Thoughts of Chairman Meow

Archive for February, 2017

Disenfranchised 

As some of you may know, today we have a by-election in the home of the ceramic bog,  otherwise known as Stoke Central. And Mother says she isn’t voting. 

Why not, I hear you call?  Is it because when faced with the choice of a twelve year old, a downright fibber, a chap named after an inanimate object or a very, very, very right wing pensioner she just can’t make her mind up?  No. It’s because the local council has intimated that she doesn’t exist and has not sent her a voting card. This would be the same council who gleefully collect their council tax every month from, what we now know, is an invisible woman. 

Now before everybody shouts ‘just turn up you don’t need the card’, Mother knows this but is feeling very hard done to and is protesting. Was going to say ‘voting with her feet ‘ but if she was doing that she’d be on the way to the Polling Station as we speak. Or perhaps not, as without the bloody voting card she doesn’t know where she’s got to turn up…..

Still. It’s four hours til polling closes. Plenty of time for the Chairman and Founder Member of the If You Don’t Send Me A Voting Card Then I Can’t Be Arsed Party to change her mind…….

Bucket list

My niece by association (well she certainly ain’t a blood relation) works for the Royal Northern College of Music. A couple of weeks ago she met Dame Patricia Routledge, the Bouquet woman with the Royal Doolton dinner service complete with periwinkles. 

To say she is chuffed is a understatement. Patricia (unlike Ben Kingsley she doesn’t insist on the compulsory use of the honorific title) is a lovely lady and a very talented actor. She is also guaranteed to raise a smile from Granny with her aspirations of grandeur as ‘that Bucket Woman’. 

We have a Royal Doolton service. Don’t know why. Round ‘ere, dinner is summat you have at lunchtime and you don’t usually put your sandwiches on a posh plate. You might even use a ‘hospital plate’ which is nurse speak for a bit of kitchen roll. 

Saves on washing up.

We do draw the line at the milk bottle on the table though…..

Busted

Mother is watching the Baftas. She has it on delay, just so she can fast forward the boring bits where people thank their mother, father, drama teacher, milkman, probation officer, psychiatrist, Great Uncle Bulgaria, Auntie Mabel and their cat. 

She has noticed that there must be a fabric shortage. Why else would Nicole Kidman have her nipples precariously covered by a few centimetres of fabric. One can only assume that it has been secured to the skin with tape, blu tack or chewing gum. 

About 30 minutes in, there was another poor soul in half a dress balancing her bazookas behind a sliver of drapery. You’d think with all the money they earn, they could get the garment finished. 

Now 60 minutes in, Nicole has put on a cardi. Thank goodness. Escape of the Titties has been averted…….

Sharing is everything

In the Co op today,  Mother found a giant size box of Cadbury’s Fingers (or Fingres if you follow Peter Kay) which says it’s ‘perfect for sharing’. 

No it bloody isn’t. It’s perfect for shoving down your cake hole in one sitting, especially if you’re pre-menstrual, post menstrual, menopausal, stressed, anxious, overworked, underpaid, tired, hyperactive or if you merely believe, as does Mother, that brown food has no calories in it…..

And don’t get me started on the family bag of Walker’s Cheese and Onion…..

Badge of Honour

So, some idiot has decided that healthcare professionals should wear a badge announcing that they’re fat. The idea behind this is to get those of us who are too friendly with a Kit Kat to desist by being shamed every time our hands gravitate towards the red wrapper and shiny covering. Activity which makes us a bit like Gollum, except his shiny was arguably more destructive to Middle Earth than a biscuit. 

Mother thinks that this plan should be extended to cover other things. ‘I’m a bit of a lush’ would cover those who like a drink of an evening. ‘I’ve gambled away the kids inheritance’ speaks for itself.

As does ‘does anybody else think that Jeremy Hunt is a knobhead?’…..

Throne room

Congratulations to Queen Elizabeth II who has been ruling over this country for 65 years…..

