Monday, May 26, 2008

The Book Club Ladies and a Lesson in Life.

This could be a long post. Mrs T hasn’t written anything for a while which means she could go on for a long time; best get a coffee and chocolate bar out now. (Or open the window ready to take a leap; whichever is your preference.)

Well first Mrs T is going to give an update on the antics at The Book Club. Now, the Ladies gathered together at Mrs P’s comfortable abode last Friday to discuss The No1 Ladies Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith which if you are familiar with is set in Botswana.

Now The Book Club has a tradition of serving food and playing accompanying music in the style of book that is being discussed. So for example when we read
Miss Garnet’s Angel which is set in Italy we had Italian music, wine and suitably tasty nibbles. Stylish don’t you think? This usually works out well as we get to sample a variety of fine wines from all over the world. However, the ladies were not so impressed with Mrs T’s choice for Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks on a previous outing. (Just in case you have been very naughty and not read this fantastic book it is principally about the First World War and I highly recommend it.) Anyhow, Mrs T thought her choice of an accompanying recording of howitzers and artillery fire was entirely suitable; the ladies, however, did not feel so inclined (Possibly this was because Mrs T kept diving under the sofas with a colander on her head, barbecue tongs in her hand shouting “Once more unto the trenches dear friends, once more!”)

The accompanying
fried rat didn’t go down well either. Still can’t win every time can you?

Anyway Mrs P, (who, please remember is the Housewife Extraordinaire in Training) and highly accomplished, managed to come up with some suitable African music and some
Biltong which is a dried salty beef. (Dental floss required.) Fortunately, she also came up with a takeaway from the local Indian takeaway. (Excellent, excellent; takeaways are first class and highly approved by Mrs T in her best selling book; “How to cheat at cooking in one easy polystyrene tub.”)

Anyhow, the takeaway was vastly preferential to the suggested delicacies recommended by Mrs S. If you can click on this link you will see an array of truly horrendous “delicacies.” Now you know Mrs T is partial to chocolate but even she cannot stomach the thought of chocolate covered ants and scorpions. Mrs T felt her stomach could also pass on the Green Crocodile Curry.

There was, however, one particular delicacy that sounded just up Mrs T’s street….Chocolate Pearl Aphrodisiac Paste…which comes in a TUBE! What could be better than to lie upon one’s chaise longue like an ancient Roman Empress whilst having a man slave squeeze it gently into your mouth?! (Hmm…Mrs T’s imagination is playing havoc with her at the moment...)

Anyway back to the book; we discussed The No 1 Ladies detective Agency with complete thoroughness (as usual) and just to encourage you to read it here’s my in depth analysis;

It was good; read it.

Also the cover is particularly colourful; cut it up and make labels for your Christmas presents. (I’m still into recycling.)

I’m just joking there folks… Mrs T hoards all her books and deposits them in secret places so Mr T cannot discover she has purchased yet more without his knowledge. It would be sacrilege to cut up a book. (Well, except cookery books obviously.) Mrs T loves books. She loves the crisp, clean smell of a new book but also the mustiness of an old book that teases the nostrils like a fine wine. Mrs T still has children’s books from when she was a child and history books from college. Books, she feels, represent part of her makeup, her past and to that extent there are some books that will never ever make it to the school fair….

And now on to other Book Club matters….

The Book Club required a new name; let’s face it The Book Club isn’t a very original title is it? And in order to join the local library book lending scheme Mrs M suggested we needed a more distinctive title. Now Mrs T has great reservations about getting yet more from the library as she is extraordinarily bad at remembering to take books back to the library - to the extent that she has just racked up a £27.00 fine. (Don’t tell Mr T; he’ll kill me) Mrs T is not sure just how she does it but regrettably she does. However, this does mean that Mrs T is hugely popular at the library because she funds the purchase of new books for the entire county. Mrs T always gets first class treatment in her request for obscure books because they know it’s a dead cert she won’t return them for at least 6 months. However, the good natured Mrs M has now offered to be in charge of Mrs T’s books in order that she stops getting enormous fines. Mrs T gratefully accepts as she has pathetic organizational skills (other than the alphabetical system she uses in her chocolate drawer which is then also subdivided into percentage of cocoa, flavour, colour of wrapper and weight.)

