A lighter look at the news

 This may not be popular, particularly in recent times, but I have a confession to make - I am an anti-waxxer. And before you ask, no, it's not a typo. If you started reading this because you thought that I was a fellow anti-vaxxer, please stop now and go get yourself inoculated (maybe that word will work).

I am an anti-waxxer simply because I cannot imagine why in the world anyone would want to pour molten lava on their legs and other delicate parts of their body - like their arm pits (didn't think I was going to say that, did you)? The only hot brown liquid I will tolerate (dare I say, even enjoy) is if the word Brazilian is followed by the word coffee.

I am not saying that women should necessarily sport the hairy Mary look (although I have great admiration for those who go down that path). All I am saying is that, it is as if at some point women thought monthly cramps and labour pains weren't enough, they had to incorporate some more painful challenges into their lives. Cue, hot wax and strips of fabric.

I have just one word to suggest an alternative - razors. That God given implement (apologies to Wilkinson if they beat God to it), widely used by men to get rid of unwanted hair.

At this point, I feel a full disclosure is in order. My legs and arms are pretty much hairless. But before you go hating me, my upper lip, if left unattended, would give Tom Selleck a run for his money!

If you're wondering about my uncharacteristic mental ruminations, I recently had an eye operation and wasn't able to do a lot, except listen to podcasts and ruminate. Now that I am healing, lucky you, I can share my ruminations (I promise that's the last time I'm going to use that word, not least because I'm beginning to feel like a cow).

Now, back to my usual rant. As I mentioned, I had an eye operation, which of course meant that I had a couple of visits to the hospital. During those visits, not once did I see a single person, be they patient or staff, unmasked. Not one single person.

So you can imagine how irate I was this week to see that bumbling bloke we call our Prime Minister, walk through a hospital corridor without a mask. 

Not even a token mask under his chin or dangling from his ear, to give the impression, false though it be, that he had just removed it.

Such a shame that one of the staff, who he merrily elbowed by way of greeting as he strode down the hospital corridor, didn't miss and get his chin instead (and alas, he wouldn't even have had the protection of a chin mask).

I have a suggestion for the next time he visits a hospital and goes mask less - have him zipwire through the corridors. And if lightening strikes again....

... well, I heard that the waiting times in hospitals can be quite long. 

In my ruminations (I apologise, please don't moo), I imagine Matron bustling by with a stern, 'Should've worn that mask Prime Minister.' And she would be right. We do live in a democracy after all.

Apparently, Camilla Parker Bowles was subjected to a low and slow, prolonged, emission of gas, by none other than President Biden. I am not sure if there were witnesses but she is said to have blushed on hearing the gaseous eruption.

I am surprised, after all I wouldn't think this would be the first time Mrs Bowles would be subjected to such emissions by the elderly. But then, what does one know? Perhaps royals do not produce wind. After all, there's already one royal who does not produce sweat.

Until next time, try and keep it light.

A lighter look at the news

 

It has been quite awhile since I've blogged but how can one resist when Prince Charles informs us that his Aston Martin runs on cheese and wine?

Surprisingly, I do agree with him. From personal experience, I run better on cheese and wine myself, so why should it not work on His Royal Highness's Aston Martin?

Mind you, it did put me in a quandary the other day. I discovered a mouldy piece of cheese at the back of the fridge and was torn between the petrol tank of my VW UP! or the bin.

Fortunately, one wasn't running on cheese and wine at the time, so one made the right decision and threw it in the bin.

This week, a 67 year old man on LBC radio station, called 19 year old Tilly Ramsay, who is taking part in Strictly Come Dancing, A chubby little thing. And on GMB today, Richard Madelay asked a young woman, who is a victim of drink spiking, Did you watch your drink the whole time to ensure it was safe?

Why are these misogynistic, middle aged men still giving themselves licence to talk to young women in this manner? I suggest that they be put out to pasture, where they can ruminate and exude their hot air through whichever orifice they choose.

A Facebook employee turned whistleblower, recently told us what we already knew, about the social networking company - that encouraging hateful rhetoric gets more engagement (and more money) than safer content. The company was so embarrassed, the first four letters in their name turned bright red.

They are now looking for ways to make amends and do better. After what I assume was much soul searching, they have come up with the perfect solution - change the name. Thank goodness for that. We can now all heave a sigh of relief and relax. 

