This is Saturday Morning - who's on line 1?

Let's be 'avin you........

I got a letter from the fuzz today, I thought, hey ho they had to catch up with me eventually, although I stand by the fact that as far as I knew those turnips were legit!

Anyroad, they were writing to update me on an investigation in which I had assisted with investigations. I had received a letter at work, well one of my senior managers had received it and I had opened it as part of my official handbag carrying duties, which was very racially offensive and purporting to be from the Police if you please.

Anyway they kindly wrote to tell me that a suspect had been identified and subsequently arrested. However the CPS had advised that there was insufficient evidence to proceed and 'therefore our investigation into the matter is now concluded.' So that's a shame that no one was banged up, less satisfying that way especially when you had been on their database as a witness.

But it was kind of them, keeping me informed and all that, and the villain, it was established, did not have any affiliation with knacker of the yard after all.

Oh yes, when did I contact them? November 1998!

Toodles

WHG III

He was like a black Danny La Rue

Picture the scene if you will, Brixton, 1981, there’s a riot. I remember the pictures on the telly; lots of youths throwing things at the police, lots of police hitting youths with sticks, lots of things burning. I vividly remember pictures outside of the ritzy cinema and the town hall opposite. Six years later when I left secondary school and moved to London, Brixton still seemed a strange and far a way place, as did most of London outside of the circle line. 20 years later, I have lived in Brixton and now class it as a familiar part of centralish London, rather than some far away suburb of myth and legend.

I wasn’t therefore in the riots, I have been in a riot mind, but the woman I met yesterday told me all sorts of tales of the kids she taught in Stockwell in the late 70’s and early 80’s. She told me about one instance when all the boys in her class were ignoring one of their cohort the day after one of the riots. When she asked them why she was told ‘because he’s greedy miss!’ apparently when the boys had gone a looting, a quaint local custom of VAT avoidance, they had only taken school uniforms, as that is what they knew their mums couldn’t afford. They were very clear that they only took one shirt each, but this one lad had taken 5. The moral affront of the boy beggars belief. I can just picture the scene, it must have been in Morleys, which is a sorry excuse for a department store on Brixton High Street, cars ablaze, police beating up the unemployed, bins hurled through windows etc etc etc, ‘just one shirt and one tie each lads then straight back to prep’. I think not, I bet they stopped off for some proper loot, sock garters, berets, tap shoes, that sort of thing.

The riot I was in was the poll tax riot of 1987 I believe or was it 1988. It was most surreal. I was meeting friends at a restaurant on Charing Cross Road called Le Renoir, no longer there, now a gay pub, (yes we wash everything by hand too). I got off the train at Charing Cross and to get on my way I had to squeeze through row after row of riot police. Walking up St Martin’s Lane, every shop window was smashed, cars were over turned and on fire, straight out of a tales of the unexpected, wiggly lady and all. So we arrived at the restaurant, and unfortunately re the riot we were about 10 – 15 minutes late. The stuffy nosed bitch, I mean the maitre de, said that due to our tardiness, she had given our table away! I faced her and said ‘my dear, there is a riot outside!’ and with that we all span on our heels and marched out. We finally found hospitality in the pizza hut on the other side of Cambridge circus. The dinner was most enjoyable and with the exception of the burning bins being thrown through the window, a pleasant and most memorable evening was had by all.

Further takes from yesterday include another story of one of her pupils. I shall leave it to her to tell this tale.

‘He was a very effeminate lad, big, loved singing - really scared people. He told me how he had been on the tube and it got stuck between Stockwell and Brixton.’

I asked ‘he didn’t decide to give them a tune did he?’

‘Yes, he loved doing Shirley Bassey you see. He said ‘miss I did them Goldfinger, all the actions’, they must have been petrified. He was just like a black Danny La Rue’

You couldn’t make this shit up, that’s the beauty of it all.

TTFN

WHG III

The Voices Made me do it!

Why do people talk to themselves?

I don't know why do people talk to themselves?

Well I do this blog and I haven't come to any harm yet - although I do mostly do it indoors where you are less likely to have an accident.

