because she had dared to interrupt the class, to go and sit at her desk away from the rest of the pupils so that she would not be tempted to raise her voice once more.
And so poor little Misty, not wanting to get into even more trouble, went and took the teacher's seat, leaving a trail of blood across the floor as she went.
For the next thirty minutes or so, little Misty tried her best to stop the nosebleed using her socks as makeshift handkerchiefs, but even so the blood carried on dripping.
It dripped onto little Misty's uniform. It dripped onto the teacher's desk which was covered in very important class notes and the form register. It dripped onto the teacher's chair and onto the floor, and to little Misty's great satisfaction she managed to drip blood all over the horrible teacher's handbag.
In brief, there was blood all over the place and by the time the film was over and the teacher took the curtains down so that everyone could see clearly again, little Misty looked like one of Freddy Kruger's victims.
The teacher took one look at the scene and shrieked with alarm which caused the girls in the class to look over at little Misty.
The next minute the girls were panicking and crying and some of them managed to lose their lunches over their desks which made the teacher shriek with even more gusto.
The noise of twenty or so girls screaming, crying and vomiting caught the attention of the head mistress who was teaching the class next door and she came in to find out what was going on.
The first thing she did was to run over to little Misty and ask what had happened, and little Misty (who had begun to cry by this time) shakily explained that the teacher had told her that she wasn't allowed to talk, else she'd be in serious trouble.
The school nurse was called and took little Misty to the sick bay to be cleaned up and looked after until the blood stopped.
The pupils were taken out to the playground by another teacher and left to play until school finished for the day.
But best of all, the horrible, hateful teacher was left to clear up the classroom.
Big Misty recalls that day with a great sense of happiness and satisfaction, and after a visit to a special Ear, Nose and Throat hospital who cauterized a blood vessel, her nosebleeds stopped completely.
Which was nice.

Oh my angels! I do so apologize for the lack of 'Choose-O' entertainment' yesterday, but apparently the people that are in charge of a person getting online to publish such things, want payment for services rendered.

The B£&%£*&£.

Anyhoo, after a conversation involving the Ex-Partner-In-Crime and his debit card* I am now able to post again, so I will tally up the votes and post the winning choice sometime tomorrow.
All I ask is that you do not forget that today is Double Entendre Day, and my box needs a serious stuffing.

So your photo for the Caption Competition is -

A Multi-vitamin available for every entry, and a Glaucosamine tab going should I reach that ever elusive 69.

*And some genuine weeping down the line.

Greetings my cherubs! Monday again, and I simply can't believe how quickly the weekends go by these days. I suppose it's simply because time passes so much more quickly as the years go by which is not fair at all!
I mean, when you're little, time passes very slowly which is why it takes so long for holidays and fun things to come round and also how you can fit an entire week's worth of adventures into two days before it's time to go to school again come Monday*, and I feel that this is unfair to 'grown ups'.
And I have an idea as to how to make life fairer for those folk over the age of thirty.
All the government have to do, is to let those aged over the big 'three oh', an extra hour off work or whatever per year, so that by the time a person gets to the age of fifty four, they will have earned themselves a whole day off so in theory, Mondays will simply become an extension of the weekend for them.
I reckon this will be a winner; Gordon Brown, please take note!

Anyhoo, as it's still a Monday for me right now, it means that it is time for you all to put your thinking hats on and decide which tale you would like for tomorrow's entertainment.
And so your Choose-Oh Choices are -

• The Accused
• Pin Down
• Blood.

Please choose wisely, and don't forget to let me know how your not-yet-extended weekends were for you while you're down there.
Have a fabulous Monday y'all, and I shall sign off for now with a piccy of a kitten to get the week going happily.

Enjoy! and ttfn,

*mwah*

*I never managed t0 find time to get my homework done th0ugh, which was very odd.

Wotcha groovers, and first of all apologies for yesterday's lack of posting.
I was awake, I stayed in most of the day, There was enough electricity on the meter to power up the 'puter, I went through my little book of 'notes for interesting things to blog about', and I almost thought about purchasing some 'interesting' drugs in the hope that something might give me a ray of inspiration so that I might write something to entertain you all, but alas; it was not to be...

But I have thought of something for today, and it's a game I haven't played with you lot for ages and ages and ages, being 'I say, You say!'.
If you haven't played it before, all you have to do is read through the words I've listed below, and then in the comments box simply write down the first words that you reckon should follow on from them. It's the same as playing 'Word association', but this way everyone can figure out just how weird you really are we can all share and have a laugh at what springs to mind.

