Prurience

Enough about tits - lets get back to politics.

Jacqui Smith is our Home Secretary.

She leaves kids and hubby at home in the back of beyond while she goes off to London town "protecting the public and keeping our neighbourhoods safe"....according to Gordon.

Her hubby isn't called Mr Smith he claims to be Richard Timney

Didn't he used to present Match of the Day?

It seems that hubby likes a bit of porn while Jaqui's away.

It's not as embarrassing as the Tory who donned stockings and suspenders, put a binbag over his head, stuck a satsuma in his mouth and strung himself from the ceiling with an electric flex.
This might have given a whole new meaning to John Major's fight on sleaze. But at least it didn't cost the tax payer a penny.

But Richard (who is Jacqui's 'Office Manager at a salary of £40000 per year) submitted a bill which included two adult films, at a cost of £5 ($7) each on Jaqui's parliamentary expense account.

He also ordered "Surf's Up" a children's film about a penguin - but we didn't hear much about the penguin in the press.

I can't think why.

As far as I'm concerned the movie could have been 'The Sound of Music' - it's the same principle.

But it is well within the rules for all MPs to charge antique fireplaces, designer handbags and posh second homes to the expense accounts that we pay.

Come on someone - Stop those expense accounts - they are costing us millions. The press is revelling in the excuse to be prurient and pretend that a woman's husband's taste in movies should somehow affect the way we vote.

Why pick on Jackie?
Is it a coincidence that her constituency has a wafer-thin 2,716 majority and is a top Tory target?

KAZ

Tits and Knits

What does a 50p coin weigh?

Nothing really. Go and get one and try it for yourself - you can hardly feel it in your hand.

It weighs the same as a Long Tailed Tit.

It's made the top 10 in this year's RSPB garden birdwtach.

The Long Tailed Tit is all tail - the actual bird part is impossibly small.

It's amazing to think that it survives outdoors in the rain, snow and storms, flies through the air, twitters noisily, does acrobatics in the trees, builds nests and has sex (but not as we know it).

When I read this good news an old rhyme sprang to mind. We used it as a cruel insult in our junior school where it was recited (screamed) across the playground with considerable venom.

Long Tailed Tit
Your mother can’t knit
Your father can’t walk with a walking stick.....

I can't find it mentioned anywhere on the web. Did I dream it?

Can you imagine a more hateful and scandalous insult than to suggest that your mother was unable to knit?

My mum could knit but my father had a touch of the Heather Mills McCartney problem. But he could walk quite well without a walking stick - thank goodness.
KAZ

CAKE

It's March in chilly Manchester - and I recall my lovely fortnight in Spain. There are many good memories.

Long sunny walks and drinking by the sea.

Beautiful birds - wonderful warblers and waders, twittering passerines and dazzling ducks (see the ferruginous duck above).

But no penduline tits.

But of all my holiday memories - one lingers more than the others.

That fabulous CAKE I had on my grumpy day. I thought I'd better check again to make sure. So I bought more.

It comes in a box.

It tastes of cherry, vanilla, lemon, cream and - well - cake.

It is the food of the gods and it comes with its own little knife.

Perfect with a glass of very cheap sparkly wine.

mmmmmm
KAZ

Je Suis un Rock Star.

Now that Sir Mick and the others are off making big time movies with Martin Scorsese- have you ever wondered what became of the other old Stone?

Here's the answer-

(click to read)

Now I remember that Bill was the oldest so he must be at least 95 by now.

But I don't think he's quite as scary as this!


All we remember about Bill Wyman is his relationship with Mandy Smith when she was just a child.

Then there was the beautifully bizarre follow up tale when Bill's son went off with (and married?) Mandy's mum.

The Spanish can't get enough of old British rockers.

The local station (RAC Sexy?) plays inoffensive pop all day non stop. It's mainly British and mostly last century.

The playlist never changes.
Every single day we get -
Queen
Elton
Robbie (but not Take That)
Sting
Fleetwood Mac (Stevie Nicks)
Phil Collins (Steve Gerrard's Favourite)
Fine Young Cannibals
Wet Wet Wet
The Procalimers ???

Crowded House
Black (no need to run and hide is there?)
Terence Trent Derby
Thompson Twins
Early Beatles and Stones
Dire Straits
Culture Club
Spandau Ballet ....... .......You get the picture

Occasionally they make a brave foray into this century and we get Katy Meluah, Coldplay or Rihanna with her bloody umberella ella ella ella ella ella ella ella ella ella ella ella ella ella ella ella - over and over and over and over and over again.

The States are represented by James Brown, REM, Madonna, Percy Sledge, Bruce Springstein (you should hear how they pronounce his name).

But my favourite is Dexy's with - and I quote - "Come on Alien"

KAZ

Victor's day out.

Did you read about what happened to our Victor in Cranford (aka Knutsford)?

Everton striker Victor and his mate were looking in a jeweller's window.

The local plods took exception to this and rushed to the scene where Victor's mate was handcuffed. In common with most premier league footballers Victor is injured at the moment - so the police tried to take his crutches away to prevent him running off.

Although Victor was born in Nigeria, he was raised and educated in Liverpool just like Wayne Rooney. They both attended Everton's Youth Academy and went on to success and salaries beyond the dreams of most ordinary scousers .

But I suppose if Wayne had been looking in the window he would have been invited to come in and choose a glittering gift for Colleen.


