rah-chigga and 20 nuggs.

I have recently returned from a dirty weekend in Kings Cross with R.M. We firstly went to veg, for an all you can eat vegan chigga. We thought it best to load up on the vital chigga salts beforehand to replace the essential salts lost through drinking..So we both left angel feeling dry,shrivelled and frankly ripped off. £17 shitting 60 for two "£5" buffets. Fuckers. We did each receive a delightful fruity sweet which kept us juiced until we were far enough away from the establishment to feel the after effects of the shite we'd just absorbed. We were thoroughly salted and gagging for a drink.

Luckily, Marts had a bottle of "maison de charlotte"(three for £10) chilled and waiting. So we popped the cork and enjoyed a refreshing glass of catpiss in his one bed town house. Despite his palatial dwelling in the heart of Kings cross, Dicky Martini is not a vulgar man, his one boudoir is tastefully decorated with bodily fluid and a neutral pallet. His residence is made up of a study,library,movie theatre, drawing room and foyer where a delightful array of "lifestyle" magazines are available for his guests to peruse. Each room is understated and of a modest proportion separated only by a short walk.

We started on for a cultured evening of music and wine, listening to highly refined artists such as RAH-DIGGA and Mariah Carey. We then enjoyed a few dark rums to put us in good stead for the evenings event.

At the sensible time of 9.30 we left for the tube, and made our sozzled way to Leicester Square where we needed to collect vip wrist bands. With talk of "jumpin on a rickshaw, we aint wastin no time" and other variations of the classic tune-Touch it, we bounded on to our destination fuelled with a deep hatred of Vom and all things "highstreet".

Finally we arrived, and qued with baited breath. G.A.Y Hot and Heav was within acrylic pointing distance, but a couple of Ellen Degeneres's warned I might not look gay enough to be granted entry-It was something of a concern. We pondered ways I could look more Dick van Dyke-esk, but ascertained it was impossible. We hoped for the best.

Turned out the foreboding lezzas where talking crap as obviously faghags have a right of passage at such venues. It was interesting looking along the line and seeing how fags and hags complimented each other so immaculately. In front of us stood a tight tee and waist coat wearing hair dresser type,complete with living barbie hag both of them perfectly fake baked. Behind an edgy indie gay in typical denim shirt turned vest, he and his hag had matching hitler youth do's. R.Marni and I stood before them in our smart coats, scarves, faux chanel bag-More private school rents than rent boy. We entered and collected our complimentary pink whistles.

After a quick guided tour of the shit stabbing wonderland, we ordered a staple round of two double gins and vods. Once more drink had led us to believe we were fabulous millionaires and Marts put the £26.70 tab on his card-Not before inquiring as to whether they "took amex", obviously.

We minced about for abit, trying to get into the departure lounge, to no avail, when we stumbled upon a room created by bootilicious angels. With classic r'n'b beats, one after the other-we were home.It was dfg in its purest form, simply intoxicating. So much time passed in this room, before long it was time for the main event,Kelis-and her milkshake certainly did bring all the boys to the yard.

As we edged into the bustling limp wristed crowd-I was mistaken for an Estonian Ellen, my first gay come on.It was quite exciting, even more excitingly we saw none other that Philip Duberg swinging round a pole,wearing nothing but leather chaps and a g-string bearing the Swedish flag.

Kelis was immense, I have never been to a gig like it. The homo crowd was electric. With falling glitter,foam and balloons we really did feel like Mariah Carey.

When she had finished, we retired up to our dfg mecca and got the beers in. I don't know what possessed us to drink beers, as we never drink beers. We sipped san miguels, our skin a cocktail of gay glitter and chigga salts and broke out until 4.30.

After I lifted every free gay publication available, Martini released he'd lost our coat ticket. Post a lot of shouting and acting like we were royalty having lost a couple of priceless furs, We gave up arguing with the bus boy on being told we had to wait til 5.30 to reclaim them. He really could have dropped the attitude,he only works in a cloakroom.

We weedled into the vip area and monged, but gave up waiting at 5.

