Saturday 27 January 2007

James Bond and what women really want

Last night I finally got around to seeing the latest James Bond movie, Casino Royale. I thought that this was, without a doubt the most graphically violent Bond movie to date. I also think that Daniel Craig hits exactly the right spot as Bond, even down to those stunning blue eyes which the camera clearly loves.

Film semiotics has always fascinated me and I could talk for hours about the filmic references contained in any number of contemporary movies and those in Casino Royale; from the passing visual references to early black and white films, to some of the big 1980s and 1990s blockbusters, and not forgetting the really amusing little ‘in jokes’ that were liberally sprinkled throughout in order to entertain both the seasoned film fan and the Bond fanatic.

But instead of going on about that, the thing that really interested me was the inherent link between violence and sex. It’s something that I still haven’t quite sorted out in my own head – why is it that scenes which showed Daniel Craig belting hell out of some nasty bugger and getting covered in the resulting blood ended up being so arousing?

I would guess that what comes into play here is the whole mythology of the Bond character; it’s clearly set up throughout that women are drawn to this hard man – he’d show you a good time; he’s educated, interesting, well mannered, and can kill with his bare hands to boot. What’s not to like?

Undoubtedly as we come out of the whole ‘new man’ era women are looking for men who are quite simply, men. As wonderful as it may seem at first to have a man in your life that empathises with your PMS and period pains, is entirely in touch with his feminine side, can cry, and uses more beauty products than you do…..Erm….we still rather like the old un-reconstructed caveman who tells us what to do and can pick us up, throw us over his shoulder and carry us off to have his wicked way with us.

Mind you, it’s not actually as simple as all that…in reality we don’t want Neanderthal man, but neither do we want Metrosexual man.

I believe that Daniel Craig as the current incarnation of Bond pretty much shows just what women want from men today; intelligence – always a huge winner in my opinion; no point in spending time with a gorgeous gym-bunny if he’s an airhead and as fun as it is to play with his body, if he’s not got anything going on upstairs then the novelty of physical perfection will pall extremely quickly.
Average looks – Daniel Craig is striking but he’s no Brad Pitt; I have to admit I could spend days staring into Daniel Craig’s eyes, but he has got a fairly beaten up and rugged face and again that’s a big plus – this is a man who has lived, been outside, led an active life, had plenty of experiences and it all shows on his face. I know that many women believe that Leonardo di Caprio is the epitome of masculine beauty but he looks like an overfed baby to me; plump round faces are for girls and young boys, men should look like men – different to women.
Physically fit – and after seeing that torture scene, my god is he FIT!! In the Western world we do have a huge hang up about physical appearance and if the media is to be believed we’re all either obese or obsessed with the gym, either way we’re obsessed with food. But going back to the whole Bond thing, the point there is that whatever he’s eating is providing fuel for all of his exciting scrapes. He is the original Action Man and that’s what I believe is so attractive to both women and men alike; women all want to take Bond to bed and men want to be him. He’s not a man who appears to spend time in the gym, he’s too busy fighting off evil henchmen with some strange physical feature, in other words, he gets his exercise through real application. Women generally prefer men who play sports or take part in some sort of real action like mountain biking or surfing or climbing rather than hours spent in a hot stuffy gym building up Schwarzeneggeresque muscles which quite frankly look better suited to gay men.
Lack of fear is also an attractive trait – Bond is scared of nothing and no one, or at least he doesn’t display his fear. I suppose this is the element of Englishness appearing; stiff upper lip and all that. We women want our men to be fearless, tough and rugged but we also want them to display vulnerability but only when they are with us and then only very occasionally. The reasons for this are probably deeply ingrained in the female psyche from as far back as the cavemen times; it would have been foolhardy to involve yourself with a man who displayed fear readily as he would not have been able to protect you and your offspring. But we want our men to admit to us that they are scared because then we feel that we’ve got in under their protective shield; they trust us. Yet too much moaning about how scared or unworthy they are is going to be a huge turn off. On that score women and men are fairly alike – life is scary and even in today’s mollycoddled world there are still ample opportunities for death. We all know that but we don’t want to be reminded of it.
Another turn on is confidence, or is it arrogance? Ever wondered why the big-headed ugly git always manages to get a girl? Most people are so full of insecurities about their physical appearance and general desirability that they’re pleased when someone takes an interest in them. If that someone is self-assured then it implies that you, their chosen partner must be worthy and clearly attractive. Or is it just me that feels that way? Maybe that explains why I’m rarely without a man – I just don’t turn anyone down because I’m so flattered….

