Wednesday, 26 January 2011

Celticus oh Maximus

It was a water pipe like no other; a water pipe so large it took a camel and 2 monks to carry it!
So Rodger said.
But Rodger’s a bit ‘random’ at the moment; if he not talking about his ‘Sc Fi for the dyslexic novel’ he’s talking about his latest creation - his tomatoes that defy winter. Although with the co op nearby selling ‘buy one get one free’ and ‘last chance before it off offers’; why we need to grow our own is beyond me.
Rodger claims they are ‘organic’.
But as I says to my little ‘cup cake ’day old teabags do not improve one’s greens, nor is burying one’s condoms in a compost heap I mean what good is a bio degradable condom? ....
Even the slugs turn up their nose at our compost.
I just think Rodger fancies a green house (shed with a Velux) ; he spends his time smoking his water pipes there while pondering Sheila and her whip. And now Shifty has joined him; a barman who thinks karaoke is class! Shifty claims that a water pipe stimulates his intellectual prowess, soya implants for the menopausal is his latest idea. Talk about bringing something to the table!
So you can understand me not getting excited about the suggested night out. Water pipes at the ABC . The world largest water pipe or hookah making an entrance with the Celticus oh maximus pipe band, don’t get me wrong, to see a man master the art of blowing is quite an impressive thing but is it worth a 2 hour journey in the car with Shifty driving – a man in touch with the woman inside?
‘I am ‘feng-chewing’ my bedroom’ he says while negotiating a roundabout in fifth ... Apparently decluttering you smalls along with having a well hung wardrobe is what it is all about when it comes to attracting a male of the Elton John variety... As I marvelled at the cars abilities to judder and over take at the same time Shifty continue on with his ‘all things Eastern theme’.
‘It’s all to do with freeing up the life force’ he says, stamping on the clutch, ‘allowing things to flow’.
The only thing I need to get a free flowing life force is a few prunes...
I didn’t say that to Shifty though, the car’s juddering had turned it an epileptic fit and the said vehicle we were overtaking was playing his horn like a bugle.
Celticus oh maximus was ok if you into underage brave hearts with an aging (if that is possible) Rolling Stones band. They played music of the ‘we have funked up the bagpipe’ variety and hipped it up even more with a dance group called Random as !! .
Now if Shifty has discovered the woman inside these dancers had taken the woman inside and thrust her onto the audience like a filleted herring. They were doing that street dance which unless you’re American of the dark skinned persuasion looks as gay as Liberace in panto. The fact they were dressed out a track suit from Primart didn’t make any difference. Their face said it all, ‘love the woman in my pelvis darling’; ‘ I fill your bag pips to the brim hot buns’ or ‘I am mad as hell but nothing a little butter wouldn’t cure!’ . It was a painful thing to watch as painful as watching an Ole Rudgy attempt to chat up his cleaner while balancing on a Zimmer with his dentures vainly trying to bungee jumping from his gums.
But when the hookah was brought (on pantomime camel) onto the stage I just about chocked on my Bacardi.
To suck or not to suck that is the question,’ shouts a voice from the audience. (I presume they meant on a Hooka) and I had had enough.
I headed for the chippy!
I am sorry but I as an esteemed belly dancing mentor I cannot stand by and watch the abuse of an Arabic pleasure tool. I’d rather drown my lips in salt and vinegar – my hips, darling can take it!
Still Shifty enjoyed it, mind you, he was under the influence of enough Dolly Parton cocktails to make swanking ( a walk only to be seen in Glasgow ) in Ugg boots not only possible but in time with the Celticus oh maximus . A feat that even I could not attempt but then darling Ugg boots are so not Nefertiti...I am more a straps with slight discomfort woman.
I am sorry but no more instalment of the Sheila and her whip variety this week. Rodger printed his latest instalment out on organic wheat free paper; which turns out to be far more biodegrade than his condoms...oh well at least the slugs hit the big time!

Saturday, 15 January 2011

In my job an entrance is everything

According to my Rodger the 'Scott Fitzgerald' of Ardrishaig an entrance is only as good as one's exit; and my exits according to him, needs a little work.

‘Work’ I said ‘on my exit?’

‘Yes.’ he said. ‘Your exits lack a certain sincerity, they smack of hesitantancy; unbecoming of a woman of your statue.’

‘There is nothing wrong with my statues ‘I shouted from the kitchen, 'they are as perky as Posh Spices OVERIES!.’ I was making a cappuccino at the time and for the first time ever I felt like doing something to his froth apart from sprinkling cinnamon on it..