Anyway, here are some of Mrs T suggestions for a title with the voting outcomes (unanimous decision required)

1. Hot Chicks Go Reading. Out voted 5:1(Conclusion; Mrs T is the only hot chick! Although to be fair Mrs A was absent so as we know she also delusional so it could have been 5:2)

2. Not the Tom Cruise Appreciation Society. Failed 1: 6 This was very popular but sadly Mrs S protested as she is in love with Mr Cruise. (Mrs S is still awaiting her cataract operation.) (Please not there was no voting misdeamours here..Mrs A placed hers by telephone as this was a matter of utmost importance.)

3. A Page at a Time (is bloody slow) Failed 5:1. Mrs T is partial to the occasional skim reading, especially if it’s a Tom Cruise autobiography. Please note that Mrs T also recommends that if you just can’t reach to the top of the kitchen cabinets Mr Cruise’ autobiographies make a useful step. Mrs T feels this in an honourable way to pay tribute to Mr Cruise’s somewhat shorter frame.

(NB; Mr Cruises’ autobiographies also make effective door stoppers.)

4. If only I had glasses. Failed 5:1… none of the other ladies could read the nomination.

5. We’ve got all the Books and You haven’t Society. Failed 5:1; it was suggested that this was a particularly stupid title. Mrs T has no idea why; it seemed pretty accurate to her.

6. Book Babes. Almost made it 3:3… very popular with Mrs T, Mrs S and Mrs P. However, as some members of The Book Club are over 45 they sadly did not qualify as “Babes.”

And finally… the winner… Novel Ladies… Suggested by Mrs T in rarer moment of sanity.

Anyway I thought you might also be interested in a few stories of recent happenings to the ladies…so here we go…

Mrs P’s last pregnant sheep produced triplets which Mrs P delivered by herself with the aid of some rubber gloves and a large bottle of Scotch. Mrs P also pointed out she has 2 cats and will Mrs T kindly get her facts right. (Position of Housewife Extraordinaire in Training now in serious jeopardy.)

Mrs Midwife rang Mrs T to ask her to come and collect cat food and accessories; Mr Fred, her feline friend, had been run over. Mrs T promptly went down to Mrs Midwife’s where they embraced and spoke highly of the gorgeous Mr Fred who some callous person had left to die upon the road until some kindly neighbour found him and released him from his anguish. Mrs T remembered Mr Fred’s thick fur, as plush as any luxurious velvet, and how he always greeted her and occasionally sat upon her lap when she babysat. Mrs T was sad but not as sad as poor Mrs Midwife, Mr Midwife, Miss Lucy and Miss Katy.

Mrs W
reported that she has received her insurance payout for the fire in her kitchen. Mrs T had not heard of the incident in the kitchen before and so her heart soared…at last there was someone whose cooking skills matched her own! Mrs T was anxious to find out the finer details of the dish Mrs W was burning at the time. Sausages or Burgers? Mrs T finds sausages burn uncommonly well. But alas, and to Mrs T’s absolute horror she found out that Mrs W had NOT been cooking…she had left a candle on the windowsill that had set the curtains alight….. Mrs T’s heart sank….

Mrs S has had a most interesting time of late. Firstly, she reported that she had found a mole
in Mrs S’ Wellington boot in the downstairs cloakroom. Mrs T suggested Mrs S increased her building’s insurance cover as it was possible her house was in danger of imminent collapse which would be disastrous as her lovely house on the hill has finally gone up for sale. In fact Mrs S’ property is so unique she reported that a BBC film crew had spent two days filming it for a property show which will be on the TV next year. Mrs T enquired what was the nature of the handsome presenter? To which Mrs S said he spent most of time playing with his stylus. (You know one of those pen type things used with mobile phones for texting.) Mrs T laughed because she knows Mr S also plays with his stylus far too often and much to Mrs S’ annoyance. In fact Mr S lost his stylus recently and forced Mrs S to search the house with minute precision… Mrs S could not find it and politely enquires to Mr S

“When actually WAS the last time that you saw it?????”

Unpleasantly, Mr S admitted it was when he was on the john with his pants around his ankles….

Mrs S goes to the bathroom but still CANNOT find it.

And so the evening passes and Mr and Mrs S retire to bed and as Mr S removes his underwear… and out falls his stylus….

(No double entendre intended.)…….

The moral of this tale is…

Never play with your stylus in the john; you may end up looking a prize prick.
(Take note Mr I.)

Now Mrs X, who shall remain anonymous, had a more stressful week than most…

As Mrs X was going about her daily business and requiring the bathroom unexpectantly finds she is bleeding heavily from her bladder. She is concerned as being of a healthy disposition (never having broken a bone or suffered from womanly troubles) and being well read in medical matters knows that bleeding without pain is not good and so she fast tracks to the Doctors that same afternoon.

