In today’s paper – those Government idiots, some of whom do not know who their fathers are, have decided that bonny nurses should lose weight. Something to do with setting an example for overweight pie grabbers who use the NHS and cost it a fortune.
Mother is incandescent. In addition to having no staff, no decent payrise and being treated only marginally better than something you would find on the bottom of your shoe, they now want to stop nurses enjoying a Hob Nob. How very dare they. This coming from a Government which has Eric Pickles in it.
Mother is going to eat herself stupid. No longer will she deprive herself of ice cream and chips. Up yours Jeremy Hunt.
There will be no health and safety ramifications. Remember, Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down……
Mother has had her letter bemoaning the glut of sport on TV published in the Radio Times. She thinks that this is the first step to her becoming the next J K Rowling. I feel that it’s probably been a slow week correspondence wise.
She has also had a reply following her complaint to the Blood and Transplant people regarding the absence of her badge. Apparently they value every single donation and are not making as much of a fuss of ‘landmark’ totals any more. She can expect a certificate. Something else to paper the walls of the upstairs lav with….
Also in the paper today, a hormone replacement cream that is a miracle cure for depression.
Mother’s ordered a bucketful………
Uncle Sergei (who by coincidence is the human version of a meerkat fixing the computermabob) says that in Russia people only say ‘Please’ and ‘Thank You’ when they really mean it. Such platitudes at every verse end are not for them apparently.
Mother says that he should go and live with Granny. You could diffuse a nuclear bomb and she wouldn’t thank you for it.
Make her a cup of tea and you’ve got no chance……..
Mother is renowned for her hatred of sport and has tuned out BBC1 for the duration of the Commonwealth Games purely because the buggers have failed to realise that there is more to life than the shot putt.
Granny likes a bit of sport. She has been known to flirt with the javelin now and again and, until now, has failed to understand Mother’s annoyance with wall-to-wall running, jumping and swimming. Not just the live stuff, but the highlights. And then the highlights of the highlights.
Tonight, Granny’s beloved lottery results programme has been put back to 2230. Those who know Granny will know that nothing good happens after half past ten because it’s her bedtime. She will have to check in the papers tomorrow. Impressed she is not……
When Granny wins the lottery, she can buy the BBC and show endless repeats of Murder She Wrote and Bargain Hunt. Sack Sue Barker, Claire Balding and Gary bloody Lineker. Be the heroine of sport hating couch potatoes everywhere……
Until then, hard luck ⚽️⚾️🎾🎱🏉🏀🏈🏊🚴
Mother has been to give blood today for the 75th time. Whilst not expecting dancing girls and a parade, she was at least expecting her badge. Guess what…….no badge. No anything except a card, a ‘thanks for coming’,a packet of custard creams and a drink of squash – three of which you get no matter how many units you’ve given. Oh, take that back – the custard creams are sometimes missing if nobody’s had a chance to go to Aldi.
Apparently, everything now comes in the post. Within 14 weeks. If you’re lucky…..
Mother has a message for Blood and Transplant. No badge, no more B+. She’s had enough of being altruistic…….
All I’ll say is that small things please small minds………
Mother has had the central heating engineer round today for the annual boiler service. She is now sitting in the living room sweltering because he had to put the heating on to test it – not really advisable on one of the hottest days of the year. She has also made cakes and had the oven on – I think she might melt…….
Anyway, we have been told that the ‘earth readings are high’ (actually at the top end of normal). Mother is unsure if this is a ‘ground control to Major Tom’ David Bowie type of thing or if it has anything to do with real soil and the pile of it at the bottom of our garden.
The gas meter is also in the wrong place (under the telly), which is a bit odd because that’s exactly where the British Gas engineer put it when we had a new one a few years ago.
Oh, and the boiler outlet pipe over the kitchen roof is still threatening blindness to any burglar who tries to break into the back bedroom.
So burglars beware. Granny will clout you with the heavy duty torch she keeps in the bedroom (in case of power cuts of course. Mother says she can’t have a baseball bat). In our house, you’ll just get scalded and your face will peel off……..
It just dawn me how lucky I am to have uncles like Alex and Sergei. They must have much monies, although not look like meerkat. I am change name to Oleg. Although I not like grubs, will eat and think of inheritance.
Hold on, Uncle Andy says they are skint. Thank God I don’t have to keep talking like this cus it ain’t simples…….