Elephants on Parade

Last night I had D, D & K round, that was nice, I made coque au vin, and we watched Bambi, the elephant's on parade sequence in Dumbo, and then part one of 'no direction home'. I like Bob Dylan alot, more than his music, I like his persona, and mood. He was such a little bull shitter when he started out too.

What am I gonna do tonight? I think I'll just settle down with a glass of very dry rose, a roll up and some interesting or funny T.V - that's what.

The Glooms

Its ever so slightly depressing this part of the year - dark for hours and cold. I got lots to do with my boy, but right now he is fast asleep on the sofa, having been to nursery, then watched Dumbo twice in a row, followed by our art class together, and he drew two wicked pictures of his Uncle Ed. Very good I said, and pinned them up. I am watching some of Summer Heights High on Iplayer which is really entertaining, Lead Balloon is good too - I am not sure if the woman playing Rick's wife is meant to really, desperately hate her husband as she gets these looks of abject disgust and borderline hatred on her face whenever he speaks. Anyway, it's Wednesday and life is at one of those lulls, but that's OK because there are times when its better to have a bit of dullness, than all out madness...

Secret Santa Smashed in the guts by a disgruntled punter

I suppose since it's November, the month that has fuck all to do with Christmas in my little book of existence, let's talk good will. Having partaken a family debate last weekend about how we should go about this Secret Santa thing, and what the 'rules' are, I can see this year turning into a massacre with Santas being thrown left and right, red hats landing violently on the floor, one Santa gets bottled, the other pistol whipped with the nephew's new water gun. I personally think it should be Public Santa, so we can tell the person what we want (to avoid the stress of having gifted someone with an amazing Japanese gadget or something, only to receive from another, a framed photo of their dog - this horror, and avoidance of it, appeared to be generally felt, during the debate) - the fear of being horribly exposed for being a stingy mean-faced Santa must prevail, in order for it all to go well. You see when it all got a bit loud during the debate, I realised that this Secret Santa madness is exposing what Christmas really means to us - that we couldn't give a rat's shabby ass about baby Jesus, or the true meaning of Christmas, as much as getting the right thing in our sweaty little palms come Christmas morning. It's enough to make me grin all day.

I also have a proposal for the organisers of seasonal occassion - these obscure beings, made up of consumers, desperados, Capitalists, and the fun loving among us. It is this: leave November alone - no tinsel, no carrols, no horrid M&S ads set in country homes, where by the looks of things, happy frolicking will have descended into a full blown out of control orgy by midnight, and let this be the Horror month. It should be all about ghouls, ghosts, vampires, the walking dead and pissed off people getting it good. There should be an extended Halloween aura all the month, with horror movies stacked up on the cinema listings, and parties full of montrous decorations, and then with a little puff would come in December - and so Christmas comes in and sweeps away the mean dark and the cold world, just like it's supposed to.

No.

I cried my eyes out when I saw the picture of 'baby P', (he reminds me a little of my baby 'D', who is blessed in the sense he has me who will never hurt him) - I can't stand to think of what they did to him, I cannot read a word more on this case, because my tears just fall all over the words. I can't tell you the level of hatred and anger I have towards 'Baby P's' murderers, to all of those subhuman pieces of filth out there, but most of all is my love and sorrow for those little angels that die like this, in their homes, or because of their parents or whoever they are, who hurt them, and these babies had no one when they needed someone most, when they were so innocent and wide eyed and reaching out to touch and needing and wanting, like all babies do, cuddles, and simply to love the people who are supposed to love them because thats what babies are all about, and these little children they probably did always love those monsters, because that was all they knew, and babies do love their 'carers'. God please take care of these lost children whose magical smiles were never returned. May their souls never, ever know that torment or that pain and confusion again.

Saturday Mourning

I am merely mourning my temporary lack of funds. But I have a master plan that will soon abort this status. I won't say what that is. Not just because I have been slagged off enough by spiteful C**ts (well just the one) for being broke, and not working in a factory or for an agency, for I wont, I am a superstar, secretly so, so far, but because I firmly believe in the possibility that if you talk, or write about your plans, ideas and impending actions, there ends the the drive to see it through, because its just been spat out on ears that don't give a shit what you do. Well, my lad is happily playing with those little spiky bricks and making a bridge, and now saying, 'mum, come 'ere, please' in the most affectionate way. Go on kid, drop them H's all over the town like bombs on the posh mums that surround me near and far in this cosy corner of the town where we live. I am lucky being near the river, and lucky that when the chance provides I can roll out of bed into a shop that sells more than just newspapers and oysters. I said to that council, I said, 'Give me that one!!!!!!' and pointed at this here homestead. Well, I think my melancholic feeling has lifted - a bit of vodka spliced with some red vit c, and some good sleep, following a few laughs or rather sniggers, at Partridge re-runs, AND, Jack Dee and his some how adorable self on the channel four quiz - (I think I am falling in love with many comedians at the moment NOT the Partridge one though, thanks) I feel OK. 'Cetp - Baby lad is going to be picked up by his dad soon, and taken to his house where awaits his little brother, literally by another mother. So after that I can sleep, practice my jazz set, or get out there in the pre-season streets, and strut about abit until I get depressed and start craving my first drink of the evening. Oh Lord, who designed my troubled soul - what shall it be?


Come on dad of my son, get here then, take my gorgeous glowing little lumpet then : ( & : (
but also : ) & ; )

'cause I don't get no breaks. Well not regularly. x

But ofcourse, with this no-Eastenders-on the BBC are really spoiling us

It's Children in need night. I will make sure my boy gets all the kisses he needs, so that's one kid. Anyway he is still asleep, the little diamond. Lucky, little'un. Not like some poor kids out there.

Friday Friday should be my day

I have just rescued myself 3 for 5 vodka and cranberrys for my Friday night in. My good friend J___ is coming round so that we can smoke and talk and watch Eastenders. I am planning to put on the scary thing at nine o'clock as I know J____ doesnt much like horror, but she is quite sweet when scared or whatever. Anyway, my son aged 3 is fast asleep on the sofa, and has been ill lately, so I have to spirit the little man up to his bed without waking him from his baby dreams - who knows what these consist of - Bob the builder stealing his mummy and turning all the lights off? Pingu crying and not stopping? He did mention to me today that Pingu was sad, and indeed, the little plasticine bugger was crying great big plasticine tears. I feel crap, because my first crappy roll up of the day (it is 19:21) tasted like shit, and the dead man on the packet wasn't too encouraging - I honestly thought it was a fat woman on a sunbed at first, and I thought, 'how incredibly cryptic the government are these days'. But no, further inspection yielded for me a dead man, who while not at all looking like my big brother, reminded me of him and his 1000 a day habit, and in dispair with a low, softly thudding heart, I rolled my rollup and lit the thing taking a little slug of V&C. I really do think that I am getting a bit bored of this melancholy season, all those little crisp leaves everywhere. I think i just prefer good old cold and bone like trees, at least I know where I am. This is too melancholic for someone who gets melancholic even in the midst of July.