The Doctor is worried; Mrs X is very perceptive and can read faces uncommonly well. He asks Mrs X leading questions which she knows are related to the big “C”. He examines the urine samples twice and then phones the hospital and an appointment is made for Mrs X in a few days time. Mrs X is impressed with the efficiency but fearful; she knows this is not a good sign and unable to get the Doctor to enlighten her she goes home and Googles the symptoms.

Mrs X finds here are many possible causes but without pain the lesser possible causes like infection and kidney stones leaves others causes which are possibly very serious, perhaps even life threatening. Mrs X sits back in her chair and looks at the screen again and again.

Mrs X realises that she could be in very serious trouble indeed.

The days pass and Mrs X’s appointment arrives. She is feeling nervous about the procedures and the outcome. Worse, she has been instructed to drink as much as possible before the ultrasound and so her bladder is bursting; it would have been wise to have brought some spare knickers she muses as she waits. The ultrasound is done twice, first by the junior radiologist and then by the consultant. The consultant, a woman in her late fifties is thorough. She takes a long time examining Mrs X’s left kidney and Mrs X wonders if she has a duplex kidney like her father. Mrs X studies The Consultant’s face; she is a handsome woman who was most probably a beauty in her youth but who has competed in a man’s world for too long and disregarded her femininity. But Mrs X feels reassured; this is a woman Mrs X can trust, who is professional, experienced.

Finally, The Consultant tells Mrs X to sit up and says;

“Mrs X… I can find nothing wrong with your kidneys. That is good news.”

Mrs X is relieved but must still endure more intimate examinations of her bladder about which she is not happy; it is not like childbirth which is a natural process. She is feeling uncommonly shy.

Now, Mrs X whilst not being fashionable, but perhaps stylish in her own way is not keen on wearing the hospital gown she has been given without her knickers on; she does not want people seeing her (hugely attractive) butt as she walks down the corridor and so feigns ignorance about how she should wear it so that the nurse gives her another which she wears like a housecoat. Not so bad, thinks Mrs X, feeling a little more relieved as exits the changing room and sits in the waiting room, (noting the elderly gentleman also waiting has been looking a little perkier since her arrival.) There is also an elderly lady waiting, also in her 70s like the gentleman, and Mrs X wonders if they feel the same way as her. Do they also fear for their own mortality or have they resigned themselves to whatever awaits them?

Mrs X sees there are numerous magazines to read but alas they are all OK and Hello in which she is not interested so she tosses then to one side. (But not before she has added a pair of platform shoes and rocket boots to those pictures of Mr Cruise and revels in the fact that Mrs T would be immensely proud at using her initiative in such trying circumstances.)

Mrs X is called and trying to boost her confidence which is rapidly diminishing she sways nonchantly along the corridor in her peep toe wedges. (No way was she wearing furry slippers; a woman’s got to have some dignity.) The consultant comes out to the reception area; he is a man in his fifties and (reassuringly?) says he will not be using any knives. Now Mrs X, who hadn’t even envisioned the concept of knives is now NOT reassured. Perhaps, she thinks, The Consultant needs a little help in the diplomacy area. Anyhow Mrs X, who like Mrs T, has an uncommonly good sense of humour quips in reply;

”I hope you’ve bought you’re sewing kit though. I don’t suppose you could do me a favour……”

The consultant laughs; at least he has a sense of humour thinks Mrs X as she follows him into the examination room.

OH LORD!! NO!! NO!! NO!!

Mrs X is gob smacked; it is just like the set of ER! There are people EVERYWHERE. Just how many people do they need to do this procedure??? There is the clinking of trays, fact all that is missing is the guy selling raffle tickets. Any moment now Mrs X expects the arrival of the student doctors, clip boards in hand, ready to examine Mrs X’s more intimate parts. Mrs X is mortified at the thought. With the help of 3 nurses she lies upon the examining table, a film of sweat developing over her body…

There is no choice.
Mrs X, who like Mrs T, also has a vivid imagination…must take her mind elsewhere……………………….

“Mrs X, I’m afraid there is a sudden nurses’ strike. You can come back another time or have the examination by yourself with The Consultant.”

Now Mrs X who is (obviously) a black belt and always carries such vicious instruments with her such sharpening steel and a barbecue fork is not afraid. She is perfectly capable of defending herself from predators and realises the urgency of the situation, so decides to continue…..

