Now then, apparently the English ladies’ breasts are getting bigger. So says an article recently, which I cannot for the life of me remember where I read – Observer? Anyway, the gist of the story is that once we were a B cup, now we are a D – and it has nought to do with fakeries either. Obesity! you shout. Apparently not. We are just better nourished now and can reach our full potential. Oh er! What happens in 50 years time when we are super nourished and fall over because our boobies are a size Z? It has to happen in the scheme of things. Have a little pause here just to imagine it :) ……….
Mr S came around the other day and said of mine ‘They are massive!’ ‘No they are not!’ I say almost defensively and a little embarassed. Why? Why am I embarassed? I’ll tell you why. When you are growing up, you dont want anything that makes you stand out, you just want to morph into a big pool of teenage friends, like paint does when you put several colours in together. Different but the same. Does that make sense? When boys shout crude things at you when you are 12, 13, 14 you hate it. I hated it. I hated my boobs for years because of that.
I love them now – of course :) Girls pay a lot of money to have their boobs the same size as mine, and men, well they like them for sure :) So no complaints, no, not now, I like them very much. I call them the twins. So I dont know why I came over all coy. Some old reactions take a while to conquer. Next time I will say ‘Yes they are, and thank you kindly!’ (Oh and by the way, yes that pic is of mine, its an old one – about 4 years ago)
As a woman passed her daughter’s closed bedroom door, she heard a strange buzzing noise coming from within. Opening the door, she observed her daughter with a vibrator.
Shocked, she asked: ‘What in the world are you doing?’
The daughter replied: ‘Mom, I’m thirty-five years old, unmarried, and this thing is about as close as I’ll ever get to a husband. Please, go away and leave me alone.’
The next day, the girl’s father heard the same buzz coming from the other side of the closed bedroom door. Upon entering the room, he observed his daughter making passionate love to her vibrator.
To his query as to what she was doing, the daughter said: ‘Dad I’m thirty-five, unmarried, and this thing is about as close as I’ll ever get to a husband. Please, go away and leave me alone.’
A couple of days later, the wife came home from a shopping trip , placed the groceries on the kitchen counter, and heard that buzzing noise coming from, of all places, the living room. She entered that area and observed her husband sitting on the couch, downing a cold beer, and staring at the TV.
The vibrator was next to him on the couch, buzzing like crazy. The wife asked: ‘What the f… are you doing?’
The husband replied: ‘I’m watching football with my Son-in-law.’
Thanks for that one Mr R x Have a super bank holiday folks! x
A lovely fella sent me an email recently saying how much he enjoyed my blog – thank you kind Sir!; and in particular a certain post made him laugh. This is the one and its kind of fortuitous because I was chortling only yesterday at some similar funnies and thought I would share them with you.
These are genuine motor insurance claims. The forms you have to fill in when you have an accident ask certain questions, and ask the claimant to explain what happened. You couldnt make them up and I didnt! – Enjoy! :)
“I was driving along the motorway when the police pulled me over onto the hard shoulder. Unfortunately I was in the middle lane and there was another car in the way..”
The claimant had collided with a cow. The questions and answers on the claim form were – Q: What warning was given by you? A: Horn. Q: What warning was given by the other party? A: Moo.
“I was going at about 70 or 80 mph when my girlfriend on the pillion reached over and grabbed my testicles so I lost control.”
“I knew the dog was possessive about the car but I would not have asked her to drive it if I had thought there was any risk.”
“Windscreen broken. Cause unknown. Probably Voodoo.”
Q: Do you engage in motorcycling, hunting or any other pastimes of a hazardous nature? A: “I Watch the Lottery Show and listen to Terry Wogan.”
“An invisible car came out of nowhere, struck my car and vanished.”
“The accident was caused by me waving to the man I hit last week.”
While he is on a tour of Jerusalem he suffers a heart attack and passes away. The undertaker tells the British Diplomats accompanying him, ‘You can have him shipped home for £5,000,000, or you can bury him here, in the Holy Land, for just £100.’
The British Diplomats go into a corner and discuss for a minute. They come back to the undertaker and tell him they want Gordon shipped home.
The undertaker is puzzled and asks, ”Why would you spend £5,000,000 to ship him home, when it would be wonderful to be buried here and you would spend only £100? With the money you save you could help pay back some of the deficit, help pay for the Olympic Games or help the elderly.”
The British Diplomats replied, “Long ago a man died here, was buried here, and three days later he rose from the dead. We just can’t take that chance.”
Recently, Germany conducted some scientific exploration involving their best scientists. Core drilling samples of earth were taken to a depth of 50m and during the core examinations, small pieces of copper were discovered. After running many arduous tests on these samples, the German government announced that the ancient Germans 25,000 years ago had a nationwide telephone network.
