Annie Something – As the Boy Called Her

Lennox, son. Lennox.

And the album that I tortured you with was Diva.

Mmmm. We are in need of about £30,000.

The hole in the roof has had babies. They are now Holes – plural. And we’ve run out of buckets.

C’est la vie. Que sera, sera.

I saw Annie and Dave live in a tiny backstreet club in Berlin. They were at the height of their fame but chose that over the Olympic Stadium which was right beside our RMP Unit and had hosted the likes of U2, Michael Jackson, Bowie etc.

As the Jocks say – It’s pishing it down :o(

Stayin’ Alive

Vinnie Jones. the hard man of football. Back in the day when men were men and not a running advert for hair products.

I thought that the best thing Vinnie did was appearing in Lock, Stock and then Snatch. I was wrong.

This advert is uber-brilliant.

Also the rest of the vids.

In my humble opinion :o)

A bit of Spud from Trainspotting

A bit of Jim on the phone

A bit of Kenny BG



God’s Honest Truth – the only time I have EVER played poker was in a villa in the hills above Marbella with my employers and their fam.

I had no effing idea what to do. So I blagged.

Apparently – when I laid my cards down I’d been dealt a Royal Flush.

I was 17 years old and had no idea why the game stopped there and then and the Remy Martin was cracked open :o(

Himself and I sometimes play Gin Rummy. HE always wins. POUT.

BTW – We do NOT fight. Not P.C. We disagree.

With my jaw clenched! Sshhhh!

I Swear : All-4-One

And one for all.

The Three/Four Musketeers.

I grew up with this vibe. Dumas.

All for one & one for all.

So ANCIENT History now. Sadly. Today is All 4 Me & Just $4 Me :o(

BTW and Did you know : Alexandre Dumas was mullatos. One black parent. One white parent. Shock.Shock.Horror.Horror.

My ward who lived with us for a while adored this series. I never watched it….because of my novel Weave a Garland. Marie de Rohan was arrested by the Musketeers more than once!

Anyhoo. I SWEAR – quite often. Much to my childrens’ disgust. MOTHER – How Very Dare You?

Oh. Boyce and Musketeers in a mash-up ?

Rosebud : ELO

When the eldest asked for some good film recommendations he got some from me and some from his father.

I went all classic with Citizen Kane, Clockwork Orange, A Street Car Named Desire, The Shining, Cool Hand Luke, Psycho etc

As for the other side…Rambo, Midnight Express, Papillion, Terminator, Bridge Over the River Kwai etc.

I’ve never actually watched Citizen Kane all the way through. My bad.

Did You Know :

The Diary of Horace Wimp” is the fourth track on the Electric Light Orchestra album Discovery, written by Jeff Lynne.

Released in 1979 as a single, the song is Beatlesque in nature and became a Top Ten hit in the UK and Ireland. The lyrics describe a week in the life of a repressed man who wants to express his affection towards a woman he meets, and overcomes his shy nature with the help of “a voice from above.” The day Saturday is omitted – this is because, as explained by Jeff Lynne: “The football match is played on a Saturday”.

The music video references Citizen Kane in its ending, showing a closeup of Jeff Lynne saying “Horace Wimp,” echoing Orson Welles‘ character in the film saying “Rosebud” as he dies.[1][2]


I may’ve been a very average student at school…most of my education came via music.

This band was one of MANY listened to when we broke into the music room at lunch time and played LP’S with headphones on :o)

In NEED to watch THIS FILM!

January 15, 1941

I wished to make a motion picture which was not a narrative of action so much as an examination of character. For this, I desired a man of many sides and many aspects. It was my idea to show that six or more people could have as many widely divergent opinions concerning the nature of a single personality. Clearly such a notion could not be worked out if it would apply to an ordinary American citizen.

I immediately decided that my character (Charles Foster Kane) should be a public man — an extremely public man — an extremely important one …

citizen kane rosebud

There have been many motion pictures and novels rigorously obeying the formula of the “success story,” I wished to do something quite different. I wished to make a picture which might be called a “failure story.” I did not wish to portray a ruthless and gifted industrialist working his way up from a simple lumberman or streetcar conductor to a position of wealth and prominence. The interpretations of such a character by his intimates were too obvious for my purpose; I therefore invested my character with sixty million dollars at the age of eight so that there was no considerable or important gain in point of wealth possible from a dramatic point of view. My story was not, therefore, about how a man gets money, but what he does with his money — not when he gets old — but throughout his entire career. A man, who has money and doesn’t have to concern himself with making more, naturally wishes to use it for the exercise of power …