“Oh, I’ll go ahead,” says Mrs X and the last of the nurses leaves the room.

Mrs X li
es back and awaits the arrival of The Consultant. She feels a breeze drift across the room as the doors swing open. She cannot see the Consultant’s face and peers around the screen as he washes his hands at the sink. Hmm… Mrs X notes he is tall and athletic looking from behind with a nice firm buttocks… rather Bond like. She wonders if he carries a gun. Perhaps if he does, she wonders whether he will show it to her. However, she muses, he is taller than 007…perhaps more like Mr Callahan. Perhaps the tough Mr Callahan will make her day with some... uplifting news. She is feeling lucky. Does he have 5 bullets or 6? Either way the prospect is tantalising…..

And then The Consultant turns around…Oh no, Mrs X eyes are popping out of her head. It is n
ot Mr Bond or Mr Callaghan …it is Mr Ross. THE Mr Ross of the dark, seductive eyes and extremely handsome face…………

Mrs X is flabbergasted! And hastily throws away her barbecue fork and poses as seductively as possible on the table (Well as seductively as one can in two old faded cotton robes and a pair of earrings.)

“Mrs X, Would you mind if I removed my jacket? iIt is extremely hot in here for some inexplicable reason,” says Mr Ross in his mellow voice like chocolate that melts in the mouth.

Mrs X knows why it is hot…because her blood pressure has rocketed into space and there is more heat emanating from her body than a flame thrower. She nods in agreement, unable to speak in the excitement. Mr Ross is wearing a crisp white shirt, open at the neck. Oh Lord, this is too much for a woman to endure…

“Mrs X, I’m afraid I can find no surgical gloves…would you mind? I will be extremely gentle.”

Mrs X nods in agreement again; she is going to pass out with excitement… but fortunately realises that would not actually be good timing and revives herself with some handy surgical disinfectant….

“Mrs X… I’m afraid I can’t find any surgical masks…are you happy for me to continue?” Mr Ross flickers his long dark eyelashes.....

Mrs X categorically does NOT mind. She is very, very happy indeed. Mrs X only wishes she had some Green and Blacks (Organic) chocolate to accompany the occasion.

“Of course Mrs X, you realise I must perform an entire physical examination? Shall I listen to your chest first?”

Mrs X nodds furiously… but she cannot speak as she is soooo excited….Mr Ross leans down over her. His eyes are like a pool of molten chocolate……he pulls out his stethoscope….


No, no no!!….Not now!............. Mrs X is distraught, it was just getting interesting……

Fantasy over. Back to reality. Bugger.

“Good news Mrs X. It was an infection after all. Sometimes these things happen for no obvious reason.”

So Mrs X is safe and well.
Thank God.
( A tad bit annoyed her fantasy didn’t come to fruition but in the circumstances she is one happy woman.)

Well that about wraps it up for now. More waffle later in the week.

But Ah... I hear you say... what about Mrs T?

Well... Mrs T has been in uncommonly reflective mood of late. She has reached the age where beauty and health begin to fail. Where her elders and indeed sometimes her contemporaries pass from this life to the next. She has pondered on many subjects including mortality, relationships, spirituality and love.

Life. Death.

She still doesn’t know the answer to all of her questions and maybe never will but she reflects that it is the only beauty that truly matters is the one that comes from within.

Mrs T thanks her friends who read this blog and who shared her journey with her, who have lifted her spirits with words of wit and wisdom. She thanks them from the bottom of her heart.

Mrs T realises she has been very lucky indeed. She knows not what the future holds but is grateful, that this time round, she has been given one more chance.
Copyright Jane Turley 2008
PS Mrs T would be most grateful is everyone would vote for Master Sy of The Wheel is Turning but The Hamster is Dead as the funniest guy on the net by clicking to this link. Now I'm not saying Master Sy is desperate to win but he dug deep into his wallet and offered me 50p, a snotty hankerchief, some congealed chewing gum, 3 paperclips, half an apple and a stack of French Porn. So please do me a favour and vote; I don't need anymore of that stuff Mr T already brings home enough already. Thanks!

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Human Rights.

I lost my sight
Because I had no rights

I lost my soul
In a pitiful hole

I lost my heart
Because I played no part

I lost my mind
In all the unkind

If I could breathe
I would not grieve

If I could sing
It would be Spring

If I could shout
I would have no doubt

And if I was free
I could be me.

Copyright Jane Turley 2008

Monday, May 12, 2008

Philosophy and Madness.

