tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64994987571225407542024-03-11T04:35:00.516-07:00Fanny Love: Transvestite, Super-Model, PoetFanny's perfectly-formed blog about life, sex, travel, shop-lifting, and sex. And more sex. Join Fanny on her escapades at her secluded English manor, with her rainbow-dyed poodle, Mr Puffywuffycutesweetgummywummygumdrop and her collection of handsome toy-boys.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.comBlogger186125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-41325336980744033772016-02-24T12:32:00.003-08:002016-02-24T12:32:28.458-08:00From maid to matador<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">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 </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">and plump my own pillows before bedtime. This just wouldn't do.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">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!)</span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpyvVMb2o1RxXKYTb0tOUF0j8es84pq2hyphenhyphenJ9v6UMfDXJhHfFDA-1KWg8BvLeOlhLkLca7U1VIk5CtTff42LV3fiD-3AiC2SFl98e_MGE1VRRFUWNHyYBYhySiE4uzHzxfQ78GeWAe09d7b/s1600/bullfighter+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpyvVMb2o1RxXKYTb0tOUF0j8es84pq2hyphenhyphenJ9v6UMfDXJhHfFDA-1KWg8BvLeOlhLkLca7U1VIk5CtTff42LV3fiD-3AiC2SFl98e_MGE1VRRFUWNHyYBYhySiE4uzHzxfQ78GeWAe09d7b/s640/bullfighter+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">His name is Pedro Gonzalez. He is a little 'easier on the eye' than Basil was. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Q1n9yp-H-dq3CcJdeVQWjRM0kUBOUtC1XFO5mlanvlVu8sxCvH2N1Mh0lOhi6Q2UXM3gaVpJT1VK5ct3A4i-_P3H0jWCfeY4Cza4KBpcIiWGjwTguFDJgF924H4_-4KqFrRRJv2VDzCe/s1600/bullfighter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Q1n9yp-H-dq3CcJdeVQWjRM0kUBOUtC1XFO5mlanvlVu8sxCvH2N1Mh0lOhi6Q2UXM3gaVpJT1VK5ct3A4i-_P3H0jWCfeY4Cza4KBpcIiWGjwTguFDJgF924H4_-4KqFrRRJv2VDzCe/s640/bullfighter.jpg" width="427" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Whilst writing this blog post, can I just ask everyone <u><b>not</b></u> 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.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">There is a sane explanation for this. The explanation is that Pedro slipped on a </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span>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.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span>I don't think it requires any further discussion, and I consider the matter now closed for discussion. Good night!</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQb4Hzudvf4sB4QTSsDcbMoeFIswotySaqgf1q7AWqvJCgmh80E2Y4gPJmoZ9ztOXHoN2IRvNfaXDMraHdQw20Mb2WslzeG-JV3r_N5YRfZEYPJeDO7h4h7x2Qd5FG2_4LaiwWi0jkt0qU/s1600/glace+cherry+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQb4Hzudvf4sB4QTSsDcbMoeFIswotySaqgf1q7AWqvJCgmh80E2Y4gPJmoZ9ztOXHoN2IRvNfaXDMraHdQw20Mb2WslzeG-JV3r_N5YRfZEYPJeDO7h4h7x2Qd5FG2_4LaiwWi0jkt0qU/s320/glace+cherry+2.jpg" width="319" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-41337909798428589402016-02-12T10:38:00.000-08:002016-02-12T13:30:09.957-08:00The end of Basil<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxEo7kUJ_yKHs0QwSxjG2I-_7WTJO6C3lTAohlrlLwfVXSU1ATjavbjolSedXdpinXLcZSPFDdiuCzKEAjZNnmlUq9RNuP4PzJSRobTlf-ZspXZk_bfFORY2Qy2GmmMUzEganM2_qjjUe/s1600/LW9tbb9mfoQS8IhpBhob3Q_r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxEo7kUJ_yKHs0QwSxjG2I-_7WTJO6C3lTAohlrlLwfVXSU1ATjavbjolSedXdpinXLcZSPFDdiuCzKEAjZNnmlUq9RNuP4PzJSRobTlf-ZspXZk_bfFORY2Qy2GmmMUzEganM2_qjjUe/s1600/LW9tbb9mfoQS8IhpBhob3Q_r.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A letter arrived - postmarked Wormwood Scrubbs - from Basil, asking me desperately to get her a lawyer to get her off the charges.</span></span> </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM8ppdAaIBHRcfdqSoMIn5CmsWvsXr_HzLkjAME79bvsV_yEbcaWnnJ6hgjrvusTARycLhYp6tOpxCfRFAjTsiCYotci8qXwb7CE3cjjPxmNtDanlYlpwye-QI3yh6yLIDhBWMSbDZx7l3/s1600/soap+on+shower+floor.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM8ppdAaIBHRcfdqSoMIn5CmsWvsXr_HzLkjAME79bvsV_yEbcaWnnJ6hgjrvusTARycLhYp6tOpxCfRFAjTsiCYotci8qXwb7CE3cjjPxmNtDanlYlpwye-QI3yh6yLIDhBWMSbDZx7l3/s640/soap+on+shower+floor.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">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 <i>cannot </i>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 g<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ot my spectacles on at the moment<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> but</span></span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">h</span>ere is her photo:</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOdhd-Y5dLhmLTjhDBCw-NJfSq59jE_Q6YG4l_kZ8ZssSjwm2tdxbKJhhanZv9zxpOF8IMRPuWyRC6CFLpwc55g2rPutWVPJmH3Xj1UysqUv4Df1L4o4iMQZk-r2h0RR_A5xs19JquiK-L/s1600/ezgif-1916407816.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOdhd-Y5dLhmLTjhDBCw-NJfSq59jE_Q6YG4l_kZ8ZssSjwm2tdxbKJhhanZv9zxpOF8IMRPuWyRC6CFLpwc55g2rPutWVPJmH3Xj1UysqUv4Df1L4o4iMQZk-r2h0RR_A5xs19JquiK-L/s640/ezgif-1916407816.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-88860233933945374482016-01-27T15:17:00.004-08:002016-01-28T00:57:09.597-08:00How Basil won £33m on the lottery<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEoeTkN3NJCLvQPesCq0gNsOT6dAfr3p61EBWWYWrTdaIf2p2mDGva9tRV2sLyg7aRC3BK7Wu7m_8bQrKP5NSp1Q-fqiBAMBQMQMlFPwsYHbiey9loxj0AKozYfdQvpNIW3xoy8yjOEwF/s1600/basil-sexy-lottery-winner-o.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEoeTkN3NJCLvQPesCq0gNsOT6dAfr3p61EBWWYWrTdaIf2p2mDGva9tRV2sLyg7aRC3BK7Wu7m_8bQrKP5NSp1Q-fqiBAMBQMQMlFPwsYHbiey9loxj0AKozYfdQvpNIW3xoy8yjOEwF/s640/basil-sexy-lottery-winner-o.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"><em>A bizarre premonition/hallucination came into my head this morning : my no-good maid, Basil, with her... er.... winning lottery ticket.</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The English tabloids have pounced on the story of tragic, gran-of-four <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2016/jan/27/is-this-lottery-ticket-worth-33m" target="_blank">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</a>. 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).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7-IXWPG0McCkiy-wmj0JKBxdyCUvvHTCKEOTIbVmXxhmMD1Cu9MEQq6spCHTCOPo5akIk5jnMB0zC-bMe_AhyphenhyphenRcmlh8hwMPUMWTR6KWihjYk9nw3l3t5j8skAxdI4obI69He1gqFeqPE/s1600/660.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7-IXWPG0McCkiy-wmj0JKBxdyCUvvHTCKEOTIbVmXxhmMD1Cu9MEQq6spCHTCOPo5akIk5jnMB0zC-bMe_AhyphenhyphenRcmlh8hwMPUMWTR6KWihjYk9nw3l3t5j8skAxdI4obI69He1gqFeqPE/s400/660.jpg" width="337" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"><em>Susanne Hinte's lottery ticket (above) went through a boil wash</em></span></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">but she claims she is still entitled to £33 million.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHSIm-kCOA2AsInL6bo-1U_Ducx2hTG_8BqkgvvCQzaGOReGymCNFpQdfR5DZ02NWzRjEJCtY5CiSb0Sswyl0_gye1uc9RQf1TSQPKnnasNmdgd6ol31ASORrTrtNfwuTpKP5pECXSfzEk/s1600/anal+beads+with+lottery+numbers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHSIm-kCOA2AsInL6bo-1U_Ducx2hTG_8BqkgvvCQzaGOReGymCNFpQdfR5DZ02NWzRjEJCtY5CiSb0Sswyl0_gye1uc9RQf1TSQPKnnasNmdgd6ol31ASORrTrtNfwuTpKP5pECXSfzEk/s200/anal+beads+with+lottery+numbers.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
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<em>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.</em></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">Guess what? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">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 <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_Peter" target="_blank">Blue Peter</a>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">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".</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7h_SD6JfcpJCDb2kbhqcY8yP05gH1HNMNayGBpRW8T9DQ2fv3C6XLiNDuW_sZ9wsfB6kPtQthnOvSMfOiIGmtu_mp3IYc9jp0FyRV5ge_TVrRpXeX4Gc0ualj7n2G4a-gtA4T1-0BccH-/s1600/winning-lottery-ticket.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7h_SD6JfcpJCDb2kbhqcY8yP05gH1HNMNayGBpRW8T9DQ2fv3C6XLiNDuW_sZ9wsfB6kPtQthnOvSMfOiIGmtu_mp3IYc9jp0FyRV5ge_TVrRpXeX4Gc0ualj7n2G4a-gtA4T1-0BccH-/s640/winning-lottery-ticket.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4JqilZl7zFe-qbMYNzhuH4nUO_r_-NVTkwx6v3S5RW_xatUpI-iEv9ehrTMtj0Y12PJMv9JYkviCxCXN1Q1VWbRjk0bScYIoFvrlxQryKWEUFZrJNpkbTdL-MIJU2eV9J4DcdJ_qj75OK/s1600/Lottery-Final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4JqilZl7zFe-qbMYNzhuH4nUO_r_-NVTkwx6v3S5RW_xatUpI-iEv9ehrTMtj0Y12PJMv9JYkviCxCXN1Q1VWbRjk0bScYIoFvrlxQryKWEUFZrJNpkbTdL-MIJU2eV9J4DcdJ_qj75OK/s320/Lottery-Final.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">"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".</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-29371169554596498162016-01-16T18:01:00.000-08:002016-01-16T18:01:07.352-08:00What's your favourite position?