It is a little known fact that my first two blog posts have taken the world by storm. With media and celebrities alike all desperate to give comment. Here are a few:
Doris Hogschuff from The Daily Mail said: "Jay's two blog posts sickened me to the stomach. He is obviously a very sick man and should be sent to prison. In fact, prison is far too cushy for him. Dunk his balls in scoulding liquid metal and electrocute them until they resemble scotch eggs." Hugh Wankstrap from the Daily Star said "You've got more chance of getting a blow job from the queen, than getting a laugh from this blog." Hugh was unfortunately rushed to hospital shortly after this statement, having lodged his penis between the queen's dentures.Suk-Mi Udders of the Sun was quoted as saying "I laughed out loud. Not at the blog mind, I heard an amusing voice message." Norman Spunknut from the Financial Times did not hold back on his distaste. "This blog was unfunny. Listening to someone trying to laugh after a botched tracheotomy is more amusing than this shit!"
The loveable 90 year old favourite Fanny Bushtrim, from 'cross stitch crazy' magazine, provided a more in-depth review. "Jay's blog is so fucking unoriginal, I can just imagine the cocksucker will resort to fake newspaper reviews on his next post. What a massively unfunny, jumped up little cunt!" adding, "the inclusion of a seasonal knitting pattern or a delightfully scrummy eccles cake recipe would improve his blog immensely!"
Roger Candle-Ram from The Evening Standard said it was "About as funny as painting your penis orange, entering an old peoples home, then trying to convince the senile pensioners that you have a magical expanding baked bean in your underpants."
The reverend Mo Lester was one of the first to comment. "This blog is so innapropriate. After reading it, I felt like I had just been sucked off by my grandmother".. adding "I enjoyed it immensely"
Time magazine simply described it as "the best thing since AIDS"The Watchtower was gushing in its appraisal. Editor in chief, Reg Brainwash was quoted as saying "Reading Jay's blog is more exciting than dipping your penis in warm gravy and then rubbing it against a tiger's nose."Tony Gargantuan from The Guardian said "Far too much vile, childish sexual content. Let's hope his next post omits that."The worlds media weren't the only ones desperate to provide a quote..The cuddly racist Nick Griffin said "I laughed so much, my eye popped out"Lindsay Lohan stated that the blog was "useless" after realising she couldn't suck it off or cut it up into lines and snort it.
Fab Morvan, the not dead one from milli vanilli, commented through the voice of a professional soul singer. "When I read Jay's blog, I was reminded of the time I read Wayne Rooney's Autobiography. It has the same simpleton quality about it."
Not one to mince words, the pope simply said "I came, twice" Before wiping clean his Luger.. Kim Jong Il was unavailable for comment. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Delicious Eccles Cakes:Ingredients Serves: 8 30g butter 150g dried currants 2 tablespoons chopped candied mixed fruit peel 50g demerara sugar 3/4 teaspoon mixed spice 1/2 (500g) package frozen puff pastry, thawed 1 egg white, beaten 4 tablespoons caster sugar for decoration Preparation method Prep: 20 mins | Cook: 25 mins
1.Preheat oven to 220 C / Gas mark 7. Sprinkle a baking tray with water.
2. In a small saucepan over medium heat, melt butter. Stir in currants, mixed peel, demerara sugar and mixed spice. Stir until sugar is dissolved and fruit is well coated. Remove from heat.3. On a lightly floured surface, roll out pastry to a 5mm thickness. Cut out eight 13cm circles, using a saucer as a guide. Divide the fruit mixture evenly between the circles. Moisten the edges of the pastry, pull the edges to the centre and pinch to seal. Invert filled cakes on the floured surface and roll out gently to make a wider, flatter circle, but do not break the pastry.4. Brush each cake with egg white and sprinkle generously with caster sugar. Make three parallel cuts across the top of each cake, then place them on the prepared baking tray.5. Bake in preheated oven 15 minutes, until golden.
1. Unnecessarily long winded introduction to an unnecessarily long blog
So here I am, slightly (very) drunk , having spent about 5 minutes trying to work out how to create a new post on posterous. Having worked in IT related nonsense for a few years, I should be ashamed at my lack of knowledge on the workings of blogging sites, but i'm not. I've never warmed to technology beyond the latest gaming console or anything that brings porn to the 21st century. (At one time I did try and promote my vision of smell-o'-porn to the masses, until I realised you can simply get the same effect by sniffing blue vein cheese and tinned pilchards, while having a wank/wazz over a copy of playboy. Much cheaper and very effective.... apparently)
So it seems contradictory that I should dislike technology when I decided to work as an IT engineer for part of my life. Unfortunately my mind works this way. For instance, my first blog post mentioned that I don't like making blogs.... in a blog. So it should come as no surprise that I am about to tell you that I loved my gran very much, and then share stories about my gran that could be considered less than flattering.
