Wednesday, 24 February 2016

From maid to matador

A lot has changed since the imprisonment of my former maid, Basil.  For two days, I had to make my own larks' tongues on toast for breakfast, run my own bath and plump my own pillows before bedtime.    This just wouldn't do.

So, I've replaced Basil with a far better alternative.  I now have a bull-fighter from Barcelona working as my maid.  Don't ask how I found him.  (Hint: it was one of those MILF websites, and it was late at night after a few too many goblets of sherry!)

His name is Pedro Gonzalez.  He is a little 'easier on the eye' than Basil was. 

Whilst writing this blog post, can I just ask everyone not to read tomorrow's Daily Mail newspaper, in which there is a disgusting sensationalist story about myself and how a part of Pedro the bullfigher's anatomy got lodged into a part of my own body.

There is a sane explanation for this.  The explanation is that Pedro slipped on a glacé cherry and went flying across the room whilst I was bending down to pick up a thimble that had fallen from my embroidery.  Should you see the Daily Mail being sold, please buy as many newspapers as you can, and burn them all at the first opportunity.  Do not believe in salacious rumours.

I don't think it requires any further discussion, and I consider the matter now closed for discussion.  Good night!


Friday, 12 February 2016

The end of Basil

It's been all over the newspapers: Basil, my maid, has been handed a 6-month jail sentence for trying to defraud the lottery, following my instructions for her to sellotape two tickets together and go and collect the £33m winnings.

Upon reading this desperately sad news, I sat in my Sewing Room and momentarily shed a tear in her memory.   The tear had not even rolled down my cheek before I was out the door like a whippet and off to Tesco Express to buy six bottles of champagne.   I got completely twatted.   

A letter arrived - postmarked Wormwood Scrubbs - from Basil, asking me desperately to get her a lawyer to get her off the charges.

Basil writes that her first week in prison has been very tough, she has had to eat mouse-droppings for breakfast, wear a scratchy blue prison outfit, and has been asked to pick the soap off the shower floor on a number of occasions by a big lesbian calling herself Billy-Jo.  I might've known that Basil would write to me with her tail between her legs.

In such an inebriated state, I gave Basil the necessary compassion she deserves and tossed her letter on the fire without so much as another thought.  Now, it was necessary to think about my dire domestic situation.   It's a bone of contention that one cannot ignore: a lady cannot be a lady without a maid.  So I went online and hired the first live-in maid I could find.  Couldn't find much quality, but did manage to hire a general dogsbody.  Still nursing a hangover, I was in bed sipping some sherry, when the new maid started.  I heard Juan welcome her into the house.   The maid's name is Trixie.  Hopefully she's a lot better than my past maids, Belladonna and Basil.  I haven't got my spectacles on at the moment but here is her photo:

Wednesday, 27 January 2016

How Basil won £33m on the lottery

A bizarre premonition/hallucination came into my head this morning : my no-good maid, Basil, with her... er.... winning lottery ticket.

The English tabloids have pounced on the story of tragic, gran-of-four Susanne Hinte, from Worcester, whose £2 lottery ticket accidentally went through a complete washing machine cycle, only for her to later discover that the ticket matched all 6 numbers and she was the probable winner of £33 million.   Unfortunately, the ticket came out from the wash less than shipshape fashion and her claim is being fiercely debated in many circles.  As I was eating fish 'n' chips the other night, I read about Susanne Hinte's sorry story beneath the leftover cod bones and vinegary newspaper wrappings in my lap.  Police have warned that people attempting to defraud the lottery will be arrested and jailed.   Basil, my maid, has been transfixed to the TV news since, and keeps asking how she can possibly win the lottery and she then listed the 101 things she would do with the money (Number 1: Buy a House in Basildon, Number 2: Get the World's Biggest Boob Job).

Susanne Hinte's lottery ticket (above) went through a boil wash
but she claims she is still entitled to £33 million.

Fanny, as you may have read on a toilet wall, loves to play the lottery and has a thing about coloured balls.   Yes, my latest collection of multi-coloured sponge anal beads is actually numbered 1 to 59 and these small, comfortable balls have been known to pop out of their resting places at the most inopportune moments.  The surfacing of an anal bead - or even two at the same moment - even during a dinner date or an evening of fine opera, is a great way to pick lottery numbers!  Although it does give me a bout of indigestion.

Lovely squidgy anal beads, all carefully numbered.  When they randomly pop out from my crack it makes for a great way to chose lottery numbers.

Guess what? 

I just won £33 million.  What an amazing coincidence!  How did my numbers come up?  Well, it's a little trick I learnt as a child in the boring 1980s, watching Blue Peter.  

You're going to need some scissors, some sticky-back plastic (in other words, sellotape) and a little bit of patience.  Carefully, note down the six winning lottery numbers, and then, retain your old lottery ticket which didn't win jack-shit.  Then, go out and buy a new lottery ticket, using last night's six winning numbers.  Back at home, using the scissors, cut off the bottom half of the new lottery ticket, showing all six winning lottery numbers, and using the sticky-back plastic/sellotape, carefully sellotape the old ticket's date and time on top of the new ticket, making one new ticket.  There you are!  You now have a winning ticket.  As Blue Peter used to say, "here's one I made earlier".

As it turns out, I sent my maid of work, Basil, out to Lottery Headquarters with the (*sniggers out loud, uncontrollably*) winning ticket.  It was the least I could do in exchange for the lovely runny boiled egg breakfast she served me this morning, which, in other words, was a recipe of salmonella.  Basil's pudgy, unmanicured fingers snatched the sellotaped lottery ticket from my hand like a half-starved peasant and she was off at the speed of a greyhound after a hare.

"I can taste it now, Fanny" she chortled as she went out the door, "all that lovely fizzy champagne they give you when you win gushing down my throat.  I'm going to buy a Ferrari.  Thank you so much for allowing me to go and collect the money on your behalf".

Saturday, 16 January 2016

What's your favourite position?

One of my New Years Resolutions was to try a different sex position every day with my Brazilian dream-boat, Juan.   So, being the debauched Latin lothario that he is, Juan stripped me naked and hung me from the chandelier by my pearl necklace.   After that, we tried the Madame Butterfly position, followed by The Brazilian Bedlock, The Bicycle Pump and last, but by no means least, the Moon over Miami position.  You could say I'm a bit of a sexual gymnast!

Tuesday, 5 January 2016

May all your dreams come true in 2016

Just quaffing down some bubbly at a waterfall in Brasil.  The scenery is.... amazing! x  Back tomorrow with news x  Happy New Year everyone xx