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDtt9JLATXugk5Ey8_0iV7R88B61Z6aJL15o7D9ESUychlL82KOZLhsPyH_Bl_NTHPe1whKxTwqX90QmrbJCsRadXr7iX6AxDkFapOtuLieO0Q3DfZLaJoYfd8bO9NKMSiGF12lmZAscj/s1600/Sex+Techniques+book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDtt9JLATXugk5Ey8_0iV7R88B61Z6aJL15o7D9ESUychlL82KOZLhsPyH_Bl_NTHPe1whKxTwqX90QmrbJCsRadXr7iX6AxDkFapOtuLieO0Q3DfZLaJoYfd8bO9NKMSiGF12lmZAscj/s640/Sex+Techniques+book.gif" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">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!</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-90547957962122884812016-01-05T12:52:00.004-08:002016-01-05T12:52:45.554-08:00May all your dreams come true in 2016<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0sQeW83QF6pcay9g2ij_Pnvf9pSllQg57ArNhbRIyb8CKTsBnaJUXiPNw8BG5dfYiMkDdVfnaUbaQR_He8WXKaNAcI5H5vTHMWv3BoA3Y5lXlT6rVJHHqR0_4Ppl0xnzQShIiA5RBFQo/s1600/Fanny+Love+and+the+waterfall.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0sQeW83QF6pcay9g2ij_Pnvf9pSllQg57ArNhbRIyb8CKTsBnaJUXiPNw8BG5dfYiMkDdVfnaUbaQR_He8WXKaNAcI5H5vTHMWv3BoA3Y5lXlT6rVJHHqR0_4Ppl0xnzQShIiA5RBFQo/s640/Fanny+Love+and+the+waterfall.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">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</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-86904965980621627832015-12-24T10:26:00.001-08:002016-01-05T12:49:52.368-08:00Merry Christmas 2015 to all my wonderful readers! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV6PiZqX0AqI7EQrNnEGEyc-M3T7FLfZ3okcYHsQTiwez5BYVrHFON9KO02ANvslTHSg2VbStbpf5Rc0CM9kSr7IngKebuH8rsQBwv1pMfgjTagHM3i0U1K3EAZl5d_QftV4EFFmuOF4Qr/s1600/merrychristmas.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV6PiZqX0AqI7EQrNnEGEyc-M3T7FLfZ3okcYHsQTiwez5BYVrHFON9KO02ANvslTHSg2VbStbpf5Rc0CM9kSr7IngKebuH8rsQBwv1pMfgjTagHM3i0U1K3EAZl5d_QftV4EFFmuOF4Qr/s640/merrychristmas.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-83754888886324285182015-12-24T07:06:00.002-08:002016-01-28T00:58:00.243-08:00Basil's transformation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My heartfelt apologies to all my readers for my protracted absence from the blogosphere: the reason, in all its shocking detail, is as follows.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">Firstly, my LA agent phoned me, offering me the lead role in a new blockbuster. She was very mysterious about the details, but being the fame-whore that I am, I accepted without knowing any more. More fool me!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">Imagine my horror when I arrived on set, in downtown L.A., to discover the name of the film was "Lesbians who Lunch". I was straight back on the flight to London with a swish of my skirts!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYxL6-2214fIkkO78FAZo-uwH7vOOMGl2MMNDPmbivsPegBYowUI4kAf_VGjDBS4CcPEr48SzdUkt-WwjHZuUUHDDikshmhe1SwHhZqxkqmsol05jNzT1VEcESdMoEKd0O_3mz-inCZiQc/s1600/victoria-picnic.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYxL6-2214fIkkO78FAZo-uwH7vOOMGl2MMNDPmbivsPegBYowUI4kAf_VGjDBS4CcPEr48SzdUkt-WwjHZuUUHDDikshmhe1SwHhZqxkqmsol05jNzT1VEcESdMoEKd0O_3mz-inCZiQc/s1600/victoria-picnic.gif" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">I've been knocked up in bed, diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and I have been popping prescription pills like Smarties.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3jAd_YfPUpsF12RXaiXcaep3xS2zgJpjx0lpM6EbwPCyH2hgtIPb3gQn4iwnWmvuN5TiVbINYnHqMLjoXfQ4vUzkh7Cx7Y7NpGPwUYNYBI-eU4-FpJttPUqzb2W995nnjt1qIZ8Yfj-EN/s1600/pile-of-smarties.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3jAd_YfPUpsF12RXaiXcaep3xS2zgJpjx0lpM6EbwPCyH2hgtIPb3gQn4iwnWmvuN5TiVbINYnHqMLjoXfQ4vUzkh7Cx7Y7NpGPwUYNYBI-eU4-FpJttPUqzb2W995nnjt1qIZ8Yfj-EN/s400/pile-of-smarties.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">Whilst recovering in my Buckinghamshire mansion<em>, </em>in an attempt to improve the appearance and deportment of my serving staff, I sent my maid, Basil, to a beauty clinic. I'm tired of her belching like a Brazilian bullfrog in front of Lords and Ladies. Basil was sent to He2She Transformations, of Watford. Here are some Before and After photographs of her delicate transformation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9zCaSChPnPX4mDJ9VxhvgReHFAaDMKXx93R_g7PsLCEVy7xmyGlVjB3X-Z80qsmb8O_BC6Dr6Z3wyBIodo2fVd1DsYk_qU-AjqrWQDIAAeDsl5cxdN-Y657E2Q1GIZ2U3NTvHDSt8NzXH/s1600/basil-beauty-makeover.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9zCaSChPnPX4mDJ9VxhvgReHFAaDMKXx93R_g7PsLCEVy7xmyGlVjB3X-Z80qsmb8O_BC6Dr6Z3wyBIodo2fVd1DsYk_qU-AjqrWQDIAAeDsl5cxdN-Y657E2Q1GIZ2U3NTvHDSt8NzXH/s640/basil-beauty-makeover.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<strong> BEFORE AFTER</strong><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: large;">It seems the Blueberry Face Mask caused an allergic reaction!</span><br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-39059120105299932202015-10-31T03:31:00.002-07:002015-10-31T03:31:30.320-07:00Back from her girls' holiday in Benidorm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">My current maid, Basil, went on a little 5-day break with some of her Essex girlfriends on Monday. They went to Benidorm on a 'cultural' tour.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The following video footage shows Basil visiting <a href="http://www.aqualandia.net/" target="_blank">Aqualandia</a>, a water park. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSVd0M3Q1CzSAILB3xhzUZ1KOD7WvCdnSBmePKD7pdmoll2a3RXEWlVxb7NXPlBsIluSl4grDCH3rELckY9sB5JQ_Bss9tw1D1a3aAl9xo7xVKGO7WGNbY1bWk1Xnok2KUUDGPR7-jKT4/s1600/16.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSVd0M3Q1CzSAILB3xhzUZ1KOD7WvCdnSBmePKD7pdmoll2a3RXEWlVxb7NXPlBsIluSl4grDCH3rELckY9sB5JQ_Bss9tw1D1a3aAl9xo7xVKGO7WGNbY1bWk1Xnok2KUUDGPR7-jKT4/s1600/16.gif" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Below left is a pic of Basil before she went on holiday, taken on Monday. </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">And the pic on the right is her, this morning, as her Sleazyjet flight touched down at Luton airport. Seems like Basil forgot to pack her depilatory creams. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVukX3mBsfVMDFb9hXSQwXWH5Bc3D2lPBDrpcJ7znOtSnxoNda2zctv0Y5XummBP-X55npMvgv0-RsMIFPNvMm2QvG55DXtzunovl8ID2-5_fOiqXrmHElajWqnZisPrIJE5Q7dV-Emxmy/s1600/basil+before+and+after+benidorm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVukX3mBsfVMDFb9hXSQwXWH5Bc3D2lPBDrpcJ7znOtSnxoNda2zctv0Y5XummBP-X55npMvgv0-RsMIFPNvMm2QvG55DXtzunovl8ID2-5_fOiqXrmHElajWqnZisPrIJE5Q7dV-Emxmy/s640/basil+before+and+after+benidorm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Most alarmingly of all, she is wearing a Wonder Woman outfit, much beloved of my ex-maid, Belladonna Bitchhole, <a href="http://fannylove-uk.blogspot.co.uk/2014/12/how-did-i-rid-myself-of-belladonna.html" target="_blank">who is currently incarcerated in a Perspex tube in the alligator pit at Sydney zoo</a>. Not sure if that's a Halloween joke on Basil's part to wear such an outfit, but it is in very poor taste.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-57853231971187802852015-10-28T04:49:00.001-07:002015-10-28T04:52:39.329-07:00Basil's books beggar belief<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Mitzi's wonderful </span><a href="http://mitziclutterfromthegutter.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/holiday-reading.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">blog entry</span></a><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> about the literature she took on holiday inspired me to write about the reading material of my maid, Basil. At a recent posh <span data-dobid="hdw">soirée, one of my esteemed guests found </span>the following novel stuffed down the side of my antique 1920s cobalt-blue Chesterfield armchair. Up to that point, the evening had been a rip-roaring success; even the surprise dish had gone down well, my 'experimental' vols-au-vents stuffed with eel and fricasseed frog. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The guest pulled the book out in front of everyone, holding it by one of its yellowed and very sticky pages. My throat shrunk and a tiny whimper came out of my voicebox: "<em>It isn't mine!!!!</em>"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIR8W9H298U-tQ7EfaDps5HK2ybD5UZgRLWtC8GeJSrCmtLS7KWB_-MyzOy6aYigf7lSkSumGtT6pgJriVRvoUT9Ydnb7acZ-nWPNvW7Icfwe9h5FUvv2ZIhYsRfmv9seEtyOk7xXrWD39/s1600/Lesbian+Horse+Stories.