The police have apologised and the matter is now closed but I still feel angry about this. If Victor hadn't been able to prove he was a star sportsperson he could have been in big trouble. This was racist behaviour on the part of the police and should be punished accordingly.

Manchester may be a wonderful melting pot of races and cultures but in suburban towns such as Knutsford (MP George Osborne), Wilslow and even Sale and Altrincham the old prejudices remain.

The election of a black president has not changed things much round there.

From what I read about Mrs Gaskell I think she would have been outraged as well.
KAZ

Searching

I like to blog when I'm in Spain.

There's no telly to watch unless you like NCIS in Catalan. There's football, but Liverpool 4 - Real Madrid 0 was switched off before half time.

So Kev and I sometimes sit at opposite ends of the table using his and her laptops.

Recently I realised I was typing with my back to the mirror. OOPs - Still it's OK because he'll think my blog is called ZAK.

(N.B. Kaz was my work name - Kev calls me by a similar 3 letter diminutive which begins with C)

But supposing he did a search for 'KAZ'.

Searchers have previously found their way here with terms such as -

• kaz takes it in the bottom
• nude kaz pictures
• kaz hedge trimmer
• kaz manchester united (Get lost)
• kaz bondage
• kaz enema British
• kaz sex photos
• kaz pussy
• major tom and kaz
• kaz fish and chips
• I would like to see kaz nude photos (they are very polite in Kenya)
• kaz model England (That's me)
• when I had a cold kaz rubbed some product on me

But searching for just 'Kaz' - NO - I'm just ignored.

I tried searching on Google as far as page 25 - not a mention.

Google obviously only sends the perverts over here.

KAZ

Mood Swings

I woke up yesterday morning feeling GRUMPY.

I stayed where I was - very still and very quiet - trying to work it out.

WHY?

Was it anything to do with Spain? Not very likely - as after a few dodgy days I could see the sun shining through the blinds.

Perhaps it was that depressing DVD we watched the night before. It was a FOPP bargain called Jindabyne - a little bit like an Australian ‘Deliverance’ but with interesting female characters.
Actually I enjoyed it in spite of Kev’s harrumphing - he only likes films starring Harrison Ford!

It wasn’t a hangover - I can recognise those by now.

I just wanted to shout at someone.

Kev (who can be quite jolly in the mornings) was obviously the prime candidate. He also does hearty sometimes. But I’m trying to give up shouting as it’s not very grown up - so I had to deal with it, embrace it, make it my friend.

A nice lunch on the balcony didn’t do much to change things even after the most scrumptious cake from the pastelería.

Later on I told a joke and LOLed - I always laugh at my own jokes.
I was heading for a full recovery.
KAZ

Saving the last of the Vitapointe.

One of Dave’s Wednesday poems:

Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of spring
Your winter garment of repentance fling.
The bird of time has but a little way
To flutter - and the bird is on the wing

. …. And she is - or was - on Tuesday.

It must be my royal blood.

At the airport (ed - not the bloody airport again!) there was the usual chaos in security. Everyone was cramming gels, glosses and perfume into little plastic bags.

This is the famous Renée Zellererwegererer.

I was carrying only one such item in my rucksack. It was the very last of the famous free Vitapointe - half used. But there’s a new system. You now have to get your bags from a vending machine. Two insignificant bags in a plastic bubble will cost you £1 - yes that’s one pound sterling.

That was more than the cost of the Vitapointe left in the tube.

(Older readers may recall the case of the ejaculating Vitapointe and the compensatory voucher.)

I had an old plastic bag so I put the tube in it and knotted the top. NO WAY said the inscrutable customs man - the bag has to be 'resealable'. ‘But it is 'resealable’' I replied in a nice person sort of way and demonstrated patiently how the knot could be undone and retied.

He was not impressed.

I was told to either go back and pay £1 for a 'resealable' bag or DUMP the Vitapointe. OK ‘DUMP it’ I said - but still in the style of a pleasant person as I’ve heard about what happens to people who joke with customs.

Then (still inscrutably) he put it back in my tray and it went through!

Good thing too - or I’d be having problems now.

KAZ

Spaced

I don't buy this now - but I usually get to look at the magazine section. And there's one page that's seriously getting on my nerves.

It's called *Space Solves*. It's a problem page for people without problems - an agony aunt for people who stuff mushrooms.

Gwenda of Chingford is devastated because ILVA closed down.

Is it because she feels concern for all those people who lost their jobs, perhaps had their homes taken away and their lives destroyed?

No - Not at all - Gwenda is upset because now she can't buy the desk which she'd had her eye on for some time. She "loved the surface which was hard but slightly rubberised".

Gwenda - get thee to Asda and buy one of those rubber non slip bath mats - stick it on the desk you already have or the kitchen table and Bingo.

Now shut up.

A yummy mummy from Derbyshire is looking for a (very) high chair so that yummy baby can eat at the breakfast bar. The *Space Solves* suggestions ("which will add contemporary chic to your kitchen") cost between £250 and £300.

KAZ says - why not strap the baby into one of those bouncer things from Mothercare and suspend it from the ceiling? Next?

Elsewhere - probably on the green page - someone asks 'How can you set a toaster to do only one slice of toast and save energy?'

How utterly ridiculous. Who makes up these letters? No one eats ONE slice of toast. You eat it in piles - otherwise where would you put all the marmalade.


It beats me why these types read the Guardian - don't they know it's supposed to be for pinko revolutionary bolshie barricade storming left wing feminists and their friends.

Or is it?
Not now it ain't.
KAZ