My Dad

My Dad would have been 61 today.  

Do I miss him?  Erm...  Would you miss your lips if they got sliced off?  Would you miss your thumbs if they got chopped off?  Would you miss your ability to breathe air if oxygen was sucked away from you?  Durr...  What a stupid question that is!

My Dad was my hero and my nemesis all at the same time.  

Hero because:

• he was in the Navy and kept us safe from the baddies
• he made me laugh constantly
• he took the piss out of my mum ALL the time and lived to tell the tale
• he called my mum 'old trout' and didn't get slapped
• he called my Gran 'Faggot' (pile of old sticks)
• he could make anything out of anything
• he spliced a piece of rope and made me a woggle for my Girl Guides neckerchief
• he would pretend to be 'mental' in the shops to annoy my mum (un-PC but funny)
• he was the funniest drunk man on the planet (my mum would disagree)
• he always made sure me and/or Cath won ALL the fancy dress competitions
• he built a swing on the garden gate
• he stayed up all night to build our Sindy House (from Santa)
• he dressed up as Santa for the Brownies and even fooled my wee sister
• he built a 'sun trap' in our garden in Rosyth, complete with TV!
• he turned our loft into a cool place to hang out
• he almost killed the man who groped me in Littlewoods (a shop) when I was only 9
• he learned to walk again after having cancer, skin grafts and a spinal fusion in his 20's
• he had wheelchair races in the Navy hospital and got secretly drunk with the other patients
  
• he went back to fighting in wars after having recovered from cancer the first time
• he took us all to Disneyworld, like he promised, when he left the Navy
• he was still the most hilarious man on the planet even when he was dying of cancer
• he would have battered my ex-husband, his dad and any other member of his family I needed him to without question, hesitation or remorse...

in fact...

• he would not have let me marry Jonathan in the first place cos he'd have totally seen through him and not kept quiet about it!

Nemesis because:

• I was his little girl
• he wanted to keep me all wrapped up, warm and safe and I had other ideas!

EXHIBIT 1

My Dad was the champion of most things, but especially fancy dress competitions.  I don't think me or my sister ever came home from a competition without winning.  Was I always happy about this?  No.  Sometimes I felt like a complete knobhead (exhibit 1).  

EXHIBIT 2

Sometimes the costume was so cumbersome I couldn't move, dance, sit down, eat at the buffet, play 'pass the parcel' or go to the toilet (exhibit 2).  To be honest, these days, someone would probably phone Social Services!  Between us, my sister and I have probably been dressed up as everything under the sun but our funniest has to be the family portrait (exhibit 3) where we dressed up as ourselves.  

EXHIBIT 3

I've given up explaining to my friends that:

a) we are not boys 

b) we are not lesbians 

c) we chose those outfits ourselves

d) we asked for those haircuts

e) my Dad is not Joseph Fritzl

f)  my Mum is no relation to Rose West OR Myra Hindley

We used to go on holiday to Scarborough (when we were wee) and every Friday was 'fancy dress night' at the guest house we used to stay at (where we shared a bathroom with a mental family from Nottingham).  Our first year, we didn't know about this competition much to my Dad's annoyance.  We threw something together and, as a family, went as a casino.  Me and Cath were the dice (boxes from Wm. Lows, now Tesco) my mum was the glamorous(!) croupiere and my Dad was the roulette wheel.  

Each year thereafter we went on holiday prepared for the fancy dress extravaganza (exhibit 1).  I think our most triumphant year had to be the year my Dad decided we should all be a pelican crossing.  Me and Cath were the red/green men belicia beacons, my mum was the Green Cross Code Woman and my Dad?  Yep, you guessed it, he was the pelican, complete with fish hanging out of his gob - I'll post a picture when I can find one! 

EDIT 26/04/14: HUZZAH - Mama Raw found the pic so here you go:

My Dad was also a nippy pain in my arse once I hit 15/16.  He would lecture me about the most ridiculous things, for example, I had the gall to consistently leave the lid off the toothpaste and squeeze the tube from the middle.  Heinous, I know!  Instead of a quick clip round the ear and reminder not to do it cos the top gets crusty and minging, what I got was "you do realise we could all die from poisoning, and then where will you be?".  His thought process was:

• lid off
• toilet is flushed
• bits of shit get stuck to top of tube
• we put shit in our mouths
• we die

Of course, it was much more convoluted than that, I'm paraphrasing.  In total, the lecture lasted 4 hours and I'm sure included some sort of presentation on an OHP written on acetate sheets with china-graph pens (Powerpoint didn't exist back then)!  To be fair, he did usually have some sort of point!  It usually ended with me being threatened with the 'children's home' at the end of the road (which I must point out is actually a B&B for sailors families - I just didn't know that at the time and there were always kids hanging out there!)

Did I always like my Dad?  No.  There were times I wanted to punch his face in.  At one point, I thought he hated me so much I even asked my mum if he was my real dad.  This still cuts me to the quick when I think about it.  Of course he was my real Dad.  We are almost identical (except I don't have a beard, yet).  Why did I ask this question which I now know probably tore my mum apart?  I was 16!  My Dad annoyed the shit out of me.  My Dad wouldn't let me stay out late.  If I WAS a bit late my Dad would come looking for me in the car.  My Dad didn't want boys staying over.  My Dad didn't want me turning into a woman.  My Dad was doing his job.