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIR8W9H298U-tQ7EfaDps5HK2ybD5UZgRLWtC8GeJSrCmtLS7KWB_-MyzOy6aYigf7lSkSumGtT6pgJriVRvoUT9Ydnb7acZ-nWPNvW7Icfwe9h5FUvv2ZIhYsRfmv9seEtyOk7xXrWD39/s400/Lesbian+Horse+Stories.jpg" width="263" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Really, for bringing disrepute to me at one of my famous evening parties, Basil deserves to be flogged at dawn with a cat o'nine tails. I also found this 'book' in her living quarters. She has often spoken of giving up meat and fish and becoming a lesbo-vegetarian</span>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12ksFTC7wTpuSlleApzropgRWz8FHb43PTN9hygVKADIAwR1_dgZWucqfe_kcPeIxHv4nMg4oedDxNSm6iwDxyJ-xdYhjtZNAoGcqX6VjnJuNp2kDD3J66Ct5t4GnJIIGtjFecPoECfdD/s1600/instant+sex+with+fruit+and+veg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12ksFTC7wTpuSlleApzropgRWz8FHb43PTN9hygVKADIAwR1_dgZWucqfe_kcPeIxHv4nMg4oedDxNSm6iwDxyJ-xdYhjtZNAoGcqX6VjnJuNp2kDD3J66Ct5t4GnJIIGtjFecPoECfdD/s400/instant+sex+with+fruit+and+veg.jpg" width="266" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">And this...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWc-3vrCUqNUUfxlROYwdPAEeRha2ad-0wt3dmXI2kUxbJZNxM2v8U4jfiBD64O7IlP7pfidjUUbD245ixDLb_eFxbxFxuJVZYIYs4sffbIC2ayZY3J3Lc8HV9jMnChSrK4GhZBX-bOCF/s1600/bank+raid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWc-3vrCUqNUUfxlROYwdPAEeRha2ad-0wt3dmXI2kUxbJZNxM2v8U4jfiBD64O7IlP7pfidjUUbD245ixDLb_eFxbxFxuJVZYIYs4sffbIC2ayZY3J3Lc8HV9jMnChSrK4GhZBX-bOCF/s320/bank+raid.jpg" width="253" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I mean.. I'm puzzled that Basil should want to consider robbing a bank with a sawn-off shotgun in her spare time... it's not that she isn't remunerated well. I pay her an exceptionally good hourly rate.... £1.20 an hour [US$1.85 an hour] for a 168-hour week. And she gets to lick all the crockery clean after grand banquets (no, not the House of Fraser crockery or the Jasper Conran rubbish, but the 18th century Delft dinner service), and to live in the old abandoned pig-sty with fresh hay and running water. It's quite large and very dry! There's plenty of Eastern European maids who would give their false teeth for such a position! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivnYgzNlxatleQPvs2NEJIxEasWMj0GhSEA8H4z0QjV8cmVg7DfhyFh65dDS9xkSP9ONJfi7Lw6kL4w5EY76c6vuIjJI7RkgTSczWAJHW5mZyC2tzdas4cUECIEofqQY3hMwWoGSQaZio7/s1600/bust+power.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivnYgzNlxatleQPvs2NEJIxEasWMj0GhSEA8H4z0QjV8cmVg7DfhyFh65dDS9xkSP9ONJfi7Lw6kL4w5EY76c6vuIjJI7RkgTSczWAJHW5mZyC2tzdas4cUECIEofqQY3hMwWoGSQaZio7/s400/bust+power.jpg" width="340" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">And I found this book. The problem being that the book cover claims one can use 90% of your mind to increase the size of your breasts. The truth is that, at the age of 14, Basil <span lang="en-GB">asked that her brain be donated to
medical science to further research into the causes of hypo-manic
schizophrenia. As her lobotomization didn't cure her, she doesn't even have 90% of a brain. More like 4%. And most of that is located in her more-than-generous ass. </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WOCX_P07YoQPQ-xM7h3SgwrHSniXcWP_1mKvt71PdR4dFcmtNSNf8WPWVwUyoMqHj3xFUvL6QBB8hEBvzZ-UsRoMvnJa0y0ZfMMMV4uaH5iEDbuOi0_PcLIBOwVcfr5iH-uxjrV8wRMr/s1600/cunt-coloring-book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WOCX_P07YoQPQ-xM7h3SgwrHSniXcWP_1mKvt71PdR4dFcmtNSNf8WPWVwUyoMqHj3xFUvL6QBB8hEBvzZ-UsRoMvnJa0y0ZfMMMV4uaH5iEDbuOi0_PcLIBOwVcfr5iH-uxjrV8wRMr/s400/cunt-coloring-book.jpg" width="296" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">And this! Words fail me!</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-26255142193448633662015-10-26T13:13:00.000-07:002015-10-26T15:36:31.767-07:00The Jehovahs Witnesses call<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">There are four absolute certainties in life: Death; taxes; the occasional dose of pubic crabs; and a visit from the Jehovahs Witnesses at the most inconvenient moment. At 8am, as I lay in bed dreaming of my recent love-making with the entire Under-25s Portuguese Rugby Team, the doorbell rang and rudely interrupted my reverie. "Baaaassssssssiiiiiiilllllllll!" I shouted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">When one appoints and remunerates a maid, one at least expects hand-service.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">"I'm doing lady-stuff" my maid, Basil Wiggleswade, bawled back, sounding like a Cockney fishwife. The finality of her tone meant she had no intention of answering the door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">"Lady-stuff?" I bawled back, sounding like a Texan millionairess beauty queen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">"Yes, I'm out on the town tonight, so I'm waxing my lady-purse. Have you seen the third tube of <a href="http://www.naircare.com/" target="_blank">Nair</a>? I could be some time" my maid called back, gaily. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><em>Lady-purse? THREE tubes of Nair? </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Fuck me... Basil must be as hairy as a baboon down below if she needs not one, not two, but three tubes of Nair!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">As I was pondering this addition to my vocabulary - <em>Lady-Purse</em> - I was forced to get up and don my Chinese silk and duck feather dressing-gown, jam my pudgy feet into my Antarctic penguin feather slippers, and tiptoe down five flights of stairs, telling myself to "keep calm" and open up the front door, only to come face-to-face with two elderly male Jehovahs Witnesses in charity-shop black suits, waving a pamphlet entitled the Resurrection of God and slavering at the gills.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Their presence, on my doorstep, put the wind up me, I can tell you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Fortunately, my father was a keen game-hunter in the African bush, and I still keep a collection of antique loaded rifles in my downstairs lobby, in expectation of such visits from strange, unsolicited men preaching religion. <em>A bullet in the bum</em>, my father used to say.... and now it's my turn to deal with Basil...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBuHCxBMZObENMCHOS6xXip-8pVm09kaPiIi6VpoWDNMp3AotSaxk4-u9PWv5YlU0bI9WWzlQBsO4RwWeSpQMqV4TF8zysJjtt2SoRLfPn1OJGV6huCN41BOLteYwiu-FO0g223SPEv5m/s1600/Keep+Calm+gunshot+splatter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBuHCxBMZObENMCHOS6xXip-8pVm09kaPiIi6VpoWDNMp3AotSaxk4-u9PWv5YlU0bI9WWzlQBsO4RwWeSpQMqV4TF8zysJjtt2SoRLfPn1OJGV6huCN41BOLteYwiu-FO0g223SPEv5m/s640/Keep+Calm+gunshot+splatter.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-8335289239257421802015-07-10T02:39:00.000-07:002015-07-11T01:47:06.763-07:00Share the Portuguese Love!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm currently away on a very long trip to Portugal. It's particularly lovely being here. The climate is warm and sunny, and the beaches are to die for. This is Praia Ribeiro do Cavalo, a lovely wild beach I visited yesterday. No, it's nowhere near the Algarve, but close to Sesimbra, a fascinating city 40km south of the capital, Lisboa. This area of Portugal does not seem to attract the droves of British tourists in the same way the Algarve does. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg90f3_TszP93EnPZvpKx-2yimKigUE2Xpg8WrAEskfG7GO4EY8Kx-mNOWYZ5BO43ABsbnZdK771olGNwYueV29FEXoIZtUWoAE_8abL1xdICK7q4F6eYrXHI3jLhsjlj0_LnSf7b6HSJNX/s1600/praia-cavalo-ribeiro.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg90f3_TszP93EnPZvpKx-2yimKigUE2Xpg8WrAEskfG7GO4EY8Kx-mNOWYZ5BO43ABsbnZdK771olGNwYueV29FEXoIZtUWoAE_8abL1xdICK7q4F6eYrXHI3jLhsjlj0_LnSf7b6HSJNX/s640/praia-cavalo-ribeiro.gif" width="640" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Having spent so much time at the beach, I've also had a chance to check out the local talent. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Portuguese men are adorable; they just don't look like English men. Here is Pedro, a fisherman (apparently) from the village of Fonte da Telha. He showed me his fishing boat yesterday evening and I spent a good deal of time on my back inspecting his tackle.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi985Rh1VtShpDCtlAJTxRcBNDzjMQGhnrEI4BLTCQFl4dwVh0LUmAxfdyv-BoahvPKgEIuhMvtFIFW94IUoen7myEE2IQn72LYXxY01JbdTvPfq6BUz4HX0mWs8i-gE29TeMxqGlbovrP9/s1600/waiting-staff-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi985Rh1VtShpDCtlAJTxRcBNDzjMQGhnrEI4BLTCQFl4dwVh0LUmAxfdyv-BoahvPKgEIuhMvtFIFW94IUoen7myEE2IQn72LYXxY01JbdTvPfq6BUz4HX0mWs8i-gE29TeMxqGlbovrP9/s320/waiting-staff-9.jpg" width="241" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">So I thought for this blog entry that it would be nice to share the love, so I am sending each one of my favourite friends a Portuguese man, especially handpicked and tested by moi.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">To Mitzi, <a href="http://mitziclutterfromthegutter.