It's that time of the week again!

Yes siree, tis time to get'cha yayas out and start giving my box a damn good stuffing! Once again I have trawled the intermanet to find you the finest and funniest photo possible in order to stimulate you enough to whip you up in a frenzy of intellectual outpourings, and I finally came up with this -



There's a chipolata going for every entry, and a hotdog with extra mustard available should I get me an ever elusive 69.

So without any further preamble,

Get Stuck In!

Duck

One fine summer's day some moons ago, a group of friends and I went for a picnic in Kew Gardens.

After walking around the grounds and investigating the hot house, we strolled down to the pond and found a spot on the grass which was just perfect for our picnic.

We laid down the blanket, opened the hamper and cool bags, and pretty soon we were scoffing down plenty of tasty pic-niccy treats and washing them down with some first class vino and Pimms.

All was good, all was peaceful and happy; My friends and I took our shoes and sandals off and paddled our toes in the pond while the sun continued to shine and a gentle summer's breeze kept us cool as we chillaxed.

Until the nearby ducks on the pond noticed that we had food.

It started with a quack.

One little mallard came waddling up to us and gave us a look as if to say 'What you eating, and can I have some please?', and he was rapidly followed by four of his chums who stared at us with the same quizzical expression.

It was then that one of my friends made the mistake of throwing them one of the crusts off his sandwich; his action started a major squabble between the five ducks, all of whom wanted first and last dibs on the leftover egg ' n' cress sarnie.

Once they finished their altercation, they came a couple of feet closer to us and resumed their attempts at staring us into submitting them our food.

Now, there were five of us and five of them, which would have made for an equal fight, but alas, their previous loud quacking over the crust had caught the attention of another gang of assorted breeds of ducks which also decided to come over to us to see what we might have to offer them food-wise.

What had started out as a peaceful picnic on a lazy afternoon suddenly turned into a rather surreal re-make of The Birds as slowly we became surrounded by a rabble of assorted Anatidae, all of whom were staring at us in a rather menacing fashion.

My friends and I whispered to each other as we discussed our best options, and we quickly decided that getting the remainder of the food back into the containers and hamper and move somewhere away from the pond would be our best bet, and so as quietly as possible and without making any sudden movements, we began to pack away our food.

We'd nearly finished putting the stuf away when suddenly one of my friends slipped on a patch of wet grass and gave a loud yelp as she hit the ground, which caused the ducks to start quacking and flapping their wings.

And then suddenly one of the ducks advanced.

With a loud, menacing 'QUACK', it waddled onto the picnic blanket and tried to grab one of the sausage rolls with its beak, but another of my friends was faster than the theiving bird, and shoo'ed it away with an M&S carrier bag.

That did the trick of making the duck run away for a second or so, but then as quickly as it had first advanced, it was back, this time with another accomplice.

But this time, they managed to get something.

That something was one of my sandals which as I previously mentioned, I'd taken off while I cooled my paws.

Now, one duck doing that might be strange, but then another couple of mallards moved in and grabbed some of my friends also unattended footwear before waddling away as fast as their webbies could carry them. The next few minutes were like a scene from a very bizarre Benny Hill episode as my friends and I either gave chase on the ducks escaping with our shoes, or began waging battle with the rest of the ducks that were still trying to steal what yet hadn't been packed away of the food.

The little bastards were quick and fairly soon I was running out of puff as I ran after the sodding bird that was still carrying one of my favourite sandals in its beak.
My friends weren't faring any better, and one poor chap gave a sad gasp as he fell to the ground as he gave up the chase.

But then I had an idea.

I gave up chasing my sandal and ran back to the picnic blanket and grabbed one of the sandwiches that were still out and being guarded by my friends.

I then ran back to the duck with my sandal and waved one of M&S's finest at the bloody bird.

The sandwich got the demented thing's attention and the duck stared me down for a few seconds, still holding my sandal in its beak until I waved the sandwich once again before throwing it a couple of feet to the duck's left.

My plan worked! As soon as I threw the sandwich down the duck relinquished it's hold on my sandal and as quicky as I could I swooped down and grabbed it.

