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Showing posts from November, 2013

A Thanksgiving Day Letter to Seth MacFarlane

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Mrs Turley The Towers London  England Seth MacFarlane The Studios Hollywood  USA
Dear Seth
You have broken my heart. You have ruined Thanksgiving Day for your fellow countrymen. You have put the world in mourning.
How could you kill off Brian in Family Guy? How could you? I loved Brian as if he were my own dog. The fact I don't have a dog is irrelevant, but if I had a dog he would be just like Brian. We would have frolicked on my bed blowing raspberries, watching porn  the Disney channel and laughing about Americanisms. What fun Brian and I would have had! But now we can't. Because Brian is dead. 
As you can tell, even though I'm English, I was very fond of Brian. As your typical English person, I am also very pro animal rights (except when it comes to foxes and badgers) so I am outraged by your cruel and needless act upon an affectionate and loveable dog. It is an act of violence which must be addressed.
Accordingly, I have emailed Her Majesty and suggested she incarcera…

An appeal on behalf of mothers to the makers of Doctor Who

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Dear Producers,

Are you out of your minds? Are you seriously going to have that old guy, Peter Capaldi, as the new Doctor Who? I've only just got used to the idea of Matt Smith as the Doctor and that's because he looks like a bloke in his thirties now and not like he's fresh out of nappies.

And particularly ugly nappies, if I might say so.

Look, I know most of the Doctors weren't exactly youngsters but that was before merchandising really took off. Have you any idea what it's like to wake in the night to a screaming child, run into their bedroom and find them pointing at a plastic figurine of Matt Smith bathed in moonlight? No? Well, let me tell you it's not great. But now you've gone and got Capaldi I expect the screaming to intensify. I shall probably have to hire a therapist soon.

I'd like to put forward the case for a handsome thirty/forty something Dr Who. Here's my arguments:

1. Just because Dr Who is quirky and plays with his screwdriver a lo…

I am the Anti-Writer

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When I first started my blog, I used to write the occasional post giving new dictionary definitions for common words. Back then my life revolved around domesticity and children so they were words like washing machine(a square shaped inanimate object used for the cleaning of clothes which holds no interest for men despite having a round door which opens and closes without foreplay).These days, although I don't write much about writing here, I do occasionally mix with writers online and I certainly read a lot about writing and the arts in general. This has lead me to put together a new set of dictionary definitions appropriate to the moment. Here we go:

Artist: someone who talks about himself a lot, is likely to be mentally unstable and draws pictures of himself as the Elephant man. Artists are usually harmless but are usually into self-harm.

Painter: someone who knows the difference between Magnolia, Cream and Apple-White and knows how to install a dado rail.

Motivational Speaker: som…

Trouble in the School Changing Rooms

Yes, there has been trouble in the school changing rooms this week. Young Master Jacob has twice had money stolen from a zipped pocket in his trousers, resulting in him not being able to buy his lunch.

Obviously, I am not pleased about this, especially as I have experienced first hand the trouble one can have with school bullies. (  I recounted one "fight" episode in my blog post Kenny & Dolly & The Adventurous Tales of Mrs T .)

So, naturally,  I was discussing strategies with Master Jacob prior to school this morning. As I was doing so, Master Benedict returned from the bathroom where his teeth had undergone the rare experienced of being cleaned.

"Why don't you just box him?" says Master Ben. (I should point out Master Jacob has a suspicion he knows who the culprit is.)

Now the same thought had crossed my mind as it is a tad silly to mess with Master Jacob who is 6ft 2in, plays several sports to a high level and recently has been learning how to box. H…

I am on Twitter!

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Yes, I've finally caved in and signed up with Twitter. Now that my manuscript is out the big wide world accruing rejections, I thought I'd better join up with Twitter in case some big hot-shot literary agent pops in and thinks I'm not taking this writing business seriously. So I decided it was time for Twitter- cos let's face it at my age offering sex for publication is not really a viable option. Apart from the fact that lots of literary agents appear to be women and I'm not a lesbian, I don't think white, size eighteen thermal knickers would go down too well on the casting couch. So it has to be Twitter.

So here I am: https://twitter.com/turleytalks



Now unfortunately, all the combinations of my blog title Witty Ways, Wayward Wife, Witty Wife etc etc as well as MY name were already taken. Pah!  So in the end I just had to settle for @turleytalks for my twitter handle.  I quite like it though and one thing's for sure I do actually do a lot of talking. I jus…

A quick poem about my driving skills

Nissans are blue Vauxhalls are green I’ve hit them both Which wasn’t forseen
Kias are trouble But Nissans are worse They sneak up on you When you try to reverse
I’ve hit so many cars The public are wary And my husband's so cross He looks rather scary
The police are on the lookout For a woman on their list Who looks like a loony And drives like she’s pissed.
I’m hiding in the bathroom Until the cops disappear It wouldn’t be too bad But the sewerage pipe’s sheared.
Where cars are concerned I haven't had much luck I'd probably be okay though If I had a big truck

An extract from White Lies, from my forthcoming short story collection.

William Baxter crosses the floor, his sharp steps echoing in the marble foyer. The security guard looks up and touches his cap and Baxter gives him a cursory nod of recognition. Baxter always acknowledges security even though most of them indulge the rumour that he murdered his mother. Baxter knows that when you have a reputation as a man who pulls off impossible deals and bankrupts other business malicious gossip is always rife. He’s learnt to live with rumours, sometimes they even make him laugh, but most of the time Baxter just shrugs them off as inconsequential gossip. As for the rumour he murdered his mother – it’s one he quite enjoys.             Baxter ignores the fanciful stares of two secretaries returning from lunch and hurries towards the exit, securing the buttons on his cashmere coat with one hand and stealing a glimpse at his Rolex on the other. Time is of the essence. He pushes the revolving doors with an impatient thrust, exposing his crisp white shirt cuffs and gold c…