Although I said earlier that the whistleblower told us everything we already knew about fb, there is one thing I confess that I did not know. I did not know that their Vice President for Global affairs is Nick Clegg. Yes Britain's very own ex-Deputy Prime Minister!

Nick Clegg and Mark Zukerberg - now, that's a match made in Heaven...or should I say the Multiverse, which apparently, is where Facebook is heading.

I don't often have second thoughts, but despite my cynicism about Facebook's name change, I actually think it might work. All they have to do is remove the third letter in the name and replace it with a 'k'. Fakebook - clear and transparent.

The suggestion/offer is free. No need for any payment at all but if Mr. Zukerberg insists, I wouldn't say no to a few shares in the forthcoming Multiverse venture. It would be rude to decline.

Talking of rude, remember the US President before Biden? The one who was impeached twice? The 'Person, woman, man, camera, TV', sharp-as-a-tac, genius, former President? Well, he's now set to launch a social media platform called 'Truth'.

I apologise but I have to end here, pick up my jaw, retreat to a corner of the room, wait for my eyebrows to descend, while clutching my ribcage, to ensure no hairline fractures occur from the resulting uncontrollable mirth that name has induced.

Until next time, try and keep it light.

  

Another look at covidiots

Has anyone noticed how this global Coronavirus Pandemic has led to the global increase in self certified 'medics'? 

These newly qualified virologists from the  Medical College of Universal Quacks, apparently know (and unfortunately insist on sharing) how to defeat covid-19.

I will concede, however, that there appears to be a smidgen of self awareness in some of these perpetrators of false hope.

They are the people who usually have friends in high places and therefore are privy to their information - A medical professor in Vienna or someone specialising in virology from Harvard University or a consultant from The Princess of Wales Hospital.

These highly regarded medical professionals apparently can't get their Governments to listen, so they contact Joe Blog to spread their priceless information.

Joe Blog then forwards the message to Mary Blog, who forwards it to Vladmir Blog, who forwards it to Deepak Blog....you get the picture.

Rena Blog has never forwarded any of them but confesses to reading them. OMG, I have just spoken about myself in the third person. I have been watching too many briefings by President Orange-a-Tan...HELP!!!

Seriously, I thought it might be worthwhile (because time is not that much of the essence these days) to have a look at some of these cures/remedies floating around in the ether.


Place half an onion in a corner of each room in your house. 
As if things aren't bad enough being cooped up indoors, you now have the all pervasive, pungent, eye watering smell of onions in every corner of your home. 

The science behind this, apparently, is that the onion absorbs all the bacteria and viruses around.

If that is true, that innocent looking onion in the corner of your room will have turned into a deadly hazard (so please don't be tempted to add it to your food if you run out of onions). 

And whether you realise it or not, a symbiotic relationship has developed between you and Onion in the corner (sorry Baby).

Onion absorbs your bacteria and viruses while you absorb and spread onion's fragrance.

Before you know it, you smell like a member of the Allium family and you will be delighted to know that your very close relative, Garlic, is also purported to be a cure for Covid.

Now, most of us know that a clove of garlic a day, consumed in the form of a tablet or raw (the way God and your friends did not intend it) is meant to have health benefits. 

Unfortunately, some people mistake a clove for a pod and consume pods of garlic with the anticipation of someone expecting a visit from Dracula.

Covid may sound like a Transylvanian vampire but it is a virus. The one plus point here, is that you don't have to worry about social distancing, most people will smell you coming a mile away.

Then there's the remedy that suggests that you tip your head back, squirt some water in each nostril, plug in your hairdryer and fire up!

The first flaw here is that corona heads for the lungs not the sinuses. It also requires very high heat to destroy it. 

Anyway, in the interest of research, I thought I'd give it a go (you cannot say that I don't go above and beyond).

You will be happy to know that I did come up with some positives.

For the duration of the process, I did not think of Covid a single time - I was too busy dealing with the nasal liquid hell I was plunged in.

It could also be the gateway to a diy nose job. If you are unhappy with the size, shape or indeed the colour of your nose, just continue for longer than I did and voila! Rhinoplasty accomplished in your own home.

disclaimer: I am in no way responsible nor have I encouraged the above stated idiotic process. The participant is being a covidiot at their own risk.

