As you can see from this photo, as Superstar Dogs reached its climax, both dogs began barking at fever pitch. I couldn't understand what was wrong (Mr P tends to start licking the tv screen at the very sight of John Barrowman, as indeed do I). As Brenda jumped up on the table and began growling, my blood froze. Outside in the garden, staring hungrily in through the window was a ghastly spectre dressed in her usual slovenly attire of a 1980s Wonderwoman outfit.... it was, of course, Belladonna, my dangerously psychotic, Russian ex-maid, who, since her expulsion from my employ, has been living rough behind the bins on the village green.
I reached for an Uzi sawn-off shotgun (which I keep stashed in my bedsit cabinet, in case of opportunistic burglaries or visits from the Jehovah's Witnesses) and chased Belladonna out of the grounds back to where she was sleeping rough, firing a few rounds randomly into the air. I discovered that the once-respectable village green has been turned into a rubbish tip. Just look at the state of the place:
*click to enlarge*: Belladonna is living in a yellow skip, and around it, a disgusting paraphernalia of half-eaten pizza, empty beer cans, a gargantuan pile of Quality Street wrappers (I read on Belladonna's previous employment report she once tried to commit suicide by consuming three tins of Quality Street in one sitting), as well as a filthy,
stained mattress, five inflatable sex dolls, four tubes of KY jelly and
Vaseline, three dildoes (one was 20 inches in length and double-pronged) and a foot-pump.
To my horror, Belladonna was also holding this handwritten sign, visible to all passing traffic.
In a terrible flap, I screamed at the top of my voice, ran home, poured myself a triple strength gin-n-tonic, gobbled down some Xanax, Prozac, Lithium and Valium, snorted some Poppers, and then grabbed and began necking a bottle of whiskey. My social standing amongst the villagers was now in tatters, thanks to Belladonna. What was I to do?
Hello Fanny,
ReplyDeleteEven though we have never lived in Peterborough (thank goodness) we have not had a television for thirty years. hence, we are exceedingly grateful for your keeping us updated about such unmissable (clearly) programmes such as Superstar Dogs. How we should love to know more about the Lady Gaga of the canine world or indeed barking Posh Spice. However, from what we can see, your own pooches would possibly cast all other four legged friends into touch! They are adorable and so beautifully trained to fit into any dysfunctional household such as ours.
But poor Belladonna. We think that possibly we once employed her sister, Deadly Nightshade, from Belarus and it was certainly the devil's own job getting rid of her. Something drastic needs to be done since you really cannot go around the village in disguise trying to avoid the neighbours. What about a one way ticket to St Petersburg....expensive we know but then no such thing as a free maid!!!!!
Hello Jane and Lance,
DeleteI can tell you that your lack of a television for the past 30 years is surely a blessing, as it really is a leech. But I do enjoy watching The Wombles and Bagpuss as well as Crufts, my three favourite programmes.
I was slightly disturbed to learn that you may have employed Belladonna's dreaded sister, Deadly Nightshade. We will have to swap notes. It really is a terrible affair, my nerves are shredded. I think you're correct about the one-way ticket to St Petersburg... it may be my only way to find solace.
There's no such thing as a free maid... and, it seems, there's no such thing as a sane maid!
Fanny x
Fanny, I love your photographs, the devil is in the rich details and they're like little conundrums where the more you look, the more things you discover: I love your Barbara Cartland portrait in your golden lounge; I adore all the details seen in the shot of Belladonna camped out on the village green (sex toys, blowup dolls, food wrappers, coke cans, creams, lotions and potions, half eaten pizzas still in the box, even Belladonna's name in graffiti on the side of the skip!). Your work is amazing to me, you are truly an aspiring artist! x
ReplyDeleteHello Candy,
DeleteGlad you liked the photos. Barbara Cartland was my idol, I love what she did in Crufts and I've never viewed Birds Eye Potato Waffles the same since she diced death with them whilst doing her motorbike stunt while trying to eat one. It was a wonderful moment. I do so enjoy reading Barbara Cartland's Notes on Etiquette whilst in the bath drinking champagne. She is a doyenne to the upper classes.
As for Belladonna, I will post soon on what has happened!
Fanny x
Well, that's the only thing you can do when that happens. It makes perfect sense to be. And as for ever-so-dishy presenters... they usually make ME jump through hoops. But only on Sundays, of course.
ReplyDeleteHello Blue,
DeleteYou sound as naught as me... I'd like to see photographic evidence of ever-so-dishy presenters making you jump through hoops.... sounds like a wonderful Sunday afternoon fetish! Would you care to identify the celebrities in question?
Fanny x
I'm a gentleman. I always keep my blue mouth shut :)
DeleteI don't know what looks better Belladonna or the skip.
ReplyDeleteDame Barbara had the voice of an angel too. Just listen here ... and a Nightingale sang in berkeley Squ'air *dabs eyes with a rose scented hanky* You can buy her album of love songs on iTunes £5.99 can't you just feel yourself being swept away on a tsunami of passion inside the pub's bin shed at chucking out time?
Mitzi, I have just listened to that link - A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square sung by Barbara Cartland. It is such a delight. I'm tap-dancing in my ruby-studded shoes on the parquet flooring to her wonderful voice and the volume is cranked up loud. Masturbatory.
DeleteAlthough as a footnote, I think Babs never went to Berkeley Square in her life. No... what she really meant to sing was "that night dogging up Hampstead Heath..."