Storm in a Face Bag

How dare you call me John Merrick.

I'm all for being nice to people (believe it or not). I'm all for being nice and kind and understanding to old people, animals, you name it, I think we should all just rub along together.

BUT when I read this in The Scotsman (of all places), a small part of me died. The world has gone stark staring bonkers, and while I fear I may be repeating myself by getting back on this particular mental merry-go-round, see for yourself.

A TELEVISED impersonation of the hideously disfigured Victorian John Merrick, by comedian Ross Noble, has been ruled to be “at the margins of acceptability” by the BBC Trust

Reasons why this is so annoying.

1. John Merrick is dead. Not just dead, but completely and utterly dead. So very dead. Deady dead dead dead.
2. The description of him as being "hideously disfigured" - well, that may just hurt his feelings...IF HE WAS ALIVE.
3. When he became dead was a very long time ago.
4. He had no children.....due to being, well, you know, THE ELEPHANT MAN
5. Ross Noble was acttually doing an impression of John Hurt doing an impression of a dead bloke. As far as I am aware, John Hurt was never told he was "at the margins of acceptability". In fact, he may even have got an Oscar for dribbling and wearing a bag on his head. That's talent for you.

And this damning inditement comes from the BBC Trust, the same arbiters of good taste who decided that Jimmy Savile was a lovely chap, just a bit gropey.

I give up.

The House on Poo Corner..

If only....

Having welcomed two new additions to the household (Betty and Joan the cats) and still caring for Lando the Hamster, I have come to the realisation that Casa Del Bear should be called Caca Del Bear.

The whole house smells of a heady combination of lovely furry animals, cat poop and hamster wee (which, let me tell you is like industrial waste - some actually started to eat through my workstop like alien blood. Which makes me sound like I live in a hovel, but it was only free of the cage for a couple of minutes - seriously, you could break into bank vaults with this stuff).

Long story short, Husband is on permament litter duty and I have developed a penchant for Febreze. How I long for the days when the only offensive whiff in the house was Camembert.