Here's another positive. You end up with luscious, shiny, dry nasal hair. A quick inter dental brush and you'll have very well groomed nostrils. May I suggest a close up nostril pic for your Instagram.

If that catches, I can see myself patenting slim tampon sized nasal hair dryers (with detachable brushes at an extra cost). 

They were right when they said that this lock down will bring out the creative side in all of us. Investors please form an orderly virtual queue while observing social distancing guidelines.

Finally, guess who is racing, uncontested, to the top of the list of covidiots who are offering untested/unverified remedies?

Be warned, his voice softens and takes on a seductive tone every time he mentions a certain medication. Quite shocking how it rolls off his tongue, when most two syllable words are a challenge.

He has also advised the American people to wear face masks although, personally, he is choosing not to wear one. Apparently it is not becoming of a President of his status to be in the Oval office, sit behind his resolute desk and greet Presidents, Kings, Queens and other high ranking diplomats, with a mask on.

Did President Dory forget about social distancing when saying that?

Any Kings, Queens, Prime Ministers and other important people that he speaks to, will be at the other end of a phone or a screen and no mask will be required for the task (and a task it will be for the poor unfortunate soul at the other end).

Mind you, it does not have to be a mask - it can be a scarf he assured everyone at least twenty five times, with accompanying little hand circular gestures.

Or perhaps in his case, that extra long red tie he likes to sport. Get Melania to help tie it, taking particular care to secure it tightly across the mouth region, just to make sure that no germs enter in and no words escape.

Well, I hope you are all having a peaceful 'Easter Palm' - we are really getting an education from this man these days.

Until next time, take care and stay safe.

A lighter look at the news

On New Year's eve, Pope Francis was going about his business, doing what Popes do - walking around St. Peter's Square, smiling, meeting the faithful, saying 'how do you do?' 

He started to walk away from a group of people, when a woman (of unknown name, so we shall call her Ms Loon, for convenience sake) grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her.

By this time, mortification should have set in on her part but she is not named Ms Loon for nothing, so she carried on holding his hand in a vice-like grip.

Also, in my opinion, his security should have intervened by now  and extricated Ms Loon and her hands from his holiness and his hand.

Alas, they did not, so his holiness had to literally take matters into his own hands. A couple of firm smacks on Ms Loon's grasping digits and he was a free man.

He did what any 83 year old would do when physically threatened. However, he is the head of the Catholic Church, so he has apologised and sought forgiveness. 

I hope Ms Loon does the same.

Mind you, as a show of good will, the Vatican could offer to pay for Ms Loon to have a few therapy sessions.

Not because she appears to think nothing of grabbing and flinging the elderly about (although there is that) but - if you're Catholic - the Pope is the last person on God's earth whose wrath you want to incur. 

Until next time, try and keep it light and be kind to each other, especially the elderly.

A lighter look at 2019

It is the penultimate day of the year and I wouldn't want to make light of it on a personal level, so all I'll say is... thank goodness for celebrities (and Prince Andrew).

Gemma Collins (or the GC as she likes to call herself) took part in 'Dancing on Ice', a program that I choose not to watch. Even so, I was forced to read headlines about her diva tantrums. Until pride, literally came before a fall.

That certainly would qualify as the most 'ouch' moment of the year.

I am a bit conflicted whether to award the next person with the 'biggest knucklehead' of the year or the 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it' lesson of the year, and since I hate conflict, he that goes by the name of Jussie Smollett, shall be awarded both.

Imagine being a relatively successful actor and deciding that you deserve more and hatching a plan to get the more of everything that you think you deserve.

Unfortunately, there was just one flaw in his plan - it needed more brains. 

Hiring extras that are known to you and paying them with a cheque that has your name on it, is the opposite of a cunning plan.

Needless to say, the career of Smollett is now gonnett.

Another person whose career took a self inflicted nose dive this year, is Prince Andrew.

Like Mr. Smollett, the Grand Old Duke of York, also had a grand plan.

He would redeem himself by giving an interview to the BBC.

It is fair to say, he didn't just shoot himself in the foot. He shot himself in both feet, one toe at a time.

He certainly gets a clutch of awards. One would be for 'worst alibi' of the year.