Well that's not strictly true, actually, as research has shown that most accidents happen in the home.

Really? Gosh!

Moving on, quickly, I don't have anything against people talking to themselves, I have been known to do it myself, although I do it a lot less now. Most of my solo conversations would take place with Dolly. Dolly was my maid and sidekick. A friend once admitted to having a similar assistant named Roger. In fact Dolly and Roger are living happily together in Deale, it's a bit of a drive but they do have a super shopping centre and the air is so much better.

I think having lived on my own for many years, and not always in the pleasant position I am now of having regular evening company, you do need to have a chat. Although my 'conversations' with Dolly were never really a conversation. They were more along the lines of me saying 'What do you think of that' or 'Did you see that' when something came on the telly which I felt required a Mary Whitehouse stylee response.

The very title of this little creative 'déviation' is both a reference to being charged with getting mum's bag, usually on her bed, so that she could open her purse to provide me with a green back, and my solo references a la Dolly to myself when talking to myself about myself. A sort of running commentary. 'Now mummy's just going to make a cup of tea' that sort of thing.

Am I sharing too much here? Can I park - are you bothered?

Now as I said I don't do it so much now as I have more regular social contact with other people and I can do my Miss Babs life observations on them rather than having to make them to Dolly. Also it is important to note that I only did this when on my own, in my own home, no prescription medicine was involved and I didn't have to see a lady at the Maudsley about it.

But some people do this in the real world. And I do find it quite annoying, (me annoyed whatever next!) The thing that people do which I find brain numbingly annoying is doing an out loud commentary of what they are doing.

Two examples, one from this morning and from from the past.

I am in the kitchen at work making myself and one of my team a tea. His was herbal but I digress. So there's this lady from another team, I don't know her name, as we have no need to interact on a professional basis and I'm too busy not talking to the people I know to have any room for chatting to unknowns. So she's got a tray it has about six cups on it. And it goes, Ladies an Gentlemen something like this.......

'So yes, that's right, Steve wanted milk, not too much, yes he prefers skimmed. Now I've got Jim's mug, he's having a coffee, 2 sweeteners. No Janine is just having a water today not tea, fine, right. June, OK, that's fine for her' and so it continued.

I once sat opposite someone who did this type of running commentary all day long for everything she was doing. I would often self harm in order to keep my mind on my work not the pointless chronicling of her every tedious move. In the end I just pretended that my computer was bust and moved to a desk on the other side of the office. To this day she thinks we got on very well, and that I enjoyed having her as a team mate. You'd think people would clock - but interestingly, they usually don't.

So there you go, but before I leave you there are a couple of very important things I need you to know. The important thing is, and this is the central saving grace in all of this.....

DOLLY HAS NEVER REPLIED OR ASKED ME A QUESTION OR TOLD ME TO DO SOMETHING NAUGHTY!

So there you go. In other news my new favourite website is http://www.passiveaggressivenotes.com


Look out for Christmas stylee fun coming your way soon, including the blue peter advent crown fact sheet and tip top nut loaf recipes.

All the best and toodles.

WHG III
xxx

Charlie - Your Mum's Handbag!

Yes I am a Big Bird

Well it's for the best

So Gordon didn't call an election after all, which is a shame as the election is always quite a good little earner for me, and I need that tumble dryer fixing.

Therefore I have taken it upon myself to fill the policy void this build up with no happy ending may have caused you.

I have been thinking about what changes I would make if I were to come to power. How would all of our lives be improved through the application of my wisdom, generosity, liberal steer, love and patience? Well there would be a few simple changes which would be to everybody's advantage.

My key platforms would be family planning, law and order and food and fashion.

One of my main manifesto pledges would be to outlaw the common practice of moving in one direction whilst looking in another. I was reminded of the need for severe reforms in this area just the other morning. On my approach to Catford of a morning I have to drive down a two way road which has cars parked on both sides resulting in there only being enough room for one line of traffic. The exit of this one line tunnel hits a junction with another road, which for some reason even though there is a big fuck off STOP sign at the junction, cars just drive out everyday without looking, then they see you approaching, then they realise that there is no where for them to go, then they break suddenly, then I swerve and everybody's happy and alive. This is the usual practice. It s a well honed dance. This morning though the woman who was driving at me into a space big enough for only one of us, was actually looking over her shoulder having an argument with the driver in the car behind her. This makes it tricky for everyone involved as you can well imagine, and clearly evidences the need for reform in this area.