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">ClutterfromtheGutter</a>, I am sending Bruno. I hope you have lots of fun with him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWqq7tZeoMbpf4BhcJ53vf3m7Faa2IBQhRe8lb2QzziSYa-qf4sz-7xA1fU6S0vlmaXYP7V2KSnAEWHAih6ArNoXLdc01xoG6YL6RqEK9RZMhCmJ7z3S6jVmrzk2QPPnDGKXfYdoaI0Ib/s1600/tumblr_m4gfplObn01qipj3do1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWqq7tZeoMbpf4BhcJ53vf3m7Faa2IBQhRe8lb2QzziSYa-qf4sz-7xA1fU6S0vlmaXYP7V2KSnAEWHAih6ArNoXLdc01xoG6YL6RqEK9RZMhCmJ7z3S6jVmrzk2QPPnDGKXfYdoaI0Ib/s320/tumblr_m4gfplObn01qipj3do1_500.jpg" width="226" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">To Miss Scarlet, <a href="http://www.wonky-words.com/" target="_blank">Wonky-Words</a>, I am sending <span class="st">João. He wants to teach you gymnastics.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi951j-P8H68Hz3czSqm-ZM0l_IMi8f2Ao3lB_jU_NnM2VKC73zrOVjKjFZGbg_em0adKwak6T36jjEmYn8femmCocZgUsEiJZ3oBRyMSeEtGJCuebbMICPT63adJNvFlTPHGuuGQfgwzeD/s1600/tumblr_m41v7vUwcF1qipj3do1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi951j-P8H68Hz3czSqm-ZM0l_IMi8f2Ao3lB_jU_NnM2VKC73zrOVjKjFZGbg_em0adKwak6T36jjEmYn8femmCocZgUsEiJZ3oBRyMSeEtGJCuebbMICPT63adJNvFlTPHGuuGQfgwzeD/s320/tumblr_m41v7vUwcF1qipj3do1_500.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">To Mistress Maddie, <a href="http://mistressmaddie.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">A Day with Mistress Borghese</a>, I am sending Filipe. He is very good with his hands.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF4gEz1VPcSsoLMSTwUTK-AE5nru5xjZOGpJLHqK0UQxm7J_Z0ez-JQEoQmp7cU-c8jxf-Jt3Hhd5amtSIp3JxgTn7ag4M42BOC_9Ij70oweqdPBNHLGuZMemmGlk1Osvvipr8PXVaqqKY/s1600/tumblr_m4o3g253W21qipj3do1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF4gEz1VPcSsoLMSTwUTK-AE5nru5xjZOGpJLHqK0UQxm7J_Z0ez-JQEoQmp7cU-c8jxf-Jt3Hhd5amtSIp3JxgTn7ag4M42BOC_9Ij70oweqdPBNHLGuZMemmGlk1Osvvipr8PXVaqqKY/s320/tumblr_m4o3g253W21qipj3do1_500.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">To Jane Hattatt, <a href="http://hattatt.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">the Hattatt blog</a>, I am sending Victor... you lucky girl!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinaOYM29prc0s_PFYMrZhMzA9MhSlsPzQkZ_cOvcrIRcAG7n9PsalfADlHgOCLvFfawas32wg9e3YTvGoZg7JzinKXqdvNYyJkG_MiM5CN9n1FnbDrkc5hFMuzoQRb0YutMl5hK_jLp7JT/s1600/tumblr_m5hmh3ANrS1qipj3do1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinaOYM29prc0s_PFYMrZhMzA9MhSlsPzQkZ_cOvcrIRcAG7n9PsalfADlHgOCLvFfawas32wg9e3YTvGoZg7JzinKXqdvNYyJkG_MiM5CN9n1FnbDrkc5hFMuzoQRb0YutMl5hK_jLp7JT/s320/tumblr_m5hmh3ANrS1qipj3do1_500.jpg" width="224" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> To <a href="https://63mago.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">63mago</a> I send you this hunk of a man</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXkBWJTwqmqir_w6cCcQv1IOF6sI4yPyW-iYFsphGdG_1zcgHkKfAz7ga37ZmfahgsspPtIWcC0sfeMbEO9ebTN68dKgOkAhzyAZuRV5vqoImrEQu2TpV3bDhp2ZfLFyJirYftxotrbsDV/s1600/tumblr_m4nv9kpWt41qipj3do1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXkBWJTwqmqir_w6cCcQv1IOF6sI4yPyW-iYFsphGdG_1zcgHkKfAz7ga37ZmfahgsspPtIWcC0sfeMbEO9ebTN68dKgOkAhzyAZuRV5vqoImrEQu2TpV3bDhp2ZfLFyJirYftxotrbsDV/s320/tumblr_m4nv9kpWt41qipj3do1_500.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">To Miss MJ, of the <a href="http://theinfomaniac.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Infomaniac</a> blog, I am sending Rodrigo</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGjuPwR8l7s9iWrdXlsQbS1IRUeIekhL1dwKBRtJPntIDgcm6qX7CC6T_YJ19m7jd0SQcNqyOuuPlyX-AaWafHiiK2QikR80jaMblyjW98ujUrBplTB8kaFkImsHWDfSGG9vi-LJ_ajp8M/s1600/tumblr_m4d4xqR3ne1qipj3do1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGjuPwR8l7s9iWrdXlsQbS1IRUeIekhL1dwKBRtJPntIDgcm6qX7CC6T_YJ19m7jd0SQcNqyOuuPlyX-AaWafHiiK2QikR80jaMblyjW98ujUrBplTB8kaFkImsHWDfSGG9vi-LJ_ajp8M/s320/tumblr_m4d4xqR3ne1qipj3do1_500.jpg" width="216" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">And for Princess of <a href="http://palaisdesteff.blogspot.pt/" target="_blank">Palais de Steff</a> I send you Martim, the pool boy.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59fywXq51pAIR1CWohr7AufQS68jXl7zXnM_cKGcatEuvbxqZqwulc5i0LBxm2ZdozdlaxtNGZOiOE4djaAC81IfyeG3c779-1zJ7DYsNm5zqZeC3XIiCUteOZCVdZjusqL6j1ooU4-V3/s1600/tumblr_m560zuuysL1qarksao1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59fywXq51pAIR1CWohr7AufQS68jXl7zXnM_cKGcatEuvbxqZqwulc5i0LBxm2ZdozdlaxtNGZOiOE4djaAC81IfyeG3c779-1zJ7DYsNm5zqZeC3XIiCUteOZCVdZjusqL6j1ooU4-V3/s320/tumblr_m560zuuysL1qarksao1_500.jpg" width="256" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">And for <a href="http://ivyandruby.blogspot.pt/" target="_blank">IvyBlack</a> I send Nuno. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmZSoggGRl5IbOhgDUvg_iOUkzSbyV-FhPdHshvPoZqEWpxAkxVy2f-mAA5sV7sxnN4vgw4pvCDZSdn418zPsrsovkQJY8xoUcTh4heyXRrH3DND3mwvzbwA_tGasJ2EPmWVl92QeIyBl/s1600/tumblr_m4gfobVEGH1qipj3do1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmZSoggGRl5IbOhgDUvg_iOUkzSbyV-FhPdHshvPoZqEWpxAkxVy2f-mAA5sV7sxnN4vgw4pvCDZSdn418zPsrsovkQJY8xoUcTh4heyXRrH3DND3mwvzbwA_tGasJ2EPmWVl92QeIyBl/s320/tumblr_m4gfobVEGH1qipj3do1_500.jpg" width="241" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">And, last, but by no means least, to my lawyer, Kathleen in London, I send you Freddie.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Please note there is no Returns Policy and the package will arrive in 7-10 days (subject to customs clearance) in a plain brown box with no indication of what lies inside. With regard to the Exchange Policy, there isn't one. My advice for keeping your Portuguese houseboy would be: do with him what you wish! My suggestion would be to dress him in a tiny pink posing-pouch and make him dust the top shelf while you lie on the chaise-longue peeling grapes and watching Corrie. </span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-463367660957700942015-07-09T02:12:00.003-07:002015-07-09T02:12:40.235-07:00Never take your Maid on holiday!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">This little chapter provides a stark warning why you should never take your maid on holiday with you. No matter how much money you've spent lobotomizing the Maid, trying to tame her wild mood-swings by lacing her tea with Xanax or Valium, or teaching her deportment lessons, it's just an entirely fruitless exercise.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">You see, I've been in sunny Portugal for the past three weeks and foolishly I brought Basil, the Maid, along for the trip. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Basil dyed her hair blonde for the trip. Basil likes the sun, she is one of those lucky British citizens who is as pale as a sheet of paper and because of this, she does not bother with suntan lotion, finds it insulting to her sensibilities to protect herself from the mega-watt sun and a painful death due to malignant melanoma. Her lily-white skin instead turns an unearthly shade of lobster in just a few hours and she stares at herself in the mirror like some delusional Helen of Troy. At the same moment, Basil enjoys drinking Red Bull. Her fingers are so pudgy she cannot operate the mechanism for opening the drinks can, instead she just bites the metal off and spits it on the sand. The other day I witnessed her opening an oyster by placing it between her legs and squeezing. Clearly, she is a girl of multifarious talents.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZanFEhDPnSmWvGJPr2R-Mgu5ISKmAhV1TGsAE5PwAhj82ZrfDSfGdGFCqmW0eRybFOsiSHRNlxnmRhvDGbNan4H4hpXrBEoi-HJA8l_L7IsGSdC7nzzhO5cUSZDhmRoHgGUH1D-o4k48b/s1600/Basil+gone+blonde.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZanFEhDPnSmWvGJPr2R-Mgu5ISKmAhV1TGsAE5PwAhj82ZrfDSfGdGFCqmW0eRybFOsiSHRNlxnmRhvDGbNan4H4hpXrBEoi-HJA8l_L7IsGSdC7nzzhO5cUSZDhmRoHgGUH1D-o4k48b/s400/Basil+gone+blonde.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> Basil, in her quick-dry St Tropez micro-bikini</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">To get to the point of this story, I was wallowing in the water off the beach near Troia and I realised something had inexplicably changed about the sea view. I had never noticed islands off this coastline, yet there they were. Two of them, about thirty metres away.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqcR72luSlSlPXUnCjeec0LOtIIMvMJrZcq_tEWBvx1PsQRe9NiKgN0D-gB3dw7tPtEVnPmtptPmAu3Qkm6Q6nfonGIhBTFk8WSFhsjhppoJXP56Fe1syzxjZ9FV59oFC7_YGl8-a36bFn/s1600/poop-in-sea-Basil.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqcR72luSlSlPXUnCjeec0LOtIIMvMJrZcq_tEWBvx1PsQRe9NiKgN0D-gB3dw7tPtEVnPmtptPmAu3Qkm6Q6nfonGIhBTFk8WSFhsjhppoJXP56Fe1syzxjZ9FV59oFC7_YGl8-a36bFn/s320/poop-in-sea-Basil.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">As I returned to the beach, I see Basil laughing, her whole bulk quivering like a mountain of lard in her gigantic red bathing suit. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">"I pooped in the sea" she bawled.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">"You disgusting bitch!" I called back.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Tomorrow, I am planning revenge on her. It will be short, painful and sweet. Bringing her along on this trip has been like a re-enactment of The Taming of The Shrew.