'I went to Pizza Express in Woking that evening'. Impressive. I remember going to Pizza Express three months ago but do I remember the date or the time? Sadly, not.

But then again, one is royal, so a trip to Pizza Express and rubbing shoulders with the hoi polloi may well have been traumatic enough to stick in one's memory for a lifetime.

I wouldn't be surprised if one had demanded a decontamination wash down after the trip.

Maybe that's how one remembers where one was that evening but one doesn't want to say, lest one comes across as snooty.

He also gets an award for 'most deluded opinion of oneself'.

Talk about not seeing the wood for the trees, his honourable highness doesn't appear to see the wood or the trees.

What gets me, is that most of us (who live in the real world), have enough self awareness to realise when we've made jackasses of ourselves.

Not Prince Andrew. He informed Mummy that the interview went swimmingly well, until the entire nation informed her otherwise. 

One then had to issue a P45 to one's own son.

The judges on Strictly Come Dancing this year, decided to bestow 10s like so much confetti being flung by over enthusiastic (and slightly inebriated) guests at a wedding.

Except for Craig Revel Horwood. However, he doesn't get an award for being the most sensible judge on a reality show. 

He gets the 'foot in your mouth' award, for complimenting Anton du Beke on his wig, glasses and fake teeth...except Anton's teeth were (and still are to the best of my knowledge) very much his own.

The 'dancing queen' award is most certainly Tay May's.

She has now danced out of No 10 and may well be available to take part in Strictly Come Dancing next year.

If that happens, Anton du Beke (and his authentic teeth) will almost certainly partner her.

I could go on, but I won't. 

I think there is enough here, no matter what sort of year you've had, to make you feel slightly better about yourself.

Until next year, try and keep it light.

A lighter look at Christmas Cards and letters

If you are of a certain age, you may remember the first time your family received a Christmas card that didn't feature the traditional Nativity scene or a Christmas tree or even a Robin red breast (that quintessentially native bird of Bethlehem). 

Instead, you opened the envelope to find the Browns, or perhaps the de Silvas, grinning at you from their bespoke family portrait card.

At some point, the senders of such cards, came to realise that there wasn't anything festive about a family posing for a nondescript  photograph.

So, with precise planning, they donned on Christmas hats in August and posed in front of a plastic Christmas tree, so that their perfect  Christmas cards were all printed and ready to be unleashed on unsuspecting family and friends, by early December.

Unfortunately, it did not stop there. 

Someone looked at their family Christmas card and despite all of them looking giddy with happiness and grinning like a tribute band to the Osmonds, they wondered how on earth would cousin Jenny know that their Bobby had been accepted into the 7th best University in the country.

(A point they were particularly keen to drive home, as Jenny's son had dropped out of Uni the year before).

Also, how would the recipient know that Dad had received a 'huge' promotion at work and that the youngest family member, Matilda, had been made captain of the girls' lacrosse team. 

Not to mention the fact that they, in their family home,  had hosted 81 dinner parties (Mum Maureen was such a dab hand at throwing these soirees) and had received 43 overnight guests,who would certainly, and individually, be named - not that one was looking to be lauded, or shown gratitude or anything crass like that.

And so, was born, the annual 'Christmas letter'. 

Three double sided A4 sheets from Uncle Caetano, waxing lyrical about his family, in painful, eye watering detail, and suddenly you find your Mum looking at you with the withering look of a let down and immensely disappointed Mother.

Nowadays, the 'keeping in touch to let you know how fabulous we are' letters have blissfully been confined to history, as Uncle C and his ilk have moved on to the 24/7, 365 days a year, preening platform, otherwise known as social media.

The family photo Christmas card hasn't disappeared altogether but seems confined to the rich, famous and photogenic, like the Cambridges.

This year for the Christmas card, they rolled out that most festive of all modes of transport.... a motorbike.

There's William sitting astride the bike holding little Louis in front of him. (Not sure why I emphasised 'little', one would hardly expect a big Louis to be sitting in front of the future monarch).

Kate is leaning ever so gently towards him, with one hand on the handle bars to the right.

A psychologist might have a field day with that but I am no psychologist, although I suspect the invisible hand of Granny is on the handle bars to the left.

George and Charlotte are standing in the side car. 