After bartering with the taxi bastards trying to rip us off, we secured a ride for £20 to the kings cross mcdonalds. Minus £20 and plus 20 nuggs finally we retired to bed.

This image makes me feel so sick, but holds so many golden memories. We look like proud parents, holding and showing off our newborns. I infact look like I've just been through the trauma of giving birth. Ironically, if we did pro-create,our children would be that colour-we would make sure of it.

We slept with the remotes between us to ensure there would be no need for movement in the morning, we reclined and watched Maury until rising to take a short walk to Islington for a delightful pub lunch. We discussed the important things in life, Babes, conspicuous leisure wear and the future. This time we decided to have a child if we are still "sailing solo" in later life.

After lunch we purveyed the shops and Marts tried to find something ridiculously vulgar to buy from J.Wills. We then trawled the boutiques for the perfect cereal bowl. R.M was very picky considering he currently uses a saucepan to fill his face...

I finally retired home to Kunt.

A representation of my friendship with Grace Brennan.

I love cats.

Best Coast.

The dog days are over..

Finally back to my humble abode, listening to Florence whilst reclining in the tric. All is good bar the fact we've got shitting cas in the morning and all my clothes are either dirty or wet. There is a light however, I have just noticed the RIDICULOUS amount of knit wear I'm hoarding up in this postage stamp and if needs be, I guess attempting to fashion a few garments from the collection is an option. A particularly christmassy number has actually doubled as a pair of harem pants before and looked pretty fly. It makes me sad seeing the poor buggers stuffed at the bottom of my classic 90's melamine wardrobe but at the same time angry at how they just loll about crushing my other (all be them shitty) clothes and they jump out everywhere ,always trying to escape. When they take the leap, they sort of blossom and starjump with glee, free from the tight bundles they are forced into.It is both annoying and most ungrateful behaviour to be honest, I understand conditions aren't ideal, they are kept like battery jumpers and when they attempt to roam I do feel bad so let them taste freedom for a while. Only until I tidy though, then its back to the squalid constriction whence they came, but if I didn't re-home them, no-one else would buy the crusty little bastards. There are the odd few that get special treatment and sometimes lord it up on my chair, my prize wolf sweater for example and the pretentious JW wankers, but only because they cost an arm and a leg. My favourites are definitely a navy Bestival steal that always smells like home even after a Medway wash(you can just see its mustard and burgundy striped arm) and a silver and white striped mohair number which came with a free vintage bogey, a barg at just £1.(currently stuffed in a bag waiting for a wash).

Todays journey wasn't the hell I'd anticipated. Granted it started badly with me unable to get out of bed for some unknown reason and then standing in a shop whilst too pre-pube teens monged out over the decision whether they needed a bag or not. This made me rather irate and resulted in missing the boat to which I exclaimed "FOR FUCK SAKE" before a clan of Canadian grannies and wight link staff.I did fear they wouldn't let me board after this,so I wore sunglasses back. I went home and ate the first of my tastey ginsters treats and watched a last Trisha with skip and retried the boat an hour later. All was well and I was allowed on...a rather strange eyebrow man was sat near me though, he smelt weird too, not of anything in particular or that strong, just unpleasant.I hoped this chain of unfortunate events was not the way things would continue...

Luckily it wasn't.There was a train to Vic waiting,last time I had to change at clappers and the stairs to the platform were gone so they provided what was essentially a ladder for me to fall down with my suitcase, it was terrifying.

Anyway I digress as per usual, I even managed to bag a four seater WITH TABLE and sat reading my mountain of publications, surrounded myself with them infact, had some water, sunglasses upon my head-was feeling fresh, until..

I was just getting stuck into why Cheryl is too scared to ditch Ashley when this woman in a parker got on at Gatwick. She decided to sit at my reading desk with me, fair enough I guess...there is a whole train, but feel free. So I put all the shit in my bag and continued. She THEN decided to move an empty coke bot from the chair she WASN'T sitting on or effecting her in anyway to the table where I was reading. It rolled and rolled and clattered up and down my reading space all the way to three bridges. I couldn't really move it without seeming like a dick and was getting more and more irritated; as a source close to Cheryl described her as a serial monogamist. Eventually it rolled onto the floor and a man put it in a bin.

