Tag Archives: champagne

All that is POSH…I love it / I love it not / I love it / I love it not / BUT I love it!


Publicity photo of Hermoine Badderly and Bea A...

This is Maude with Annie, her servant

My love/hate relationship with all that is posh, takes another twisty turn

The score was 4 up for posh

1. For the very posh lady on ‘Masterchef’ who drooled out this corker; shortly after ingesting a piece of sea bass with something very odd piled on top of it

“What a saaaaad end, to a once noble, piece of fish”

2. For Maude, the even posher lady who works in Sainsbury’s over the road, who called through an SOS on her bouncer styleeee head-gear, to boldly utter this classic phrase

“Stephen, its Maude, there’s a crisis on juice” (It’s the accent)

3. My doctor is ‘landed-gentry styleee posh’; and when I visit him, it is always my aim to make him laugh; mainly because he is so posh, he actually does that upper class scoff thing…it’s his actual laugh ;)! Like instead of laughing they…well…sort of scoff, I don’t know how else to describe this joyous little cultural phenomena of the very wealthy. Also, I love that he doesn’t move his top lip. Further observation showed, neither does anyone else from the upper echelons of our strange little society…and Read the rest of this entry

Blogging when you are absolutely bloody bungalowed


Drunk Pumpkin

What a classic shot for drunken chuckles! 🙂

Well well well

I am drunk (thank fooook for spell check) and I am writing. I do believe this is a new experience in the life cycle of Dawny

Some addled thoughts…

My cat’s rock

 I have several holes in my hand because I constructed 8 8 8 pieces of flat pack furniture and I BROKE the ROLSON screwdriver, 3 items in

My mum said, no offence darling but crazy people often have large amounts of strength

I love reading

I hate them pooey flies, called attic flies, they creep into the walls in the summer as tiny creepy puuupee shit, and then come and invade the house later, flying around all busted up; and landing their massive selves on me and my hands, with their vile and lengthy old legs.

They can’t reproduce and they are the fly version of 98 year old humans with cancer and dementia. And they disgustingly disintegrate over everything Read the rest of this entry