My Dad got cancer again when I was sitting my Higher prelims.  I was 17.  My wee sister was 14.  It was the same cancer that came back to get him from 17 years ago. Why should one man have to go through that again?  This man fought for his country yet here he is again, fighting for his life.  My Dad had chemotherapy and major surgery to remove the cancerous areas.  He looked like he'd been bitten by a shark, in fact that's what he told people who asked as he felt it was more interesting.  The chemo and surgery didn't work.  It was now all about pain relief and quality of life.  

QUALITY OF LIFE?  Fuck off!  My Dad was in a wheelchair.  Me and my mum went to the hospital to learn how to administer his morphine and lift him in and out of his chair.  We learned how to clean him when he went to the toilet (in a commode).  When most of the people I went to school with were gatecrashing over 18 parties, I was at home helping my mum change a cathater bag.  Oh yeah, quality.  

But it was.  That time we had was precious.  We still laughed, we joked and we still took the piss.  Letting the cancer take your morale and sense of humour as well as your health was totally unacceptable to Mr Raw!  

My Dad put me in charge of wheelchair pushing and I was the only one allowed to negotiate him around the streets.  We had a home made horn (my gob) to get people to move out of our way and if Dad annoyed me, he would either find his wheels stuck in a grate in the street or he'd be left in the 'granny pants' section of a shit shop.

Was it all doom and gloom?  No, actually it wasn't, we are just not that type of family.  We had our sad moments but then we would give ourselves a hefty boot up the arse and get on with it.  We even charged people 10p to have a shot on our stairlift!

I spent my 18th birthday with my Dad putting holes in the hospital roof with champagne corks.  I spent my 19th birthday saying goodbye to my Dad.

• 29th May 1974: Helen Raw born at 9.25pm
• 29th May 1993: Alan Raw pronounced dead at 9.25am

My Dad was my mums rock, my Dad was my wee sisters shadow, my Dad was my best pal and my worst nightmare.  I only wish he had lived long enough to see my sister turn 16 so I could laugh knowingly as he became her worst nightmare.

***

Dad, 

We got on like a house on fire.  We had exactly the same sense of humour.  We had fights like nothing else on earth and mum had to referee.  You dressed me up like a tit for the sake of a shitty prize.

Oh what I would give to look like a tit with you one last time.  

Love you always and forever,

Tuppence xx

A titish pic, just for my Dad

Living With A Religious Nut/Mentalist/Cry Baby

Why this blog now?  Purely and simply because I came across an article in The Daily Mash and although they usually write shite, albeit very funny shite, this one is more true than you will ever know.

"Apparently, most religious people would believe you if you told them that this chicken was God!

For any religious people who may be reading this, a chicken is a domesticated bird, roughly the size of a football while an egg is the small, beige oval thing that comes out of it and then goes into your tummy - probably in the form of mayonnaise." (Daily Mash Sep 29th 2010).

The full article for The Daily Mash is here.

So, why does religion bother me?  Well, it doesn't.  I just don't care for it.

I have many friends and family members who are Christians, Muslims, Jews, Baptists, Catholics etc and as long as they don't ram their beliefs down my throat (which none of them do), then it's all hunky dory. As long as I remember not to offer my Jewish pal a pork chop and my Muslim pal a pint of beer, it's all good.

Why did I marry a religious nut I hear you ask?  Well, I didn't know he was still a nut!  He was in a heavy duty Christian cult before I met him.  When I met him, he still quite liked Jesus but wasn't a mentalist about it.  However...that changed when the guilt of his shitty behaviour started to take over.  Suddenly Jesus was everything and he would write letters to his 'father'* in the hope that his prayers were answered and he would magically start behaving like a proper human being.

I tried the explain that writing letters to God was as useful as writing letters to Santa.  He would quote bits of the Bible to me.  Which of course I would question "how did Jesus feed all those people with a pan loaf and a few fish when I struggle to eek out a massive lasagne for an extra person".  No answers ever came.

We went to church together. Twice.  Never again.  Its one thing to sing along with the band.  It's another to see your husband with his eyes closed waving his hands in the air like a knob.  It's one thing to sit and listen to the bloke at the front tell you that you are effectively evil for shagging before you get married.  It's another to see a woman jumping around waving a flag and ribbon during his sermon (rant) because she felt the need to praise the lord - WITH FUCKING RHYTHM GYMNASTICS??

I sat with my head down trying to stifle my giggles for most of the 2 and a half hours - yes, 2 and half hours!

Is there really any need?