Last night Mrs T was in one of her philosophical moods… which is a very dangerous situation for not only is Mrs T apt to do crazy things, more importantly she often poses to herself, and to her friends, seriously challenging and deeply perplexing questions. Such as;

If we can split the atom, fly to Mars and dive to the bottom of the oceans…



If you know the answer to this question, please tell me. However, I suspect it maybe something to do with the same reason George Bush was elected.

Now, I should warn you that my rare philosophical moments often herald a period of disturbing silliness form Mrs T. Mrs T is frankly.. nuts; I hope you’ve worked that out by now. However, she IS very fortunate to have some very understanding, supportive (and forgiving) friends that accept her for what she is and understand her rather madcap sense of humour.

Yes, Mrs T really does have some friends and every now and then 6 of them who live in close proximity to Mrs T join with her to discuss books. We are The Book Club. Oh, how terribly middle class I hear you say! Well, yes.. but us ladies need the mental stimulation otherwise our lives would be full only of pots and pans, School Runs and for some, that most dreaded of words “Work.” Once a month or so we meet, ostensibly to discuss a novel, but invariably getting distracted onto other important subjects like hair loss, weight gain, chocolate and sometimes even that most taxing of subjects…men.

Now I think I my lady friends warrant a description. Firstly, there's....

Mrs A.

Yes, that is THE Mrs A who comments here from time to time and her of the dry wit. (For
tunately it’s not a wet wit because you should see what a hell of a mess she makes with her chocolates. Lordy, lord do we need those baby wipes!)

Now Mrs A is actually a connoisseur and maker of fine chocolate and is married to the exceptionally finicky Mr A. Now Mr A has a superb photographic memory that always secures The Book Club certain victory in the village quiz which (luckily for him) outweighs his (unfortunate) love of precision cooking.

To which Mrs T says; “Hoorah!” ...There’s nothing Mrs T likes more than winning as she is highly competitive. For example; when there’s a queue at the supermarket and they open up a new cashier you can bet your life Mrs T gets there first! Mind you, those roller skates do help. (So does the mace but that’s another story.)

Now when I told my lady friends I was thinking of blogging about The Book Club this is the email Mrs A sent me;

“Can you not mention the fact that I am being stalked by David Tennant, Colin Firth and Harrison Ford. But you can definitely mention the facts about me being devastatingly youthful, dynamic, slim and fashionable.”

Yes, you’re absolutely right… Mrs A has very severe delusional problems… because...

I happen to know... that David Tenant, Colin Firth and Harrison Ford are actually stalking ME and Mrs A is in fact being stalked by TERRY WOGAN.( Never mind Mrs A,.. you may get a free seat at the Eurovision song contest.)

Mrs A’s vital statistics; older than Mrs T (Excellent) 2 children (Better bladder than Mrs T) Irritatingly clever husband (Annoying but useful.) Currently employed in a bastion of British broadcasting. Favourite chocolates; her own.

Now before I carry on, I‘d just like to say that David Tennant (aka Dr Who) is proving a right nuisance and keeps “appearing” in my bedroom. All I can say about his tardis is that outwardly it looks very, very small but actually it’d really rather big. In fact, it is enormous and also that thing that keeps pumping up and down in the middle is driving me absolutely crazy.

.. .Oh yes and as for Harrison Ford if he turns up one more at my house with that whip of his I’m going to have punish him severely. And as for Colin Firth I’m sick and tired of him arriving in his ruffles and breeches and declaring his undying love; I’m a busy woman and I’ve got plenty of brass rubbing to do. (Ho hum)

Now on to…

Mrs S.

Now Mrs S is another lady of dry wit and lives in a splendid abode on the hill which regrettably she plans to sell and move to foreign fields, which makes Mrs T really rather sad. However, this will mean that happily Mrs T will never again have to look after Mrs S’ guinea pigs for which she is most relieved…as last time Mrs S told all and sundry that it was Mrs T’s fault that the two male guinea pigs had suddenly become highly sexed and overtly friendly.

I’m afraid it’s simply not my fault all male creatures get inspired around me; I just can’t help being a sex goddess. It comes naturally. Read my book; “Guide to Attracting Guinea Pigs for the over 40s.” It’ll prove a real eye opener.

Mrs S’ vital statistics; younger than Mrs T (Blast) 2 children. (Again, better bladder) Married to the rather teccy but financially well endowed Mr S.( However, Mr S is not yet forgiven for refusing to retrieve chocolate from Mrs T ravishing lips during The Village Quiz) Currently employed as part time accountant and guinea pig attendant. Favourite chocolate; a very, very rich chocolate with a soft gooey centre.

