I simply needed to return a shirt; here things are not quite so simple if you live in a small village.
A telephone call to the suppliers cost me 50 Brit pence a minute and after an automated press this, press that, Joy I finally had a human on the phone, I was given Item return instructions that felt like a United Nations briefing, I wrote notes and thought all was well.
Our tiny towns Post Room (office would be too kind) opens promptly at 9am, at 9:30 he opened the door with massive yawns that would make the grand canyon look like an ants toilet.
I requested a postage bag, No, he has none, but I could go to the big city if I wanted. After using language that would make a hardened prisoner cry like a baby he agreed to bring one the next day.
Next day, opening on time 45 mins late, alas no postage bags, he was not trained in postage bags yet.
I arranged an expedition, horses and supplies as well as a local guide and headed through the mountains to the bigger city, on arrival I was greeted like a foreign invader, but after conversing in the local dialect I was finally in line awaiting service.
I requested a postage bag, questioned as to my motives for the bag I could feel the bright light in my eyes as I was interrogated, my blood taken, DNA was probably taken too.
I took the bag outside as no parcel packing area was provided or permitted, placed the shirt and online payment receipt inside and returned to the line.
30 minutes later I was served, The address I was told was far too long and I had written outside the little boxes, My eyes now glowed red, my breath about to spew fire and brimstone, he relented.
I said I needed the cost of the postage to be placed inside the bag so I could be refunded by the Child Labour employing shirt manufacturer; this prompted a discussion between counters and members of the public and the result was that it was not possible, however some Senora behind me suggested I photograph the receipt, brilliant idea, this caused some sighs of derision amongst the yellow shirted staff, but I did as suggested sealed the bag and paid a whopping sum over, along with Gold, Frankincense and a bit of Myrrh for good measure.
Returning home after an overnight stay with some Nomads who were apparently going to the big city to buy camels I telephoned customer services In London who after some time said that I had not followed instructions and I may not be refunded the return postage, she was only 3 years old so I assumed she needed to go potty as the call ended.
As we are a universal bunch, how are your postal services?
Mrs. Morbid from over the fence, tight leggings worn away between your more than ample thighs, you spew hatred, it’s a kid riding his bike, calm down and go wash the flies out what’s left of your hair.
Mr. Trainset, You spend your time hidden in your loft, playboy magazine’s take center stage, you miniature choo choo’s still boxed, we all hear you cry out, muffled by the bin bag draped over your head, it’s still full of congealed egg shells and old orange peel, buy a new one.
Mr. and Mrs. matching yellow cardigans, yes we all know you swap clothing when behind those 1970’s Sunflower printed curtains, Mr. or Mrs. baking cupcakes while limping in stilettos, Mrs. or Mr. with a false moustache, you look thoughtful when smoking that pipe, Cheap woman’s magazine within the financial times, play...it’s your game.
Mr. Pretend Lawyer, You leave your house in a dashing 3 piece suit you bought from a dead people's charity shop, those case files are nothing but your childhood macaroni pictures, You must enjoy driving that bus in disguise.
Mr. Cyclist, hanging your inflatable wife on the washing line each Sunday, she is faded, too much bleach, buy a new one or are you so attached to this one?
Mrs. Lady dog walker, You have such a nice bum, those boots more suited to riding a horse, you pick up your dog’s mess with a bare hand and place it inside your anorak pocket, but thanks for doing that.
Mr. Me, You all watch me as I watch you, you scoff at me when I drain pasta on the lawn, you have seen Mrs. Yellow cardigan visits with cupcakes in foil, you have seen her lay naked on the dining room floor, yes Mrs. Morbid she knows you watch, Free lessons for your invisible banjo.
What about your neighbors?
Although I adore women, they are an enigma, no guide books or code breaking machines are yet capable of deciphering or understanding what these beautiful creatures really want.
An extensive search of the Internet and time spent correlating the results showed these are what women want in a man:-
Honesty, Understanding, caring, strength, compassion, security and Loyalty.
I think these would mean different things to different women and they still dont help without more information.
So let us men ask questions, and or let the women tell us what they really want.
As a vast majority of people on the blogs are around 50 or older, so have women's priorities changed?
I dont want sexist or stupid questions, might delete any of them!
My first questions:
What makes you feel special?
What are you really looking for? (not a glossy impossible match like some profiles)
I arise, dress and stroll through the quiet crime free streets to the local coffee bar.
Its only 6:30am and the sky twinkles with stars.
We are regulars there, just nods not words yet, we await the beans to be ground, cups two at a time are passed around, sips and slurps are heard, and then the satisfying sigh of contentment passes through frothy lips.
Adjoin outside, clicks of lighters, scents of tobacco; scent of coffee and the sweet scent of Aniseed liqueur permeate the area. Colorful glow of smartphone screens upon faces, wifi is free.
As the first cup empties the sky changes, brightness from the east and shadows of the palm trees decorate the pavement.
The second cup arrives, more sighs...We talk now, Barcelona, tractors and olive trees, we are animated, the caffeine, nicotine and for those on the Aniseed liqueur the alcoholic awakening starts.
Coffee guy puts up the umbrellas, the suns up, it’s bright and the heat from the Sahara burns away the cool of the night.
Walking home, passing a fountain full of birds the scent of fresh bread, a few rolls straight from the oven in hand, they are hot and their scent makes the mouth water, they will be good drizzled in olive oil and sieved tomato.
Best thing about it...I get to do it again tomorrow and the next day and the next.
Am I a coward and loser for settling here?.......No I’m blessed content (better???)
As with any makeup a good foundation is required, my choice is the L’Oréal True match blendable foundation as its great with your cheeses oily or dry skin.
