April A to Z : D is for Dipstick

So “dipstick” has two meanings. One is a rod for measuring the depth of liquids.

The other is a word to describe Donald Trump.

Oh crap. The SWAT team are on my doorstep again...

I was just joking I swear to God it was just a joke......I’m a comedy writer... I don’t actually mean what I say...... I love Donald. I even have a matching hair piece I wear on my genitals.....

No, I am not dropping my knickers. My genitals are my own private business!

I demand a phone call. It’s my right as a British citizen....

Hello, Queenie. It’s me. You best pal. Get the Paras over here fast. I’m about to have my hair piece confiscated which means I won’t be able to lend it to William for the coronation.

Ten minutes?

Awesome.

April A to Z: C is for Codswallop

Now I'm guessing not a lot people outside of the UK know the word "Codswallop".

Basically, it is an old English maritime word used by fishermen. It refers to the old English tradition of using a wet cod (an English fish common in the Atlantic) to wallop someone around the face.

In most recorded cases of codswalloping, English fisherman have used the technique on French sailors attempting to poach our fish. But during the WWII codswalloping was used during the evacuation of Dunkirk when us Brits were out of ammunition and needed to give the Nazis a bloody good old taste of British fighting resilience.

And believe me there is nothing like an angry English fisherman with a wet cod in his hand. The Germans may have invented the Blitzkrieg but codswalloping takes fighting to a very personal level. When it comes to hand-to-hand combat English fishermen are the best in the world. In fact, it is well known that Captain Birdseye, whose grandfather was a pioneer of codswalloping, has coached the SBS (Special Boat Squadron) and written a manual for both the SBS and the SAS entitled "Codswalloping and Haddock-Baiting in the Armed Forces."

I'll have to explain haddock-baiting at some other time. However, if you’ve heard of waterboarding let me tell you that haddock-baiting takes torture to a whole new level as it is intensely difficult to breathe with a haddock stuffed down your throat whilst being codswalloped around the face and, in cases of extreme torture, the groin area.

And I'm not even going to talk about what Captain Birdseye recommends you do with a pike. But it would definitely make your eyes water.

So there you have "Codswallop": An old English term, which if there was any justice in this world, would go viral.

April A to Z: B is for Balderdash

In a previous A to Z I talked about “bullshit”, and today I have decided to talk about something in a similar vein which may not be in common usage abroad and is not heard much these days in the UK either.

Balderdash.

Now “balderdash” ”is not, as you might expect, a word to describe a bald-headed marathon runner.

(Although the idea has interesting possibilities for one of my future stories.)

It is a word to describe incontinence.

Oh wait a minute, that's “bladderdash”.

Blast. I should have started writing about “bladderdash” as that is something I know a lot about. In fact, invariably, most woman over fifty who have had a baby know about "bladderdash."

As it happens, I know more about "bladderdash" than most as I've had three children. My bladder now has more holes in it  than my kitchen sieve. If I cough, alarms sound on the Thames floodgates. I’ve also invested in shares in Tena Ladies as I am fairly confident by the time I’ve hit sixty I will be bulk ordering incontinence pads from Amazon on a monthly basis. At the moment, I can manage bi-monthly orders which is not so bad. However, the downside is it's rather depressing to keep receiving
marketing emails from Amazon suggesting I purchase portaloos and or buy a subscription to Incontinence Weekly.

What is it with Amazon? They know my every move. They are like Orwell’s Big Brother. I swear they have a little man inside my PC who is just constantly monitoring my every click. I think they are working in partnership with the CIA and MI5. In fact, I’m going to test this theory by putting AK47 in the Amazon search bar and seeing how long it takes until a SWAT team turns up on my doorstep.

Okay, let’s test my theory.

A K 4....7

Okay, what was I meant to talking about? Oh yes “balderdash”... well “balderdash” is an unusual world which means......


Oh fuck...... no....... oh Jesus ....no....please...get your hands off me! I swear to God I am not a member of ISIS.......

And I haven’t got any firearms...or Semtex... you can check my bedside table! I just have a copy of Incontinence Weekly.