Mrs M.

Mrs M is always, always, always... late. My goodness she would be late for her own funeral! Now you can bet your bottom dollar that if the world was coming to an end and the last of mankind was about to depart in a space shuttle Mrs M would still be late and arrive out of breath saying…

“I was just……………………”


However, I must not be unkind because poor Mrs M is married to the world renowned Mr M; a more complex and psychiatrically disturbed gentleman you will not find. He is the only person who prior to coming to Mrs T house for dinner will interview her for the menu and list his distastes until ultimately you end up with steak. Sadly Mrs M is also thinking of one day departing to the continent. But I ask you this Mrs M; Where will Mr M get his pants from? He is soooo particular I fear even the black, silken thongs they sell in Paris will not suit his most distinct tastes!

Now at this juncture ladies I had planned to post a picture of a lovely young gentlemen suitably attired in some devilishly attracted underwear. I thought it would take about 5 mins to Google some piccys… but ladies it has taken me a whole two hours. Lord, I never knew such skimpy males things existed! I have only just recuperated after passing out several times, emitting various assorted gasps of pure astonishment and oh, yes… changing my knickers. Now I decided to post a piccy of a G string made into an elephants head but the picture was copyrighted so ladies you will have to use your imagination (Not too difficult I feel!) So instead I’m posting something a little more tasteful.

I think ladies you will be interested to know that the manufacturers have called this item the “Special Forces” thong. What “Special forces” is that?! Would some one like to volunteer a description? Mrs T is thoroughly confused. I fear it is a deeply perplexing question I should ponder for some considerable time. However, I also noticed to my amusement that some of the G strings have been reviewed. For example;

Review by bigbob: absolutely brilliant!This string fits like a glove, the best I have tried in a long time and I am well middle aged. Faultless delivery within 24 hours of ordering; I will be definitely treating myself and my lady to some more in other colours. Look out for the photos!

Oh crikey; I fear it maybe sometime before I stop laughing!

Anyway back to…

Mrs M’s vital statistics;
older than Mrs T (Hurrah!) 2 children. (Bugger.) An unfortunate (but most amusing marriage) to Mr M. Currently employed as a high flying PA and geisha girl to Mr M. Favourite chocolate; a highly addictive coffee truffle which possesses acute withdrawal symptoms.

Mrs W.

Now Mrs W is relatively new to The Book Club so obviously Mrs T cannot be so succinct in her descriptions for fear of irretrievably damaging her relationship through her wanton bad humour. However, Mrs W's vital
statistics are as follows;

Older than Mrs T (Oh how absolutely spiffing!) 4 children (Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!) Married to Mr W, a man of taste. Currently employed as a Teaching Assistant.

Unfortunately, Mrs W refused to take my career advice which was as follows;

“Never work with children, animals, tax inspectors, call girls, estate agents and teachers; you will die young and no one will know who the **** you are.”

Succinct, I feel.

Oh yes, favourite chocolate; she doesn’t know cos the kids keeping nicking them before she has a chance.

Mrs R

Mrs R is a very, very UNfortunate woman because she leaves right next door to Mrs T. This is highly dangerous considering the toxicity of Master Samuel’s underpants. (Fortunately she keeps her gas mask by her side and her air freshener in her handbag.) Now Mrs R is blessed with a boisterous laugh famed (and heard) throughout the village. This is just as well because she married to the infamous Mr R, a toyboy like Mr A and Mr M. (Note to self; fire Mr T and employ younger hot stud.) Mrs T always knows when Mrs R has failed at her housekeeping duties as Mr R departs the house in a sullen fashion and drives off at apace akin to Michael Schumacher.

However, Mrs T commends both Mr & Mrs R on their patience and understanding as Master Jacob and Master Benedict have inadvertently kicked at least 1, 987,534 balls into their garden destroying all Mr R’s vegetable crops and making imprints on Mrs R’s laundry. Mrs T also commends Mr R for only using minor expletives when last year Master Jacob kicked the ball into the wet concrete he had been laying for his new patio.

True friends indeed.

Mrs R’s vital statistics; older than Mrs T (Excellent, excellent) One child. (Absolutely disgusting; almost a normal bladder.) Married to the debonair Mr R. Currently employed as a Lecturer. Favourite chocolate; one that melts in the mouth.