The most basic of all ideas was that of a search for the true significance of the man’s apparently meaningless dying words. Kane was raised without a family. He was snatched from his mother’s arms in early childhood. His parents were a bank. From the point of view of the psychologist, my character had never made what is known as “transference” from his mother. Hence his failure with his wives. In making this clear during the course of the picture, it was my attempt to lead the thoughts of my audience closer and closer to the solution of the enigma of his dying words. These were “Rosebud.” The device of the picture calls for a newspaperman (who didn’t know Kane) to interview people who knew him very well. None had ever heard of “Rosebud.” Actually, as it turns out, “Rosebud” is the trade name of a cheap little sled on which Kane was playing on the day he was taken away from his home and his mother. In his subconscious it represented the simplicity, the comfort, above all the lack of responsibility in his home, and also it stood for his mother’s love which Kane never lost.

kane statues

In his waking hours, Kane had certainly forgotten the sled and the name which was painted on it. Casebooks of psychiatrists are full of these stories. It was important for me in the picture to tell the audience as effectively as possible what this really meant. Clearly it would be undramatic and disappointing if an arbitrary character in the story popped up with the information. The best solution was the sled itself. Now, how could this sled still exist since it was built in 1880?

It was necessary that my character be a collector the kind of man who never throws anything away. I wished to use as a symbol — at the conclusion of the picture — a great expanse of objects — thousands and thousands of things — one of which is “Rosebud.” This field of inanimate theatrical properties I wished to represent the very dust heap of a man’s life. I wished the camera to show beautiful things, ugly things and useless things, too — indeed everything, which could stand for a public career and a private life. I wished objects of art, objects of sentiment, and just plain objects. There was no way for me to do this except to make my character, as I have said, a collector, and to give him a great house in which to keep his collections. The house itself occurred to me as a literal translation in terms of drama of the expression “ivory tower.” The protagonist of my “failure story” must retreat from a democracy which his money fails to buy and his power fails to control.

There are two retreats possible: death and the womb. The house was the womb. Here too was all the grandeur, all the despotism, which my man had found lacking in the outside world.  Such was his estate — such was the obvious repository for a collection large enough to include, without straining the credulity of the audience — a little toy from the dead past of a great man.


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In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a Stately Pleasure Dome Decree : Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Or Frankie Goes To Hollywood.

The Art of Dressing in the 14th Century

I will admit that I’m the worst at this stuff. I’ll grab whatever is handy and fling it on for daily around the house stuff.

I’m also guilty of sometimes having a floor-drobe as opposed to a wardrobe.

Time is short and I’m usually thinking through this day’s jobs – the getting dressed bit is just automatic.

Not so centuries ago. Dressing ones’ self was an art and took time. Especially if you lived in countries like Elin below.

She’s in Sweden.

I’m a huge fan of layering but this is quite OTT???


We’re not actually because the back-tracking has already started.

The excuses, the denials, the claims of ignorance etc.

Certain people are and more WILL BE forced to explain their actions over the past few years.

This will be very colourful and imaginative, methinks.

I was so invested in a live chat the other day about an imminent home birth. Amanda B was the her neighbour’s birth buddy. The pool was there . Nona was there. AB had just strolled in from the beach all salty and covered in metal and took over the chat.

What happened after? Did the neighbour give birth? Boy or girl? Did Amanda get dressed and wash her hands first?

The very least Amanda B could do is comment on the video and let us all know that she didn’t faint at the sight of blood and actually helped bring a new life into the world. After all – she’s been there and done that. A single mother of three in Australia. Who was HER birth buddy – three times – ?

C’mon UAP. You bigged up a LIVE birth on your last video. Can you answer us?


On the bones of my arse – as the saying goes :o)

Please – if anyone can help me and my family with a small contribution it would be so very appreciated.


My email :

Contributions via Paypal :

Slàinte Mhath x

Red Cross Food Parcel & The 7 Minute Boiled Egg

So I get a phone call.

Himself and his oppo may be out all night in Storm Malik picking up the pieces.

“We’re starving and have no time to stop and buy food. I’ll be passing the house soon. Can you fix us something? Please.”

I cooked a ham yesterday so they have ham and 7 minute egg sandwiches…plus some kitchen roll to use as bibs.

A flask of hot tea. The sausage rolls just baked. And a few jam tarts.

Why a 7 minute egg?

Because I HATE those solid hard-boiled eggs you used to get in school. This one is luscious and squidgey and makes a mess :o)

P.S. Ice bath, my arse. I just empty out the hot water and run the cold water until the pan is cold. Why?

Because this stops the eggs from cooking even more. Simples!

Back With The Blood Countess : For the Millionth Time!

No offence intended to Dr. Kat.

The fact that I watch her means that I have respect for her knowledge of our “history.”

But – there are certain subjects that totally get my Dander Up!

 Erzsébet  Báthori is one of them. She is, to me, in the same MS History mould as Vlad the Impaler aka Dracula.

I’ve posted about both Beth and Drac many, many times. I’ve posted MY research into their backgrounds and the links, hinted at by others better than me, that I’ve made.

In my humble opinion both Elizabeth and Vlad are the best known subjects of the 17th century re-write of History – that OLD CIVILISATION that once existed and whose name I will not type because it’s been so bastardised by so many.

