Ransoms and Assassins, Friendships and Links, Bottoms and Boats (Yeah, kinda crazy.)

Mrs T has been very busy. Well when I say Mrs T, I mean possibly Mrs T or one of her other multiple personalities which could also be Miss Jane, Natasha, The Housekeeper or even The Jackal. Oh come on, you didn’t really think it was Edward Fox did you? Yep, I have travelled the world on sinister missions with my leg strapped up (cripes it’s painful but at least for once I get some use out of those suspenders) and nobody really knows my true identity. In fact my whole blog and indeed my photograph is just a ruse to confuse the world and distract everyone from my deadly and sinister missions.

But I am most definitely a woman and that means that at this time of year even the likes of Mrs T is inflicted by an innate desire to spring clean. Yes, although I detest the very thought of cleaning I am by forced by nature to pull out my brush, duster and scrubber.

But I do not always use them for what they are intended. Ho hum. Indeed they often serve many other darker purposes……For example….

Recently I discovered an amazing secret; it was possible someone I knew had the recipe for The One Chocolate. This is THE chocolate that all women desire; it is smooth and creamy on the outside and sensuous, rich and moist on the inside; it sends women absolutely crazzzyyy. Oh yes; it is soooo good it makes knickers drop and bra straps twwwang and it is mouth wateringly delicious.

Mm… Mmmmmmmmm.

The One Chocolate is both mystical and magical but… unfortunately it also possesses a magnetic evil force that draws all women to it; it seduces them and then controls them. It makes them lick their lips and salivate over the mere thought of it.

So armed with this information and along with my friend Mrs A, who manufactures her own delicious chocolates, and yearns for the recipe and Fordfocusmum, my compatriot at the school gates, I set about some “cleaning.” I thought I knew who had The One Chocolate; Speedcat Hollydale, the man who suggested I blow up my kitchen. But after hours of torturing him I have found out he is NOT the keeper of The One Chocolate; I was devastated.

Who has The One Chocolate recipe? I am now uncertain; somewhere there is a man who has the recipe and I, The Jackal, am determined to find out his identity!

Of course, it was immensely annoying and upsetting to find that Speedcat did not have the recipe but after his friend Mr Intrepid coughed up the ransom, I thought it best to let the poor bemused man go. He was a gibbering wreck by then anyway. And why was that?

Well… my brush, duster and scrubber are of the most unusual variety and hugely wicked instruments of vile torture for any man. No man can resist. I am now on the scent of the REAL keeper of the recipe for The One Chocolate and I fear that soon I will have to run my tickling brush up his back till he is squirming in sheer virtual delight, flick my duster enticingly over the soles of his feet, and run my spiky bottom scrubber over his buttocks until he can stand no more teasing and finally reveal his secret; The One Chocolate recipe.

In the meantime, whilst I’m dwelling on how to continue my investigations aka The Jackal, I just like to do a few links now that finally I’ve worked out how to do it… in my other persona as Mrs T, Housewife Extraordinaire.

Well I’ve met some very interesting folks all over the world during my short time in the blogosphere. Some of you I’ve called on frequently and some I’ve popped in from time to time. Out in the global community there are so many of you that have in some way satisfied my varied interests and my curiosity about how the rest of world thinks, feels and lives that I could spend all day reading. Unfortunately, with all my commitments it is just not possible for me to read or write as much as I would like. Boo hoo! (Note to self; buy more frozen dinners, 2 small strait jackets, a medium strait jacket and a large amount of beer sufficient to comatose Mr T on a Friday night.)

I had no idea how my blog would be received and to be honest I started it for my own need to express myself in writing and nothing else. So it’s been fun and satisfying discovering that many of you have appreciated my sense of humour which I know sometimes walks very close to the line. My humour, coupled with a mouth that speaks too soon and a hand that writes before my brain checks it out, can get me into trouble at times. So apologies to anyone if I have inadvertently offended!

Anyway, for a few minutes I just like to wander through some of the blogs that I’ve read and commented on in no particular order, except for Onedia who was my first friend here in the blogging world and through her many of you have come here to read my musings. Of course Onedia is also responsible for my new blog title of which so many of you participated in the colourful decision making process. Onedia has a great blog; what I like about it is that when I pop over there I never know what to expect; humour, politics, pictures or maybe even a philosophical post on love and friendship. She is never afraid to speak her mind and discuss issues. That’s great because from discussion comes knowledge and understanding.