There you go, I have painted a verbal picture for you. If you want to see the actual pic, just use google.

Then there's the American royal couple and their family. The West/Kardashians, all assembled and sitting beautifully on the staircase of their family home.

They magnanimously decided to share their Christmas card pic with the world (it is the season of giving after all), so that their millions of followers could fawn.

Unfortunately, the fawning was accompanied by gasps of disbelief as accusations started to fly, that North West (the child, not the direction) had been photoshopped into the picture.

Mum Kim admitted that it was true. Apparently, North West was having a day. 'Does she usually have nights?' you might ask.

To which, I would say, 'Don't be silly'. She was having a mood, a strop, throwing a tantrum, doing a Mariah Carey - take your pick.

Anyway, North walked off (not sure which direction, could've been South).

But then, the next day,  North had another change of direction and wanted to be in the pic.

Mum Kim promptly said yes. Probably to avoid North having a week or possibly a month.

What surprised me most about the pic, was that Chicago (the child not the city), was sitting on her dad's lap, holding a cookie, not a pizza. Rare missed opportunity there.

Never mind, there's always Easter. They can congregate on the staircase again and Chicago can hold a slice of a certain brand of pizza...unless she chooses to have a day.

Until next time, try and keep it light and if you can't, indulge and have a fabulous festive season!

A lighter look at the news

I'm not sure if you've heard of Aldi's 'Kevin the Carrot' plush soft toy. I won't be surprised if you haven't because I hadn't either.

It's a phenomenon that has completely passed me by, up until now. Well, being generous of heart I have decided to share it with you, along with my incredulity.

It all started in 2016, when in their Christmas ad, the supermarket Aldi decided to put Kevin the Carrot as the main support act to turkey (since we are naming food, let's call it Tallulah)  on the Christmas table. This incensed Russel sprout (understandably so).

The ad ended with Kevin powering Santa's reindeer and his sleigh (with him in it of course) which is no mean feat (not that I am fat shaming good old Santa).

In 2017, Kevin met Katie (I've never seen such long lashes on a carrot). Yes, Kevin stayed true to his race - no pretty Penny Parsnip for our Kev. Katie batted those impossibly long lashes at him and he turned to mush.

Fast forward to 2019, and Katie appears to have morphed into the Marge Simpson of the vegetable world, although I am happy to say that the lashes are still lush. Don't ask me about the mechanics of it all but they have produced three baby carrots.

Not sure if their names begin with 'K' as well but if they do, it makes them the KKKKK klan of karrots. 

In the meanwhile, the passing years have only served to embitter Russel Sprout further. Who can blame him? He gets to be feted (I exaggerate) one day in the year before fading into oblivion for the next 364 days. 

His vendetta takes a turn for the worse as he and his gang of Leafy Blinders (flat cap and all) try to attack Kevin.

It ends with Kevin singing 'Let me entertain you'. Personally, the only thing I would entertain is a cardiac arrest if a carrot shot up on my plate at the Christmas table and belted out a Robbie Williams song.

Now for the part that has me incredulous. There is an absolute craze for the plush soft toy versions of these characters. A three foot Kevin sells for £19.99.Why would anyone want to cuddle a three foot carrot is beyond me. In fact the whole thing is beyond me.

Apparently, people (mostly parents) have been queuing up for hours waiting for Aldi shops to open, so that they can merrily push and shove each other in non-seasonal fervour to acquire these toys.

Personally, I feel a little sorry for Russel Sprout. Kevin and Katie do appear to be a trifle smug. Maybe it's because even little humans like them, which is not a boast most vegetables can make.

They are popular all year round, so I don't think that they should be stealing the limelight from poor old Russel Sprout on that one day of the year that he gets to shine (once again, I exaggerate).

It's too late now, but bearing in mind that the Leafy Blinders were unsuccessful this year, perhaps Russel Sprout can recruit Rod Bean to help him next year. 

That's your new character for next year sorted Aldi. I am open to a show of gratitude by way of a hamper (I am nothing if not persistent). Please don't feel obliged to include any of your plush soft toy vegetables in it, although on second thoughts, they apparently go for six times the retail price on ebay........

Until next week, try and keep it light!