Yeah. Okay, I promise I’ll never put AK47 in the Amazon toolbar again. I promise.

Thank you, thank you, thank you... say hello to Mr Trump for me. I love him.

No, seriously I do! I love him and the wig. It's awesome. Okay... thank you. Thank you. Bye.


Sorry about that interruption, folks. I had an unexpected visit from some sly bastards very nice men.

So "balderdash" it means "Nonsense" which is pretty much what I write on this blog. Except when I'm fed up in which case I can write anything from a political diatribe to a haiku.

Stay tuned if you want to expect the unexpected on the A to Z.

April A to Z : Apprehension of Unwelcome Readers.

At the very last minute, I have decided to sign up for the Blogging A to Z Challenge. I am going to try and play along even if it is only for a few words a day.

So, as usual, I am just going to pick whatever word pops into my head or if anyone has any suggestions they will always be gratefully accepted. I suspect most of my words will be emotive words bearing in mind I am in a very emotional stage of life but, hopefully, I will also come up with a few of my zany posts too. (Hurrah!)

So let's start off with A is for Apprehension.  And get the dross out the way first. The primary noun definition of apprehension is:

"The anticipation of adversity or misfortune; suspicion or fear of future trouble or evil."

Now I have mentioned before that I have not written on my blog much for the past few years for a number of reasons. 

One of them is I have an unwanted reader.

This is someone who I know exists. I have met them on a number of occasions. Over the years, I have had many friends and sometimes relatives who have visited this blog and all have them have made their visits known to me at some point and I have enjoyed their comments, emails and feedback. And it has been a rewarding and often fun experience.

This person, however, has never mentioned to me, at any time, in person or by email or comment, that they read my blog and in recent years it has begun to fill me with apprehension to the extent that it has inhibited my desire to write.

I am not sure that this person comes here to be entertained. But for some other purpose.

Incidentally, I should mention it is not my soon to be ex-husband. Despite our recent differences, he is not that kind of man.

I am an open and honest person and I always say what I feel. I do not like living under what has felt like a silent threat. So today I end my apprehension and I will write whatever I feel and whatever I god-damn like. And should this person visit my blog in the upcoming days they must now feel the apprehension I have done. 

You may ask how I know this person exists.

The answer is I have been blogging for over ten years. During that time I have learnt a lot about the Internet and technology. I really am quite Internet savvy. I have pretty much experienced everything on the Net from anonymous admirers to stolen posts appearing on soft porn sites.

So there are 30 days in April. I am in an emotive and explosive mood. 

I could write anything. 

The tables are now turned. I have my custard pies stacked and ready to throw. Should I feel like it.

And if you, my dear and welcome readers, feel you have any insight, opinions or similar stories of this nature please do leave a comment.

And I would also love to hear from some of my genuine anonymous readers. Your continued support of my blog is always welcome.

Ps- if any of you anonymous readers are rich, single men I am still available. I come with an excellent sense of humour and a large backside. These are valuable assets especially to the visually impaired.

Dreams and Situation Comedy

I have had a super stressful time lately. I know this as last night I was lucid dreaming.

Some people find lucid dreaming a source of pleasure. This has never been the case for me. Usually, they bring out my deepest fears and yesterday was one of my most frightening. Sleep paralysis, evil spirits, the chill of death.

If you have never lucid dreamed, let me tell you it is a very unusual state of mind. You are aware you are dreaming and therefore have some degree of control over your dream. In mine, because they are not pleasant, I use the power of prayer to bring me out of the dream. It might be because I was raised as a Catholic my lucid dreams are never joyful ones. They usually delve into dark places and have a spiritual or religious overtone. Last night, when I finally pulled myself out into a fully conscious state I found myself singing a hymn, my face covered with tears.

I have been under a lot of stress lately and this is the cause. I have had an exceptional amount of unpleasant job-related stress, long hours commuting, vicious and upsetting communications from my husband’s relatives and one of my closest friends has been diagnosed with a brain tumour. In addition to dealing with all the crap and responsibilities I now have as a single parent.