Depending on if your cheese makeup is for day use or perhaps a special night out the colour choices for eye shadow, blush and lipstick should be thought out, there is no point using glitter lip gloss if your cheese is simply staying at home.
Cheese can be very sensitive and try not to make your cheese look like a dirty slut, rather try mid tone colors and ensure that your cheese is comfortable in the chosen make up scheme.
Most cheese’s don’t have hair, so don’t bother with expensive shampoos or anything as it’s a waste of money.
One more thing, those babybel cheeses are not adults and shouldn’t wear makeup as they could attract cheeseophiles.
Do you have any makeup tips for cheese, or indeed fashion tips for cheese or do you wear cheese as makeup?
A while back I was sent into exile for various crimes, mainly failing to attend a bipartisan think tank on global cooling as well as overuse of the word "engrave".
I have coped well, I completed a home study course in Cow Fighting and I am now a qualified Amador, I also got a small baptism pool and have had fun changing my name and other interesting "in pool" fun.
I also have a newfound respect for Himalayan pink salt and cunn1lingus, so not a bad exile.
Did I miss anything here in the hallowed halls of CS?
Like most people I have wall to wall carpeting inside my BBQ, I noticed that my Chicken (that was raised by cats) had been laying eggs on the carpet inside the BBQ, this morning I was shocked to find that the chicken had not only laid a couple of eggs but a kitten too.
Naturally I dashed inside to get my camera to record this evolutionary discovery and when I returned a cat was lying next to the chicken, this situation has me confused, did the cat lay eggs and a kitten or did the chicken lay eggs and a kitten.
I did think that as usual I had drunk far too much coffee and was seeing things, but photos never lie.
Any ideas?
The false leg was found by Edna Mc Feckwit, a widow ever since her late husband passed away from choking on an oxtail bone shortly after WW2, she was dumping her left over jigsaw pieces into a hedge when she discovered the prosthetic limb.
The police were called and Detective Marsupial was put in charge of the case. A forensic team gathered the evidence and this was presented to the Detective who issued his statement to the gathered world press.
To the average person it was just a false leg left in a hedge but to a seasoned veteran like Marsupial something foul and sinister was afoot.
Murder and international fraud had occurred; he issued his profile of the suspect or suspects.
Suspect 1: A woman (allegedly) with the mind of a two year old who believed herself to be Miss World.
Suspect 2: A beach hating fisherman who was an avid hunter of faceless cyber entities.
Suspect 3: A Highly intelligent woman with an addiction to tea who walked faster than lightning.
Suspect 4: A Kind hearted animal lover with an artistic and poetic flair and penchant for Chinese takeaways.
Suspect 5: A writer, male with an international heritage that was never seen without something on his head.
Suspect 6: A nightshift worker, female with a need to be “seen to” Likes coffee and being in love.
More clues and possible suspects will be supplied as this investigation progresses.
Who is the guilty suspect and why?
I have had a few anomalies and weird things happening in my house and gardens recently.
A few were:
Huge piles of dirty laundry discovered each day.
The sink full of unwashed dishes and pans
Strange smell coming from my attic, I don’t have an attic that I know of.
Small disposable nappies all over the garden, and so much more.
Setting up a CCTV system I reviewed the footage taken the next day, the results shocked me.
The dirty laundry and dishes were put there by me! I must be sleep trashing the house.
The cats were turning on the heating, they also seemed to be running a whore house, a stream of Toms came through the window, and the females were all dressed in hotpants and boob tubes.
The Chicken was acting as the boss; she was wearing nappies so that her shite all over the floor didn’t give the game away.
I also saw a huge amount of what must be slave cats, the under stair cupboard had been turned into a chop shop, stolen wheelbarrows were being cut up for scrap.
Am I the only person to have discovered the secret world of cats and a chicken that thinks it’s a pimp?
Yesterday I was attacked in my garden by a rabid butterfly, and at first I thought it was minor, but not long after the savage attack life seemed to change.
Now I want a baby and a cute matching woman, so if anyone is interested let me know, the ideal age is past the nappy stage, so perhaps 35 years and older.
I am somewhat house trained and although a messy person I’m willing to learn to put things in the right places, IE plates in the kitchen not in my desk drawers, I promise to stop mooning my fridge too.
I also want a clean cloth, eating at my desk I have bread crumbs and soggy tomato splashes, I cleaned it up with a lettuce leaf, surely that’s not the best thing to do.
So if you can either be a baby over 35 or tell me how to get a cleaning cloth I would be happy to hear from you.
They look wonderful, the scent and taste of utter perfection
They glisten like a Pink rose dripping with morning dew
They are warm to the touch as if they had been in the sun
They are responsive to the slightest breeze, the slightest touch
They will always amaze us no matter how old we get
Some are small and some are not, but they are the same wonder to our eyes
They bring forth our senses like nothing else, they can make us cry, and they definitely make us smile
I like to eat them, savour the wholesome taste, they make me feel alive.
No matter how cold it is, they will always feel warm
If you're talented you can fire ping-pong balls and blow bubbles with them
What am I talking about?
Today is Friday, seems the dreaded apocalypse has come a few millennia earlier than expected:-
Dr. Sassypants restricted me to one coffee a day (she is right but the suffering is beyond anything Ive ever experienced)
Bloggers have left in droves, I'm sad to see them go, its like the life support machine has been switched off here, The inmates now run the asylum.
USA now involved in Syria again, Threats to bomb North Korea.
A 3 foot tall Chinese person blatantly advertising on the blogs and forums.
On the bright side its warm and sunny here In Spain, My pool is being filled right now, bring on Summer!
Is anyone out there?, even a zombie will do.
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