One of my friends had noticed what I'd done and he also grabbed a sarnie and did the same.

It took another few minutes before we managed to get all our footwear back and escape with what was left of out picnic, and then we ran as fast and as far as possible away from the feathery, thieving sods.

I've been back to Kew Gardens since being mugged by a gang of Anatidae, but I've always kept my shoes firmly on my feet and eaten any food well away from the pond.

And I advize any one else planning on a picnic there to do the same!

And so another week begins, and this one's begun with a heatwave!

As is the norm around W7 when the temperature climbs over the 20c mark, denizens of the area take off rather more clothing than they should leading to horrific sights such as a size 24 women squeezed into a size 14 micro-mini dresses, and men wearing nothing but shorts, parading their sunburns to all and sundry.
It ain't pretty, believe me. Now would be a good time to start selling mind-bleach.

Anyhoo, before I go back to flopping in the coolest part of the house, I will leave you with this week's Choose-O choices, your options for which are -

• Speech
• Duck

And once you're done casting your votes, you can scroll down to last Friday's post and come up with some more TV diseases, as I'm sure you can think up plenty more, akay?

Over to you then.

And so, another week draws to an end and thus makes way for The Weekend, hurrah!

And for something to keep you off the streets and out of trouble*, I've thought up a game for all to play, being 'How Many Television Programmes Can You Think Of That Sound Like Diseases?'
For example:

Hong Kong Fluey
Quinsey M.E.
Black Death Books
Two and a Half Meningitis
I Love Loasis
What's My Lyme Disease?
The Typhus Zone
Married... With Chickepox
Family Goitre
Buffy the Varicella Slayer
Mary, Mungo and Mumps
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, SARS

And so on and so forth.

As usual, I'm sure you can do far better than me, so have at it!

Have a fab weekend,
ttfn,



*If you want to stay in that is. I'm planning on being out and about as much as possible while we have gorgeous sunshine and mid-20c temperatures, woohoo!
*goes to find suntan oil, flip-flops and bikini*

Ye Gods, Wednesday yet again, which of course means it;s time for yet another Double Entendre Day, Caption Competition, woohoo!

Once again I have trawled the intermanet to find you a photo that will get your respective brains simply bursting with fabulous, witty and erudite comments, so without further preamble, here it is -


There's a finger sandwich going for every entry and a chocolate finger biscuit available should I get an ever-elusive 69.

So, get stuck in!

One thing I love about where I live, is that if you walk away from my house for about twenty minutes in the right directions, you'd think you were in the middle of the countryside, not eight miles from the centre of London.
One thing I don't like about where I live, is sometimes bumping into escaped fruitloops from the local Centre for the Emotionally Interesting.
I have plenty of other likes and dislikes, many of the latter are far worse than the occasional 'disturbed' person wandering around my garden trying to find a chemist, but sometimes the escapees can be rather entertaining; like the one I saw yesterday for example.

