Happy Birthday, Charlie!

There are a few things that myself and The Blokey disagree on.  We  bicker about how dead a language Welsh is, and I tend to bite my tongue when he spends oodles of money on eBay buying a second-hand thingy for the car, and yet moans about spending £20 over-the-odds for tickets to see a band I couldn’t possibly die without seeing. 

We also disagree on the usefulness of the Royal Family.

I like having a Royal Family.  Despite the fact that they’re not thoroughbred English folk (let alone Scottish, Welsh or even a little bit Irish) I love them.  I do. 

I am proud to admit that.

Don’t misread this.  It doesn’t mean that I agree with some of the things they do (namely hunting) but I can forgive them their indiscretions because they belong to another world.  The world they belong to is rich and frivolous, full of Champagne glasses and yachts and posh frocks.  They don’t know what it means to have to scrimp and save in order to pay the gas bill or buy that new PS3 game.

But they do have feelings, and I admire them for the fact that they put up with such intrusive behaviour from the public (who simply hide behind the skirts of the media and then cry, “swines!” when the media goes just a tad too far) and are available for work every single day of the year (even Christmas, when surely they’d rather be lounging around in their jimmies at home than posing for the press in Norfolk.)  They can’t just pop to the shops for a pint of milk, or bugger off for the day without telling anyone where they’ve gone.  They’re not even allowed to do their jobs properly …

I particularly like Charles.  I truly believe that his marriage to Camilla was much more of a fairy-tale than his tragically ridiculous marriage to Diana, Princess of Wanting Attention, who made Charles out to be a bastard even though he was as wronged as she was, perhaps more so.  I like his ability to be outspoken, the twinkle in his eye when he smiles and his views on crass architecture.  One day I would like him to be king; I think he’ll make a fine monarch (although not as fine as Henry VIII, as played by Jonathan Rhys Meyers in The Tudors *drool*.)

I do stand by the belief that to rid this country of the Royal Family would be scandalous.  They are our history and they should be our future [I sound like a song], although perhaps slightly less idolised and slightly more down to earth than they currently are. 

And thus, I would like to take this opportunity to wish Prince Charles a very happy sixtieth birthday. 


I hope he got some lovely presents. 

please God bless our royal family, without whom the newspapers would be dull and boring xxx Elsabeth

Oh, woe is me!

I sat shivering [yes, shivering] at the bus station this evening.  I’d forgotten to bring a book to read and had already indulged in the reading of Chat – which is a daft and mind-numbing magazine aimed at Chavettes – so I had nothing left to do but think. 

I think-ed [I know it’s not a real word, sheesh!] about how tomorrow is the end of the restructure consultation period at work, and how this redundancy lark has stressed everybody out.  Even me, and I’m not still not actually worried about losing my job.  It has rather been The Liza Show! though.  I can’t be arsed to explain that further because it would bore you muchly, just as it has bored myself and the other TAs muchly. 

I think-ed about the constant rain and how my poor little tootsies were exposed to the chilling dampness.  It wouldn’t be half as bad if it was summer rain, but it appears to be rain that is more suited to late March or early April – chilly and wet

I think-ed about how my poor pussy would be sopping wet when I arrived home.  I was right.

I think-ed about all the nasty people who have passed on their germs to me and made my throat think I’ve swallowed a collection of rusty razor blades.  Damn them. 

I think-ed about how snuggly it must have been inside my mummy’s tummy and wondered why I ever came out.  I decided I must have left her tummy so that each year I could have a birthday and get presents.  I mention this purely because tomorrow I shall be celebrating the anniversary of the day of my birth, manymanymany years ago.  There are presents on the table. 

I think-ed about how nice it was that the bus had turned up, and then I stopped thinking and cosied up to the window and drifted in and out of sleep whilst listening to Muse.  Why do bus drivers feel the need to whack the heating up in summer and leave it off in winter?  Silly buggers.  Humpf.

please God help my illness make a swift exit when it feels the wrath of Lemsip later xxx Elsabeth

“Birthdays are good for you. Statistics show that the people who have the most live the longest.”


My Baby Brother is fandangly and draws me cool stuff.  Thank you for the geraniums Baby Brother.  And the pot.  That’s pot as in plant pot, not pot as in other type of pot.  Does anybody still call it pot? 

Now I am humming birthday songs to myself and waiting [im]patiently for The Blokey to come home so I can open my presents, drink fizzy wine and eat a Chinese take-away.  Yummy in my tummy! 

Happy non-Birthday to the rest of you!

please God bless those folk who don’t share my birthday xxx Elsabeth

Retirement is the ugliest word in the language.

My Mumsy celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday yesterday.  It’s odd to think that she can now retire [she’s retiring from full-time work at the end of the month, but hoping to work two days a week still] and spend her days lounging around doing what she wants, when she wants.  Oh, how blissful. 

So, happy birthday for yesterday Mumsy … let’s celebrate with some pictures.


This is her, as a nipper.  All together now … awwww …


A matter of months older than I am now, with me.  Again, all together now … awwww …

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At my wedding with my littlest nephew.

Also, The Father turned sixty-five as well, a day earlier.  I forgot to send him a card.  Oh well. 

In honour of Mumsy’s birthday we bought me a new desk chair.  It swivels, so I’m happy.  The most simple things can keep me amused for hours and hours.  As an aside, this obviously makes me a cheap date, and this has its benefits.  Spring popped in to help celebrate sixty-five years upon this earth, which resulted in both myself and Tabatha-Cat finding something to do in the back garden this morning [me weeding and planting new flowers in old pots, Tabatha sunning herself on the decking].  It’s almost barbecue weather … huzzah.

please God bless Mumsy as she begins to enjoy her retirement xxx Elsabeth