Of the three RTAs I have been involved in over the years, all were as a result of the driver behind me chatting to a passenger or some acquaintance on the pavement whilst still moving forward. Unfortunately for me I was stationary at a traffic light on each occasion.

Pedestrians can also be guilty of this heinous crime and will not be spared in law. There will be no exceptions.

Family Planning

Other social improvements would include the introduction of a breeding agency. All requests to procreate would need to be signed off by me. Compulsory serialisation and contraception in the water would be introduced in many areas.

Law and Order

Law and order would be my main platform. For the more serious crimes (for e.g. looking in one direction whilst moving in another, as mentioned above) I would re introduce hanging.

I would introduce a new court called the shopping court. These courts would be overseen by my new minister of shopping and associated trades. People who work for Tesco and happily finish their chat with their friend before they start to serve me or even acknowledge I am stood in front of them will receive some of the strongest sentences in this court.

Other serious crimes will be going to slowly when I am in a rush. Generally dawdling and titting about will be outlawed. Old people will be given some exemptions as long as they get out of the way and don't stop to count their change in shop doorways.

Those found guilty of eating pasties in bus shelters will be stoned, until they are sorry. Unless that is they aren't morbidly obese in which case they will be told to 'get a plate!'

People who smoke whilst swearing at their children will be burnt at the stake a la Joan, and their children given a better start with good middle class childless couples. The morbidly obese will be banned from wearing leggings - this will be enshrined in law, and enforced using a big stick with a spike on it.

All young people will be required to get a belt, and pull up their fucking trousers. They'll all need proper haircuts, and to get on with something more useful than simply hanging about and getting in the way.

Public transport will become bookable, and the 185 from Catford to East Dulwich will be for season ticket holders only, no youths, no one in a hoody, no people with dogs, no push chairs, no shouting, and no old people getting on and making me feel guilty leading to me having to give them my seat.

Food and Fashion

Boots will be required to stock the entire vegetarian range of lunch goods including the falafel wrap and the vegetarian sushi - no exceptions.

All food shops will be required to stock organic skimmed milk whether they like it or not, and the best before date will always have to be at least a week away.

All high streets will have a Neal's yard dairy.

Compulsory beauty and fashion seminars for most of the population. These will be run from the new ministry of fashion and beauty which will be headed up by Justin and Adrian, Justin for the fashion and trend savvy and Adrian for the Joan collins/eartha kitt lifestyle enhancements.

There will be fewer nail bars and chicken shops - there's no need.

Other Issues

In the work place people will be required to be quiet and get on with their work. The majority of needless chat will be banned.

I'll probably put a penny on the price of a flip top bin and use the extra income to nationalise the lavatory industry resulting in a standard flush. Every high street would need to have as decent wool shop as well as a Marks and Spencers.

Further Manifesto Pledges

• People won't just be allowed to mill about aimlessly like it doesn't matter, they'll be expected to get on their way and get on with something.
• All dinners will be roast dinners apart from risotto or Greek salad and falafel which will be allowed. Those with health problems will be expected to convert to Judaism and get two sinks.
• All gays will be given the respect they deserve apart from the ones who still have those silly sticky up hair dos, wear stupid things too tight or too bright, have stupid small dogs or bad highlights - they will be stoned.
• Anyone using the term batty boy will be deported along with all their relatives - there won’t be any appeal rights or nonsense like that.
• Anyone stealing mobile phones will have their hands cut off - well it works for the Arabs.
• Kenneth Williams will still be on just a minute.
• There will no excuse for stupidity unless you have a certificate which states that you have a learning disability.
• All Scottish people will be expected to say 'that's great' at least once in a sentence.
• All Icelands will be turned into M&S simply foods
• The national drink will be Sancerre

Focus Groups

In preparing this manifesto I have also run a series of focus group. This highlighted for me a wealth of information about the social priorities of the British public today and of course my government will work as many of them as possible into our policy framework.