Church for me is like going to a club to fawn over an invisible friend who you hope exists but does nothing to help you out when the chips are down (mmmm, chips).  To me, it's all about REAL people and REAL friends.  Ones you can actually see, touch and hear.  Ones that will tell you it's going to be ok and you can believe them.  Ones who tell you to stop being a twat. Ones who tell you are amazing and fabulous.  Ones who tell you to shut up and just get on with it.  Ones who will set you up with a blind date for their own amusement.  Ones who could easliy blackmail you with the stories and/or photos they have of you.  Ones who make you drink Jaegerbombs so they are not the only ones who will feel shit the next day.  Ones you can phone at any hour of the night and know they are there.

I don't have anything against religion or the people who follow it.  What I do object to is being told I am a lesser person because I don't believe in the same thing.  I'm a lesser person because I'm not into Jesus?  Fuck off!

Many of my husbands friends distanced themselves from us on learning I wasn't a Christian.  How Christian is that?!?! My friends however, realised that although there was something a bit odd about my chosen one, they let him in to the group.  Why?  BECAUSE THEY ARE MY FRIENDS AND THAT'S WHAT FRIENDS DO.  Did they call him Psycho Johnny (not Mental Johnny, thanks for the correction Anita)?  Yes of course they did, but they didn't freeze him out!

So, in conclusion, all the friends I have that are into religion are my friends because I like them.  It has nothing to do with their beliefs.  I have many friends who hate Margaret Thatcher but they are still my friends!  

I believe things happen for a reason.  I believe life is what you make it.  I believe that there is something out there - I don't know what it is or if it will always be there.  I believe in ghosts.  I believe that as long as you are decent to the people you come across in your life, you are doing ok.  I believe that it is ok to think some people are knobheads and not want to spend time with them.  I believe that it is ok to swear and shout and generally behave like a twat when you need to.  I also believe that if you say you are sorry to someone, you MUST mean it.  By meaning it, you don't do it again, otherwise you are not really sorry.

Here endeth the lesson.

PS I definitely think Mary and Joseph had a shag!

*not his own father, Jesus's father!

Oranges and Swimming With Your Clothes On

Holy crap.  Have woken up this morning feeling like shite.  This always happens after a workshop and I have no idea why.  I'm knackered and physically drained.  I'm wheezing like an old man and look like I've been smacked around with an ugly stick.

I also dreamed another ridiculous pile of shite:

I was chatting to an architect about him installing SKY TV for me (?) when he offered me a job at his firm.  I was due to start work the next day but wanted to start my gym routine too. So, me and my pal Leigh-Ann went to the swimming pool.  I decided it would be quicker for me to get ready for work if I just swam with my clothes on and then let them dry out on the bus. 

I was in the jacuzzi and spotted the Pope in the other jacuzzi with the Cheeky Girls.  I told him I thought he was a knobhead, then I got out.

I needed to get to the office to then get to Glasgow, so with wet clothes, I picked up the laptop at the office then ran for the bus to try and make the half 10 train.  The bus was delayed. Why?  Cos it was now raining oranges.  I tried to convince people they weren't real but then the bus drove over a few and we could feel them being squashed.

I then ended up at my house getting my bike out to go and see Katie.  I was only going to see her because I'd found her party photos on Facebook and wanted to tell her that I thought the people who did 'scooby doo' were amazing.

When I was in Katies, she was working so I decided to go on Facebook.  I used my fake profile and hacked into my ex-husbands page and saw that he had written things like 'watch out raw family, it's 50/50' and 'off to meet the new in-laws'.  I wrote on his wall 'you're a lying hound and I hope your balls fall off'.

Then my sister turned up having a major tantrum because she couldn't access her email (she never uses fecking email never mind have a drama about it!). 

I decided to just go home as I was now in a bad mood.  I couldn't get through my front door because my house was full of oranges.

***


I think I may have a brain virus!  I think today will be an easy one of farting about with emails and not doing anything that requires any sort of thought process...

Dating Site Conversations...

Why can't I have even have normal conversations with people I've not even met yet...?

Here are just 2 examples of email exchanges on Plenty of Fish (Plenty of Pish).

***

Bloke: wanna give me your email address for chat?x

Raw: don't want to give out my email just yet, sorry :-(

3 days later

Bloke: ermm werent we speaking b4?

3 days later

Bloke: ????

Same day

Bloke: errmmmmmm

1 day later

Raw: I told you I didn't want to give out my email. Then you give me what appears to
be a hard time?? Ermmm...?! Sorry if you're offended because I haven't responded but there was nothing to respond to and I don't do well with 'errmmmmmm' and '?????'. I'm a grown woman, if you want to ask a question, ask it.

Instant reply:

Bloke: cheeky wee thing aint cha,,, i like that ...ok i want to ask you if ud like to get to know one and other ,,,,if so how does one go about getting ur undivided attention and the pleasure of your company?

Raw: thank you for the offer, but no thank you. Happy fishing :-)

Bloke: jeezz whats your gem eh!!!!! good luck ull be needin it...

Raw: Perhaps 'ermmmmmm' and 'weren't we speaking b4' and '?????' work with others but not with me. Sorry!

Bloke: i was beeing polite ,,, and it was not a line ,,,, i was beeing sincere ,,

The Raw has not responded!