I moved on. "How to get a dream bod like Katy Perry in just 25 minutes"?? ooooh, My eyes excitedly met the page as the banana sandwich met her lips. My god, the baine of my LIFE is noisy, disgusting eaters and parker woman sat before me smudging this mushy meal around her mouth, chamming with every mouthful whilst simultaneously smacking her lips together, what a talent. She finished one and then took out another, that was it.I had to eat my emergency second ginsters treat in an attempt to drown her out. It was hellish trying to force this delicious peppered steak dream down my throat when I really had no room for it , just to distract from some womans bad manners. It was torture, such a waste. Eventually it stopped and I could continue learning "why you should NEVER dtr."(define the relationship apparently.)

The rest of the journey was pretty smooth sailing. Chammer got off at Vic and there was the perfect amount of time to get a ticket( took a risk on the railcard option, saved a fiver.) and also to read an delightful article on bum fun. Whilst taking in this life lesson, I came across a most enjoyable phrase.

" let's say you love it- and anal sex is the fabulous orgasm party you've been dying to attend your whole life"

also

"don't overdo it-you don't want too much of a battering."

Then the train came.

The Vicky to Chavham route is normally like a J.Kyle show, today however was fine but bit more like a train into Baghdad- tinsy bit cramped.

The arrival at chats is the worst bit, the realisation you must now walk 30mins whilst lugging your baggage about your person, a journey culminating in three consequetive hills.It is quite the bitch, but still, couldn't help thinking about the lattices I was burning off and also hoping the weight of my case filled with slutty heels on my left arm and bag stuffed with mags on my right, might stretch my arms into thin ballerina sticks.

Grace was there to greet me on my return, and also a card from my Nanuska and a parcel...exciting. It smelt divine. I opened the card first to find it signed Sharon, Sharon? who the fuck is Sharon....

I glanced at the gift, there it was "party lites". It was from Shamone mother fucker wasn't it. WHAT a welcome.

Thanks Shaz, you diamond.

It really did brighten my day ALOT. I also like the irony, brighten/candles.

Maybe Shaz wrote the bum fun piece.

What a wonderful return after all that dread, a present from Shaz, card from my Nan and a Stella with Gstring and Gail whilst absorbing some crap tv.

Perhaps as Flozza says, the dog days of Stevens close really are over.

No, Richard Martin isn't on the Island.

During my last supper a conversation arose where by my slut brother refused to tell me which bitch,where and what he was watching at the cinema in the fear I would go alone and sit behind him. I told him he needs to tell me incase he gets raped and we don't know where he is. To which my mother exclaimed "RAPED? well that isn't going to happen, Richard Martins not on the Island."

During this dinner Marts name was mentioned three times by my family.Once in relation to rape, again about his puking last night and finally when Charlie discussed his thinking Scraxton is possibly a shit stabber.

Baby Mama

Vern and her Pa. I think she was four.

This Charming man.

My night was equally as glamourous as Marts. Absolutely sozzled out of my face by 9.30, I spent the evening sloshing Gordons over the 40th party I attended and its guests. By 10.30 I was reclining in an arm chair , by 11 was scared into partial sobriety through a combination of my mothers wrath and water under the pretence it was gin. Unaware I now had PRINCEY scribed across my chest and a moustache, I decided it would be super chic to scrawl all over Foxwells lyrics.The attempt at nice fancy dress and a cultured evening once again soiled. I remember Bob Pakes telling me I look better without a tash. At first this upset me as I was still oblivious to the new state of affairs, only this morning did I also notice several biro tattoos. I never will I understand the power a tipple has in the sending of THOSE texts. I know I did it and am too afraid to look at what I did.It is always worse when you recall only select details and the detail I do remember being "sexy singing". It is also pretty horrific when the receiver of the inappropriate material often comes to tea at your home, sometimes after school...

Goodnight you two fabulous babes.

I apologise for the poor grammar, I am shakey, fragile and finding it hard to stand for long periods.

Crag munchers

Fancy Dress...