• Make women dress like women - gloves and hats sort of thing
• Introduce tax reforms to make shopping easier
• Etiquette lessons for youth with a stronger focus on diction across the whole of the National Curriculum.

Well there you go. You know it makes sense. Do let me know if you think I've left anything out.

Al the best from the best and Toodles.

WHG III xx

Ladies and Gentlemen - Miss Joan Collins

Yes I Created it Myself

Are you my type, am I yours?

I got done today, and no I'm not talking about being spade or charged 17 shillings for a turnip. No I was Myers Brigged! We all were at work. I thought it was about time we had some interesting training and CPD so I've had us all MBed. We're then going to spend a day looking at our types as an aid to improved team working and then learn some NLP. How modern are we? Well taxes have to be spent you see. You do know that the government takes more than they need just in case I need some extra stationery or a day off for being gay or white or something?

So I'm a ENFP. You may well ask. It stands for Extrovert, Intuitive, Feeling, Perceptive. Sort of sums me up don't you think. Now there are 16 types you can be, and there are no right types and wrong types, just different types. Well that's what they say, but now I know my type I obviously know the best type. Of my five staff 2 were the same, one is still to be done and my boss and my boss's boss are also ENFP. Policy officers in local government are so obviously a type. But then J is an ENFP and he is a Fashion designer - so maybe I need to go back to the drawing board on that one. I imagine Princess Margaret and Alma Cogan were the same too.

We are all a mix of all of them and this isn't about being one or the other, but it is about where your natural preference lies. So when you answer the test questions you go on instinct, and then during your interview you iron out any kinks.

So what does all this jargon mean. Well you are scored on 4 sets of alternatives:

Extraversion or Introversion

Sensing or iNtuition

Thinking or Feeling

Judging or Perceiving

Extraversion is about being attuned to the external environment, learning through doing and discussing, having breadth of interests and tending to speak and act first, reflecting later.

Introversion is about being drawn to contemplation in the inner world, prefering to 'think through' problems, learning best by reflection and mental practice, having a depth of interests and tending to reflect before acting or speaking.

Sensing is about having a focus on what is real and actual, valuing practical applications, being factual and concrete - noticing details, observing and remembering specifics, enjoying the present, wanting information to be accurate and precise and trustsing experience.

Intuition is about focusing on the 'big picture' possibilities, valuing imaginative insights, being abstract and theoretical, seeing patterns and meanings in facts, enjoying anticipating the future and stimulated by ambiguity.

Remember it is not about being on or the other it is about where your natural preference lies, we will all have bits of all.

Thinking is about being guided by objective logic, focusing on case and effect, looking for flaws in logic, applying consistent principles in dealing with people, at work emphasising involvement with tasks.

Feeling is about being guided by personal values and convictions (apparently most veggies are an F) focusing on harmony with own and other's values, looking for common ground and shared values, treating each person as a unique individual, at work emphasising on support and process.

Judging is about liking to get things decided, being scheduled and organised, enjoying decision making and planning, and disliking working under time pressure.

Perceiving is about liking to keep options open, being spontaneous and adaptable, enjoying the process, not making a decison before its time and being energised by last minute time pressures.

So are you a guardian or an inspirer - you decide - but do leave a comment if you know or work it out.

ISTJ - The Duty Fulfillers
ESTJ - The Guardians
ISFJ - The Nurturers
ESFJ - The Caregivers
ISTP - The Mechanics
ESTP - The Doers
ESFP - The Performers
ISFP - The Artists
ENTJ - The Executives
INTJ - The Scientists
ENTP - The Visionaries
INTP - The Thinkers
ENFJ - The Givers
INFJ - The Protectors
ENFP - The Inspirers
INFP - The Idealists

Don't worry if you are not the same as me, it doesn't mean that you aren't good, just that you aren't as good as me. Maybe I'll do Kinsey next.