I was on my way back home from the shop and was merrily walking along pulling my little shopping trolley behind me, and had just got to the top of my road when I spotted what I thought at first sight to be a load of bags dumped on the other side of the road.
Being curious about such things, I crossed over to check the stuff out and it was only then I realized that they belonged to a chap who was washing his car by the kerb. I'd seen him in passing many times and so I said 'Hello' and was about to cross back over when another bloke walking towards us caught my attention.
Now, normally I wouldn't think twice about seeing a fairly mundane looking bloke wearing a tracksuit walking along the road, but the fact that he'd dropped his tracksuit bottoms to his ankles to reveal his genitalia and had begun to shout out "I's waving my penis at traffic"" rather loudly made me stop walking and stare at him while my brain froze and my jaw hit the ground.
It was the sound of some nearby children screaming as they ran away to the sanctuary of the nearby flats that brought me back from my stunned stupor, and I turned to the man washing his car in astonishment.
The man washing his car looked at me before we both turned to look at the half-naked man again. For a few seconds we both didn't know what to think or do, and there was no-one else around to help us make up our minds, so again we continued to watch in disbelief as the man carried on waving his penis at traffic, even though the only traffic nearby was parked and had no persons in any of the vehicles.
It was a very surreal moment and it was only when the car-wash man asked me if I thought calling the police would be a good idea did I mentally wake up.
I relied that yes, calling the Old Bill would be a most sensible idea and so he did.
The police must have been told that one of the inmates had broken out, as it only took about three minutes for them to turn up and I spent that time making sure none of the children from the flats came out in case they saw Mr Penis, and the car-wash man kept an eye on the semi-clad loony in case he ran away, or did something even weirder.
But run away he did not, and while we waited the nutter carried on standing at the side of the road, still with his kecks around his ankles and shouting "I's waving my penis at traffic!" all the time.
When the rozzers arrived, they walked up to him and as soon as he saw them he gave a couple of very eerie screams that sounded like a horror film SFX of an old woman howling before very peacefully being led away to the car, still with his tracky-bottoms round his ankles, and getting in.
As they went, the cops gave us both a 'thank you' and we stood there, still rather stunned as the car drove off onto the sunset.
We then said goodbye to each other, and I carried on my journey dragging my little trolley behind me as the man began to rinse the soap off his car.
The dictionary definition of where I live, is 'Lunatic Asylum'.
It doesn't surprize me in the least.

I've just got back home after a walk in my local park with friend of mine, and I'm almost spitting feathers with annoyance and seriously despairing at the stupidity of some humans.

Being a lovely, sunny, spring Saturday, the park was full of people enjoying the weather and dogs and children were running around all over the place.
My friend and I were nearly at the park exit when I spotted a little girl aged about five or six standing alone and talking into a walkie-talkie thingy.
As I got closer I heard her saying 'Come back and get me, this is serious!' which if it hadn't been worrying, would have made me giggle to hear such adult words coming out of such a tiny person.
My friend and I looked around to see if we could see anyone else with a walkie-talkie, but there was no-one like that to be seen, and so I asked the little girl if she was alright.
She must have been told to never talk to strangers as she just stared at me without so much as a shake or nod of her head.
My friend then called out to a nearby woman with a pram and a toddler by her side to ask if the girl was hers, but she replied that no, she wasn't', and she'd thought the little'un was with us as she'd been walking in front of us.
My friend then asked the girl if she could see her mummy anywhere, but again we were met with just a silent stare.
We called out to a few more people to try and find who was supposed to be with her, but then suddenly the little girl ran away from us, out into the exit, round a corner and onto the nearby road.
I scampered after her and was just in time to see her run into the front garden of one of the houses there, and when my friend caught up with me we followed her to see if she was alright.
We found her standing on the path leading to the house, still clutching her walkie-talkie and looking very miserable indeed.
Again, I tried asking her if she was alright and did she live in the house, but yet again, no answer.
I looked at one of the windows as realized that there was someone in there, so I walked up to it and rapped on the window to get their attention.
Three men looked up at me with surprized expressions and I asked if they had a little girl. One of the chaps nodded, and came round to answer the door, and as soon as he did so the little girl ran up to him and hugged him as if she'd never let go again.
I asked who she was supposed to be with and they replied that her grandad had taken her out, and they presumed that because they both had walkie-talkies they'd be fine.
As the old saying goes, to assume makes an ass out of you and me, and I reckon grandad was in for a right bollocking when he got back.
Anyhoo, I'm just relieved that the little girl was alright, and although kudos must be given for not talking to strangers, I wish she hadn't been so scared, as most of the time people only want to help.
It makes me furious and also sad knowing that times have changed so much that everyone seems dangerous to such a young child.

I wanted to get to my 'puter earlier to tell you this tale, but things happened and I reckon 'better late than forgetting later' so here you go now.

I've had a very 'doggy' day, as in I've met loads of my furry, four-legged canine friends in the locale, and after a conversation earlier with one of their humans, I remembered an incident that involved my long-departed, but 'ever-in-my-heart', doggy friend, Sheba.