Currently still reclining on the Isle, I've been forced to think of an emergency fancy dress costume. Not a problem for most, but the cliche of cats, sailors,nurses-you know cutesy sexy things that babes like NEVER appeal,until we are there and it's too late that is and this time I am taking on the party alone. I thought to keep safe and I'd go as a Dr...however the more I think about it the more I worry-people won't know what I am, I'l look shit etc etc...so once again the reoccurring fancy dress fantasy is encircling my head- Jonathon Creek.

How completely bloody ridiculous. How can I cure myself of this insatiable urge to dress like a 90's lesbian. Despite JC being an amazing and simple costume with the ability to amuse and bring fun to any party,once the initial wow factor is over, the reality is crimped hair,a parker and clompy boots for the remainder of the night. Whilst the comedy costume attracts babes for at least 10 mins on arrival, inevitably the cliche cats WILL get the cream for the remaining hours, leaving Jon and Maddie bound to the corner,guzzling wine from the bot with only each other for company.

It is like some sort of addiction- we should have learnt very early on these ridiculous outfits aren't the way forward and just accept that scantily clad school girls and boring Barbies are what girls should be aspiring to.

The first fancy dress faux-par was at the age of 16. A P party.

That night P was for Pensioner.

I think the next costume disaster was probably the ORIGINAL smallbrooke party. We went all out considering we weren't actually invited.It was Dan Andrews joining the army leaving party as I remember.

Airhostesses,a cat and a mexican.

This night ended in Gayg dressed as a rice picker, antagonizing a thug and getting kicked in whilst I hit him with my gold sandles in a two piece tweed suit complete with name badge, THEN being so distraught I accidently cheated on my disgusting cling on boyfriend with an older babe-still wearing the air hostess get up.The consequences of this night were so horrific,I learnt my lesson in fighting and being faithful-sort of.

Shortly after our friend Ellie held a beach party at her home. Everyone decided to show up fashionably late leaving us to drink all of the punch we'd spiked in order to loosen a few bores before hand, hence the party was in full swing before anyone arrived. Nobody else dressed up and the night culminated in my being sick and heartbreaking all over the garden at my newly ex(much nicer than the last)boyfriend's feet dressed as a life guard. And this....

However the night was not at a loss. Marts fired up the petrol mower and I was carried on the shoulders of several Wades, Atch and a Wroath back into the part.

Shortly after this Dan Andrews held another party we crashed in fancy dress-It wasn't fancy dress. Graz was so wasted and wearing his Nan's top- His Dad had remove him.

Then it was this.Alot of effort went in for free entry and a shot.

This inspired me later in Uni life-Jedward Bats.Again for free entry and drink. I got called several unpleasant names that night simply for sporting the boys on either shoulder.

Don't get me wrong, there has been times the fancy dress was normal. The life guard was pretty tame-whacked that one out twice, I once went as a lion again to ellies house party, she was a parrot and calsey a snake. I ended up being sick on my own car whilst Doug held my hair, him crawling me up the stair for the 4 hours I thought were 15mins and my phone being stolen. He also got a parking ticket. As we slept on the sofa and Cade lorded it up in Leahs bed- Calsey spend the evening grooming and "looking after" non other than Dorothy(dan)Poore, for his gf. Shes a kind soul. We also went to the bestival as a garden-I was the gardener and the rest my little bugs.There was also cowboys,witches,togas,Russel Brand and my favourite ever night-BRIGHT AND TIGHT.

I think our most recent fancy dress endeavor needs no words. Probably THE most horrific costumes we have ever attempted- none of us had ever had so many looks,comments and insults.I think its safe to say we looked horrific and the idea did not work visually as we had expected. One of my most awful memories in life is the moment Ed begged my to take my wig off as I made him feel sick.

Our costumes lasted an hour despite planning to spend the weekend in them, we endured looks from the public but when our own friends pleaded with us to remove them,We thought it best.

MJ THROUGH THE AGES + Janet.

The bestival theme this year was "space". Needless to day- We attracted no babes.

What-so-ever.

Thats a lie actually- Maz got a visitor to her fish festival, but hes a regular so it doesn't really count.

