Wat een verschrikkelijk weer! Yes, what bloody awful weather. It doesn’t auger good for Christmas.
I’ve been out walking for a few hundred metres but got back in the car and drove home to the warmth of the house. Then did the vacuuming, sorted some clothes out, put them away, fought with the cat because she wouldn’t move off the duvet and now I’m going to put the washing machine on. It’s all go being a house husband.
What a crap term that is. Bloody house husband. What sort of nob thought that up? Probably the same namby pamby tosspot who decided chairmen were all of a sudden going to be called chairperson. What was wrong with chairman? Or chairwoman? Now we even have “the chair” at council meetings. The socialist ideals are quite pathetic sometimes, almost as pathetic as men only golf rooms or men’s clubs.
There was a pub at Marske on Sea called the Ship which had the main room designated as men only. It was crap. Totally crap, devoid of any atmosphere, not even any sporting pheromones, just smoking old gits who probably changed their trousers once a month. There were girls behind the bar though of course. So we stood at the bar.
Of course it’s all changed now but given the clientele, I doubt whether any women ever bothered going in anyway.
My arm is purple now, all around the bicep. It was a sort of yellow, the colour the sky goes before a thunderstorm.
You know what pisses me off, the way that the word “colour” has a red line under it as I type. Tell me, I’ve spelt it right haven’t I? Bloody yanks.
We’re just watching Masterchef America and the contestants are so bloody full of themselves. Chef Ramsay, who has worked in the Dorchester, tells them their food is crap, they tell him it isn’t. Compared to the Brits and Australians they are straight away on the defensive and arrogant with it. Plain and simple, irritating.
Astrid once modelled in Deventer, here is a photo. I once posed (pre-diet) with Focus guitarist Jan Akkerman in Cafe Wilhelmina, Eindhoven.