Mrs A(2) otherwise known as Mrs Midwife.

Mrs Midwife is a woman of great patience and virtue and is Godmother to Master Benedict. This is because in her role as local midwife she assisted in the birth of Master Benedict. (To which I say… WHY DID IT TAKE 20 HOURS???? Hadn’t I suffered enough with two births already without having a third which was like trying to squeeze a melon through a sieve?) Mrs Midwife still regularly collects vast sums of money into her swear box when Mrs T remembers the agony of Master Benedict’s birth; consequently Mrs Midwife is now a very rich woman indeed.

Now Mrs Midwife is a rare breed amongst woman as she has a HOUSE HUSBAND. And Mr Midwife’s skill at house husbandry is only matched by Mrs T. Still, Mrs T finds it a very refreshing, indeed a somewhat comforting situation.

Mrs Midwife’s vital statistics; Older than Mrs T (Yippee do!) 2 children (Depression setting in for Mrs T again) married to Mr Midwife, a man who knows how to a take a very, very long time doing very little. (Of which he is immensely proud and rightly so as Mrs T is also extraordinarily good at this) Currently employed as a Midwife but would like to work in a bakery. Favourite Chocolate; anything that is delivered on time.

Now that leaves...

Mrs P

Mrs P is a full time housewife like Mrs T! Mrs T and Mrs P play tennis together with Mrs D (and other numerous ladies) once a week. Now Mrs D is a tennis coach and to this extent she always thoroughly thrashes Mrs P and Mrs T. (Except for the one occasion when Mrs T wore her lucky orange bandana which unluckily she has since lost.)

Mrs P has a flock of sheep, 2 dogs and a cat. Oh yes and unfortunately, a plague of rats. Indeed she was mortified to find one in her bedroom the other day. So Mrs T has very generously promised her that she will call over with some suitable rat poison. (The Turley Pizza Surprise.)

Mrs P works extraordinarily hard at being the most efficient and charitable full time mum. To which Mrs T sends her this message;


Mrs P vital statistics
; younger than Mrs T (Damn, damn, damn.) 4 children. (Ha, ha, h
a) Married to the sheep shearing Mr P. Not currently employed but studying under the guidance of Mrs T in the position of Housewife Extraordinaire in Training. Favourite Chocolate; Truffle Surprise. (The surprise being it tastes of lamb and mint.)

And that leaves just Mrs T about which you already know. But I’ll do my vital statistics anyway just cos I like waffling;

A mere 29 years old, no children, still well equipped in all the right places. Single but with delusions of marriage. Currently employed at the local pole dancing club and available for immediate hire to attractive, wealthy men with large pockets. Always completely truthful and honest. Admires Gordon Brown and Tony Blair. Deep respect for George Bush, Bono, Sting and Bob Geldof. Works incredibly hard at housework, cooking and cleaning the cat litter tray. Recently nominated for a noble peace prize for her thesis entitled;

“How to pair up two odd socks and get away with it.”

Favourite chocolate; still searching for The One Chocolate. In the meantime favourites are chocolate covered nuts. Small ones will do, but obviously the bigger the better. (It’s a girl thing.)

Now folks this blog has gone on longer than expected ( Damn those undie pictures) so I’ll have to continue it in a day or two…. Please prepare yourself for The Book Club II; a horror story.
(That's if I've got any friends left.)

Copyright Jane Turley 2008

Monday, May 5, 2008

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….

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 instrum
ents 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

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Now back to the usual lunacy

O crikey what a crazy few days I’ve had! I’m sure all you ladies of a certain age out there will know exactly what I mean when I say all those premenopausal and premenstrual hormones have been flying around sending me do-lally. You know ladies; when you're feel like tearing your hair out (but you can’t because it’s falling out already and you’d like to have some left by the time you’re fifty) and the smallest thing like a soppy TV advert featuring a cute puppy or the slightest hint of disapproval from hubby and you’re off into wails of tears and stuffing your face with a huge bar (or two) of consolatory chocolate. It’s rather like being a donkey tethered up just out reach of water and frantically trying to get at it but to make matters worse someone’s shoved a carrot up its nose.

Poor Mr T he doesn’t know what to expect when he comes home; Mata Hari, Coco the Clown or the
psychotic lover from Fatal Attraction with a carving knife in hand and rabbit stew on the table. Fortunately he’s a good natured soul, although I am slightly worried about that windowless room he's been constructing behind that false wall. I hope it’s just going to be a walk in wardrobe but to be honest even with my large selection of clothes ( small butt, medium butt and big butt size) I don’t need one. Hmmm... I'd better check he’s not been making amendments to the life insurance policy.