For my birthday we went for a gossip girl theme,thought that was quite safe. How we were wrong. Arriving in a gang of toffed up,snotty arrogant bastards to the most grubby club in England-Amadangerous, a place that boasts its own regular slot on Booze Britain was again another stupid idea.We looked effing rediculous,yet again but what a brilliant merging of uni and island friends.It was historical.

Anyway...the point of this rambling was too establish a costume for tomorrow...My auntie suggested Florence to accompany the GaGA and Winehouse already attending.I decided to adapt this and perhaps go as a hippie in original kaftan, pretty hair and headband. Then I decided to source an afro to go with it and perhaps even black up. I ran this past Vernon to which she stuffed a stethoscope in my palm.

Doctor it is then Mum.

Sent to me by a tragic babe

For Calsey

Lavender and Lace.

After a glorious day roaming the country in Jasons ride-melvin, we rolled around my gaff for a while with Vernonce and Skip watching 101 dalmations....In retrospect I think this was actually another occasion at christmas we went to the barns and the evening resulted in a proposal..

I guess we would have been slaving at Liz Earle on this particular occasion as it was a tuesday- but im now remembering we went to Newport and I bought a delightful puppy shirt... Anyway it was most definately a tuesday as it was folk night at Arreton Barns. Grime,Jase,God and I journeyed over for some rustic fun. The folk night was immense, we sat in a corner and ate peach crumble, whilst doing so my boobs looked MASSIVE. For some reason Jase had the dirty novel she had bought earlier in the day on her person...this is not a surprise as she is also a big fan of LOVE EGGS and uses them frequently-She sets them to HIGH VOLTAGE whist in church. Anyway..I digress.....

We began to read from the book-

Jason Mraz is studying English Clit at OX for COX Brookes, and on this fine folk night had an epiphany . The reason she was put on this earth and graced with literacy skill and religious parents, is to put all her experience and fantasy in print for oppressed deviants like herself to devour. The book we were reading was from the Mills and Boon series- Jase began to fantasise about lesbians and I named them "Lavender and Lace". Im sorry but I can't divulge any of the story due to copy right infringement.

Maz herself has posed in topless pictures and has experiences across a wide sexual spectrum. Novels in the pipeline include;

SEX IN SUPERNOODLES

SPANK ME LIKE A BITCH

BITE MY TITS

THE HAYFIELD WHORE

and the hotley awaited LAVENDER AND LACE....watch this space,there is rumor of topless book signings coming to a crop field near you...

Jason Orange.

Not out trawling the gay bars then?

This evening my family and i went out for dinner, however we were so hungry-not a word was spoken. We then at my request took a cruise(went the long way home) along the seafront. Since then, have been reclining in my mothers clothes as I only packed supplies for three days in Plymouth i.e two pairs of sexy heels, two dresses,leggings and a shirt for festering...not very practical. If the fam were here, I guess we would be rattling cages in Newps. Started thinking about abit of yates yeh, and i think I'm getting emotional-or it might be the super sad program about an over friendly whale Skip is watching. Well it was sad until he received an abusive call from farty Bri and exchanged some football banter.

I was infact invited out this evening by none other than 49 year old Swedish cat pervert- Philip Duberg.

Yates is always a classy affair- with reefs, breezers and wkds for £2 it can't not be a night of mumsy delight, After all they are the funnest drinks around.

Never actually seen a babe in Yates, wait thats a lie.I have, but it wasn't his natural habitat. Tried to break my Brother into it over christmas, we thought if graz can handle it, Chazman could. I think he was slightly overwhelmed, not by the place but the company he was in- his sister, two slit eye sluts and a homosexual- to ease his pain we mixed up a cock of JD,wkd,Vod and a left over pint then forced the bastard down the hatch. It did loosen him a little as he eventually a shuffled about nervously to stevie wonder. Couldn't get him on the pole though.