A lighter look at Edgar the dragon

The Christmas season has officially started in the UK. It's not even Advent yet, you may well think. I may well think the same thought but silly us for thinking that our thoughts matter. Far be it for me to be cynical but I think (amazingly I can have more than one thought at a time) it's our wallets that matter.

Nowadays, Christmas is dictated by the Gospel according to John Lewis.Yes, John Lewis have released their annual, much anticipated, Christmas advert. 

There are some over dramatic people who say that these days, people complain about everything. I hate to admit it but in this case, I think these over dramatic people are right. 

Apparently, not everyone is happy with the advert. Which is fine, not everybody has to be enchanted by the antics and disasters of a cute fire breathing dragon called Edgar.

However, the nature of the complaints makes me want to join that cute dragon and breathe a little fire myself.


One woman asked the question, 'why am I ugly crying at 9:40 in the morning?' I don't know love, why were you ugly crying at 9:40 in the morning? 

Maybe a question to ask your therapist, particularly since you managed to look at the time through your flood of tears. A word of advice though, don't go too near the dragon, you may well do more than ugly cry, little miss snowflake.

Than there is the irate Mum who complained to John Lewis that her 2 year old daughter sobbed and was distraught that the dragon had caused 'Olaf' to melt.

Apparently every snowman in the world is now called Olaf (Frosty thanks you Disney) and they NEVER melt.

Something tells me, twenty years from now, this little girl is going to ugly cry at 9:40 in the morning in the middle of November.

Don't worry Edgar. Some people still love you. You can't help breathing fire, just like some people can help ugly crying.

Incidentally, John Lewis apologised to the little girl and promised to discipline Edgar by putting him in the naughty corner. Brave talk, considering he has the potential to burn the house down.

Then all of John Lewis would be ugly crying.

The best (also the worst) came from the person who complained that there was no solution at the end. Perhaps the people could come together to fire proof the town, was the suggestion they made (I kid you not).

Shame you can't get people to fool proof complaints.

Note to John Lewis : Would not refuse if you feel obliged to send me one of your lovely Christmas hampers to say thank you. Would not ugly cry if you didn't either.

Until next week, try and keep it light. 

A lighter look at Brexit

Today is the 31st of October, 2019 and by his own prediction (and in his own words) Boris Johnson should be found dead in a ditch. That is what he had said (or promised) would be the case if he asked for a Brexit delay.

Well, he may not be dead in the ditch he dug for himself, but he certainly is in the ditch, furiously back peddling his way out. 

His boast sounds quite hollow now and makes the nick name Bo Jo a bit redundant. Brag Zit sounds more fitting.

Anyway, the new deadline is the 31st of January, 2020. So the Brexit Boogie continues. A new deal in, a new deal out because the MPs have shaken it all about. 

They'll do the Brexit Boogie until the 31st January, then turn the PM around to ask for another deadline and continue dancing until that deadline. Brexit on repeat. That's what it's all about.

However, there is a general election in December. Things might change then. And pigs might fly. Politicians may start serving the people rather than themselves. Donald Trump may stop tweeting. The list is endless. 

Who knows? I don't have a crystal ball but if I did, it probably would have shattered by now, from stress, boredom, frustration... once again the list is endless.

In the meanwhile, I shall wear a helmet and a face shield if I venture out this evening. 

There are predictions of scarily dressed little rioters demanding sweets and flinging eggs if their demands are not met👻.

Until next time, try and keep it light! 

A lighter look at the news

It is an established fact that Denmark is one of the happiest countries in the world. 

Unfortunately, their happiness took a little nose dive today, as Donald Trump declared (via a tweet of course) that he is no longer visiting the country in two weeks time.

The Danes are crushed. They had all their demonstrations planned. And, since it's not yet the 31st of October, they even borrowed blimp baby Trump from Britain, in all his nappy glory, safety pin intact, to fly high during the Orange one's visit.

                                                          

Now, it's as if that safety pin has been used to burst their bubble, as Trump has declared (via a tweet of course) that he is postponing his visit. 

                                                    

Apparently, he expressed a wish to buy Greenland and the Danish Prime Minister said, 'No way' and Trump stubbornly said, 'I don't want Norway, I want Greenland.'( I am guilty of a little paraphrasing).

So, like his counterpart, blimp baby Trump, he's had a tantrum and refuses to visit their country. 

