Blowing, Sucking and Booby Jiggling

I been up the hospital for me tests and me photos. As soon as I got there I took mines clothes off. Mines Mr Husband said ' Put your clothes back on'. I said 'No- cos I am at the hospital and I have to take mines clothes off because the Dr wants to see mines chest and take a photograph'. He said 'Not in the car park he don't- and will you please stop draping yourself over the bonnets of cars. Now Cover that Kipper and Keep it warm'. When we got in the hospital he said 'Don't take your clothes off until the Dr asks you to'. Always pissing on my chips that man. I won't take him again there. Then when I was waiting they brought a dead looking person past. I said to the nurse 'Why are you bringing dead persons down here in the photo bit?' and she said 'She is not dead'. I poked her to make sure. She didn't move. So I tickled her toes. She didn't move. 'She looks a bit waxy to me -' I said to the nurse 'and she ain't be moving are you sure she ain't dead? -'. I put my hand over mouth to see if she was breathing. I seen that on the Telly to tell if someone is not dead yet. Then the bitch bit me. Not the nurse- the dead woman on the bed. Well she didn't bite. She didn't have teeth. But she did give me nasty suck. I said to the nurse 'you are right- she ain't dead -yet!' Then it was my turn to see the photograph woman and finally I was allowed to take my top off and stand in front of the machine. She said 'stop jiggling the boobs please'. I said 'I am not- it always happens when I take the over shoulder boulder holder off- they go in different directions like two wild jellies- here there and everywhere. Out of control'. Anyway when they eventually settled by me knees she took photographs. Then she sent me to the nurse to do me heavy breathing. I am good at that. I had to blow into a machine and don't stop. Just like when you have too much Baileys. She kept saying 'Blow- Don't suck'. I said 'I have always had trouble mixing up my blowing and sucking me dear- stick with it and don't give me a party popper or we will have trouble'. (Read the booky peoples, read the booky'). On the way out I asked the old man in the wheel chair if he want me to strip off to cheer him up. He said yes. So I did. He had a stroke. I have been asked not to attend again for safety of other patients. How Rude- What if I am ill?

Knickers with Lace, Fat Balls and Tits, and Bull shit

ALL IN A WEEK AT OURS

Mines Mr Husband said that sometimes he comes out of work and he thinks 'I can't wait to get home and get mines wife's knickers off'. I said 'well don't be such an eejit- wear thee own knickers to work-you will get chafing from the lace from mine'. Ye Gods can a gal not have anything to herself..?

In the woods we found some bear shit and mines Mr Husband argued that it was Pony Shit. I don't know how the feck he knows. He can't even identify between foxes and badgers shit on the drive. I told him the way to tell is to taste it. Tis true I have seen this on a nature programme with Lee Evans. Mouse shit it was called I think. You taste it and then somehow you know if it is badgers shit or hedgehogs shit. I think the same happens with all the other kinds of shit too. I bent down anyways to have a sniff. 'It feckin stinks' I told him. 'It feckin stinks bad' I said taking another big sniff. Mines Granny said 'Take big sniffs it will be gone all the sooner'. Although that is usually cow shit. 'A husband who cares about his wife will taste this' I said 'in order to identify which kind of shit it is'. I took another sniff. 'It does stink really, really bad' I said, 'But not as bad as all the bullshit I been smelling this week'. Thus I concluded that I will rather sniff bear shit or pony shit than bull shit. But I have ousted the source of that now and all is good in the Lucas household now.

A BBC headline today is asking me if I would tell Apple if I have had sex- be jeepers what next? Tis only the business of the plums is what I say. De apples can mind their own feckin business.

I had a visit to see the new dentist. Money making racket if ye ask me. She said 'you grind your teeth a lot don't you? Why do you do that?'. Apparently because 'I like it' and 'what are ye a feckin therapist now', is not the right answer. She tried to sell me a thingy to go between my teeth to bite on to 'save them'. It is about 70 squids. I said 'I ain't feckin made of  money Mrs- I might be an awfur but I got to sell a heck of lot of three little pigs to make 70squid'. Instead I settled on buying cake to keep betwixt mines teef at nights to stop the grinding. Mine teef grinding that is not mines hips grinding. A gal needs a good twerk sometimes. Then, to stop me sucking she tried to sell me a new toof to go in the gap where the other dentist took one out two years ago. I like sucking I told her. I will stick a toffee in that gap and that should stop the sucking that displeases you and the kind of sucking I like can stay. I don't want one of thems false teeth. Mines Little Sister (the one with the issues and the day confusion) has one of these and it be nuffin but trouble. She even has to carry superglue in her handbag in case it breaks. The toof not the handbag. Although it did come in handy when her shoe broke and we was having a seaside day. I only had a ball of string. And ye all knows ye can't mend teef wiv string.

Mines Mr Husband has been getting the gardening done for me. He is currently have trouble with a whole herd of starlings attacking his fat balls. Tis very disconcerting for the tits it is. Mines Mr Husband do not display fat balls to attract starlings- only the tits. To be fair I do have a nice pair of tits who are eyeing up the little box I have put on the fence for them. I think we have a sale there guys.

Porky and Mess (the party size gateaux shaped people across the road- you remember them? Yes you do- I told you- she has an integrated bike rack-) they went to a party last week. I know. I seen thems loading up the car with cakes. And he had a clean shirt on. I followed them- well the cake called me- 'follow us, follow us'. So I did. They went to a party. I wasn't allowed in. Apparently they told the policemans I was stalking them. I said 'not strictly true your honour- I was stalking the cake- i have developed a dependency since hitting the menopause'. Talking of strictly I must remember to watch the results tonight. I felt sorry for poor old Tess Daley. She can only afford a dress with one sleeve. All that money the BBC takes in licence fees as well. I think I might drop a line to the secretary general or whatever he is.

Thats yer lot for this week folks. Its time for some Elvis whilst I lay on the floor waving me legs about and thrusting me pelvic floor muscles. Gotta keep thems hips moving.