Naturally, the British government was not that easily impressed. So they ordered their own scientists to take their core samples at a depth of 100m. From these samples, they found small pieces of glass and soon announced that the ancient Brits 35,000 years ago already had a nationwide optical fibre network.
Irish scientists were outraged. So immediately after this announcement, they ordered their scientist to take samples at a depth of 200m but found absolutely nothing. They concluded that the ancient Irish 55,000 h years ago were an even more advanced civilisation, as they already had a mobile telephone network in place.
If you lived here, in Plymouth you will know the importance of pasties. You know, those pastry savoury treats filled with meat and potato that presumably come from Cornwall but secretly we had them in Devon too (Uh oh I am in trouble now hehehe) Anyway, you know them, right? You get them all over the place now. There is even a pasty shop in Paddington Station.
Well, here, in Plymouth there are two pasty shops of note, when I say note, I mean everyone knows them. They arent the best but I wont tell you the best here for fear of my lovely little shop getting overwhelmed with fervent pasty-seekers (email me and I will tell you ;)
To get you in the right frame of mind, I have to tell you a story. This is legend, this is. :) There was a firm of pasty makers in Plymouth, oh I dont know, lets say 100 years ago (probably more). The are called Dewdneys. Ahhh say all the fine folk of Plymouth, now we know what you are talking about, maid. Anyway, about 50 years ago, two of the descendents, Ron and Ivor (I am so not making this up) had a bust up and bought pasty shops at opposite sides of the city. You kind of knew they were related (the name gave it away of course – Ron Dewdney Pasties and Ivor Dewdney Pasties) but their pasties were different. One was flatter than the other, the pasties, not the men.
Anyway, this frosty amnesty went on for years, nay decades. But I have noticed recently, something that could result in a whole sorry mess of nasty-pastyness. Oh dear.
Now then, on a saturday, random saturdays. I cant tell you which ones as I am not a follower of football or of Plymouth Argyle Football team but I have noticed when I have been driving past the football ground that a pasty van appeared. Nothing untoward you understand, just an understated van to the side of the road and the footie fans looked very pleased to see it indeed. You viewed millions (ok a few dozen) munching their hot pastry delights in crisp white bags, steam billowing out, whilst trudging to the football ground. Lush. Ahh but then a few weeks later, I saw another van and it wasnt like the first. I took a second look. It was a Dewdneys but it was further down the road. It cant be true! It was the brother!!!!
Hahahaha, oh this is so funny. The brother must have got wind, comandeered a remarkably similar van and parked the bleeder down the road. Put a nifty sign on the side, pasted (pastied?) a smug look on his face which said ‘Anything you can do, I can do better (or the same)’.
Now, all goes well, everything slips into place while the two brothers keep a respectful distance, and go about their pasty selling businesses. I have visions of fist shaking and snarling but of course this is my ridiculously fertile imagination.
So, I have a little snort and a little giggle when I pass them. Until one day…
There is a pretender to the throne! Some upstart from Plymstock has got in on the act!! Another pasty van. Surely there is not enough room for three pasty vans! So I have visions of a gunfight (pasty fight) at the OK Corral. Pasty men at either end of Outland Road, pasty in holsters at the ready to the tune of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (just listen to the tune, it makes me cry laughing!)
Anyway, after I had gone off on one feisty pasty-wise fantasy, I forgot all about it…. until today that is. I just happened to be driving along Outland Road again and do you know what? There was carnage, pasty fillings all over the road, had to break several times just to avoid the crusts.
Ha, only kidding. They (the Bros) had only seen off the young pretender hadnt they? And claimed their rightful position as pasty kings albeit at either end of the road. The pretender must have been a pastifist. Brilliant. Oh I wish they would kiss and make up hahaha.
This here blog thing started as a way to express my saucy self. But do you know what? There's more to me than the saucy bits! So herewith you will find all sorts of thoughts, ideas, funny things (lots of them), deep and meaningfuls, occasionally - a mixture of everything really, just like life. I hope you like it here. I like it here. It's cosier if you are here too so stay a while.
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Now then, apparently the English ladies’ breasts are getting bigger. So says an article recently, which I cannot for the life of me remember where I read – Observer? Anyway, the gist of the story is that once we were a B cup, now we are a D – and it has nought to do with fakeries either. Obesity! you shout. Apparently not. We are just better nourished now and can reach our full potential. Oh er! What happens in 50 years time when we are super nourished and fall over because our boobies are a size Z? It has to happen in the scheme of things. Have a little pause here just to imagine it :) ……….