Of course there’s also Master Sy who I need not dwell on too much as he frequently pops up in my posts and has an enormous reputation. (Well he keeps telling me it’s a big one but really I feel I need some genuine evidence as I reckon it isn’t as big as he would have me believe.) Anyway Master Sy and I well pretty much share the same ludicrous sense of British humour so needless to say I’m often over at his site reading what completely mad drivel he has written on a par with my own. His wife is expecting their first child so what can I say? Not only congrats but hell is that child going to have some fun growing up with a dad like Master Sy.

Then there’s also my other British gentlemen friend Dear Floogie who is taking time out to write for a while. Well, I’ve been thoroughly charmed by his multi faceted personality and I am inevitably amazed at his ability to expose his inner self in the remarkable story of his life. As a frustrated writer myself I feel a certain affinity with Dear Floogie but I know he has a heap more talent and honesty.

Then when I want to twist myself in knots I pop over to Tamera’s site. It’s a site that makes you think about aspects of your personality, emotions and relationships. Although I don’t always comment it’s certainly made me think a vast amount. I am constantly surprised at Tamera’s perception, knowledge and understanding of the human psyche. And she is younger and better looking than me. Damn it!

Unfortunately, I fear there is absolutely no hope for me in the self knowledge stakes. I expect I’ll still be arsing around on my deathbed with a badly timed gag. No doubt if I get to see St Peter outside those pearly gates he’ll say;
“It’s purgatory for you Mrs T and here’s the scrubbing brush, mangle and some white robes.”
Hmm, I fear I could be a long time scrubbing.

Now there’s also my friend Mark, “The Actor Extraordinaire” as I call him, who doesn’t write or comment as much as he would like because, and I’m sure he won’t mind me saying, he suffers from a long term health problem. Mark is probably the most well read and literate person I know and a man of immense depth. Read his post The Two Loves of my Life and you’ll see why. And if you ever have a question about books he’s the man to ask.

Now where would a gal like me be without a toyboy to boast her ego? Deeply depressed that’s what! Of course my toyboy is Mewie; a young man who has charm and honesty coupled with a sense of fun. He shares his thoughts in his blog Sharing Life on Life. What a great title… and it pretty much sums him up.

Now some of you might recall from the comments on a previous post that I am a miserable, pathetic artist who scraped a mediocre “C” at A level. So from time to time I like to drop in at Jaffabrit’s place and gaze at her art and read her posts. It satisfies the failed artist in me to gaze at Jaffabrits’s often varied and thoroughly unique work. I’m still waiting for her sculpture made out of jaffa cakes though!

Then there’s a trio of ladies I pop by from time to time who live in India. I realised when I read Usha’s post

Rape and Dishonour how lucky I am to live in a country which allows me such equality, opportunity and personal freedom. At the same time I’ve read posts like Eve’s Lungs' Footprints and Hillgrandmum’s post about her father's death And I’ve seen that although we may have cultural differences, at heart we are no different in our feelings and sentimentalities. All over the world, no matter what our beliefs, we are experiencing the same pain and suffering, joy and happiness, love and laughter. In a world where there are so many divisions it’s good to know that underneath we are all fundamentally the same. And that can only be a good thing.

Then there’s Mr Intrepid whose site has many differing posts including personal stories, film reviews, current affairs and a whole host of other varied offerings that reflect his widespread knowledge and experiences. Of course he tries to pass himself off as some executive but with all his posts about music I reckon he’s actually an old pop star. Possibly a New Romantic since he seems to have an unhealthy interest in bands of the 1980s. I suspect that he really wears one of those frilly shirts and possibly by the time he’s had his scrumptious cooked breakfast it is absolutely plastered in egg yolk and tomato ketchup. (I’m not saying he is partial to descriptions of yummy food and drink but since I’ve been reading his blog I’ve put on half stone just by reading.) What’s more I even started playing golf where in the past I would rather have a hole in the head then a hole in one.

I can’t mention everyone today but I’m going to end on Mark Stoneman who is a Historian. If you’re interested in history, politics and current affairs you should pop over for some intellectual debate. Lord! I can hear you say, why would Mrs T be interested in Mark’s site which is pretty academic and political?

