Ladies! You have been weeing in the flower pots again and upsetting Amanda Platell.I must ask you to cease and desist.Might I point out that the Hilton has some very nice toilets a mere step away? In addition, think of the poor flowers;enjoying some unseasonally warm weather, perhaps having a little sway in the breeze,and then some great bottom comes looming down on them like the "Eyeballs In The Sky" from "The Perishers" in my Dad's Daily Mirror. And what if Bill,or Ben had been at home? I think this type of activity is to be frowned upon, and left to the chaps.And I don't approve of them doing it either,by the way. I was once being roundly told off by a club owner about the sauciness of one of my male performers.As she berated me, on the subject of the said gentleman's gentleman making a brief appearance (respectably wearing a bow tie and fairy lights,and to the accompaniment of "Nessun Dorma"), a man was urinating copiously, against the club wall and dangerously near her shoe. Go, as they say, figure.
We have had the Labour Party conference all week,and it seems to bring out the worst in people. Manchester has the Tories next week; I wonder how they will get on with levels of public micturation. There's a thesis in here for the right bright Post-Grad.
I am strangely gripped by the unfolding tale of a Lib. Dem MP this week, though. I am notably unswayed by the appearance of the male sex, due to an unfortunate upbringing,so I am aware that I may be more oblivious than normal women to the pullulating hotness of Mr John Hemming.Well,go and Google him and see what you think. It is also possible that he has qualities of attraction which do not demonstrate themselves sufficiently to the harsh lense of the camera. Nevertheless. He's got something. His wife has got something too, the kitten belonging to his mistress. Mrs H was caught on CCTV crawling through undergrowth in a big jumper and sensible skirt to kitnap the poor beast from the house of Mr H's ladyfriend.
My Mother was,predictably,outraged.."Wicked woman!", she exclaimed to the television "You should always try and keep the cats out of it".
The kitty will flourish,of course, and will get itself a ghost writer to pen a traumatic tear-filled account of its abused kittenhood, entitled "Please Mommy, Not Up Her Jumper".
The fascinating Mr H has had 26 liaisons since Mrs H.started counting. You can see why this might irk. Might I suggest,though, that the notorious effects of publicity may increase rather than dim, his indefinable allure? Women are curious creatures,like cats, and they will start to nudge each other as the lordly Mr H. passes them in the pleasant promenades of Moseley, and wonder as to the nature of his peculiar magnetism. Once kittens start getting thrown about, we are talking serious business.
This is why,ladies,we must be very careful. Predators abound.Why, we were just breathing a sigh of relief that we were now safe from the importunings of Mr Michael Winner, now dragged blushingly into matrimony at the tender age of 75, when a new,Hemming-shaped threat presents itself. Crikey!
Under the constant pressure of such looming dangers, is it any wonder that we sometimes succumb to drink,and wee in a flowerbed or two? And then a lady from the Daily Mail pops up,and asks us what we are doing? Well, I would have thought this action was,at best, unambigious,but then I am not, as is equally evident, Amanda Platell.
Anyway, I go banging on about how lovely we are in Liverpool,and then,ladies, you let me down like this. " Very disappointing, see me" as my teachers used to write in all my exercise books. With the exception of my English teacher, who would put "What mean?" I was once given a "D" for a rousing description of the battle of Agincourt, which I felt was unfair. You could practically feel the arrows whizzing past your helmet,so colourful was my evocation.The History Man was unmoved,pointing out that I had not included One Single Date, nor mentioned who had won. This Gradgrinding attention to detail stifles creativity in the young, I feel.
So huzzah for all the fabulously-dressed,well-mannered,and continent young ladies of Liverpool, many of whom are to be found cheerfully working in the very same Hilton outside of which..but I shall not repeat the painful tale. In the words of someone or other "You have let me down, you have let yourself down, and most of all, you have let your knickers down.." Amanda says,by the way, that you weren't wearing any.Please let her be wrong.
We have had the Labour Party conference all week,and it seems to bring out the worst in people. Manchester has the Tories next week; I wonder how they will get on with levels of public micturation. There's a thesis in here for the right bright Post-Grad.
I am strangely gripped by the unfolding tale of a Lib. Dem MP this week, though. I am notably unswayed by the appearance of the male sex, due to an unfortunate upbringing,so I am aware that I may be more oblivious than normal women to the pullulating hotness of Mr John Hemming.Well,go and Google him and see what you think. It is also possible that he has qualities of attraction which do not demonstrate themselves sufficiently to the harsh lense of the camera. Nevertheless. He's got something. His wife has got something too, the kitten belonging to his mistress. Mrs H was caught on CCTV crawling through undergrowth in a big jumper and sensible skirt to kitnap the poor beast from the house of Mr H's ladyfriend.
My Mother was,predictably,outraged.."Wicked woman!", she exclaimed to the television "You should always try and keep the cats out of it".
The kitty will flourish,of course, and will get itself a ghost writer to pen a traumatic tear-filled account of its abused kittenhood, entitled "Please Mommy, Not Up Her Jumper".
The fascinating Mr H has had 26 liaisons since Mrs H.started counting. You can see why this might irk. Might I suggest,though, that the notorious effects of publicity may increase rather than dim, his indefinable allure? Women are curious creatures,like cats, and they will start to nudge each other as the lordly Mr H. passes them in the pleasant promenades of Moseley, and wonder as to the nature of his peculiar magnetism. Once kittens start getting thrown about, we are talking serious business.
This is why,ladies,we must be very careful. Predators abound.Why, we were just breathing a sigh of relief that we were now safe from the importunings of Mr Michael Winner, now dragged blushingly into matrimony at the tender age of 75, when a new,Hemming-shaped threat presents itself. Crikey!
Under the constant pressure of such looming dangers, is it any wonder that we sometimes succumb to drink,and wee in a flowerbed or two? And then a lady from the Daily Mail pops up,and asks us what we are doing? Well, I would have thought this action was,at best, unambigious,but then I am not, as is equally evident, Amanda Platell.
Anyway, I go banging on about how lovely we are in Liverpool,and then,ladies, you let me down like this. " Very disappointing, see me" as my teachers used to write in all my exercise books. With the exception of my English teacher, who would put "What mean?" I was once given a "D" for a rousing description of the battle of Agincourt, which I felt was unfair. You could practically feel the arrows whizzing past your helmet,so colourful was my evocation.The History Man was unmoved,pointing out that I had not included One Single Date, nor mentioned who had won. This Gradgrinding attention to detail stifles creativity in the young, I feel.
So huzzah for all the fabulously-dressed,well-mannered,and continent young ladies of Liverpool, many of whom are to be found cheerfully working in the very same Hilton outside of which..but I shall not repeat the painful tale. In the words of someone or other "You have let me down, you have let yourself down, and most of all, you have let your knickers down.." Amanda says,by the way, that you weren't wearing any.Please let her be wrong.
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