January 25th, 2012 by J

Why is it the end of an era? Well perhaps I should start at the beginning.

I have been thinking a lot the last week about a legacy. What it means, what it is and what resonates through time.

For me a legacy is not about what physical mark you make on the world it is about whom you are and the way you affect people through your life. Let me give you an example:

On the 31st November 1919 in a small mining village in Wales a little girl was born to a loving mother (housewife) and father (Miner), she also had a sister and a brother making up the small family. Not an easy life but a decent one.

Forward a few years and the young girl has grown and matured into a young woman in 1930s London working as a PA. A few more years forward and she is now set to be married to a man approved of by her parents and Britain is on the brink of war.

Forward again, Britain is at war, husband to be is off abroad and the woman has fallen deeply in love with another man. A scandal! Thankfully the mans parents are more liberal than most and despite the protestations of her family the woman stays with her love.

Jump forward to the 1950’s, a flat in Wandsworth London, the woman and her husband have a child, a little girl of there own. Life has changed and family ties have been rebuilt. Wife and husband will spend nearly 50 years in this flat, they will see London change around them, people come and go, and life long friends are made. Their child will grow, marry and have a child of her own.

For the next 50 years the woman will be a wife, mother, grandmother and great grand mother. She will have a career spanning 30 years, she will learn and teach the piano, she and her husband will travel to France, Italy, Spain, Germany, Turkey and she will even go by herself to Belfast in the 1990s. She will never learn to drive, She will walk every where, Make her own bread, Sing with her choir, She will loose her brother, her sister and her parents.

Most of all she will live and breathe every moment.

When time starts to take its toll on her husband she will nurse him for 2 years with no complaints until he passes on.

At this point a new chapter will open in her life, while scary she embraces.

Forward to 31^st November 2009, the woman is 90. She now lives in a Small Village in Cornwall; she still walks 3 miles every day with her dog. Life is simpler now but no less active.

The woman still sings with a local choir, still goes the theatre with her new friends, and still goes for Sunday lunch at a local pub.

Forward to 31^st November 2010.

At 91 she has been told by doctors that due to angina she really needs to stop the daily walk, but on her 91st with her family around her she still walks herself into her Birthday lunch.

Time has taken its toll on her appearance but not her mind.

Forward to 31^st November 2011.

At 92 the woman is sharp as a nail as she gives her Great-granddaughter advice on her piano playing, and talks to her Grandson about the entire goings on in the village. She is tired but a fighter.

On the 15^th January 2012 her grandson will visit her in a nursing home where she has been for 3 days. They chat for an hour about all that is going on in life until she says she is tired and he leaves her to rest.

In the early hours of Tuesday 17^th January 2012 Iris finally succumbed to the tiredness that had been nagging her for the last two months and rest for ever more.

Iris was my Grandmother.

I and the generations that follow me through history are her legacy.

Rest easy now we will take it from here……

January 18th, 2012 by J

Real Life Cybersex

Found this on one of my trawls and thought it was brilliant.