Well…..just because I like waffling…...

I’ll let you into a little secret…..

Before I studied Silencers and Bomb disposal with the SAS and long before I studied Dishcloths and Cleaning Solutions, I also studied History and trod the hallowed halls of some ancient university. (Ok, it wasn’t Oxford or Cambridge but it sounded good!) Like Mark, I was particularly interested in German History (which also accounts for my unhealthy interest in boots.) Anyway, I didn’t end up specializing in German History.(Frankly, everyone was sick of me dressing up as Adolf Hitler and doing maniacal impressions so in a way I kinda sympathize with Prince Harry.) I decided to specialize in Bottoms instead. Yes, with My Professor, David Loades, I talked about big bottoms, small bottoms and bottoms that inevitably sink.

Oh, perhaps I should explain.. “Bottom” is a term that was used in Tudor times to refer to boats.

So I‘d just like to point out that;

1.Elizabeth I never married because she had more than one bottom (which is pretty unpleasant.) Further, when she was on her bottom it often got whipped up by the wind and gave her maidservants some very unpleasant experiences.

2.(Especially for Mr Intrepid ‘cos I’m sure he will remember this) It also means then Simon Le Bon from Duran Duran was trapped upside down in an air pocket in his own bottom. (That’ll teach him to sing so badly; luckily it was not caught by any Girls on Film otherwise his stud reputation would have ruined.)

3.It also means that Richard Branson’s bottom is as big as his head. (Yeah, and if he gets stuck in his own bottom like Simon Le Bon I for one will rejoice.)

4.Frances Drake had a golden bottom and it often followed behind him. It was a very attractive bottom which Elizabeth I was hugely attracted to but since she had such a big bottom herself she wouldn’t fully commit. Drake was so disenchanted he sailed off to circumnavigate the world… only to find on his return that Raleigh had burnt the Queen’s bottom with his newly discovered tobacco and was now the Queen’s favourite.

5. A Titanic bottom is very dangerous; if you hit ice not only will you get piles you will not be able to float.

6. Vikings had bottoms. Which is just as well because they’d have looked pretty stupid sailing across the oceans in small silly hats with only two spiky horns to erect their sails on.

7. A small bottom which meets a big bottom can be very dangerous situation; a clash of bottoms can lead to soreness which can be pretty unpleasant and difficult to solve. Try spreading Sodocream cream over a 50 foot yacht and you’ll know what I mean.

8. Queen Elizabeth II once had a Royal Bottom. But alas it got too expensive to maintain and now she has to make do with a tin hat. The tin was mined in Cornwall where there are many bottoms but where all the sailors have silly accents that no one can understand. Indeed when they call out the Lifeguard the Lifeguard never turn up as they think it’s a call from an alien space craft and contact the FBI instead. The FBI thinks it’s just George Bush being a silly arse again, put the phone down and then call for the ambulance.

9. I’d like a smaller bottom as my current bottom is way too heavy. While this means I look fairly prosperous it’s also means when I go sailing I might just keel over. Worse, you can never get bikinis to fit big bottoms without showing too much hull. (And if you’ve ever seen Vanessa Feltz in her bikini you’ll know exactly what I mean.)

10. Never, ever, ever call your bottom Poseidon. People will think you’re crazy. It will ruin your career and people will hate you for all eternity. (Unless you’re Gene Hackman... cos he’s kinda sexy, especially in a dog collar.)

I’d just like to end on a famous historical quote from Elizabeth I

“I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and bottom of a king, and of a king of England too; and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my bottom.”

And that was why Elizabeth was named the Virgin Queen; she had a big arse.

Toodle pips for now.

Mrs T.

(By the way I didn’t really deserve my degree as I was frequently distracted from my studies. Nevertheless I still passed; I expect it was something to with my bottom which was a heck of a lot smaller in those days.)

Copyright Jane Turley 2008

To Cook or Not to Cook? That is the question. Oh - and bottoms. (Just because I felt like it.)