So why am I talking about my gran in a blog? I thought about her the other day, which for me is a perfect excuse to bore everyone senseless. However, it's not the usual 'gran used to sit me on her knee, tell me stories and sing me songs' kind of story, It's a bit more mental than that! This is not going to be a nasty blog though, more an appreciation of my grans 'eccentric' ways. I'd like to point out that she never had a mental illness or dementia, I wouldn't find that amusing. she was simply 'different' in her ways. I consider this paragraph my disclaimer.
(If you've managed to get this far into the blog without shooting yourself in the head from boredom, then well done.. have a lolly... let's continue)
2. Beginnings: As told by a grandson who shamefully cannot remember, or simply never bothered to find out all the details
Gran (on my fathers side) or Christine as known to most others, was born in Ireland in..erm.. not sure. Her early years were spent living in a pub on the coast. According to my vague memory, she was either sent to live with nuns, because a dodgy pub where lots of naughty things happened wasn't a fit place to be brought up, or she was just educated by nuns. Either way, Irish nuns are bastards.
Skip forward a few years, she met my granddad during the war. She was a nurse, he was a soldier injured in hospital. I suppose you could call it the 'Florence Nightingale effect' but in my grans case, more 'Florence nuttygale'. They got married, she popped out three sproglets. One of them just happened to be my dad.
Grandad, known to most others as Chris (christened 'Christmas Shephard' by his mum, who was utterly insane) was and is a hero to me. During the war he used to take part in 'behind the lines' missions, planting detonators on bridges. He was also a D-Day veteran. For his services he was given several medals which he refused, as he felt war had no glory. I am proud of him for every single part of that!
In those days post traumatic stress disorder wasn't recognised. Dad told me that Grandad used to wake up, bolt upright, screaming from memories of the war. After seeing his best friend's head getting shot off, I completely understand why he would refuse those medals.
"Hey, sorry about that horrible war business and seeing your mates getting killed. And sorry that the rest of your life will be affected with nightmares and bad memories.... here, have a couple of shiny medals for your troubles."
Unfortunately, despite surviving the war, he eventually succumbed to cancer. Gran never boxed up any of granddad's clothes or shoes, they simply stayed in exactly the same place in their bedroom, almost like he was still with her. I always found that very touching.
3. Unnecessarily long winded middle bit
So skip forward a few more years. After my grandparents had the terrible trio, I was born. In my early years, gran seemed to be the usual gran type. She was loving, sweet natured and gentle. However the older I got, the more her eccentricities appeared.
My grandparents lived in a beautiful cottage on the edge of Snowdonia national park. I used to love going up there, especially at Christmas. (My defining memory of Christmas in N. Wales was of my brother doing a kamikaze sprint at sheep, wielding an 'electronic shooting noises' toy ray gun, 5 in the morning Christmas Day)
Gran would always befriend the oddest people, invite them up to the cottage and force copious amounts of tea on them. There was one lady who lived in house down below, who was somewhat of a recluse. She was a regular visitor to the cottage. This lady was very pleasant, apart from sporting a moustache that would make 80's Burt Reynolds jealous, and having an overwhelming stench of eau de urine. Myself and my brother would generally stand within a safe 7 foot distance when talking to her, dreading the moment my gran asked us to kiss her goodbye *shudder*.
However, my gran seemed to be immune to the smell, which I could never understand. Even after the lady left, the entire cottage would have to be fumigated. But that was gran, always taking in the strange ones (the slightly mental 6.8 foot bloke, with the look and mannerisms of a serial killer was always unsettling.) As dad once put it "if gran found a mouse in the house, she wouldn't kill it, she would give it cheese"
During these stays I learned that anything to do with gran and food should be treated with caution. She used to make THE best home made marmalade, of which I have yet to taste better. However, many of the jars used to either contain a dead snail (admittedly this only happened once) or some delicious cigarette ash sitting on top. The rule was to generally disregard the top part and it would be fine.
