I’m not sure what disturbed me the most yesterday evening.
The fact that there was what appeared to be a bare knuckle fight for money going on at a house down the road from me, or that ‘Little Cook’ from CBeebies ‘Big Cook Little Cook’ was hosting a sex show on Channel 5 last night.
I had to turn away.
Whatever next? An Iggle Piggle and Upsy Daisy illustrated Joy Of Sex manual?
I’ve only just got over the chick from ‘Storymakers’ popping up in ‘Shameless’ as a Geordie lesbian.
Anyway, back to the bare knuckle gig. There appeared to be some kind of Chav-Off going on in the hood yesterday teatime when I popped to the shop for oven chips (classy bird that I am). Trackydakkies akimbo, dirt bikes aplenty and half the road taken up by wannabe gangsters and pikey mafiosa. The testosterone mingled strongly in the air, blending in well with the potent smell of fresh weed wafting through the window of the house opposite. (Do you want to move in anywhere near me yet?)
I’m wildly speculating, but faces were bloodied and envelopes exchanged, by all accounts, so my guess is that it was some kind of arranged punch-up.
I’m not sure when it was that I actually moved my family to Dale Farm, but I’m quite sure that I wouldn’t be allowed in the family, being the gorger that I am, and the fact that I don’t possess the cleaning skills (or the tits, fake tan or the bling).
Work today at the Farm was tiresome to put it politely, but after giving the old punchbag in the shed a bit of a pounding and almost bringing the roof in on top of myself, I now feel thoroughly de-stressed. Maybe we should get one for the staff room. We could all get some training in and have our own inter-staff/inmate death-match? I’ll put it in the suggestion box anonymously and we can take a bet on how many people know that it was my idea. Xx