You should leave with you fanny shouting 'maximus oh screwius’ he adds. At the time he was sitting perched over his laptop like a small gremlin watching Nigel Lawson whipping cream for her French cones.

My Rodger has taken to speaking like how he thinks an intellectual American would. The fact that he sounds like a dyslexic Latin student who refers to 'fanny' like someone out of dubbed porn film completely passes him by and is a habit that often gets him into trouble.

'Rodger' I says 'telling a woman to shift her fanny when she picking her weekly veg from the coop is bound to lead to more than a clash of trolleys'. But does he listen (sigh!) My Rodger is as deaf as my chandler is still...all he can think about is his novel.

So here is my Rodger’s novel extract for you to peruse at you leisure; tell me what you think; is my Rodger sooo talented as a writer that he can use fanny at will?

Missionary Impossible
(A novel after my heart sigh!)

A thought provoking epilogue
by himself

With secret handshakes the Paramours greet each other…they live for the night when they can fanny around in the dark and women on the whole are more amicable.

On a hot afternoon, while huddled behind a hedge, Legless caught a glimpse of a woman in an apron. He watched as she bent over a basket of washing and was overcome. Surprised at his lust, he decided to take action; an action which had not been spoken about for centuries in his world.
Thirty seconds later he slipped away…
The woman felt something peculiar, a small flutter but nothing too drastic; nothing a little Epsom’s salts wouldn’t cure. Nine months later a Paramour was born…
That year the sales of Epsom’s salts soared as women all over the world while bending over their washing felt something peculiar …

(Jimmie’s Arabic Tea Shop)
(Just now)
Two Paramours sat crossed legged on a raised floor passing a water pipe from one to the other. Just in front off them were two women, one consoling the other. Madge’s heart was broken and Yvonne, a young woman with spirit, was doing her best to mend it and getting nowhere.
‘It’s the same every year you always fall for the lead in the panto,’ said Yvonne.
Madge let out a sigh. ‘He’s so hot in those legging. Oh Yvonne, he’s the dog’s bullocks.’
Hamish the largest and hairiest of the two Paramours inhaled the strawberry tobacco, flared his nostrils and blew a smoke ring; it floated across to Madge and dissolved onto her jumper. Hamish caught her eye. Madge blinked, smiled and then looked away, unaware of what had just happened, unaware that later on that night she would return to the teashop and discover a pleasure never experienced before and the male lead in leggings would not even be a memory.
Mustard watched with a seen it all expression. ‘We have important things to discuss,’ he said.
‘Aye,’ muttered Hamish with his eye still on Madge.
‘It’s no ordinary meeting tonight.’ Mustard continued. ‘There’s a speaker.’
‘Rebel, from the south, they say he’s big in the Midlands.’
‘BIG; in the Midland?’ Hamish sniggered; any mention of size had most young Paramours sniggering.
‘He says he met the great Legless himself!’
‘Aye right and I’m a Jehovah’s witness’


(On Planet Hy-man)
Maxim pulled out the remote and pressed stop. The screen flickered, crackled then slowly folded into a box. The committee sighed, watching Mustard and Hamish smoke a water pipe was not their idea of fun.
‘Thank god that’s over,’ muttered one member.
Maxim heard but chose to ignore.
‘I told you he would turn up’ said Maxim ‘but did anyone listen?’ Maxim paused for effect. ‘If this gets out, then the proverbial will really hit the fan.’ He waited for a response with his best steely stare. When none came he continued. ‘There is only one thing for it’.
The members exchanged looks.
‘We must scan this planet earth and attempt some sort of control; we shall send down the best we have.’ He waited with his best dramatic stance. ‘We need the best…and the most discreet,’ (still no response) ‘we need… ’
‘She that is the pain in the butt…’ someone finally muttered.
‘She of the Iron Gusett!’
Some of the committee began to chuckle. Maxim sucked in his breath.
‘You know what to do’ he barked at a footman. The footman stretched, stifled a yawn and wandered out the door.
‘Sir is this really necessary?’ said Offal one of the more important porters.
‘I mean earth is so not now!’ piped a young voice from the back.
‘Look’ snapped Maxim ‘This Rebel is trouble he has the curiosity of a cat, the body odour of a camel and…’
‘And the eyesight off a mole,’ said the young voice from the back.
The committee continued to chuckle. Maxim sighed and looked out off the window. Some days he wondered if it was it all worth it.
‘He is half human. What’s there to worry bout!’
‘But LEGLESS isn’t’ snapped Maxim.
The committee fell silent. To mention Legless at a conference was like an actor mentioning Macbeth back stage.