It was also dangerous to go near a box of chocolates after gran had been near them. Many a time I would go for a chocolate to find most of them had big thumb prints in them. Gran's reason for jabbing her grubby thumb into each chocolate? Well, she didn't like the hard centred chocolates, so she would poke her thumb into each of them to see which ones caved in. She even progressed to the next level of chocolate molestation. One day I eagerly dived into a box of chocolates, only to find most of them had teeth marks in them. Yes, she had progressed to bite testing them and putting the (already bitten) hard centres back. I wouldn't have been surprised if she got to the stage of regurgatating the chocolates back into the box.
4. Intermission
As this is a rather long blog, i've felt it necessary to include an intermission to give your brain a rest. The main feature continues after these following messages....
5. The cleaner and foot related things
After my granddad passed away, gran was much more prominent in my family life. You would always know when gran was staying, because there would be used corn pads sitting around the house in odd places. One time I sat down in front of the telly with my lunch, only to find a yellowing corn pad sitting on top of the remote control, staring back at me. We would also marvel at her dinosaur tusk like toenail clippings and sheds of dry skin decorating our living room carpet.
One day, we made the mistake of letting gran answer the home telephone (remember them?)
"Hello..... hold on, i'll just check"
She called to my dad, who had just walked in from the kitchen.
Holding the phone slightly away from her mouth, not bothering to cover the mouthpiece with her hand, she said rather loudly: "DAVID, THERE'S A MAN ON THE TELEPHONE WHO WANTS TO TALK TO YOU. ARE YOU HERE?"
Dad couldn't respond due to being literally curled up on the floor from laughter. Gran had to say he wasn't there. I don't think the caller believed her!
Quite a few times I was designated 'gran entertainer', so I would take her out to the cinema or the shops. It was quite stressful as gran never seemed to do things in a conventional way. For instance, if we had to catch a train, she would always need something like a packet of fags right at the last minute before the train was due to arrive. So we would get the fags, then she would stop to admire a nice flower or something.. and so on. We would generally end up missing one or two trains.
One day I took her to see the movie 'Rain Man'. Against my better judgement from previous experiences, we decided to get the train. As we stood on the platform (after missing a couple of trains), gran looked at a guy sweeping up leaves on the platform.
Suddenly, at a higher than acceptable level of volume and within earshot of this guy, she said,
"Isn't it a shame?!"
"What is, gran?"
"Isn't it a shame they are making a BLACK MAN sweep up the platform. It's very racist isn't it?"...
After asking her to keep her voice down, I tried to explain to her that he probably got that job of his own accord, adding that slavery in Britain was abolished a hundred and fifty years before.
After this moment of embarrasment, i was desperate to get into the safe cocoon of a cinema theatre. Nothing could go wrong there, could it?
6. The Cinema
Rainman had only just opened in the cinema, so the theatre was packed to the brim. We sat down, the movie started. The opening scene to the movie has two or three of the actors all talking on the telephone. Just general throw away dialogue, simply to set the scene.. Suddenly most of the audience jumped, as though they had just seen a scary scene from a horror movie....
"JAY, I CAN'T UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY ARE SAYING. THEY ARE TALKING TOO FAST".
My first instinct was to tell my gran to shhh, I then had to spend a minute *quietly* explaining that the entire movie would not be like this. I also had to explain to her what was going on.
During this time I missed a few moments of the movie, as did gran. So when gran said (loudly) "JAY, WHAT DID THEY JUST SAY? I MISSED IT", I felt I was fighting a losing battle. After explaining the part we had missed (because gran was talking) my gran seemed satisfied and sat back quietly to watch the film again...
At 4min 33.6 seconds into the movie, the audience jumped in shock again. (i'm sure I even witnessed popcorn flying up in the air)
"JAY, WHERE'S DUSTIN HOFFMAN? WHEN IS DUSTIN HOFFMAN COMING ON?"
cue muffled giggles from parts of the cinema. Again I shushed my gran, feeling bad that I was having to tell off my own gran like she was a naughty child. Thankfully gran settled down after this and enjoyed the movie (when Dustin Hoffman appeared) and all was well.
7. The Holiday
As gran had never been abroad since the war, she came on holiday with us to Corfu. It was nice having gran there, as I don't think she'd had proper sun hit her face for years.
However, gran didn't realise the dangers of having a 'quick fag' on the actual runway of the airport, before getting on the plane. I always remember seeing my brother literally dive on her almost lit cigarette before the possible explosion, like the guy in war films who sacrificies his life by throwing himself on to a grenade.