Some women love cooking. They live and breathe cooking. They have shelf upon shelf of cook books; basic, speciality, charity and, of course, the celebrity-chef cook book. They have glorious kitchens filled with dozens of gleaming pots and pans, rows of aromatic spices and cupboards full of exotic ingredients. (I prefer erotic ingredients like chocolate, strawberries and clotted cream. You’ve seen 9½ weeks haven’t you? (Hey, I may be approaching the Knackers Yard but I can still fantasize you know…)Let me assure you there is nothing “gleaming” about my kitchen; it’s a godforsaken place where even the living dead fear to tread. I’ve also only got two cook books; that’s all and frankly that’s enough. One book was given to me by my mother in law. (Possibly as a hint that her son required some nutrition in order to remain alive.) The second I bought myself for a pittance. Whilst I happily waste Mr Turley's hard earned cash on books of almost any description I draw the line at cook books; I actually bought mine from a clothes and household department store. You didn’t think I actually went to a book shop deliberately to buy one did you? No chance. I saw it by accident on a promotional stand; a book containing 1000 recipes for a mere fiver couldn’t be bad could it? That’s what I thought anyhow; I’d get a few ideas; spice up Mr Turley's meals with some daring recipes; maybe even make a little fruity sauce. Well that was the idea but you know it required just that bit too much effort…

Now before I had kids I worked long hours and commuted so I didn’t cook much except for quick, simple stuff; a roast was as good as it got. But when the children arrived a strange and bizarre thing started to happen; I began to hate cooking with an intensity unknown to my women friends and yet at the same time I was COMPELLED to eat everything I saw. How weird is that? And now everything I’ve unnecessarily eaten has developed into a rather large bulbous lump which has attached itself to my bottom. God, it’s embarrassing when people yell “There’s an alien!” …and then I realise they’re pointing at my (once pert) derriere. However, in my defence and in defence of other women afflicted by this phenomenon let me point out that there are some possible benefits of having a large bottom;

1. You’ll never get a sore butt like skinny women do. All that extra cushioning provides valuable comfort. I find this is particularly the case at Parent’s Evenings at School when one must sit on one of those miniature chairs for hours whilst Darling Johnny’s mother twitters on about his ability to recite the 9 times table backwards whilst jumping through a burning hoop. By the way… parents who keep other parent’s waiting really annoy me… but at least I can sit comfortably while I’m envisaging Darling Johnny with his hair on fire. Have you noticed that women who keep you waiting always have skinny butts? This is because they live on lettuce leaves, chick peas and celery and are usually too busy coaching Johnny for his role as The Fairy in the School panto to remember about eating.

2. If there is a world wide famine you will be last one of the last surviving members of the human race. Your butt will be carved on cave walls, remembered in hieroglyphics and possibly carved in stone and erected alongside The Sphinx. New civilizations will worship at the cheeks of The Butt. (On the downside though it’s just possible you may be hunted down and eaten.)

3. It is my personal opinion (and I’m not prejudiced in any way) that the size of one’s butt is related to size of one’s brain. As a butt enlarges and matures so does the brain. Women with big butts are usually amazingly clever. This is because big butts are illustrative of the nutrition that is necessary for the continued development of the brain. Women with skinny butts usually have minuscule brains which is why they can still fit into children’s clothes and don’t know the difference between but and butt.

4. Men can get a firm grip on big butts. This is very, very satisfying. Sadly, men can’t get a proper hold on skinny butts without hospitalizing their owners. This is a major disadvantage if you are planning a night of rampant sex but can’t do so unless you’ve remembered to take calcium tablets for the last twenty years. I have it on very good authority that men secretly like a big butt, especially a butt which has style. Look at Jennifer Lopez; a typical example of a successful, high profile butt.


5. History repeats itself. Soon the era of the Skinny “Size Zero” Butt will be over. The Renaissance woman will return to mock the skinny butted women; knickers that droop from bony arses will be outlawed; itsy-bitsy bikinis will be burnt on beaches; Twiggy will be imprisoned for subversion. It will be the dawn of a new era that will live for a thousand years; The Age of The Big Butt.

Now where was I? Ah yes, cooking, cook books and celebrity chefs.