There you have it, women today want a man who is intelligent, brave, fit and active, confident and drives an Aston Martin…..Well, maybe the Aston Martin could go….


So what started out with me considering the link between sex and violence has ended up as a list of what’s desirable in men….

For what it's worth, I think the link between sex and violence is raw passion – and if that doesn’t turn you on then you’re probably dead.

Friday 26 January 2007

Keeping it clean....

It has been in the news over the last couple of days that the United States has developed a heat ray gun, take a look at the full story here.


You may also be aware that a little while ago the US military announced plans to turn their enemies gay, again see the full story here.


So I’m sure you can imagine the scene in a desert somewhere in the Middle East very soon…..

Some bright spark will give the order to drop a ‘Love Bomb’ (that’s what the BBC described it as) next thing the US troops will turn on their heat ray gun and someone will of course have a camera phone on them…..

A few hours later Youtube will be plastered with hardcore gay porn direct from the desert.

I have to admit I have spent more than a little time researching this subject in order to find a ‘tasteful’ picture to accompany the text here….and after all my searching, this was the best I could come up with….You get the general idea…..


I so wanted to call this post Hot H****y Soldiers....

Wednesday 24 January 2007

The rise of the MILF

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Monday 22 January 2007

As I spend much of my time writing...I also spend a fair amount of time reading...Always have done...Today I came across a bit of poetry that I had saved...I'm not generally a poetry lover...Byron and most of the War poets I love...but generally...it's just too dense and flowery for me...

But not this...this just sums up perfectly how you feel when you get a little obsessive about someone...I love that feeling...anyway, here's the poem, it's by Margaret Atwood - she wrote The Handmaid's Tale (which was also made into a film)

Variations on the word Sleep

By Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

Sunday 21 January 2007

Worming

I really must worm the cats…

In true female fashion I have two cats – Henry an elderly grey cat that has lived with me since he was 9 weeks old; he is now coming up on twelve. My other cat is Mog – a very large black monster of a cat; he hunts voraciously and will eat just about everything he catches – mice and various other rodents, pheasants, pigeons, doves, plenty of other small birds, rabbits – yes that’s fun when you discover half a dead rabbit in the kitchen first thing in the morning….He doesn’t eat the rats he kills; those just get left at the back door as a gift. Likewise the snakes he sometimes has a go at, or the fox he had a fight with…Well, he is of a similar size…

Now because of Mog’s eating habits he has also picked up a worm problem…you would think that this would cause him to lose weight, but no, he’s also one of the largest and fattest cats you are likely to see and the vet has repeatedly suggested weigh-loss programmes for him…but unless he’s entirely confined to barracks he’s not going to lose weight…God only knows how he manages to catch his prey – although he can move pretty damn fast when he wants to….

So, the worm problem…I do hope you’re not eating as you read this….Mog’s worms have done the full cycle…and now they have started to drop out of his smelly backside – yes he is a disgusting cat…he does get very smelly now and then – his size sometimes prevents him from cleaning himself effectively, or maybe it’s just laziness…But I do shower him down every so often – he loves warm water…he's just not so keen on the animal shampoo...

In the past his worms have not been such a problem….both cats are wormed regularly…Generally I use Bob Martin’s Worm tablets – but now because of Mog’s expanded girth I’ve got to get him weighed by the vet to ensure correct and adequate dosage….

Bob Martin’s Worming tablets are actually completely safe for human consumption…..

How do I know?

A very lengthy conversation to the Poisons Department of a London hospital a few years ago……

Take one small hungry boy; add a small chair, a plastic tea set – with plastic knives and forks, and an open packet of Bob Martin’s Worming tablets placed supposedly out of a child’s reach. Mix in a short telephone conversation taken out of the room but the ‘responsible’ adult (read Me) and stir in an encouraging twin brother.

Final result? A very nice doctor in the Poisons department trying very hard not to laugh (after I had spelt out the active ingredient in the tablets, up until that point he was justifiably concerned). Small boy? Lovely glossy hair, damp nose and no worms.

Oh the joys of twin boys….


And I haven’t even mentioned the day they attempted to burn the house down….another post I think….

Thursday 18 January 2007

More knicker stories....