In other news - Ronnie Hazelhurst has left us today - I never knew he'd written so many of the greats!

Al the best from the west and toodles.

WHG III xxxx

No one should get an automatic VIP pass to your life

I over heard a man on the train the other night describe his son as a mummy’s boy and go on to give this to his female travelling companion, no relation, as a reason why he wouldn’t be telephoning him. ‘But he’s your son!’ she cried. He probably thought the boy, or man‘s mother had made him one. I wonder if I were to give her the wool if she’d make me one.

Relatives are a mixed bag and come in all shapes and sizes. Be warned though many don’t wear their health warnings in public and can try and blend themselves into a crowd and palm themselves off as normal. Mothers in particular are very good at trying to 'blend in' with the normal folk. 30 years of x,y,z ‘oh no I didn’t notice a thing’ mad family member on rampage for 30 years causing all sorts of grief ‘oh he’s a lovely boy, never put a foot wrong’ sort of style. Watch them like a hawk that's my advice!

I don’t think it should be compulsory to have positive regard for one’s blood relatives or even require them to be in your life. But I do think that if you have gone to the bother of getting yourself up the duff, or getting your breeding partner up the duff, as in the above railway example, you should probably give the resulting sporn some due regard.

In these days of non nuclear families it is important that we re-evaluate what ‘family’ means and who can be categorised as being a member.

I certainly do not think that just because someone is your blood relative they automatically hold the exalted position of being a family member. I think we choose our family from those around us, some may be blood relatives, but not all family members will be blood relatives and certainly not all blood relatives will be family members.

Our family are those people whose lives we have taken to equal or exceed the value of ours. The people who if they said ' the bomb's going off in 4 minutes you can choose x people to save' we'd list them, and the people who we would detail in our living will regarding power of attorney.

Civil partnership has helped those of the gay persuasion (I'm not one) to get around the next of Kin discrimination to some extent - should we choose to marry or have already undertaken the ceremony. Otherwise we still have the difficulty of nominating who are the key people in our lives.

I know who my next of kin are, but not all of them would be recognised in law. At work I can nominate who my in service death benefit goes to. I hope with the new rules developing on power of attorney and other related legislation I will soon be able to legally tell the world who my relatives, family, kin and heirs are.

Blood relatives should certainly be expected to uphold levels of behaviour we would expect of ourselves and those close to us before the are allowed to be called family. Just because they are related by blood doesn't give them the right to show you up in public or fuck bridesmaids in broom cupboards. All stories are available for the usual fee.

But it is good to ask 'who are my family?'

Think about it! I know who mine are and I would happily lay myself down for them.

I think I might write about the Lambrini generation's breeding habits next time - but we'll see.

In other news, J and I continue to get excited about Christmas, so watch this space for more pre advent excitement - we may even make the Blue Peter advent coat hanger together.

Not sure about this rape in the Archies, the intrigue is killing me. It happened before I became a Sunday worshipper you see so I don't remember all the ins and outs.

A couple of people have said they can hear me in my writings so I am taking that as compliment.

Had lots of lovely British cheese on Saturday night, thanks to Robbyn, in celebration of the British cheese Festival. Just try it -go to Neal's Yard dairy and say 'tempt me the British way' and you will so be surprised.

If you haven't yet seen the film Venus please do.

All the best from the west and toodles.

WGH III xxxx

Seventy-two Virgins

by Steve Martin

New Yorker January 29, 2007

Virgin No. 1: Yuck.

Virgin No. 2: Ick.

Virgin No. 3: Ew.

Virgin No. 4: Ow.

Virgin No. 5: Do you like cats? I have fourteen!

Virgin No. 6: I’m Becky. I’ll be legal in two years.

Virgin No. 7: Here, I’ll just pull down your zipper. Oh, sorry!

Virgin No. 8: Can we cuddle first?

Virgin No. 9: It was a garlic-and-onion pizza. Why?

Virgin No. 10: … so I see Heath, and he goes, “Like, what are you doing here?,” and I go, “I’m hangin’ out,” so he goes, “Like, what?” …

Virgin No. 11: First you’re going to have to show me an up-to-date health certificate.

