Bingate,Sleep in Your Own Bed, and Aging Country Sloanes

The Sainted One has a life crowded with incident, the most exciting is Sunday, this is “BIN DAY”. Come Friday this is mentioned at regular intervals and sorting the already carefully sifted stuff begins, it is a fixation like looking forward to Christmas before it turned into a financial and emotional minefield. Lunch was going rather well whilst the SO preferred his pheasant on a tray watching a sporting fixture ( the other obsession) Three fifteen the kitchen door flies open.. enter elderly person in binman clothes “I have been waiting you have had two hours , now I must do the bins nobody else will ,” now that might sound Ok but it is not ….. refuse all over the kitchen my recycling horrors all there exposed you know the kind of thing pantyliner boxes gin bottles , dogs ear wipes in fact a ghastly sordid map of life ……not coffee and Bendix as we were about to enjoy and the suggestion that we are all sluts only saved from our own filth by Old Bin Man. Well Bin Man there is a lot you can do with a large recycle bin ?????? An aggressive defence suggested it was dark and this task must be done in daylight??? Then the heating mysteriously went off ! I gather this goes on in the entire road , it must be sexual frustration of some kind … we all went for a nice walk in the fading sunset.

Ok would one rather live with one of these types in the country recently I took the risk of not sleeping in my own bed, OMG to pass muster there one must call everyone adorable and be quite sure that everyone really adores you because you must assure your slutty common weekend guest that you know everyone and talk a lot about your fabulous past, you do not wear “make up” because nannie said you always had such lovely skin you didn’t need it. Your house is cold because you were brought up in the cold, big .. in fact a huge house were always cold weren’t they? You must talk a lot about bloody Brexit and as you are a local luminary oh really????you will of course have the final say on how it all goes … oh yes and the house presents will be “ very useful to pass on for Christmas gifts”….. and of course one does not read novels at all especially historical ones where words are put into people’s mouths . Oh Yeh does that include War and Peace.? Well sucks to you “ my grandfather’s house had one hundred living in staff,” I cheeped up when I left a tenner for the cleaner who worked on the cheap because she adores them of course ….. but that did not cut the mustard they were too pissed on the delicious sloe gin I took.. actually I wanted to take it home but they were always by the so called drinks cupboard. There was a moth in my pashmina when I got home in fact I think I inhaled one of them as I tried to sleep in my Zara puffer coat they told me I would be ok with the snug electric blanket which was broken….. but not always. A pox on filthy skin cell furnaces of electric blankets and blocked wash basins etc etc >>… there was more .. so much more……. OMG by the way if you go to the local pub for a meal you will be expected to pay the bill ….. cost of visit will be approximately a hundred and fifty quid . Life is a learning curve as per Craig Browns hilarious take on Princess Margaret now she really had it sorted. But she had a sweet side actually I once saw it .

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Breathe, don’t miss it! A Spider in the Plane. and The Real Sex Pest Back Lash

Do not miss the film Breathe, it is a beautiful masterpiece. I ask you a man in an Iron Lung , is that movie material? Breathe is the story of Robin and Diana Cavendish. I young couple in love and in luck, until polio sends them into a world of unimaginable awfulness. A film made by their son now a middle aged man with total recall. See the film it is inspirational, never mawkish, never sentimental a story of complete and absolute love. What a woman Diana was and is , she became the lungs of the man she loved, he became an icon. The story is told with searing accuracy even to the parties, of which the astonishing Robin sat unable to move anything but his very handsome head. People fed him but he was never diminished, he had perfect manners, they laid on a show, in a dilapidated country house, clean sheets, flowers , delicious food , witty conversation, their little boy, smiley people all seemingly working for free, Diana’s acerbic wit, I once mentioned the very large spiders which seemed to enjoy the house she heard the arachnophobic screams, she did not suffer fools, I had also confided that I was a nervous flier “well don’t worry I will see to it that there is a spider on the plane when you next fly”  she said with her usual brisk twinkle.

 

Now to the subject of sex pests, please ladies no more revelations from the eighties from middle aged females, Ok some dicko thought he might get lucky and touched  your knee under the table at a Tory meeting or a working man’s club or grabbed you when you went to their hotel suite. When a publisher did this to me years ago, I might add ,I had a friend outside the door who was instructed to ring the bell after twenty minutes Us old timers used to deal with that easily, in fact I could write a “ Hand book “ on the various methods. Believe me they were very effective. No really women are being turned back into sex objects and they have themselves to blame fess up. You are doing a great disservice to women who really are the victims of serious crime. Most of the revelations coming out now are examples of women who could easily have exposed the man at the time ….. how about “ take your hand off my knee please” in a loud audible voice. Women cannot afford to be pussies , as they say in Texas “ if you don’t like the horn don’t tussle with the bull “