Some years ago when I lived alone I was a big fan of pulling allnighters particularly if it involved going down to the beach and having a party there – where I live we have coastline on three sides….Most of my friends were very outdoorsy types so the best part of the night on a beach avoiding being hit by exploding stones was a cool way to spend time…The shingle on the beach explodes when it gets very hot – bonfires – which of course you are supposed to inform the Coastguard of…but I also believe it’s illegal anyway…

Anyway, one particular night we’d all had a few, except for the drivers – which could well have been me that night – which would explain why I didn’t take part in the skinny dipping…..We put out our fire and then returned to a friend’s flat a few streets away. En route we walked past some roadworks…Gas Board roadworks…stupidly they had left a roll (a whole roll) of Danger Gas tape (you know the type, like the police have)….So we stole it ….

A few more drinks at the friend’s house, the inevitable Twister game, maybe even a game of Taboo (I think that’s the one where you have to explain a word without using it and everyone has to guess the word – they wouldn’t play with me eventually, after I used the word Antipodes and the guy who was supposed to guess had no idea what I was talking about….Dear god…). So eventually we head off home….In convoy…but end up loosing some along the way…..

I get home with my then boyfriend, we go to bed, etc. etc.


The following morning I get up, go into the kitchen to put on some coffee and glance out of the window – my car has been wrapped with Gas Board tape…Oh, very funny…Oh, and even funnier, the tape is tied to the back door…But they didn’t realise my back door opened out – so no problem there, hahahaha.

The tape gets cleared up and then we get onto bikes and go visit the likely suspect who is staying with his girlfriend…..

Get to her flat and they’re having breakfast. We join them and all have a jolly laugh about the Gas Board tape. Yes, it was amusing, but they are both hysterical – it wasn’t that funny….Anyway, we eat and I can’t help but notice the underwear laid out on the sofa….So I, being really nosey and having had a good look, say, “Oh, Estelle, you’ve got the same knickers as me”

Estelle starts laughing again.

“No, really you have…Oh, and the same bras…..You bastards! You stole my washing!”

I think I got it all back….

Sunday 14 January 2007

Sunday Evening

Quiet weekend…..

Kids and Mr C went off this morning to play rugby on the Island….needed their injections to be up to date and full passports…but they came back happy – the kids had thrashed the island team….

Meanwhile I got on with some very important work….yes…lots and lots of writing….and very good it was too...even if I do say so myself....

Anyway…on their return we popped up to the pub, had lunch and one too many glasses of wine for me….

As luck would have it Sam the chap from NYE (see the earlier post) was there…

Now maybe someone could explain for me why it is that as soon as I have one too many glasses of wine I end up with a problem with my right eye….Once I see a man who is reasonably fit I end up winking at them…Very odd behaviour…But I did manage to restrain myself and not give him my mobile number….Dear god….I really must stay away from wine….

And I’ve not long woke up…which is why I can actually type now…got home from the pub and was forced by the kids to play the Doctor Who game (board game). I did actually lose the will to live during the game – it’s extremely complex and can only be understood by nine year olds….Sleep followed swiftly as the darts appeared on television…*YAWN*

Friday 12 January 2007

Life has been quiet around here for the last few days….

And it’s left me feeling very thoughtful…

Bad weather combined with writing deadlines have kept me inside and my backside aches – with sitting down for so long…..

Currently I’m working on a novella…this is aside from the freelance deadlines…

The novella is what is known as Poetic Prose….also known as erotica lite….not porn but a sensuous tale of obsession and stalking – from the female stalker’s point of view….

Research has to be carried out for any good writing….but no, I haven’t taken up stalking as a hobby….but all of us have a little bit of an obsessive nature about something or other or for that matter, someone….

Mostly though, this week I’ve been reading…Anaïs Nin to be precise…but not her novels (I’m waiting for them to arrive from Amazon – in brown paper I hope!) instead I’m reading her journals….and I’m amazed, or horrified, to realise that so much of what she talks about rings so very true with me….One of the most important things that she says, for me…is this…

‘You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book (Lady Chatterley, for instance), or you take a trip, or you talk with Richard, and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death.’ Anaïs Nin

Here is a pic of a Quotable Tattoo...the quote is taken from Anaïs Nin's journals and seems sort of appropriate...

Tuesday 9 January 2007

Hooray for me!

I'm not long back from my very first climbing lesson....

I am a keen hiker - we live on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere...unless you go by car you have to hike - not walk , to get anywhere...The local pub is quickest reached by going over the top of one of the highest points in the county...

I was in Aviemore in November and hiked up Cairn Gorm and around Loch Morlich but sadly when I wanted to do one of the other routes around there the weather turned for the worse so I decided to give the local climbing wall a go...Had a really fabulous taster session and got bitten by the bug...