When I was very nearly a teenager, Supermarkets were still a bit of a rarity and the majority of the family shopping was made on the local high street.
The high street at the time offered just about anything and everything you could possibly need as the variety of shops could have given a modern Tesco a run for their money between them, and all within the space of your average small village high street.
As every shop was within walking distance and frequented by every other neighbour in the immediate locale, every shopper knew every customer, down to what was on their shopping list from one week to the next.
The only shop that didn't have such regular clientele, was the hardware and gardening store that was between the post office and a newsagents.
This shop was a regular cornucopia of delights if you liked to do DIY and gardening, and to entice customers into the shop to make purchases, the boss would put on a display of the many small pot-plants he had to sell outside the shop on the pavement.
Now, not only did I go shopping with my dad, but the dogs we had then (Sheba and Chips) would come along with us, and they were so well behaved that they were let into the shops while my dad got whatever we needed on the list that week.
One fine summer's day however, we'd gone into the DIY/gardening store as my dad wanted some stuff for the garden.
I followed my dad into the shop after Chips, and it took me a little while to notice that Sheba was not with us, and so I went to find out where she'd got to.
Now, remember I told you that the owner of the shop put out a display of the pot-plants he had for sale outside on the pavement? Well. One of the plants he had in that week were some very pretty long-stemmed flowers, with a cluster of tiny little pink blossoms right on top of the stems. They were rather like a miniature version of onion flowers, and I thought them very lovely indeed.
Sheba however, did not share my admiration of the flowers, and was intent on showing her displeasure of them by very daintily going up to each bloom in turn, and taking the flower head into her mouth before sharply nipping it off and then disdainfully spitting the flowers into the gutter.
By the time I realized what she was up to, she'd managed to wreak nearly £10 worth of damage to the flowers, which back then was a helluva lot of money, and all I could think of to do was to grab her and run back home as quickly as we could before we got caught.
A short while later my dad came back in a very angry mood and demanded an explanation as to why I'd run off leaving him to do the shopping without telling him what was going on, but after I'd explained about the errant hound's act of vandalism towards nature, he saw the funny side of the situation and let me and Sheba off with a warning not do do that sort of thing ever again.
To this day I don't' know why Sheba took such a dislike to those particular blooms, but if I ever saw her near them I'd grab her and run away before she could repeat the crime.

Okay Groovers, are ya'll ready for another Double Entendre Day Caption Competition?

Good, 'cause I've got a photo ready for you, being this -



There's a saucer of milk going for every entry and a Kitkat available should I get an ever elusive 69!

You should know what to do by now, so I'll let you get to it.

With gusto, preferably.

Snap!

Please note that names have been changed to protect the innocent (and not-so-innocent) in this tale of utter woe.