I think my favourite abit of Yates yeh was the night of the eternity ring. I think another bit of Gramone died inside that night as I have not seen the ring since. The night started at the grovsnor-home of jez,reg,simone and devil child Jase. The Holy fortress was penetrated by Grime,Eddy,Gramone,Eds,myself and Jason from within. As Jez held a church meeting in the lounge, it was nothing but beats and BNs upstairs. Graz made the mistake of arriving both late and sober and faced an onslaught horrific abuse from marts. He also wore the ring, we simply could not contain ourselves....For some reason that night i decided to wear a tiny silk dress and a huge pair of spanx as hot pants-but I was not late or dry so did not face the wrath. Perhaps i drank as i dressed.

After 25mins of tension in the cab, we finally arrived. Jase left for pashit and Ed pissed his pants. I then spent £13 on drink and shots for Graz to make up for the abuse he was subjected too...eventually he forgot and was a grambly laugh. I think he also wore the hilarious Efron jacket that night...it was just too much for us all. I have a strange feeling we met Atch and the Wades there...Newps is just one blurred laugh.

Yates is always a classic for cheesy r n b, I think i was Eds gf for the night- purely to make ex's and bitches he was sharking jealous,he is such a shark. However i think me, grime and Eddy did actually make out for a laugh at the bus station. Grime asked Graz if he'd like to play but he exclaimed "NO!(in a high pitch squeal) i don't want you judging my kissing" ahahaha..then he stuffed his face with chips. She also offered Esteban and Gaspar her services-their silence said it all as they looked on in foreign disgust...ironic as they have both swooned on her many a time.

What a wednesday night pant wetter.

The fam....

TEARING TIGHTS OFF WITH MY TEETH

Island Life

Tric to Tric....

To be honest this last year has been rather stressful, the only method of communication being the ever so unreliable facebook due to the death of several flashy phones. Despite this many a romantic eve has been spent chatting "tric to tric".

Now attentions must be turned to this years babe filled island events, with the three slags and a fag being outstretched around the country not only are these occasions babe-filled and tradition but now a rather special and emotional reunion and often farewell. In this sad state of affairs BALX has become somewhat of a black sludge ridden mecca...

Anyway...one must not deviate. Thoughts of the four are now turned to firstly easter. Now in easter there are no actual events except for perhaps the Chalk family annual easter egg hunt and breakfast, traditionally a circuit of Oakfield ending in the warm,where we set off from. A trek with a high risk of mugging, treading in dog shit, in the rain, hanging out of my arse whilst my spritely and skinny cousins bound joyfully onwards in search of the chocolate that I know I can not eat, my teeth feeling like i've eaten glass after one too many WKDS. Anyway- an invite is extended to all..

So apart from the hunt, own fun must be made- I would imagine this will entail a passionate and excitement filled(premeditated for weeks) trip to "FREE N EASE" where we will dress in our sluttiest get up and still look like Ryde private mothers shuffling around the floor,gins a'sloshing. Once the joy of being surrounded by 15yr old twigs wears off and depression sets in...on to town. Spoons, with a quick ejection of some Andy Munn, for a handful of double sailors jels or perhaps if we are graced with Gods presence,gin and cokes all round. All of our school friends will be sat together "catching up" we will not look,speak or address them for no apparent reason but sit guffawing alone in a corner with some old gits-namely pip and Jason's sugardaddy-Nick Lillet.

Once being removed from this establishment for wine theft, intoxication, flashing or the devouring of a charc- the sheep usually provides a sweet 16th to try and get in or a humble slippery nipple to sup. It is a weird place, either completely dead bar the carnival queen sat there in his bastard leather,come rain or shine.."Cassey, ow ar'ya, I juss wana doo muuusik" puffing on a rollie. Or, its the sort of place if you are planned/hoping to see someone, however random it is for them to be there-they will be...quite magical. This kicks out quite early, the cool half to kaz, cheesy bastards to liq.

.....So liq for us. LIq these days seems to be full of sandown/shanklin exports plus rural guests with 15years old girls draped around them...It was our scene-now it is not. Many a night has been made in LIq, but after the disappearance of DJ Trev, its gone down hill. Its now only good for a reef bought my an older drunk. Kasbah, pricey..good for pilfing a cig/hanging around...not really a place for fun however so Honk comes into play... but thats a whole other story. Basically I have just detailed an average rydell Saturday for no apparent reason...This is more of a routine practiced to military precision,if anything.