So now back home and having checked out all the possible local climbing walls I have discovered a very good one about 45minutes drive away (unfortunately there isn't a decent one anywhere nearer). Father Christmas brought me a course of lessons and I started them today! So I have a big smile on my face now because of the adrenaline buzz of it all!

And I also topped it off with the purchase of footwear - even Chickenladies on farms love to buy shoes....and I bought these beauties....

Roadkill

Living in the countryside we are surrounded by not only our own animals but also the wild ones too…

Just before Christmas I was going off to meet some friends in a local pub, I left the house at around 7pm - it was very dark. I drove down the single track road that runs through our village. The road goes between our fields and our neighbour’s orchards, and on the other side of most of the fields and orchards around here are ancient woodlands. Our village many hundreds of years ago was the hunting ground for the local lord of the manor who lived in the castle…And no, this is not turning into a fairy story, even though I can write a good one….

Anyway, the point being that we have lots of local wild deer, most of the time they are lovely to see; frosty February mornings they can be seen wandering out of the woods and into the stubble; last summer we took out goats out into a field near the woods and saw some deer – both herds of animals were transfixed.

So, back to the drive out to the pub…I wasn’t going that fast but almost drove into a hedge as I had to avoid the huge stag which wanted to walk out in front of me….Scary moment number 1…..

Got to the pub, had only one small glass of wine…actually another story entirely about a woman I know only slightly who was there and must have had the best part of two bottles of red wine and the drove home….horrifying.

But back to the wild animals…after finishing at the pub I said goodbye, as you do, and drove home.

As you’ve probably guessed we don’t have streetlights around us, or cats eyes in the road, or pavements – yes, I do live in the sticks and no, I’m not related to Mr Chickenlady in any way, but he does have large ears…I don’t.

So going back up the road where I met the stag out pops what I thought at first was a small black Labrador…no, actually it was a bloody big badger…I avoided it, but the car behind me didn’t…..Scary moment number 2

The following day (Saturday) the badger’s body had found its way onto the grass verge and into our neighbour’s field. The next day our neighbour and his elderly wife decided to bury the animal where it lay.

By Tuesday the body was laying above ground…foxes perhaps….

Wednesday neighbour and wife digging a hole again….deeper this time

Thursday very bloated badger body above ground again…….

Friday…digging

Saturday….bloody foxes

Sunday….someone hired a small digger….

Oh the joys of living in the countryside…it didn’t quite reach the local paper but it was the main topic of conversation in the pub…almost as much as when one of the foreign students spray painted very rude remarks about a local farmer on the main road in six foot high letters….very good command of English he had too….

Friday 5 January 2007

Goats should come with warning labels


The current goat count still stands at eight – no one has produced yet but the five Boer goats that look like these in the pic but with horns, are getting very agitated.

I went down to feed and water them yesterday morning at around 7.30am as usual; bright morning, the sun just coming up and the grey sky gently turning pink. It was very windy and it was all I could do to hear Jack Johnson on my MP3 player (I have to listen to happy sunny music in January – otherwise I would run away to somewhere hot with a beach, alone). I could hear the goats bleating from the top of the field and when I reached their stable at the bottom I could see the two smallest (Dilys and Daphne – I didn’t name them) standing on the back wall. When I got into the stable armed with fresh hay for the hayracks I got pushed about a bit as is usual when they’re hungry. Picked up the food buckets and managed to get out without any escapees following me. Filled up the buckets with beef nuts (generally fed to beef cattle but also suitable for meat goats – there you learn something every day!) and then re-entered the stable. Put down three buckets – very carefully as they all have horns and you do not want to be putting your face anywhere near a hungry goat’s head…..Then moved to the other side of the stable to put down Dilys and Daphne’s….only to have Daphne decide to get at the bucket by the shortest route – through my legs and only narrowly avoiding knocking me over. I think the wind and the bleating probably covered my swearing at the top of my voice….Oh, and here is a pic of the resulting bruise…..




And now the updated picture...taken today (11th January 2007)

Thursday 4 January 2007

Chickens and eggs.....


The kids have gone back to school and a new year and new term brings with it the same old problems…..bad language and misunderstandings…..

Son #2 came home, picked up and apple to eat and then started sniggering – the apple had the label Cox on it…..

“Mummy, why do people at school say that cox is a willy?”

*Sigh* Here we go again….the conversation went a little like this:-

OK…you know how the boy chickens are called cockerels or cocks?