</span></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-27307425560455146512015-06-15T12:47:00.000-07:002016-01-31T06:36:16.958-08:00I dropped it<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Fanny loves churches. Especially old, idyllic country churches. There's nothing more delightful than a landscape punctuated by a spire rising from the somnolent water-meadows of the English Shires. When feeling all churchy, I love nothing more than a rousing chorus (perhaps Cum All Ye Faithful), and passing the collection pot and dropping in a few drachmas or pesetas, whispering the Lord's prayer in reverence, and then when the service is over, going to the Rectory for tea and scones and, later on, having a play on the Vicar's organ. English churches are a bit like English cottages and cottaging. They become habit-forming. In fact, in all the world there's not a more religious country than England where anyone who is of high social standing goes to church on Sunday morning, and then cottaging on Sunday afternoon. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhb08Q9ARYqb_rajkG2A-WhWsGdzpxbekSZSnD6Z9y4nxpgpr4gkyRDqH0GqP31ER2EPOOmkvEfepsb8FbtCq7vmYL_Le2lPZsSxeiXj8PAUMAOvHmgCDDjuTdEdqgoNu3V0ibqR2Chge/s1600/dropped+a+contact+lens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhb08Q9ARYqb_rajkG2A-WhWsGdzpxbekSZSnD6Z9y4nxpgpr4gkyRDqH0GqP31ER2EPOOmkvEfepsb8FbtCq7vmYL_Le2lPZsSxeiXj8PAUMAOvHmgCDDjuTdEdqgoNu3V0ibqR2Chge/s320/dropped+a+contact+lens.jpg" width="212" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Here I am, on Sunday morning, at my local St Helen's Church, just
about to go in for the service. The Sung Eucharist had just begun with
All Creatures Great and Small and just as I gaily skipped up the steps, my
right contact lens fell out. Rather than suffer the humiliation of not
being to see the words in the choirbook, I spent a good ten minutes
looking for it. The Rector glared at me as I hobbled into the dimly lit church, with only one seeing eye. His
paper-thin lips paused mid-song, giving the look of someone sucking on a
very large, very over-ripe plum. I've come over a bit church-y lately, hence my rare appearance in the pews.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-47525204499058143702015-06-11T04:12:00.000-07:002015-06-11T04:12:00.755-07:00Terrifying hallucination<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2YQVF9jx58Ye-QYPJJ7Zut4FaaKzmoxy8RG1UElRk9BN2cIbKocT4RL9cKUAZFGAwV41L-l6xDsbsyMjvq8N4jNWHkVvns-VBJSLhbPCWDa25z2kTvEYFLmRA00_DKsKbJvJ8loDu5t2S/s1600/Basil+the+maid+mirror+f1259fee_o.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2YQVF9jx58Ye-QYPJJ7Zut4FaaKzmoxy8RG1UElRk9BN2cIbKocT4RL9cKUAZFGAwV41L-l6xDsbsyMjvq8N4jNWHkVvns-VBJSLhbPCWDa25z2kTvEYFLmRA00_DKsKbJvJ8loDu5t2S/s400/Basil+the+maid+mirror+f1259fee_o.gif" width="332" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">After a night of whiskey chasers, fishbowls of rum punch and vodka slammers, I woke this morning, took a 2-hour bath in asses' milk and was just about to powder my nose in the ornate, gem-encrusted Louis Quatorze hand-mirror when I saw this terrifying vision. Not my face reflected in the mirror, but the ugly face of my uncouth maid, Basil. This was so disturbing I had to take an ice-bath and lay down in a darkened room for 3 hours. The sound of my vomiting was like a lorryload of coal being delivered. I've never had an hallucination in my life, before now, and I frequently pop Valium like they're a tube of Smarties, and follow it up by marijuana marmite on toast for breakfast. </span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-27021590286335876332015-06-03T04:06:00.000-07:002015-06-05T12:24:29.925-07:00Something different<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgrdXd9kyBidXzAArV-fg7Ea37LB4eAV-LsY6RN4wuwPtGOD4nt9VkPHj-wBWZ2h2gj-1LdU5qZ3X8Je_-Q-bHzd4aK719BW92a08YqFmq5dm-bNP7xf_T6sfQTldrebXoTgLSmCi7lUq/s1600/goldfish+in+plastic+bag+bikini.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgrdXd9kyBidXzAArV-fg7Ea37LB4eAV-LsY6RN4wuwPtGOD4nt9VkPHj-wBWZ2h2gj-1LdU5qZ3X8Je_-Q-bHzd4aK719BW92a08YqFmq5dm-bNP7xf_T6sfQTldrebXoTgLSmCi7lUq/s1600/goldfish+in+plastic+bag+bikini.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Do you like my new bikini? Yes, it's very different. An Italian designer created it for me. Two plastic bags full of goldfish. They've got names too: Jasper, John, and Judas in the left breast-pouch. And Rachel, Melissa and Yvonne in the right breast-pouch. Admittedly, it's a little bit different to the usual 'boob-tube' I'm seen wearing by the paparazzi. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Time to hit the beach.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-33365204075036200772015-05-31T03:55:00.000-07:002015-05-31T04:21:25.179-07:00Basil's new apron<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Hello, good evening and welcome back.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">My maid-of-no-work, Basil, has incensed me even further by appearing at a charity function wearing her new white apron.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here she is. Doesn't she look the clown? </span></span><span style="color: black; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="en-US">I
have already written to my local MP to ask that they reinstate the 1845 Lunacy
Act and County Asylums Act, permitting electroconvulsive therapy and
lobotomy. They can use my maid as a guinea pig! Once
you realise your maid's role is court jester, you accept it... with a
caveat... and that caveat is to use a cat o'nine tails to discipline the wench.</span></span></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com3The Raffles Estate, Cowdrift Lane, Brill, Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire HP18, UK51.8209023 -1.051839500000028251.7423928 -1.2132010000000282 51.8994118 -0.8904780000000283tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-66706836258781309742015-03-24T05:35:00.002-07:002015-03-24T05:35:43.464-07:00Steamy love in Brazil<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The effects of a long Satanic English winter were starting to take their toll, so four weeks ago, looking tired and pale, I jetted off with my muscled Brazilian butler, Juan, to his homeland, Brazil. No, I did not forget my tiny pink 1920s bathing suit with two pom-poms sewn on the front. We first visited Salvador.<br /> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">We met a street food vendor called Dada. Dada is reputed to be the best chef in the historic Brazilian city of Salvador; so much so, this larger-than-life character owns three restaurants in the favelas. Dada also runs a popular food stand in the centre of Salvador and is known to locals and tourists alike. Dada’s speciality, Moqueca de Camarão - King Prawn and Coconut Stew - is a typical dish to eat. This Bahian dish is a mixture of indigenous Indian, African and Portuguese and this wonderfully spicey dish is evocative of this corner of Brazil. Originally, moqueca would have been cooked in banana leaves over hot coals. Nowadays, Dada prepares the dish with dende oil, a vibrant orange paste made from palm. The street food is reason enough to go to Salvador, never mind the18th-century candy-coloured Igreja Nosso Senhor do Bonfim (famous for its powers to effect miraculous cures) where I was told to tie a ribbon, known as a fita, in Juan's hair and make a wish! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">In the seedy, bustling backstreets of Salvador, we visited The Pelourinho, the central plaza, which is lined with richly decorated baroque churches, tiny squares, and fine old colonial mansions. By day, one could wander its cobblestone streets for hours.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">After a few relaxing days here, we chose to fly to </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="st">Fernando de Noronha, an archipelago of 21 islands and islets in the Atlantic Ocean, 220 miles offshore from the Brazilian coast. The islands are a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The number one place to stay on the islands is the Pousada Maravilha. Our bungalow had no lack of indulgences, including a tropical garden, wooden outdoor tub and the softest billowing cotton imaginable.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="st">We swam from this beach - </span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span class="st"><span class="irc_su" dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">Baía dos Porcos, the Bay of Pigs - </span>and watched glorious sunsets. Time here slowed to a few frames per second. Snorkeling in the shallows revealed multi-coloured fish who were not afraid of us. The place is the epitome of a tropical paradise.</span> The perfect Robinson Crusoe escape with luxury accommodation to hand!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">When God created the airplane, he made it possible for weary Northern souls to escape the greyness of winter and enjoy such beautiful corners of this planet. I arrived home to Buckinghamshire with a renewed passion for life after our four weeks in the tropics. </span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-23137342277867864682015-02-22T07:26:00.000-08:002015-02-25T00:29:33.346-08:00A taste of the green fairy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Is it the green hour yet? </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I have a deep and ardent affection for a soothing glass of absinthe. What is absinthe, I hear you softly murmur?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhItSFHoKSii894sXu2M90OpL9xIGxPo7OYzw2D6Q4xI5lXbMUMn1JR4Se6JySOhrQf6BBeGlSWkBvDb2p7_L868FARza3IFVZARfHe_zVs2AbYE7cay5zndd0yjSRhgVkm2ZkTyQDxrLnw/s1600/Glass+of+Absinthe+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhItSFHoKSii894sXu2M90OpL9xIGxPo7OYzw2D6Q4xI5lXbMUMn1JR4Se6JySOhrQf6BBeGlSWkBvDb2p7_L868FARza3IFVZARfHe_zVs2AbYE7cay5zndd0yjSRhgVkm2ZkTyQDxrLnw/s1600/Glass+of+Absinthe+2.jpg" height="640" width="392" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Absinthe is a wonderful little 'pick-me-up' containing sweet fennel, green