LET'S NOT EVEN TALK ABOUT THE SPELLING AND GRAMMAR AND TEXT SPEAK ETC OH AND THAT HE'S 43 AND SHOULD KNOW BETTER...?!!?

Hilarious!

****

Him: you should be in a home

Me: you should be in the home next door

Him: "you should be in the home next door" - you like me that much?

Me: yeah, think you could be the one. Am putting a scrap book together of what our kids might look like....will bring it to our date on Sunday

Him: Our kids will look like Vanilla Ice and be deviants. I'm looking forward to it. Can we grow them in vats of ambiotic fluid in my flat?

Me: yes, I have some leftover barrels we can use, might need to be bleached out though. Where will we get that much ambiotic fluid? We're having 10 right?

Him: I piss ambiotic fluid. 9 only

Me: 9.5

Him: I'm bringing some pepper spray on Sunday

Me: I'm bringing a mallet

Him: I'm bringing my mum 

For Fuck Sake

Apparently, getting a quote for car insurance when you haven't been on your OWN policy for over 2 years means that you lose any no claims discount so my 17 years of claim free driving mean fuck all.  My ex-husband insisted that 'as he was the man in the household' (debateable given recent events) the insurance should be under his name and I be added as a 'named driver'.  Therein lies the answer to my fucked up situation and total bumming from the insurance thieves.

I have now been on the phone to Direct Line, Tesco, Sheilas Wheels, Royal Bank and Shaft You Right as well as the meerkat sites and each ask the same things when you tick the 'entertainment industry' box:

• are you famous?
• do you train famous people?
• will you be having famous people in your car to give them a lift?
• have any of your films been nominated for an Oscar?

My responses are always:

• have you ever heard of me?
• if you answered 'no' to the above, do YOU think I train famous people?
• I drive a smart car - do you honestly think even Jimmy Krankie would accept a lift in a smart car?
• hahahahahahahahahahahahaha

I finally decided to go with Tesco as they shafted me slightly more gently than the others - look at Alliance & Leicester's quote - any fucking need??  You'd think I was an 18 year old heroine addicted boy racer with a zupped up Fiat Panda with 6 boom boxes in the back and 17 exhausts!

£2,220.23

Deposit: £222.05 Instalments: (9 x £244.22) Total: £2420.03

Couldn't make it up - been driving for 17 years with no claims (not zero accidents, just zero claims!) and I get married for 55 twatting weeks and suddenly am being quoted £2,220 smackerfuckingroos for insurance for doing less than 5,000 miles a year!

It makes you want to punch someone in the face!

Panic not, Tesco were not this bad.  Even so £370 is a bit steep - I lost the 15% internet discount cos I dare to work in entertainment without being famous or rich...

I have spent so long fart arsing about with these companies that I haven't even prepped for tomorrow - thank god for insomnia cos I'll at least be productive.

OH, and I updated my mobile phone insurance now I finally have a new iPhone but it turns out that it takes 2 weeks for them to do their job and make the policy 'active'.  I asked "but what do I do if my phone is nicked again within the next 2 weeks?".  The answer, which had me actually 'argh' down the phone was "well, that would be unlucky".  Who are these bollocky fuckturds?

Right, I've ranted now I'm going to fuck off and pick up Jimmy Krankie.

Speaking in Slovak, Slippers and Straight Jackets!

So, last night I dreamed that I was travelling around on my own and this couple befriended me.  It was quite annoying and I couldn't be arsed hanging out with them so I pretended I didn't speak English and spoke Slovak (is that even a language?).

I even changed my iPhone language settings in case they saw my phone, it was very convoluted.  Anyway, I couldn't get rid of them and they just kept following me around.

In the end, I decided to go and visit my mum but when we got there she was in her nightie and crying cos apparently I had gone missing.  It turns out I'd left a note saying that cos she made me eat liver when I was little, I was running away and she wasn't to even look for me. 

I tried to explain that someone else must have written it cos I had only gone travelling but she didn't believe me and then she said SHE was running away.  She did!

The annoying couple were still hovering about like a bad smell so I had to come clean and tell them that I could actually speak English but that I wasn't going anywhere else until I found my mum so they should just go and crack on with their travels.  They told me that they knew I was lying and pretending cos they overheard me talking to myself at the cashline and decided to just play along.  WTF?

Anyway, my mum came back cos she had sore feet after going out without her slippers and she said that as I had lied to this lovely (mental) couple, I must have developed special needs after running away and that to curb my imagination I would be put into care.

I got to choose the asylum I was put in and chose the one with rainbow straight jackets that served alphabet spaghetti and potato waffles.

I have no idea what happened to the couple or if my mum ever found her slippers.

Jeez, what is my brain on??

Girl Guide Reunion

When I was 12 (I think) I joined the Guides.

I had a Larry The Lamb perm and wore my hat back to front on my first day - my dad said that was the right way round (oh, wasn't he hilarious?!).

I remember my first camp. I was Patrol Seconder and my mate Morag was Patrol Leader (I was offered my own Patrol but had too much fun where I was, so refused the promotion!).  Why they called them Patrols is beyond me. We patrolled nothing! We carried no weapons and we had no power whatsoever!

