SMORGS IS 50 TODAY!! - MARVELLOUS!

Seeing as it is now officially a few minutes past midnight here in the UK, it means that the date has now clicked over to the 8th February 2007.


This date is quite significant for one of our A2K members, as it is her 50th BIRTHDAY!!




THE STORY SO FAR...........

Sarah Louise Francoise Maude Felicity Gertrude Morgan was born at a very young age, on a snowy windswept day somewhere up North on the 8th March 1957.
As it was a Friday, and her parents of the Mother and Father variety were good Roman Catholics, she had haddock for tea, rather than the usual babbashed 'n' chips.

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

Mother smorgs with baby smorgs.


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


By the age of four, she could just about walk far enough to go shoe shopping on her own, and a year later saw her applying the very first coat of glitter onto her eyelids and surrounding areas.
At this time, she tragically became addicted to penny gobstoppers which delayed her speech development somewhat, restricting her to approximately 4000 words per day, which I'm sure you'll agree, is not very much at all, considering she is female.

At around that time, the Beatles burst forth onto the world stage, and her claim to fame is that she once met them when they came down her road on a lunch break, rescuing her from a policeman who was at that time attempting to arrest her for laughing at a Bank Manager.

Apparently, a slight fracas ensued, involving a fireman who was attempting to clean his equipment, and a barber who was peddling rather naughty pictures to the assembled crowd.
So memorable was this lunchtime foray for John, Paul, George and the other one, that they immortalised Sarah's home turf by writing a song about it all. Sarah and her pals get a mention in line six, and watch out for the porno peddling hair cutter.

Lyrics......

By the time that Sarah had grown hair that she could sit on, she had already picked up the nickname of smorgs, and had for some time felt an urge to explore foreign parts.
Having satisfied this urge on one Spaniard, two Belgians, two Norwegians and a Yorkshireman, she then decided to go and see a bit of the world.

Clad in only a miniskirt, tank top, eye glitter and slingbacks, and carrying a very posh Marks and Spencers bag full of clothes, she braved the searing August heat and the waft of overripe fishermen coming from off the Mersey, and caught the daily stagecoach down to the vast international sea port of Dover.

Upon arriving at the bustling port, she delved into the very posh Marks and Spencers carrier bag and unwrapped a barm cake, she being ravenous from her journey.
Munching away, she sneaked through a broken piece of fencing and made her way towards the docking type area where all those big boaty things tie up and unload their cargo.

It was 96f in the sun and 60f in the shade, which meant that although her top half was sweltering, the bottom half of her body was nice and cool, seeing as she had passed through puberty in such a spectacularly noticeable fashion of the Marilyn Monroe variety.

Leaving her hiding place without anyone seeing, she jumped onto a tramp steamer and, when the sun had gone down below the horizon and he'd stopped steaming, she jumped off him again.
Smorgs bid the tramp farewell and made her way towards the French Ferry.

Not a lot is known from this point on, until she suddenly popped up on French TV one day, supporting a really cool dude by the name of Nino Ferrrer.

(she's the one in black......OOOH-LA-LA !.......)

Alas, her shot at stardom was not successful, and she spent the next six months working in a Baguette factory as a quality control supervisor (length and rigidity department).
Pretty soon after smorgs started there, she realised, after handling and feeling her way round the 200th giant baguette of the day, that her work was, for some unknown reason, a constant reminder of England and the boys she'd left at home.

Homesick, she returned to this sceptered Isle, and roamed around the South Coast for a while, working as a tourist attraction on a newly opened Naturist beach resort.
Eventually, she decided to put her clothes back on and return to her native North West.
Passing through what was then in those far off distant days, the little market town of Manchester, she took a fancy to the place and decided to settle down, but first had to learn the language.

Finding it hard going, she bought herself a computer and sought out a website that would help her with understanding strange words and phrases such as "Aye up, chuck" and "Mad fer it".

And that is how Smorgs discovered A2K. She never DID learn the ins and outs of the Mancunian language here, having got distracted on one particulary memorable Shewolf thread that involved shoes, chocolate AND male genitalia. She has hung around ever since.

Over two years on and almost 4500 posts later, she still writes with a slight Scouse accent, but gets by just enough so that we can all sort of understand her, and our smorgs has become a valued seasoned member of the buxom, clematis bearing variety that we boys all love to flirt with and stalk around on various saucy threads.

Well, today, Smorgs - aka - Sarah loads of middle names Morgan, reaches her half century, and judging by the look of her, she could still give thirty year olds a good run for their money.
In fact, I've witnessed her catch and rope a thirty year old within 50 yards from a standing start AND completely cover him with baby oil before he knew what had happened.

So.........HAPPY 50TH BIRTHDAY, SARAH!!


In honour of this momentuous event I shall now perform a streak, bearing in mind if you will, the freezing temperature outside, hence the resultant shrivellage.

Brrrrrrrrrrr.......

I hope you have a lovely day, smorgs.


xxx
(birthday kisses on the bottom)