Virgin No. 12: Hurry! My parents are due home!

Virgin No. 13: Do you want the regular or the special?

Virgin No. 14: I’m eighty-four. So what?

Virgin No. 15: Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!

Virgin No. 16: Even I know that’s tiny.

Virgin No. 17: “Do it”? Meaning what?

Virgin No. 18: I’m saving myself for Jesus.

Virgin No. 19: Somewhere on my body I have hidden a buffalo nickel.

Virgin No. 20: Don’t touch my hair!

Virgin No. 21: I hope you’re not going to sleep with me and then go sleep with seventy-one others.

Virgin No. 22: Do you mind if we listen to Mannheim Steamroller?

Virgin No. 23: Are you O.K. with the dog on the bed?

Virgin No. 24: Would you mind saying, “Could I see you in my office, Miss Witherspoon?”?

Virgin No. 25: Ride me! Ride me, Lucky Buck!

Virgin No. 26: You like your vanilla hot?

Virgin No. 27: Does Ookums like Snookums?

Virgin No. 28: It’s so romantic here, dead.

Virgin No. 29: Well, I’m a virgin, but my hand isn’t.

Virgin No. 30: You are in?

Virgin No. 31: Hi, cowboy. I just rode down from Brokeback Mountain.

Virgin No. 32: I’m a virgin because I’m so ugly.

Virgin No. 33: You like-ee?

Virgin No. 34: I’ll betcha you can’t get an erection. Go on, impress me. C’mon, show me. Show me, big shot.

Virgin No. 35: By the way, here in Heaven “virgin” has a slightly different meaning. It means “chatty.”

Virgin No. 36: Sure, I like you, but as a friend.

Virgin No. 37: No kissing. I save that for my boyfriend.

Virgin No. 38: I’m Zania, from the planet Xeron. My vagina is on my foot.

Virgin No. 39: It’s a lesion, and, no, I don’t know what kind.

Virgin No. 40: I’m Jewish. Why do you ask?

Virgin No. 41: Hi, I’m Becky. Oh, whoops—you again.

Virgin No. 42: I just love camping! Camping is so great! Can we go camping sometime?

Virgin No. 43: In the spirit of full disclosure, I’m a single mom.

Virgin No. 44: You like my breasts? They were my graduation gift.

Virgin No. 45: When you’re done, you should really check out how cool this ceiling is.

Virgin No. 46: I’m almost there. Just another couple of hours.

Virgin No. 47: Get your own beer, you nitwit.

Virgin No. 48: No, you’ve got it wrong. We’re in the Paradise Casino.

Virgin No. 49: I really enjoyed that. Thank you very much. Gee, it’s late.

Virgin No. 50: You make me feel like a real woman. And after this is over I’m going to find one.

Virgin No. 51: What do you mean, “move a little”?

Virgin No. 52: Not now, I’m on my BlackBerry.

Virgin No. 53: I love it when you put on your pants and leave.

Virgin No. 54: We’ve been together twenty-four hours now, and, you know, sometimes it’s O.K. to say something mildly humorous.

Virgin No. 55: That was terrible. I should have listened to the other virgins.

Virgin No. 56: I think I found it. Is that it? Oh. Is this it? Oh, this must be it. No?

Virgin No. 57: It must be hot in here, because I know it’s not me.

Virgin No. 58: Those are my testicles.

Virgin No. 59: Did you know that “virgin” is an anagram of Irving?

Virgin No. 60: First “Spamalot,” then sex.

Virgin No. 61: Great! I was hoping for circumcised.

Virgin No. 62: Was that it?

Virgin No. 63: Dang. George Clooney was being reckless on a motorcycle, but instead I got you.

Virgin No. 64: Tonight, I become a woman. But until then you can call me Bob.

Virgin No. 65: They’re called “adult diapers.” Why?

Virgin No. 66: We could do it here for free, or on a stage in Düsseldorf for money.

Virgin No. 67: I’m just Virgin No. 67 to you, right?

