Tuesday, 20 January 2015

Maid gone AWOL

Pffft... so much for 'hired help'.  The maid has gone AWOL, the servants-quarters are deserted and there's no-one to fetch the papers, toast my crumpets, fill my bath, or warm my slippers.  My respectability in social circles is crumbling!  If a maid is worth her salt, then she's loyal, caring and dependable.

As you can see from the picture, I even had to reload the dishwasher myself.  What is the world coming to?

Thursday, 15 January 2015

My world of gesticolare

Today, I appointed a new member of staff.  His name is Davidoff.  He arrived at the front gate to the sound of bugles, trumpets and fireworks.  He is from Brazil and his main duty is shovelling coal onto my fire.  He answered an advert I placed in the Situations Vacant section of MILF magazine.  Here he is in all his brazen Brazilian bodaciousness:
He has a special outfit he must wear at all times: a tiny blue and black Spandex posing pouch with a gold star, a black tie and a matching cap.  He is shirt-less and trouser-less at all times (it's Health & Safety, y'er know: if a spark from the fire touched any unnecessarily-worn fabrics, he could go up in flames!).  He is summoned by hand-bell.

Davidoff speaks absolutely no English.  And that's just the way I like my men (Juan, my butler/chauffeur is the same).  It means there is no answering back!  My mother always said I was good at languages but I cannot be bothered learning the language they speak in Brazil, which I believe is Welsh.  Therefore, in the absence of the national language of Brazil, we communicate in a kind of sign-language, using either gestures or everyday objects as props.  Because the Italians cannot be bothered learning their own language, they have their gesticolare or gesticulations, which are a substitute to language.  Therefore, what's good for the goose is also good for the gander.   For those who only ever came away from secondary school with a GCSE in Animal Husbandry, I'll enlighten you now that gesturing is a form of non-verbal communication in which visible bodily actions communicate particular messages; they may include the use of hands, face, mouth, or other body parts, or the use of clothes or food.  Below are some of the gesticulations I use on a daily basis with Davidoff and Juan.

For example, this means "go down the long, narrow corridor into my coal-house and refill the coal scuttle".


And this means "I've got a bit of Yorkshire pudding stuck in my throat.  I might choke to death in a second or two. Can you give me the Heimlich Manoeuvre?  But is it okay if I strip naked first, before you do that?"


This gesture means "pass the fruit bowl, dear, I feel like noshing another banana.  I simply cannot be bothered to get off my bone-idle lazy ass and move half an inch to get it myself".


And yes, you guessed it, this 'tongue-slowly-touches-tooth-and-licks-glossy-lips-with-intent' gesture means "I'm as parched as an Arab's armpit.  Can you get me something cold to drink, like a triple-strength gin n' tonic?  Oh my word, I slipped on a glacé cherry and all my clothing has accidentally-on-purpose dropped off".

My nail put sideways into my mouth means "Will you fetch my Moulin Rouge Vermillion Slut's Lipstick from my Powder Room?"

And this gesture means "It's really that long?  Wow!  Just wait until my friend Rodney from L.A. hears about it: there'll be an open door to the film-world for you!"

This means "I've got terribly restless fingers.  I'd love some traditional Greek worry-beads to shake.  Or failing that some Brazilian nuts to put in my gob.".   A reader contacted me to say the hand gesture may also be used in some quarters to mean: "Would you like a hand-job?".   Hmmm... whatever that is!

And this gesture means "Come to mummy!"


And finally, when I'm feeling particularly lonesome, this hand gesture shows the index finger and forefinger held apart to form a 'C'.  And that, my dear reader, stands for cock!

Are there any gestures that you use that you wish to share with Fanny?  Write to me x

Sunday, 11 January 2015

One of my favourite reads

This is a great read; my copy of this book is very well-thumbed, with some pages stuck together: in the comfort of your own home, you too can make a dildo from an empty packet of Smarties, a can of baked beans, or an old washing-up liquid bottle, using only sticky-back plastic. 

The ladies at the Womens' Institute in Brill will enjoy this book, too.  I donated twenty copies from my library.

Meanwhile, here's a picture of a DIY dildo I just made with sticky-back plastic.  Isn't it wonderful?  No more Ann Summers!

My DIY dildo.  Isn't it magnificent?

Thursday, 8 January 2015

Asifa Lahore

This Asian beauty is Asifa Lahore, the United Kingdom's first Muslim drag queen.   My lunatic maid, Basil, was screwing around with the television remote control yesterday, flicking the channel over from The Wombles to Judge Judy and back to Sun, Sea and Pissed-Up Brits.  I thwacked her around the head with a rolled-up newspaper, and that must have dislodged some dust and mothballs from her tiny grey brain, because Basil the maid quietly turned the channel back to BBC1 before sitting heavily down with all the grace of an East End builder onto an antique Windsor Carver chair, crushing the thing to matchsticks. 

At that very moment - in stark contrast to Basil's strikingly humdrum resemblance to Thora Hird (minus the tattoos, of course) - the gorgeous Asifa Lahore appeared on the TV screen like a whirling dervish, and all thoughts of sadistically punishing the maid went out the window for a few moments as I was seduced by a world of burqa-clad, Bollywood hanky-panky.

Listen to this wonderful song: Punjabi Girl by Asifa... I was literally glued to the TV screen for the remaining few minutes..... put on your best glittery stilettos and get ready to boogie!

 "I'm a glamorous queen in Versace

Make me cook, make me clean
Asian men are so mean
You want me as your wife
And you play on the scene"