My brain is in survival mode. That’s for sure. They say people who lucid dream have a greater power of observation and self awareness. Possibly, this is true. I feel I know who I am and I am very sensitive to those and situations around me. Which is why I know I need to get out of my present job which is damaging my emotional well-being. I don’t need that type of negativity in my life when I have other issues to contend with.

They say stress is a valuable tool for writers and some achieve their greatest work in times of stress. This has never worked for me. Until now perhaps. And I not sure how or why but out of the misery of the last few months a new idea, based upon some of my experiences, has come to the forefront of my mind.

And no it is not a psychotic thriller as you might have expected. But a pure slapstick comedy. Think Are You Being Served meets Fawlty Towers. I think it will work best as a TV sitcom. I have already sent off for some scripts for Dad’s Army and Porridge and two guidebooks for writing situation comedies. And when I have digested the format I need I will begin.

For the last 3 years my writing abilities have been frozen. For many reasons, rather than writer’s block, I have chosen not to write. But now, for the first time, I have something which really excites me. Which is fresh and inspiring.What’s more, I am going to write a lead part in it for someone who I met through work and has supported me through some of my toughest times over the last two years and become one of my best and dearest friends. He is also an actor and I know I have a part for him.

So I finally have the motivation to write. Maybe there is a small light on the horizon.

Name Dropping

I was on a packed commuter train last night and the guy next to me who, at a quick glance, was probably around thirty-years-old started to have a Skype call with his father.

Awkward.

If you’re familiar with our British commuter trains you’ll know there’s not much room and passengers are pretty much on top of each other. In other words, it can be pretty intimate and feigning total blindness and deafness during someone else’s conversation is not always easy. 

So, this fella was ringing his father on his journey home. Once the usual pleasantries were over, I kinda expected some manly talk: business, cars, politics, football ....which is a little stereotypical I know but it was a public place so I didn’t think it would too personal.

Anyway, it transpired that the young man wanted to tell his dad the names he and his wife had chosen for their soon-to-be expected baby.

Edward Oscar Simon Seymour Surname.

I nearly gagged on my water bottle. Talk about a mouthful. It took all my restraint not to burst out with something highly inappropriate on the lines of:

“What the *uck?"

“So something simple and non-pretentious then?”

“Are you crazzzzzy?”

"Why don't you just call the poor kid Jesus?"

Now one mustn’t be too judgemental as obviously these could have all been family names and maybe a first grandchild etc etc. However, there were the girl's names to consider as well....

Lillian Florentine.

Luckily, they’d only decided on two at that point. Phew.

The rest of my journey was filled up thinking what might come after Florentine.

I liked Garabaldi. It goes well with Florentine. (I was working on the biscuit theme obviously.)

Lillian Florentine Garibaldi Jaffa has a nice ring to it.

Anyway, the young man’s conversation finished off with a gushing “I love you, Dad.”

Seriously. In a way it was kinda sweet and then there was another part of me thinking “Get a grip, man. You’re on a packed commuter train!”

Anyway, I’m thinking it would be good fun to pretend to have a conversation on my phone one night about having a transmittable disease and see what happens. Maybe a few coughs and splutters too for added effect.

Recommendations for diseases sought please.

I’ll think I’ll start off with....

“Hi dad, I’ve not been feeling so good since I got back from Africa.....”

Exhausted

God, I am exhausted. Three nights with almost no sleep. 4 hours of commuting a day, a nine hour working day for which I spend 8.5 on my feet, propping up my kids with all their various issues, sorting out the huge financial mess my husband left us, trying to carve a career again at 53, sorting out all the housework, all the DIY.

On top of this as I no longer have time to look after myself at all. Not that I did that much before but at least I found time for an occasional swim and to write. Now my writing career which was on the rise has plummeted and because I can’t find time to swim and I’m on my feet all day my knees have frozen up. I now have the knees of an eighty year old.

Life sucks. But I’m not sorry my marriage is over. That would have killed me quicker than all the stress I am under now. So hurrah for freedom and goodbye to all that.

#Metoo