We stayed in a beautiful villa, in a lovely town called Benitses. There was a lovely greek lady who used to come a few times a week to clean the villa. As we had visited the same villa for a few years, we got to know her well, despite the language differences. We generally smiled at each other and said 'kalimera' (good morning) quite alot. We also managed to communicate via the medium of mime, almost like an insane game of charades. Gran being gran thought this was all a bit silly and attempted to communicate with her.
"HELLOOOOOO. I'M CHRISTINE... WOULD YOU LIKE A CUP OF TEA?"
The greek lady looked obviously confused, so gran thought that speaking English slowly might work..
"CUP OF TEEEEA? YOU KNOW..... CUP. OF. TEA."
Gran turned to us, with a frustrated look on her face... "Why doesn't she understand me? Everyone knows what a cup of tea is!"
She then offered the lady some sausage rolls we had brought with us.
Let's just say, Irish-Greek relations didn't advance much that day!
8. Finally, the end bit.
Unfortunately old age caught up with gran. She had been living in the cottage in Wales for a few years on her own. She didn't want to move, but living in the solitude of Snowdonia national park, where a simple walk to the shops would mean a long walk down a steep, rough path wasn't good for her. The whole situation came to a head, when she was found lying on the floor after a fall. She had been laying there for two days, unable to get to the phone before she was discovered.
My dad and uncles immediately put her into a home, which he hated as most of the ladies there only spoke in Welsh. Dad was in the process of doing up a flat for her, just next door from him, when she was taken into hospital after developing Parkinsons. She never really got over that fall and passed on shortly after that.
One of my last memories of Gran was a private party the family went to, in a pub. She was probably the oldest person there, but everyone took a shine to her. I had so many people coming up to me, telling me how lovely she was. One girl even got my gran into screaming orgasm cocktails. It was both surreal and funny watching my gran continually asking the barman for an 'orgasm' throughout the evening.
Yes, gran had her faults, as we all do. But to this day, I only look back on her foibles with fondness. I'm thankful I didn't have a boring gran!
Purely out of boredom and a willingness to embarrass myself in an attempt to be funny, I have created this blog. I've had a posterous account for a while now, but simply didn't know what to put on it. I've written a blog before, dealing solely with my health and personal problems (yes, it is rib achingly hilarious!) but I've never actually attempted to create a blog for entertainment (I use the word entertainment loosely)
I've never liked the idea of doing a blog. When I put a certain amount of time into writing one, I always have a nagging feeling that:
I'm not being paid any money for my effort. (My account number is 00458364, sort code 23-00-16. Payment generally takes around 3 -4 days to clear. Just thought I'd throw that out there)
Readers are going to think i'm a boring, unfunny fucker. (I am a boring unfunny fucker, the important thing is that people don't think this. So laugh you bastards.. LAUGH!!)
Readers will use it solely as a way to pass the time while sitting on the shitter. and...
I'm not being paid any money for my effort (I find this part the most important. - cheques also accepted)
Having these paranoid thoughts has forced me into using a bit of comparative psychology:
I'm going to treat this blog like an orangutan enclosure. Me being a bored orangutan, mindlessly throwing shit (my posts) at the enclosure wall (posterous) hoping that some of it sticks. Thankfully the fact that I have the look, smell and genitals of an orangutan really helps to get me into this mindset. (If you do bother to read these posts, I am in effect metaphorically throwing my shit at you)
How does one start a new blog? Post 'hilarious accident' youtube videos? - No one ever dies in them, so that's out. Blog about my 'alternative' hobbies? - slutty burka girl themed sex parties never caught on unfortunately, so that's out. Blog about my latest book? - Cat circumcision for dummies never sold that well, so that's out.... I guess I'll just blog whatever comes into my diseased brain at the time.
What you will come to notice in my future blog posts (should you be bored enough to read them) is that i'm a massive fan of typo's, grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. So expect plenty of them! Its' howe I rolle.
So here it is, my first post... coming at you like an unwelcome popcorn of penis cheese during oral sex. Creeping up on you like testicle ache. Exploding on to your screen like a previously digested Loyd Grossman sauce.. You get the idea!
In conclusion, all I can say is 'I'm sorry'. (especially for the lazy overuse of brackets)
p.s. If any Nigerian scammers are reading this, that's not my real bank account number.
p.p.s. This is a half arsed post, with minimal effort put into it...Just setting a precedent for any future posts.
p.p.p.s. Anyone willing to give me money, that's definitely my real bank account number.
p.p.p.p.s. As I hit the 'publish' button, I'm actually cringing at how bad this post is. Goodbye dignity!