Anyway, camp...

We finally built our tent (we spent so much time laughing and bickering we were late for the BBQ).  Staying in a tent, with your mates, with rain water seeping up through your plastic sheet thing you have under your sleeping bag was actually fun at 12/13/14!  Now, I think I'd kill someone if I was made to go through that without hair straighteners!

We told ghost stories to each other at night and generally behaved like children, staying up gobbing off about all the shite of the day.

Each morning, we were starving.  But wait. This was Guide Camp and we always had to 'be prepared'...for coping with starvation!  Yes, the Guide leaders had hidden our breakfast - every fecking day!  We had to solve clues and follow coloured bits of string and wool to get our Rice Krispies and milk.

However, by the time my tent had finished arguing, fighting, laughing and taking the piss out of each other on this particular day, the sheep had found our box of food and destroyed it!

We had to beg the other tent to make us blackbirds (bread and butter, spread with jam and fried - HEALTHY!).

A lot of camp is a blur but the major thing I remember is the competition I had with Morag.  We decided not to wash, change our pants, brush our hair or change our clothes - for the whole 5 days.  The only thing we did was brush our teeth (cos I had just had my braces off and was paranoid about my teeth falling out if I didn't brush for a day).

Talking of braces.  I was not popular on the last day of camp.  We had just folded and packed all the tents away and I suddenly remembered I'd left my retainer in one of the tent pockets.  We couldn't tell which tent I'd been in so had to unpack them all til we found my wee bit of plastic with my teeth shapes in it!  The leaders were not best impressed and I think Morag and Jenny just laughed at me all the way home!

When we got home, my mum could smell me from the bus!  She should have been grateful cos she had bugger all washing to do cos all my clothes were still neatly folded in my bag!  She picked me up by the scruff of the neck and practically hosed me down before dumping me in a bath of Dettol.

Good times!

Anyway, the point of this blog?  I'm organising a reunion with my Patrol Leader and the Leader of a rival patrol.  We've not really seen each other since we got kicked out of Guides for being to old to be in them anymore...we've since got back in touch through Facebook and are now planning a drunken night out - I am hopeful that we will behave just as ridiculously as we did at camp!!


I will probably wear clean pants although that is debateable!

My New Baby

How excited am I?  I am finally mobile again after 20 months of not having a car cos numpty head of an ex-husband buggered off with our car last January.  The public transport travelling with shit loads of equipment for workshops got to the point where I wanted to top myself.

But never fear, The Raw is back on the roads.

Here she is:

Willies and Back From The Dead

Oh my god, last nights dream was INSANE:

So, I had been somewhere and picked up a bloke who I knew (I won't say his name cos he'll get embarrassed).  Another couple of people tagged along as I said I'd have a party.  I came home to a massive house which I still lived in with my mum.  She was sleeping.  My party consisted of eating Wotsits (shock) and watching Falcon Crest!?

We all went to bed and 'bloke' went straight to sleep (how dull?).

As I was due to be going to visit an auntie in the loony bin the next day I set the alarm and then stayed awake.

I got up in the morning and went to see if my mum was awake.  She wasn't.  She had a cat sleeping on her (all our cats are now dead!).  We all got organised to leave but in the end I stayed cos I didn't want to drive my new car to the loony hospital.

I went to visit my other pal who was hanging out with another pal doing stupid dares.  I got roped in.  His pal was wearing a helment and some sort of lightbulb contraption on his willy.  My dare was to pull him along using his willy.  I put on a special glove and did it.

Then I found myself at the pub I used to work in but they had built an aviary next door.  My sister was there talking to an Emu.  THEN my Dad turned up.

He's been dead 17 years but there he was larger than life.  Apparently, he didn't really die, he just got amnesia and wandered off. The he turned into a different bloke and started giving my mum a hard time for dumping him. The mans fiancee (another friend I won't name) started having a go at my mum so I punched her and then we fell out.

I then found myself in a random house with my mum and sister and Dad and the 'willy bloke' and his family.  We were organising a massive group holiday but I got bored and started hoovering.  I then found myself at the theatre watching some mates in a show and complained about it cos they were all chewing gum.

I got to the airport for my holiday, alone, to find that planes didn't exist anymore and we would be going by spaceship. I was not happy about this and spent 40 minutes in the customer services queue to bitch about it and then I missed the ship and didn't make the holiday.

WTF??

I'm Shite At Getting To The Gym

So, after my amazing plans last week, this is what I have actually managed this week:

• 1 Bodypump class
• a 1.74 mile walk
• a 1.24 mile walk (ish)
• and about 4 other walks I forgot to log on my phone

Am doing well!  However, I have been eating sparrow size portions of food so that's something.

I intend to walk into town (from Leith) and back again today to make up for my shite gym habits.

Will be better next week, I promise...

Chavs in Leith and Massive Tellies

So, after managing to doze off again at 5.30am (after listening to weird baldy beardy hypno bloke), I finally got a bit more sleep but as usual, it was interrupted with another ridiculous dream - 2 mental dreams in one night, surely that should get me in Norris McWhirters big book of shite?