In my opinion, there are far too many celebrity chefs in the UK and far too many of their (overpriced) books. Now I don’t have any of their books (obviously) but I’ve flicked through them in shops when I’ve had nothing better to do. I’ve also studied them in depth when I’m at the houses of the women who purport to be my friends and I’ve been ensconced upon their toilet.( I live in a posh area where lavatory reading matter is on a par with a chic coffee table book.) I’ve never been impressed by the contents of these books. However, I’ve noticed if you happen to run out of loo paper the pages are very handy for the necessaries. (Albeit a little too glossy for my liking; I prefer the pages of a Sophie Kinsella novel which are usually very absorbent.) In addition to perusing these books I’ve also watched plenty of celebrity chef TV shows. So you see, I do know something about celebrity chefs….

… and will someone please, please tell me, WHY OH WHY, celebrity chefs CANNOT make a dish without the use of some overpriced, overrated ingredient that has to be especially couriered from such diverse places such as Istanbul, a small field in remote Scotland, or indeed a small delicatessen on the fringes of Hampstead Heath? Because…

I JUST WANT TO COOK SOMETHING WITH THE INGREDIENTS IN MY CUPBOARD. I DO NOT WANT TO GO SHOPPING.

I’ve observed that the top five celebrity chef ingredients are;

1. Truffles. (The only type of truffle I’m interested is a chocolate one; sorry, I’m just not interested in any ingredient that might originate from France and been snorted at by a pig.)

2. Mushrooms. (Usually a rare hybrid mushroom that they have picked themselves that very morning as they have nonchalantly strolled through the nearby woods with their wicker pannier swinging at their side as the sun rises romantically over their “small holding” (which extends to 30 acres) and has been purchased on the back on their overpriced cook books.)


3. Offal from a Royal Estate. (Disgusting stuff; not even the poorest people in the UK buy offal to actually eat it; they buy it to feed their dogs. There is nothing appealing about “Slice up your heart,” “Dice your kidney” or “Marinade your liver.” The only person who might be interested in these recipes is Hannibal Lector. In fact at this very moment I’m drafting a letter to Gordon Ramsey suggesting that he call his new book “A Fuckin’ Load of Tripe - 101 Ways to Make Offal Taste Even More Shite.” (Subtitled “Me and My Organic Cow.”)

4. Caviar. (Just in case you are completely ignorant caviar is actually fish eggs. This is not really an appetising concept; especially when you think of the amount of effluent pumped into our seas daily. However, if you want a nice glowing complexion you might as well give it a try.)


5. A rare nut harvested from the slopes of the Upper Andes which men have fought over and died for. Wars have started over it, politicians eulogised about it, and even The Pope has blessed it. It costs £2,000 per nut as is available at your local supermarket in a removable shell.

6. Ok, I know I said 5 but I’ve just remembered Parmesan Cheese. About which I will say; it stinks.

Now here are MY top five ingredients;

1. Water. God, this stuff is bloody marvellous; it stops anything from burning and it is readily available from your tap. However, I hastened to say that when I am having guests I do use the bottled variety.

2. Beef Gravy Granules. A fabulous, fabulous, miracle ingredient which will make any piece of cheap sinewy meat taste great if it’s been slowly cooked in it for 24 hours. In addition, if your in a particularly fowl mood, you can use its companion; Chicken Gravy Granules.


3. Tomato Puree. If you don’t have this Tomato Ketchup will do. It instantly adds colour and flavouring and is a sure fire winner with the kids. If you find yourself being in the unholy situation of having run out of both don’t forget to rinse out the Ketchup bottle with some water and use the dregs up.

4. Baked Beans. Provides substance to any stew or casserole and you have the satisfaction that they qualify as part of the daily vegetable quota. A kid’s favourite.


5. Red Wine. Failing that; white wine, vodka, sherry, brandy or methylated spirits. Adds pizzazz and an intoxicating addictiveness to your cooking. You can also get pissed with the remainder of the bottle.

So in answer to my question; “To cook or not the cook?” The answer is… No, not if I can possibly help it. However, I will happily eat anything prepared by anyone else - which may explain the size of my butt.

Oh, I haven’t finished on the subject of the wonderful Mr Ramsey yet but I’ll save that for another time. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a little poem;

There was a rude chef called Ramsey
Who had a lovely young Lambsey

He cut it to bits
It gave me the shits
And now poor Gordon feels lousy

Alas, I must now prepare tea for my boys…

Now where are those gravy granules?

© Jane Turley 2008