Wellhung: Hello,
Sweetheart. What do you look like?
Sweetheart: I am wearing a red silk blouse and a miniskirt and high heels. My measurements are 36-24-36. I work out every day. I’m toned and perfect. What do you look like?
Wellhung: I’m 6′3″ and about 250 pounds. I wear glasses and I have on a pair of blue sweatpants I just bought at Walmart. I am also wearing a T-shirt with a few spots of barbecue sauce on it from dinner – it smells a little funny.
Sweetheart: I want you. Would you like to screw me?
Wellhung: OK.
Sweetheart: We’re in my bedroom. There’s soft music playing on the stereo and candles on my dresser and night table. I’m looking up into your eyes, smiling. My hand works its way down to your crotch and begins to fondle your huge, swelling bulge.
Wellhung: I’m gulping. I’m beginning to sweat.
Sweetheart: I’m pulling up your shirt and kissing your chest.
Wellhung: Now I’m unbuttoning your blouse. My hands are trembling.
Sweetheart: I’m moaning softly.
Wellhung: I’m taking hold of your blouse and sliding it off slowly.
Sweetheart: I’m throwing my head back in pleasure. The cool silk slides off my warm skin. I’m rubbing your bulge faster, pulling and rubbing.
Wellhung: My hand suddenly jerks spastically and I accidently rip a hole in your blouse. I’m sorry.
Sweetheart: That’s OK, it wasn’t really too expensive.
Wellhung: I’ll pay for it.
Sweetheart: Don’t worry about it. I’m wearing a lacy black bra. My soft breasts are rising and falling, rising and falling, as I breath harder and harder.
Wellhung: I’m fumbling with the clasp on your bra. I think it’s stuck. Do you have any scissors?
Sweetheart: I take your hand and kiss it softly. I’m reaching back and undoing the clasp. The bra slides off my body. The air caresses my breasts. My nipples are erect for you.
Wellhung: How did you do that? I’m picking up the bra and inspecting the clasp.
Sweetheart: I’m arching my back. Oh baby. I just want to feel your tongue all over me.
Wellhung: I’m dropping the bra. Now I’m licking your, you know, breasts. They’re neat!
Sweetheart: I’m running my fingers through your hair. Now I’m nibbling your ear.
Wellhung: I suddenly sneeze. Your breasts are covered with spit.
Sweetheart: What?
Wellhung: I’m so sorry. Really.
Sweetheart: I’m wiping your spit off my breasts with the remains of my blouse.
Wellhung: I’m taking the sopping wet blouse from you. I drop it with a *plop*.
Sweetheart: OK. I’m pulling your sweatpants down and rubbing your hard tool.
Wellhung: I’m screaming like a woman. Your hands are cold! Yeeee!
Sweetheart: I’m pulling up my miniskirt. Take off my panties.
Wellhung: I’m pulling off your panties. My tongue is going all over, in and out, nibbling on your … umm … wait a minute.
Sweetheart: What’s the matter?
Wellhung: I’ve got a pubic hair caught in my throat. I’m choking.
Sweetheart: Are you OK?
Wellhung: I’m having a coughing fit. I’m turning all red.
Sweetheart: Can I help?
Wellhung: I’m running to the kitchen, choking wildly. I’m fumbling through the cabinets, looking for a cup. Where do you keep your cups?
Sweetheart: In the cabinet to the right of the sink.
Wellhung: I’m drinking a cup of water. There, that better.
Sweetheart: Come back to me, lover.
Wellhung: I’m washing the cup now.
Sweetheart: I’m on the bed, aching for you.
Wellhung: I’m drying the cup. Now I’m putting it back in the cabinet. And now I’m walking back to the bedroom. Wait, it’s dark. I’m lost. Where’s the bedroom.
Sweetheart: Last door on the left at the end of the hall.
Wellhung: I found it.
Sweetheart: I’m tuggin off your pants. I’m moaning. I want you so badly.
Wellhung: Me too.
Wellhung: Your pants are off. I kiss you passionately – our naked bodies pressing against each other.
Wellhung: Your face is pushing my glasses into my face. It hurts.
Sweetheart: Why don’t you take off you glasses?
Wellhung: OK, but I can’t see very well without them. I place the glasses on the night table.
Sweetheart: I’m bending over the bed. Give it to me, baby!
Wellhung: I have to pee. I’m fumbling my way blindly across the room and toward the bathroom.
Sweetheart: Hurry back, lover.
Wellhung: I find the bathroom. It’s dark. I’m feeling around for the toilet. I lift the lid.
Sweetheart: I’m waiting eagerly for your return.
Wellhung: I’m done going. I’m feeling around for the flush handle, but I can’t find it. Uh-oh!
Sweetheart: What’s the matter now?
Wellhung: I’ve realized that I’ve peed into your laundry hamper. Sorry again. I’m walking back to the bedroom now, blindly feeling my way.
Sweetheart: Mmm, yes. Come on.
Wellhung: OK, now I’m going to put my … you know … thing … in your … you know … woman’s thing.
Sweetheart: Yes! Do it, baby! Do it!
Wellhung: I’m touching your smooth butt. It feels so nice. I kiss your neck. Umm, I’m having a little trouble here.
Sweetheart: I’m moving my ass back and forth, moaning. I can’t stand it another second! Slide it in! Screw me now!
Wellhung: I’m flaccid.
Sweetheart: What?
Wellhung: I’m limp. I can’t sustain an erection.
Sweetheart: I’m standing up and turning around, an incredulous look on my face.
Wellhung: I’m shrugging with a sad look on my face, my weiner all floppy. I’m going to get my glasses and see what’s wrong.
Sweetheart: No, never mind. I’m getting dressed. I’m putting on my underwear. Now I’m putting on my wet, nasty blouse.
Wellhung: No wait! Now I’m squinting, trying to find the night table. I’m feeling along the dresser, knocking over cans of hair spray, picture frames and your candles.
Sweetheart: I’m buttoning my blouse. Now I’m putting on my shoes.
Wellhung: I’ve found my glasses. I’m putting them on. My God! One of your candles fell on the curtain. The curtain is on fire! I’m pointing at it, a shocked look on my face.
Sweetheart: Go to hell. I’m logging off, you loser!
Wellhung: Now the carpet is on fire! Oh noooo!

January 8th, 2012 by J

A Mother had 3 virgin daughters.
They were all getting married within a short time period. Because Mom was a bit worried about how their sex life would get started, she made them all promise to send a postcard from the honeymoon with a few words on how marital sex felt.

The first girl sent a card from Hawaii two days after the wedding. The card said nothing but: “Nescafe”!
Mom was puzzled at first, but then went to her kitchen and got out the Nescafe jar.
It said: “Good till the last drop”.
Mom blushed, but was pleased for her daughter.

The second girl sent the card from Vermont a week after the wedding, and the card read: “Rothmans”
Mom now knew to go straight to her husband’s cigarettes, and she read from the pack: “Extra Long. King Size”
She was again slightly embarrassed but still happy for her daughter.

The third girl left for her honeymoon in Cape Town. Mom waited for a week, nothing. Another week went by and still nothing. Then after a whole month, a card finally arrived.
Written on it with shaky handwriting were the words “South African Airways”
Mom took out her latest YOU magazine, flipped through the pages fearing the worst, and finally found the ad for SAA.
The ad said: “Ten times a day, seven days a week, both ways.”

Mom fainted!

January 6th, 2012 by J

Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls It is time to unite, It is time to stand against the stigma. For too long we have huddled in the shadows only to be snoot-ed at by the supposed Epicurean experts. It is time to rise up and Shout “I DONT CARE”.

What am i talking about i am talking about Tomato Sauce.

I Like tomato sauce! Yes it does go with Cheese on toast, It does go with Pastys it is a sauce! Just because it comes in a bottle and not in a dainty boat, bowel, ramekin or pot does not make it any less of a sauce.

If i asked for mint, mustard, barbecue, teriyaki or soy  would i be frowned at in that look down your nose way NO! but ask for Tomato sauce and you are deemed a lesser human.

VIVA LA TOMATO SAUCE.

And this goes for brown sauce on bacon sarnies too…