I must admit to be being a bit confused when they announced on the news that she had been on the throne for so long.

So, here’s me thinking that the ring on her buttocks would be a bugger to shift after all that time, until Mother pointed out that Queenie wasn’t necessarily stuck on the lav…..

Duh………

Vegetating

Apparently there is a vegetable shortage caused by a weather crisis in the Mediterranean. Mother isn’t too bothered about this as she never really met a brassica that she actually liked…….  Unless it was covered in cheese sauce which rather defeats the healthy objective. 

Mother remembers way back in the 70s when there was a sugar shortage. Granny, whose definition of well stocked means at least six bags of Tate and Lyle, was virtually apoplectic at the instructions from Fine Fare that she could only have one bag and used to send a young Mother off to another till to obtain further rations. Ah……things haven’t changed all that much if the collection of Mr Kipling’s in Granny’s pantry is anything to go by. 

Mother says that in order to buy vegetables now, one should produce proof that one is a vegetarian. 

The rest of us will get by on Kit Kats………

Election Fever

As some of you may know, our local MP, Tristram Hunt, is swanning off to take a job with the Victoria and Albert Museum. Mother says it is a case of falling before he was pushed, as in 2020 our constituency will no longer exist due to Parliamentary reforms. Plus, she says she won’t really miss him, as she has had cause to write to him on several occasions and received the same reply each time, leading her to believe that he is, in fact, a ventriloquist’s dummy controlled by Jeremy Corbin. 

So we now have an election looming and, as always, people are queuing up to take part in the democratic process.  We have a candidate called ‘Flying Brick’ who is representing the Monster Raving Loony Party. We have Paul Nuttall, representing UKIP who says that he lives around here but the address he has given is  apparently a house with no furniture and one assumes he is sleeping on the floor (thanks Channel 4 News for this revelation!). And we have Barbara Fielding, from the Abolish Magna Carta, Reinstate Monarchy Party, whose manifesto makes them appear to have views which are slightly to the right of the Nazis.  

Some of the points on her manifesto include banning maternity, paternity and sick leave, abolishing the NHS, nationalising the Coal Industry (have we still got one?), railways and utility companies, abolishing human rights, reviewing the heritage of all members of the British Government and charging Winston Churchill with Treason for causing the deaths of many school children when he gave the OK to the bombing of Dresden. Quite how he would be guilty of treason when he was acting on behalf of King and Country during a time of war God knows. I suppose if she gets in she will dig him up and plonk his head on a spike at Traitor’s Gate.

Look what happened to Oliver Cromwell………

* in the interests of fair play, there are seven other Stoke Central candidates and if you can be arsed you can look them up on Google.  Thank you.

** Mother would like to announce that she has no affiliation with any political party. This is largely because she can’t be arsed

*** I would like to announce that I also have no affiliation with any political party, but if they came to the door with a packet of Dreamies, I might be persuaded……

Job lot

Mother has started her new job and has been missing for the first two days of this week. Cue chaos……

On day 1, my Uncle Goober left me locked in the kitchen, with a closed cat flap. So I tried to escape via the window, which was obviously closed, and all I managed to do was to jump through the Venetian blind, before bashing my bonce on the double glazing. Her indoors was alerted to my crime by the crinkling of the plastic slats of the blind, caused when I was forced to extricate my head from it……..

Day 2. In an attempt to prevent a repeat of the blind incident, Mother left the cat flap and the bathroom door open, but closed the living room door. She’s a coward. She thinks I’d bring another dead bird in (can’t promise I wouldn’t). She also left my snack feeder toy in the bathroom full of my favourite Dreamies. 

Cue a room covered in muddy paw prints and a bath panel hanging off caused by my overwhelming desire to chase the Dreamie feeder under the big white water receptacle 

Well. The Dreamie effort is shaped like a mouse. Whaddya expect?…….

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