Right, well some people say that because the cockerels jump on the hens so much –

yes, you’ve seen them doing it all the time,

and yes that’s right they’re putting their willy,

no you can’t see it, it’s covered up by all their feathers,

yes, it goes in where the hen drops out the eggs.

Right, so going back to the apple (which is a Cox, not a cock)

some people call willies cocks because,

No, not because it goes into chickens [Oh dear god!],

but because it’s what men use to give ladies babies.

Yes it is a bit like the chickens,

Yes, there is an egg

No, the egg doesn’t get laid in a nest box

Yes, that’s right it grows in ladies tummies.

Why does the cockerel do it?

*Interuption from son #1 – Because the hen wants to have chicks just like the ladies want to have babies

Um….*thinks….how much of the truth should I drop in here?*

I’m not sure about the chickens but grown ups don’t always do it just for having babies…

*Son #1 – No, you and Daddy do it because you like it – you said so and Daddy went red, Hahahahahaha

*Son #2 – I don’t want this apple

Wednesday 3 January 2007

It’s the 100th Birthday of the Scouting and Guiding Association…..

My Guiding experiences didn’t start well, I joined the Brownies when I was 9 and as I was already 5’5” I was taller than Brown Owl and there was no uniform available….probably a good thing on reflection….So I left pretty quickly and thought the Guides were crap.

Then some ten years later I was at Uni and needed some more experience with kids in order to teach them after graduation….So I ended up as a Brown Owl……

Mostly this was a pretty boring pastime …. But it ticked all the boxes for teaching and kept me off the streets and out of the pubs…..until I went to Guide camp with a friend who ran a Guide unit…..

I didn’t know Lorraine very well, but we had spent some time together in India; she had got monumentally drunk while we were in Agra (where the Taj Mahal is) strangely she was stinking drunk at around 4pm…it was after this that she told me actually she was diabetic…she hadn’t been drunk…just very hungry….

Anyway, I met up with her back in the UK and went along on her Guide camp where she was in charge of cooking and stuff….Friday evening the camp starts, lots of tent erection going on – Lorraine and I decide that we must go to a supermarket (read Pub) to get some more supplies. About three hours later we return feeling refreshed and find our tent has been put up by some very kind 12 year olds, yay! Kids all fed and in their tents the grown ups break out the gin….This is something they don’t tell the parents, but it is an unwritten Guiding law which says that when the kids go to bed you have to drink spirits…generally Gin and Tonic (as the older leaders are generally ladies from the Home Counties…or at least a certain type from the middle to upper classes). So we keep up the law and keep on keeping up the law until around one or two in the morning, by which time the girls have all (finally) gone to sleep and we are in a fit state only to drag ourselves into our sleeping bags in our tent and pass out quietly.

As I had just had a very hard week of teaching, the following morning I was not keen on getting up at around 6.30am which was the appointed hour for Lorraine to rise as cook….she didn’t move, so bugger it, I thought and turned over for another half hour or so….Someone called out for us to get up and left us mugs of tea too (nice these Guides), but still she didn’t move and I was too lazy to shift myself….Eventually at around 8am when all the girls were running around and someone else had made a start on the cooking I thought I might show my face. Lorraine was still out cold…..and at that point I realised, yes, she was out cold…….She’s diabetic and we had missed supper the night before because we were in the pub…..oh, shit…..

I tried first of all poking her ….always works for me…but no luck, she still didn’t wake up. Then I remembered the tea….so pulling her head and shoulders onto my lap I tried to get her to drink the tea (Yes I know this was a bloody stupid thing to do…it was many years ago and I was still drunk). She started to come round a bit…good…Then I remembered that Lorraine always carries emergency supplies with her – kit kats, lemonade, sugary stuff like that. So I rifled through her back pack and found what I was looking for…a small bottle of lemonade, Hooray! I thought….but when I tried to get her to drink this she spat it out….Hmmm…..

By this time some of the other Guide Leaders had realised things were not well, someone organised a car and we managed to bundle her into it and made for the nearest hospital…Which didn’t have an A & E so we decided to try the next one (again, I know this is bloody stupid too…as any medical facility will deal with potential diabetic comas…and they could have got an ambulance for us too…). Fortunately by the time we get to the next hospital Lorraine had started to come around naturally – a bit of the sugar in the tea coupled with her own metabolism, so it was just a quick check up, a Mars bar and we were good to go….

It was only on returning that Lorraine told me that the bottle of lemonade was actually her vodka stash…..left in a lemonade bottle just in case some of the girl guides saw it…..

Which goes to show that the Girl Guides are always prepared…..