Anyway:

In my divorce, I acquired £10,000 worth of audio/visual equipment (my dream divorce - in my actual divorce I acquired depression and a Wotsit addiction):

• a massive 50 inch telly
• a DVD player
• a Sky+ box
• a music system (that looked like a sound desk cos it had so many bits to it)
• a double cassette player (I know, don't ask...)
• a CD player
• and many, many, many speakers.

I decided I didn't have space to store this amazing gear, so did what any normal person in their right mind would do. I set it up outside the community centre in Leith for ANYONE TO USE.

It had been there for about a year when I decided that I would take it back and have it at home.  I sat for a bit watching the telly, on an old couch that had been put in front of it, and was minding my own business (eating a Greggs chicken roll?!) when a bunch of chavs turned up and started were dismantling it and loading it into a van.  

I went mental a) because I was watching a programme and b) that was it really, mainly cos I watching a programme!  They said that as it was outside, it belonged to anyone who wanted it.  I started punching them and was generally having an epi fit. Yelling something about it being the only thing I got in my divorce and was I buggery gonna let a bunch of chavs nick it after I'd been so kind (stupid) as to let them use it for a year anyway.  I phoned the police.

That woman with the perm out of 'The Gentle Touch' turned up and told the boys to put my stuff back but they told her to piss off and tried to run her over.  This is when the man who unblocked my phone last week turned up and gave them a talking to.  With him and 'perm woman' on their back, they unloaded the stuff, eventually.

My mate Paul (who can't drive) turned up on a motorbike and told me that cos I'd done his mates a favour 2 years ago, they were going to turn up in their van and bring my stuff home.

While I was waiting for Pauls A-Team to pitch up, a wee kid was trying to record his own voice with the cassette player and a female chav was asking me what my favourite Greggs sandwiches were...

And that my friends, concludes my dreams for the evening.

NOTE: I've just remembered that at some point during the dream, I was in some random house and I saw my pals Simon (with a pony tail!?) and Nina.  Nina was being sick in the toilet and Simon was bitching about shit coffee.  No idea where in the dream that fitted...

Unicorns and Dolph Lundgren

So my first dream of the evening had nothing to do with either Bridget Jones or Zombie Flesheaters, the two films I was considering watching last night: 

So, I was hoovering with one of those annoying cylinder type hoovers (not a cool upright Dyson) and there was a knock on my door.  It was Dolph Lundgren but this didn't seem to perturb or shock me.  He told me that he was head of the witch hunt gang and that since he had found me, he would get to burn me. 

I tried to ascertain why I was potentially going to be set alight for being a witch when, to be honest, I couldn't even master my Paul Daniels Magic Set that I had when I was 8.  In fact I took it to school and Andrew broke the 2 rings that came with it and my Dad had to go to his door to get some money from his Dad to replace it.  

I digress. 

All Dolph would tell me was "we know".  I had no fecking clue what he was on about and was just annoyed that my hoovering would be only half done. 

I had to follow him and we traipsed up the Royal Mile and joined in a procession of witchy killer type people, unicorns, gremlins and Oompa Loompas along with normal people.  To be honest it didn't seem odd and was kind of like Festival time all over again. 

Anyway, Dolph gave a speech near the castle telling people what a bad witch I was and that the only thing to do was burn me.  I offered to do some magic to show how shit I was at it but they were having none of it. 

A bunch of munchkin type people tied me to a big stick and put lots of paper at my feet. Then one of the unicorns sparked the fire with it's horn - I always thought unicorns were supposed to be nice! 

So, I'm tied to a stick but then, I find myself on a Unicorn (hopefully not the same one as before) parading back up the Royal Mile where loads of people were waiting.  Gremlins helped me down (which was quite hilarious, given their size) and walked me up the aisle where, waiting for me at the end was a fecking Oompa Loompa.  Apparently, because I hadn't burned in the fire, I must be a normal person and my reward was marriage to a magical creature and it was Oompa Loompas day on the rota.  Bloody typical, it was never gonna be the fecking handsome Prince's shift in my dream now was it?!?

Any need?  Just out of one marriage to a knobhead and about to marry someone the actual size of a knob! 

Fortunately, I must have wet the bed or something cos I woke up before actually saying 'I Do'.

 

Could you imagine, life with an Oompa Loompa?  

 

Not sure if my hoovering ever got finished!

Farmfoods Mince...

...is the shittiest mince I've ever eaten. Thank god I put marmalade and Bisto in it to mask the mingingness!

I'm now in the bath consoling myself with a pint of milk and ice, watching Ally McBeal.

This is a very boring blog update but it's what's in my head, so suck it up!

H x

- posted from my iPhone cos it's the 21st century...

My Perfect Man...

...is Gene Hunt.

No sensitivity.
No political correctness.
No feminine qualities.
Drinks more alcohol than me.
Gobs off all the time.
Loves women in his own way but slags them off for being women.
Is macho and can save me from a fire.
Doesn't cry.
Doesn't go to church.

Someone who is not a minger/munter/manky git/shite kisser...

