What the ……!!!?!
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked,
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
How many pickled peppers did Peter Piper pick?
Or possibly
I am not the pheasant plucker,
I’m the pheasant plucker’s mate.
I am only plucking pheasants
Because the pheasant plucker’s late.
If anyone can provide another explanation for this piccy please do … and the first person to say cock fighting will be in serious trouble!
I’m no mug when it comes to a thorough understanding of multiverse theories and I regularly juggle galactic and intergalactic theorems as a means of relaxation.
My one concern is that there is a possibility that the universe that we inhabit is actually situated between the toes of another Elton John in another universe. If this was the case my long held dream of jamming with Elton would take on a completely different aspect. Still, looking on the bright side, I can think of quite a few other places where our little world might be nestling that would be even more unsettling.
I’m looking forward to the new film “Thoroughly Modem Millie” where Lo, she is a terrible Goddess takes the role of Julie Andrews in the updated version of “Thoroughly Modern Millie”.
An exciting tale of interweave dating, murder, mayhem and soggy gingernuts. Will the boy get the girl? Will the girl be able to get rid of the boy? Be prepared to experience the gamut of emotions from boredom to lethargy to apathy. It would also be quite sensible to take a snack and a telephone so you can chat to friends as it’s a very long film.
“I was on the edge of my seat from the opening scene.” said Uma Thurman “Unfortunately I couldn’t get up and leave as my skirt got stuck on a nail.”
Modestly forbids me from saying who plays DP – I’ll just say Johnny ….. in undercrackers!
Oh well, back from the fleshpots of Surfugal.
Roll on next March.
It’ll soon be December 3rd and as usual the annual Kilt Hoist will be held at Sprouston in sunny Scotland.
Of course the rules are well known – 1 point for each buttock exposed and 5 points for a ‘Bagpipe’ – 8 points against you and you’re out. The Sprouston W.I. will be acting as judges equipped with telescopes and mirrors. Any disputes will be dealt with by the designated female magistrate, Lady Bagshott, who will be easily identified by the microscope hanging by a lanyard round her neck. Her decision will be final. The last remaining competitor to be left un-revealed wins the title of Upstanding Member who then automatically gets a pass into the caber tossing event at the Highland Games.
This year there is one new rule. Any competitor seen to have a tattoo on any area of skin from waist to knee, HOWEVER SMALL, will be disqualified. This is due to the confusion that arose last year. Mr McLusion still insists that the double kiwi and banana rampant is his family crest and he was entitled to have it tattooed anywhere he wanted. The issue still has to be resolved and video footage is continuing to be reviewed by the Royal Family at Balmoral although there is unlikely to be a decision reached in the near future – Pippa’s sister is proving to be extremely fastidious. It was considered by the Hanging Committee that it would be prudent to ban all tattoos for the foreseeable future.
It’ll soon be Christmas. Lo, she is a terrible Goddess and I have been discussing how to deal with Christmas in a fiscally sound and prudent manner. I won’t mention her idea concerning a sharp knife, some glue and glitter for the baubles to hang from the festive twig. Actually her idea developed into hanging them in the window to share our joy with the neighbours but I fear that that could finish Aloe Vera off completely.
We’ve definitely decided not to give each other presents this year although the last time we decided that I kept to my end of the bargain which my shins regretted for several months into the New Year.
I was hoping as the years galloped by that things would get easier but apparently it’s not to be … oh well.
… the water has gone off again before I managed a shower!
I’m going to have to learn how to cover myself in olive oil and scrape myself clean … that is if I can manage to peel my undercrackers off. Perhaps Lo, she is a terrible Goddess could help – I think I can trust her with a knife.
One of the many delights of Surfugal is that the Water Board turn off the water for repair works with no warning at all.
It’s nearly lunchtime now and there’s been no water since we woke up. There are long forgotten parts of my body that are sticking together causing some discomfort and shock that they still there at all.
Our rather exciting plans of going to Alvor to test the new boardwalk that everyone seems very enthusiastic about have been put on hold as we feel that the world doesn’t deserve to see us in an unwashed state.
The previously full kettle is depleted of water and tea is now being taken in egg cups. My teeth are still in the bathroom cupboard and I refuse to talk about the state of the lavatory. There’s nothing to do but eat. Water biscuit anyone?
The palm trees sway or is it me?
I’ve had a brandy or is it three?
I should have stuck to Earl Grey tea
Gotta go I need to pee.
There was a young man of Cabril
Whose brain was the size of a pill
His eyes they were wonky
He looked like a donkey
And people who met him felt ill.
Stumble It!