Lulu Mugged at Cash Machine and Retired MP Takes on Wife’s Mugger and Wins!

Well, well I never thought I would have so much in common with the famous star although, our headline should read “Author’s Husband Chases Mugger,” what I mean by that is if you are married to a member of Parliament, if you do by any chance win the Nobel prize, it will read MP’s wife wins prize. Or as once happened to me MP’s Wife in rubbish dump scandal.” I am only kidding actually because this was not my fifteen minutes of fame. On Saturday my bag was snatched by a most accomplished villain, who pounced from across the road in a quiet London street while I was paying for telephone parking, he was on his way running like the clappers with my lovely going out to lunch bag full of the usual things one should not carry about .Without a moment’s hesitation ,the Sainted One pursued him for a quarter of a mile shouting and bellowing in the most fearful way, and to the brute’s astonishment gaining on him ; meanwhile some tourists joined the fray and as the Retired MP, who was about three times the age of this low life thief, of central European appearance dropped the bag and ran for his life.

An admiring crowd gathered when the bag was returned to me. I cried as if I had been handed an Oscar, and one man said to his young son ,“You see that is a generation who did that kind of thing, that’s what you want to be.” There was a marvellous modesty about all this, the Sainted One being unused I expect, to so much domestic adulation (because wives must be rather tricky to keep husbands on their toes) showed no surprise at his own athleticism, bravery, and quick reactions. He said it was all due to his life’s commitment to tennis. He is refusing to do interviews about this, although the event has already become a mini sensation, but I think it is a fantastic feel good story, and it reminds me why I married him and took on the wretched Parliamentary Life knowingly and willingly. And a fulsome thank you to the tourists who reacted so wonderfully.

There was a lot of heroism yesterday , we went to Parsifal live from the Met in the local cinema. After two hours of watching thirty men dressed as Korean Bank Executives, hardly moving at all on a dimly lit stage ( by the way I have nothing against Korean Bankers, but there were some women also in similar male attire which was very creepy, and thy all had short tufted black wigs) I began to lose the will to live. The awful thing is that this has quite put me off Wagner and also the great Nordic Myth, about which I have until now been very inspired. The search for the Holy Grail is a very personal thing, and full marks to the young Parsifal for sticking with it . This is of course a complex issue and must not be discussed frivolously. However I think Wagner had a bit of a nerve to muddle it up with the greatest sacrifice of all time and you know what that was of course. My Quaker origins rendered the theatrical use of blood on the white Teflon shirts during what was a very prolonged communion very alien to me. Luckily the Sainted One was happy to leave in the first interval.

There is a lot about Catholics, the Pope and celibacy in the news at the moment. A few years ago I read a book called “ The Sea Road West” by a writer called Sally Rena; it was a most beautifully written book and a powerful story about a Catholic Priest who falls in Love. Someone should reissue books like this because they are inspiring and insightful and way ahead of their time.

The Sainted One is resting on his lawrels!

The Cocks are Ticking , Tit for Tat and, What Happened to the Good Old Slap Around The Kisser?

We are constantly being told that the clocks are ticking for Britain, we are on a downward spiral folks but it is not the clocks, it is those other things which are ticking all over the place. I mean there is yet another boring old genital fiddling incident today all over the front pages.Last night it was the police who have been taking their “undercover” work  literally and having sex with the girls whose operators they were trying to expose.  Mostly of course it goes on about Lord Rennard whose hand did not get very far, really he should have picked on someone his own size and then perhaps they would not have found it all so “utterly repugnantly disgusting.”  Then he might have got his leg over, (a helpful illustration to be seen on the illustration on this blog) but truthfully I don’t think he is very athle(tic, the mind boggles, and the alternatives are too horrible to contemplate. You see as the very funny Hugo Rifkind pointed out in the Spectator, if he had looked like Brad Pitt things might have been very different, or in my case Hugh Jackman ( in your dreams V Hannam).

Rifkind tells us he was molested once, when he was even more gorgeous and wearing baggy trousers. Some vile drunk slag tried to put her middle finger up his, you know what. A small detail, he confides is that he had a bowel problem at the time, I was not sure how that helped him as he describes how “managed to squeeze it out” the finger of course. I ask myself how did the darn thing get there in the first place? Did it go up the leg or were his flies open, or did he have a builders crack? And most importantly, did she go and wash her hands before she offered round the butter curls?

I am once again bewildered by the male sex. Actually I too was molested some years ago in a telephone kiosk at Tiverton Parkway Station. The perpetrator a sleazy runt of repellent aspect who I vaguely recognized !!!! got a hand bagging he would not forget in a hurry. But I was rather upset and when I got home, I complained to the “Sitting Member “ for Exeter who was watching the news. He did not turn down the volume control, but informed me that he had used the same station for many years and never been molested. And then you see, and this is the point, I did not feel it necessary to tell his constituents or sell my story to the newspapers.

Female party workers should put in such an intolerable position should just say “ Hands Off My snatch you creep “ in a loud voice. But they don’t do that often because some of them are watching their backs ….As for the latest scandal where an MP was alleged to have taken advantage of a young woman who asked for his help, the door should always be open ladies and as with music teachers or any such one to one involvement, somebody else must always be in the room.

Overkill On Sex Scandals.Where does Loo Paper Go? And Panic in The Church Hall.

We have all become addicted to sex scandals, they are everywhere, is the whole male population priapic or what, I mean how do they have time for all this? Perhaps a lot of these are exaggerated. Last year a very nice looking man at a large party suddenly asked me if I would like to go to the lavatory with him. Naturally I declined and am still mystified by the event . I repeated this to a young relative the other day while the Sainted One was reading the paper, she answered at once “ Oh he was making a hit on you.” I felt quite encouraged by this but not for long . The Sainted One lowered the paper, which in itself is a singular event when I am talking, and said in a firm voice “ Not a chance.” I also repeated this whole story yesterday at a raucous girls lunch and my hostess said quick as a flash “ Well as a proposition it stinks.” I wish I had a wit like that I would have been even more of a success.

Anyway back to sex scandals. I trawled The Times for one this morning and the nearest I could get was the story of the poor hapless Vicar who was addressing a meeting in Saint Marks Church Hall Harrogate and whilst showing images in a Power Point presentation , and wait for it , he showed an image of a naked woman, at which there was “panic” in the meeting room. What on earth happened do you think? I mean did they all run amok, did crazed menopausal ladies try to unfrock the vicar in a mad lustful way? Did people have to be rushed out with blankets on their heads? It is claimed that the image was a result of a blip on the internet. I am trying to imagine just how this happened, it must have been one of those explicit nature programmes. I feel sorry for the vicar.

I have some lovely friends at the checkout in Sainsbury’s and they are usually amazed be the amount of Lavatory paper I buy. Where does it all go and why is there never any to be seen in the places where it is needed? And what do they all do when they need it and there is none? One of the occupants of the house mentioned “In passing” yesterday that one of the loos had “not had paper for several days “ , I asked why they had not helped themselves from the store cupboard? There was an expression of bafflement, I suppose it is union rules here I am thinking up a few of my own.

Our politicians it seems as feckless as ever. The latest example is a reluctance to take action about the pesticides which are killing honey bees. The world needs bees and instead of setting up another enquiry, why not ban the darn stuff until further research confirms it as the reason for this disaster. I think Italy may have the right idea, so fed up are they with their politicians that they have all voted for a stand-up comedian. Actually that is exactly what we have already but without the humour.