Other than that...

Oh yes, preferably no back hair so I don't feel like I'm shagging a silverback.

Not much to ask for...is it?


- posted from my iPhone cos it's the 21st century...

Furniture and Fish

Bloody Nora. That's the last time I'm moving stuff round. I'm knackered and feel like I've done 10 rounds with Mike Tyson.

Only did it cos I felt guilty about the gym - my booking wasn't processed apparently and the class was full. I felt I had to do something that would get me sweating (and don't even suggest the 'machines' at the gym)!

Anyway, my 'fish only' dinner is beeping... Joy!


- posted from my iPhone cos it's the 21st century...

Dating Site Profile

This is the profile I had on a couple of 'free' dating sites.  

The first email I got was: "Hi, my name's Bob and I like having sex in tents.  Would you like to go camping?" 

Not sure what it was about my profile that screamed "I'm easy, a bag o chips and I'm yours" but if someone could let me know, that would be grand!

Here it is:

***

I'm off for a bath, so don't expect a reply tonight!

I'm an actor, singer and director and apparently a good catch - my pals say so, so probably best not to question it!

More about me...

I'm 5 ft 3 (and a bit)
I have blue eyes
I can punch really hard
I can lift my own body weight in feathers
I have 2 double jointed pinkies
I think farts are funny
I find the humour in most situations
I'm sometimes quiet but mostly gobby
I'm a bit of a geek but have big boobs
I understand the complexities of crime scene analysis but I don't understand the offside rule
I like bouncy castles but am a bit scared of space hoppers
I can roller skate but not roller blade (I need the stoppers)
I prefer taxis to buses
I prefer buses to walking
I prefer walking to running
I prefer running to being chased in a haphazard manner by a crazed maniac
I listen to 80's power ballads
If asked a question, I answer truthfully
I run with the trolley in ASDA
I find it funny to teach kids bad habits
I LOVE Magic FM

If that's all too much...bye bye!

If you're a weirdo please don't contact me cos I've had enough of that and can smell you a mile away. If you're normal and have all your own teeth (actual teeth in your mouth, not that you 'own' your dentures), drop me a line. However, anyone who just sends 'hi, you look cool', 'hi, would love to chat to you', 'hi like your profile, let's chat' or something similar will not get a response!

PS I'm a pain in the ass control freak!

PPS Religious nuts and do-goody Christians - don't even think about making contact. I'm not kidding. Really.

PPPS If you don't know the difference between two, too and to or they're, there and their and how to use them effectively in a sentence, please don't expect a reply - I need to know you can read and write and have a conversation about more than football and engines. Please, no text speak either cos it hurts my head trying to decipher it, plus I'm not 12! 

I also like people to use punctuation and the correct capitalisation of letters.

"I'm a genuine, honest guy who likes nights out but also nights in with a DVD and bottle of wine." This is the exact profile wording I tend to avoid. Why? BECAUSE EVERYONE WRITES IT AND IT'S DULL! Ooft.

***

So there you have it. The Raw is still divorced and single. Ha! 

Dead Babies

Holy shit.  I'm seriously needing to get my head examined by a dream person. My brain is clearly fucked up. 

So, my dream:

I was dared to bury Sammy (my fake baby son from the Fringe show I did).  I took him out of the cot and replaced him with plasticine and a baby doll head.  I then buried the 'real' Sammy in the garden and covered him over with wet sand.

I cracked on with my day, cleaning out drawers, tidying under the beds etc as I was packing to go home (no idea where I actually was).  The grandparents of Sammy came home and found the plasticine in the cot and went mental.  They were crying because the baby was dead.  I found it quite surreal because the baby never WAS real.  However, an actual baby had died during the time I was farting about burying bodies and I was blamed.  

I cried and cried and told them that as the baby was blue, she probably was a cot death.  At this point I couldn't tell them that I'd buried Sammy cos they would definitely think I was a baby killer.  No-one believed me.  The mother of the dead baby was attacking me and I had to lock myself in the toilet.

The dead baby then woke up and people still were calling me a baby killer.  Even though many people came forward to vouch for me, I got banished to live in the tower but when I got there, some random bloke was sleeping on the couch.  Another man was grouting the tiles with brown grout and a woman was in the bath.

To this day Sammy is still buried and they think I killed him.  HE WAS A TOY!!!

Not sure what it all means.

Sorry, not a funny blog at all really, just weird, mental and disturbing...welcome to my life! :-)

No More Wotsits

So, was out tonight for Catherines birthday and a lovely evening was had by all, however, I spent most of the night begging my boobs to stop trying to escape from my bra and my arse to stop yaffling my pants. Yes, it's true, I am finally seeing the results of all the wine and haribo I have consumed over the last couple of months. If I'm not careful I'll have to start buying my clothes in Millets.  

It's not nice when your waistbands start leaving fleshwounds and you can count the change you had in your pocket from the imprint it's left on your arse. My bras are giving me sores and my trousers seams and buttons are hanging by a thread. I have so many chins, I look like I'm staring at you over a pile of pancakes.

