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Dishing the Dirt

Arrrrrgggghhhh! I’ve been infiltrated! [You wish! You pervert! Ermintrude] No. Seriously! (I just hope she washed her hands afterwards. EdZilla) Don’t pretend you two don’t know! And the rest of you Power Mad Totty – PMT geddit? [No. Ermintrude] Anyway. My life is in ruins. (Like your balls will be if you don’t tell us what you are raving about. EdZ) Bah! As if you didn’t know. My bloody cleaner – Cruella de Pankhurst has taken over my life. [I did tell her to wear gloves. EdZ) Silence! She seemed such a nice girl too. Albeit a midget. Albeit a Communist Feminista from Latin America; or Leith at least. She’s trying to effect a coup de grace! [More a ‘Coo, what an arse!’ Ermintrude] Rubbish! (Like all the stuff she’s been throwing out, you mean? EdZ) She says I give slobs a bad name. [You give the Human Race a bad name. Ermintrude] When she came to quote for the work; I suggested one hour a week, for the first month, then one hour a month thereafter. She just looked at me like I was some new species of twat she’d just discovered, laughed in that really annoying way chicks have, then said three hours a week for the first year, then we’ll talk. (What an optimist. EdZ) Quiet! And now she makes my life a pure hell. I even have to clean up the place before she turns up! What’s the sense in that? And she stole my favourite shirt and washed it – I’d only worn it for about six weeks! And she threw out all my underwear; well, at least the ones who didn’t run away when they saw her coming for them. She says I’ve got to wear clean y-fronts in case I get knocked down by a truck. What in Christ’s name has that to do with anything? [Everything. Ermintrude] And, this is the really spooky bit, she guessed I was an only child! How weird is that? (Predictable. Tithead. EdZ)

Paint in the Neck

It gets worserer! [So does your English. Ermintrude] She has a sister – and no, I don’t mean another Power Mad Left Wing Feminist mate, but a real one; Boadacea von Panzer Division. Who decorates… So now the rooms are all to get a lick of paint or I get a kick of pain. And, this is the really good bit, apparently it’s all for my own good. Now where have I heard that before? Apart from the occasional marriage ceremony. Which means I’ll have to move the books and furniture and paintings all about the bloody house while Leonardo’s Big Sister goes potty with the paint. Humbug!  My life is no longer my own! [It never was, idiot. Ermintrude]  And what’s all this pish about my cooking? As my discerning and avid public will already know, I am, amongst other things, a cook of no little genius. (Shouldn’t that be ‘cock of very little penis’? EdZ) No! Anyway, I have of late, since the demise of Ratty, been entertaining from time to time as part of my charm offensive to overcome certain narrow and hidebound prejudices to my literary brilliance. (The truncheon stays out; alright? EdZ) [That is, if you wish to keep breathing. Ermintrude] Regardless, various parties of the third part have staggered into the kitchen when I have been midway through creating yet another gastronomic triumph, only to express both admiration and surprise at the culinary colossus – MOI. The admiration I’ve gotten used to over the years, but what’s with the shock that MOI can actually wield a pretty skilled skillet? [Because you’re such an out-and-out dipstick in every other walk of life. Ermintrude] Since the critics are all chicks, I can only put it down to ‘penis envy’.

Jungle Warfare

And there’s more to come! The gardener whose services I thought I had engaged to start in July has so far failed to materialise. It’s now the end of August. And being as where I live in Sunny Jockland it’s been peeing down every day, with odd bouts of sunshine in between. Apparently this is good for plants and trees and grass and stuff like that.  But not so good for neatness and tidiness in the garden. To date, both pergolas have disappeared under a sea of yellow flowery stuff [Clematis you tube! Ermintrude] The slabbed path has been taken over by green stuff (Moss you utter fathead! EdZ) And the stems of the trees that had been cut down are now sprouting long twiggy things. And both my cleaner and her bloody sister have been casting nasturtiums about my green fingeredness. [You haven’t got any. Ermintrude] (Except when he forgets to wash his hands for a month. EdZ) Beat it! So; anyway. Now it appears that Boadacea has a son who, if not a gardener, is still quite good at killing green things. So arriverderci alders, move over moss, bye-bye blossoms, ciao chestnuts, auf weidershen… ouch! That was bloody sore! [Any more crap alliteration and it’ll be ‘bye-bye balls’, and ‘goodbye goolies’! Ermintrude] (With weed killer, rusty garden twine, and a pair of very blunt garden shears. EdZ) Eeeek!

John J McCabe. Copyright.