I wonder if Trump had even heard of Greenland before he was due to visit Denmark. 

I suspect while planning his visit (that is, if he plans at all), his beady eye caught the name 'Green'land and thought, 'So much potential... so many golf courses' and immediately made an offer to buy it, ignoring the fact that there was no 'for sale' sign in the first place.

On a serious note, can someone please check his fake tan spray. I am concerned that the fumes are slowly turning his grey matter into a rusty orange.

Mind you, if the reason he wanted to buy Greenland was literally because of its name, than he might be tempted to put in an offer on Epstein's Virgin island. 

Until next time, try and keep it light!

The world has gone barking mad!

The bride wore a close fitting white dress and a white fabric rose on her head. Yes, it was on her head - not tucked behind her ear or pinned to one side. It lay on top of her head, almost like a separate entity, at least five times the size of the head it was supposed to adorn. 

Waiting for her was the groom - her dog. That's correct, it's not a typo. I didn't mean to type God, as in adored fiancee. 

A dog - that's  who she was marrying. 

Unsurprisingly, the groom (goes by the name of Logan) looked miserable and was probably there purely out of loyalty to his mistress (soon to be his wife). Also, despite the impending nuptials, since he is a dog, I don't think he had a choice, poor thing.

The bride walked down the 'aisle' with TV presenter Eamon Holmes, who was giving her away. He should have walked her in the direction of some medical professional and given her away there, but of course he didn't. The exploitation of woman and dog continued live on daytime TV.

Someone sang a song, someone else (apparently a Love Island contestant) was the 'best man' (highly debatable) and yet another person 'officiated', where ridiculous vows were made (don't ask), bracelet and ring were exchanged (once again, don't ask) and they were declared 'dog and woman' (talk about stating the obvious).

This does give one pause for thought. Note, I've resisted the temptation to say 'paws', I just don't think it's punny (oops!). Seriously though, how low does one stoop to get viewers/publicity?

Did the producers think it was funny and since it involved a dog, people would think it cute and go 'awwww'? If they did, they definitely barked up the wrong tree (apologies again).

What about the 'bride'. Apparently, she married her dog because she could not find a good man (can't imagine why). I'm not taking her side, but perhaps that rose on her head was blocking oxygen supply to her brain.

She didn't look as if she was fully present (to put it politely) and ITV should know better from their past experiences.

I will now get off my soap box and call it a night - I don't want to feel ruff tomorrow morning :)

A lighter look at the news

Oh dear....France wants to pass tech taxes on some American internet giants and  it has enraged a certain someone, who has turned a deeper shade of orange (if that's possible).

Gone are the days when L'orange giggled like an excited school boy with a crush, as he linked arms and basked in a bromance with Macron.

Their bromance appears to be as dead as that symbolic friendship tree they planted when Macron visited the US.   
                                          

                             
As usual, when anything irritates Trump, he lashes out, saying  something scathing about the person/country.  So, unsurprisingly, he had a dig at French wine.

He said, and I quote, "I've always liked American wines better than French wines .....even though I don't drink wine. I just like the way they look."

I am going to go linguistically Anglo-French here and say 'oh dear, sacre bleu, sugar and mon dieu.'  Do we laugh or do we cry?

If you were expecting something slightly stronger like 'sheeet' or 'merde', you ought to know better by now. I keep my blog clean, just like (apparently) Trump keeps his liver.

So (surprise, surprise) he likes things just because they look good. Hmmmmm, wonder how Melania feels about that? 

To answer my own question, 'should we laugh or should we cry?' I vote that we should laugh (with relief).

Can you imagine what his 2 am tweets would be like if he was bladdered? Doesn't bear thinking about.

If the Obamas thought for a minute that they were now safe from his interference, they were sadly mistaken.

L'orange has demanded that there be an investigation into their estimated $65 million book deals. 

As the teletubbies would say, 'Uh oh!' I think the green monster is taking over the orange monster. 

I think the closest L'orange has come to encountering any sort of book, was that magazine that (allegedly) a certain Stormy person was asked to roll up and spank him on the bottom with.

And he had to pay for the privilege!

Until next week, try and keep it light.

A lighter look at the news

It is  official, like him or loathe him, Boris Johnson is now the Prime Minister of Britain.
                                             

Guess who was 'deeelighted' by the news? You guessed it -  Donald Trump of course.