It's time for action. I need to get in shape.  Yes, granted, a circle IS a shape but not the one I'm aiming to cultivate. I'd rather not look like I'm smuggling a SMART car down my top!

Gym membership has been procured at the local council establishment where old mingers sweat over the machines and the teenage mums let all their kids piss in the pool but hey, it's cheap and I'm desperate...

Here's what's booked for next week:

• Mon: Body Attack
• Tues: Body Balance
• Wed: RPM (think this might actually kill me)
• Thurs: Tums, Bums & Thighs
• Fri: Body Pump
• Sun: Yoga

I think it's fair to say that come Sunday night, it is likely that I may have lost the will to live and will be sitting cross legged, rocking backwards and forwards outside the local Greggs.

If I make it through the week, I plan to book more classes.  

If I make it through the week, I hope my jeans will fit me without cutting off my circulation

If I make it through the week without killing a small child or maiming a chav, I'll be amazed. 

If I make it through the week having cut out Wotsits, Monster Munch, Haribo, Flumps, Flying Saucers, Irn Bru, Coke, Wine, Beer and Cake, I'll dance a jig.

So there you have it. Not the most entertaining or humorous blog post but a truthful one.

Wearing The Same Pants For 2 Days

Yesterday started badly with a long drawn out phone drama with O2. The upshot of which had me spend 45 minutes in the Orange shop on the phone to the bank...too boring to write about so I'll skip forward. 

I dropped my new iPhone into the shop where 'the man unlocks phones with his secret powers' and then started to run home as I was already supposed to be on a train to Glasgow.

And, as always happens when I'm running late, I got embroiled in a chav fight and had to give a statement to the police. 

I finally get to Glasgow and the show was fab and a great laugh was had by all. Then Paul bought more wine.

This is where things went wrong. 2 pubs, a traffic cone, a club rejection, a gay bar, a fat lady fight and a heated debate filled taxi journey later, we end up at Pauls. It would be fair to say that none of us could see properly at this point, although we all agreed to 'one last glass of wine'.  At 5am we went to bed. I woke up 4 hours later, in bed with a woman*. 

Paul made coffee using the slowest boiling kettle I've ever seen and I had a Timeout for breakfast. We decided to go for lunch. I put my beer stained jeans back on, attempted to 'fluff' my hair up, wiped away the smudged mascara and brushed my teeth with my finger. I looked and smelled like someone had sicked me up.

I couldn't function. The simplest question stumped me. Ordering food was like a Japanese endurance test and I couldn't even pretend to be happy that I was alive. Paul and Donna spent most of the time laughing at me.

Walking through the streets of Glasgow to get the train station whilst wearing yesterdays pants, day old patchy makeup, sporting a hairdo like Worzel Gummidge and with beer stains on your jeans is not the classiest way to end a Friday. 

Hilarity came in the form of the really nippy tourettes suffering 10 year old loud kid who got locked in the train bog. I knew he was in there. I could hear him shouting for help. I ignored him and chuckled to myself. Does that make me evil? Meh, who gives a shit. I was a 36 year divorcee with the hangover from hell. That kid is lucky he still has all his teeth.

I finally got home and proceeded to drink the contents of my fridge but for some reason my gob was still as dry as Ghandis flip flop and tasted the way I'd imagine it would after licking a badgers arse.

Dinner was a packet of Wotsits and a Walnut Whip whilst crying into my pint of Irn Bru and promising myself that, come Monday, I'd sort my life out and cut the drink.

Until I go on holiday with Wil...

 * she's my pal, is married and we kept our pants on - sorry boys!


Thank god for this stuff is all I can say!

A Whale Ate My Head

Latest dream installment:

Last night I won a trip to go and watch sharks and killer whales on a small boat with 10 people I've never met before. I was very excited. We got into the middle of the sea and, after one small accident where one of the women fell in the water and got mashed up with the propellars, the sharks came flocking.

I was a bit scared because one of the people on the boat was massive and insisted on sitting next to me which put my end of the boat almost in the water.  I've never seen so many sharks. There were literally millions of them. Then it happened. We fell in.

One of the killer whales was trying to gnaw on my head and I thought it was cute cos my wee cat used to do that. I did realise I needed to get away though because my blood was going in the water and the sharks were circling. I magically discovered I was wearing a full scuba suit and sank to the bottom of the sea, watching the sharks and whales above me. Then a baby shark swam over and told me that the big sharks had a plan and that I should get out of the water and go and visit my pal before it was too late. I boosted to the top of the sea and swam like a loon. 

Suddenly I was dry and scuba suit free and in my mates house.  I walked into the living room and all the people that were on the boat (except the mashed up woman) were sitting behind some gauze and holographic sharks were floating about the room.

I went to the kitchen to make some tea and my pal came in playing with my new house phones and generally being a tit. On opening her cupboards to get cups for tea, I found that they were full of glasses which were full of meat. I made a joke but it didn't seem weird!

I escaped and ended up in Canada visiting my cruise ship pal. I got stuck in the gold encrusted lift and finally made it to her penthouse. She left me to go out and buy Pringles and wine.

Then I woke up.