So go on, play along, and I promise I won't tell anyone else what you've written, akay?*
And so, your words to trigger you off are -

Blue :
Cheddar:
Locked:
Chinese:
Snap:
When:
Sensual:
Cheating:
Truly:
Impossible:
Dragon:
Lost:

Have a fab weekend everyone, and please do try anything that I might have forgotten to do!
ttfn,


Oh, and the Kitten for the Weekend is -

Enjoy! X

*Contains no trace of lie whatsoever, but only because I'm not allowed to talk to the 3 dimensional people anymore.

It's that time of the week again.

Oh yeah, Double Entendre Day; the time of the week when it's perfectly acceptable to slip a big'un to a co-worker/relative/member of the Conservative party.

And of course this is the best place to unleash your inner demon; the time to let loose and tell the world how you really feel about the world around you, and with that sentiment in mind I now present you with the photo for this week's Caption Competition, being -


Regular followers of this blog know what to do, but for new readers, the idea is to study the picture above and to add captions, comments, and innuendos in the comments box below.

There is a nice, clean wet-wipe available for every comment left, and a sprinkling of talcum powder available going should I get me that ever elusive 69.

So without further ado, tag! You're it!

Bad Case of the Munchies

Many moons ago I went to Glastonbury Festival. From what I've heard it was the last time the sun shone there, and back then it was a lot smaller than it is now. The festival mainly took up one huge field with various tents for entertainment and food stuffs crammed into whatever corners they could find, and happy hippy campers setting up tents where ever they could find a gap between them.
Back then, there were no cash machines or post boxes, most of the latrines were large holes in the ground covered by tents and with only a plank with a hole in to balance on while you did your business. Security was a lot less stringent then too, and all you needed to do to get in was to show your ticket to the chap with the blue sheep at the main entrance, and off you went into the melee.
I was young and fairly innocent back then, but savvy enough to understand that some roll ups didn't just contain tobacco, and as it was the first time I'd been let loose without any parental guidance at such an event, I was determined to try a few new things.
I decided to give a smoke a try on the last day, and to my surprise found it most relaxing indeed. A few more tokes later and I felt well at one with the world and Glastonbury made total sense to me as I wandered around the stalls selling all sorts of hippy tat, that was now shiny and beautiful to my eyes.
But then I started to get hungry. I needed something sweet, and I needed it right there and then!
I wombled around the various stalls selling Thai food, burgers and organic pasta, but nothing suited my cravings, but then I saw a girl selling flapjacks from a tray by her tent.
"Bingo!" I thought, and scampered over clutching my new leather purse with a magic mushroom motif on it. I asked how much they were, and she informed me that they were fifty pence each , which back in those days was rather a lot to pay for a flapjack, but as they looked so incredibly tasty, I decided to buy two.
Clutching my sweet treats in my paws, I scurried to a comfy spot in the field by the main stage where I could settle down and watch one of the bands I'd been looking forward to seeing.
Tucking into my first flapjack I noticed it had a rather strange taste; sort of slightly bitter and almost musty, but the rest was so scrummy I woofed it down and started on the second.
Next thing I knew the grass was dancing in time to the music, and not only did Glastonbury make sense, but so did the entire Universe and all life that it contained.
I could see the music, I could taste the sunshine, and for the life of me I could not move my legs.
I finally figured out how to lie down, and spent the next three hours on what I can only describe as a trip out to a different galaxy, far, far away...
You guessed it. The flapjacks had an extra ingredient, hence the price.
My friends found me just as I was coming down and with their help I managed to get back off the dancing grass and away from the brightly coloured music.
But the worst bit was that while I'd been planet hopping, I'd forgotten to put sun cream on my legs, and they were rather burnt, especially on the backs.
I suffered the next day as we drove back home, mainly because not only was I still rather 'not quite with it', but the seats in the car were made of plastic and sitting on them in hot sunshine with sun burnt legs for five hours was not the most pleasant of experiences.
I haven't smoked any strange roll ups since.
I've also stayed well away from flapjacks as well, just in case.

'ello my darlinks, and welcome to another magical Monday!

Apologies for lateness today, but last night the electricity ran out leaving me sitting in the dark unable to watch the end of a film I was rather enjoying, but hey-ho, I managed to borrow a tenner off someone earlier and now I am back in the world of the two dimensional people again, hurrah!

Also, this means that I can now give you your choices for tomorrow's entertainment, and they are -

The Accused.
Bad Case of the Munchies.
Pin Down.

As usual, I ask you to choose wisely and remember that things may not always be as they seem!

And before I leave you with the 'Kitten of the Week' piccy, please don't forget to tell me all about your weekend's adventures. You know I like to live life vicariously.

Have a wonderful Monday, y'all!