THE BRITISH THREAD II

et al of course

You are wasting your time DP. Mathos goes to bed at half-past nine. He's knackered by that time such is the blistering pace he keeps up. He's probably fast asleep now with his little head on his monogrammed pillow with the lace edgings. In the nude of course.

And he will be so busy tomorrow that by the time he next comes on your greeting will be long gone.

Hopefully.

I'll see to that.

With Mac's help.

And Steve's.

And anybody else who fancies it.

We were wondering in the pub whether smogsie had ever been to the museum in her youth (pass the smelling salts Sid) to giggle and snicker at the Greek-style statues they usually display in such places.

I'll take a shade of odds she has.

With a mate.

Well- they get arrested trying it solo.

Museum, yes

Snicker, no

I just sashayed past, and raised a cynical eyebrow.

Alone.

x

There you go, Dot.

I'll keep it 'up' for you.

x

Seems to me, YOU do more than your fair share of sniggering...

Did you drop a penny and look up women's shirts when you were a small boy, spendex?

x

The classical sculptors (when they weren't carving fig leaves, although maybe these were a later addition) depicted men's penises very small.
Maybe this was because the Greeks thought of youth as the acme of beauty. Big brutish muscly men statues with boys' tackle.

Am I right, and why did they do that?

Apologies referring to my dice with death then disappearing.

What happened was I got wet. And it had nothing to to with the sink mathos.

I went for a bike ride and ended up in the Trafalgar in Greenwich. After a liquid lunch and a quick visit to the Naval Museum shop where I loaded the bike with junk, I set off home. Trouble is the only really steep hill is about 3 miles from home. At the bottom of the hill (and its a busy road, there is no alternative) I was feeling ok but tired. Then 3/4 way up the hill, just when the gradient got to its steepest, everything went black. The wind turned to a mini tornado, and about an inch of rain fell in one whoosh, all of it on me. Cars and vans were roaring up the hill, the road was awash, I was absolutely knackered and being shot blasted with hail and still not at the top. I dont mind admitting it was quite alarming, not so much from the weather but the effing traffic.

Anyroadup I survived. 20 mins later was home and under a hot shower. Lesson learned...no matter how much you want it to be summer, 8th November aint.

That sounds scary, steevie.

Glad you're okay.

Were you pissed?

x

WHY DO MY WEEKENDS CONSIST OF SHOPPING, COOKING, CLEANING BECAUSE I HAVE THE BREASTS?

GO ON...

TELL MY WHY?

Anyone hear that programme on Kitchener, with Ian Hislop?

x

It is because you have to get stuff in and render it palatable in order to feed your face and then sort out the mess you make. It has nothing to do with your breasts.

If that's your weekend's activity then it is due to inefficiency although I suspect you are having us on and most of your weekend is in repose but you enjoy doing the poor little downtrodden and victimised woman act.

What do you think lads? Is smorgsie having a pull on the udders of the milk of human kindness?

Eff off, spends.

I'm off to repose.

x