Virgin No. 68: Pee-yoo. Are you wearing Aramis?

Virgin No. 69: Condom, please.

Virgin No. 70: My name is Mother Teresa.

Virgin No. 71: I’m not very good at this, but let’s start with the Reverse Lotus Blossom.

Virgin No. 72: It was paradise, until you showed up.

Once again in Bacton

What do Holt, Bath and Brighton all have in common? Yes that’s right they all have a Hampstead Bazaar - well they don’t but they should have. When we were in Brighton last week, terre a terre, blue cheese soufflé and cherries in vodka with chocolate sauce etc etc, we saw in the window of Hampstead bazaar a wonderful quote and autograph from Dame Judi.

‘When I’m in a panic and a hurry to go out, I can’t go wrong if I wear a dress from Bazaar.’

Some ladies require lots of linen slacks, pashminas and throws, just the sort of thing you see.

‘Timeless - ageless, unpretentious and very comfortable’ Rula Lenska

Brighton wasn’t all free Sancerre and Jacuzzis though. I was also introduced to the all-in-one shrug; the lady gave a full stewardess stylee demonstration of its fashionable versatility, and introduced us to Mustachio "Fur" Yarn. I’m hoping there’ll be bringing it out in a bat wing next season.

What else did I do on my holidays? Well yes then there was Leamington of course which was all good. Expensive wine drank with the doctor and Big E asking me over and over again 'what was the name of that girl we thought Joe was going to marry? In fact I think the first thing she said to me on arrival was 'You're not married yet are you'. Not sure whether it was a question or a statement. She will usually say 'You're not really keen on girls are you', to which I will say no, and then ask her about skirt lengths just after the war to get her off the subject. My mother tells me that she has been fully informed as to the way god made me on a number of occasions. But let me tell you when I'm 98 I'll be a lot more ga ga than simply asking what colour an aubergine is repeatedly. 'Did you know the London's been turned into flats?'.

'Do I like Cauliflower cheese? Yes
'Am I having it?' No

So to Bacton with the assistant, and one of the most relaxing times I have ever had. So there we were, having a lovely walk on the beach, communing with the big mother M herself, introducing Justin to the glories of the Norfolk Coast when all of a sudden our ear drums start bleeding. Feral children screaming their Cyclops style warnings to sailors running onto the beach afore us. You’d have though that her little brother was drowning, but it was only a bucket and spade a drift in a puddle (blood curdling scream no. 1). And we think she was indicating to her mother that she was in need of another pasty – a la seagull chick (blood curdling scream no. 2) . I think at age 9 and the size of a small family car a rocket salad would have been more appropriate. I’m just concerned that when she grows up I don’t think anything is Hampstead Bazaar is going to fit her at this rate.

I suppose fashion will have moved on by then anyway, as you know I’ve got everything crossed for the imminent return of the bat wing in Mustacio. I can’t promise anything though so don’t get too excited or throw out your duffle just yet. Talking of duffles do you like my new coat?

If you get the chance please go and enjoy Blickling Hall as we did, on a fine sunny September day, it is a place of joy.

All this being on holiday has led me to screaming lip them! lip them! and falling onto the floor doing bicycle stylee leg kicking in euphoric mania. Seriously how I ever found time to go to work I'll never know. About halfway through last week I reached the leave nirvana or optimal holiday relaxation plateau. It is a state you can only reach when you have three weeks off, as it can only happen in week two if there is a week three. I just suddenly realised I felt moderately sedated and in a state of extreme contentment. Fan bloody tastic.

So what else have I got for you? Well most importantly in the scheme of things I have been growing a beard. You need a good stint away from work to undertake such a project as there are long periods of trampness, but all in all I think it is coming together finally. Z approved, and contstantly stroked it, and the J is a big fan, so I think it is here to stay.

Well I think that's enough, I don't want you all getting over excited or putting your backs out or any such thing. Apart from we have been practicing for Christmas by having bread sauce with our supper and watching movies with snow in them. Do try it, and wear a nice scarf whilst you're at it. You know you want to.

All the best from the west and Toodles.

WHG III xx