anise, and the curiously-named wormwood, itself a plant grown in the Caucasus hills, better known to botanists as <em>Artemisia absinthium</em>. It is the fennel and anise which gives absinthe its characteristic
licorice flavour. The crushed flowers and leaves of wormwood impart a bitter flavour, quite unique; these small, innocent-looking fronds are the source of absinthe’s famed jade-green hue. Generally, one pours the absinthe into a glass over a white sugar-cube held by a special perforated or slotted spoon, but here I am using brown sugar-cubes and slices of lime, and of course, an ordinary teaspoon. Sugar is dissolved to counteract the bitterness.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvawFn3NtXCxwSFf0SuGePsMN2VSCP4bEqlxcFZaOiBig_TR6gGFIOw7GnL8XAEp1WuPq6R4l7b2juTQoEa-FHK9XKk1btDBdXXCmpRukv5gGtCba5SK_cUXqkXb7LXkAIZ1kWTi-Mk3Mr/s1600/Green+Fairy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvawFn3NtXCxwSFf0SuGePsMN2VSCP4bEqlxcFZaOiBig_TR6gGFIOw7GnL8XAEp1WuPq6R4l7b2juTQoEa-FHK9XKk1btDBdXXCmpRukv5gGtCba5SK_cUXqkXb7LXkAIZ1kWTi-Mk3Mr/s1600/Green+Fairy.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><em>A timeless, vintage poster for absinthe</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Here at Raffles, I've been known to down a bottle or two of absinthe in one sitting - usually before a public appearance, or a speech on World Peace at the local grammar school, or cutting the ribbon to officially open a shopping mall - to help loosen my tongue and lubricate my larynx, only for medicinal purposes, you understand, and on the advice of my doctor and fitness instructor. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Absinthe is also good for exercising. I drink it the same way athletes drink Lucozade (and in the same unstinting quantity). Here I am, working up a sweat on the treadmill at the gym, after having quaffed a heavy shot of absinthe.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7HKwSh_xtuX7EACgubwgsxFxUnLjQMID2kfCqwC1XZiUUKrWSG9_FGMlbMCZpeAye8Jb_9rpLaO1dOh-OioYay-57IUvZcBRmzFTmlMtZGRdjuinfSrlV6XcA3MbZoFby-1Yt2Vc4fTGs/s1600/Fanny+Love+on+the+treadmill+imageedit_2_7006207045.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7HKwSh_xtuX7EACgubwgsxFxUnLjQMID2kfCqwC1XZiUUKrWSG9_FGMlbMCZpeAye8Jb_9rpLaO1dOh-OioYay-57IUvZcBRmzFTmlMtZGRdjuinfSrlV6XcA3MbZoFby-1Yt2Vc4fTGs/s1600/Fanny+Love+on+the+treadmill+imageedit_2_7006207045.gif" height="336" width="640" /></a></div>
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<em>Fanny loves to go jogging on the treadmill after a shot of absinthe. It's part of the my daily exercise regimen.</em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> <span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Absinthe rose to great popularity as an alcoholic drink in late 19th- and early 20th-century France, particularly among Parisian artists and writers. Owing in part to its association with bohemian culture, the consumption of absinthe was opposed by social conservatives and prohibitionists. Consequently, Ernest Hemingway, Charles Baudelaire, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Pablo Picasso, Vincent van Gogh and Oscar Wilde were all known absinthe drinkers.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KpND6f2q4Lh8TE3FbeqPM9ebDLvI51OfmUN0-ykRWhjO3qLJkusMD93RsY3htaLnhd3L6NLkvVvEgaObX_-Tcq8SgK0Xlvs4Fev6-ROi2RjqXYoo6DlKfpz190RfIe5_uIuoJEyLp6HM/s1600/absinthe+drinker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KpND6f2q4Lh8TE3FbeqPM9ebDLvI51OfmUN0-ykRWhjO3qLJkusMD93RsY3htaLnhd3L6NLkvVvEgaObX_-Tcq8SgK0Xlvs4Fev6-ROi2RjqXYoo6DlKfpz190RfIe5_uIuoJEyLp6HM/s1600/absinthe+drinker.jpg" height="446" width="640" /></a></div>
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<em>One of my favourite paintings: The Absinthe Drinker by Viktor Oliva (April 24, 1861 – April 5, 1928). Viktor Oliva was a Czech painter who was drawn to the Montmarte area of Paris in 1888. He socialised in Bohemian circles and, in some sources, it is claimed his love of drinking absinthe greatly improved his artistic ability. Fanny attempted to buy this painting from the Czechs, but they snubbed her offer of £250,000, describing her in a leaked memorandum as "an avid art-collector who also happens to be as mad as a hatter". Yes, well, the same could be said of Brian Sewell.</em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span> <span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Absinthe is commonly referred to in historical literature as <em>la fée verte</em> or the green fairy. In France in the 1860s, the drink became so popular in bars and bistros that the hour of 5pm became known as <span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">l'heure verte</span></i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> or the green hour.</span> </span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjycVmQzuGC0TyGL9zg2yu7gbD0Jzs93oWJfv1DdqpRQw9CIaMtPbvZXRt-5P3Ole19nTO1AuoqyaY3G6oyNf__jm6uYgoWdwi_-9E9hATeyulPnG2LFAByWYUvkpje08TbixaTCMgE83yZ/s1600/green-fairy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjycVmQzuGC0TyGL9zg2yu7gbD0Jzs93oWJfv1DdqpRQw9CIaMtPbvZXRt-5P3Ole19nTO1AuoqyaY3G6oyNf__jm6uYgoWdwi_-9E9hATeyulPnG2LFAByWYUvkpje08TbixaTCMgE83yZ/s1600/green-fairy.gif" height="630" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Absinthe has always had its critics, though: namely bookish, teetotaler lesbians who have never touched a drop, yet stolidly claim that "<em>absinthe makes you crazy and criminal, provokes epilepsy and tuberculosis, and has killed thousands of French people. It makes a ferocious beast of man, a martyr of woman, and a degenerate of the infant</em>". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Warnings that too much of the stuff can cause hallucinations are rife, but likely to be exaggerated poppycock, methinks; conversely, many notable artists and poets claim to have found artistic enlightenment, poetic inspiration and a freer state of mind through the practice of frequently imbibing the green fairy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Darlings... it's 7.26am on a cold Sunday morning in February, I'm still in my eiderdown goose-feather dressing gown, the dogs are slumbering, Juan is fast asleep no doubt dreaming of our torrid lovemaking last night, so now must be the celebrated green hour. Go on, pour me a glass of the green stuff. That's a pint glass, if you please.</span></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com6The Raffles Estate, Cowdrift Lane, Brill, Buckinghamshire, United States of England, HP99 1BJ51.8209023 -1.051839500000028251.7423928 -1.2132010000000282 51.8994118 -0.8904780000000283tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-73211054429837312712015-02-21T06:54:00.001-08:002015-02-21T06:57:16.118-08:00And why not?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41hAEVQgGLLgOeOqDn27DPLFEUme4kcyA3YNqaMzeYWo-kR1f045P4HTqdxLFictCToE7DJhDdBgKaUILexcfmQtWrREk1klx-pjLcRnyLwRdY7E_n_YnM9VF7tWvGy2zfR2Pz1Ya9Zpz/s1600/this-is-not-a-brothel.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41hAEVQgGLLgOeOqDn27DPLFEUme4kcyA3YNqaMzeYWo-kR1f045P4HTqdxLFictCToE7DJhDdBgKaUILexcfmQtWrREk1klx-pjLcRnyLwRdY7E_n_YnM9VF7tWvGy2zfR2Pz1Ya9Zpz/s1600/this-is-not-a-brothel.gif" height="320" width="305" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I was just on my way to my local Post Office at Brill to send a telegram to Winston Churchill, Prime Minister of the United States of England, when I spotted this sign on a residential door in the village.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">It made bile rise in the back of my gullet. How inappropriate to display this sign in a village! This is a conservation zone, and an Area of Upstanding Natural Beauteousness (the Chiltern Hills, and my own abode, Raffles, the Home of Fanny Love, of course).