He praised Boris for all of ten seconds, calling him a 'good man', before he made it all about himself.

'They call him 'Britain Trump' over there' he proclaimed. Actually, no one calls him that over here, simply because no self respecting Brit would call him 'Britain Trump' - that's just bad English.

'Britain's Trump' or 'British Trump' perhaps but even then, I have not heard anyone say it except when they are quoting Trump himself.

In typical Trump fashion (read deluded) he assumes that even if someone does say it, they mean it as a compliment (someone needs to tell him what happens when you 'assume' things). 

Obviously, no one has had the courage to do so, because he went on to make another annoying assumption - 'they like me over there.'

Since he is so fond of three worded chants ('send her back', 'lock her up') -here's a chant he might understand - 'no we don't. 

I know of only four people in Britain who like him: Piers Morgan, Nigel Farage, Boris Johnson and that awful woman whose venomous tweets Trump is very fond of retweeting.

Sorry if you are wondering who she is but my digits will literally go on strike if I move them to type her name and give her the oxygen of publicity.

Also, going by social media, I find it puzzling that some people across the pond appear to think that we are now in the same boat.

'Now you know how it feels' and 'You can no longer make fun of us' appeared to be the general consensus.

Actually, for the moment, the jury is out on that one. 

After all, BoJo was gracious enough to 'pay tribute at the fortitude and patience' of Theresa May and since he actually has appointed his very own 'squad' in the Cabinet, he is hardly likely to urge them to 'go back' to their countries.

Sorry guys, you'll just have to wake up and smell the covfefe.

Until next week try and keep it light....and stay hydrated.

A lighter look at the news

From time to time, I may come across a person and think to myself, 'they really can't tell their a**e from their elbow'. I guess you're shocked - you didn't think I was judgemental did you?

Nothing about my blog gave it away. 

Anyway, I confess to thinking this on more than one occasion, where the supposed leader of the free world is concerned.

Except, I suppose, in his case, it's more 'can't tell his thumbs from his mouth' (or a**e, same difference).

However, I'll admit I was wrong. It appears, he actually can't tell his kidneys from his heart. 

During a recent speech, he said, and I quote, 'the kidney has a very special place in the heart.'

And, just in case you thought he meant it as an idiom, he was actually thumping his heart as he said it.

One can take consolation in the fact that at least he knows where his heart is located.....even if he thinks it's being fondly cradled by his kidneys.

From one narcissist to another, Gemma Collins, who apparently has a new reality show that is about to air (why????), appears to be fashioning herself as a nature lover, who hugs trees.

Poor, poor, trees. They take in our carbon dioxide and nourish us with fresh oxygen and what do we do? We inflict Gemma Collins on them.

Apparently, she is shown in a clip, wrapping her arms around the trunk of a tree and whispering 'nature'.

I would give anything for the tree to whisper 'attention seeking human' back at her.


She then had the audacity to go on instagram and ask if anyone else hugs trees or if it is just her.

I know her brand is being 'thick' but even she has to know that she hasn't discovered the hugging of trees.

I am furious on behalf of all tree hugging hippies and Prince Charles. 

However, I have to confess that a part of me is a tad tickled at the first case of cultural appropriation within a race that I have come across.

Going back to the potential scriptwriter for the fourth season of The Handmaid's Tale', also known as the President of the United States, despite his diatribe against the four congresswomen of colour, he claims that he does not have a single racist bone in his body.

I am quite sure the man speaks the truth. I am quite sure he doesn't have a single racist bone in his body. I am sure all the bones in his body are racist.

Mind you, that would be hard to prove. I think even a skilled surgeon or indeed an archaeologist, would be hard put to dig out any bone in his body, surrounded as they are, by all that racist blubber.

Going back to his, 'if you are not happy, leave and go back to your country' jibe at the congresswomen, I wonder why he hasn't looked closer to home.

The last time Melania smiled in public was when she met Pope Francis and the two tittered at the girth of her husband, with the Pope asking her if she feeds him Slovenian nut roll (apt) 'potica'. 

One would assume since she hasn't cracked a smile since then, she is not happy. So perhaps he should busy his little hands and help her pack, not forgetting to pack this item of clothing.

Until next time, try and keep it light!