Gosh. I must interrupt the inactivity on this blog with some exciting news for my Lady Readers.
I just heard on the radio that Arnold Schwarzenegger is splitting from that Kennedy woman!
Deck the halls with boughs of holly
Fa la la la, la la la la
Tis the season to be Jolly
Fa la la la, la la la la
Okay, it is kinda sad that after twenty-five years that Arnie and his wife can't hold it together...but on the other hand...
At last I'm in with a chance of grabbing Arnie's butt for myself. I mean, who wouldn't want a shy, retiring, svelte-like, sweet, adorable English Rose like me? Okay, I admit might not be actually "svelte-like" but Arnie's an actor he can use his imagination, can't he? And as for the sweet, adorable bit - just ask all my friends.... it's completely true.
At least on Mondays when the kids go to school.
So Arnie and that big cigar he's always carrying is up for grabs. Whoa Ladies! I haven't felt this excited since David Cameron was elected as our Prime Minister. Mind you, after ten years with a Labour government and I probably would have been celebrating if Cheeta The Monkey had got into power.
You know, I didn't feel quite the same when Paul McCartney got divorced. Maybe it's because he wrote Hey Jude. I imagine he'd be a slushy, romantic kind of guy who sprinkles bed sheets with rose petals - and then waters them. Whereas Arnie would sprinkle the bedsheets with rose petals and then just rip 'em off. (The bed sheets that is.)
Anyway, the idea of making rumpy pumpy with someone who'd actually slept with Heather Mills is somewhat disconcerting. It's the leg thing, I'm afraid. Yep, I can imagine being in the throes of a second chorus of Hey Jude when suddenly a vision of a wooden leg springs to mind with Paul whispering; "I think it needs a coating of linseed oil, Heather. I'll do it tonight after I've sanded it down....."
Anyway, Arnie is free. Now, I've just got to break the news to Mr T gently....
It's the early hours of the morning, and I have had a large gin... Late-night alcohol is always a good recipe for writing gibberish. And...
Many years ago, I read Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks. It's a terrific, emotive book that now sits on school syllabuses alongside other p...
I've been practising my haikus, which you may recall, I'm not particularly good at. However, I wanted to address the woke issue in a...
There was a buffoon called Johnson Who thought he was Charles Bronson But he fucked-up Brexit So attempted to exit Dressed as a wo...