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I'd like to know <em>why</em> there are no prostitutes at that address?! They should be everywhere, especially in a little village like this. The National Economy depends upon them! And so does little ole me. Don't knock them... they keep old trannies (I'm 40 this year, y'er know!) very happy during the winter months.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I went straight back home after sending the telegram (I'm running for local MP for my area, and hoped to rustle up support from the top man himself) and sat down to do some embroidery and crochet-work whilst gently sipping absinthe and sucking a lollipop.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Two bottles of absinthe later, here are my finished works.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEnUcZznFvEkgqdZ02pYvNC5NAVCOFmhzbz7w9rEg6Vn9zGXnvch92EG1P0sAOLwi4iUdr-dcDc0B50fXYhs1dvUTRmp-e9paQ_saiKLDonMry9RQCaFjjrFnoNhqR9vokI_H0eBD6pfKb/s1600/Your-face-makes-onions-cry.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEnUcZznFvEkgqdZ02pYvNC5NAVCOFmhzbz7w9rEg6Vn9zGXnvch92EG1P0sAOLwi4iUdr-dcDc0B50fXYhs1dvUTRmp-e9paQ_saiKLDonMry9RQCaFjjrFnoNhqR9vokI_H0eBD6pfKb/s1600/Your-face-makes-onions-cry.gif" height="129" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoXNGUwF_s_Dt_-TvK2rAdSrX7NNzX7cw7dmm4AZ5_PEgHwC3sJlCsEmVPvCN1wUKOpC0SI5yeeiJMUjwmRge0MLC4pZnK3Mjuvx1cqatRG0KjFG0DZxUYvaQyLcslo29ugc0p9DypIDo5/s1600/PhotoFunia-7163d60_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoXNGUwF_s_Dt_-TvK2rAdSrX7NNzX7cw7dmm4AZ5_PEgHwC3sJlCsEmVPvCN1wUKOpC0SI5yeeiJMUjwmRge0MLC4pZnK3Mjuvx1cqatRG0KjFG0DZxUYvaQyLcslo29ugc0p9DypIDo5/s1600/PhotoFunia-7163d60_o.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAUyXrWxjUnovjhqyB60FtgnlZLRApLYyCiGHYQX90zMUYY8WycZ06vh1aHnLFhMERWGzwTJA8d8cmsxq7MtjaKM73HAO-jw0wczm_30rLm0ZI8DBS9wVRspKVE4j68SEgmZH8M6lfg9FO/s1600/PhotoFunia-7163cd8_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAUyXrWxjUnovjhqyB60FtgnlZLRApLYyCiGHYQX90zMUYY8WycZ06vh1aHnLFhMERWGzwTJA8d8cmsxq7MtjaKM73HAO-jw0wczm_30rLm0ZI8DBS9wVRspKVE4j68SEgmZH8M6lfg9FO/s1600/PhotoFunia-7163cd8_o.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Tomorrow, a beauty therapist is visiting <em>chez moi</em> to perform a new treatment involving snails. I cannot wait.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-3309669770753135632015-02-20T04:08:00.002-08:002015-02-23T02:48:07.059-08:00A new pink car<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMEZ3FHsak9FXxBciBWWMqkI7Z1fQQdVAbLJCrx-RZ6IKmXtx-h3KgeWcsvdJ4qpIa-razIbd1s8XZo9AId77RYS3hZKzUo_HoWJtLfBY7o79UnArz6YlS0Ati5vh38BzgXrwtAv6CxM8j/s1600/Pink-Panther-Car1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMEZ3FHsak9FXxBciBWWMqkI7Z1fQQdVAbLJCrx-RZ6IKmXtx-h3KgeWcsvdJ4qpIa-razIbd1s8XZo9AId77RYS3hZKzUo_HoWJtLfBY7o79UnArz6YlS0Ati5vh38BzgXrwtAv6CxM8j/s1600/Pink-Panther-Car1.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Do you like my new car? Now that Spring has sprung and the mercury is edging 8</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="st">°</span>c, I felt it was high time for a new vehicle befitting of sunnier weather. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">It's a Pink Panther. It's very luxurious inside, done out in finest, pink, clipped, ostrich feathers.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">As I'm quite short (5ft 6") I usually wear these when driving it, just so I can reach the pedals. No, they're not Barbours or Wellington Boots, usually seen worn by the 'country set' in these parts, but they do keep the mud off my pedicure.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyuMl6VNxzb9FY0ykfBM4YfJmvbME527Hno6KfgkOig_doC-tUbw_sNPIZhyphenhyphence_3OQDnckoQGCPWztVzYMpyw0xkZvDTUxAtkzfdMHj5uTAMXmjczNtmd2P_D9cgF1Z9yZUYa2Z-DF2Swr/s1600/Elegant-Shoes-worn-at-funer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyuMl6VNxzb9FY0ykfBM4YfJmvbME527Hno6KfgkOig_doC-tUbw_sNPIZhyphenhyphence_3OQDnckoQGCPWztVzYMpyw0xkZvDTUxAtkzfdMHj5uTAMXmjczNtmd2P_D9cgF1Z9yZUYa2Z-DF2Swr/s1600/Elegant-Shoes-worn-at-funer.jpg" height="320" width="243" /></a></div>
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<em>I do sometimes walk the two dogs whilst wearing these</em></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-72922410117687518892015-02-19T04:06:00.001-08:002015-02-19T04:21:09.141-08:00Dress your man in gold<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxSRtiAr4VN-7Pv4RWelMzM2O2PO99CdH1W4G1_vIXlG2tyao9cQc1dWCRGpQVAseD0Jvd1-XBobi8xAEEo4eCk9M-mLXaW-gmm5wSR3Eo0uJKw_yHzHIgAkq0kQNrNEEt4BVPdrLohfBu/s1600/gold+trousers+and+muscle+shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxSRtiAr4VN-7Pv4RWelMzM2O2PO99CdH1W4G1_vIXlG2tyao9cQc1dWCRGpQVAseD0Jvd1-XBobi8xAEEo4eCk9M-mLXaW-gmm5wSR3Eo0uJKw_yHzHIgAkq0kQNrNEEt4BVPdrLohfBu/s1600/gold+trousers+and+muscle+shirt.jpg" height="640" width="242" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Men.. they're nothing but ornaments as far as I'm concerned... luxury items who are there to look pretty but say very little. The less said the better. I dress my man - Juan, the Brazilian chauffeur who speaks not a single word of English - up in this little gold outfit, purchased from E-bay. It may be winter here, but Ba Humbug! to those souls who say this reveal-all outfit is inappropriate for my conservative village. You won't find my staff here at Fanny Towers dressed in Primark denimwear or hand-me-downs.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm lovingly adding a bit of glamour to northwest Buckinghamshire. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">What am I wearing, right now, you ask?</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigJ4nyK2-lK6KMtr8AsUi0yRkJq0i4i04jIjA41A7RdDhi3BHRMCWshQEF6jaqiVSXPkGkicBHzu1PxNzJohRH1RdM4LiBM42yL83VdPtgkFWjWCY30ykZcVAZYj3vjYlVHnSDRxBJyMXF/s1600/Fanny+Love's+Approach+of+Spring+Dress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigJ4nyK2-lK6KMtr8AsUi0yRkJq0i4i04jIjA41A7RdDhi3BHRMCWshQEF6jaqiVSXPkGkicBHzu1PxNzJohRH1RdM4LiBM42yL83VdPtgkFWjWCY30ykZcVAZYj3vjYlVHnSDRxBJyMXF/s1600/Fanny+Love's%2BApproach%2Bof%2BSpring%2BDress.jpg" height="400" width="335" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Well, this.... I made it myself. It's called "Fanny Love's Approach of Spring" Dress made from lambs' wool with real moss plucked from the banks of the River Cherwell. The hat is a bit uncomfortable, I must confess, made as it is from a long, narrow plant pot once full of geraniums. I'm never seen out of doors without one of my famous hats!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">However, not all of my staff get to wear the finest couture. No.. my current, insubordinate maid, Basil, has just been handed this bespoke uniform to wear. Her employment contract has just been re-issued stating she must wear this 24 hours a day. Isn't it divine?</span></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-27136463840186551212015-02-18T04:06:00.000-08:002015-02-18T04:09:39.328-08:00A lovely day for a drive<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3FlQN3h_iGFwzo8G-frJNJtvZzdGm3xmkPVZKVexRqeKGYNdrPTuKEPCp0XagfNnkBM-vrXTyTndIubXSZNt9rpOoo3G2nHY1SdKXStCUbDSm2qjWYdHoc-Xxuhu6ckiOVplGakmTOaOj/s1600/legs+out+of+car+window+454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3FlQN3h_iGFwzo8G-frJNJtvZzdGm3xmkPVZKVexRqeKGYNdrPTuKEPCp0XagfNnkBM-vrXTyTndIubXSZNt9rpOoo3G2nHY1SdKXStCUbDSm2qjWYdHoc-Xxuhu6ckiOVplGakmTOaOj/s1600/legs+out+of+car+window+454.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here I am, enjoying the mid-February sunshine. It's lovely to take a tour of the countryside, isn't it? We stopped at a lovely picnic site and went looking for badgers... (a little bit like <a href="http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/156588/Ron-looking-for-badgers.html" target="_blank">this</a>)</span></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-71059757228605233692015-02-18T03:29:00.000-08:002015-02-18T03:29:42.318-08:00The maid and the cream egg<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeEoTuUzDeMZCIAFm0oL2g4AlIHicVCJtO3dk0VQcMsezfyiDP97SOHk3_i8kOzZW5JoV5ZHUoJI2mkmrVDFaAn-_OTH83x8sYDgidi86ysMxtAxva0OYoobtlo7IxFYxd9_2qRZqZhGc7/s1600/chocolate+mouth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeEoTuUzDeMZCIAFm0oL2g4AlIHicVCJtO3dk0VQcMsezfyiDP97SOHk3_i8kOzZW5JoV5ZHUoJI2mkmrVDFaAn-_OTH83x8sYDgidi86ysMxtAxva0OYoobtlo7IxFYxd9_2qRZqZhGc7/s1600/chocolate+mouth.jpg" height="320" width="234" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">A staple of the British breakfast since the early 1800s, the Cadbury's cream egg is 100% fat with zero vitamins and minerals. Imagine the horror to find your maid lying on her back, in the scullery, gobbling down these chocolate eggs like a pig snuffling truffles. The wretched maid had molten chocolate all over her whiskers and pinafore. And this at 8.10am. I got Juan to load her into the wheelbarrow and take her out into the gardens, for fear that she would explode all over my newly-installed Vestril-Virgin-with-Angels ceiling mosaic. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Next she tells me she's undertaking the Ferrero Rocher 2-minute challenge, in a bid to get in the Guinness Book of Records. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I had only just bought the maid a new uniform. She wasn't wearing it during her recent chocolate-binge. Needless to say, I'm dreading Easter when she goes all wide-eyed and pushes her nose up against the chocolatier's window and starts slavering for what lies displayed within. She has threatened to issue a Press Release to the paparazzi and tell all to The Sun and The Daily Mail (extraneous wrapping paper used in the United Kingdom to wrap up fried fish/chips and never actually read). By doing so would bring eternal Hell and social disrepute upon my household. The maid must be hushed before her sordid little tale gets told!</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-1945690450521208632015-02-15T13:40:00.003-08:002015-02-16T08:34:31.468-08:00Signs of doom?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">My chauffeur pulled up outside a certain London hang-out of high society. No sooner had I trotted out onto the pavement in my 12-inch heels and stared up at the neon sign, then something struck me as being <i>very wrong</i>. All thoughts of what I'd imagined to be a lavish occasion disintegrated like a puff of smoke. Oh jeopardy lay within, my waters kept telling me. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWakPKDA08OsqNjLYShzU8TYEoE18zWctlgPq6YDk7VVxiyIOqumL8hJaIjkJpLZOxVp4_Pb5mtsFSTBUERLSaLO0CKYd0c4xNP2LVTIvQTadIShs6u3stH7bYe30uonClAM0ER58D1YRL/s1600/output_6MU61w.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWakPKDA08OsqNjLYShzU8TYEoE18zWctlgPq6YDk7VVxiyIOqumL8hJaIjkJpLZOxVp4_Pb5mtsFSTBUERLSaLO0CKYd0c4xNP2LVTIvQTadIShs6u3stH7bYe30uonClAM0ER58D1YRL/s1600/output_6MU61w.gif" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Deeply superstitious of dark forces at work, I got back in the Rolls and ordered Juan to pootle round the block and find somewhere more suitable for a lady of my standing, before the evening was well and truly scuppered. He suggested the Angus Steak House.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ibNAZNim4hhp02_IwUXXZ0MparxwAi8TyrVee0QHMoEOrmEcNy4hUZcAohC_qKdHPZKVD_PNq8PJeEO_VWLv4wbLJtMB3BSkSYIPp4f81YCoBWEOvmnGIR22eNMxQYtqmNMrSxr3kTf_/s1600/Anus+Steak+House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ibNAZNim4hhp02_IwUXXZ0MparxwAi8TyrVee0QHMoEOrmEcNy4hUZcAohC_qKdHPZKVD_PNq8PJeEO_VWLv4wbLJtMB3BSkSYIPp4f81YCoBWEOvmnGIR22eNMxQYtqmNMrSxr3kTf_/s1600/Anus+Steak+House.jpg" height="420" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">But judging by the all-telling neon, all was not well here either. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">In the end, after 2 hours of prevarication, we drove to the only suitable place we could find - McDonalds in East Barnet - where we had a 79p McFlurry sandwich and a pint of Coke, before ending up in this lounge, somewhere off gay Old Compton Street (no surprises there, given the name of the establishment and its location). This time, I'm not complaining!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">But, of course, it happened a fourth time, these dastardly subliminal messages being sent to me by ordinary neon signs! As we stopped for petrol just off the M40.... this apparition of things to come: </span> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi44_BdawgcXVSPuOE45vZEfHeHc5z94qDF0zeEu32R8gtXKawTU0D0YG_oLp1qVUMDVU8qcvYs75v-qKHqvKAf4ioYDEJdG2TBY0eW3mMz0Un7w2u0lwuatu6SdKKgWep_ipp5mTU4OQu7/s1600/hell+petrol+station.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi44_BdawgcXVSPuOE45vZEfHeHc5z94qDF0zeEu32R8gtXKawTU0D0YG_oLp1qVUMDVU8qcvYs75v-qKHqvKAf4ioYDEJdG2TBY0eW3mMz0Un7w2u0lwuatu6SdKKgWep_ipp5mTU4OQu7/s1600/hell+petrol+station.jpg" height="320" width="277" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">On second thoughts, we were at the M40 services just outside Beaconsfield, which has, in certain quarters, been described as a mini-Hell on the edge of the Chiltern Hills.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12985003129636389121noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6499498757122540754.post-27382813072508213332015-02-15T03:47:00.000-08:002015-02-16T08:33:42.560-08:00Make-your- own Pearl Necklace<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">It all started with my Pearl Necklace: a 16th century, Parisian heirloom, with pearls plucked from oyster shells at La Rochelle, </span></span><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">sconced in 68-carat gold and set in lapis lazuli, </span></span>once worn by Madam Bovary and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VpWo15Jc2JQ" target="_blank">Russell Harty</a>, and bearing the almost invisible inscription "Made in Taiwan". The Tragedy of the Pearls - as it would later be known - manifested itself during a heavy S&M session with Juan (him dressed as a Spanish conquistador; me dressed as poor white trash; he ruthlessly hung me from the banquet-room chandelier by my Pearl Necklace and systematically abused me with his pet anaconda), but once the reverie of the act had died (and the swelling had gone down) I found my precious little antique necklace snapped into forty different pieces, lying on my boudoir floor, as much cop as a nun in a whorehouse. Anyone for a game of marbles?</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFmZm1BRaPmQGahqB5cEU7HL_eFB8_l7Gee1jHoxroVlUPJye4IDTEwUpaxWfthGpJxE3FogN0901oU2RceazmtMI6rIs9nUfH_7BbsY0mocWxHBO0JnSQjOjTuiWklZ9ZBhUlcmx4BMNa/s1600/a-lady-in-pearls.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFmZm1BRaPmQGahqB5cEU7HL_eFB8_l7Gee1jHoxroVlUPJye4IDTEwUpaxWfthGpJxE3FogN0901oU2RceazmtMI6rIs9nUfH_7BbsY0mocWxHBO0JnSQjOjTuiWklZ9ZBhUlcmx4BMNa/s1600/a-lady-in-pearls.gif" height="250" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">With an impending high-society </span></span><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span data-dobid="hdw">soirée</span> at some gaff called The Ritz, what was I do to? It would be social shame of the highest order to be seen out-of-doors without my famous pearls.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here's my solution:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Send the maid to 99p Store and get the bitch to buy some white polished stones for your fish-tank,
get her to polish them to a high shine, and then Super-glue them
all together on a piece of shoelace sprayed with silver glitter. Voila! You now
have a pearl necklace. Can't find any white polished stones from 99p
Store? Use White Chocolate Maltesers instead! They don't last as long, but still look good.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidRk8ku__WgHbHYLFP8fVNPWHTKLUHwm7HmR22LgfMRdyTZecD3aVA_jqthUe9I44SldrhJg-nf-7BFwuOS_SSo9M1FNoUHWvPFmEamaPyMKXrPfSZEu18ALF__xJCXPiJk1gqWkzlv3ie/s1600/99pstore20131223_173357.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidRk8ku__WgHbHYLFP8fVNPWHTKLUHwm7HmR22LgfMRdyTZecD3aVA_jqthUe9I44SldrhJg-nf-7BFwuOS_SSo9M1FNoUHWvPFmEamaPyMKXrPfSZEu18ALF__xJCXPiJk1gqWkzlv3ie/s1600/99pstore20131223_173357.gif" height="293" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>Basil the maid enjoyed her visit to</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> 99p Stores, Hemel Hempstead branch. She enjoyed the sights of the 1960s high street, so typical of the New Towns: alcoholics, violent beggars, Nigerians selling scam lottery tickets and psychopathic elderly citizens with umbrellas used as weapons. Basil the maid tells me she was followed down an alley-way and offered a "five-fingered shuffle" from a 19-year old chav wearing a filthy tracksuit and drinking Stella straight from the can.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Ihd_OS69400Y3cACdpQW7Eqy1GNlHhhG4KW9cwvcrWrwSHfvYfGue_eQ7phRG5Oj7WW1GkTf2Bjt7-_mgU0qfnY7i4c9eO_OOVbI1EgvEwYXmm1wImEk9UszMzEwyDaV7zyiX3X77ENc/s1600/malteserswhite04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Ihd_OS69400Y3cACdpQW7Eqy1GNlHhhG4KW9cwvcrWrwSHfvYfGue_eQ7phRG5Oj7WW1GkTf2Bjt7-_mgU0qfnY7i4c9eO_OOVbI1EgvEwYXmm1wImEk9UszMzEwyDaV7zyiX3X77ENc/s1600/malteserswhite04.jpg" height="230" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>White Maltesers, wear them round your neck. And if you get peckish,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>even after the main course, </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>you can eat your own necklace.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNx1rcXBcDlM-JBr0oMAIHQS_4o13zBBdgwFldyGLHgwhOk957VwB4-XxeKgggzzGgxTGR3B3DBKttiXb2nCezJxlheeROkTCzxjXWcodAOJ8NUxRYpKrfwgzmXc7kNqIZXtb0mj_mykfe/s1600/the+lady+loves+pearls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNx1rcXBcDlM-JBr0oMAIHQS_4o13zBBdgwFldyGLHgwhOk957VwB4-XxeKgggzzGgxTGR3B3DBKttiXb2nCezJxlheeROkTCzxjXWcodAOJ8NUxRYpKrfwgzmXc7kNqIZXtb0mj_mykfe/s1600/the+lady+loves+pearls.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">And so, with pearls a-jiggling around my neck, I was chauffeured off into the night.... bound for The Ritz.</span></span></div>
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