Monday 1 January 2007

New Year's Eve


Was expecting a fun filled evening with friends at the local pub…one of them is celebrating his 30th and said he’d pop in…sounded like fun.

So Mr C and myself get up there and discover that none of our friends have decided to turn out…..Ok..I know the weather was crap, blah, blah, blah, but the buggers said they’d be there…grrr. I’m now expecting an evening of poking fun at the range of oddballs around us, like the guy across the bar who looks a little like Herr Flick, just more creepy and he keeps giving me the eye. Feels like it’s going to be a long evening, at least we can ogle the landlady who is gorgeous and has an arse I’d kill for – and I’m straight…

Luckily at about 9pm in walks Sam, the birthday boy, with a mate of his, they join us and soon we’re all just slightly drunk. The evening pretty much deteriorated from here on… Sam got more and more drunk and his hands got more and more wandering….he has a great line in feeling arses….mine, the landlady’s, Mr C’s….everyone’s…..oh, and encouraging the rest of the pub to also have a feel…thanks….He gets more friendly and whilst Mr C isn’t looking he grabs both my backside and my (pierced) right breast…somehow he managed to drag the fact that my nipple is pierced out of me. I quickly move his hand and he whispers in my ear various suggestions of what he’d like to do to me….nice but he’s very drunk, I’m not so drunk, and my husband is sitting next to me – albeit equally drunk…..

Then at around 11.30 a woman we all know comes over; she’s already sent some champagne over to Sam for his birthday – I drank it…it’s also her birthday, her 50th…..so she’s come to give Sam a birthday kiss…..no peck…..full mouth open, arms flung round Sam, and a deep with tongues kiss………….Sam looks shocked but, hey, it’s a woman kissing him…then he realises she’s a smoker and his face is no longer pleasantly shocked…it’s slightly green….

Midnight arrives, we all pile outside to see the fireworks, Mr C wanders off somewhere and Sam attempts another grope, this time telling various strangers how he’s enjoying it…..This is now beginning to wear thin….as much as I enjoy the attention…..So I start to think about revenge…….

Fortunately the vodka and cokes that Sam had been downing provided me with their own revenge and I didn’t have to be too bad to him…..At around 12.15 he disappeared into the garden where the drinks made a reappearance – probably brought on by the ashtray kiss…..So I see my opportunity…..I slip out to the garden, find him looking grey and holding his head in his hands….. “Oh Sam, what a shame you’ve been sick…a real shame….You see, I was going to give you a birthday kiss….but now you’ve been sick….oh dear, well, I suppose all I can do now is this….” At which point I gave him a quick flash of the piercing in the full knowledge that he will not remember any of this tomorrow…..And at some point I shall tell him all this….REVENGE!!!

So, 1st January 2007…..

Well I’m just guessing what this day is about because I’m writing this back before Christmas….I’m planning to go to a party on New Year’s Eve and don’t anticipate being in a fit state to post what happened…maybe by the 3rd….

Anyway, a new year…new beginnings…new life….

As some of you know this time last year I had not long been the proud owner of three goats…the herd has gone up to the grand total of eight and six of them are pregnant….we hope. We don’t have a Billy goat here – too smelly – so we had to take them for a trip to visit the boys….Which was fine apart from the fact that Billy goats stink really badly…and they’re quite affectionate ….so when we visited I stupidly made a fuss of these beasts (some do look like Wildebeests and some sort of look like this) and Mr Chickenlady wouldn’t let me back in the car at first because of the godawful smell – a bit like very, very ripe goat’s cheese.

But I digress…the Billy goats…the first one we saw was called Basil and he was a huge white beast with a very large head and very large rest of him too. He stood in a paddock with four dainty looking dairy goats and he was the king of all he surveyed, so to speak. I felt a little apprehensive venturing into the paddock because he looked so big and mean, but gathering my courage in both hands I went in and was greeted with the lovely sight of one of the dairy goats deciding to take a pee. Normal, you might think, farm animals pee wherever they like…true…but they don’t usually have a large white Billy goat sticking his head into their flow of pee…and curling his lip up in a Les Dawson fashion…nice. The keeper at this point was more embarrassed than me – I was trying very hard to keep a straight face – she was red-faced by comparison and nervously remarked, “Well, at least human beings don’t behave like that”….Hmmm, I thought…she obviously doesn’t know the people I know….

So that was a few weeks back now and all the goats are back home and full of kids with any luck…time will tell – three are due in February and three in April. If and when we get the arrivals I’ll post pics….