Many moons ago I was going out with a chap, and one evening we decided to play cards; a game of Rummy to be precise.
Rummy had (and still is) been one of my favourite games for many years and I consider myself an pretty adept player. The then boyfriend on the other hand had only played a couple of times before and I often had to explain the rules while we were playing.
Despite his inexperience he still somehow managed to beat me about five hands to two, and it was then that he decided to taunt me about being a 'rubbish player' and how he was so brilliant despite not knowing how to play properly.
Now, I'm not a sore loser; I'll happily admit that on occasions I will not win, but being teased and taunted about the matter, especially by a green, whippersnapper of a player was too much me at the time and I decided to teach him a lesson by throwing him on his back before pinning him down by putting my knees on his shoulders and tickling him until he took back his comments regarding my lack of luck.
Being extremely ticklish, he wriggled and writhed trying to get away but then suddenly he gave a large 'Aargh!' before going limp.
I was shocked and leapt off him asking what had happened and was he alright!
To my chagrin, he laughed at me and said 'Haha! Fooled you!', and so I once more wrestled him to the floor and pinned him down there with my knees on his shoulders.
Again he wriggled and writhed as I mercilessly tickled him for playing a joke on me and he was laughing a lot.
He kept on laughing a lot, right up until we both heard a sudden, and very loud
'SNAP'.
I immediately got off him and looking at his face which had gone very pale realized without asking that something was definitely amiss.
Remembering my first aid training I kept him still while checking he could breathe alright and where the pain(s) were, and very luckily his breathing was fine although he was in a lot of pain around his lower rib area.
Being late on a Saturday night he decided he would rather stay lying down where he was until the next day, but agreed that if he got any worse I'd call an ambulance.
And so the next day I very carefully drove him the the nearest A&E to get him checked over properly.
On arrival he shuffled up to the reception desk where a nurse asked him what had happened and how.
The boyfriend gave me a withering glare as he related the accident to her and I did my very best to look contrite, which wasn't difficult.
When he'd finished the nurse (who'd managed to keep a straight face while listening) looked at me and asked the boyfriend if he wanted to press charges or not, but her smile and his gave away the fact that they weren't serious.
When we saw the doctor, the boyfriend once again told the tale of the incident and (also trying to keep a straight face) the doctor wrote down that the cause of the accident was 'horse play'.
An X-Ray confirmed that the boyfriend had broken a rib, but as it wasn't displaced in any way, all the doctor could do for treatment was to send him home with instructions to take it easy until it healed and take painkillers when needed.
For the next couple of weeks I did my very best to nurse the boyfriend, and finally he was fit to go back to work.
Friday rolled around, and where he worked, Friday after work meant everyone in the office getting together for a couple of beers to unwind before going home, and as I was chauffeur, when I came to pick him up I joined them.
As soon as I walked in I was met by a barrage of comments such as 'Uh-oh, keep her away from me else I'll end up in hospital' and 'Swinging from the chandeliers were you two, eh?' from his co-workers.
I took most of the ribaldry in good humour until the boss of the company came into the room and said something along the lines of, 'Look you, if you're going to damage my workers by shagging them, at least tell them the safety word before you start!'
My response was to smile sweetly before sidling up to him and asking if he'd like me to demonstrate on him exactly how I'd broken the boyfriend's rib.
Funnily enough he declined, but it still took a very long time before the jokes about me breaking a bloke's rib simply by tickling him stopped.

'ello again me darlin's! Sorry I haven't been about much recently but a) my puter decided to have another hissy fit, and b) I was doing my best to remain in hiding until all the fuss about the General Election went away. I did go to vote on the day though, and was surprized that I had to wait about twenty minutes to do so. Not as bad as those poor sods to had to wait for hours in the rain before being turned away without having their say though, but I reckon that's partly their fault for waiting until the last minute before heading off to the voting station.
Anyway, I did get to say my favourite political joke on the day as I was having a talk with a friend who said that she hoped there would be a hung parliament, to which I replied 'Yes, they should all be bloody hung'.

Moving swiftly on, before we get to today's Choose-O bit, I have a request. I would like you all to get your thinking caps on for me and suggest me up with a Burlesque Star name!
I have a reason for this, but I'm not saying what it is just yet so you'll just have to wait, akay?
Ooh, and I doubt very much I'll get one, but if anyone's had a looksee at my Wish List recently, they'll have seen that I really, really want to get one of these! If anyone wants to get me one, I'd seriously appreciate it, and yes, there would be photos involved, I promise!

And now it's time for this week's Choose-O, your options for which are -

• Speech
• Snap

Remember, please choose wisely and don't forget to tell me all about your recents escapades while you're down there, akay?
ttfn, and don't forget about the Burlesque bits!

So.

It's Wednesday, which means it's also Double Entendre Day here, therefore it's time for another Caption Competition.

It's also very nearly time for yet another General Election, so I've decided to use a topical photo this week, being this -



Your reward for every entry is a sense of well-being for telling the world what you think, and should anyone get me to an ever elusive 69, I'll throw a ticker-tape parade.

If you wish to leave a comment, please follow the badly drawn arrows directing you to the small wooden booths that smell strangely of cat pee, then fill in the form given to you by the weird old brady with the cat tucked under her arm before shoving it* into the battered box in front of you.

Your comments will be much appreciated, although I must point out that any comments that are illegible, or marked outside the box will not be counted.

Remember! Your comments are valuable! Please do not spoil your chance to make a difference to the world!

Thank you! And get stuck in me darlin's!

*The form, not the cat.