To take a slight diversion – I’m also an armchair psychologist and Psychic Vampires are another favourite subject. Blood is energy. Sucking either is theft/bodily intrusion and WRONGWRONGWRONG.


Check out the althist of dragons? Or heraldry? Or Bram Stoker’s sources? Or the Basarab? Or Gary Oldman?

? ? ?

Oh. Yes. Immortal Beloved……aka A New Vampire like Lucy Westenra.

I’m ranting. Again. Ooops :o)

David Essex : Teenage Crush Fess

Yes. I did…..and still do (?) have a bit of a crush on David Essex.

I’ve always known that he was of Gypsy (Irish Traveller) descent. He never made a secret of it. But – as he has grown older, he’s come to appreciate his heritage more and more. Like I have.

I know him best through War of the Worlds. He was the Artillery Man.

P.S. Somewhere in MY soul I have a Gypsy past. FACT!

BTW : New Age Travellers are not real TRAVELLERS. They are tax dodgers and drop-outs and tieves (Spelling meant) and pretenders who have NO connection to their past. They even reject their own families.

I’ve met both true Romany and the New Age ones.

HUGE difference.

Sorry. Got distracted and slightly confused by a Thunderchild. Did I see a KenBran here. Doing Dunkirk?


Man Friday vs Girl Monday

I have a Girl Monday…Man Friday be not wanted :o)

My girl Monday has been with this house for almost 20 years. We decided to inherit her from the previous owners in 2008.

Apart from a sabbatical of a couple of years when our life went all Neil de Grasse Tyson – pear-shaped – she has been my helper and my comrade.

We are exactly the same age with two grown up sons and the same philosophical outlook on certain areas of life.

Jeebuth : You think I’m gobby and confrontational?

She outclasses me in every area :o)

Himself is scared to death of her but will still try. Bless ‘im.

Scathing is not a strong enough word for her replies to him.

I laugh a lot when she’s around. Which will be in a couple of hours.

Oh. And she’s not averse to putting me in my place either. I just tell her how much I missed her those years we spent apart *grin*

Memnon/Breaking Bad/Brien & Shelley


Trust a child to put you in your place.

I played my son Vincent Price reading Ozymandias and he said MEMNON.

Ya. OK, son.

In the desert, the statue of Rameses II.

Ha – said I. You know that from Breaking Bad.

No, Mother. From Watchmen.

That shut me up :o(

So – being me, I had to dig a lot deeper and ended up with a King of Ethiopia ….WTF?

And Brien Foersessister. Shrug. Don’t know him.

And Bryan Cranston.

So – in reverse order :

Thorn in My Side

Someone unbearable who has been even more banned and trolled than me is CRUSHING !


Although I’m exactly one foot shorter than him, American, blue-eyed, a comedian and all round good egg. we could’ve been twins in a former life. Siblings. Nothing More :o)

Autumn is here and I NEED to prune my mad as out of control roses soon. But the weather and zombies are filling up my precious time.

OK. I’ve just blamed everyone else for my own laziness.

That’ll make ME the thorn in my side ?

Too complicated. And even more so when y’all know the Scottish “History” of the Lennox and the Stewart.

My bad :o*)

Lowering the Tone : ShitSticks


This NEW daily stupid is exactly the same as the old daily stupid.

Then it was Loo Roll, now it is Petrol.

Mine. Gimme. All Mine. Grabby Vibe.

Our three local garages were meant to get tanker deliveries yesterday and today…Not happened.

Everyone is getting slightly fraught and bad-mouthed.

I need effing petrol to get to effing work. If I don’t effing turn up today I don’t get effing paid.

Hysterical History Guy :o)

Stoned, Science, Sympathy : ZERO Respect, Guys

Enough said.

Water under the bridge.


Himself is over 50 and has had both a colonoscopy and THAT P.word exam.

I’m a girl and I laughed out loud.

Four pregnancies. Two live births. Yearly Cervical Scans. A cervical cancer scare. The laser and then a camera going places I DID NOT need to see on the TV in front of my innocent eyes. FFS. Change the channel, Doc?

I’ve been probed and stitched and invaded by surgical implements where no person should probe, invade or surge.



Billy sending flowers and love letters to his doctor for being slightly too intimate.

GAS & AIR, puhlease.

P.S. You don’t want to know where Matron put that daffodil :o)

Pain in the Neck!

Literally and metaphorically :o)

I’m on Day 2 with a horrible pain in the back of my neck, caused by tossing and turning all night, me thinks in my self-diagnosis.

When we went to Singapore a few years back, the flight back to Dubai was late so I went shopping in the airport and ended up with about 20 jars of TigerBalm.

Being born there, I grew up with this as it was my Mum’s go-to -cure-all.

I have one jar left. RED OINTMENT and it works a treat.

The smell is so comforting and familiar it may be a placebo for me but I don’t care. It WORKS!