I’ve got my suitcase unpacked.

I’ve now moved this blog to another site.

It was time for me to give in and admit that all this XHTML and CSS is something that I’ll have to learn separately from my blogging. My limited knowledge is not enough to enhance my blog in the way that I want. Sob!

So I’m going to let Word Press do it all for me.

Despite very kind efforts by Mayank Gupta at Blog Design Studio and massive assistance from Patrick at **IT Happens, I’ve decided to leave this blog as it is and pick up again at the new site.

You will be transferred to my new site if you click this button

and I’ll be happy to see you there - I’ve sort of unpacked my cases, and tried to get everything cozy and settle in.

If any of you are thinking that’s the last you’ll be seeing of me - WRONG!

I’ll be coming after you to pester and annoy you as per usual.

I’d like to thank Hazel Blears, Labour’s Communities Minister, for supplying me with blogging fodder today.

Yesterday, she spoke out against British political bloggers.

“Political blogs are written by people with disdain for the political system and politicians, who see their function as unearthing scandals, conspiracies and perceived hypocrisy.”

“Unless and until political blogging adds value to our political culture, by allowing new and disparate voices, ideas and legitimate protest and challenge, and until the mainstream media reports politics in a calmer, more responsible manner, it will continue to fuel a culture of cynicism and despair.”

Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but this appears to me like an attack on freedom of speech – is Britain no longer a democracy?

Who’d have guessed that politicians can’t handle criticism? Or that a politician would blame anyone but themselves for bringing politics into disrepute? The word ‘accountability’ isn’t in their vocabulary.

Her speech clearly illustrates how painfully ill-informed and out of touch politicians are with ordinary people.

If she feels that bloggers are cynical, it is because politicians like her have made them so.

Bloggers aren’t trying to influence people. These digital opinions are the voices of ordinary people – this is what people really think. These blogs are merely a platform for people to express anger at the way politicians continually misrepresent them.

If politicians had any sense, they’d avidly be taking notes and doing something to ease the discontent, not whining about it.

If these bloggers have made inept politicians uncomfortable, it can only be a good thing. Bloggers do not blog in order to give politicians a free ride.

What makes Hazel Blears think that ordinary people aren’t qualified to speak out against lunatic policies made by our so-called representatives? How can she expect our compliance?

Get used to it Hazel – just because you don’t like it, the bloggers won’t stop – they won’t go away. You can’t make people stop discussing politics. We need political bloggers to voice opinions without fear, unlike much of the current media.

I’ll stop posting now in case I give Hazel Blears more relevance than she deserves.

Long live blogging!

Stupid, stupid, bloody, stupid woman! OMG! OMG-OMG-Oh My GooOODDD!

Stupid, awful (profound swearing) STUPID, (bleep!) (delete expletive) dreadful, dullard, witless, pudding-head, blockhead, brainless, cloddish, stupid ******* woman – I’ve had it with her. I really have.

She personifies the word “plank”…..Wooden, extremely dense and likely to leave you with several splinters! But I prefer to depict her as a sheep.

Is there anything in this post that would lead you to believe I’ve just had the thoroughly nasty experience of having my ear chewed by a MONSTER-FANGED SHEEP? She leaves a bloody, gangrenous gaping wound…. believe me.

Have I mentioned that she’s stupid?

Yikes! Talk about the fright factor..it’s enough to make you shiver.

Ghaaa! Relatives!

Bloody Out-Laws!

Dreadful lumpen simpleton!

My sisters’ inability to effectively communicate in any language other than very loud and bullying is shocking.

I put the ‘phone down on her shouting and rattled off an email simply to get a word in. No doubt she’s printed it out – just so that she can rip it in shreds to spite me.

Sigh! Deep breaths.

You see? Hmmm!… Now I’m all calm and serene again. Phew!

This blogging/venting thing is soooo good.

Now where’s that wine bottle? – I may even inhale - well it IS an emergency.

When you venture outside tomorrow, don’t worry about the witches on broomsticks, zombies, Dracula, ghouls, ghosties, long-legged beasties or things that go bump in the night.

Just keep a look out and beware of b-a-a-a-a-a-d SAVAGE KILLER SHEEPIES.

Happy Halloween everyone.

The Wonder-Woman costume has been put aside in favour of a nurse’s uniform. A starched cap and apron are more befitting for mercy dashes to hospitals. Brow-mopping and grape-feeding are under-valued skills. As is assisted chocolate-chomping! My hapless bum is inevitably numbed from extended car journeys to hospitals, on opposite sides of the country, where two family members have been indisposed.

Driving through the russet patchwork quilted splendour of the British countryside has, however, served as a welcome poultice to my frozen posterior - despite previous growlings of being enveloped in autumn’s melancholy.