Now can a man really appreciate what it must be like for us gals on this emotional rollercoaster? I don’t know but I suppose maybe if they were having a really, really bad day…

Say for example you were some big hot shot city
slicker and you’ve got an important meeting….

Perhaps the day starts b
ad because after a night of over indulgence on mussels, champagne and strawberries you nick yourself shaving. Blast! You have to stick on one of those delightful blobs of toilet roll to halt the bleeding; just when you wanted to look really suave.

Then you get to your office and find that your watch has stopped and everyone is already there waiting impatiently. Miss Tightfanny your aged spinster secretary is looking over her tortoiseshell glasses at your feet; you have two odd socks on. Oh no! Maybe no one will notice?

You remind yourself to ring that cold heart woman in Human Resources and tell her to fire Miss
Tightfanny. How is it that you always get old relics and that young upstart Mr Hamster in the adjoining office gets the blonde bombshell? And what’s more how does he get away with wearing red pants over his trousers, a cape and a mask to work... Perhaps because the CEO has a fetish for little furry creatures which although remarkably unhealthy has resulted in him cornering the market in bling wear for the fashion conscious small mammal.

Taking your place at the head of the table, you commence the meeting; everyone is looking at you. So that’s nothing unusual; you’re the boss but there’s a few sneaky grins. You look down; there’s toothpaste on your $40 tie. No!! This CANNOT be happening.

“I want to buy chocolate!” you say, banging your cartridge pen down on the table. The nib cracks and spurts ink over your $100 shirt. Holy mackerel! What else can go wrong?

In your anxiety, you grab your rubber
therapy ball and start to squeeze it; it pops out of your hand and plops down the front of Miss Tightfanny’s blouse as she is pouring you some more of that sludge coffee that is making your head spin. Without thinking, you stick your hand down her blouse to retrieve it, she screams and drops the coffee down your pants.


Everyone is laughing at you. Oh Lord you're as red as a big red thingy. What about your reputation? Still, think positively now.. so longs as you make big bucks on the chocolate deal today everything will be all right; its the profit that counts.

BUY CHOCOLATE!” You yell and the team scramble to the door and shoot off to the share dealing floor.

You make your way to the Gentlemen’s rest room to get cleaned up. You sponge your tie and pants down and grimace in the mirror. OH NO!! Not only have you left that blob of loo roll on your chin but there’s a piece of lettuce stuck between your teeth from that BLT sandwich you consumed on the way to the office. It CANNOT get ANY worse.

Your bladder is bursting with all that disgusting coffee, just time for the necessaries before the markets close. But…but… the zip won’t budge on your pants. Damn it! You have no choice but to take your pants down altogether. Suddenly you hear a swish behind you, a quick sideways glance in the mirror and you see the CEO... just as you’ve got your pants bunched round your ankles. The absolute horror causes you to trip over your pants and head butt the latrine. The CEO looks distinctly perturbed and hoisting his
hamster, with a diamond encrusted collar, under his arm he leaves in a hurry.

You make your way upstairs disconsolate. Still…there’s always the chocolate deal….

Miss Tightfanny is waiting for you in your office;

“I’m sorry
Mr Intrepid we’ve lost on the chocolate shares. An anonymous buyer outbid you.”


It is the worst day of your life!

As you’re cursing, the telephone rings…..

Mr Intrepid.” It’s the seductive, sexy voice of a sophisticated English woman. Your heart is beating with anticipation. Who can this mysterious woman be? A sweat breaks out on your forehead, your heart palpitates; maybe the day is going to work out better than planned....

“It’s Miss Jayne here. I’m afraid
Mr Intrepid……. the chocolate is ALL MINE.”

No, you've been outwitted by a delectable English woman; it can't be true; weren't they meant to be dull on the other side of the pond? You realise you been throughly whipped and...

.... hold your head in despair and sob uncontrollably.....


Yep, I think that’s what it how a guy would feel with PMS. What do you think ladies?

PS As you can see I've been fiddling around with all the applications the last few days and I've finally worked out how do that link thingy. Hey, it wasn't that hard after all; I just couldn't locate the right page to tell me how. Anyway, I hope to give all of you folks whose blogs I have enjoyed reading over the last few months a proper mention in the coming week. In the meantime, keep well, keep happy and keep recycling!

Copyright Jane Turley 2008

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