Stay with me…….this lengthy preamble really does have a purpose.

My bloggy friend Badass recently held an inspired ‘Fall’ competition. Surprised at how much I enjoyed taking part, I decided to celebrate the season before it gives way to the frosty kiss of winter.

This was my entry, for what it’s worth. I didn’t win (no contest when cute kids are involved) but think that posting my entry is an easy option for a time-poor blogger whose empathy runneth empty. I’ve even managed some poetic waxings.

Teenage Splodge sitting at the computer in other room : Mum, what shape is my head?

Mr. Splodge: Head-shaped.

Me: Cone-shaped.

Teenage Splodge: Not funny!

Mr. Splodge: Ape-shaped.

Teenage Splodge: No, c’mon, Mum. You know about head shapes, you were a hairdresser.

Me: D’you mean what is your face shape?

Teenage Splodge: Yea. What shape is my face?

Me: Heart-shaped.

Teenage Splodge: What’s that? Did you say fart shaped??

P.S. I made an image of him with a cone-head, but it would’ve been too cruel. It is funny though. I suppose it’ll come in handy as blackmail material.

Yaa-a-a-aawwn!

I hope you all had an excellent weekend. Mine was lacking in the sleep area, unfortunately.

Early Sunday morning saw me roused from my slumbers by the zoom of traffic accelerating past my bedroom window.

Since this house teeters beside a main road, that wouldn’t have been unusual – except that we had a double-glazed door fitted last week – which should adequately muffle the usual affray that is a Saturday night in Greater London.

Ignoring an overwhelming urge to re-acquaint myself with unconsciousness, I nudged Mr. Splodge for his opinion…….well, I like to share these things!

He sleepily reassured me and we both drifted off again.

Just before daylight, Mr. Splodge staggered to the kitchen for a glass of water - to discover that the front door was WIDE OPEN. We could have been invaded by drunken louts, burglars, (eek! My precious computer!) crazed axe murderers or sleazy suburban foxes.

Needless to say, once I’d un-pursed my lips, I granted Mr. Splodge permission to facepalm.

FACEPALM: A gesture indicating stupidity, a minor and immediately recognised slip of logic, judgment or speech. It is performed by striking the forehead with the heel of the hand.

Just in case it has slipped your notice, today has been designated World Menopause Day.

I’m just wondering, does this mean we all have to have one?

To be serious for a moment, it’s a disgraceful fact that many women are still not being given dependable information in order to make informed decisions about their health care. It’s probably because men don’t experience the menopause.

Or do they? Apparently men can have the menopause (andropause) as well.

There’s something for us all to look forward to then.

It’s official. I am now an expert paper stuffer.

I know all there is to know about filling local newspapers with advertising paraphernalia. Should you need to know anything at all about how best to remove inky fingerprints from white paintwork – then I’m your woman.

Well, it’s my small gesture of appreciation and encouragement to the Splodge teenager. He wasn’t making it up (what kind of terrible distrusting mother am I?) when he said he was working hard at school.

Even if he does regale us with tales of how the entire history class sniffed in unison by sheer coincidence. (Sigh!)

His teachers confirm he applies himself well, is a pleasure to teach and is in the top section of the top group in his year. Yaay!

The newspapers only need sorting one day a week. The poor lad’s brain will be all worn out with all that knowledge he’s shovelling into it, so I’m very happy to help.

Now all I have to do is work how to keep his hormonally charged brain from getting distracted when the all boys’ school he currently attends merges with an all girls’ school next year.

D’you think he’ll be persuaded that wearing blinkers is the new cool trend for 2009? Hmmmm…

Must stop banging head against brick wall…. Step away from brick wall.

Do not forget to keep head away from hard brick wall. Divert cranium from kiln-dried structure. Desist! Stop! Halt! Quit!

Ever feel as if you’ve been savaged by a sheep? A rude, abusive sheep? Pleasant, it is not.

This weekend I was nodding and smiling, nodding and smiling so much my head almost fell off. I think she’d had an extra bowl of stupid that morning, because one mild disagreement with sheepy caused an explosion - and I got covered in **IT.

No one can manipulate or intimidate you unless you allow them to do so. Right?

I have three alternatives to put an end to the savage wool-brained attempts to dominate and bully me:-

1. Book her in for a full lobotomy,
2. Drown her in sheep-dip,
3. Cease all contact with her.

She should try controlling herself instead of me.

I’ve reached my limit. I give up. No more family crap for me. Whilst my father is still alive, she can speak to my husband or send an e-mail. After that, forget it. I’ll change my number.

Deep breaths.

I have to ask myself, what would Wonder Woman do?

I think she’d pour herself a large, Wonder-Woman drink. Don’t you?

Super heroes get thirsty too you know.